Satyrdung
by Randolph O. Mann
(Poetic License)

Into everyone’s career there comes a time when providence and circumstances align, for Annika such a chance would be now and she felt primed for just such a fanciful occasion. With crystal clarity Miss Thyme appreciates what a very special opportunity was at hand on this fertile Sunday morning. There was no confusion upon her part as she leisurely paced back and forth in front of Tuggy’s Hardware Store while anticipating the appearance of the hired car that had been obligingly orchestrated for everyone’s convenience.

The arrangement of today’s event had placed Miss Thyme as single-handed in the morning nippiness with Annika recognizing quite clearly how she was about to unleash a shocking professional panic upon her bookish contemporaries by stretching for her journalistic ‘brass ring.’ Miss Thyme plainly accepted how timing and good fortune had only opened a door for her. Now she must ‘put on her big girl panties’ and adroitly demonstrate her expertise with communiqué after so fiercely arguing that her linguistic talents were being wasted when management consigned her to answering the phones at the front deck of the Noe Valley Voice. Granted there are some of Miss Thyme’s coworkers at the ‘The Voice’ who consider her to be just another victim of a very ill-advised selection process which has unfairly placed Annika curbside at this ungodly hour. So when the ‘Upper Management’ at the Noe Valley Voice hesitantly nominated Annika for such a risky assignment over senior colleagues it had been callously assumed Annika only got the administrative nod because of her pristine façade, not due to any professional accomplishments or established literary skill on her part. The Editor of The Voice always hated challenges to his authority and stridently vocalized his concerns with Annika’s nomination. Consequently it took some forceful ‘arm-twisting’ from well positioned Corporate Board Members before Edward Tyranny warily submitted to this ‘test by fire’ and reluctantly awarded this high profile exclusive interview to his burgeoning ‘cub reporter.’

According to The Voice, "Miss Thyme is to be reimbursed for any of her out of pocket business expenses associated with this project.” And because her ‘source’ had insisted upon the scarlet color of Annika’s attire anything newly purchased by her would definitely qualify as business related, therefore all of yesterday had been spent at Bloomingdale’s shopping. Miss Thyme was dressed in various shades of crimson head to toe as prearranged by ‘him.’ Stockings, lingerie, a collared cape, long-sleeved dress, flush-balanced cosmetics and in her hair was placed a special red satin ribbon, all these harmonizing for effect as each of her designer garments had been carefully selected to generate a maximum of distractions and a variety of liability. Every fashion item was color coordinated and hand tailored to her figure. Even a consulting makeup artist was called in this morning to insure the final applications achieved near perfection. Then off Annika was sent off to rally with her destiny.

The taxi driver stopped across the street, double parking for both of their convenience. With a purity of caution, Annika gathered herself before jay-walking across the two-way thoroughfare where she entered the yellow cab from the stern side-door away from the unusually busy weekend traffic. Once Annika was seated and safely strapped the cab progressed west-bound up the street. The driver’s mirrored glances confirmed Annika’s shopping excursion was a scarlet sensation. He even adjusted his rear view mirror to increase his framed reflected scrutiny. Under such an indelicate inspection Annika was forced to adjust her hem for the sake of modesty and with the hope of returning the cabby’s full attention to his driving.

There was a cerulean atmosphere about the morning as the taxi exited Twenty-Fourth Street turning right on Castro for the jaunt across The City, as a satyr’s interview has never before been granted. Owing to such novelty, Annika had been endlessly rehearsed by the Noe Valley Voice research staff. Annika was made to understand the delicate peril this journalistic assignment would expose her to. Her colleagues warned of impious deception beyond compare. They spoke mordantly of ‘Satyr Luck’ as "evil unrestrained" because as they had forewarned “the majority of satyrs left very little to the Fates and scrupulously covered all their wicked tracks.” A satyr’s cleverness when ‘Dancing a Fine Line’ was described as undeniably compelling. Their ‘hoofing skill’ is witnessed in the whirling of the Dervish and exampled by the step arrangement found in River Dancing that are suspected of turning a maiden’s head and rumored to enslave the very young at heart. A satyr’s talent for ‘Mix-ology’ is described as peerless here on earth. Satyr herbal potions are warranted as both stimulating and rather durable. Without question Miss Thyme was invested in this matter at an iniquitous disadvantage according to her jealous colleagues.

