Jessica Rabbit a Pirate Wench or
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Dad’s Rabbit Rescue free porn video
I remember one time when I was in high school, we lived in a garden apartment in Pompton Lakes, New Jersey. The superintendent had just cut the grass on the lawn, and disturbed a nest of four baby rabbits. Those little fuzzy soft baby bunnies were only about three inches long, tops. And they scattered about for a bit, and I was able to catch three of them in my hands, and get them inside of a big cardboard box.
But there was one little baby bunny that was missing, and we searched and searched for about 20 minutes looking for him. And then my Dad discovered what had become of him. The fuzzy bunny had fallen about 8 feet, down a deep, narrow hole that rested against the laundry room stairwell. The hole was maybe only four inches in diameter, barely much bigger than the bunny himself. Dad had fetched a flashlight, and was shining it down this hole, revealing an absolutely petrified-stiff, little-bit-of-a-rabbit at the very bottom, and his beady baby eyes were glowing in the beam of the light.
‘Oh, my god, Dad, how are we ever gonna get him outta there?’ I already had tears streaming down my cheeks, anticipating having to go to bed that night with the knowledge that Little Peter Rabbit’s son was stuck down that hole!
‘Now, calm down, Les,’ he softly spoke to me.
My Dad is the one and only person who always and forever called me LEZ. Dad was generally speaking, a man-of-few-words, but the ones he spoke were always so full of a deep, soft, gentleness — and just the sound of his voice alone was frequently enough to soothe me. But this poor rabbit was in a real predicament down there. And for the life of me, at age 17, I did not have an inkling of how to go about rescuing him.
Dad continued to shine the light on the bunny baby for maybe five minutes, and I could tell the chemicals in that man’s brain were churning and boiling inside his head. All of a sudden, this incredible sense of euphoria came over me — I had that a lot when I was around my Father — and I knew somehow that everything was going to be just fine in the end. Because in my entire life, at any sign of trouble or disaster, even in the worst possible traumatic situations, I knew full well that there was not one single thing gone wrong that my dear Dad couldn’t fix!
Dad rose up off his knees, shut off the flashlight, and took off into our apartment, with his familiar firm, striding walk. He was a tall man, at an even 6′, and of course, to me, he was also the most dark and handsome guy on the planet!
‘Dad, what are you gonna do?’ I anxiously quizzed him.
But as usual, he wasn’t going to tell me a thing. That’s how he was, he did not want to waste words explaining his plans to anyone, because he knew how people always try to argue with and second-guess you, with their ignorant remarks — and he knew exactly what he was doing, and he was gonna do it his way, without any input from anyone, probably because he was so dam smart, that he knew his way was gonna succeed!
‘Daaa–aaa–aadd?!?!?!’ I was always a whiner that way, when I got impatient for an answer, and wasn’t getting anything!
I trotted behind him like a faithful puppy dog in though our front door, down the hallway, into my parents’ bedroom, and he opened his closet, and reached high, high up on the top shelf for his hand-built, custom-made, 11-foot long, surf/shore casting fishing rod. It had taken Dad weeks to build that thing, from design to completion. But like just about everything else he laid his hands on, it had come out being truly perfect! He removed the pole from its mounts, and placed it on the bed.
‘Daa-aa-dddd, what are you gonna do?,’ I asked again, in vain.
I knew he wasn’t going to tell me, but it took me many many years to acquire even a modicum of the amount of patience that man had, and I swear, I will be striving still for his patience-of-a-saint attitude on my deathbed!
He walked over to the dresser, opened up my Mom’s lingerie drawer, and pulled out a pair of tan pantyhose.
‘Pantyhose? Dad, what are you gonna do?’
Silence.
Over at his nightstand, he took a large pair of silver scissors from his top drawer there. He held them up for me to see fully, and stated very matter-of-factly in his wise-sounding deep voice, ‘These are Wiss Sheers. You are not going to find a better, more well-made pair of scissors than these anywhere in the world. They are made only for cutting material, so don’t ever use these on paper, OK, Les?’
‘OK’ I vowed to him with my life, ‘never, Dad, I will never use them on paper.’
Dam, that guy was a genius!
Carefully but swiftly, with his Wiss Sheers, Dad cut off one of the foot-sections on one of the legs of my Mom’s pantyhose. I was still totally dumb-founded, but when he picked up his fishing pole, and began to tie that nylon foot onto the very tip-end of the rod, I was beginning to get a clue about just how meticulously and efficiently his mind worked in problem-solving.
‘Oh, my god, Dad, what a GGRREEAAATTT idea!’ I gushed out my usual praise of him broadly.
Yep, he was definitely a complete and total genius!
Having fastened the hose firmly to his pole, he carefully pointed the huge long rod toward the hallway, so it would not be brushing against the ceiling, and purposefully marched down the hall, out the front door, over to the rabbit-hole, with me prancing along right behind him, glowing with pride and love for him, as if I was wanting always to announce to the entire world, ‘This is MY DAD! And don’t you ever forget it!!!’
