“Impulse leads to the purchasing of cats,” said twelve-year-old Vladimir Karlov to the lady in the fluorescent colored hat.   She had been pestering him for some time to participate in the daytime activities at his father's company picnic, but not having a penchant for outdoor games, Polo and bocce ball aside, Vladimir refused to get involved.

“All the other children are enjoying themselves, why don't you just give it a try?”   At the moment the lady was hawking a three-legged race that was meant to go off at two, but seeing as Vladimir had an appointment at the woman's beach volleyball courts at that time, he could not oblige the lady.   Still, she would not stop.   “Or how about the egg tossing contest?”

The very thought of tossing eggs from one person to another infuriated Vladimir so, that he could hold himself back no more.   “Enough from you lady.   I will not play in your childish games of woos and want.   I do not want your pet turtle and neon hat prizes.   They mean nothing to me, nothing at all.   Sell your brand of porno elsewhere, for I'll not buy a thing.”

“What about the water balloon contest?”

Vladimir, hair still combed clean even with the heat, was about to yell, but settled quickly and stared at the woman straight away.   “You play euchre and bridge while I play blackjack and roulette, we do not agree on many things, but a water balloon contest may be the exception, Lady.   Yes indeed, water balloons just might be the exception”

“It starts at two-thirty on the north field, near the space walk and key lime pie stand.   I believe your father is ref of the contest.”

“And the attire?   What can you tell me of the attire?”

“Why what do you mean, Vlad?”

“The attire woman, the attire.   What will the women be wearing?   Will they be in bathing suits and white shirts or will they be covered and pale like you and your ticket tearing prostitutes?”

“Why, Vlad, they'll be wearing whatever they like.   Bathing suits and white shirts and all.”

“Bathing suits and white shirts and all?”

“And all.”

“Your sale skills are abysmal and if it weren't for my weakness for dark and shapely nipples piercing through wet cotton, I'd have surely cursed you and flipped your long table of calendars and brochures long ago.   But alas, I have such a weakness, and so you have succeeded in your whoring of company fun.   Sign me up, Woman.”

“Sign you up, Vlad?”

“Sign me up, Woman, and say not another word ‘til I've gone.”

Vladimir realized very quickly he was not dressed appropriately for a water balloon contest.   His heavy brown corduroys would surely weigh him down and hinder his ability to attack the fierce amazons with their dark hair and dark nipples.   And his green pique polo shirt did nothing to accentuate his pectorals and biceps.   “Damn you Vladimir, what were you thinking?   Corduroy and polo?   Wet and dripping, you'll look sexy not at all, but instead, look like that of a child and his water pistol, running about his mother's legs and biting on his colored Play-Do.   What have all those push ups been for if you'll not display the goods?”

Frustrated and burning, Vladimir paced fiercely under the sun, wiping the sweat from his brow with a silk handkerchief he kept in his back pocket.   He was never one for sweating lest that sweat be emitted during intercourse.

When Vladimir was ten he found himself at the country club pool lying next to his sunning mother.   She was wearing an immodest two-piece and indulged in the advances of the many suitors who crossed her path while Vladimir snarled at them all.   They were sweating for his mother and he would have it no more.   “You there, men and boy alike.   Look and sweat over my mother no more, for she will not be sleeping with you today or ever.   I, Vladimir Karlov, will not let you through no matter your amount of passes.   I sweat for sex and sex alone, but I will sweat today if need be.   I shall sweat today to halt your advances.   Let this woman sun in peace or I shall not hold back my hands, I shall not hold back my fists.”

The men continued to pass and Vladimir continued to snarl.   Their hair was full of chlorine and their hands, oiled with coconut medicine, but Vladimir did not allow himself to sweat as he watched his mother sit erect and wink at each suitor that passed.

The directions given by the old lady were expectedly terrible.   There was no north field, just as there was no south field.   Instead, the fields were named after different departments at his father's company: Auditors Field, Financial Advising Park, Accounts Payable Grounds, and countless others that did just enough to make a spectator curious as to whether he were at a company picnic or some sort of florescent t-shirt-wearing hell.   The heat had Vladimir suspecting the latter and the amount of giant women strolling the grounds was not helping matters.   Vladimir was waning and all that kept him going were those wet nipples, those dark wet nipples.   “Trek on Vladimir, trek on,” he muttered through gasps of the charcoal-filled air.

After much aimless strolling, Vladimir saw Henry in a yellow apron with a picture of a lemon winking on it.   He thought that perhaps his corduroy and pique polo weren't as bad as he had previously assumed.   Then again, such an apron would allow for a great deal of mobility and if worn a certain way, could hold several extra water balloons to barrage the dark hairs with.   But it was of no consequence at the time.   “Volleyball and water balloons are hours away,” Vladimir said aloud as he reached the stand where Henry stood.

“Henry, dear friend, what can you prescribe?”

“I've only lemonade and tea.”

“Henry, dear friend, please speak seriously.”

Vladimir leaned on the lemonade stand.   There were lemons and ice and sugar, but not a bottle of medicine among them.

“Henry, I've been in the heat all day and my flask was stolen away.”

“Stolen away, Vlad?   But how?”

“My mother frisked me in the car, making me beg as I do now.”

