Paul E. Truesdell, Jr.





            Alexander P. Enders sat at the base of a magnificent, overshadowing pine, contentedly cleaning his teeth with a toothpick.  Spread before him on a bright red tablecloth were the remnants of an overly sumptuous but absolutely delicious picnic lunch.

            Alexander studied a beautiful, doe-eyed, auburn-haired young woman sitting cross-legged in a nearby field of flowers.  She was weaving daisy crowns.  Her name was Frederika and she had been a great pre-lunch appetizer for Alexander and a superb lunch companion.  Now he anticipated a sensual dessert as he beckoned to her.

            A church bell tolled somewhere in the distance as Frederika stood up and began walking slowly toward Alexander.  Her lips curled into an all-knowing smile.  She began unbuttoning her blouse teasingly, button-by-button, as she stalked toward him.  The last button came undone.  She shrugged the blouse off, leaving it lay in the grass where it fell.  She wore nothing under the blouse.  Alexander could only stare at her perfectly formed, pink-nippled breasts.  She cupped them in her hands, sensuously caressing their firm softness.

            The tone of the church bell suddenly changed to a higher pitch.

            Frederika unhooked her flower-print, full skirt and, dropping it to the ground, stepped from its encircling confines.  She was clad now only in shear, lace-trimmed, light-blue bikini pants.

            Alexander’s eyes were drawn to the auburn shadows of her prominent pubis.  He stood up and held out his arms to her, anticipating what was to come.  She pirouetted seductively and walked slowly toward him.  Her thumbs hooked in the elastic of the bikini pants, pushing them down tantalizing inch-by-inch.  Alexander actually began drooling.

            The tone of the church bell changed to a persistent, electronic, shrill whine.  Frederika slowly faded away.

            “Damn!” Exclaimed Alexander as he groped for the alarm clock.  He peered at the digital face.

            “11:17 for God’s sake,” he grumbled.  “Even the clock is against me! I set the alarm for 11:30 and it goes off thirteen minutes early – Damn!  I could have done Frederika in thirteen minutes.”

            Disgusted, he threw off the blanket.  He heaved his two hundred and ninety pound, five foot seven inch frame to the edge of the bed.  Sitting there, he reached for the pack of Salem Lites on the bedside table.  Striking a kitchen match, he lit the first cigarette of the day and tossed the extinguished wood match to an already littered floor.  Inhaling deeply, he lurched to his feet and padded toward the bathroom.

            Looking back at him from the soap-stained bathroom mirror were small, bloodshot eyes set in a perfectly round, flat-nosed, large-mouthed face bracketed by large cauliflower ears, double chins and a badly receding hairline.  Alexander felt his stubble and thought, “The hell with it!  I’ll shave tomorrow.”

            He rubbed his index finger over his tobacco-stained teeth, rinsed his mouth with cinnamon flavored mouthwash, and spit into the pink-splattered, dirt-smeared sink.  Wetting a washcloth, he toweled his face and upper body and liberally sprayed under his arms with deodorant.   The face in the mirror leered back at him as he said aloud, “You devil, you could really turn the ladies on tonight!”

            Returning to the bedroom he quickly pulled on a stained and wrinkled red T-shirt and baggy, equally stained and wrinkled gray trousers.  He slipped his bare feet into a pair of worn out, green canvas sneakers.

            Alexander P. Enders worked as the night clerk and manager of the Safari Motel.  He liked his job because he felt it had security.  “Who else would work in the cruddy place?” Alexander thought.  “Besides,” he laughed, “even if I did lose my job, I’ve learned enough to be fully qualified to work at any zoo in the world!”

            The motel was only three blocks from his apartment.  As he trudged toward his office he thought, “I wonder if Marsha will be in early tonight.”





            Marsha Ingrid Nancy Koop looked furtively around the motel grounds before rapping lightly on the door of room 15.  “No sense in taking any chances at being seen,” she thought.  “I’m not scheduled to go on duty for another hour, but if that slob Alexander catches me moonlighting, I don’t even want to have to do him any favors!”

            The door was opened by a thin ferret-faced little man wearing slippers, blue suit pants and a white dress shirt opened at the neck; his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows.  He held an iced drink in his left hand.  “Hi Max, how’s the door-to-door business?
Marsha asked as she entered the room, closing the door behind her.

            “You ought to know,” retorted Max, “You knock on almost as many doors as I do!”

            “I know, I know,” Marsha replied.  “A lady’s got to make a living.  I only have an hour before I have to punch the clock.  What’ll it be tonight, heads or tails.”

            “If all you have is an hour we better make it heads.  But, damn-it, be careful with those braces!”

            The youngest of eight children, Marsha Ingred Nancy Koop (all her siblings had three first names) was born twenty-three years earlier into a lower middle-class family.  Since her parents both worked long hours every day, her older brothers and sisters raised her until she reached school age.  Marsha was not a pretty girl and developed into a tall, washed-out blonde with knobby knees.  By the time she reached junior high school, her classmates were calling her “giraffe” behind her back.  She was not the most popular girl in school.  When her parents finally scraped together enough money for the orthodontist to at least salvage Marsha’s teeth with a set of braces – which were to stay with her into her adult life – she became even less popular.  Then, she discovered the power of sex!

            It happened in her freshman year at good old Eastside High School.  In order to be initiated into the Chi Alpha Tau sports fraternity, Samuel O. Buckwalter, the football team’s star running back, was assigned to date Marsha and to strand her in the countryside ten miles from town..

            Marsha was suspicious when Samuel asked her for a date.  No one had ever asked her out before.  And to be asked out by one of the school’s football heroes?   “I wonder what the catch is?”  She asked aloud as she prepared for the event.  “Of course, Samuel isn’t the best looking man around either,” she rationalized.  “He pretty much resembles a gorilla! Hell, he’s more homely than I am! I wonder if he’s as lonely.  No – he wouldn’t be.  After all he’s the star running back.  I wonder if he’ll try kissing me.  Should I let him….?

            Samuel arrived early to pick Marsha up.  With all his size and strength, he was basically a kind-hearted person and really didn’t look forward to hurting Marsha.  But, it was important for him to get into Chi Alpha Tau.

            They went for dinner at the local hamburger joint.  Marsha tried to make small talk but found Samuel uncommunicative.  Finally, as they were leaving the short order house, she asked him, “Why did you ask me out?”

