She plays the French Horn and was once a Tibetan monk.
My name is Brendalee Elkins and I am from round abouts Nevady, just like my whole clan has always been, ancestors and such. We been here since Apache times, and lay claim to some pretty famous Injun-fighters, leastaways the ones what didn’t marry into the tribes like my cousin Buckminister Elkins done. Daddy always said he weren’t no more than half anything including half an Elkins, though, and I guess that proved it to my kinfolk when he run off with his little squaw. It’s a flat miracle he ain’t broke her up much, since she can’t be no taller’n five foot and a half. I always figured she musta tamed him something fierce, so he sure ain’t more than half an Elkins nowdays, in any case.
We have always been a scrappy bunch when it comes right down to it, and ain’t never been a one of us good at bein’ obedient or what have you, so I ain’t got no grudge against Buckminister for lovin’ him an Injun squaw. We ain’t had no quarrel with Injuns for over a hunnerd years, so I reckon my kin is just prejerdiced, and I like to think of myself as a moderner kinda gal than that.
So Buckminister calls to the store for me with a message, since we only got a tellyphone down to the grocery. We live olden style like we always done, and let me tell ya I’ll shore be glad if Daddy gets us some pipes for water, on account of I get plum sick of haulin’ it all the way from B’ar Creek ever morning. I reckon it’s a needless chore nowdays, but Daddy don’t trust drankin’ out no metal pipes, nor havin’ no ‘lectricity. He seen a feller get lectercutered when they was bringin it into our neck of the woods, and swore it off when he was just a young’un. Old folks get set in their ways, and my Daddy is stubborner than a mule with the drizzles.
But I’m getting sidetracked from my story, which ain’t no good. Anyhow, us Elkinses was always well-known around these parts as being a biggish clan, and partial to a ruckus. I’m 22 and full-growed, and I’m nigh on to seven foot tall. This is mainly why we have a name as fightin’ types, on account of we are hard to whup, and don’t much appreciate it when someone tries. Hell, Daddy knew enough to stop tryin’ to hide me by time I was nigh on six foot, back when I were 8 or 9. I hadn’t even really sprouted yet. And if you ain’t got no hoss sense by that age, you most like never will get any, so ain’t no point in tryin to whup on someone then nohow. Especially if they’s liable to return your licks, like us Elkins always grows to be.
Anyhows, Buckminister leaved me a message, like I said. Somehow he said some fellers got some nekkid pitchers of me on the internets, which as I understand it is kinda like the post, only electrical. Someone musta snuck a camera up the creek whilst I was bathin’ or something, but it befuddled me as to when. I didn’t never recall seeing no flash, nor smellin’ gunpowder nor nothing whilst I was bathing. Well naturally, it occurs to me that this is plum rude and brought my dander up a bit, so I made the grocer work the tellyphone so’s I could talk to Buckminister direct and figure out to whom I needed to learn a lesson.
(I wanted that to say ‘figure out who I needed to larn a lesson to’ but Callie says to me that I shouldn’t ought to end a sentence with a pepperzitional. I think she just likes the idear a makin’ me write ‘whom’ on account of I argued with her that it weren’t no real word once’t.)
“Brendalee, izzat you?” Buckminister says over the ear piece. He was shoutin’ like I was deef or something, and he has a damn bellerin’ voice to begin with.
“Yeah it’s me, quit yer hollerin,” I says to him. I leaned into the mouth part on the wall-box sos he could hear me better, just in case. “It’s Brendalee Elkins. What’s this ‘bout some feller having pitchers of me nekkid now?”
“I seed it on the internets at the resavayshun library. It’s you all right, and that pitcher is a-spreadin across them internets like crazy.”
“What’n tarnation you mean, they’s a spreadin?” I said. He was always half a liar, that Buckminister. Not so much flat lies as stretchin’ thangs, which is a tendacy that lots of folks around here suffer from. Pitchers cain’t spread though, I weren’t born last night. “You tell me who I need to give a hidin’ to so’s I can have that pitcher, or I’ll come up the resavayshun and hide you and your squaw both!”
“You don’t understand these internets, Brendalee!” he said, still a-bellerin fit to beat the band. He had him a big voice for sure. I give up tryin’ to quieten him as it was no use. “When they’s a pitcher on there, anybody can copy it just by pushin’ on a button or two! Y’all got a fan club started and ever’thang! They wants to know your measurements, and I reckon I could help you turn this into some fine money income, if’n you want!”