“Your mother just passed, she was wearing only red.”

“Yes that was her, a little red worn low.”

“A little red worn high.”

“Whichever it is, I'll not let them buy.”

“But, Vlad, the money's already moving.”

“Then I shall find each buyer and fleece them of their unit meant for screwing.”

Vladimir puffed out his chest and turned his hands to fists.

“Now what of my drink, Henry, dare you risk my sobriety in such times?”

“I have none with me Vlad, look to the stand filled with limes.”

“Look to a stand of limes?”

“Look to the stand of limes for I only sell drinks that cost dimes.”

Vladimir had never been turned away by Henry and his emotions were getting the best of him.

“Am I to search the day away, Henry, through this park with no map.”

“You'll find it soon enough, Vlad, you'll find it soon enough.”

“Do you mean to distract me so you may feast on my mother's lap?”

“It's just a few fields over, Vlad, near the volleyball sand trap.”

Vladimir couldn't believe what was happening.   But looking at Henry's face, he could see he was telling the truth.

“Henry, I'll not forget this.”

“And you'll thank me if you don't.”

Vladimir meant to turn, but remembered the apron as he did.

“Henry you've helped me in the past, many times in fact.”

“And I will help again, Vlad, with whatever you lack.”

“I need your apron, Henry, I need your apron now.”

Then consider the apron yours, Vlad, for I'll not let you go without.”

Henry took off the apron and handed it to Vladimir.

“Wish me luck, Henry,” and Vladimir was off and walking.   Long strides with long breaths.   The sun over head and the green at his feet.

After what seemed like hours, Vladimir came to the base of a small hill where he could hear the squealing of females coming from the other side.   Their age was still indeterminable, but with each screech and yell came a resounding breath of hope.

As if by stallion, Vladimir raced up the hill and as he got closer, the charcoal air was replaced with the sweet smell of sweat and perfume, ground eastern herbs and oils to lure him and make him erect.   The potions were working; the potions were kicking in fast.   Each leap was longer and so was his member, ‘til finally he reached a perch where he could look over his kingdom of gypsy women.   There, above it all, standing alone on his hill made of sexual promise, stood Vladimir, corduroy and polo and yellow smiling lemon, erection poised straight out, reaching for the hair that curled under armpits and wrapped their necks and breasts in swirls.

Sweating, Vladimir walked down, hands on hips and nose held high, breathing in the fuel.

Amongst the sand trap were those that were promised so long ago.   A flock of animals he'd only read about in encyclopedias and world books, with illustrations half faded and stagnant, nothing like the bacchanalia that feasted on drink and game before his eyes.   It was two o'clock.   Volleyball had begun, and with it came the drunken revelry that Vladimir could only dream of while trekking across the park grounds.

“Not a white among them,” Vladimir smiled.

“How ‘bout a piece of pie, Vlad?”

Vladimir was startled for he was far away from the heat of Accounts Payable Grounds, yet when he turned he saw just what he was looking for.

“Henry, you sell pies?”

“Never question a salesman, Vlad.”

“I'll never question you again.”

“Henry, you sell scotch?”

“Never question a bartender, Vlad.”

“Then just say what I must spend.”

The scotch was given to Vlad in a plastic mug that read “Karlov Investments' 25th Annual Company Picnic”.

“Has it been twenty five years, Henry?”

“It's been so long it seems.”

“So long since I've had a drink, Henry?”

“So long since you've had such dreams.”

“But I'm no longer dreaming, Henry, my mind is finally at ease.   And I'll drink and eat your pie if you like, just don't let this be but a tease.”

“They're all there in sweat and heat.”

“They're full of moving heaving meat.”

“You must break them of this volleyball.”

“I'll break them in and wet them all.”

Vladimir rushed the scotch out of its plastic party cup and filled it up again.

Soon Vladimir was shirtless and wearing a yellow apron, prowling the field of beasts.   They were thick, but moved quickly, their feet, bare and broad.   The open grass was maddening with the women's rushing about, water balloons flying and wetting.

“I'm a lone predator and you're all my spineless prey,” Vladimir yelled aloud after doing fifteen push-ups and ten jumping jacks.

“Go get ‘em Vlad,” said a tall man with a salt and pepper beard, full but well-kept, hair of equal class.

“I will, Dad, I will.”

“Your mom has disappeared again,” and he reached for the whistle around his neck.

“But I didn't see it happen, Dad.”

“It happened all the same, Vlad, it happened all the same,” and he blew the whistle and the herd screamed and streaked, as the lion in yellow, burning up the sun, chased with water weapons yelling for them to run.

“Run gazelles, run zebras, run and run and run, but I will wet you all, I swear I'll wet you all.”

Vladimir charged and threw his arsenal of balloons at the fleeing and returning women as they howled in pleasure and soaked their attacker, again and again and again.

They were all wet and weary, lion and gazelle alike, and the sun beat down on their bodies as they bathed in the afternoon light.

Did I wet everyone of them, Dad?”

“Yes, you wet everyone.”

“But you didn't blow your whistle, Dad.”

“For we have not yet won.”

“So we don't know where mother went?”

“I think she's with her beau.”

“Though perhaps she's just asleep alone.”

But the whistle did not blow.

© 2006 Tyke Johnson