I Was Framed!

The bears are full of shit, just ask anyone who isn’t taking a dump in the woods. Kind of crazy, what with indoor plumbing and all that, but bears will be bears. And porridge? Puh-leaze. I don’t eat carbs.

Yeah, I was in their house when they came home. Fine, in bed, but it’s not like you heard—I wasn’t casing the joint or eating porridge or sitting in a recliner to binge watch Landman. You see, I kissed a frog in the forest the other day, and I saw Prince playing Purple Rain with the light behind him, just like at the end of the movie. There was no encore of “Baby I’m a Star,” so I knew it wasn’t really a movie, even though popcorn was flying through the air.

So what if it was a tongue kiss? I suppose none of you ever made out with a stranger you met in the forest. Anyway, put your puritan prejudices aside if you want the rest of my story; otherwise, you’re going to have tour delicate sensibilities offended.

And don’t call me Goldilocks. It’s not my name, and if you’re going to reduce me to a physical characteristic, Canditits suits me better.

Yeah, it was one of those frogs that take you out of reality. Seriously, why else would my tongue be on amphibian flesh? I’m adventurous, that’s true, but not aimlessly adventurous. I wasn’t just meandering around like a lost river; I had a date.

He was above my social station, that’s true, but all of that falls to the wayside when you’re in the throes of passion. It’s not like I had any grand delusions about marrying royalty because I could wear uncomfortable shoes gracefully. In fact, fuck shoes unless I’m walking in the forest. Which I was.

My lover and I were looking for a place to complete our rendezvous amongst the trees, who are terrible secret keepers, but no one understands their language, so it doesn’t really matter.

Anyway, we happened upon the bears’ cottage, and it was obvious that no one was home: no lights on, no smoke from the chimney, no sounds coming from inside the house. We knocked anyway, just to be sure.

Yep. Empty. There were three bowls of carbs on the table, and my lover (no, I won’t tell you his name), having no qualms about weight gain in his thighs nor germs from other species, and he tried a bite from each bowl. The first one must’ve had some habanero in it because he went on a tear to cool his mouth off, but, alas, there was no vanilla ice cream.

You should have seen the face he made when he tasted the second one. He hated it but said it cooled his mouth right down, probably the cucumber and mint in it.

The third bowl? He practically licked it when he finished devouring the contents, mentioning bacon and cheese. I guess one of the bears was southern—I’ve only heard of those going in grits, never oatmeal or cream of wheat.

After he satisfied that appetite, he tried bending me over one of the chairs, but it put the part of me he was after out of reach of his part that was chasing it. There were two other chairs, but one of them was just a glorified beanbag, definitely not what we had in mind. The third chair didn’t survive our attempt to repurpose it, so up the stairs we went.

We tried the beds. The first one had an extra-firm mattress, so we put it to use in the missionary position. No sense wasting that hard mattress. The second one must have been eider down with no box springs. I’d get a backache lying in it, but it was comfy enough for a little oral indulgence. I do love a cunning linguist.

More than a little turned on, we progressed to the third bed. Oh, honey, it was just the right height for him to bend me over it with my ass in the air. We finished the business we came for. Boy howdy, we did. Afterward, we spooned into each other and our afterglow, and I drifted off to sleep. When I woke up, he was gone, and the bears were back. They were some kind of pissed, and there I was all by myself, so I got framed for being a homewrecker while my lover married up and denied his presence in the forest with me until his dying day. As if I would eat three bowls of carbs and break furniture all by myself. You people are more gullible than my lover’s wife.