            Samuel answered, “Because I wanted to.  Why don’t we take a drive out in the country?”  And he headed the 1959 Ford Coupe out of town.

            A few miles out of town, they approached the “Passion Pit” drive-in theater.  The marquee advertised a close to hardcore movie that all of the neighboring towns and the church tried to ban; but without success.  Samuel still didn’t feel right about stranding Marsha.  He decided to stall awhile longer.  “Would you like to take in the move?” He asked.  Marsha had heard about the movie and was curious.  The older students whispered about it at school.

            “Sure, why not.  It looks like an interesting flick,” she replied.

            The whispers about the movie were gross understatements.  As Samuel and Marsha sat back in the private darkness of the automobile, torrid scene after torrid scene flashed on the screen.  Obviously affected by the explicit scenes, Samuel put his arm around Marsha and pulled her closer toward him.  She did not resist.  The scenes in the movie were having an effect on her body that she had never felt before and never wanted to stop feeling.  It was wonderful.  She moved even closer to Samuel and instinctively placed his hand inside her blouse over her unsupported breast.  Surprised, but also caught up into the move and not one to wonder when it came to the possibility of “getting it on”, Samuel turned and (ignoring the braces) kissed Marsha again and again until she returned his kisses with equal fervor.

            Marsha, not Samuel, made the proposition.  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Samuel, but I want to do everything that they’re doing in the movie and I want to do it with you!  Let’s get out of here and find a place out in the country where there’s room to move!”

            Marsha learned all about sex that same night.  She simply mimicked all the moves made by the female lead in the movie.  All night long it was give and take between them.  Samuel would make love to Marsha and, after a brief rest, Marsha would make love to Samuel, braces by damned!  Samuel failed the initiation and never did get to be a member of Chi Alpha Tau.  He dated Marsha steadily, for a while, but broke off the affair the same week he graduated high school and left for college.  Marsha continued on through high school establishing her reputation as “the best piece in Eastside High; (but watch out for the braces!)” She had discovered the power of sewx.  After graduation she settled into the job as maid at the Safari Motel.  It was the ideal situation.  Particularly being on the night shift.  It was ideal as long as Alexander didn’t catch on.  But then, she really wasn’t too worried about that either.  Not with what she knew!

            “Thanks Max.” Marsha said as she opened the door to leave, “I’ll see you on your next trip.  We’ll compare customers.”

            “O.K., doll,” Max answered contentedly, “but please do something about that wire!”

            As Marsha closed the door behind her, Alexander, who had arrived a few minutes earlier, yelled out to her, “Well Marsha, I had my suspicions and finally caught you.  Get on down to my office! I want to talk to you in private.”

            “Damn,” thought Marsha, “now I’ll either have to give the slob some free sex or play my ace in the hole! No! Even I couldn’t stomach sex with him.  I’ll play my ace and get something else on him later.”

            Alexander sat behind his desk, a smug look on his face.  “Moonlighting, Marsha? You know that’s against the rules.  Particularly when it’s with our best customers.  I guess I’m going to have to fire you – unless….?”

            “Unless what!” Exclaimed Marsha.  “You think I’ll get it on with you?  Forget it! I’m not the only one around here breaking the rules!”

            “What do you mean by that?” Asked Alexander somewhat nervously.  “Hell, what’s she got on me?” He pondered.

            “Come on, Alexander, you slob.  I know all about you and Gene Yakult!”





            “My God!” Thought Alexander, “How did she find out about Gene?  She wasn’t around the one time I was with him.  Or, was she!”

            Gene Anthony Yakult was the son of one wealthiest businessmen in the state. He was also very gay and a general embarrassment for his very masculine father.  His father, however, believed in strong family ties and, rather than disown Gene, he created a position within the family business which kept his son away from home for long stretches of time – sometimes for months.  Gene Anthony Yakult was placed in charge of the morale and welfare of all family business concerns outside of the main company.  This kept Gene traveling all over the country.  The Safari Motel became one of his favorite stay-over spots; not because he lacked taste, but because it was a safe harbor to indulge in his preference for sex without fear of besmirching the family name.  Since the motel was centrally located to several of his clients, he managed to stay there about five or six days every month.

            Of course Alexander knew Gene and also knew of his sexual preferences.  Alexander made it a point to know everything he could about all of his regular customers.  Gene Yakult was particularly interesting.  The Safari Motel did not normally appeal to the wealthy class; it wasn’t exactly the ritziest place around.  But, once in a great while, in a very great while, an obviously rich character would arrive with an obviously rich playmate for a few hours of discrete trysting. These cases were rare, the Safari Motel being the fleabag it was.  But Gene Yakult was obviously wealthy and seemed to enjoy staying at the motel several days each month.  It didn’t take Alexander long to discover the reason behind these visits.  As he put it, “He always stayed in room 13 which was directly across from my office.  I used to watch from the office window whenever Gene was in town.  A different young “faggot” would “swish” through his door every night of his stay!”

            Alexander remembered the night that Marsha probably caught him with his pants down, so-to-speak.  It was the only time anything like she was hinting at ever happened to him  “It had to be that night!” He thought aloud.

            Gene Anthony Yakult had checked-in the evening before the night in question.  Alexander expected to see some young, obviously gay guy knock on the door to room 13 that night.  He was not disappointed except the gay guy turned out to be a gorgeous, longhaired, blue-eyed blonde with a build that would put many a beauty queen to shame.  Alexander was totally surprised.  Here he had been watching the goings and comings to room 13 for a couple of years; whenever Gene was in town.  Never before had a woman gone into that room.  And such a woman! Alexander decided he had to get a closer look.  He waited a few minutes and quietly exited his office.

            The window blinds in room 13 were only partially drawn.  Alexander could see into the motel room clearly.  Gene, dressed only in bikini briefs, stood facing the window.

            “The ‘faggot’ S.O.B. shaves his armpits and chest!” Alexander observed.  “What’s this world coming to? Jesus! He shaves his legs, too!”

            The gorgeous gal’s back was toward him.  Her long blonde hair streamed down her back, covering her buttocks.  She was nude.  Alexander moved closer to the window.  The woman turned slowly toward him.

                        “Shit!” Exclaimed Alexander aloud, “She has a cock!”  He stumbled backward and fell over the low porch railing, striking his head on the concrete sidewalk.  He saw bright flashing lights and then nothing, as unconsciousness overwhelmed him.

