Raw Sex in the Wild
Raw Sex in the Wild
by Jay Williams
Published Summer 2007 (really in Dec. 2007) in Timber Creek Review
Zack needed a vacation. His brain had been through way too much over the past few months. His time in the institution, search for a new car, the incessant advertising. Way too much. He needed to get away from just thinking about the day-to-day goings on of America. Get away from the entire mind-numbing cultural minutia that makes up what some call the modern, civilized life.
A little bell went off in his head and he realized he needed to get away from anyplace that might have little bells. Or advertising. Or clichés or catch phrases or political slogans.
He’d go camping in the wilderness.
Go to the wilds of Montana or Wyoming. Explore nature instead of American culture. Go where the only thing he had to think about was where to camp for the night and how to avoid mosquitoes.
He called his new girlfriend Zoe and asked her along.
“We’ll sleep under the stars on a clear Wyoming night,” he told her. Of course, he was mainly thinking about having sex with her in a double sleeping bag, but figured it wouldn’t hurt his case to throw in the bit about the stars.
“I’m not going anywhere with you if you are going to drive that car of yours to get there,” she proclaimed.
A few of the little microbes in his brain that had been brought under control at Dr. Thomas’ Sanitarium (actually, the Mellow Recovery Sanctuary but Zack didn’t like the commercialized sound of that), raised their little microscopic heads in unison. “Another chance to dance?” they oozed to each other in their microscopic language.
“You want me to get a new car?” he asked apprehensively.
“No, not necessarily new, but something that won’t be so harmful to the environment,” she said. “Ever since meeting you at the “Save the Bluebonnets” rally I’ve wanted to tell you.”
The little microbes in Zack’s brain frowned in disappointment and went back to sleep. However, Zack wasn’t as calm. He had a bad sense of foreboding building in the other half of his mind.
“Well, I don’t drive it that much,” he said weakly.
“The fact that you drive it at all is the issue,” she declared. “It belches volumes of toxic gases into the air each time you start it up.”
“I keep it tuned up. Barely any exhaust come out.”
“That you can see! Would you be willing to sit in a closed garage with that monstrosity’s motor running?”
“Um, no.”
“Because it’s producing toxins!”
With each passing second, the vision of using a double sleeping bag in the wilds faded a little more. He had to act. He needed to do something decisive, something manly. He decided to surrender. “Okay, I’ll look for something else.”
Going back to another car lot was not an option. His past experience with this Great American Tradition sealed off that as a possibility. Instead he would turn to that other cherished mode of acquiring an auto: The Want Ads.
1997 Grn, 2 dr, 450 hp, DMM Orion, $12,000.
1999 HMC Envoy, clean, what a buy at $40,000
1995 Yomama Clubagone, KBB, AC, V4, FM-CS, 73k, offer.
2000 Cream Puff, kick to drive, see to believe, Gene’s Car City.
Zack would try that other method used by many car shoppers: He’d ask a friend.
“Oh, those wild Idaho nights,” Harry Henson said.
“Wyoming,” Zack corrected.
“Whatever. Listen, what you need is a car that gets 80 mpg’s, runs on fuel made from weeds and doesn’t need oil for any engine parts,” Harry said.
“That would be perfect!”
“I know. Hasn’t been invented yet.”
Harry wasn’t like Zack’s other friends. While they all walked around his recent brain turmoil on tippy toes, Harry just continued being his old self. Which meant that if he said something that might drive Zack over the edge, well, all the better. He’d have a ringside seat and would have great stories to tell at loud, rowdy parties. Which, for obvious reasons, he never got invited to. However, if by some weird twist of fate he ever did get invited, he’d be prepared with some great stories to wow the females so that maybe they’d go to Idaho with him and share a double sleeping bag. Because of his honesty and forthrightness, and because he was a little insane himself, Harry was one of Zack’s closest friends.
Everyone assumed that eventually they would be sharing a double padded cell together. However, probably not in Wyoming or Idaho.
“Okay, so what have you heard about that is invented and would please Zoe?” Zack asked.
“Have you thought about an electric car?”
“Too expensive, no place to plug it into in the wilderness.”