As the taxi darted in and out of the morning traffic Annika caught a fleeting glimpse of the wooded Davis Medical Center campus on the right just before Castro Street would merge into Divisadero. Annika’s attention was clear and fixed upon her task at hand and all that would entail so there was no conversation between Annika and the driver as her thoughts were racing.

Annika’s personal research had confirmed her co-worker’s warnings as grossly understated. The University Achieves contained a wealth of information from Greek and Roman mythology and loads of records about Greek Satyr Plays plus many references to Shakespearian exploitations. But Annika found precious little scientific documentation to help marshal today’s encounter. The greatest quantity of constructive satyr data was gleaned from folklore accountings passed down from ancient times. These aged chronicles contained ominous rumors of the satyr’s ability to ‘Trip the Light Fantastic.’ A talent that arrives intact at birth allowing the satyr-kits to distort the nature found in beams of light thus permitting them the gift to hide from observation while stationed in plain sight. This special capacity empowers every satyr to curve the luster of a shaft-light in such a way whereby one’s imagination will build a false image within your own mind’s eye, a mirage if you will. Such a skill is second nature to each and every satyr. It is applied instinctively to side step a woman’s intuition and improves a satyr’s odds to have his evil way with her. The satyr-prey sees only what she wants to see or only what her overactive imaginations will let be seen.

Cooperating with the traffic signal the yellow taxi executes a well timed left turn from Divisadero Street onto Geary Boulevard. Together Annika and her appointed driver travel along the hackneyed thoroughfare before penetrating the commuter’s burrow found tunneling beneath Masonic Avenue.

Annika’s studies had unearthed how a satyr’s skill ‘to turn a tender phase’ was identified as absolutely lethal. The use of hypnotic song, spellbinding verse or soothing limerick is an endowment satyrs are known to liberate while endeavoring to gain access to a lady’s pleasure. These lyrical skills when coupled with the Shepard’s Flute are mesmerizing to the fairer sex. This satirical poetic license makes encountering such romantic rouges extremely risky for the weaker members of our breed. Without question Annika will need her guard up, her wits about her and her knees together, or he’ll have his remuneration!

From west bound Geary Boulevard the driver made a right at Twelfth Avenue and progressed in a northerly direction towards the Presidio.

The only ‘satirical’ weakness Annika was able to uncover in all of her reading and exhaustive research was a vague reference to a ‘Colear Movement’ recorded in an ancient piece of writing referencing a woman’s capacity to ‘call upon a Satyr’s Happy Tears.’ According to ‘Old Wives Tales of Yore’ a headstrong lady’s hand has been known to take liberty with satyrs in a ritual referred to as ‘Tickling the Satyr’s Fancy.’ Where it was described that if a gritty human female can externally bring a ‘satyr’s aphillyette’ to peak, she can invoke a wish of her own choosing. In a cautionary side-bar it was noted the incantation is satirically inescapable but only if the spell is casted while the faun is enslaved by his dynamic condition. As such, the Lady’s request must then be granted in due course by the ‘hoodwinked-satyr,’ as failing to comply will reduce said-Satyr into a mortal status.

Thus armed with such antiquated knowledge Annika conceived a strategy by way of this satirical flaw, whereby Annika intended to contest her ‘feminine wiles’ against the satyr’s romantic fluency. If successful Miss Thyme will demand the satyr’s full disclosure of his satirical way of life for publication, under Annika’s byline of course, but should she fail Annika copiously understood how her feminine qualities would then be forfeited and cast upon the mercy of the ‘satyr’s aphillyette.’ Thusly making for a very intimate gambit as both of the contestants’ are committing to ‘all in’ with the loser of such a flamboyant wager to be laid bare in the public venue with his/her modesty exposed.

Beyond the tee intersection where Twelfth Avenue and Lake Street convene is a cul-de-sac, half a block in length. This hospitable blind alley is divided with a meridian indigenously planted and ending in a friendly roundabout at Lake Park Proper. In a short half block one leaves the metropolitan environment and enters a very rural setting. The City sounds are muffled by the accumulation of high-rise structures along Lake Street and Mother Nature’s sounds are thus allowed a voice here near the lake. Wild creatures have found an extraordinary place to call their own upon the cusp between the urban and the bucolic. Domestic beasts have learned to share these pastoral jewels with the more fortunate to still be identified as feral. And only thanks to sympatric souls is such a locality allowed a place and time. Flanked by golfers and commuters is located a space the inhabitants call Know-Man’s Orchard where the municipal and the country have their intercourse daily. Where the mounting of two ecosystems can be most passionately performed with the coupling of such dissimilar objectives can be witnessed and celebrated as most entertaining to behold.

