Nobody Loves a Bigfoot Like a Bigfoot Babe

by Simon Okill

  Something big crashed through the nearby undergrowth, causing MB to give a start. A mean-looking grizzly came charging out of the woods towards the Bigfoot. It jammed its claws down and came to a stop. It gave a menacing roar and pawed the air.

  MB watched the scene with eyes wide in amazement and disbelief. He didn't feel so afraid now because what he was witnessing couldn't be for real. It just couldn't. Could it?

  At the sight of the grizzly, the sexy reddish Bigfoot yelped in fear and quickly hid for protection behind the bigger, muscular Bigfoot.

  The grizzly charged menacingly towards them.

  The male Bigfoot carefully placed the rucksack on the ground and stood erect. He gave a ferocious growl at the grizzly, revealing his yellowed teeth, beating his chest and stomping the ground.

  Duane sure was getting into character, MB thought—if it was Duane.

  The grizzly stopped and reared up on its hind legs and growled back.

  The stacked Bigfoot stepped out from behind her mate and growled at the grizzly.

  The three creatures faced each other in a Bigfoot-bear standoff.

  To MB's well-attuned ears, the growls emanating from the three critters sounded like genuine animal sounds—not that he'd ever heard a genuine Bigfoot growl, except those strange noises in the woods he had heard from time to time and couldn't identify, but assumed it was Duane. The grizzly sure sounded and looked real, though. But how could it be, unless the other two creatures were also real? Nah, that's impossible.

  The giant Bigfoot thumped his chest with both fists and growled ferociously. To MB's utter amazement, the Bigfoot did a clumsy roundhouse kick, clipping the grizzly's head with his massive big foot, thus confirming these were not real Bigfoot. He felt deflated, thinking Duane had fooled him yet again. Or had he?

  A few moments later, the grizzly landed back down on all fours and trudged off into the woods, looking totally miserable and mewling pathetically.

  MB continued to film the scene. As he watched, he thought, nah, someone was fooling around and that someone was probably the Phantom Bigfoot. The three creatures couldn't be real, or his name wasn't Chief Mocking Bird.

  He thought the matter over for several moments before he concluded that he had just witnessed one of those kinky dress-up-as-animal sex things he'd heard about and the three creatures were performing some animal mating ritual before they did what nature intended. That meant one of the Bigfoot was Duane-o-the rucksack Bigfoot.

  Yeah, it was some kinky, sex thing, thought MB, as he watched the two fluffy creatures walk hand-in-hand across the meadow. What else could it be?

  And sure enough, the bigger of the two Bigfoot mounted the smaller one, and rammed the biggest bright pink cock MB had ever seen between the other's hairy hindquarters.

  The rutting was over in seconds. The two Bigfoot nudged noses then skipped off across the meadow.

  Duane must have had his dick surgically altered-not that MB had ever seen Duane's goods in that agitated state, or maybe Duane was wearing a massive strap-on. You kinky bastard, MB thought.

  MB watched until the two Bigfoot disappeared into the woods and then quickly followed after the creatures. But in no time they were no longer in his sight as the trees and undergrowth became thicker. All he could do was follow his instincts and the distant sounds of crunching undergrowth.

  OLAAA WALKED THROUGH the same woods with her pale plaything slung over her shoulder, fireman style. The undergrowth crackled and snapped beneath her heavy feet. The journey from her lair to Duane's cabin had taken longer than usual because her pale one had walked some of the way. She realized that he wasn't like her. He was slow on his feet and took smaller strides. He wasn't capable of walking for endless miles and he tired easily. And he also moaned and groaned a lot. Overall, Olaaa decided her precious plaything was a bit of a baby boy.

  Olaaa was disappointed when Boo had collapsed in a state of exhaustion some hours ago. At first, Olaaa had carried him in her arms then she was forced to sling him over her back when her arms got tired.

  Olaaa stopped and sniffed the familiar meadow air. She knew Maaawooo and Teeelaaa had been there not so long ago. The unmistakable smell of grizzly wafted through her keen, twitching snout.

  Another scent caused danger signals to attack her brain-a pale one was close by. She looked all around with her keen eyesight, but saw nothing with a fire stick.