“Well, how ‘bout a motorcycle? They get, phssssh, something like 100 miles to the gallon I’ve heard,” Harry said with a wave of the hand.
“I had a step-brother who got decapitated riding on one of those. My family would kill me if they found out I was riding one.”
“Wow. Sorta like a case of Double Jeopardy.”
“Exactly.”
Harry settled back into the couch and glanced around Zack’s apartment. Pretty bare furnishings. No pictures on the wall, furniture Salvation Army second-hand stuff, no magazines on the coffee-scarred coffee table. Bare and bland. Must have something to do with his recent forays into mindlessness, Harry thought. Deciding he wouldn’t be able to borrow much from this guy, he turned his attention back to the problem at hand.
“Maybe you better just give up the idea of using a car at all,” he suggested. “Why don’t you try a bicycle?”
“Bingo!” Zack said excitedly.
“You’ll take a long bike trip?” Harry asked, surprised that Zack would take him seriously. Hell, he couldn’t remember anybody taking him seriously before.
“No, I’m too out of shape for that.”
“Oh,” Harry said, frowning.
“But why do I have to drive a car? We could take a bus. It’s mass transit! She’ll go ape!”
Harry shook his head. “Zack, when was the last time you took a bus anywhere?”
“Well, uh, I guess, maybe never.”
His poor friend. He really was insane. “Zack, the only people who ride the bus anymore are people who are escaping the law or else the law looking for those who are trying to escape the law. Oh, and perverts.”
“You watch too much TV.”
“Maybe, but I’ve gone to bus stations before and I know what they’re like.”
“Why would you go to a bus station?”
“The food.”
Zack decided not to press this issue any further. His concept of bus station cuisine consisted mainly of stale Fritos and cold coffee. Which may very well have been the two food groups Harry lived on. However, that wasn’t the issue at hand, and he sure wasn’t going to let a good idea go by the wayside because of his friend’s Frito-addled brain. He knew Zoe would like the idea. The only better alternative would be to take horses. Ever since he stepped in a big pile of their droppings after the annual Blue Moon Parade, well, anyway, that option was out.
Zoe loved the idea and like Zack she needed a vacation. Endless months of demonstrations and protest rallies had taken a lot out of her and using mass transit to go to the wilds fit her bill perfectly. She’d mold this guy into a lover of the Earth while also relaxing and getting in touch with nature and her inner child and breathing deep the clean, fresh air and…Yes, Perfect. She rounded up the things she believed they’d need and met up with Zack at his place. She also brought Mist.
“Mist?” Zack asked incredulously, staring at the petite blonde in front of him with her tattooed arm sticking out toward him.
“Hi Zack, I’ve got the whole low-down on you and I want you to know that I’m one with you,” she said. Her high-pitched voice exactly how Zack imagined a Pixie’s might sound.
“Short for Misty?”
“Oh, no. Just Mist. And because of your condition, I’ll only let you make that mistake one more time.” She shook his hand as he glanced from her to Zoe.
“Zoe, I thought this would be a good chance for us to get to know each other better.”
“And we will. You’ll also get to know Mist better.”
“I’m sure,” Zack surrendered.
There wasn’t really anything he could do. He had overcome the car hurdle and so still had the double sleeping bag in sight. Therefore, he sure wouldn’t jeopardize that with a little Mist. His brain popped for a moment at that pun, but it held secure. Zoe could do just about anything and he’d have to surrender. After his breakup with Joannie, she became the perfect antidote. Not materialistic, so she would never even think of telling him to get a fancy car or some shiny rock for her. She hated commercialism, so he didn’t have to worry about some Pepsi commercial popping up in front of him. More importantly, she had gorgeous red hair, a tight ass and round, supple breasts that…But those were minor points.
So no matter what, she could always get her way.
“Okay. It’ll be fine to have MIST along. Of course, I only have this one double sleeping bag. She’ll have to find…”
“Oh, that’ll be fine,” Zoe interrupted. “She’s pretty small and won’t take up much room.”
Zack brightened up. He studied Mist again and realized that beneath the extra tattoos and odd body piercings, was a very pert, perky body that might really be exciting to discover. Things were looking up. He had to make sure he understood the situation though.
