An Oldie

I'm busy this morning, so here's an oldie.



The Bridges of Archuleta County

By Doc Walton



Meggin stood quietly at the river’s edge adding her tears to the water’s gentle flow. Dirk was gone from her now, gone for good and with him her only hope of happiness. She was not the kind of woman who could easily love and lose, then love again. Her heart had been given for always and belonged now to a man she could no longer see or touch or lend underwear to - A man who not so long ago had held her in his arms and swore his eternal love for both her and pickup trucks with four wheel drive - A man who bought her flowers and beer, then drank too much and woofed in the vase - A man who took her breath away with long kisses while pinching her nose - A man to be missed for a lifetime. Gone now, forever, with her little sister who could do that double jointed thing with her lower torso the fellas liked so much. Gone and betrayed. It was so much to bear.
And then, as her tears dripped onto her reflection, enhancing the image, a form appeared beside her in the water that was so like her lost love she feared to turn and find that it might be only her foolish, wishful imagination. She stood there motionless, fighting the river’s current with her eyes, desperately trying to discern the features that were so seared on her memory, but the image in the water wavered too much for a positive ID. She would have to risk a quick glance. Summoning the courage that only great love can inspire, she wheeled suddenly about and looked straight into the eyes of a man who looked a lot like her Dirk. Only this guy was taller and had different color eyes and hair and was maybe thirty pounds heavier and had features that were sharp and angular instead of rounded and puffy. Still, she found uncanny similarities. They both had arms, legs, that sort of thing.
“Oh, hello, sorry,” she blurted, realizing her mistake. “I thought you were someone else.”
“That’s okay, I once thought I was someone else too, but it turned out I wasn’t,” the stranger replied, grinning.
Meggin felt something deep inside her warm to his humor. She had grieved far too long she knew, but still felt the need to hold back a little of herself in memory of the man who had left earlier that day.
“And since I’m pretty sure it’s me again and you’re probably you, why don’t you tell me what you see in the water down there.”
Meggin wondered if he talked like this all the time or was just kidding. She felt so unnerved, so unsteady with him standing so close. She sensed that word games and banter would not be enough for this man. Only the plain truth would satisfy him.
“I…well…I was watching the water and seeing all my hopes for love and happiness wash away and I was feeling lonely and depressed and in need of someone to comfort me when suddenly you were there and I don’t know how to thank you.”
Megin could not stop. Looking into the clear multicolored hues of this man’s eyes caused a truth serum of passion to flow within her.
“I needed someone to come along and save me and you did. Now what can I do for you? I’ll do anything you want me to Bob.” Somehow she knew his name was Bob.
“Its Al, actually, and I was just hoping you’d tell me if there were fish running down there.”
Meggin grew more entranced by this straightforward, plain talking man and her instincts, urged on by sexual tension, suggested that subtlety was out. She would have to be more direct.
“No they are not Bob, they are not running today. And since they’re not, and that leaves you with some time on your hands, why don’t we walk over to that stand of tall willows where we can be completely secluded and no one can see us, no one at all Bob, and you can tell me about yourself and I can slip out of these dreadfully warm clothes.”
She watched as the light bulb came on in his eyes, not click I get it, but gradually dawning, like turning up the dimmer switch.
“Its Al, but you can call me Bob. Let’s do what you said.”
He was talking funny again but for Meggin it was too late to turn back. She was aflame with desire and a mild sunburn. She had to have this man and she had to have him soon. Her knees went suddenly weak.
“Uh Bob, could you uh, carry me? I sprained my ankle when I was a kid and I think its acting up.
“Well sure Hon, no problem,” Bob answered, leaning forward and lifting her
Meggin’s passion went completely out of control and she moaned softly with pain and pleasure as Bob’s shoulder dug into her gut with each of his long strides. She could feel his forearm across the back of her legs and she wondered idly if he were a fireman as her head and torso hung down his back and her nipples grew hard rubbing against his rough shirt. She had to bite firmly on her own hand to keep from shouting his name aloud, whatever it was.
Finally they were deep in the shady wood and Meggin was propped against the broad trunk of an ancient willow. Her arms rested on Bob’s shoulders and her hands were linked behind his head holding it steady and preventing flight. Overcome by Bob’s significant charms, he was male and breathed in and out cleverly, Meggin found herself covering his mouth with her own and wondering if many men had oatmeal and garlic for breakfast. As her tongue forced its way through his lips and teeth, she could feel Bob’s hands begin to roam about either in search of something soft or just a decent grip. Meggin led him to her left breast, the good one, while Bob searched high and low for the other. Rising passion made three out of four of their knees weak and together they slumped to the ground, Bob fighting the one stubborn knee and Meggin humming show tunes.
Lying on a soft carpet of willow stems, leaves, twigs and branches, feeling all of Bob’s two hundred something pounds atop her and that one sharp rock under her, Meggin was nearly faint with pleasure. Now that Bob had got the hang of that kissing thing his lips were plastered to hers and getting some air was one of her short term goals. She could feel his manhood or perhaps some fishing gear, it was hard to tell, digging into her thigh and she whispered huskily that he should empty his pockets. Bob looked at her with a curious expression and said his pockets were bare. “Oh good.” said Meggin adjusting her position.
Eventually their ardor became too much to resist and they shed their clothes in that button and bodice ripping manner so common to new lovers. Meggin, a little unsure of her femininity, made nervous small talk as Bob examined her biker tattoos.
“So Bob, You like hockey?” was the question on her lips when he entered her at last. “Puck me Bob, puck me” was planned for later but Bob kept hollering. “Its Al damn it, Al! and was sent to the penalty box for a two minute game misconduct - something about high sticking.
Later, as the two lovers dressed and exchanged underwear, they were unaware of the dark eyes that had watched all through the lens of a camera. This, thought the camera man, is better than shooting bridges.

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