You're An Animal! By John Sammon At Isnare.com Ezine Articles

I’m an overworked city man with a polluting old car, an aching back, endless bills and threatening letters almost daily from the IRS.

I drive to work, where I’m also under threat. Not enough sales.

Could I be terminated? What will I do?

The sales meeting in the office begins.

Suddenly, I’m flying through the trees on a vine as “Jungle Lad,” muscles rippling as I effortlessly swoop down and scoop up “Marian Pure Heart,” the milk-skinned, voluptuous, D-cup maiden dressed in ragged and skimpy safari skirt. Up in my tree house, I have her under my power.

She stares at my huge, nearly naked torso (I‘m wearing a leopard skin string), sweat dripping from my gigantic, pulsating biceps. We’re both sweating, her chest (almost as impressive as mine) heaving with desire.

Her teeth gnash.

Breathlessly, she says, “take me! Throw me on the bed (I have a zebra skin for a bed).

Her clothes tear away as our passion unites, throbbing, gyrations of flesh, moans of pulsating pleasure accompanied by the trumpets of elephants and various jungle beasts below.

Suddenly, I’m a hiker, hiking with a female naturalist, a bookwormish type wearing heavy black glasses, with a demure missionary skirt, blouse and sand-colored pith helmet. We make camp, set up separate tents on top of a Peruvian mountain.

I’m slowly removing my sweat-stained, pure cotton, native hand woven “Yuk-Fungoo” Tibetan Sherpa mountain guide shirt (everyone in the Andes should have one). The bones in my body ache from the punishing, nearly straight-up twenty-mile hike.

Suddenly, she rips open the canvas door flap, and leaps through the air on top of me. Like a beast of prey, a female panther, she has me out of my dungarees. She flings off her skirt and glasses, and she’s no longer the dowdy, chaste, English housewife, seeking her long lost naturalist husband, but a sex-starved Amazon.

We rhythmically pound together as one.

“You’re an animal!” she shouts.

Suddenly, I’m a naughty boy being held after class by a math teacher, a tall, slightly sinister and seductive woman with a great body, who eyes me with a wicked stare. Her tongue flicks obscenely across her barred teeth. She suggestively holds in her hand a ruler.

She’s going to teach me a lesson.

One I won’t soon forget.

“Mr. Sammon!”

I come out of a daze with a start.

“Mr. Sammon. Are you paying attention to these figures?”

My boss, J.D., stands next to an arrow representing declining sales….marked on a large paper chart.

“Oh yes J.D. I’m right with ya.’”

I smile. I just said that to make him happy.

What I really want is to get back to nature.

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