Say Uncle!

It is worth the screeching agony of broken knees to feel the relief when he takes the pain away.   

Now I feel like expensive beachfront property:  a princess laying on the lily pad of God’s own pond.  Stoned on the lack of pain and the scent of blossoms, I slide my tongue into the open mouth of each passing koi.   

The fat Hawaiian winks at me with his golden eyes.  He’s a Kodiak bear stuffed in a Hawaiian shirt.  He should have a ukulele.  And he’s looking very hopeful.  

 

“Name’s Frito.”

 

Frito?  Reminds me of chips.  Which reminds me of guacamole.  Which brings to mind avocados.  And finally….my thoughts have gone to cucumbers and that, my friends, is where I draw the fucking line.

Frito?  Wrong answer. 

 

I take my brand new knees, throw them over his head, and clamp his fat neck between them.  His jugular vein pounds between my legs.  It would be easy to pop his neck vertebrae with a twitch of the hips.  Mom taught me combat techniques, but she also taught me the Hula.

 

“So you think my inebriated state gives you the hall pass to my goods, motherfucker?” 

 

He is sucking air so hard he can’t answer my question.  Not that I didn’t already know the answer.

 

Pervert! 

 

I squeeze my legs even harder and his golden eyes start to bulge a little bit like a pug.  (Another Heloise Hint:  never squeeze a pug’s neck.  Humans’ penchant for genetic meddling has encouraged the development of shallow eye sockets in pugs making them prone to having their eyeballs pop out when their necks are squeezed.  As much as you want to, never, never squeeze a pug.)

 

Through lack of oxygen, I can feel the ferocious pounding of Frito’s jugular has been reduced to the intensity of a popcorn fart.  His head is caught between my thighs, and when I tip him at the correct angle I see his red face has gone white dwarf.  He is tapping the bed like he’s tapping out of a wrestling match. 

 

“Say uncle,” I tell him.

 

He taps. 

 

“Say uncle!”

 

Still he taps.  He’s stubborn.  I’ll give him that.

 

“Frito, say uncle by the time I count to three or I’m going to snap your head off and use it like a beach ball the next time I’m out to Maui!”

 

Frito’s fingers reach the tape recorder, and he taps “rewind” just as he passes out.

 

Now I’m curious.  So I hit “play”.   And through the static and reverb, there’s no mistaking that female voice with the Japanese lilt.

 

“Why you so bossy, babeeeeeee?”