The Strange Adventures of Rangergirl Read Online Free PDF Page A

glistened at the base of the hill. “Have you ever made love in the mud?” she asked.
    “No,” he said, cautiously.
    She sat up. “I have, at an arts festival, a few years ago. We painted one another with mud, and then . . .” Another smile. “It was amazing, so cool and sensual—I’ve never felt anything like it, all that squishy goodness against my skin. I felt so connected to the earth, to the natural rhythms of the world—I swear, the goddess moved
through
me that day.”
    “It sounds like a breeding ground for infection,” Denis said, mostly to keep himself from making an acid comment about her absurd quasi-paganism.
    Jane rolled her eyes, an insufferable habit of hers. “You’re so dramatic. Come on.” She grabbed his hand and stood up, pulling him to his feet. He protested, and she kissed him, putting her talented tongue into his mouth. Her hands went to the buttons on his clothes, and she began stripping and fondling him with gusto.
    Denis was astonished. She really wanted him to fuck her in the
mud
. She didn’t know him at all; that, or she was being willfully stupid, choosing to be blind. Much like the way she’d accused him of being a closet Dadaist—anyone who knew Denis at
all
would have recognized the idiocy inherent in such an assertion.
    But she
had
come to him and apologized, had made the first gesture of reconciliation. Perhaps she was simply demanding a sacrifice of his in return, as a way of maintaining balance in their relationship. Could she be doing so unconsciously, or was it a deliberate act? Jane was a student of psychology, and should thus recognize her own mechanisms, but Denis knew that not everyone possessed his own degree of self-knowledge.
    She stripped off her stockings and led him to the mud, stepping into the patch of wet earth and digging in her toes. Denis thought about putting his feet in there, about the filth that would get in under his toenails where he’d never be able to clean it, and he returned to the blanket. He put on his socks and boots and returned to the mud, knowing he looked ridiculous in just his shoes, preferring that to filthiness.
    Jane laughed. “You don’t know what you’re missing. The connection to the earth, the feel of it between your toes; it’s remarkable, it’s like the goddess is singing just to me.”
    Denis shook his head.
    She held out her arms. “Come on, cowboy. Fuck me with your boots on, then.”
    They weren’t cowboy boots, only hiking boots, but Denis appreciated the general sentiment behind her words, and he didn’t correct her.
    The mud wasn’t so bad at first, really—it was surprisingly smooth, not rocky as he’d expected, and it
did
feel good against his skin, as long as Jane kept him distracted from the fact that he was, basically, rolling in wet dirt. She drew patterns on his chest, runes and circles and stars. She cajoled him into painting her, and Denis actually became fairly interested in drawing certain patterns on her back. He’d never considered mud as an artistic medium before, for obvious reasons. Finally she demanded that he mount her, and Denis moved to oblige. The mud on his body was drying uncomfortably, starting to itch, and he wanted to get this over with. Jane was on all fours in the mud, looking back at him over her shoulder coyly. Denis knew he could penetrate her and finish in a few thrusts, and tell her later that the whole mud-covered experience had gotten him so hot he couldn’t contain himself for a more respectable duration. She’d be more flattered than annoyed, and all would be well.
    Just as he entered her, his knees deep in the mud, he saw something come crawling out of the dirt just a foot away from Jane. It was a large beetle, disgusting, caked with mud. Denis could clearly discern the beetle’s antennae. They were filthy.
    Denis suddenly realized, deeply and all the way through, that he was in a repulsive situation. This was filth; this was the lowest rung on the ladder of