After a stormy Saturday and Sunday morning it will be clearing here in Bagwine, Ohio giving way to a glorious Sabbath.
Last night after work, I was on Twitter and longtime Bagwine buddy Karen mentioned something that happened to her, and it reminded me of something I had written about over three years ago.
It remains timely to this day, so please enjoy and learn…
I have written before how I love to fish especially when the big orange lipped carp are engaging in fish sex.
They wallow around in the shallows, the males trying to lure in a hot female with his crank bait, tossing out some cheesy line in carp-speak.
It is a lovely ritual that harkens in Spring. It also reminds me of something that happened to me many, many moons ago.
I guess I was about 17 years old and one late June afternoon my girlfriend at the time and I made our way to a secluded cove at the local State Park to fish.
Well, actually I was fishing and she sat on a blanket and read, but you get the picture. I was catching a few here and there and having a good time.
I turned to my girlfriend at one point to show her a pretty good sized bass that I had caught, and lo and behold there she sat…
Staring at me, smiling. Her legs spread provocatively, and her shirt unbuttoned revealing her lacy red bra and glistening cleavage. Boo Yah…
I could hear the wocka wocka guitar music from every low budget porn movie I had seen blaring in my head. I could feel a pup tent erecting itself in my shorts.
I put down my rod, (no, not that one you pervs, my fishing rod) and lay down next to her. My lips pressed against hers. My hands began caressing her perky nubile breasts.
My tongue licking the salty sweat from her---Well you get the picture.
We were now entirely naked and going at it like two horny Proboscis Monkeys engaging in sweltering, shape-shifting sexcapades in a mangrove swamp.
Our warm bodies rolling around on white sand and our secret protected by the seclusion and the dense canopy of the cove.
It was a glorious example of young love at its most passionate.
As we neared the state of climactic euphoria, we simultaneously moaned and screamed, for it was at that moment...
That we discovered that we were both covered in ticks.
That’s right...blood sucking, disease laden...ticks.
We were mortified to say the least. My anxious dork went from being a tribute to teenage virility to being a shrunken cowering nob.
We picked ticks from each others most intimate parts like baboons giving each other a rinse and set.
It was as if we were both suffering from the humiliation only a nursing home resident can feel at the hands of a sadistic nurse…young passion gone terribly wrong.
For two weeks after the fiasco, we still felt ticks crawling on us although it was just our minds trying to process the events.
I have recovered for the most part, but to this day, whenever someone mentions lyme disease or spotted fever I cross my legs and let out a little whimper.
I tell you this now in order to prevent it from happening to you.
Amen, and Amen.
Have a wonderful, and tick-free Sunday my friends.