A Were-Wheaten Christmas (2)

   
   "A Were-Wheaten Christmas (2)"
   
   Freddy Hart was in total Wheaten form--fanged, frisky, and fervent, knowing every girl who dawned a lime-green bikini was not insidious.  What else does an arch-angel wear while visiting the Gulf of Mexico?  If folks are tempted; next, it's their problem, unless the arch-angel is ornamenting itself to be completely lusted after; otherwise, it's all good, though nothing is really good save God, Jesus kinda/sorta mentioned, maybe a few times.
   Yet Freddy Hart had no iniquitous visions of the lascivious geography of the State of Florida; however, knew it housed plenty of low energy, in the form of quintessential suits out for themselves.
   Freddy Hart romped and rolled around on Terra's Terrain, getting as much of the Earth "All Over" her as she could, being close to the Yankee line, just not quite; still, it felt good to have the counterpoise of rebel dog and alcoholic Yankee, though she only drank beer, and never through a straw like frat boys in Congress.
   As she shifted back while Luna laid low, allowing the Daystar its ignition, the cool lady scrambled on bare feet to find her clothes that she had stashed behind a lonely tree in the suburbs--now, concrete sprawl its only family.  Of course there were cameras everywhere.  Yet what fool in their wrong mind would report a Were-Wheaten during the holidays?   Nobody even admits Saint Nicholas; thus, she had it made.