The jaundice horseless carriage pulled to a stop adjacent to a flight of stairs leading into the commons. The driver twisted around and faced his pretty fare prior to explaining how the passenger fee had been covered in advance and then he presented Annika with a wax sealed envelope. Embedded in the ruby colored wax was the image of a dancing faun. The letter was formally addressed to Miss Annika Thyme.

So without any further delay Annika broke passed the waxy precaution and opened her letter while stilled comfortably seated in the cab. Inside she found a traditionally hand-written letter of introduction explaining in flowery old world fanfare that she was “scheduled to meet with a Raynard at the timing proscribed by Tumult.”

The summit of Tumult’s Knob provides a satyr with the perfect view of his gullible quarry and Annika seem properly confused by his cryptically written instructions as she thanked the driver and opened the taxi door to exit. A long expanse of healthy-looking leg emerged from the rear seat of the cab. Annika’s hem had traveled high above her knee exposing the lacy top of her redden hosiery placing immoral smiles upon the lips of all the feral voyeurs in attendance. It was only after raising to the occasion that Annika was able to straighten her outfit with respect to her diffidence.

And from the shadows, Tumult continued his meticulous inspection of the little lady while she began her credulous accent into his lakeside playground. A naughty onshore breeze molested Annika’s burgundy colored cloak allowing a supplementary assessment of her form from atop The Knob. Tumult watched her body swaying as she climbed the hill. Each step she took increased his interest as Annika cautiously approached. At the apex of her modest climb Annika found jaded foliage underfoot as the woodwind blew beneath her hem and she forcefully employed her hand to control her mischievous outfit.

Tummy’s Knob had been strategically placed by Mother Nature providing a first-rate observation in all four of the cardinal directions and it was here that Tumult Reynård set up his perch this fine morning. Stationed high above and upwind of the municipal privies that provided ‘him’ with a husk-from-grain stalking technique designed to sift his satyr-prey by gender as one and all eventually took their turn enjoying the public amenities. This voyeuristic location allowed for scrutiny of all three popular approaches into the Orchard plus informative views inside the windows of the nearby dwellings and Tumult was more than contented holding court from here. In command of all that he observed Tumult directed his attention upon Annika’s pelvis and found her cherry-colored silhouette was more than to his liking.

In a shouted fashion Annika offered forth her initial overture, “Tumult!”

That garnered only Tumult’s whispered reply, “Juanita poor Tittie amen.”

Annika continued her probing, “Raynard!”

Satyr-chanting under his breath, “Wan taw poor tittie omen.”

Relentlessly paging, “Raynard! Tumult!”

Faun-ly whispered comment, “Want awe pure Tittie O Man.”

Annika’s questioned inquiry, “Tumult?”

Tumult: “What a pure-tittie whoa Man.”

Annika: “Raynard? ”

Tumult: “What a purr tittie woman.”

Annika: “Raynard Tumult?”

Tumult: “What, a, pretty, woman. A very, pretty, woman!”

Annika: “Mr. Tumult?”

Tumult’s hushed warning, “Yes, I am here, to service you, My Dear!”

Just slight changes of his position return the sun’s radiance to plumb and all at once the satyr was made visible to her, yet still somewhat veiled in backlighting. Annika found the satyr’s diminutive statue disquieting never the less his silhouette presented as properly proportioned as she squinted into the shadows of the Knob. It was only as Tumult sauntered out of the glare from the morning light that it became most apparent that he was carrying his privacy out in the open, leaving nothing to her imagination. As Tumult meandered down the steep incline he offhandedly flaunted ‘himself’ for her to see. Such a phallic display was totally unexpected and set Annika to stuttering.

“Aw... aw, well, aw, my name is Annika Thyme, of the Noe Valley Voice, and I am honored to see you, aw, I mean to make your acquaintance, Mister Raynard Tumult.”

With Tumult flamboyantly replying “My proper name would be, Tumult Reynård,, which all of the very prettiest of ladies have fawn-dly shortened to Tummy. Now if there are no objections I would beg for your consent, that I might call you, Any Time, if that is alright by you?