  She did look up however to see the familiar swirling trails of smoke from Duane's cabin. Smoke that Duane always ensured would direct his hairy friends to safety. Olaaa surmised the cabin was no more than three thousand strides away. All Bigfoot measured distance and time by their stride.

  Olaaa sighed. She felt sad at having to leave her woooo-woooo plaything. She also felt sad at how much of a baby he was and knew he wasn't meant for her. He needed to be with his own kind. So Olaaa paced off the three thousand strides towards Duane's cabin with Boo slung over her shoulder. Her puppy love moment had gone. She had grown up.

  MB WAS HIDING WITHIN A thicket at the edge of Little Beaver picnic area staring at another scene that was so extraordinary that he had to film it. Before MB's astonished eyes were Walt, Bob and Chuck, tied butt naked to that damned leaky tree with the yellow crime scene tape. Gives a new meaning to tie a yellow ribbon, MB mused. All three were gagged with their own torn clothing which lay in tatters at their feet. MB suppressed the urge to giggle as all three assholes struggled to be free. So that's what you three get up to in the woods, mused MB. He wondered if they were involved in the kinky, animal sex thing. Probably not.

  Maybe this is how the Swedish-looking aliens leave Walt? Cool! He suppressed chuckles and silently left the three assholes tied to their tree to do whatever three assholes tied to a tree could possibly do.

  But MB was distracted by excited Japanese voices approaching from the west. He crouched back down and filmed Hiroshi and Akira busting their guts at the sight of three naked men tied to the tree. Hiroshi pointed at a large hairy spider crawling up Walt's leg. Both brothers became hysterical as they watched Walt squirm. Don't untie them you idiots. Shit! Too late, as Hiroshi and his brother released the three assholes. Time to move on.

  34

  FOR THE SECOND TIME in 24 hours, Agent Merlot looked at Duane's rustic home as if it should be in the film Deliverance.

  The dried, brown grass grew in scattered clumps. The path leading up to the porch was just a dust trail. The remnants of a tattered picket fence stubbornly resisted nature's desire to return its wood to the forest.

  She and Willis noticed Duane's Harley and shiny new Winnebago motor home.

  Both agents opened the door to the Winnebago and entered. The stink of rotten eggs was quite overpowering.

  Merlot looked into the tiny toilet. Beau wasn't hiding there. She failed to notice the color of the toilet—beige!

  Moments later they exited the Winnebago.

  Willis carefully touched the bike's engine. It was still ticking as it cooled off. He nodded to Merlot.

  Willis was the first to step onto the creaky boards and waited for his partner at the front door.

  Merlot gingerly stepped onto the porch and tapped each board with her foot placing any weight on it.

  As Willis was about to hammer on the door, it opened, revealing a bleary-eyed, tousle -haired Duane, wearing Bigfoot pajamas and massive slippers that looked like Bigfoot feet.

  Duane rubbed the sleep from his eyes and smiled his usual friendly smile, "Glad to see you've taken me up on my invite . . . so soon." He yawned widely. "Please, come in."

  He stepped aside for his guests, still yawning profusely. "I guess you think I'm hiding Beau?"

  "Maybe . . . maybe not," Willis replied in his regulation, stern voice.

  Once inside the living room, the FBI agents surveyed their surroundings with even more disgusted looks on their faces.

  Merlot sniffed the air. Her nostrils detected floral air freshener, a damp grassy smell, and something stinky like body odor mixed with
something musky and unpleasant similar to the leaky tree.

  "What do you think of the old place?" Duane asked his old friend in a congenial tone of voice, gesticulating proudly. "Hasn't changed much from when you used to come up here. We had some good times, back then, old buddy."

  WILLIS AGREED WITH A CURT nod of his head. It looked as though the place hadn't been cleaned in-well, never. He stared with nostalgia at the stuffed steelhead on the wall above the stone fireplace. His eyes filled with tears at the sight of the faded photo above the fireplace. He clearly remembered Duane reeling in that ten-pounder. It was a day he could never forget. Willis fought back tears of regret and guilt. Doctor Fernandez was right, yet again.

  Duane continued to smile and pointed to the furniture.

