“Me? But you didn’t even know—”
“Not you. EEE-double-you-eee. A female sheep,” Boob explained. “All these years, all the chicks I’ve balled, none of them ever satisfied me as much as what I used to visualize making it with myself when I was a kid. I guess farm kids dream of making it with chorus girls when they’re on the lamb. Well, with me it’s just the reverse. When I’m humping some hatcheck chick. I close my eyes and count sheep.”
“Sort of sexual wool-gathering,” Regina quipped.
“I’ll make the jokes,” Boob told her firmly. “Anyway, I figure I’m paying you enough to act out my fantasy.”
That was true. Regina sighed. “What do you want me to do?” she asked resignedly.
“Act sheepish.”
Regina hung her head and made a moue. “I mean act like a sheep. Stay on all fours.”
“Shall I lay down like a lamb?”
“No. Be skittish like a full-grown ewe.” Boob flicked the switch against one plump cheek of her naked derriere. He snapped his fingers again and the sheep-dog pranced around Regina.
There was a full moon and the sky was bright with stars. The bizarre scene was clearly illuminated. A light breeze stirred the long grass as Regina scampered across the field on her hands and knees.
The sheepdog barked, caught up with her and leaned hard against her shoulder with his. “What’s he doing?” Regina asked breathlessly. “What does he want?”
“He’s herding you. He’s making you turn back towards me.”
Obligingly, Regina made the turn and circled back towards Boob. When she reached him, he reached out with his switch and poked her bare breasts so that they swayed back and forth. The rippling grass parted with the motion and tickled the tips. Regina shuddered, causing the small bell around her neck to ding-a-ling.
“Udder delight!” Boob said. Even in his excitement he was unable to resist the pun.
Still on all fours, Regina cocked her head and looked up at him. There was something ludicrous in the way the flannel shirttails flapped around his scrawny, naked behind as he moved around her. But the size of Boob’s erection said he was in dead earnest. He knelt beside her and reached under her torso to squeeze her nipples.
“You don’t milk a sheep!” Regina protested.
“It’s my fantasy!” he reminded her.
“What’s that?” Regina sniffed. “What’s that awful smell?”
“Sheep-dip. It’s authentic.”
“Why don’t you make up your mind whether you want to be authentic, or imaginative?”
“Oh, all right.” Boob stopped squeezing her breasts and got to his feet. He balanced unsteadily in the too-large hip-boots. “But I never saw a sheep with red hair there.” He tickled Regina’s pubic hair with the switch. “You must be a dyed-in-the-wool sheep,” he wisecracked.
“It’s not dyed!” Regina objected. “That’s the natural color!”
“Then you must be a Commie dupe!” Boob cackled. “A Red sheep!”
“Are you just going to stand there making corny jokes?” Regina wanted to know.
“Critics I don’t need! You just stay sheep-y!” Boob bent over and grasped one of her wool-covered ankles. He raised it off the ground.
“Hey!” Regina almost lost her balance. “What are you doing?”
“Ewe’ll see.” Boob bent her leg straight and slid it into the hip-boot. He repeated the strategy with the other leg. Then he spread his feet wide apart.
The result was to force Regina to balance on her hands and head. Her straining breasts hung upside down, the ruby tips grazing the ground. Her derriere jutted out at just the right height, glowing pinkly in the moonlight, the cleft pronounced by virtue of the position she’d been forced to assume. Her legs were firmly ensconced in the hip-boots.
Boob looked with approval at her neatly jackknifed body. The sheepdog sniffed at her face and when Regina tried to jerk her head away the little bell sounded. Her rounded bottom quivered with the motion, a shimmering pink target. Boob took careful aim and lunged.
“No!” Regina screamed a protest. “That’s not where—!”
It was too late. Boob had already scored a perverse bullseye and was lodged solidly. Keeping a tight grip on Regina's hips, he pumped passionately with sure, hard strokes.
The dog licked Regina’s face sympathetically. The smell of sheep-dip was strong in her nostrils. The attack on her rear was more painful than erotic, but she was resigned to it.
“Great!” Boob panted. “Wonderful! That’s it, sheep! Move it! Wiggle it! Yeah! Ahhh! I love ewe! I love ewe! I love ewe!” He slammed against her plump rear with all his might. “Do ewe love me?” he demanded.
“Baaa!” Regina replied. “Baa-aa!” she responded.
“Baa-aa-aa!”
CHAPTER NINE
The Sound of One Hand Napping
Regina Blue didn’t feel the least bit sheepish about phoning Boob Roper when she read in the papers of his arrival in New York with the Maharishi Unguentinanina. Celebrity Service, to which Regina subscribed, provided her with the name of the New York hotel where Boob was staying. When her call to him was put through, Regina identified herself by name.
“Who?” Boob seemingly drew a blank.
Former clients who developed amnesia were frequent in Regina’s experience. “Regina Blue.” She repeated her name patiently. “I was your house guest in Beverly Hills a few years back.”
“Sorry, honey, I don’t think I—”
“Baa-aa!” Regina Blue whinnied. “Baa-aa-aa!”
“Oh.” The sound of recognition was followed by a long silence which communicated suspicion.
“Do you remember me now?” Regina asked finally.
“Maybe.” Boob wasn’t about to commit himself. Blackmail wasn’t unknown in his business or hers; telephone wires had been known to be tapped. “What do you want?”
“A small favor.”
Here it comes! Boob steeled himself. “Like what?”
“I’d like you to arrange for me to meet the Maharishi. Privately.”
“He doesn’t swing that way,” Boob told her. “He’s an ascetic.”
“Then he’s safe with me,” Regina promised. “I just want to talk to him.”
“Sorry. The Maharishi only grants private interviews to the Select Few.” Boob’s tone endowed the privileged disciples with saintly status.
“The word is that you’re quite influential with him,” Regina persisted. “I’d be very appreciative.”
“No sale. I too have forsaken the flesh.”
“Including mutton?” Regina asked sweetly.
The point wasn’t lost on Boob. “I’ve given that up too,” he whined. “Honest.”
“Really? Now that’s very interesting. Very! I’ll bet Earl Wilson would think that’s very interesting. What top comic, initials B.R., is cold-shouldering a red-haired lamb with whom he once ran wild in his Beverly Hills pasture’?” Regina improvised.
“You’re leaning on me!” Boob protested.
“Baa-aa—aa!”
“All right, dammit! I’ll see what I can do.”
Two days later Boob called Regina to tell her that the meeting with the Maharishi had been arranged for the following afternoon. It was to take place in the private quarters reserved for the Maharishi’s meditation at the small temple which had been built in his honor by subscription of his followers. Boob himself would pick Regina up at three and escort her there.
The room was small and dim, lit only by two candles in ornate holders, one on either side of a raised dais. The Maharishi sat cross-legged on a pillow atop the dais. He motioned for Regina to sit on the bare floor below and in front of him. “You may leave us, Brother,” he told Boob, who backed out genuflecting.