Garden of Idin

GARDEN of IDIN: Three's a Charm

If he had remembered having anything to drink the previous night he would have sworn that he was hung over, if not altogether shit-faced; he must have drank two- dozen grasshoppers and fuzzy navels at the very least-and what had his friend told him about mixing fruit drinks with cream drinks, and by all means don't mix the dope with the psychedelics, then you're truly sure to get fucked up, Donald was that; he could barely remember his own name, and he couldn't remember where he was, when he had gone to bed, or for that matter, who he had gone to bed with.

Don could have only hoped that he was waking up next to Melissa and that she had enjoyed the sex at least half as much as he did; anything more than that and he would have woken up dead; because the sex had been something that he at least 'could' remember; it was the perfect combination of role-playing slave-and-mistress that Donald could recall ever having participated in; who would have thought that one so attractive could have such an imagination; the girl--whoever she had been--had taken advantage of his over intoxicated state, and when he had 'lulled off', she had tied him down to the bed, only to awaken him joyfully with the best hummer of his entire life, this girl had been fantastic!

Don started to think that if it wasn't Melissa that had fucked him six ways till Tuesday then he would still be remiss in his duties as the attempted chauvinist if he didn't at least try to get her phone number.

('Uh dude,') the sometimes obnoxious, sometimes still voice in Donald's head was trying to wake him up...and doing so by whispering... ('Before you go tryin' to get phone numbers, you really ought to take a look at this.')

'Look at what, the beautiful naked body of --'

('Uh, dude. No, this is way serious. Look')

'Look? Look at what? Are you tryin' to screw up my wet-dream?'

('No, that would be 'your' job; I'm trying to tell you that it looks like we just stepped over the threshold of the Twilight Zone and closed the door behind us.')

Don Talbot began to survey his surroundings at the insistence of his own subconsciously perpetuated thoughts. He looked over--or that is--he 'tried' to look over and see who was sleeping next to him. His hands and feet still appeared to be tied. His attempt was awkward at best. If he didn't know better, he would have thought that his bindings were melded into the satin sheets. And then he saw the window and recalled that no one in his group had brought satin sheets along with them on their group's little outing. The shooting stars flying by the big bay window of the bedroom weren't helping him to clear his head either. And then Donald remembered that the two-story cabin didn't have any bay windows.

'What...?'

('Like I been tryin' to say dude, I don't think were in Kansas anymore.')

'God, that's corny.' Don chided himself. 'But I have to admit, it looks like we stepped in-whatever it is, 'Big-Time'.'

It was about the time that the room started to slowly illuminate itself that the deejay leaned over to see who it was that he slept with. The owner of the bed met him halfway, and Donald thought that he just might faint.

The woman's eyes glowed fiery embers of emerald, while her skin was alabaster reflecting starlight.

('Good god she's beautiful! But what the hell is she doing here sleeping with you. And-holeeeee-wow! Would you look at the size of those...TITS!')

Donald said nothing. He stared mouth agape at the most extraordinary creature evidently in all creation.

('This dame looks beautiful even in the morning. Soap-opera stars couldn't hold a torch to her. Wait, is it morning? Um, now I'm confused. Are we even hung-over?')
Donald was speechless.