            When Alexander awoke he found himself lying on his back in bed.  He was naked, his flabby, hair-covered body a defenseless blob on the bed sheets.  Gene and his companion, both also naked, stood on either side of him.  Alexander noticed the blonde’s “breasts” were hanging over the back of a chair..

            “Well Chris,” Gene said to the blonde, “What should we do with the fat slob?  I can’t afford to let good old dad find out about things here.  Another bit of slanderous publicity could definitely bring down a bit of fatherly disownment for me! He’s been getting fed up with me of late.”

            “Don’t worry about it, Gene,” replied Chris. “Remember that time a couple of years ago when another peeping Tom slipped up?  Remember how we handled him?”

            “Yeah!” Answered Gene.  “We shamed him into silence!  Let’s do it!”  Then, looking at Alexander sprawled on the bed, “Lord, I hope I don’t throw up!”

            Alexander thought back to that time.  To this day he never could figure out why he didn’t fight them off of him.  Being honest, he thought, “I guess the old saying holds true.  When rape’s inevitable, just lay back and enjoy it!”  He glared at Marsha.  “I don’t know how you found out about that one night.   I do know that I’m as straight as they come and will never let that happen to me again.  How did you find out?”

            “Easy!” Smirked Marsha.  “I was working that night.  I saw you flip over top of the railing and I saw Gene and his friend drag you into their room.  The window was there for me to use, too.  I’ll never forget the look of absolute contentment on your face when Gene grabbed you by the….”

            “That’s explanation enough!” Alexander interrupted.  “You still have hyour job! God help you if you blab this to anyone! Get the hell out of here!”

            Marsha had never seen Alexander so angry and quickly left the office.  “I wonder if Francine came in tonight.  A chat with her would take my mind off things for a while.”  Marsha walked toward the motel laundry.





            Francine Annie Tolliver eased her way between the commercial washing machine and the electric drier in the small laundry facility of the motel.  The facility was small in comparison to Francine’s bulk.  She was so grossly obese that one time she was mistaken for a baby hippopotamus which had escaped from a traveling circus.  She was darted by a member of the humane society before he noticed that hippos don’t usually wear purple mumuus and size eleven shoes.  Poor Francine missed five days work while the tranquilizer wore off!

            Francine had a heart of gold but also had two big faults:  she couldn’t stop eating and she couldn’t stop talking.  One night Alexander came into the laundry to check things over.  Francine had just finished preparing a Dagwood-sized ham and cheese on rye with all the trimmings.  She was so busy eating that huge sandwich that she didn’t notice when Alexander left and she held a one-sided conversation with two full loads of regular laundry and one of wash and wear.  If it hadn’t come time to go home, she’d probably still be eating and talking.

            Marsha walked in just as Francine was stuffing herself into an already overstuffed chair for a break.

            “Hey, Francine, what’s happening?”

            “Same old bull, Marsha.  Have an apple.” Francine replied, reaching into an oversized punchbowl almost overflowing with assorted fruit.

            “No thanks, I just stopped over to wind down some.  I sure fixed Alexander’s wagon for a while.  That ass pinching son-of-a-bitch! He caught me coming out of Max’s room and tried to blackmail me into giving him some free pussy!”

            “Oh yeah?  I wish someone would ask me for some! Hell, I’d even give it to old Alexander.  And, believe me, I’ve got a bunch to offer!”

            “That’s for sure,” laughed Marsha looking at Francine’s overly generous proportions.  “That’s for damn sure!”

            “How’d you hold him off?  It must have been something pretty sticky to keep his fly buttoned up!”  Francine reached into the punch bowl for a bunch of bananas.  She began peeling them one-by-one; popping each banana whole into her mouth.  They just disappeared as if entering a black hole in outer space.

            Fascinated, Marsha watched Francine eat the bananas.  “Awesome! Simply awesome!’ She thought.  “I wonder what she could do with cock..  This lady has a hidden talent.”  She answered aloud, “Oh, I had seen him a few months ago in a compromising situation and reminded him of it.  You know, it pays to keep our eyes and ears open around here.  How in hell are you eating those bananas so fast?”

            “What do you mean? I just toss them right in and swallow them whole.  They seem to fill my stomach better that way.  It’s a trick I learned from a sword swallower with the traveling circus. You know, when I was shot by accident? A bunch of those circus folks came over to visit.”  She finished off the bananas and reached into a large refrigerator conveniently located next to her chair.  She pulled out a platter of fried chicken.  Selecting a breast, she resumed eating.  “Did you hear what happened to Rufus?  Well he…”

            Marsha temporarily blocked out the conversation and let Francine drone on.  She was thinking of this strange ability of Francine’s; her ability to swallow a banana whole.  God! Did Francine realize that her mouth was a goldmine?  With a little expert training about suction and pressure points men would break down her door to get to her.  They’d worship her mouth and throat.  They’d come bearing money and gifts to enter her oral temple for a brief moment of ecstasy. All Francine needed was an expert teacher and a good agent.  Marsha knew exactly who that would be.  She made a mental note to pursue the matter soon, very soon.  She allowed herself to get back into the conversation.  “Rufus?  The handyman?  No I haven’t heard.  What about him?”’









Rufus Angus Maxwell was the motel handyman, delivery boy, driver, and did anything else around the motel that no one else wanted to do.  He was a walking stereotype of the big country boy.  He was strong as an ox and had the intelligence of a Neanderthal.  Once in a while he would embarrass a customer because he never thought before he spoke.  One time he was helping a woman move her luggage into her room.  She had enough luggages to have stayed at the motel permanently.  One piece was a large container, which was even too heavy for Rufus to lift.  He noticed Alexander standing outside the office and called over to him loud enough for the whole town to hear, “Hey Alexander, I’ve got a lady here with a big box!  She needs two men to help her out!”  Needless to say, Alexander retreated into his office, snickering behind his hand; the lady checked-out before she’d really checked-in, and Rufus just stood there scratching his head, wondering what had transpired.

But Rufus had a heart-of-gold and would literally give you the shirt off his back if you needed it.  He was also very naďve.  His naivety often led him down somewhat less than righteous paths.  Marsha was well aware of this and often took advantage of Rufus; particularly when it was to her advantage.  But she really wouldn’t hurt Rufus any.  She also knew from personal experience that Rufus was particularly well endowed; his “plumbing” was more than most women could handle! She laughingly commented about him one time, “He’s not only as strong as an ox, he’s hung like one, too!”