“The hell you say!” I yelled. “By damn! Tell ‘em I’m nigh on seven foot and I will tan the skin off’n their bones if they doesn’t give me back that gol-dern pitcher!” I do try to keep a ladylike tongue in my mouth, but by now I was plum fired up, so ‘scuse my language.
“Y’all needs to come up here so’s I can talk to ya and show ya!” he hollered at me. “I’ll be a waitin! Come on up the resavayshun as soon as you can! Good-bye!”
Well that settled it, I had to get my kit about and set off to see him and his squaw up the resavayshun. I hated goin’ to the resavayshun on account of it was all desert, that land was good for nothin’ a’tall. If I had knowed then that I was gonna be stuck in a cave in the Humboldts for three days I would havea packed my kit different, that’s for sure.
I told Daddy all about it and he was sore displeased that someone had snuck a pitcher of me nekkid down to the creek. He jumped to the conclusion that it were old man McGraw, on account of he blames old man McGraw for ever’thang from bad weather to colicky babies. Though I couldn’t dissuade him since it most likely was old man McGraw who was a-snoopin on me, since he snooped on me ever since I growed teats. I did manage to get Daddy to promise not to do nothing though, since he was imejitley grabbin’ for his muzzle-loader off’n the wall to go put some lead in McGraw’s hide. I promised there’d be a reckonin’ once’t I knew who for sure it was, and that was good enough, since Daddy’s druthers is mostly just a-sittin on the porch these days.
I packed up Beusaphallus with my kit and some feed for the two of us, and lots of canteens and 2-liter plastical bottles from sodie pops that we used for such like that. I wasn’t planning on no dehydration crossin’ the little piece of desert twixt the Humbolts and the resavayshun. Beusaphallus didn’t much like the extry load, but he also never did much like the normal load of just me. He was the only mule strong enough to lug me about the hills though, so we was stuck with each other like always. He weren’t as peeved as I initially thought though, since I only had to kick him twice and he only threw me the three times as we was headin’ up inter the pass. He tends to throw me six or eight times in that spell, when he’s truly sore.
I don’t reckon I’d even have knowed that Tiny Plummer was even on our side of the hills if’n Beusephallus weren’t somewhat agitated though. I weren’t ready to camp for the night, but I reckon Beusephallus was dead set on stoppin’ when he did since he plopped his bottom down and flat refused to budge. I woulda kept on til over the next rise at least, but I could not kick nor press him up without taken him right offa the ground, and he always gets scairt for a goodly time when I pick him clean up, so I don’t like to do that. Plus I just weren’t in the mood to carry him that far, so I give in and set a fire goin’ to cook up some grub.
That’s when Tiny Plummer come a-runnin like to beat the devil. Her face was all a mess of runny makeup and tears and the like, since she is one of them city gals from down to Chawed Ear, which I always forget is now called Busington or Bussington or some such. “Tiny Plummer!” I says. “You look like you seen a ghost!”
“Brendalee Elkins! Oh thank the good Lord it’s you! They’s a albiner samsquantch a-chasin me, help! He done squeezed my titties so hard I like to-a died!”
“What?” I says, befuddled. “I thought we done kilt all them bigfoots way back in the naughts!” by which I meant the 2000’s, years-wise. Old timers call the 1900’s the aughts, so I reckon ‘naughts’ works for the ones I lived through.
At this point my mind was getting set on having me a albino bigfoot hide. I reckoned I could make me one fine one-of-a-kind blanket out of that. And maybe even some cute white boots for wintertime, if’n he were big enough. I have me some fairly massive feet for a girl, even though I am in perportions to myself like a regular growed gal, so it weren’t by any means guaranteed that one bigfoot hide would be adequate to a blanket and a pair of booties as well.
“Save me!” she says, all a-frantical.
“Calm y’self,” I says. I’m a lady myself, but I got no use for hysterics. I was nigh on to givin’ her a bit of a cuff in the mouth just to shet her up. “Have you some b’ar steak and beans and set a spell, you’re liable to burst if you don’t simmer a touch.” I dished her up a plate on a chunk of flat wood I had split for the fire, then I went to Beusephallus, who was still in his parkin’ spot on his rump, and fetched out my old blunderbuss and my powder horn. Nobody never saw fit to equip me with a proper rifle, though I do have two fine ivory-handled heirloom Peacemakers I wear on my belt. I don’t reckon a pistol-shot .45 is gonna stop no albino samsquantch, though. Least it wouldn’t have stopped none of the ones Daddy and I hunted down, though I confess none of them was albinos. I don’t know what differ’nce it’d make, but best safe than sorry, so I loaded up a mess of powder and shot and some stones that was lyin’ near to hand into the blunderbuss and tamped her down good whilst Tiny started shuttin’ up and eatin.
