C4 antho - Chamber Four

The Naturalists ~123~
Nature’s Bounty was 300 strong, split nearly 50/50 by
gender. Which meant I was gazing upon roughly 300 breasts
a day. That’s a lot, even for someone at my age. The downside,
of course, was that the other 50% of the population was
men, which meant that a sultry day at Nature’s Bounty
roasted more wieners than a hotdog stand.
The population was about two-thirds senior citizens,
which didn’t leave much eye candy for the rest of us. Still, my
father assured me he was “shooting par for the course,” forcing
me to meet his rotation of flings every night at dinner.
“Now, Deborah,” my father began, reaching for his creamed
corn. “What exactly was your profession back in Austin?”
“Retail,” a busty, middle-aged blonde answered. “But
after twenty-years selling blouses and skirts, I realized I
didn’t much care for them.”
“Case and point,” my father chuckled, nodding to her
chest.
She laughed too, and my dad slugged me on the arm
while passing the corn.
“Case and point,” he repeated, nodding first to her
breasts and then at what remained hidden between her legs
beneath the table. “Good one, huh, Frankie? Who could’ve
guessed your old man was a comedian, huh?”
Who could have guessed he was a naturalist?
Yet despite my father’s gallivanting and hobnobbing, it
was pretty clear he wasn’t yet over my mother. Some nights
after calisthenics with Mayor White, we’d grab the fishing
poles and head toward the lake, and while he never brought
her up directly, she was always on his mind.
“Think the Spurs will make it to the playoffs next season?”
he’d ask, casting out into the water.
And what was I to say except, “Yeah sure, I hope so.”