Francine continued with her story.  “He was ticketed by a traffic cop.  You’ll never believe the charge!”

“Try me!” Marsha retorted.  “I think I’d believe most anything about Rufus.”

“True, oh how true.” Francine smiled.  “Anyway, the charge was: are you ready for this?”

“For God’s sake, Francine, get on with it! I don’t have all day!” Marsha complained.

“Shit, Marsha, where’s your sense of humor?” Francine replied.  “Rufus was ticketed for unintentional assault with a motor vehicle!”

Marsha was dumbfounded.  “Unintentional assault with a what?”

“With a motor vehicle!” Francine laughed.  “I swear to Christ, with a motor vehicle.  Poor Rufus told me about it just this morning.  Seems he was picking up some supplies at the hardware store.  He was driving the mini-van, fortunately, when he came up on a cop directing traffic at Dunlop and Lansing.  You know, that particular traffic light is always going on the blink?”

            “Yeah, I know,” said Marsha, somewhat frustrated, “Get on with the story.”

            “Anyway,” continued Francine, “Rufus pulled right up next to that cop and stopped as directed.  Then the cop very politely told Rufus to move his vehicle forward a bit and to pull over to the curb.  Of course Rufus did exactly as he was told.  The cop came over and wrote out the ticket.  It seems that when Rufus stopped next to the cop he stopped with his front wheel smack dab on the middle of the cop’s foot!” Francine was laughing so hard at this point that the tears were streaming down her chubby cheeks.  “Rufus did mention that he thought the cop limped a bit after he’d signed for the ticket!”  Francine wiped her eyes and again began peeling and swallowing bananas.

            Marsha laughed along with Francine.  Just picturing that great big Rufus sitting in that tiny mini-van stopped right on a red-faced cop’s foot was enough to make anyone laugh.  Then Marsha again watched as Francine swallowed those bananas.  She looked at those bananas and thought of Rufus.  “I wonder,” she thought.  “Rufus is a hell of a lot bigger than the bananas; but I wonder….”  She spoke aloud.  “Francine, hone, I have a sure-fire business proposition for hyou.  But first, if you’re agreeable, I want to run a test.  Tell me what you think about this….”





            “Gee, Alexander, I sure wish you wouldn’t fun with me.”  Rufus complained.  “I didn’t know I stopped on the policeman’s foot.  It weren’t all my fault anyhow.  He wore size 14 shoes!”

            Alexander snickered.  “Maybe not, Rufus, but unintentional assault with a motor vehicle?  M-a-a-n, you really get yourself into some doozies!  Size 14?  Damn!  Almost as big as my….”

            “Alexander!” Rufus cut-in.  “Now don’t you start talking dirty.  My daddy always told me that a dirty mouth deserves a scrubbin’ with good old lye soap!”

            Alexander looked up.  Rufus’ stern face seemed to tower above him.  “O.K., O.K., Rufus,” he cowered and looked away.  “Way,” he said, relieved, “isn’t that Marsha coming over here?  Hey Marsha.  You looking for some….body?”

            “It sure in hell isn’t yours!” Marsha looked at him disgustedly.  “Actually, I’ve been looking for Rufus here.”  She smiled; her braces glittered in the light.  “How you doing, big boy?  Francine needs you.  Says she has to have her traps delinted or something.  Says it’s an emergency.  Couldn’t say for sure, though; the bananas kept causing her words to slur.”  Marsha giggled as she though of the great big banana yet to come.

            “Gee, I cleaned the lint out of those filters just last week,” Rufus said.  “Wonder why they clogged up so fast.  It just shouldn’t be.  That Francine sure is a nice lady, though.  Too bad she just seems to have to eat so much.  A real shame.  I’ll head on over there right now.”  Rufus started walking toward Francine’s laundry.

            “Wait up!” Yelled Marsha.  “I’ll go over with you.  Maybe I can give some moral support.”

            Alexander, feeling left out of the conversation called over as they left.  “The only support you have, Marsha, is flat on your back.  Yeah – flat on your back is where your morals are!” He snickered and started into his office.  But he stopped, turned with a thoughtful look, and followed after Marsha and Rufus.  “What the hell,” he thought, “there aren’t any banisters over at the laundry, but the window is always open.”

            Francine was still sprawled in her overstuffed chair when Rufus and Marsha entered the laundry.  She was working on her third bunch of bananas, chasing them down with large swallows of beer from a quart bottle.  When she saw them come in she began floundering in the chair, the folds of her body seemed to flop over the chair arms like huge balloons filled with jelly.  “Christ! It’s happening again!” She gasped.

            “What’s happening?  What’s happening?” Marsha questioned.  “What’s wrong with you?”

            “The banana! The banana! It’s stuck in my throat!” Cried Francine.  “I have a spastic esophagus.  This time it’s clamped tight around the damn banana! I’m sure glad Rufus is here!”

            Rufus stood just inside the door.  He wasn’t quite sure what was happening.  It did seem that Francine was in distress.  “Why are you glad I’m here?” He asked.  “Your filters givin’ you problems again?”

            “Filters?  Filters?  Do I look like a filter?” Francine yelled.  “A banana’s caught in my throat.  This happened once before.  The only way to get it down is by expanding my esophagus.  There’s no time to go to the emergency room, Rufus.  You’re the only one who can save me!  Marsha has to help, too.”

            Rufus didn’t understand, but was willing to help his friend any way he could.  “What do ya want me to do, Francine?”

            “Take off your clothes.  And be quick about it!”  Francine ordered.  “Marsha?  I need you to help make him hard.  That’ the only thing around that’s big enough, long enough, and flexible enough to widen my esophagus and push the banana down.  Hurry up now! I’m fading fast.” Francine gasped and closed her eyes.

            Without thinking, Rufus quickly took off his clothes, folding each piece neatly and laying it on the table.

            “I don’t believe it.” Alexander thought as he peered through the window.  “Francine supposedly near death and the dumb clod’s folding his clothes?”  He stuck his head further into the window to get a better view.  His shoulder nudged a piece of wood supporting the window sash.  The support fell into the room and the window sash came down on Alexander’s neck, holding him as securely as a Puritan stock.  “Shit! Not again!” Alexander cried as everyone in the room looked his way.

            “Well, you peeping slob, caught again!” Marsha laughed.  “At least this time you’re still awake.”

