April Foolishness: Damned If You Don’t

Nothing bad can happen to you in Bora Bora. After all, the water is so translucently blue, who could ever sneak up on you?

Private Felstein is relaxing in his overwater bungalow, enjoying the sunshine, the sea breeze, the colorful tropical fish darting around in the water – as well as his third Mai Tai this afternoon – when a dark shadow blots out the sun. He looks up to see a beautiful woman standing in front of him, her hair swept up into an elaborate braid, and her body browned by the sun. Her colorful sarong covers her lower body, but her exposed midriff reveals a belly button ring that sparkles (a diamond?), and further up her torso, he notes her ample bosom.

He licks his lips, pondering the nipples beneath the colorful fabric, and what he might do to them.

His daydream is swiftly cut short by an uppercut to his nose.

“Ow!” he shrieks. “What’d you do that for?”

“That’s for ogling my tits. Do it again, and I’ll cut off your dick,” the woman informs him.

Private Felstein is bent over, trying to figure out whether or not his nose is broken. There’s certainly a lot of blood.

“Here,” the woman says, tossing him a white towel. “Clean yourself up already. We’ll be late.”

“You’ve broken my nose, and you’re worried about us being late?” he grumbles. “Wait, late for what?”

“For a very important date, my White Rabbit,” the woman says, with a conspiratorial wink.

Private Felstein isn’t sure what conspiracies this wink is alluding to; he’s never been big on those types of theories. “Just the facts, ma’am,” he requests, stuffily (due to the towel over his nose), parroting his favorite TV show. “First of all: who the hell are you, and why are you in my bungalow?”

“I’m not here to make love to you, that’s for certain,” she begins.

“I gathered that, thanks.” He pulls the towel away from his face, nearly fainting at the sight of all that crimson.

“You’ve been selected for a top secret mission,” she continues. “My name is Agent Bragg, and you’re wanted for briefing at headquarters.”

“And where’s that?”

“Classified.”

“Is anything on this mission not classified, Agent Bragg?”

“Where you’re going, you’re going to need a lot of friends. Try not to cross the people that will get you there and back safely,” she says, tossing him an earpiece.

As he clips it behind his left ear, a helicopter descends from above, hovering a few feet above the lagoon.

“C’mon,” Agent Bragg says, leading the way down into the water, and shimmying up the rope ladder into the belly of the beast.

“Dammit,” Private Felstein mutters to himself. “What the holy hell have I gotten myself into?”

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