I’m Naked and Not Famous
Imagine you’re in the mountains of North Georgia. It’s a rugged place at the tail end of Fall, but you can still see leaves float through the air.
You lock yourself in the house with your computer, because, you know, North Georgia spawned the people of Deliverance, and you peck away at your own inner evil. More than a hundred times, you make a circuit of the house to check the locks.
On one of these treks of insanity, you see it. Out there. On the back deck. It fixes you in its tractor-beam like grip and compels you to come outside.
Your mind is too fried to resist, even the part where you are forced to shed your clothes as you approach. You sink into its gaping maw. And you look off in the distance. And you find peace.
Even as its saliva burbles around you. Threatens to drag you under.
The Thing is satisfied. It stops its churning and whirring, and it orders you to go away.
You stand up and relish the cold mountain air on your skin, unable to believe how clear your head is. You turn around and prepare to face your nasty character with renewed vigor, with—
“Oh. How ya doing?”
Water drips between your legs as you eye the crusty intruder. Ohmygod, how long has he been here? Has he been……..did he see……..OHMYGOD, he saw everything!!!!!
You smile like getting caught naked in a hot tub happens to you all the time.
Because, really, what else can you DO?
“I know I don’t have an appointment, but I was hoping to show the house.” He chuckles. “Me and my client didn’t count on the full show.”
You hear him cackle all the way back to his truck as you try to forget. His lusty face. Where his eyes wandered. What he must’ve told his male client.
Thanks to you and Tim for letting me use your mountain house to write. It was busy. A realtor caught me naked in the hot tub today.
They want to see it again tomorrow.