by Jim Snyder

Created on: November 05, 2009

Tarzan rarely changed his loin cloth. This was disconcerting to the other apes, because, among them, he seemed to have the most potential. When Oompha had returned from the valley of birth giving with this beautiful, yet clearly humanesque child, none of them considered anything but that this was a blessing. Oompha was never pressed to tell her story, and so it remained a mystery up until the day Tarzan held her in his brawny arms and she passed into another place. Tarzan stood and cried out a mighty, mournful wail that seemed to arouse the attention of every creature in the jungle. They called back in support of his anguish. Generations later, her story was finally taken from its traditional oral form and was written down so that those in the future could understand the wonderment that was Tarzan.

She's here. He stopped typing.

"You're so freakin' weird," Kristy said as she rolled her eyes and sipped from her cup of early java. "Man, is there nothing you won't let out of your head?"

"You'd be surprised." Indigo turned his head around quickly, took a moment to note that her chest was, quite literally, just above his eye level and then looked up at her face and thought, You'd be surprised. He had never been this close to her. The various aromas of her ablutions, still mostly fresh, jostled each other as they fought for prominence in his nostrils. She was breathing, and there was a radiant heat emanating from her that he could actually discern from the remainder of the universe. If I could just reach around her, pull her stomach to my face, and breathe it all in, that's all. "Didn't your mother teach you that it's not polite to read over someone's shoulders?"

"Actually I was looking over your head. And my mother taught me a good many things that I haven't quite figured out what their actual points were. I'd sure like to know what you were taught when you were a kid, so I could even begin to understand what in the hell caused you." By the time she finished talking she had backed up at least a half a step, though it was done in such a slow motion that he was hardly aware of it. He only knew that he didn't have to strain his neck as much to see her face and, when he broke eye contact, the inside sweater of her thin, turquoise sweater set. Some day I will tell her how much I adore small breasts, which I'm sure is a thought that's bound to flop out when I least expect it. "You're just such a conundrum."

"Yes, I'm the little conundrummer boy. Parumpum!"

"See, you

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