Comedy Shots

The One About a Lumberjack

As I record my daily tree felling activities, I sense I'm not alone. My bicep pops as my ear inclines, my manly sense tells me it's a woman.

I turn, my leather colored locks cascade, still fresh from my lunchtime shower under a thundering waterfall, across my wide and expansive shoulders.

I feel my heartbeat under my firm pectoral muscle quicken.

My jaw, chiseled and as strong as the granite cliffs above me, tightens as I see her. This woman.

I'd describe her but I'm far to captivated by my own responsive fit body under it's plaid flannel prison.

I wipe the sweat from my Adonis brow and feel my stature, all 6'4 of it, straighten.

Standing there in all of my masculine magnificence, I chivalrously allow this woman a moment to gather her bearings as her eyes take in my glorious manscape.

I sense she is now prepared for what must come next. A verbal acknowledgment from the fantastic specimen towering in front of her.

"Hello," I offer. My word carries on the northwestern breeze, rich and full, uttered by healthy vocal chords long nourished by honey and song.

I generously continue, "I'm Richard but everyone calls me Dick." These words and their deep, dulcet tone mixes with the pine scented air.

I feel my lips, soft yet firm glide over the gleaming pearls of my mouth and lengthen into a smile.

She says something as I become acutely aware that I am actually an impressive 6'6 in my steel toe loggers. Adding an additional two long inches to my previously reported fantastic height.

I remove the extra large glove off of my calloused yet supple hand moisturized by earth's sweet sap and thrust it towards her with the speed of a healthy puma. With the breadth of my palm and the length of my powerful fingers, I ensconce her tiny hand.

She utters words as I assume control and pump our hands gently but rhythmically.

The breeze picks up once again and fills her receptive nostrils with my masculine musk. A fusion of sweat, pine, redwood and the white water of the river before, combine to form an august and alluring scent, one that is uniquely mine.

As she continues to sniff the wind like a dapple deer, I in one swift and powerful motion, remove the safety glasses that have shielded my green eyes. Eyes that are the color of the rich moss that clings to the mighty redwood trees that surround me.

She speaks again as I place my now folded safety glasses on the open V of my button down shirt. The opening which reveals my muscular clavicle region, sunkissed a golden bronze by years of skilled athleticism and hard robust work.

Her expression appears baffled, obviously confused by the growing attraction she is feeling so suddenly for a stranger. Charmed by her warranted attention, I throw my head back and release a husky chuckle as I loop my finger over the leather belt placed over my endowed pelvis.

The effect my brawny physique has on her grows as she lets out an appreciative sigh.

No longer able to contain her desire she begins to back away, shaking her head, my machismo obviously and understandably has overwhelmed her.

"Good bye!" I speak magnanimously, sending her on her way. Perhaps to contemplate our interaction at safe distance from my allure.

"Toosh!" Is the only word she can muster as she tears herself away. She is obviously chilled by the late afternoon air despite the growing heat of our exchange and her burning desire. 

I too required a toosh at one time. A Tibetan shawl, sold to me by an equally impressed Sherpa as I ascended to the lofty height of base camp below the mighty shadow of Everest.

I return back to my task of recording my days productivity but not before I offer one last thrill to her departing figure. I touch my Titan's brow with my two agile fingers and send it with the natural smolder that follows.

*****

I park my truck next to the now quiet loader and jump out. I spot Dick a few yards away with his clipboard and quickly scan the job site for anyone else, and I mean anyone. No luck. Damnit.

I begrudgingly call to him, "Dick?"

No response. Great. I trudge up the hill through the mud to where he is standing and call out his name again. Still nothing. Ugh, this guys got the social skills of a squirrel.

Finally, he turns to look at me. He stretches and expands his chest as he mops his brow with his backhand and then proceeds to wipe it on the leg of his jeans. Eww.

"Hello. I'm Richard but everyone calls me Dick," he says smiling, revealing a set of tobacco stained teeth.

"I know Dick. You've worked for my husband for almost ten years. Have you seen him?" I'm getting impatient.

He removes his glove and extends a hand towards me. Really? I reluctantly accept it.

He places his hand around mine. Limp lettuce. This guy has the grip strength of a head of romaine.

I look up and notice his hair is matted and wet. Are those leaves? "Why are you wet?"

Just as the words leave my mouth, the wind picks up and I have the unfortunate position of being located directly downwind and get a nose full of body odor. Dear Lord, what does this man eat?

I cough, trying to deactivate my gag response and choke out a "Well? Have you seen him?"

He takes off his safety glasses and places them over the open V of his shirt where his lobster red skin blazes, desperate for sunscreen and a dermatologist. No, scratch that, an oncologist.

Quite out of nowhere, he loops his finger near his belt and proceeds to thrust out his pelvis like a bad Elvis impression. Yeah, this is going to cause some mental scarring.

I let out an aggravated sigh and shake my head. I give up!

"Douche!" I mutter as I scramble back down the hill to find my husband.