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Disclaimer: All characters and events in this story are fictitious, and any similarity to a real person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and unintended by the author. "The Pretender" is a protected trademark of MTM Television and NBC and the characters of that series are used herein with no mean intent or desire for remuneration. It is, instead, a tribute to innovative television, that rare and welcome phenomenon.
Rating: NC-17
Author: Witch1
Copyright: 1997
Stranger Jarod
The Centre - Blue Cove, Delaware, 1974
"What are we doing, Sydney?" eleven year old Jarod asked, puzzled by the electrodes placed all over his body and the unusually large audience attending the simulation.
"It's an experiment about sexuality," Sydney explained patiently, resting his Big Gulpy sized cola under the deeply padded fold-down seat and frowning at the seat's unsettling stickiness.
"'Ses-u-ality'?" Jarod asked, stumped for the millionth time by Sydney's damned accent.
"See--like I told you," 'Dr. Billy' Raines snapped impatiently from the rear of the audience, "the kid's another freaking Gump!" In his anger he spilled his extra large popcorn with maximum artificial butter all over the already sticky floor and began choking on a half- chewed Ju-Ju Bean.
Raines was annoyed anyway--by being at Sydney's stupid simulation he was missing one hell of a party down on Sub Level 27. Angelo probably had his 8-track blasting Donna Summer at that very moment, and if there was anything Dr. Billy enjoyed more than exploiting and twisting children, it was disco.
Sydney gestured to the young girl who stood just beyond the glare of the lights. She hesitated for a moment, then moved forward uncertainly to stand before the glass wall separating her from the suddenly-intent Jarod.
Jarod followed her with his eyes and an audible gasp rippled through the audience as his vital signs all leapt in obvious arousal. There was a smattering of applause and an approving whistle from the back row, followed immediately by loud shushing noises.
"You--you're a girl!" he exclaimed.
"No, moron-boy: I'm a freaking refrigerator!" the young Miss Parker answered sarcastically. The audience leaned forward as the needle of the Erecto-Meter attached to Jarod took a sudden dive earthward. Clearly, the show was over. They sighed collectively and began pulling on jackets, muttering and shoving toward the exits. A few lingered to catch the credits.
"What did I tell you," Raines snorted, trying to pick a Raisinette out of his molar, "she's a ballbuster just like her mother!"
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Toluca National Forest, Oregon - the Present
The TV reception in the tiny luncheonette was pretty awful, but good enough so that Jarod could watch the on-screen antics as he ate. He glanced sideways at the two men who sat beside him, noticing their slightly oafish laughter and failing to understand what, exactly, about the program they found so funny.
"They seem to be extraordinarily stupid and violent," he told the waitress as she passed. "People find this type of violence . . . funny?" he asked.
"Not people," she answered with a wry shake of her head: "Men! It's one of the great mysteries between the sexes."
At that moment the character Jarod had noticed was called Butthead set fire to an unsuspecting cat. The two men beside him guffawed loudly and his own small smile spread slowly into laughter as he suddenly caught on. "Moronic male adolescence IS pretty funny," he explained as the waitress winced. "Not that I would know since I was kept locked up all my life underground in this place in Blue Cove, Delaware called the Centre where I was used--"
"You gonna pay your friggin' check, or what?" the waitress asked impatiently, interrupting the beginning of what was potentially the most boring life story she had ever heard.
Just then, a young women with dark hair passed behind Jarod on her way to the door. As he leaned back to get his wallet out of his pocket he bumped into her.
"You said 'hard-on'," Butthead said. "He he he he he."
"I'm so sorry!" Jarod exclaimed, looking into her dark eyes, "I feel like such a --"
"Butthead?" she finished, smacking him hard upside the head with her delicate but amazingly strong fist. She exited, leaving Jarod standing there dumbstruck. The shot to his head brought back bittersweet memories of long, thin thighs, a cruel laugh . . . he shook his head stupidly to clear it, suddenly confused, if not actually dazed. The brunette had one hell of a right, he thought, vaguely.
