Tales of Westfarthing

Hot Daddy

After a bit more arguing and reassurances of a 'really good time!' Mirriam managed to slip away from Mrs. Allen. It was bliss to get back to her saner world of accounting spreadsheets and prissy middle managers. But by evening, curiosity got the better of her. She got Puck's leash and they went for a walk up the west hill to see how the wicker man was coming along.

Puck was full of fluff and bother, having not got a walk for several days. As they crested the hill, he wrenched his leash from Mirriam's hand and dashed away, barking circles around the wicker man. On his third circumambulation, he brought forth a friend. Or foe, Mirriam wasn't sure which this shadowy figure would be. Puck's eyes were huge in her white fuzzy face as she put her tail between her legs and beelined back to Mirriam's side.

At first, he was nothing but a dark shape silhouetted by the setting sun. When he got to the east side of the wicker man, the shade of the construction shaded Mirriam's view and brought him into better focus. Middle-aged and fit, he rested an old-fashioned scythe on one shoulder. His linen work shirt was half-unbuttoned, with a tattered bandanna around his neck. A pair of tight blue jeans kept the whole look from being too much like Renfaire chic.

"Hello hot daddy," Mirriam muttered under her breath. He wasn't old enough to be her dad, but he had at least a decade on her. Too bad, but nothing said a gal couldn't look at a handsome older guy.

"Hello Miri. Glad you could make it. Are you coming to the bonfire after all, then?"

Cerulean blue eyes sparkled under shaggy flaxen brows. His beard was equally shaggy, and his hair as wild as the windswept fields behind him. Some answering spark of wildness flared up in Mirriam. She stamped it out. Get hold of yourself, Mirriam! The stern thought did little to course-correct her mood.

"Sorry. Didn't meant to disturb your work. I'm Mirriam Friedman." However he'd learned her name, it wouldn't do to let him think he could start using a nickname before they'd even been introduced.

"Of course you are. I'm John." He stuck out a huge callused hand for her to shake.

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him if he was the John of Barleycorn legend. She repressed that silly notion while she regained control of Puck's leash.

"So, how are you liking the old pile so far?" He gestured with his scythe toward the figure looming behind them.

"It's a very fine wicker man," Mirriam replied, feeling polite if not honest.

It wasn't yet very man-shaped, only a lump with something that might be a head. Puck barked again and then insisted on being picked up. Strange that. Usually, she jumped all over new people, despite Mirriam's attempts to train her.

"More of a strawman than a wicker man. In more ways than one." His grin felt infectious despite the poor joke. "Every year I keep trying to convince them to put a mighty erection on the mighty erection. We all know that old John makes everybody right horny." He let out a dramatic sigh. "Every year, they refuse. They say that it would traumatize the children. Bah! The children aren't invited. Adults only, you know." He wiggled his shaggy brows at her.

Mirriam was glad the sun was well down and dusk was hiding the fierce blush on her cheeks. Did he somehow read her lascivious thoughts? Had she flirted with him by accident? Not an accident, the lonely, lusty part of her mind replied.

"Beg pardon. Must go. Nice meeting you!" Mirriam made sure that Puck was secure under her arm and turned tail and ran. A dark chuckle sounded behind her as she trotted down the hill. He shouted.

"Hey, Miri!"

She paused and looked back, though she felt that she should not.

"Make sure that you come to the bonfire this year. We'll have a good time! John Barleycorn must die, you know! Might as well die in the arms of a pretty woman."

That last double entendre made her pick up her speed to a jog. Back at her little cottage, she locked the doors, pulled the blinds, and spent the rest of the evening pretending that everything was fine. Because it was, wasn't it?