Nobody Loves a Bigfoot Like a Bigfoot Babe

by Simon Okill

  Bob thought about that for a while. "True . . . when we shot the fucker last year he just screamed his balls off and shouted for us to stop shooting him."

  Chuck chuckled, "Yeah, what a cry baby . . . we only nicked him some."

  Bob grimaced with another thought. "Yeah, but if it was Duane-o then it sure as fuck wasn't a Bigfoot. We won't get nothing displaying that dumbass to anyone, even in his Bigfoot getup."

  Chuck urged, "Come on Bob . . . better go see what we hit."

  DUANE RAN IN THE direction of the Bigfoot's cries for help. He could clearly hear the crash of undergrowth heading towards him. He hoped the hunters weren't too close behind his friends.

  Duane was knocked on his back as Olaaa crashed into him from a dense thicket. He gasped for air, making a gurgling sound. He saw Teeelaaa and Maaawooo emerge a few strides behind Olaaa. All were in a high state of panic with their hair ruffled and rippling. With eyes wide with terror, the Bigfoot desperately looked at Duane for help and protection.

  They mewed pathetically, "Weeeeoooeee-aaaaeeeoooo-aaaaeee."

  Duane's lungs returned to normal. He gulped down much-needed air.

  Maaawooo hauled him to his feet and pointed to Olaaa's shoulder wound which was trickling blood.

  Olaaa whimpered in pain, "Eeeeeeoooooeeeeeaaaa."

  In between gasping for breath, Duane urged them all with a hand, and in a high-pitched kitten voice, "This way . . . come on."

  Not wasting any time, he led the frightened Bigfoot in the direction of his cabin where he hoped they would be safe from whoever was shooting at them.

  ONCE INSIDE THE CABIN, Duane opened the basement trapdoor in the living area, and ushered the three Bigfoot down. He rushed around the cabin, bolting all the doors and slamming shut all the shutters to the windows to prevent curious eyes from discovering his big secret.

  Duane stepped down into the basement. Massive, rough cut logs propped up the basement ceiling. One would think that a little excessive, but he had his reasons.

  "You safe now," he said in a soft tone, trying to calm the frantic Bigfoot by hugging them.

  But all three Bigfoot were still in a high state of panic, looking around with desperate eyes and ears twitching for danger sign. Their hair was still bristled and fluffed up.

  Olaaa pointed to the blood on her shoulder. "Eeeeaaaa," she whimpered with tears of pain.

  Duane looked at the injured Bigfoot's shoulder and saw the tears in her eyes.

  "Good girl, Olaaa," he said comfortingly patting her head. "There, there. Who's my brave girl?" He inspected the wound and smiled. It wasn't serious, just a minor scratch.

  Duane was a sucker for Olaaa's pity-me look with those big blue eyes. He smiled sadly as she shrugged her shoulders and touched the wound. Her eyes rolled at the sight of blood on her fingers.

  "Eeeeeeee!"

  Duane had to make Olaaa understand the injury wasn't serious. He smiled and pointed at Olaaa's shoulder, doing a silly jig and laughing.

  "Good girl, Olaaa."

  Duane was relieved to see the look of understanding coming from Olaaa as she cocked her head to one side.

  Olaaa gave a faint smile, bleating, "woooo-eeee-oooo."

  Duane patted her head and kissed her snout. He looked at Teeelaaa and Maaawooo holding hands and smiled reassuringly to them. He walked over to a massive cupboard and opened the door. He disappeared inside the walk-in cupboard for a few moments then came back out with a bottle of antiseptic and a wad of cotton. He opened the bottle as he hurried over to Olaaa.

  He dabbed antiseptic on the cotton and pressed it gently to Olaaa's shoulder.

  Olaaa's eyes shot wide open. She winced in pain, "Eeeeeeee." She wrinkled her nose at the smell of the antiseptic. She exclaimed, nasally, "Ftftftftft!" She spat nasally with disgust. Her hair fluffed up.

  Duane smiled comfortingly and patted Olaaa's head. "Good girl, Olaaa . . . good Olaaa."

  Olaaa relaxed as her hair flattened and forced a brave smile, revealing her yellow teeth.

  Teeelaaa and Maaawooo sensed Olaaa's relief. They too relaxed their hair.

  Both Bigfoot mewed, "Oooooeeeeeoooo." They patted Olaaa's head.

  After some moments, Duane stopped administering to Olaaa's wound. He smiled at all three Bigfoot.