The waitress had switched channels, and Jarod noted that a news broadcast about a missing student, lost for several days in the mountains, had replaced Beavis and Butthead. A search was being organized to find him, and volunteers were needed. He shook his head again, still trying to clear it, his ears ringing, having a sudden flashback to the first time Miss Parker had hit him that way. "Moron-boy", she had called him affectionately, he remembered, tugging at his clothes in the amazingly large walk-through air duct--the one on Sub Level 13 with Angelo's king-sized bed, wet-bar and heart-shaped Jacuzzi--and reaching impatiently for his blossoming erection. "So it's true," she'd snarled: "big IQ, small dick. Just my fucking luck!"
It had been his first time. She'd humiliated him completely, reducing him to a whimpering mass of pathetic--but he shut out those memories. Too painful, now, to recall. Such wonderful times! So exciting! So terrifying!
He sighed, knowing it could never happen again, that Fate had other Futures in store for both himself and Miss Parker, and he was just a Pawn to Destiny.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Ranger Station at the base of the mountain
"So," Ranger Conrad was explaining, "there's only one section left: steep approach, bad underbrush, lots of slippery shale, nasty undertow; lots of sharp little pieces of glass stuck in the rocks, piranhas, really, really big mosquitoes, dog shit all over the place-- who wants to hump that?"
Jarod, standing toward the back of the crowd of volunteer searchers, raised his hand. "I'm your man," he said, "unless of course you mean 'hump' in the sexual way, in which case--"
"What are you, a moron-boy?" Conrad asked impatiently.
"Pay no attention to him," the dark-haired women Jarod had bumped into in the luncheonette said slyly. "He's actually a Butthead."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Is she a Ranger?" Jarod asked the younger Ranger named Cobey as the dark haired woman walked past.
"Nia? Nah, my man: she's a volunteer. She runs a little outfitting place and topless club a few miles down the road," he answered, "you down with that?" Jarod simply looked puzzled. "What, you not all in the house, or what?"
"Actually, she told me I could spend the night in her cabin, " Jarod explained.
The young Ranger looked at him with new respect. "You must have something going on, Big Guy, because Senorita Iceberg mostly keeps to herself. They say she's got herself a twelve inch vibrator, bro, and her electric bills are the highest on the mountain."
"I respect creative masturbation, " Jarod replied seriously.
"You are IN, bro," Cobey told him with respect.
"Well, I would certainly hope so, " Jarod answered, "it IS sweeps week." But Jarod was puzzled by Cobey: why would they cast a black dude with street attitude as a ranger in Oregon? He knew there would be a cute explanation. "Where are you from, Cobey?"
"I was sent out here on one of those lame, let's-make-whitey-feel- good outreach programs. Fucking bastards left me behind, homey. But I'm down with that: the Bronz is my home, but I fucking love the fucking mountains! Hand over your wallet or you're dead, motherfucker!"
"If only, " Jarod explained, suddenly teary-eyed. "I never even met my mother. I was taken--as a child--by these people . . . and raised by them in a place called the Centre in Blue Cove, Delaware --"
"Keep your fucking wallet, man," Cobey quickly interjected in disgust, bolting for the door to avoid Jarod's story.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Looks like I'm paired with you, Butthead," Nia told him as he squinted nearsightedly at the large topographical map on the wall. "What are you doing?"
"I'm trying to imagine what sort of person Victor is. And who would want to spend long months in isolation . . . on purpose."
"An asshole?" Nia offered.
"Possibly," Jarod responded. "I myself was raised alone in a place called the Centre in Blue Cove, Delaware, where I was used against my will--"
"Save it," she interrupted with her cute accent and a small smile, "for someone who fucking cares."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jarod shifted nervously on the moth-ridden, cat-pee soaked sofa as Nia came slowly down the stairs after her shower. He wasn't sure quite what it was about her that suddenly brought to mind Miss Parker: the strappy black leather bustier with nipple cut outs, the thigh high boots or the small but deadly-looking whip. He had to glance away.
"I left you some hot water, " she told him, flicking just the tip of the whip expertly at the side of his face.
He could only nod stupidly in reply.
"Moron," he heard her whisper as she went back upstairs in disgust.