            Rufus began to go over to help Alexander.  Francine stopped him by screaming, “Lord, I’m going fast.  Get on over here, Rufus, I need your hose!”

            Marsha took the lead.  She grabbed ;poor embarrassed Rufus by his ‘big banana’ and led him over to Francine, glorying at her makeshift handle as it grew and grew and grew.  “Don’t worry about him, Rufus doll.  Let him hang there a while.  We have an errand of mercy to take care of.  And speaking of hanging?  Where do you hide all of that?  You have a special pocket or something in those overalls?”

            Alexander was uncomfortable, but his lecherous personality caused him to forget the discomfort and to watch everything that went on in the laundry that night.  He had a hard time believing half of what he saw.  “No one could be that big!”

            Francine’s contrived banana was unplugged to everyone’s satisfaction, including Rufus.  Marsha ended up taking Rufus to her room the entire next day.  She now knew that Francine’s ability could be turned into a money making commodity.  Francine sent out for fifty pounds of precooked Polish sausage.  “Going off my diet for a week,”: she said.  Alexander finally managed to extract himself from the window and, rubbing a very sore neck, made his way back to his office.

            A soft voice called his name as he entered his door, “Hello Alex, how’s tricks?”

            Only one person ever called him Alex.  It could only be the girl of his fantasies, Frederika Odessa Xavier.





            “Frederika, sweet,” slobbered Alexander.  “Where have you been hiding?  It’s been at least six months since you’ve been around.  I missed you like crazy.”

            “Actually, Alex,” Frederika replied, “it’s only been three months.  I called you two weeks ago to let you know I’d be stopping over a couple of days.  I guess Marsha didn’t give you the message?”

            “Marsha?” Alexander mumbled, “Marsha knew you were coming?  Just wait until I get hold of that stupid….”

            Frederika interrupted, “Hell, Alex, forget Marsha.  The important thing is that I’m here and willing.  Is Number 7 available?  I love Number 7 – the old four poster is ideal.”

            “Of course Room 7 is available,” replied Alexander.  “You know I keep it reserved for you….for us.”

            “Frederika smiled.  “I’ll just go on over there and get ready for you.  Give me fifteen minutes, O.K.?”  She picked up a large, black leather overnight bag and departed.

            Alexander fidgeted in his chair.  He though aloud, “Damn, fifteen minutes!  I wonder if this time she’ll….”

            Because of his inadequate vocabulary, Alexander could only describe her as gorgeous, but Frederika Odessa Xavier was an intensely beautiful woman.  She was average height, but her height was all that was average.  She had long, luxurious auburn hair, big brown, bedroom eyes, and a body as sleek as a gazelle but rounded in all the right places.  That was Frederika—the looks and body of an Aphrodite.  Two problems, though:  all things not really being what they seem, Frederika had vocabulary that could draw flies to her mouth, and she occasionally had the urge to take her frustrations out on men through the use of the fine and sensual art of sexual bondage!

            Frederika used to be employed at the Safari Motel until too many customers complained about her to Alexander.  Feeling as he did about her, Alexander tried to ignore most of the complaints, but the young son of a local politician put in a complaint to the motel owner and Alexander was forced to fire Frederika.  The politician’s son said that he had been insulted.  The truth of the matter was that he had propositioned Frederika and had bragged to her how great he was in bed.  Frederika was in a particularly bad mood that day and didn’t like his directness.  She very politely told him, “Stick it between your legs and up your ass!” As she later defended herself to Alexander, “Why should I take hamburger from him when I can always find tenderloin somewhere else?”

            The bondage problem is how Alexander really became involved.  After all, how else could such a toad interest such a beautiful woman?  Frederika’s favorite bondage partner was Alexander, because only a slob like Alexander would put up with her completely.  He was her pacifier, but unfortunately poor Alexander would never be pacified himself.  Frederika would never allow it.

            “Maybe she’ll let me do it to her this time,” Alexander thought as he strolled toward Room 7.  “Maybe this time.  At least there won’t be any alarm clocks to wake me up.”  Alexander knocked lightly on the door.

            “Enter!” Commanded Frederika.

            Alexander went into the room and stopped.  He almost began slobbering when he saw Frederika.  She was completely nude except for thigh length, black leather boots and an inch-wide black leather choker surmounted with a large, blood red ruby.  Her beautiful body was just as Alexander remembered in his dreams.

            “Strip and lie down on the bed!” Frederika snarled.  “And be quick about it!”

            Alexander looked over at the four poster.  All of the bedding had been removed, except for a single black sheet.  A black leather, red velvet lined strap had been attached to each of the four posts.  “Hell, Not the same way again!”  Alexander thought   “Maybe this time she’ll untie me before she’s through,” he hoped, as he quickly took off his clothing, throwing each piece haphazardly to the floor.  Finally, he crawled into the center of the bed and spread-eagled his arms and legs, allowing Frederika to tie the straps at his wrists and ankles.

            “You’re disgusting, Alex.  You know that?”  Frederika’s words sounded slurred.  “You have to be the filthiest man I’ve ever known! God! I feel like throwing up every time I see you.  And the dinky thing between your legs you seem so proud of? Shit! Even a Vienna sausage has you beat! I’m going to punish you for being such a surly slob.  I think we’ll do Frederika’s version of the Chinese Torture of a Thousand Caresses.”  She reached into her black leather overnight bag and withdrew a long, slender red-leather wand tipped with a feathery-appearing, finely cut length of black taffeta.

            “Torture of a Thousand Caresses? What the hell is that?” Exclaimed Alexander.  “That’s a new one on me..”

            “True, Alex, so true.  We’ve never done this one before.  The Chinese version was used thousands of years ago.  They would tie the male victim to a couch and four beautiful young women would caress his naked body until he ejaculated.  They would continue hour-after-hour until the victim finally ejaculated blood and died of shock.  You might say, Frederika smiled, he would go – coming! But you, Alex.  You are too cruddy to touch with my hands or body.  I wouldn’t let myself become contaminated with your filth!  You will only feel my taffeta feather.  And even then, I’;ll never allow you to ejaculate.  I know you well enough now to tell exactly when you’re ready.  I’ll allow you to get to that point and no further.  Enough talk! Let’s begin!”  Frederika stroked the taffeta feather along Alexander’s loin.  The Vienna sausage rapidly became a foot long!

            “Damn!” Alexander complained, “This is going to be hell! Maybe it is only a dream.  Where the hell is the alarm?”

