Copyrighted by Lorna Tedder. Originally published in Third Degree Curves.
While racing off to work Friday morning, I ran out of the house in the rain, hopped in the car, backed up three feet, and saw something…odd…in the grass that Shannon better mow this week or else. I couldn’t tell what it was. I thought at first it was a log or a limb in the grass. Then I knew I was going to be late for work.
I just happened to have a camera close by and snapped several shots, all of them far more explicit than this one, which I’ve purposely reduced in size.
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I don’t think the camera can adequately capture the male’s laid-back attitude or the female’s will-you-give-us-some-privacy-puhleeze-cuz-I-didn’t-consent-to-being-photo’d-and-exhibited-online-thank-you-very-much glare. They’d been like this for some time, apparently, judging by the pine straw that had fallen on top of them. I’d guess…hours. Did the boy have a little Turtle Viagra? I guess turtles make love veeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrryyyyyyyy slowly?
Technically she’s able to drag him around like this. Kinda like skiing or maybe surfing? Hmmm. Cowabunga.
So what’s with all the wildlife crawling up to my doorstep to fornicate? Luxuriously long, slow turtle sex. Bunny quickies. Squirrel ménage à trois.
The only logical conclusion is that with no sex going on in my house, there’s obviously a cosmic void that Mother Nature is trying to fill and the lack of sex in my house is like a vacuum that sucks in oversexed critters within a two-mile radius. Like I said, the only logical conclusion.
Either that or Shannon needs to mow the lawn.
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