He was on the phone instantly, dialing Sydney at the Centre, not worried how high Nia's bill would be that month.
"Sydney, " he began, "I need to talk to you--about women."
"And why is that, Jarod?" Sydney replied questioningly, raising his eyebrows so steeply and characteristically that Jarod could sense it over the phone.
"Because I just met one--and she has a black leather outfit just like Miss Parker's!"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Nia tossed in her sleep, deep in the grip of her nightmare. "No quiero taco!" she cried out, "no quiero quesadillo te guacamole tacos!" She seemed to be trying to push something--or someone away.
Jarod woke her gently and held her as she sobbed.
"There, there, there," he murmured.
"Where? Where? Where?" the half-awake Nia stammered, even more confused.
"You're safe here," Jarod told her gently, patting her back and kissing her hair in the instinctive gestures of human comfort.
"Take off your pants," she replied without hesitation.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I've got it!" Jarod exclaimed the next morning just as he and Nia were about to set out on their search. "First we'll hike nine hours up the mountain to find Victor Simkins' real base camp, then hike nine hours down to be distracted momentarily by some blather from Conrad, who's clearly the bad guy, then hike up again for nine hours-- "
"Fuck that!" Nia responded.
"Last night--" Jarod began in a softer tone--"in your sleep . . . you called out, 'No quiero quesidillo te guacamole tacos': I don't want to disappear."
"The hell I did!" she answered immediately. "I was saying, 'Se quiero habla quesidillo te babe acos': I don't want to watch Baywatch!"
"You can be honest with me, " Jarod replied gently. "My Spanish is very good: Burrito habla muy tortilla bien Espanol. And I too have nightmares in my past, scars--"
"Most of them, no doubt, the result," Nia interrupted, "of either your irritating smugness or your remarkably poor grasp of Spanish."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Centre - Blue Cove, Delaware
Miss Parker sat at her desk, lost in though, as Broots scurried in and held out a micro-cassette to her.
"Here's the tape you wanted a copy of, " he said. She looked at him blankly. "Of Jarod's conversation," he reminded her. "You know--where he tells Sydney about that thing you used to do him with Popsicles and the way he still gets hard whenever he sees ketchup---"
"Are you still here?" she asked him impatiently.
"Ah--no," he answered, and retreated quickly.
She held the tiny cassette against her lips, lost in her memories. Jarod! Gone--her own personal sex toy and he'd run away like the slime he really was.
Was he thinking of her, she wondered, the way she still remembered him even while screwing the hot new twenty year old Pretender with limitless stamina and a ten inch dick that Sydney had found to replace him?
Raoul! She pressed the cassette to her lips again, lost in her fantasies: if only Jarod had run away years ago . . .
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Near the top of the mountain
"Well, if this doesn't totally suck I don't know what does, " Nia was saying. "we're up on this fucking mountain and it's getting dark and-- "
"But I know what happened to Victor Simkins, " Jarod reminded her.
"Fuck Victor fucking Simkins!" she answered bitterly, tossing a multi- colored fake log on the blazing fire in the abandoned cabin. "I was hoping to at least get laid and instead I end up tramping all over this friggin' mountain with you while you give me the biggest line of bullshit I've ever heard! Yeah, right: you were a test pilot, a surgeon, a lieutenant commander on a destroyer; jerked off on Mt. Everest--"
"No, no, " Jarod corrected, "not 'jerked off', SHERPA: I was a sherpa on Mt. Everest."
"Right," Nia snapped sarcastically, "'Sherpa': short, stocky native people who carry packs for rich, pampered gringos--yeah, at six three, one-sixty-five, I'm sure you blended right in."
Jarod felt tears forming suddenly in his eyes. "When I was a child--" he started yet again.
But Nia leaned forward and pressed her fingertips lightly against his lips. "You don't have to tell me," she insisted. "You really, really don't have to tell me."
"I know," he replied earnestly. "I've never told anyone--though God only knows I've tried--but I want to tell you." He paused, overwhelmed by his memories, and then added sadly: "I don't know who I am."
"You're a Butthead, " Nia answered impatiently, "and you're here with me. Which is frustrating the hell out of me, incidentally."