Tiny was a perty little thang, for sure. Ever’ man that had a look at her before she was hitched up had took a shine to her, and she was the talk of all the little towns hereabout whilst she was acceptin’ suitors for her courtin’ case. She soon married some Plummer feller from back east who had settled himself into a mine claim over yonder past Busington, or whatever they call Chawed Ear nowdays. We call her Tiny on account of how tiny she is, since she ain’t even six feet. In fact she ain’t no bigger than Buckminister’s squaw wife, truth to tell, maybe not even that. Five and change, I reckon. But she does have a figger like mine, which is to say the shape fellers seem to gawk at, big bosoms and roundly hips and all that. It’s embarrassin’ to even write about it, but you know how fellers are.
“I never heard of no bigfoot squeezin’ a woman’s bosoms,” I said whilst I was packin the blunderbuss. “Are you shore it weren’t some feller in a suit?”
“My Lord, Brendalee, if you coulda seen it! He was almost twiced your size, cain’t be no feller in a suit. And if it were two fellers in a suit, they couldn’ta run as fast as what he…OH MAH LORD!” All of a sudden she leapt to her feet and took off a-runnin downhill toward the old home place like a shot. In no time she was a-tumblin ass over applecart down the narrow road betwixt the trees, and I knew she was gonna tumble a long way down til it leveled out some, so I just stood up and put the butt of my gun to my shoulder. I no sooner did then I seen what she run off for.
Sure as the dickens, there was that damn albino samsquantch. And then it stuck me that he weren’t no samsquantch at all, least not how a science perfesser would call it, on account of he had these crazy hypnotical eyes that no bigfoot never had in any case. I would know, I done kilt me half a dozen bigfoots and samsquantches, and ain’t none of them got such perty eyes.
I wasn’t hypnotized though. He was bigger’n me by a sight, just like Tiny Plummer said, but gol dern if I were gonna just fall into them gorgeous eyes without a little cantankerous opposition. I knowed when I stared into them other-worldly eyeballs that he wanted to milk my titties somehow, and I didn’t reckon that was gonna fly with this Elkins girl. I hadn’t never even had no baby, and I sure as shuckin’ didn’t plan to let them big old manglers try to perjuice milk out of my sensitive mammaries, no matter how enormous they is compared to normal gals’s teats.
I was already about lined up, so I give him the load of shot. I plugged him square in the face, but his head was so big and my blunderbuss so inaccarate that alls he got was a half-dozen little spots twixt his nose and chest that barely bled. It did rile him a bit though, he come a-runnin and thumped me a good one on top of my head whilst I was tryin to reload. I hate to admit it, but after the fifth or sixth time he cracked me thataway, he knocked me out, just as I finally had the old girl packed for another shot.
If I had been thinkin’ I woulda just drawed my pistols and shot his knees out, but I wasn’t. Especially after that first clout. I didn’t never have such a clout in my life as that first one he delivered on top my head, and I used to make money by lettin’ folks break thangs on top my head at them Tumbleweed Festivals up to Painter’s Gulch.
So that is how I lost three days en root to the resavayshun. I woke up in a cave that I was familiar with. He had turnt it into some kinda ice cave, so I reckoned he was one of them Abominerbal Snowmans. Callie told me later they’s also called Yetis. That there is a stupid name, but it is short, so I will use it since I am getting hand cramps from all this dern writing, and Yeti is a lot better on my hand than Abominerbal Snowman.
I waked up and he had me froze in a block of ice up to my neck. It was chilly all right, but it was more infuriatin’ than anything else. I flexed all my muscles the best I could and ever time I got the ice block startin’ to crackle a bit, he’d come in and clout me again, and when I waked up next time it was all back solid and bigger than the last time.
Now on the second day of this, I was getting plum riled. He knocked me unconscious half a dozen times whenever I’d make the block start to crack, so at one point when I come to I figured I’d store up my energy and make the effort all to once so’s I could jest shatter the block and thump him right back before he could get a good aim at my head. It was startin’ to pester me a bit and I didn’t need to have no headache on top of bein’ froze into a big chunka ice. Plus he had froze the ice somehow to be real thick, thicker than ever, from my elbows down, and he had let it thaw some around my bosoms, so I knowed what his game was. He was plannin’ to come milk me whilst I were unconscious! The yellow snake had to use wily trickery on me and wouldn’t even fight fair. So I let all my rage rile up in me, and you may not know it, but Elkinses are all famous for bad tempers when we are riled.