  "You stay here," he said pointing to the floor of the basement. "You safe here." Duane hugged himself to indicate safety.

  The Bigfoot looked at each other then directly at Duane. They shook their heads no and looked fearful for they did not want to be left alone, nor did they want to be shot at by the hunters again. All three fluffed up their hair in fright.

  Duane wasn't to be swayed. He knew what he had to do. This wasn't the first time a Bigfoot had been shot by a hunter. He had to do something drastic.

  "I go," Duane insisted, pointing to the stairs.

  Teeelaaa grabbed hold of his arm and shook her head, "Eeeeeeee."

  "Please, Teeelaaa, I must go," Duane pleaded, trying to pull away from her firm hold, but she held him in her strong hands.

  It dawned on Duane that the Bigfoot were afraid for his safety, too. So was he, come to think of it. He was reminded of one of MB's Old Indian legends-A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. This was one of those times when he had to do what was necessary. He had to get mano-a-mano with those hunters. Get mean if necessary. Give them a taste of their own medicine.

  That was when Duane froze.

  A loud hammering came from the front door, followed by, "Anyone home?"

  Duane put a finger to his mouth and shook his head no to the three Bigfoot. He scratched his butt as he tried to think who the voice belonged to. He tried to put a face to the voice, but his state of panic wouldn't let him. Then it dawned on him-the Feds! Willis! He had to see his best friend, but now was not the time, not with three frightened Bigfoot in his basement. Fuck it!

  BOTH FBI AGENTS waited for a reply at Duane's front door. They split up. Willis walked around one side of the cabin and Merlot the other side. Each agent stopped and peered through cracks in the shutters with hands shielding the light. They met at the front door.

  Merlot shrugged, "Guess he's out."

  Willis grunted a reply and walked back to their car.

  BOB AND CHUCK crouched in the undergrowth at the edge of the forest, watching the FBI agents.

  Bob whispered to Chuck, "Shit, the Feds . . . let's get the fuck outta here."

  Both hunters crept back into the forest.

  DUANE HEARD THE CAR'S engine being turned over and driving off. He wondered when he would see Willis and give him a big hug and a kiss. He waited for a respectably long moment while comforting all three Bigfoot with strokes and pats to the head.

  21

  ON CLOSE INSPECTION, any idiot could see that the Bigfoot standing behind that Douglas fir with a rifle at the ready was someone dressed in a Bigfoot costume. But Duane, incurable lover of the forest, had fooled many such hunters hoping to bag the elusive creature by luring them away from the real thing. Problem was not getting bagged himself.

  The sound of Chuck and Bob's hushed voices and of snapping twigs alerted Duane to the hunters' whereabouts. He remained motionless behind the tree and quietly waited with his rifle aimed straight down a well-worn path.

  Duane's breathing was rapid, hurting his chest. Doing all this running was really taking it out of him. He wanted to wipe the rivers of sweat from his forehead, but dared not remove his Bigfoot head.

  He was also aware that the sweat was running down his naked body causing the inner lining of his Bigfoot duds to stick to his skin. It tickled, infuriatingly so, especially as it trickled down his butt crack. Like a grizzly bear, Duane rubbed his butt up and down the bark of the tree he was leaning against to relieve the itch. It made little difference that his duds were made of light summer material with air vents under the armpits and crotch to let the body heat out in warm weather, for Duane was a real sweater.

  And did he stink or what? Duane got a good whiff of his man
ly odor every time he shifted from one foot to the other. Fuck it! There was nothing for it, but to take off his Bigfoot head. He put it down on the ground between his feet, so it wouldn't roll away-something that had happened many times, giving away his position too early.

  As he stood erect he spotted the asswipe hunters walking along the well-worn path in his direction. They were obviously unaware of his presence.

  Duane didn't hesitate for a second. He raised his rifle and squeezed the trigger.

  The bullet went over their heads and hit the side of a tree, exactly where it was meant to go. Duane smirked with pleasure at his accuracy. He still had what it took.

  Bob and Chuck were startled-alarmed even.

  "Shit," Chuck screeched like a girl.

  They stopped in their stride and scanned their surroundings with their rifles aimed to shoot at whoever was shooting at them. They were unable to pinpoint the exact spot where the rifle shot had come from.

  "It's only me, boys," Duane called out in an amiable tone of voice, though he was feeling anything but amiable towards the two men who had been trying to bag his hairy friends. But that said he had no intention of harming the two hunters.