“Um, so you won’t mind her being in the double sleeping bag with us?” he said as nonchalantly as he could. Of course, the little microbes in his brain were up and dancing in a joyous circle, but he hoped his enthusiasm didn’t show through outwardly.
“Oh, sure. As long as we make sure and take our boots off there’ll be plenty of room.”
“And of course the other clothes,” Zack said helpfully.
Zoe laughed heartily. “Oh, my dear no, Zack. We can’t take our clothes off.”
“We can’t?” Zack and Mist said in unison. This sort of pleased Zack.
“Of course not! My God, it’ll be 30º up there. You have to sleep in your clothes or you’ll freeze.”
“But it’s a down sleeping bag,” Zack said desperately.
“And our body heat will keep us warm,” Mist said just as desperately.
“And, by golly, it’s July!” Zack said, thinking he had topped Mist (more ways then one on his mind).
“No, no, no,” Zoe countered. “You two have never been to Wyoming have you?”
“No,” they said. This was becoming a habit.
Zoe shook her head. These newbies. “It’s, like, 20º even in the summer at night in Wyoming.”
“It is?”
“Oh, yeah. Sometimes it even snows!”
“Wow!”
Zack decided he needed to stop saying the same thing as Mist. Zoe might start to read his mind and then he’d have a new problem.
“So you’ve been to Wyoming?” he asked.
“Well, no, but I’ve seen plenty of nature shows from there.”
“I thought I read somewhere that Wyoming was half desert,” Mist added.
Zoe placed her hands on her hips. “Are you going to believe something you read or a TV show?”
The other two looked at each other and shrugged.
“Well, we could always build a fire,” Zack said meekly, but the conversation was over.
The three gathered their things together and headed to the bus station. Yes, they walked there. Anyway, it was while they collected their possessions that Zack discovered what an adventure he had really undertaken. Zoe and Mist had brought the items that they believed would be useful and environmentally friendly. They brought:
• Tofu tablets and powder
• Soy buds
• Dehydrated prunes and bananas
• 3 hemp towels
• 1 hemp blanket
• Hemp socks and clothes
• Hemp toilet paper
“Hemp toilet paper!” Zack screamed.
“It’s environmentally friendly,” Zoe explained.
“It’s rear end unfriendly,” Zack declared.
“Oh, it’s not that bad. And regular toilet paper takes 50 years to disintegrate. This only takes five. So we’re taking it.”
Zack frowned, but as he still hoped that a fire might solve the double sleeping bag situation, he agreed. He discarded his toilet paper.
Zack brought:
• A double sleeping bag (which wasn’t as exciting a thought as when he started planning this vacation)
• A two-man, polyester tent
• A hunting knife
• Several cans of Sterno for cooking
• A towel (he never traveled without one—TYDA)
• A foam pad
• 2 lbs. of beef jerky
• 1 fishing pole and accessories
He also had several other typical camping supplies that we won’t go into, as it’s pointless and long-winded and besides, the two females would only allow him to take the sleeping bag anyway. Everything else was not environmentally friendly. The tent got scratched, as they wanted to be out in the open air, no matter how much Zack mentioned rain and snow. The Sterno was equal to a car in toxins (according to Zoe). The fishing pole and equipment went for the same reason as the beef jerky—the women were not going to eat meat or even think of the processing/maiming/killing of animals. This also meant the knife didn’t make the cut. And the rest, well, you can guess. Zack considered it a minor victory that the sleeping bag remained. He chalked this up as a victory as he doubted neither of his companions knew where down came from, let alone understood what exactly the term meant. He guessed, correctly, that they imagined it referred to “Down Time.” A weird American euphemism for sleep. Needless to say, he didn’t enlighten them.
Much to Zack’s surprise, the bus station turned out to be exactly as Harry described it. Out of fear, he didn’t explore the food establishment. However, he did make note of the biker gang in one corner, the drooling perverts in the other corner, and what could only be described as “the other element” in the third corner. The hardy environmentalist crowd made up the rest of the place. This particular group also included Barty.
“No, it’s not Bart. It’s Barty,” he explained. Mist became enthralled almost immediately.