            Frederika’s laughter could be heard across the courtyard.  In room 17, Oliver Wendell Lightman shuddered and refilled his glass with a double shot of Jack Daniels.






Oliver Wendell Lightman was one of the motel’s permanent guests.  He’d been living in room 17 for the last six of his eight-six years, and, sooner or later, he expected to die in room 17.  As long as the mailman continued to deliver his monthly social security check and a small monthly pension check, he wasn’t really concerned about anything else.  He had earned the pension through fifty years of devoted service at a local distillery.  Along with the pension he received a solid gold-plated pocket watch and a lifetime entitlement to unlimited quantities of sour mash whiskey.

            Oliver’s social security was enough to pay the rent and his pension was plenty to take care of what food he required.  Although food seemed to be what he needed the least.  He had been taking good advantage of the sour mash entitlement and was well preserved on grain alcohol.  He went to a doctor once for a check-up and had some blood tests done.  The doctor saw the results of the tests and wrote Oliver up for all the medical journals.  It seems that Oliver’s blood was ninety-six proof! That and a liver so large that it threatened to push through his navel made him some kind of medical marvel.  The doctor shook his head and prescribed Jack Daniels every day and often.  He figured Oliver would onlhy live a few months; that was twenty-years ago.

            Oliver stuck a fresh bottle under his arm, picked up his brimming glass, and shuffled out to the porch fronting his motel door.  He sat down in a wicker rocking chair.  He shook his head and leered.  “Hot damn! Frederika’s back in town.” He thought. “I bet Alexander’s really hurting around now.  The poor fool just never learns…. He just never learns.  Can’t say I really blame him.  She sure is a hot looking number.  Reminds me of my fifth wife, Mary Lou.  Boy-oh[boy, she sure knew how to clean my pipes!   Woweeeee!”

            The door to room 7 slowly opened.  Alexander, staggered outside onto the porch, a painful expression covered a reddened face.  He held his crotch with both hands.  “Damn bitch! Damn bitch!” Hew growled.  “She did it to me again and I let her get away with it again.  When the hell will I learn? Shit! I’ve got the worse set of blue balls in the history of man. God, they hurt!”  He noticed Oliver sitting in his rocking chair.  He yelled in a friendly manner, “Hey you old son-of-a-bitch, I sure need some of that whiskey!”

            “You’re welcome to it, Alexander,” Oliver replied, “but it ain’t gonna help your problem any.  What you need is a good lay.  That Frederika is something else!” He guffawed.

            “She’s a gorgeous bitch with a warped sense of humor.” Alexander complained. “You’re right, though, I do need a good lay.  Problem is there isn’t any around this time of night.  Nothing, at least, I can get on a moments notice.  Besides, they never want anything to do with me.  Frederika’s the only one and she’ a kook!”

            Oliver filled hjs glass again.  The bottle was more than half finished.  He said carefully, a little smile on his lips.  “Well, I guess that only leaves one little lady for you.”

            Alexander perked up.  “One little lady? Who the hell are you referring to?”

            Oliver laughed, “How about Madam Palm and her five little ones?  They’d be masterful at abating your problem.”

            Alexander sneered, “Thanks a lot, you old bastard.  I’ll see you the first of the month.”  He hurried toward his office.  “I guess the toilet bowl is better than nothing.” He pondered.

            Oliver smiled to himself.  “Reminds me of that little friend of Marsha’s who took a shine to me a year or so back.  What was her name?  Barbara?  Barbara Anne Domuch?  Yeah, that was it, Barbara Anne Domuch.  I was eighty-four; no, eighty-five, and she made me feel like twenty-five.  Thought at the time I didn’t have a spurt left in me, but little Barbara Anne proved otherwise.”  He sipped his whiskey and thought of that special time and that special young woman; a faraway look clouded his eyes.





            Barbara Anne Domuch stood just short of five feet tall in her panty-hosed feet.  Every inch of Barbara Anne was scaled-down in size; but every inch of Barbara Anne was perfection.  She was every man’s grand dream of the ideal woman delivered-up in a small package.  She was the girl next door, the fraternity sweetheart.  She was a naturally pretty young woman who never had to apply makeup and never did.  As a matter-of-fact, everything about her was natural; from her naturally wavy, long blonde hair to her naturally unassuming smile.  But, Barbara Anne was also naturally bad!  She had done much in the twenty-five years of her existence.  Not only had she done much, she had done practically everything.  Drugs, booze, natural and unnatural sex; she had tried it all.  Of all things she had done, though, she was particularly proud of her ability to turn men on.  She didn’t always let them get off, but she loved to turn them on – age didn’t matter in the least.  When she stopped by the Safari Motel to visit her friend Marsha and saw Oliver sitting outside his room that day, she knew that he would be the ultimate challenge.  She had never been with a man as old as he looked and she promised herself that, barring strokes, heart attacks, or incurable impotency, she was going to give him the time of his long life!

            “Who’s the sexy old-timer in room 17?”  She asked Marsha.  “He really turns me on and I plan to do the same for him.”

            “You have to be kidding!” Marsha replied.  “Oliver is old enough to be your grand….no, your great-grandfather! Turn him on? Impossible! He’s eighty-five years old! Besides, rumor has it, he’s so pickled on Jack Daniels that twenty naked exotic dancers accompanying a blow-by-blow description of Linda Lovelace in action wouldn’t get a quiver, let alone a rise out of him.  Be serious, Barbara Anne; you’re good, but you’re not that good.”

            “Oh yeah?” Barbara Anne retorted, “I’ll bet you a nine course dinner at Charlie’s Chinese Pizza House, that not only can I get a rise out of him, but that he’ll be begging for more.  There’s not a man around, young, old, or ancient, that I can’t turn on!”

            “I’ll take that bet,” laughed Marsha.  “I never turn down a sure thing.  If you’ll pardon the pun Domuch; there ain’t much you’ll be able to do with old Oliver.”

            “You’re on!” Barbara Anne replied.  “Just take me on over and introduce me.  Then give me two hours alone with him.  I’m going to make Oliver feel like a young stallion in a field full of mares.  At least it’ll seem like a field full of mares….but it’s only going to be little Barbara Anne.”

            The two women left Marsha’s room and walked toward room 17.  It was early evening.  A bullfrog’s guttural voice could be heard from a nearby pond.  Oliver, as usual, sat in the rocker outside his room.  He saw two figures approaching.  The tall, lanky one had to be Marsha; but who was the little one walking in Marsha’s shadow?  He greeted them with raised glass.  “Howdy Marsha, who’s the pretty little gal with you?  She sure is a sweetheart.”