  "Lower your rifles and I'll do the same."

  Bob called out, "For fuck's sake, Duane-o, what the hell are you doing?"

  "This ain't no game . . . I said lower your rifles." Duane had an edge to his voice now. "'Cause I don't want you taking another pot shot at me today, if you don't mind."

  The two hunters looked at one another and nodded their heads. They lowered their rifles and waited for Duane to come out from his hiding place, wherever that was.

  Duane stepped out from the tree, but still kept his rifle aimed at the hunters.

  "Shit, Duane . . . you're such a dumbass. Why the fuck do you insist on running about dressed up as Bigfoot? Jeez, we could've killed you back there," Bob said with genuine concern. "Sorry if I hit you though. My aim was off." He stifled a giggle.

  Chuck sniggered, "Yeah, Bob, if you'd been on target, Duane would be dead now."

  "Ha fucking ha! Haven't I told you boys not to go shooting at me?" Duane was real pissed now. "You damned well know it's me, so why bother thinking I'm the real thing?" He continued to aim his rifle at the hunters.

  Chuck looked warily at Duane and raised a hand. "Come on now, Duane-o . . . we said we're sorry."

  Duane tilted his head and looked at them. They didn't fool him. He could tell they weren't that sorry.

  "Look, guys . . . if you see me in this get up, then it's me in this get up. Got that?" Duane shook his head with dismay. "Bigfoot don't exist . . . get it."

  Bob and Chuck scuffed their feet like naughty boys, looking totally confused.

  Bob asked, "Yeah, but how the fuck we gonna know the difference, Duane-o?"

  Duane sighed with exasperation, "Come on guys, smarten up a little . . . it's just me dressed up as you can plainly see."

  Bob looked a little less confused, "Sure thing, Duane. We got it."

  "See you tonight at Abe's. Buy you a beer," Chuck offered as an apology. "No hard feelings, right?"

  Duane shook his head. He was still upset with them for shooting at Olaaa. He thought it would take more than a free beer to smooth things over between him and Chuck and Bob.

  "No, it isn't alright, Chuck. You can't go making things right with free beer. I'd rather buy my own. I'm real pissed with the pair of you . . . you've ruined my suit, see." Duane showed them a neat hole in the right shoulder where he had smeared some of Olaaa's blood.

  "Shit, Duane you're bleeding," Bob said with genuine concern.

  "Better take care of that." Chuck pleaded, "But don't say it was us. See . . . we're kinda already in deep shit probation from the last time we nicked you."

  Bob nudged Chuck. They slung their rifles over their shoulders and sauntered off down the path in the direction towards Little Beaver picnic area.

  Duane watched their backs until they had disappeared behind the trees. Yeah, they won't come back today. He picked up his Bigfoot head and sauntered off towards home.

  AS DUANE GOT CLOSER to his cabin he heard Latin American music. He smiled knowing his Bigfoot friends were playing music on his battery operated CD player. He guessed Olaaa was feeling okay or they wouldn't be having fun.

  Bigfoot love to dance-a salsa or a tango being their favorite. Olaaa especially loved to salsa. All the Bigfoot used the salsa in their wedding ritual now. Some might say Duane had contaminated the Bigfoot, but he knew better.

  Duane stepped onto the porch and was relieved to see his hairy friends had kept the shutters closed. It wouldn't do for some unsuspecting local or inquisitive tourist getting the surprise of their life.

  He opened the door to his cabin and stood in the doorway with a wide smile. He kept his rifle behind him. He watched all three Bigfoot dancing in the middle of the room. They'd pushed the armchairs and sofa back towards the walls to give them more space to dance. The whole cabin was rocking and creaking quite alarmingly. With each dance move, the furniture, tables and anything not nailed down hopped up and down in tune with Bigfoot stomp.

  The Bigfoot continued to dance, bumping hips, rubbing groins together, shaking their shoulders and chest bumping.

  Duane cringed as the floorboards groaned with displeasure at the thunderous abuse they were getting. Thank God for those supports in the basement.

  Teeelaaa looked at him and beckoned with her hairy hand for him to join them.

  Duane closed the door. He put his Bigfoot head on the side table by the door, and discretely propped his rifle next to the cabinet so his friends wouldn't see it and panic.

  He noticed, with some annoyance, several empty tequila bottles scattered on the floor. Shit, they'd been at the booze again. Nothing changes. How many times had he told them that too much happy juice made them sick?