“Where you headed, Barty,” Zack asked, fearfully. He did not want to hear anything closely related to a western sojourn.
“Boston,” he said.
Zack finally breathed and decided that was as much conversation as he was obligated to. He had been polite. He needn’t do more. Barty had the requisite tattoos and piercing that Zack slowly learned indicated some sort of closeness with nature. He also had that special earthy smell that foretold his body, a shrine, would never embrace chemicals like soap or deodorant. It almost goes without saying that he also owned the requisite hemp shirt, pants, shoes and suitcase.
It’s assured at this juncture that it’s not necessary to explain that Barty soon became another fellow traveler. In many regards, this proved fortunate for Zack. The bus, like all buses, had two columns of two seats stretching from the back to the front. This meant that the group could safely occupy their own row across the bus and didn’t have to let any pervert, biker or “other” occupy the extra seat.
To save time, and as it’s rather obvious anyway, the events of the bus trip will go undescribed. Let your imagination go as you think about a bus full of perverts and bikers and “others” riding together for 500 plus miles. Whatever you imagined probably happened, and if you want to verify this, please purchase the second volume of this series which is titled: “Schizophrenics, violence and Margaritas: An American Vacation.” Due out soon at all fine book stores.
Luckily, by the time they reached the Wyoming border, most of the bus remained empty. Luckily in this case refers to the riders left who no longer needed to fear violence, maiming, mayhem, debauchery or perversions for the rest of the trip. Well, perversions depend on your definition. For example, some people think it’s perverted to use the U.S. flag to sell gas-guzzling cars or tacky furniture. However, the travelers weren’t going to experience that or any other perversion as we know it, and so they were lucky.
After travelling through what looked like a lot of desert, the happy campers finally reached their destination. In this case, happy referred to Zack, who really smiled a lot when he finally got off that bus and plotted how he could rent a car for the return trip.
The bus had let them off at a fairly large wood cabin. A sign on the driveway had said “U.S. Nat” and Zack guessed that it was broken and should have said “U.S. National Park.” Since quite a few weeds had grown untamed around the sign, the others agreed with his assessment. Upon closer inspection of the so-called log cabin, the group discovered it wasn’t wood at all, but some sort of vinyl covering designed to look like wood.
“This doesn’t look like any National Park I’ve been to,” Barty said.
“You’ve been to a National Park?” Zack asked, genuinely surprised. For although he didn’t doubt Barty’s environmental leanings, he had yet to meet an environmentalist who had been to the wilds. Oh, he knew they existed. He’d watched the news shows that showed them living on treetops or chaining themselves to bulldozers in front of trees. However, so far, he’d never met one whose experience with the wild was anything more than watching Marty Stouffer’s “Wild America” on TV on Saturday mornings.
“Which one have you been to?” he grilled.
“Oh, Lincoln’s birthplace.”
“Ahhhh,” the other three said in unison.
They went into the artificial log cabin.
This was not the ranger station they expected. Sure the lone worker inside was named Sam Ranger, but he wasn’t a ranger. He was a salesman. The “Log Cabin” contained all forms of trinkets from little plaster statues of “Buzzy the Bear” (Smokey apparently had retired) to picture postcards of lush green forests (which were really, really old, as the adventurers were soon to discover). Oddly enough, they also found Disney characters in poses with trees and bushes. Sort of an outdoorsy look. They could also buy Disney key chains, watches and those cute glass-encased scenes that snow when you shake them. The travelers didn’t buy anything, much to the chagrin of Sam.
“You sure I couldn’t interest you in something? Maybe a pack of Buzzy the Bear bubble gum?” he pleaded.
“No thank you,” Zack said firmly.
“What flavors ya got?” Barty asked.
Zack stared disapprovingly at Barty and he withdrew the question.
“Listen,” Zack started. “We just want to get to the wilderness. I thought it’d be right here, but everything around your store…”
“Log cabin,” Sam interrupted.
“Is bare scrub.”
“And you’re sure you don’t want to buy something?” Sam tried again.
“Just tell us how to get to the wilderness.”
“Well, okay. Go out behind the cabin and find the trail there. There’s a sign that points the direction. Just follow the trail about half-a-mile, over the hill and there you are!”