She leaned forward to kiss him softly, her hands suddenly running over his body, her tongue halfway down his throat. She stroked his thigh upward, then clamped her hand expectantly around his erection through his pants.
She drew back just a bit, wide-eyed.
"Is everything alright?" Jarod asked in seeming concern, but smiling slyly.
"Great," she replied cynically. "Peachy keen. Do the words: 'Hung like a hamster' sound familiar?" Then she shrugged. "Oh, hell, my whole life has been one long bout of diminished expectations . . . what the fuck!"
Her kisses became more insistent, her grip painfully intense. Jarod tried to keep up, but suddenly pulled back from her. He looked away from her eyes, embarrassed.
"I know this is gonna sound crazy, " he began, "but I've never . . . "
She pulled back and looked at him curiously. "You're not fucking telling me you're a fucking virgin?" she demanded.
"No," he answered in all honesty. "What I was going to say is: I've never screwed an Argentinean chick in an abandoned shack in the middle of nowhere--"
"So I will be a 'first' for you?" Nia asked with a smile.
"---on a Tuesday," Jarod finished.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Mineshaft - Box Canyon
Just as Jarod had predicted, they found the mineshaft in Box Canyon had been sealed by Conrad's dynamite blast as he left Victor Simkins to his fate. Jarod had no problem tossing the paper mache fake rocks away from the entrance and now sat contentedly in the semi-blocked entrance way, regaling the captive audience he finally had with his life story.
"Did I mention the thing with the rabbits?" he asked.
"Dear God not the freaking rabbits again!" the dazed Victor pleaded, banging his head against the rocky floor of the mine. "Look, pal--my mom's loaded, I'll give you anything you want! Just let me out of here, OK? This is the most boring story I've ever heard . . . "
"Well, perhaps I missed a few things. . . " Jarod explained patiently, willing to start the story from the beginning yet again.
"Jesus--just shoot me!" Victor begged, "this is freaking killin' me!"
"Just what I told Sydney, " Jarod continued relentlessly, picking up the thread of his story again, "when I was pretending to be William Shatner and he kept making me do that scene with the damned Tribbles over and over and over again . . . "
The End
Rating: NC-17
Author: Witch1
Copyright: 1997
Stranger Jarod
The Centre - Blue Cove, Delaware, 1974
"What are we doing, Sydney?" eleven year old Jarod asked, puzzled by the electrodes placed all over his body and the unusually large audience attending the simulation.
"It's an experiment about sexuality," Sydney explained patiently, resting his Big Gulpy sized cola under the deeply padded fold-down seat and frowning at the seat's unsettling stickiness.
"'Ses-u-ality'?" Jarod asked, stumped for the millionth time by Sydney's damned accent.
"See--like I told you," 'Dr. Billy' Raines snapped impatiently from the rear of the audience, "the kid's another freaking Gump!" In his anger he spilled his extra large popcorn with maximum artificial butter all over the already sticky floor and began choking on a half- chewed Ju-Ju Bean.
Raines was annoyed anyway--by being at Sydney's stupid simulation he was missing one hell of a party down on Sub Level 27. Angelo probably had his 8-track blasting Donna Summer at that very moment, and if there was anything Dr. Billy enjoyed more than exploiting and twisting children, it was disco.
Sydney gestured to the young girl who stood just beyond the glare of the lights. She hesitated for a moment, then moved forward uncertainly to stand before the glass wall separating her from the suddenly-intent Jarod.
Jarod followed her with his eyes and an audible gasp rippled through the audience as his vital signs all leapt in obvious arousal. There was a smattering of applause and an approving whistle from the back row, followed immediately by loud shushing noises.
"You--you're a girl!" he exclaimed.
"No, moron-boy: I'm a freaking refrigerator!" the young Miss Parker answered sarcastically. The audience leaned forward as the needle of the Erecto-Meter attached to Jarod took a sudden dive earthward. Clearly, the show was over. They sighed collectively and began pulling on jackets, muttering and shoving toward the exits. A few lingered to catch the credits.