Well, I guess you can pretty much figure out how the rest of this little bunny’s tale goes! Of course, Dad had rigged his fishing pole, with a ‘net’ on the end of it, and he was going to fish out that baby bunny from the bottom of that hole, if it was the last thing he was ever going to do!
I will tell you in all honesty, I would never, in a million years, have had the dexterity, maneuverability — and least of all the huge amount of calm patience Dad had that day, in rescuing that fuzzy little baby rabbit out of that deep, dark, trap he was stuck in. Because it took both of us all and every minute of two hours, with me trying to aim the flashlight beam in such a way that Dad could see the bunny down there, in order for him to finally FINALLY get that little round fuzz-ball to get stuck enough into the nylon-hose-net part, and then keep him locked in there long enough to raise the pole slowly and carefully out of eight feet of dirt, and into my Dad’s large, soft, strong hands.
But he did it! HE DID IT!
And he did curse and swear quite a bit during the ordeal, and he was feeling frustrated in a big way, too. But my Dad never quit for a second, he never relinquished for a moment, and I am 100% certain that the thought never even briefly crossed his mind to give up the fight! He was gonna save ‘MY BUNNY RABBIT’ from what would have been his certain death down there.
And when it was at last over, and I had those four baby bunnies in that big box in my bedroom, filling it with grass and clover, Dad came stepping softly in to watch me. And like everything else about him that was gentle and soft, he smiled at me sweetly, while I nursed the rescued rabbit with an eye dropper, in my cupped hand.
And Dad never did say another word about it!!!!!
THE END
Post Script: I nursed and nurtured those baby bunnies round the clock, every six hours, for two full weeks. But they were wild creatures, and in their own instinctual innocence, they would bite me, and claw me, and seemingly fight against me, even though I was trying to save their precious little lives. And the huge carton they were in could not hold them, because the box was a full 3′ tall, and those little critters, at now nearly 4′ in length, could jump like popcorn right over the sides of it!
So, after they were obviously eating plenty of outside grass and greens, and thriving and growin
g and strong, I came home from school one day and packed them up safely in a much smaller carton, punching plenty of airholes in it. And I placed them next to me on the front seat of my fire-engine red, 1963 Ford Galaxy 500 sports coupe — with the black vinyl top — (man, that was a HOT car!), and drove about 20 minutes to Ringwood Manor, a gorgeous mansion estate that had been turned into a New Jersey State Park.
It was starting to get dark just as I pulled into the driveway there, and a park ranger stopped me at the gate.
‘The park closes at dusk, dear, so you can’t come in here now,’ he politely but firmly informed me.
I pointed to the box of bunnies and carefully lifted a top panel slightly upward, so he could take a peak at what was inside.
‘I gotta let these guys go now, they are ready to be set free,’ I told him in such a tone as to let him know that I was not going to be denied access to the park.
‘Oh, my god, aren’t they cute! Honey, just follow me and I will take you to the best spot there is to let them loose.’
I am quite certain that my flirtatious-and-pleading big blue eyes smiling at that ranger had a lot to do with it, but he just about ran to his patrol car, jumped into the driver’s seat, started up his cherry-red-roof-top flasher, and pulled out at a pretty good clip down the driveway of the park, past the huge, white, Victorian mansion.
Shortly past the house, he made a left turn down a narrow, barely-even-visible dirt roadway for a few hundred yards. His car came to a dead stop right in its path, and he approached my Ford with a hand signal that let me know this was, indeed, THE PLACE.
With my box of baby bunnies pressed against my breasts, I followed the officer a few yards down a fully-cleared footpath, and saw before me a picture-perfect, babbling-brook with crystal clear water bubbling down its stream. I felt like I had suddenly been magically transported into some kind of Alice-In-Wonderland world.
I knelt down on the ground, which was covered mostly with thick, plush, green-growing moss — far enough away from the brook, so there could be no chance that the babies would find their way there too soon. And I opened up the bunnies’ box to find all four of those babies huddled together like a clump-of-a-furball into one little corner.
Gently, I tilted the carton over until it was fully resting on its side, and one by one, my little rabbits actually WALKED, not hopped mind you, out of their temporary shelter onto the floor of their new and natural permanent home.
‘Bye bye, baby bunnies,’ I whispered to them shakily, as they began to speed up their pace — and actually did jump now — into the deeper part of the grounds and woods of Ringwood Manor.
‘I know it’s tough when the kids leave the nest!’ the trooper quipped.
I was quite sure he had noticed my trembling voice and the tear in my eye, as I watched my baby bunnies disappear from my view.
‘Thank you so very, very much,’ I sincerely stated to him. ‘You have been so kind, and I very much appreciate it.’
And I could not help but worry and wonder for the whole ride home just exactly what was going to become of those little furry rabbits. But I had a very good and positive feeling — because of my faith in their Maker — that they were going to fare just fine!!!
Makenna
- 28.02.2022
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