Trent Jones knows why he’s been abducted. Like everyone else in small town Sasquatch Watch, he’s heard the local gossip. A large percentage of those living in the remote Colorado community have claimed to have seen Bigfoot in a young man’s presence. Wild erotic tales have spun from the rumor mill, too. Some adults have even said they’ve seen Bigfoot and his partner in a primal act. And supposedly he has a thing for Trent’s type—tall, dark, skinny, and in the closet. Apparently Bigfoot had a problem with men who kept their secrets close to their chests. Trent hadn’t remained in the shadows by choice. He’d stayed in the closet because he’d been falsely accused of a heinous crime and no one in their rural community wanted to be seen in his presence, much less on his arm.
A quiet man, Trent isn’t disturbed by Bigfoot’s inability to communicate. Instead, he quickly figures out how he can relate to him. And as luck would have it, they’re able to speak one another’s language perfectly.
Maybe fate and irony had collided then as they greeted one another now. We were near that exact spot where Grandpa and I had spent that memorable morning, casting our lines and making small talk. There was a small pond nearby, a pond with water as blue as the Pacific Ocean. A few steps later, I caught a glimpse of the water’s edge and all those memories from so long ago came rolling to the fore.
On that particular day, Grandpa had told me, “Every Jones I know has always followed his own path in life, but somehow that path has led him back to this very place. When you’re older and you return here, remember, it’s a fated legend in this part of the country, but more importantly it’s a Jones family truth. If you kiss your sweetheart here, you are bound together for eternity. I don’t know why.” A few minutes later, he muttered, “But that’s all I have to tell you about that.”
I never asked anyone else about Grandpa’s story. Instead, I decided to accept it. One day in the future, I’d come back here and run across my intended lover. Our eyes would meet and we’d gravitate toward one another, our mouths hungry for a first kiss, our tongues too eager for the passionate duel.
Bigfoot promptly dumped me on the ground and grunted.
“Ouch!” So much for daydreams. Thanks to the monster in front of me, I wouldn’t have the opportunity to find out if Grandpa’s story was based on fact or fiction.
Bigfoot made a gargling racket in the back of his throat. He then thrust his arms in front of him and landed on all fours. Hurriedly, he waddled around like a bear on the prowl, scrounging up twigs, brush, weeds, wild flowers, and anything he could pluck from the ground.
At first, I thought he planned to start a fire. Soon, very soon actually, I discovered raging flames weren’t exactly what he had in mind.
If I’d known what I’d been in for, I would’ve fetched a bucket.
When Bigfoot came, it was as if he hadn’t enjoyed a release in a month of Sundays or any September in eleven or twelve years. He shot his load inside my mouth, but I couldn’t hold him and wasn’t about to try.
His saucy cream didn’t ooze from his tip like hot lava. Instead, it shot from the slit as if a dam had broken and the rapids ran free.
Delicious—I’d never known such a wonderful taste before. Empowering—I had made Bigfoot come and he liked it. I liked it.
I gasped. We were thoroughly enjoying one another and while stranger things may have happened to other people, I couldn’t imagine what.
A minute later, the big guy rubbed his hand in his release and launched his hips forward, providing another drink of intimacy. This time, I didn’t swallow at all. Realizing how exciting this must’ve been for him, I kicked things up another notch.