I was laying out in the midst of a giant urban meadow, in search of the perfect tan. I looked up to see an incredibly hot young woman in a blue string bikini. She reeked of sun-tan lotion. I could see right through her enormous, glistening thigh gap. A small jewel was reflecting the sun in the midst of her taut, tanned, perfect girlie-belly.
“Move over you shitty, muscular, tanned *red-hot* grandpa.”
She spread out her beach towel. It was the stalker!
“Botendaddy, now that you’ve achieved your goal I’m afraid you won’t need us any more. The writer’s workshop, Race Team 2000. You’re thin, tanned and beautiful with big muscle. You’re going to leave me.”
Said the Stalker in a near panic as she neatly laid out her tanning accoutrements.
“Well, the numbers tell the story: 61.7 pounds lost, 20.7% body weight lost, waist 38.05″, body fat 22%, weight 222.3, which is 0.7 pounds under the Army standard, but I have a ways to go, I’m still 22.4 pounds above healthy BMI.”
She snuggled under my arm, her hard, yet feminine body pressing against my aged, muscular, perfectly-tanned flesh.
“Are you going to keep running with us? Will you keep skewering our literary works? Eviscerating the soul of the writer?”
I flipped over on the towel. The sun was bright. She put on her shades over her pretty, yet creepy green eyes.
“Of course I will, as long as your writing is the putrid essence of a disordered mind, filled with jejune, derivative, jumbled references to nothing of consequence.”
She was lying on her back. She tossed me her hemp suntan lotion.
“Rub this all over me now, you filthy-minded archaic freak, you crypt-keeper, you shitty old goat. What are you? The thing that wouldn’t die? You have the body of a 25 year old, you still have all your hair, your tan is…perfect. God I love being violated by you! It makes me feel so trashy. I was a world-class athlete, you disgusting old perv. You touched me, you defiled me. You make me feel so dirty…”
After about a half an hour, the first clouds rolled in. The stalker, after tanning and talking endlessly on her cellphone about nothing, had climbed up, turned around, straddling me with her legs and putting her arms around my neck. The other hot female sunbathers on the hill glanced over their shitty sunglasses.
“Listen kid, my running still blows. I’ve done a 31:50 5k in training, but not in an actual race. So I have work to do, so don’t worry, incredibly hot, but depressed and perhaps psycho-hose-beast, sexy Stalker-girl. I still love you just for being you.”
The stalker looked around the hill over my shoulder.
“I keep this body perfect for you. Other younger men are not worthy, nor are they…capable? Make love to me. Right here, right now in front of all these stupid, super-hot sun-bathing bitches. They think I’m old because I’m 29 and they are, like 20. Look at my body, you filthy old creeper!”
She tore off her bikini top to reveal two (not three) perfect, hard natural breasts.
“Am I not allowed to feel like a woman for once? You owe me! I want to show these vapid, mindless young sluts how a real woman handles a sweaty, old, ungodly massive, muscular, well-tanned literary critic.”
Peace be the Botendaddy