  Duane sighed with exasperation. He stood, arms akimbo, and tried to look stern at his Bigfoot friends. He wagged his finger at them in a naughty way.

  "Who's been drinking my happy juice? You know it makes you woozy," Duane said in his high -pitched kitten voice, mimicking stumbling around. He couldn't raise his voice against them, not after what they'd been through.

  The Bigfoot continued to dance. Teeelaaa begged with an outstretched hand for Duane to join her. She wouldn't take no for an answer. She skipped over to him and grabbed hold of his hands, tugging on them. She shuffled her feet and swung her hips in tune with the salsa.

  Duane didn't feel in the mood to dance. He was dog tired, hot, sweaty and stinky after all that running. All he wanted to do was to have a long hot soak and put his feet up for an hour or two before he ventured out that evening for some beers at Abe's.

  Duane kept hold of Teeelaaa's huge hands and began to dance to the salsa, but he moved slowly to the rhythm. His dance movements were no more than a few shuffles of the feet and a slight sway of the hips. He tried to leave.

  Teeelaaa thumped him with her hip, giggling, "Sfsfsfsfsfsfs." She grabbed Duane before he fell and pulled her to him. She kissed him on the cheek, "Woooo-woooo."

  "Love you too, Teeelaaa," Duane replied. He stopped dancing and gave her a big hug. He got a face full of her massive suckle-bumps.

  Maaawooo came to a sudden stop when he saw Teeelaaa deliberately rub Duane's face in her hairy boobs. He gave a loud growl directed at Duane.

  "Graaaaaarrrrrrrraaaaaarrrr."

  Olaaa seemed to be in a world of her own, oblivious to the discord between Duane and Maaawooo as she continued to salsa, her mind and heart somewhere else.

  Duane saw the jealous glint in Maaawooo's eyes and noticed his greasy hair had spiked up. It wasn't Duane's fault that Teeelaaa still teased him-once a cock teaser always a cock teaser; and besides, he would never think of mating with a Bigfoot.

  While Maaawooo did his jealous lover thing, Duane recalled that momentous day-the day he and Teeelaaa almost got hitched. At that time, he had no idea he was taking the lovely hand of Teeelaaa to be h
is wife. How could he have possibly known that by eating a bark full of the jooobaaa-wacky mushroom, offered to him by Teeelaaa all covered in flowers and dripping with red berries between her legs, was saying "I do" in Bigfoot.

  Duane remembered how he had met Teeelaaa in the special meadow where most Bigfoot did their thing. After the jooobaaa had taken effect she shoved him to the ground and ripped his shorts off. Teeelaaa was most put out when he refused to go any further.

  Duane shrugged his shoulders at Maaawooo. "Can I help it if Teeelaaa still woooo-woooos me?"

  Although Maaawooo could understand some of the sounds spoken to him, he gave another growl when he heard 'woooo-woooo.'

  "Gaaaaarrrrraaaaagggrrrraaaaa."

  Teeelaaa stood with legs apart and arms akimbo, growling back at Maaawooo, "Eeeeaaaarrrrrreeeeaaaa."

  Duane thought he might be witness to a Bigfoot brawl, something his cabin floor would never be able to withstand. In fact a Bigfoot brawl was nothing more than a lot of rough and tumble and the odd punch, with a few bites, hisses and spits. He'd never seen any Bigfoot get nasty with one another. Not even over a mate.

  After years of studying Bigfoot, and being privy to their behavior, Duane knew that they were a very peaceful society as all the fight had been taken out of them. Unfortunately this meant they could not roam far enough to mate with males of other tribes as they were happy with their lot.

  But the male gene was in short supply. Despite mating at the drop of a hat-which meant that females didn't have to be in heat, the females of the species didn't get pregnant so easily. There was also another reason for the shortage in active males-they sometimes migrated south to Florida when they got old and miserable, courtesy of the Bigfoot Mobile. Duane was always hysterical at seeing the looks on drivers' faces as his Bigfoot Mobile drove past with several elderly Bigfoot faces peering at them. Duane snapped out of it.

  Duane caught a glance at the antique clock on the mantel-six p-fucking-m. Shit! It was time to get the ol' guitar out and rev up the hog and go. There was just enough time for a bath, but not to stick his feet up for an hour or two. He had an eager audience waiting for him and a thirst that needed quenching.