  "Take a load off. Stick your feet up. Make yourselves at home while I make us some coffee." He continued to point to the threadbare sofa with the clumps of stuffing hanging out.

  Both FBI agents exchanged glances of disgust at the prospect of sitting on such a filthy object. They hesitated for a respectable moment before using hankies to wipe it before sitting down. They tossed their hankies to the floor.

  Duane smiled with amusement at the agents' unease and once they had seated themselves, he wandered off towards the kitchen.

  Willis fidgeted uncomfortably. He pulled out a clump of stuffing that dug into his butt. The big problem was the stuffing was hiding a busted spring which jabbed his tight ass. He slid over a ways.

  Willis called out, "You've really tied the flow to the motif, Duane."

  Duane poked his head around the door frame to the kitchen, "Nice of you to notice."

  Willis said under his breath, "That's not what I meant, dumbass." He saw large Bigfoot prints made of flour and frowned, what the fuck went on here?

  SEVERAL MINUTES PASSED before Duane returned from the kitchen carrying a tray with three mugs of coffee and a plate of doughnuts.

  To look at Duane, no one would suspect that just over two hours ago he'd been held at gunpoint by Walt and his buddies. Not to mention the raging hangover pounding in his head and the frantic cleaning he endured-not that he had done much cleaning as the need to sleep took over his weary body.

  But it wasn't every day his old friend Willis dropped in on him. He was overjoyed to see his best friend, despite feeling a tad under the weather. He wanted to hug Willis, but realized, after last night at Abe's, his dear friend wasn't into hugging and tearful reunions.

  Duane placed the tray on the tree trunk section that served as a table in front of his welcome guests and sat down in his favorite, shabby armchair, the one he kept hidden from Maaawooo.

  "Help yourselves," Duane offered. He picked up a mug of coffee, a doughnut and eased back into the armchair. He waited for his guests to help themselves before he took a sip of his coffee.

  "Doughnuts!" Merlot wrinkled her nose. "I don't seem to have much appetite for doughnuts these days." She picked up a mug of coffee.

  "Me neither," Willis said. He picked up the remaining mug of coffee.

  Duane smiled as he took a mouthful of doughnut. He chewed happily on the confection, smiling at his guests' unease.

  "Oh, by the way . . . did either of you see the Bigfoot at Grace Hotel?"

  "No," Willis replied in a curt voice.

  "If you didn't see it, it must be the Phantom Bigfoot. Heard the Bigfoot left a photograph . . . and wasn't there something about a half-eaten doughnut left at the crime scene?" Duane's expression remained casual as he bit into his doughnut. He shook his head and feigned a look of disgust. "DNA might get something from it . . . but not mine . . . wonder who it could be?"

  Willis didn't reply.

  "Do you have any idea?" Duane asked. He warned himself to be on his guard. He was in the presence of professionals trained in the art of detecting subterfuge and tricking individuals they suspected of committing or being a party to a crime into confessing.

  "I don't really care." Willis hesitated. "But Lou is convinced it wasn't the Phantom Bigfoot . . . the MO is all wrong."

  "Must be a copycat then," Duane said with a thoughtful look. He took a mouthful of doughnut and watched both agents keenly. "The things people do these days . . . makes me wonder what this world is coming to."

  "Yes, most likely a copycat," Willis replied, giving Duane a curious glance.

  Duane casually scratched his butt and allowed his thoughts to wander from this interrogation to MB and how eager he had been to follow in his big feet. Duane hadn't told him the whole truth as it might spread around town, but he knew one day the truth would come out about his tribe of Bigfoot and their ancestry.

  Of course, Duane had no intention of hanging up the Bigfoot duds any day soon, but who could say what the future held. He had an urge—not dissimilar to geese migrating in the winter, to take a trip and see the sea. He'd like to visit his property in Florida. Say hello to a few old friends he hadn't seen for a while, and possibly reunite them with some relatives.

  "So you agree it wasn't the Phantom Bigfoot?" Merlot probed, suppressing a fit of the giggles.

  With a sigh, Duane drew himself out of his pleasant contemplations. "No . . . uh yeah, it must be a copycat."