            “Hi Oliver,” Marsha answered.  “This is Barbara Anne.  She wanted so much to meet you that I brought her right over.  I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”  Marsha turned and walked away, soon disappearing in the shadows of the motel buildings.

            Oliver shrugged and looked at Barbara Anne.  “Care for a drink, little lady?”

            “I don’t have time for a drink right now, Oliver.  Why don’t you and I go on into your room.  What I have in mind for you has to be performed behind closed doors.  How old are you?  Eight-Five?  Pretty soon, Oliver, you’re going to feel eighty-five years young, not old.  Come on inside.  You can trust me.”

            Oliver rocked out of his chair and followed Barbara Anne into his room.  For the first time in many years his craving for sour mash whiskey was momentarily forgotten.  Something about this little woman caused a stirring in his loins.  A stirring that he had thought could no longer be felt.  “Damn, little lady, who the hell are you!” He closed and locked the door behind him.

            “I’m just the little girl next door, Oliver,” Barbara Anne answered as she quickly unbuttoned the back of her dress, dropped it to the floor and stepped out of it.  She wore nothing underneath.  Her body was perfectly proportioned and absolutely beautiful.  She smiled.  “Now it’s your turn, Oliver.”

            Oliver was stunned and simply stood in the middle of the room, offering no resistance as she undressed him.  She ran her hands over his tin-fleshed body until she cupped his withered scrotum in her left palm.  “You don’t feel as dried out as you probably think you are, Oliver.  Let’s find out.”  She spoke as she sank down to her knees.  Her mouth was only inches from his sex.  Barbara Anne looked up at him, a bemused look on her angelic face.  She began slowly.

            Oliver was startled back to the present.  “Christ!” He thought, “she sure was great.  Expect she’ll be back again some day.  Last time I saw her was the next night with Marsha.  They were coming back from town.  Barbara Anne had a doggy bag from Charlie’s Chinese Pizza House….What the hell was that racket?”

            A noise came from a room across the driveway.  It was hard to describe the sound.  It was almost as if it could have been from another world – another dimension.  “Don’t tell me she’s back again.” Oliver pondered, somewhat distraught.  “If it’s Beatrice, I hope her stay is a short one this time.”  Oliver filled his glass with the remnants of the bottle and quickly entered his room, closing the door behind him.  The sickening odor of incense came from room 13.





            None of the regulars at the Safari Motel knew too much about Beatrice.  She was an enigma.  They did know that she was a shrew; she was a shrew that even Shakespeare might have had trouble taming, had he a mind to try.  If Beatrice had any friends at all, none of them were at the Safari.  She had been the cause of several good employees quitting.  Fortunately, she only showed up at the motel a few times a year and would only stay for a week or so.  When she did arrive everyone prayed that her stay would be a brief one.  Why?  Because Beatrice was a bona fide, spell-casting witch and misfortune always accompanied her.

            Beatrice rang her cymbals, burned her incense, and cast spells every night.  And what spells they were!  During her last stay she caused Marsha to lacerate one of her ‘regulars’ with her braces, causing his divorce from his wife of twenty-five years. (He could not explain the reason for twelve stitches to that particular part of his anatomy.)  Then Francine was taken to hospital emergency with a case of food poisoning.  The intern on duty had to pump her stomach with a garden hose.  Poor Rufus suffered blood poisoning when he scratched his hand on one of the laundry room lint filters.  And, Alexander was caught peeping again.  This time by one of the city councilmen.  The councilman was about to bugger his secretary when Alexander sneezed outside the room.  Alexander could have lost his job over that one, except that the councilman was afraid that Alexander would cause big trouble with his wife.

            Marsha, still very upset about her lacerating incident the last time Beatrice was at the motel, knocked on Alexander’s door.

            “Come on in, Marsha, the door’s open!” Alexander yelled.

            Marsha stepped into the room.  “Damn-it Alexander!  How do you always know who’s at the door?”

            “Hell, doll! There are windows in the wall, aren’t there?  What do you want.  Me maybe?  I have a whole lot to offer and I’d just love to get wired – if you know what I mean.”

            Marsha grimaced.  She knew, after all this time, that she’d probably have to give in to Alexander’s demands if she really wanted to know about Beatrice.  Would the knowledge be worth it? “As much as you make me want to throw up, Alexander, I might let you get ahead today if you fill me in on Beatrice.”

            “You want to know about Beatrice?” Alexander smirked.  “That’s right….I’m the only one who has really seen her in action.  All anyone else knows about the witch is her lousy disposition and the bad luck she seems to bring with her every time she stays here.  Sure, I’ll tell you wat I saw that night; if you agree to play my flute later on!”

            Marsha gagged as she agreed to Alexander’s terms.  Just the thought of doing anything with him disgusted her.  But the inside scoop on Beatrice could be worth it.  She’d just have to make certain he scrubbed before and wore a sausage skin during.  “O.K., O.K., you fat slob! You’ll have your way.  Just get on with the story before we get it on later.”

            Alexander drew the blinds on the office windows and double-locked the door.  Nervous beads of perspiration popped out on his forehead and he licked his dry lips before beginning in a shaky voice.  “Remember that one night last time Beatrice was here? The night she was particularly noisy? That’s the night my curiosity got the best of me and I kind of wandered over to room 13. The odor of incense from the room was overwhelming.  I figured she must have really been into whatever she did.  Most of the blinds were pulled all the way down, but one window allowed just enough space to see inside.  Damn! I saw it all! Are you ready for this?”

            Marsha, listening intently, spit out, “You S.O.B.! Get on with it!”

            Alexander laughed.  “Alright, don’t get your ass in an uproar.  You’ve seen Beatrice when she checks-in:  Grey hair, wrinkled skin, beady eyes, about four teeth in her head, and she always seems to wear black?  Well, that’s what she’s like when she checks-in.  Not so in room 13 that night.  She sat cross-legged in the middle of the room.  She was dressed in the flimsiest pink nylon getup I’ve ever seen on any woman.  It looked kind of like a harem costume.  You know – like in the Arabian Nights?  Anyway, that’s all she wore.  She looked ridiculous! I mean, she’s at least seventy years old with the body of a ninety year old.  God! What a hag!”