"What did I tell you," Raines snorted, trying to pick a Raisinette out of his molar, "she's a ballbuster just like her mother!"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Toluca National Forest, Oregon - the Present
The TV reception in the tiny luncheonette was pretty awful, but good enough so that Jarod could watch the on-screen antics as he ate. He glanced sideways at the two men who sat beside him, noticing their slightly oafish laughter and failing to understand what, exactly, about the program they found so funny.
"They seem to be extraordinarily stupid and violent," he told the waitress as she passed. "People find this type of violence . . . funny?" he asked.
"Not people," she answered with a wry shake of her head: "Men! It's one of the great mysteries between the sexes."
At that moment the character Jarod had noticed was called Butthead set fire to an unsuspecting cat. The two men beside him guffawed loudly and his own small smile spread slowly into laughter as he suddenly caught on. "Moronic male adolescence IS pretty funny," he explained as the waitress winced. "Not that I would know since I was kept locked up all my life underground in this place in Blue Cove, Delaware called the Centre where I was used--"
"You gonna pay your friggin' check, or what?" the waitress asked impatiently, interrupting the beginning of what was potentially the most boring life story she had ever heard.
Just then, a young women with dark hair passed behind Jarod on her way to the door. As he leaned back to get his wallet out of his pocket he bumped into her.
"You said 'hard-on'," Butthead said. "He he he he he."
"I'm so sorry!" Jarod exclaimed, looking into her dark eyes, "I feel like such a --"
"Butthead?" she finished, smacking him hard upside the head with her delicate but amazingly strong fist. She exited, leaving Jarod standing there dumbstruck. The shot to his head brought back bittersweet memories of long, thin thighs, a cruel laugh . . . he shook his head stupidly to clear it, suddenly confused, if not actually dazed. The brunette had one hell of a right, he thought, vaguely.
The waitress had switched channels, and Jarod noted that a news broadcast about a missing student, lost for several days in the mountains, had replaced Beavis and Butthead. A search was being organized to find him, and volunteers were needed. He shook his head again, still trying to clear it, his ears ringing, having a sudden flashback to the first time Miss Parker had hit him that way. "Moron-boy", she had called him affectionately, he remembered, tugging at his clothes in the amazingly large walk-through air duct--the one on Sub Level 13 with Angelo's king-sized bed, wet-bar and heart-shaped Jacuzzi--and reaching impatiently for his blossoming erection. "So it's true," she'd snarled: "big IQ, small dick. Just my fucking luck!"
It had been his first time. She'd humiliated him completely, reducing him to a whimpering mass of pathetic--but he shut out those memories. Too painful, now, to recall. Such wonderful times! So exciting! So terrifying!
He sighed, knowing it could never happen again, that Fate had other Futures in store for both himself and Miss Parker, and he was just a Pawn to Destiny.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Ranger Station at the base of the mountain
"So," Ranger Conrad was explaining, "there's only one section left: steep approach, bad underbrush, lots of slippery shale, nasty undertow; lots of sharp little pieces of glass stuck in the rocks, piranhas, really, really big mosquitoes, dog shit all over the place-- who wants to hump that?"
Jarod, standing toward the back of the crowd of volunteer searchers, raised his hand. "I'm your man," he said, "unless of course you mean 'hump' in the sexual way, in which case--"
"What are you, a moron-boy?" Conrad asked impatiently.
"Pay no attention to him," the dark-haired women Jarod had bumped into in the luncheonette said slyly. "He's actually a Butthead."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Is she a Ranger?" Jarod asked the younger Ranger named Cobey as the dark haired woman walked past.
"Nia? Nah, my man: she's a volunteer. She runs a little outfitting place and topless club a few miles down the road," he answered, "you down with that?" Jarod simply looked puzzled. "What, you not all in the house, or what?"
"Actually, she told me I could spend the night in her cabin, " Jarod explained.
The young Ranger looked at him with new respect. "You must have something going on, Big Guy, because Senorita Iceberg mostly keeps to herself. They say she's got herself a twelve inch vibrator, bro, and her electric bills are the highest on the mountain."
"I respect creative masturbation, " Jarod replied seriously.