“Oh, so it’s hidden by the hill?” Mist asked.
“Sort of.”
Zack didn’t want to wait around to find out what “sort of” meant, so he grabbed Zoe and Mist’s hands and lead them outside. Barty followed reluctantly. He really toyed with getting some Buzzy gum.
They followed the trail and kept their eyes peeled for trees. There wasn’t a one along the entire length of the trail, which really perplexed Zack, but he refused to be discouraged. When the quartet topped the hill they found the trees. There were three of them down at the bottom of the hill in what normally would have been called a valley. Zack's definition of valley included a lot more trees than three, so he claimed it was more of a gulch. A gulch filled with scrubby, brown brush, bare dirt and those three trees. They saw someone or something lurking around the three trees so they entered the gulch to get a better look.
Upon arriving at the trees and the end of the trail, they discovered why they couldn’t determine from a distance what they had seen. Wandering amongst the trees, and that’s loosely using the term “amongst” since there were so few, lurked a man in a bear costume. This turned out to be the park ranger.
“Don’t tell me, Buzzy the Bear?” Zack asked when they got to the man/bear.
“No. I’m Frank Patterson the park ranger,” the man declared. Zack could tell he didn’t like having to explain this.
“Sorry, I should have guessed by your park ranger hat,” Zack said.
“You think I can’t take you buddy?” Frank said angrily, raising a threatening paw in Zack’s direction. “Don’t let this costume fool you.”
“He didn’t mean anything,” Zoe interjected, acting as a peace negotiator. “He just thought a park ranger, well, he thought you might have a brown suit with a patch on the shoulder saying National Park Service.”
“Yes,” Mist continued. “He talked all about those uniforms on the bus,” she said in her pixie voice. Her voice had a magical, calming quality.
“Yeah, the patches,” Barty added mindlessly.
The bear known as Frank calmed down a little. This actually displeased Zack as after an incredible bus trip, squabbling about environmentally friendly camping gear and the discovery that this forest consisted of only three trees, he could have used a good old fashioned, non-thinking, melee. Violence was the one American tradition Zack never questioned, as every red-blooded American male instinctively knew that the one thing every red-blooded American male could turn to for comfort in a confused world was pure testosterone violence. He especially learned that on the bus.
“Well, okay,” Frank said, lowering his paw. “Yeah, I miss my uniform. It had a great red, white and blue patch too.”
“We know,” Mist, Zoe and Barty confirmed.
“Had until two weeks ago. You should have come by then,” Frank said, gazing longingly off into some unknown distance. “They made me get rid of it and put on this bear suit.”
“They being the Park Service?” Zack asked.
“What? No, of course not. Disney Corp.”
“What?” the four said in unison. It was one of the few cohesive moments they had experience on the trip.
“Surely you knew that Disney bought this place five months ago?”
“Disney?”
“Yes. They came in a month or so ago and cut down all the trees, except these three, so they can put in the rides.”
“They’re going to put rides in a National Park?” Zack asked. He was the only one of the four who had any ability to talk for the moment. The others had just had their environmental hearts torn in two.
“Yes, why, over there,” and Frank pointed a paw toward a small, barren hill in the distance. “They’ll put the Pluto’s National Park Roller Coaster.” He pointed to another wasted area. “And over there will be the Mickey Wonderland of the Future Monorail. To the right will be Donald’s Waterfall Spectacular, a little beyond that will be Minnie’s Forest-on-the-Glen Restaurant. Yes, if you come back in a few months you’ll see a real marvel,” Frank said.
Zack couldn’t tell whether Frank was smiling or scowling inside that costume. He did know how he felt. “How can you…”
“Not me, Disney Corp.” Frank corrected.
“Have the audacity to name rides after a forest that’s been destroyed.”
“Oh, and what a glorious forest it was too! Like a lush green carpet it covered this valley, clear blue streams burbling through it, animals roaming freely. You know thousands of people would come here to bask in God’s glory and, why, quite a few would sleep out here under the stars in double sleeping bags having wild animal sex.”
Zack raised his arms in exclamation. “That’s what I wanted to do!”