            Marsha cried, “The story! Get on with the story!”

            “Right!” Alexander retorted, “The story. Yeah, she sat cross-legged in the middle of the room dressed in this costume.  On a coffee table directly in front of her was a small cymbal suspended between what looked like two bronze penises.  A scrotum-shaped bowl was in front of the cymbal.  The bowl was piled high with burning incense.  The whole room was filled with the smoke.  Beatrice was ringing the cymbal and changing.  It was impossible to tell what she was saying.  Something about sex repeated over and over again.  And then I saw it!”  Before Marsha could say anything he continued.  “I happened to glance toward the bed.  You know those rubber ladies you can buy through the mail?  The ones that are supposed to be like the real thing?  Well, Beatrice had one.  Only it wasn’t a lady.  She had a rubber man with all the attachments.  Its attachment was at least three inches around and twelve inches long!  And, it was always ready!  Beatrice finished her chanting and creaked her way to her feet.  She took off the harem outfit and, bare-assed naked, she crawled up on the bed and, facing my window she straddled that rubber monstrosity and began sitting down on it.  That’s when the incense smoke did me a job!”

            Marsha looked up in disbelief.  “Screw the incense! What happened with Beatrice?”

            “That’s what I’m trying to tell you!” Alexander yelled.  “The smoke from the incense came through my window and I coughed.  Beatrice heard me.  She came bounding off that bed like a banshee!  I had to get the hell out of there.  I can still hear her cursing.  She got back at me too.  Remember the councilman?   Well, that’s the story.  Now you know as much as I do about Beatrice.  It’s time for a little music.”  Alexander leered as he began unbuttoning his fly.

            Marsha, upset about the ending, or rather non-ending of the story, thought fast.  “Just a minute, Alexander.  I’m not going to get anywhere near you until you’ve scrubbed last months dirt off your body.  Hit the shower!”

            Alexander, taken aback by the authoritive tone of Marsha’s voice, quickly replied, “Yes sir!” And he ran toward the shower behind the office.  “I’ll be out in just a few minutes, sir!”

            A woman of her word, Marsha called back to him, “Take more than a few minutes and bring out a bottle of mouthwash when you’re done.  I’ll probably be gargling for a week.”

            There was a knock on the office door.  Marsha unlocked the double locks and opened the door.  “Well, Howard!” She exclaimed, “you’re sure a sight for sore eyes! Where have you been the last six months?  You don’t know how glad I am to see you.”

            “Been up in Canada.”  Replied the middle-aged, dark haired man standing in the office doorway.  When he spoke a glass vibrated on the office desk.  A muffled groan came from the shower room.





            Alexander came slouching out of the shower room, a towel wrapped around his waist, his stomach sagging grossly over the edge of the towel.  “What the hell are you doing here, Howard?  I can’t say your timing is much good.  In fact, it’s lousy!”

            “Can’t help that, Alexander.  It all comes with the territory.  Sorry to upset your plans, but I’ve been traveling all day and night and need to check-in.  Got to get some Z’s!”  Howard winked at Marsha.  “Need Marsha here to tuck me in.”

            All the while Howard was talking the glasses on the desk vibrated, the fluorescent tubes in the overhead lights chattered, and both Alexander and Marsha winced as each word cut through the air.  Howard was half deaf and overcompensated for his deafness by talking much too loudly.  His nickname was ‘Howling Howard’ and the volume of his voice explained why.  That, with a habit of talking too much, often became nerve wracking.  The Environmental Protection Agency was testing for noise pollution around the motel area the last time Howard had stayed there.  They condemned the area for a week and closed the Safari down.

            Marsha was Howard’s main reason for coming to the Safari.  He had a sense of adventure and sincerely thought he was flaunting danger whenever he had Marsha ‘tuck him in’.  And tuck him in she did.  What his sex didn’t have in length was made up for by a more than adequate girth.  In fact, Marsha, not having more than normal oral capacity, literally had to take a tuck or two to accommodate Howard.  The ‘flaunting danger’ bit had to do with Marsha’s ever present braces.  “Micro millimeters away from laceration! Lord! The adventure in it!” Howard thought as he and Marsha left the office, arm-in-arm.  They reached the door to number 5, unlocked the door, and walked into the room, closing the door behind them.

            Marsha turned toward Howard and smiled.  His loins tingled as the lamplight reflected from the silver wires around her teeth.  Marsha noticed the large bulge in his trousers.  “Six months, Howard, is a long, long time for you.  Let’s see if Marsha can ease your tension a little.”  She loosened his belted trousers, unbuttoned the waist, and unzipped the fly, allowing the trousers to drop to the floor around Howard’s feet.  Reaching inside his underpants she surround the short, but erect member with both hands.  “My, my,” she crooned, “you’re going to be more of a mouthful than usual.”

            That night the windows throughout the Safari Motel and for a block around the area rattled at Howard’s coming.





            Alexander, still clad only in a bath towel, sat behind his desk when the windows began vibrating.  He could hear Howard’s hyena-like howling coming from within room 5.  “Shit! He’s a loud bastard! One of these days I’m going to figure a way to tone him down some.  One more hour – if he could have waited just one more hour before showing up.  Damn! I finally have the chance to get a little from Marsha and Howard has to show up.”  Alexander checked the time on the wall clock.  It was near quitting time.  He stood up and plodded into the shower room.   A few minutes later he returned; once again dressed in his red T-shirt and gray trousers.  His boss entered the office to take over as daytime manager.  “Morning Alexander. How’s it hanging?” He chortled.

            “It’s been a long shift, boss.  See you tonight.”  Alexander stepped outside into the daylight.  He saw Marsha coming out of number 5 and called over to her.  “You owe me a rain check, I’ll collect tonight.”

            “A rain check’s only good on clear days, you slob.  The weather report calls for rain every night for the next four months.  Sorry about that!” Marsha yelled out as she headed for the bus stop.

            Alexander walked the three blocks back to his hotel.  Entering his room he went directly to the bathroom.  He grimaced at himself in the bathroom mirror, seeing the growth of beard.  “The hell with it! I’ll shave later.”

            He walked into the bedroom.  Pulling off his red T-shirt and gray trousers, he dropped them on the floor.  Kicking off his green canvas sneakers, he heaved his ungainly body into the bed, closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep….

            A beautiful, doe-eyed, auburn-haired young woman sat naked in a nearby field of flowers.  She was weaving daisy crowns….