A True Redhead

 A True Redhead

Often my brother, Ken and I would hop onto our bicycles and ride to our friend’s house about half of a mile away. Our friend and his brothers would join us and we would take to the shaded lanes and abandoned fields near their home. The one area where would ride was an abandoned Boy Scout campground. The deeply rutted road ran through wooded sections and through open areas of the old camp. Some of the large open meadows were where my family picked wild full-flavored strawberries. Some areas had quiet little niches where campers would place tents or small Scotty trailers. This Scout campground was abandoned but people still drove in to use the campsites.
Sometimes we would ride to the old camp just to swim in the stream that had been dammed up and other times we rode for the joy of feeling the wind in our hair. It almost seemed like a paradise to us as kids. We had the freedom to ride long distances without the fear of traffic. If we got warm we rode in the shaded areas or if we got chilled we would relax on the grass in the sunshine.
This particular morning was sunny and cool, the perfect weather for riding our bicycles. It was cool enough to ride in jeans and a polo shirt without overheating when we pedaled furiously. Here and there, wisps of fog curled in low lying areas of the road and at the campsites.
It was a time of freedom. We were riding for the sheer joy of it, feeling the cool air rush by with our shirt tails flapping behind us in the wind. The morning was filled with the aroma of honeysuckles and stale wood smoke. There had to be campers about.
Tucked tightly into one of the small campsites was an older Scotty trailer. It was turquoise and white. Coiled around its bottom was a large bank of fog, about thirty inches high. The door to the trailer was open. Framed in the dark doorway was an alabaster skinned, statuesque woman. She was sky clad…absolutely naked… not wearing a single stitch of clothing. It was as though Aphrodite herself was standing there. The fog swirled around her feet and she appeared to be standing on a cloud.
In the soft morning sun her skin shone like polished translucent milk glass. She had wide hips, a narrow waist, and breasts the size of small grapefruit. It truly was “Venus on the Half Shell” standing there in rural Pennsylvania
It was a heady and titillating moment for my brother and I. We stopped our bicycles just out of sight. We weren’t sure what to do, but it was the only road. That meant riding back past the Scotty trailer and this woman. After a short rest, we decided to ride back, but we were disappointed. The door was still open, but empty. The one thing that I can say for sure was this woman was definitely a red head.