"You are IN, bro," Cobey told him with respect.
"Well, I would certainly hope so, " Jarod answered, "it IS sweeps week." But Jarod was puzzled by Cobey: why would they cast a black dude with street attitude as a ranger in Oregon? He knew there would be a cute explanation. "Where are you from, Cobey?"
"I was sent out here on one of those lame, let's-make-whitey-feel- good outreach programs. Fucking bastards left me behind, homey. But I'm down with that: the Bronz is my home, but I fucking love the fucking mountains! Hand over your wallet or you're dead, motherfucker!"
"If only, " Jarod explained, suddenly teary-eyed. "I never even met my mother. I was taken--as a child--by these people . . . and raised by them in a place called the Centre in Blue Cove, Delaware --"
"Keep your fucking wallet, man," Cobey quickly interjected in disgust, bolting for the door to avoid Jarod's story.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Looks like I'm paired with you, Butthead," Nia told him as he squinted nearsightedly at the large topographical map on the wall. "What are you doing?"
"I'm trying to imagine what sort of person Victor is. And who would want to spend long months in isolation . . . on purpose."
"An asshole?" Nia offered.
"Possibly," Jarod responded. "I myself was raised alone in a place called the Centre in Blue Cove, Delaware, where I was used against my will--"
"Save it," she interrupted with her cute accent and a small smile, "for someone who fucking cares."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jarod shifted nervously on the moth-ridden, cat-pee soaked sofa as Nia came slowly down the stairs after her shower. He wasn't sure quite what it was about her that suddenly brought to mind Miss Parker: the strappy black leather bustier with nipple cut outs, the thigh high boots or the small but deadly-looking whip. He had to glance away.
"I left you some hot water, " she told him, flicking just the tip of the whip expertly at the side of his face.
He could only nod stupidly in reply.
"Moron," he heard her whisper as she went back upstairs in disgust.
He was on the phone instantly, dialing Sydney at the Centre, not worried how high Nia's bill would be that month.
"Sydney, " he began, "I need to talk to you--about women."
"And why is that, Jarod?" Sydney replied questioningly, raising his eyebrows so steeply and characteristically that Jarod could sense it over the phone.
"Because I just met one--and she has a black leather outfit just like Miss Parker's!"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Nia tossed in her sleep, deep in the grip of her nightmare. "No quiero taco!" she cried out, "no quiero quesadillo te guacamole tacos!" She seemed to be trying to push something--or someone away.
Jarod woke her gently and held her as she sobbed.
"There, there, there," he murmured.
"Where? Where? Where?" the half-awake Nia stammered, even more confused.
"You're safe here," Jarod told her gently, patting her back and kissing her hair in the instinctive gestures of human comfort.
"Take off your pants," she replied without hesitation.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I've got it!" Jarod exclaimed the next morning just as he and Nia were about to set out on their search. "First we'll hike nine hours up the mountain to find Victor Simkins' real base camp, then hike nine hours down to be distracted momentarily by some blather from Conrad, who's clearly the bad guy, then hike up again for nine hours-- "
"Fuck that!" Nia responded.
"Last night--" Jarod began in a softer tone--"in your sleep . . . you called out, 'No quiero quesidillo te guacamole tacos': I don't want to disappear."
"The hell I did!" she answered immediately. "I was saying, 'Se quiero habla quesidillo te babe acos': I don't want to watch Baywatch!"
"You can be honest with me, " Jarod replied gently. "My Spanish is very good: Burrito habla muy tortilla bien Espanol. And I too have nightmares in my past, scars--"
"Most of them, no doubt, the result," Nia interrupted, "of either your irritating smugness or your remarkably poor grasp of Spanish."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Centre - Blue Cove, Delaware
Miss Parker sat at her desk, lost in though, as Broots scurried in and held out a micro-cassette to her.
"Here's the tape you wanted a copy of, " he said. She looked at him blankly. "Of Jarod's conversation," he reminded her. "You know--where he tells Sydney about that thing you used to do him with Popsicles and the way he still gets hard whenever he sees ketchup---"
"Are you still here?" she asked him impatiently.