“Welp, there’s still plenty of camping places out here,” Frank said, sweeping with his paw to show the endless stretch of dirt and scrub brush.
“We wanted to be in the trees,” Zoe finally said. Apparently the shock wearing off the other travelers.
“These trees?” Frank asked. He shook his big, grinning bear head. “Oh, my, no. I’m afraid no one’s allowed to go in there.”
“In there?” Mist asked.
“In the forest.”
“That’s not a forest, it’s just three trees!” Zack exclaimed.
“Disney Corp. can call it what it wants. No matter what, you can’t go in there.”
“We can’t even touch ‘em?” Barty asked.
“No, no, no! We’ve got to preserve our wilderness. You can get close enough to smell them if you want.”
“Wilderness? It’s three trees!” Zack continued. For some reason, stating the obvious.
Frank shrugged his bear shoulders. “Whatever.”
Zack couldn’t let it go though. “How could this happen? How could the National Park Service let this atrocity take place?”
“Actually, it’s been going on for some time,” Frank nodded.
“Impossible.”
“Oh, sure. For years the government has been letting private companies log and drill for oil in the National Parks. So when the latest party took power they just decided there wasn’t any reason to be discreet anymore and began to sell the land outright.”
“I thought that was illegal?” Zack asked, dazed.
“Well, it’s illegal to sue the government, so how you going to stop ‘em? Anyway, like a lot of professional ballparks, companies wanted their names on National Parks. That’s why now we’ve got the 3M Grand Canyon, the Tidy Bowl Glacier Park…”
“Oh, no!” Zack said in a wobbly voice.
Zoe recognized the signs and rushed up to Zack. She futilely covered his ears with her hands and stared excitedly at Frank. “Stop! Stop it! You’re killing him!” she shrieked.
Frank didn’t understand and kept rattling off more names. “The Exxon Arctic Wildlife Refuge, Shell’s Yosemite Park, Xerox Grant’s Tomb, Fruit of the Loom Sierra Mountains, The Alpo Mojave Desert…”
The microbes, finally freed from the careful restraints applied by Dr. Thomas’ Mellow Sanctuary, escaped from Zack’s brain and began to do “The River Dance” around Frank, repeating in their little microbe voices everything he said.
“The Tostito’s National Shoreline,” Frank said.
“The Tostito’s National Shoreline,” the microbes gleefully repeated, their Irish jig becoming more intense.
“The Johnson’s Disposable Diapers National Wetlands. That was a natural,” Frank nodded.
“A natural,” the microbes agreed.
Mist and Bart recoiled at the sight and Zoe hung on to Zack for dear life. Zack’s eyeballs, already distended at the start of Frank’s litany of names, began to dance with the microbes. For some reason, the trees also began to dance around, but they were woefully out of step. Their version of an Irish jig looked more like Rosie O’Donnel doing Swan Lake. One of the few coyotes that hadn’t been trapped and put in a Disney petting zoo came out of hiding and provided a mildly decent rendition of the theme music to “Happy Days.” A few vultures, who had just finished off some hapless Disney executive who had wandered off into the barren wasteland, joined in and danced a polka. A glorious sight, unless you were Zack.
Eventually, Zack’s companions settled him down by putting him in his double sleeping bag and tying him securely with some rope they made out of their hemp blanket. After Frank, the National Park Buzzy the Bear, realized the danger he had created, he called for a rescue helicopter on his Mickey Mouse National Park Walkie-Talkie. The little part of Zack’s brain that still had any shred of stability left felt relieved that he would not have to experience the bus ride home. It also pleased Zack that he did finally get to use the double sleeping bag, even though that use didn’t involve Zoe or Mist. Luckily, that stable smidgen of Zack’s brain didn’t notice that there were other passengers on the helicopter, which had been filled over-capacity with many of the same travelers Zack had encountered on the bus trip.
In this case, luckily refers to the author who has put together part III of Zack’s exploits called: “Terror at 5,000 feet: Another Vacation Adventure.” Due out in paperback at all fine book stores real soon.
—30—
(This story also appears as chapter 5 in "Sex and the American Male" http://amzn.to/1rg9aUo
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