“ Aw, aw,, Oh boy. Sure Mister Reynård that aw, I believe Annie Thyme will work just fine with me. I mean, aw, you know what I intended, I think?”

“Good, Oregano Annie, butt you are far too modest and formal. Please concentrate on using only, Tummy.”

“I have been instructed to notify you that the Noe Valley Voice has already agreed that during this exclusive assignment you will set all the guidelines, so Tummy it must be then.”

“Good”

“As my editor, Mr. Ed Tyranny has prearranged, this exchange will be a one-on-one dialogue with the objective of collecting your personal biography for publication in our weekly tabloid and I shall propose, aw, I mean suggest, that we can begin straight away?”

“Annie, may I share with you just how exciting this is for me,, to find my biographer is both ways, fashionably on Thyme and beautifully to the point.”

“Ok. Then, Tummy, I believe this is as good a time as any to start.”

“Yes, as good a Thyme as any, may I put it to you, that our little outing, should embark upon a vigorous opening stride. I hope you will find it enticing to step out with me,, as I charm you with the romance of my daze.”

“ Aw, aw, ok, that would be ok, I think?”

“Yes, for me a tender gallop, between these limbs is more than welcome, Annie Time. You can stretch your long legs as I summon forth the enchantments of my daze. I will share by way of you my tail in arrear and insert my theory upon the erotic Thyme’s to cum.

“Oh my!”

“Annie now is very right, for you are cuming during an extremely fertile season. And yes today would make the perfect Thyme for me to bare it all, to ewe. As I expect it will be quite hot today may I propose to confiscate your cloak of Thyme. In favor, of its safe keeping, let us jointly foaled your piece, of clothing and lay it in my hole.

“Well, aw, that sounds agreeable to me, I think?”

“Good, so be it.”

So together, goat and prey climbed the curved pathway towards the summit of Tumult’s lakeside accommodations. With his pipe in hand and his tongue at the ready Tumult urged a suggestive tune from his shepherd’s flute inspiring Annika to gently sway and prance in time as she very seductively removed her cape for him. After folding the garment Annika formally offered it to Mr. Reynård for its keeping. Tummy accepted the garment blissfully and stored it in his warren for safety’s sake before embarking upon a measured assessment of his prey devoid of her glowing overcoat. Revealed before a satyr’s stare left Annika both stimulated and embarrassed by his exhaustive scrutiny. The goatish inventory tallied liberal childbearing haunches, substantial withers counter balancing her generous teats, gorgeous pouting lips, seductive doe-ish eyes and cordially flared nostrils. Tummy found the lady’s form as very easy on the eye.

Ever the gracious host the satyr selected the broadest of the leather straps crisscrossing Tumults shaggy chest collecting his wine bag before bowing and offering a sampling to his guest in a grand gesture of his hospitality. Anticipating Annika’s lack of familiarity with his dangling sack, Tumult bobbed his head towards his naive holidaymaker and positioned the forlorn nipple into his mouth and filled the skin with his breath before tilting both his head and bag back and squeezing the liquid in an arching jet as he flexed his arms to their full length and back again. Then in copied fashion Annika was drilled by Tumult as she shyly accepted the nipple between her lips and filled his goat-sack with her breath. Once filled to its capacity Tumult applied his soft and deliberate fingers to the bloated wineskin. Sending the mysterious contents into her open mouth and Annika commenced to swallowing.

“Oh, my word. This beverage tastes very sweet and very strong. What are you serving to me so early this fine morning?”

“What I just squirted into your mouth was of my own making, a con-cock-sion for my intended. Made using only local cum-ponents, I have primed ewe with a sampling of my ‘Fortified Spirits.’ ‘Witch,’ by the proper blending of the wine from my vats near ‘Ewe-kia’ with rose-pedals of the Western Choke-Cherry and dried sprigs of the Native Nettle I have made ready a beverage that has been found most agreeable and to all ewe’s liking.”

“All I know is it pleasing to my tongue and tickles going down when I swallow. Will I be offered another taste before I leave today?”

“Oh Yes, it would be my pleasure Annie Time as I have plenty more to share with Ewe. Now shall we see the grounds as I enchant ewe with my daze?”

“I am at your mercy and willingly place myself into your capable hands.”

“Good, so be it.”

The End

Copyright© 2012 by Randolph O. Mann. All rights reserved.