Anyways, he come in to milk me when I was fakin’ asleep, so as to take him by surprise with my sudden big effort. He got close and I seen him raise his big ham of a fist to clout me atop the head again, so then I give it my all. I stretched my arms and legs as hard as I could and I leant up so’s if he swung before I was free, he would just clout me on the back, from which I would surely be fine.
A great crack! and then as I did the leanin’ forward, another crack, and I accidental head-butted him in the stomach. He was tryin to thump me like I thought, but he just hit me on my spine, which I ignored to bust my hands free so I could rassle the big galoot. I’m the best girl rassler in all the Humbolts, and only a few of my cousins are the only boys who can outrassle me. I was right confident that if I could get my mitts on his dirty fur, I could choke him out and get away.
And I woulda, but the way he slipped from the headbutt I give him? Well, it doubled him over right on top of me. So imejitely after his ham fists clubbed onto my spine, his big dumb chin conked me—you guessed it—right atop my head. So I was out cold, again, and I woke up froze jest the same as before, only now I had a headache on top of it all, so I jest wanted to relax some.
It were Beusephallus what come to my rescue. He’s stubborner than Daddy, but he is also right dependent, and two days of nibblin’ was about all he could stomach before he come to me for some proper vittles. He had to find me, so it took him a bit, but he got there whilst I was nappin from my sore noggin.
I woke up and he was a-lickin at that ice floe I was stuck in like it was made of rock candy. He was about flatulent on top of it all, on account of all he had eaten for days was plants he scavenged after our last meal of beans and b’ar meat. I had not even considered that but it give me an idear which I held in reserve in my mind, since good notions seem to come harder when you got an achin’ noodle.
I was hopin Beusephallus could get me free altogether afore the Yeti come back, but ain’t no Elkins never had that kind of good luck to get out of a troublesome sitchiation without havin’ to throw down a bit. He did have the ice melted fair low onto me though betwixt his lappin’ tongue and his gol dern flatulence a-pissin’ me off and makin’ my tempachure rise.
Plus it helped some that he was between the cave mouth and me, so when the Yeti come in the opening, I had an extry couple seconds of strainin’ at the ice to bust out. And my reserve plan come into play just as I thought it might, since I were free except from my waist down when he knocked Beusephallus out the way.
Yep, that’s right, one mighty fart and that iceflow turnt from a prison for my buttocks and laigs into glistening white snow. I held her in for three days and when I let it go, it was a force of nature! I grappled with that Yeti and give him a fancy judo-toss over my shoulder. I read about it in a comic book but never had no chancet for to use it, since ain’t nobody I ever rassled was taller’n me, even my boy cousins who could beat me with straight strength (sometimes, not always!)
His head went clonk! on the stony ground and it shoulda been lights out, but he just kinda clung on to me half awake and half unconscious. Beusephallus come a-runnin back in since he had stopped rollin from the swat he took, and turnt his backside to the Yeti and give him a mighty mule-kick right twixt his nethers where he had a big old purple pecker the size of a damn yule log and a set of nuts that may as well have been boulders, ‘ceptin they didn’t sound like boulders when them hooves connected. Sounded more like when you squish a handful of puddin’, like to shoot it at your cousin who won’t stop pullin’ your hair at the kid’s table.
So he leggo and I rassled him down and choked him out, then I had to be bothered carryin’ him back since Beusephallus wouldn’t have it when I tried to make him drag the sumbitch. Took me six hours to carry that beast back down to B’ar Creek and the reason I got so riled by that is it only takes four hours to ride it on Beusephallus without no Yeti in tow.
But for me, the most aggravatin’ bit of it all is this part comin’ up right hyere. I get back to B’ar Creek with this gol dern Yeti or abominerbal snowman as they kept callin’ him, and the grocer gets some fancy College perfesser on the phone to come take a look and pay me my proper finder’s fee for such a rare thing. I throwed it into the jail cell myself, to be sure he was locked up proper, and you know what happened? Naturally! The dern jailer, Homer Crisp, did not do his due negligence and allowed the Yeti to escape well prior to the perfesser’s arrival.
I went through all of that for nothin’ and got delayed on my quest to retrieve my stolen nekkid pitchers to boot. Ain’t that a kick in the teeth?
Want to read more? Well, you’re going to have to wait for Erotic Pulp #2 to get the conclusion of this one, but you can visit more Milked By The Yeti stories or read Erotic Pulp #1.
Read more SMUTPUNK from Callie Press