Chapter 1

Dear Jerry,

I have never dared to mention in the past to anyone that I watch your show a lot on Sundays between church services. I’m the senior, okay, the ONLY, pastor of my local Baptist, the Buckman Baptist Church in Stagwood, Kentucky. I live at the Buckman Trailer Park with many of my parishioners, choosing not to separate myself from my congregation as if I’m somehow high and mighty or too big for my britches. We are genuwine country folks here, ya know.

My proper name is Dennis Rodman Marshall, but everyone calls me “Denny,” or “Pastor Denny” of late. I’m a Baptist preacher, as I said. I’ve been married for several months to my lovely second cousin Ellie Marshall, whose maiden name was Beaufort. She’s seventeen, but she got her folks to sign off on the marriage. They wanted a good husband for her, and I dare say that a Baptist preacher like me is a good choice for her myself.

My wife is a lovely young Christian lady, a wonderful hostess, very friendly, warm, a talented pianist/organist, a good-hearted Southern woman, ya know. Because we can’t host proper meals in any one trailer park, all of our church socials are held in the open areas of the trailer park, you see. I could do it in the rest of town, but that’s mostly shops, the church right next to the park, and rich folks’ homes. If you ain’t rich or don’t live above (or below) your shop in Stagwood, odds are that you live at the Buckman Trailer Park at the town limits. They can’t afford a parsonage, after all.

Ellie is also pregnant with our baby, but the question isn’t whether or not I sinned with her, or if she fornicated, because we both. The question is which sinner put that baby in her womb. She claims that it was me, and maybe it was, but she is always very fond of Dan Logan, a local liquor storekeeper. He’s not the only fella that comes to mind, but she’s very sweet on him and always was.

Dan is not quite the biggest pervert in town, but he gives the top dog there a run for his money now and then. Thing is that while some like ‘em young, Dan likes ‘em married. He also likes ‘em redneck. Well, Ellie is young, but she’s also married and she’s also a redneck. So, maybe her baby is mine, maybe it’s Dan’s, but in any case, she might well be foolin’ with him instead of trying to charm him into going to church.

Here’s the other problem. I have wrestled with my jealousy, yes, but also ... I kinda get hornier than usual whenever I think that she might have been humped by Dan. I don’t know how I can make myself stop. I tried prayer, I tried some book learnin’, but some of them shrink writers seem kinda sinful or godless, ya know. It’s gotten to the point that I’m afraid to catch ‘em together, for fear that I might wanna join ‘em. That’s not a good thing for a preacher to do, ya know, joinin’ his wife and her lover in bed.

I’m also afraid to confront Dan, because he’s a good friend, but he also knows about my still under the church, ya know. That’s not exactly godly of me or legal, ya know. He could tell some revenuers and they could seize the church. I could get kicked out of the ministry too, ya know. Ellie insists that it’s my baby, though, even if it’s rather big for its supposed age.

Also, as sinners go, Dan’s very nice. He’s even chased off some bullies who tried to rape Ellie and/or cornhole me a time or two in the past. Nobody wants to run afoul of Dan Logan the old sea dog. Yeah, he used to be a sailor and they say that he still has some gear from his Navy days. Maybe even a harpoon, but I think that they’re just talking from their backsides there.

Oddly enough, Dan’s bedded a lot of wives, but he’s never had one of his own. He’s very fond of expectin’ mamas with round bellies, mamas with nice, big tits and butts that stretch their shorts a bit, and trashy redneck girls with a lot of lipstick, gloss, rouge, bare midriffs with knotted-up tops or tank tops, minskirts, Daisy Dukes, cowgirls in denim, and proper church ladies in their cotton sundresses. Anything really countrified, he wants to pump and dump ‘em. Sneakers, sandals, and snakeskin boots.