  Merlot fidgeted as a spring forced its way through the rotting material and poked her in the ass. "Really nice sofa you have, Duane." She chuckled, "must have set you back some?"

  The sofa wasn't at all comfortable, thought Duane. Merlot was being a tad sarcastic. Duane took another bite of doughnut.

  "You sure you won't have a doughnut . . . you could do with a few extra pounds?" Duane added, "No offense."

  "None taken," Merlot replied with a bat of her eyelids.

  Willis gave his partner a quick glare and kicked her foot.

  "Beau's gotta show up soon, don't you think?" Duane asked, maintaining the serious façade.

  "We hope so," Willis replied.

  Duane looked keenly at his old friend and changed the subject again. He was reminded of a little ditty he and Willis used to sing. He gave a smile.

  "You remember that tune we used to sing about Walt? It would sure piss him off."

  Willis gave his old friend a wary look. "A shame . . . but I remember."

  "We were younger then," Duane said, watching his friend stir uncomfortably on the sofa.

  "Enough of this reminiscing . . . we're here to ask you about Beau," Willis demanded in his matter-of-fact tone of voice.

  Duane didn't hear his old friend's grouchy request. He was lost in a world of his own where he and Willis would hide in the forest and tease Walt the hunter as he was about to bag his prey. Walt's anger would never fail to cause him to miss his target.

  Duane started to hum to himself then a moment later he broke into song—

  "Walt Flucker thinks he's so tough,

  Acts so mean but it ain't enough.

  Likes to run naked round a big ol' tree,

  Chased by a big, randy grizzilly.

  Coz he's a bear mother fucker,

  That's Walt Flucker-a bear mother fucker."

  Willis bit down on his lower lip suppressing a smile. "Give it a rest, Duane."

  Merlot sniggered. "I love it . . . don't stop."

  "For fuck's sake, don't encourage him." Willis gave Merlot a kick.

  "Walt Flucker likes to…." Duane was interrupted in mid-verse by the sound of several rapid knocks on the door.

  All three looked curiously at the front door.

  "Wonder who that is? Excuse me," Duane said, rather too politely. He placed the remainder of the doughnut back onto the plate with the uneaten doughnuts and got up.

  He sauntered over to the door with the mug of coffee in his hand.

  A SWEATY MB STOOD on the porch of Duane's cabin. He was more than a little excited at what he had witnessed, but told himself the creatures he had seen couldn't have been for real. But supposing they were for real? There was one way to find out for sure.

  He glanced over his shoulder back at the FBI car. He cautioned hims
elf to be careful and not say too much in front of the nosy FBI agents, for Old Indian legend tells us that man who isn't careful is likely to get scalped.

  Duane opened the door and smiled. "Mocking Bird, guess who's here?" He whispered, "The FBI."

  "You don't say," MB replied in an obvious way. "Uh . . . what time did you get back from town?"

  Duane shrugged his shoulders and replied, "Dunno for sure . . . hmm . . . about eight this morning, I guess." He winked at MB, "Needed some quality sack time after spending the night with the Bumsen Sisters."

  MB looked speculative, "Who wouldn't? You go out afterwards in your Bigfoot duds?"

  Duane looked thoughtful as he scratched his butt and looked rather vague. "Nope . . . not that I can recall."

  What sort of reply was that? MB thought. Either the Phantom Bigfoot had been out today or he hadn't. Sometimes it was impossible to get a straightforward answer from his friend.

  "You want some coffee and doughnuts . . . ring doughnuts?" Duane gave MB a cheeky smile.

  MB frowned at Duane to be careful, peeking into the living room to check on the FBI agents who were obviously trying to listen in on their chat. What the fuck! He smiled at them as he entered Duane's humble abode.

  "Sure thing, Duane-o. I could really do with a cup of your coffee, but hold the doughnuts."

  MB mimicked disgust at the lurid image of the Bigfoot eating a doughnut on the toilet. He watched for any reaction from Duane's guests, but got nothing. MB smiled timidly to both agents as Duane handed him his own half cup of coffee.

  MB frowned at his friend, thinking, Old Indian legends told us beggars can't be choosers. He stood by the sofa drinking coffee. There was no way he was going to sit in the stinky armchair. That would have been the final insult.