"Ah--no," he answered, and retreated quickly.
She held the tiny cassette against her lips, lost in her memories. Jarod! Gone--her own personal sex toy and he'd run away like the slime he really was.
Was he thinking of her, she wondered, the way she still remembered him even while screwing the hot new twenty year old Pretender with limitless stamina and a ten inch dick that Sydney had found to replace him?
Raoul! She pressed the cassette to her lips again, lost in her fantasies: if only Jarod had run away years ago . . .
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Near the top of the mountain
"Well, if this doesn't totally suck I don't know what does, " Nia was saying. "we're up on this fucking mountain and it's getting dark and-- "
"But I know what happened to Victor Simkins, " Jarod reminded her.
"Fuck Victor fucking Simkins!" she answered bitterly, tossing a multi- colored fake log on the blazing fire in the abandoned cabin. "I was hoping to at least get laid and instead I end up tramping all over this friggin' mountain with you while you give me the biggest line of bullshit I've ever heard! Yeah, right: you were a test pilot, a surgeon, a lieutenant commander on a destroyer; jerked off on Mt. Everest--"
"No, no, " Jarod corrected, "not 'jerked off', SHERPA: I was a sherpa on Mt. Everest."
"Right," Nia snapped sarcastically, "'Sherpa': short, stocky native people who carry packs for rich, pampered gringos--yeah, at six three, one-sixty-five, I'm sure you blended right in."
Jarod felt tears forming suddenly in his eyes. "When I was a child--" he started yet again.
But Nia leaned forward and pressed her fingertips lightly against his lips. "You don't have to tell me," she insisted. "You really, really don't have to tell me."
"I know," he replied earnestly. "I've never told anyone--though God only knows I've tried--but I want to tell you." He paused, overwhelmed by his memories, and then added sadly: "I don't know who I am."
"You're a Butthead, " Nia answered impatiently, "and you're here with me. Which is frustrating the hell out of me, incidentally."
She leaned forward to kiss him softly, her hands suddenly running over his body, her tongue halfway down his throat. She stroked his thigh upward, then clamped her hand expectantly around his erection through his pants.
She drew back just a bit, wide-eyed.
"Is everything alright?" Jarod asked in seeming concern, but smiling slyly.
"Great," she replied cynically. "Peachy keen. Do the words: 'Hung like a hamster' sound familiar?" Then she shrugged. "Oh, hell, my whole life has been one long bout of diminished expectations . . . what the fuck!"
Her kisses became more insistent, her grip painfully intense. Jarod tried to keep up, but suddenly pulled back from her. He looked away from her eyes, embarrassed.
"I know this is gonna sound crazy, " he began, "but I've never . . . "
She pulled back and looked at him curiously. "You're not fucking telling me you're a fucking virgin?" she demanded.
"No," he answered in all honesty. "What I was going to say is: I've never screwed an Argentinean chick in an abandoned shack in the middle of nowhere--"
"So I will be a 'first' for you?" Nia asked with a smile.
"---on a Tuesday," Jarod finished.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Mineshaft - Box Canyon
Just as Jarod had predicted, they found the mineshaft in Box Canyon had been sealed by Conrad's dynamite blast as he left Victor Simkins to his fate. Jarod had no problem tossing the paper mache fake rocks away from the entrance and now sat contentedly in the semi-blocked entrance way, regaling the captive audience he finally had with his life story.
"Did I mention the thing with the rabbits?" he asked.
"Dear God not the freaking rabbits again!" the dazed Victor pleaded, banging his head against the rocky floor of the mine. "Look, pal--my mom's loaded, I'll give you anything you want! Just let me out of here, OK? This is the most boring story I've ever heard . . . "
"Well, perhaps I missed a few things. . . " Jarod explained patiently, willing to start the story from the beginning yet again.
"Jesus--just shoot me!" Victor begged, "this is freaking killin' me!"
"Just what I told Sydney, " Jarod continued relentlessly, picking up the thread of his story again, "when I was pretending to be William Shatner and he kept making me do that scene with the damned Tribbles over and over and over again . . . "
The End
