She needed a bath, her uncombed tousled hair stuck up every which way and she was goddamned pissed at the world in general and Lyman, her old man, in particular. Her sandy reddish hair and freckled complexion showed hints of an ancestry originally found in the north of England. Her stocky, only a little chubby young body was, as Lyman affectionately put it, "Built for th' long haul." Her young pussy showed evidence of "long haul after long haul." That dam' Lyman had just about "long hauled" her into the ground, him and his brothers. Not that she minded, though. Having a man dip his wick in a girl was just about the finest feeling in the world. Why, she thought to herself with a smile, even to feel the Spirit of the Lord descend on me in a Revival meeting in no way matched the feeling of a good old country fuck. She felt guilty for thinking "lightly" about the Spirit Of The Lord. Hurriedly she crossed herself like she seen those Catholic girls do in town, even though she wasn't Catholic. You just never knew what might work and she sure as hell didn't want Jesus pissed off at her. Times was already hard enough right then as it was.
Ever since that first time when her cousin Willy Jay's pecker got put in her, she loved to just plain old fuck. Damn, but that seemed like a long time ago. She had decided early in life that there was nothing quite so fine as a fine peter. Come to think of it, she never had a prick stuck in her that was "unfine." It was just that some was so much finer than others. She smiled to herself at the remembrance of that first time of getting it. She smiled even more as she thought of how many people said they were "getting fucked" and meant it in a bad sort of way. Nosiree, getting fucked was one of the best things that could happen to a person, she decided. She squeezed her legs together and experienced the slight thrill the action generated. Then she grinned once more.
She stood at the worn, rickety hand made kitchen table, slicing an Oklahoma grown Russet potato into a ten-inch cast iron frying pan. The last of the scrub oak firewood would barely be enough to cook her breakfast of potatoes and left over lima beans and onions, flavored with salt. She muttered, half under her breath and half aloud, "That son of a bitch Lyman had better bring some more wood in with him. I'm getting' tired of his lazy shit. Jesus. If I only had some place to go, any place." She took a deep breath, "Aw shit, if only, if only ... if only frogs had wings, they wouldn't get splinters in their asses when they hopped on wood. She sighed and once again longed for a better life. If only ... She sighed again and put the sad thoughts out of her mind. She knew the "if onlies" just led to crying and misery.
However she was still hungry and pissed off. "I ain't agoin to crawl in bed with his brother or his cousin ever again just 'cause he wants it, I don't give a shit what he says," she vowed to herself. "I told him last time he had me to fuck somebody in front of him that I was through doin' that twisty shit. What kind of man was it that got all extra horny watching his wife get nailed by someone else and then wanted to nail her ass with sloppy seconds? She shook her head angrily.
"Oh, I don't mind a little fooling around when I want it," she told herself. "But I ain't no dam' wind up toy for nobody else to be ordering around 'cause he wants" Next thing that preverted bastard will want me to do it with his worthless old hound dog. That man has a real twisty mind." (She had wondered what it would be like with a dog, a few times. But ... nah. She'd never really do it. But... ) She sighed again. It seemed that so much of her life was spent in sighs.
She added the last pieces of wood to the firebox of the stove and shucked off her button down the front dress with the faded primrose pattern. She walked naked out into the yard and stood under the waterspout Lymon had attached to a fifty-gallon drum He strapped the drum to the side of the windmill ten feet up off the ground. Lyman might be not much use as a man, she decided for about the thousandth time, but he sure was good with tools. The home made windmill he built pumped cool water up from the three hundred foot deep well, and poured it into the drum.
When the drum became full, the water was diverted and pumped into the stock tank and from there, back out onto the ground where it was once again absorbed by the thirsty earth. A small irrigation ditch took part of the runoff and watered the single acre of vegetable garden and the blossoming fruit trees. Even the chicken yard had a constant supply of water. The chickens quickly ate insects drawn to the moisture. That damned Lyman thought of everything but how she felt about stuff. "He just don't give a shit where I'm concerned," she told herself for the thousandth time.
The drum held fifty gallons of cool water that quickly turned hot under the blazing heat of the burning Oklahoma sun. She wanted it cool so she grabbed the second dump valve line and opened it. Now that damn water came down cool and nice. She sighed again and stood under the spout and pulled on the lanyard attached to the dump valve. Water cascaded over her thirsty skin, as she stood, eyes closed, luxuriating in the feeling of wetness. The dry, hot Oklahoma air seemed to suck the moisture out of everything.
Reluctantly, she let go of the lanyard and reached for the soap. Without opening her eyes she grabbed for the soap and encountered a long, hard penis instead. That was something she could recognize anywhere, anytime, eyes open, or eyes closed. It felt real big around, too. It wasn't no one she knew. Lyman and his brother and his cousin and their few friends all had little short ones along side this big son of a bitch, a regular giant god damned snake. A stranger. A thrill and a shiver ran through, touched with fear. But still, she held on to it for an extra moment. It did feel nice, but it belonged to a stranger.
Jerking her hand back, she opened her eyes and found herself looking at a lanky, stringy muscled man with a big grin and a hard on to match. He handed her the soap, which she took in shocked silence. "Wh... who are you?" she stuttered. She saw a well cared Ford roadster convertible stopped just a few feet away. Why hadn't she heard it come chuggin' in?
He grinned even wider and said, "My name is James Frederick Deer, no relation to John Deere the tractor man. I came by to ask permission to photograph your house and land. I take pictures for back east magazines. I am a great photographer and I love nude women."
"Mister, you better get th' hell out of here before my old man and his cousin get back. 'Sides, I ain't no time for strangers. Now, git." She was angry and scared a little, but she was damned if she was going to let this stork assed stranger see any fear.
"Well, I was hoping for an invitation for breakfast or lunch, or something, but if not, I'll get dressed and, with your permission, take my pictures. There's still twenty dollars in it for you.
The offer of money went right by her as the word "breakfast" registered on her consciousness. My taters is burning and I'm standing naked talking to this skinny son of a bitch of a stranger. She thought to herself. Nakedly, jiggling, full, firm breasts bobbling up and down in a wonderfully enticing way, she ran for the house screaming, "I burnt my 'taters!"
Jim Deer followed behind her at a slow pace, his penis bobbling up and down. As he followed the chubby ass he envisioned himself penetrating it. He smiled. He'd win out, of that he was certain. He took a careful step into the old shack, careful of splinters in the rough unfinished wood floor and watched her frantically use a spatula to turn the getting-ready-to-scorch potatoes and onions and pour the cold limas over the whole mess. She stirred things around and turned back to the stranger almost clipped his protruding cock with the spatula. He gingerly hopped back barely in time.
"Would you mind getting that big thang out of here and head on down the road?" she asked him. "I got too much else to do to mess around with no stranger." Then she remembered the money. "You said twenty dollars? What for?"
"Well, I want to take your picture under that shower you have contrived out there; actually I want to take several pictures of you and of your place here. I found you because of all the greenery. I had been driving all around the countryside looking for the material for a photo essay, when suddenly here was this place, a veritable Eden in the shit house of creation. I think the rest of this god awful state is going to blow north into Canada or south into Texas, which isn't all that much better, itself. Then here you are, surrounded by luxuriant verdancy, so much greenery in only this small area, while the rest of the country around here is covered with red clay the consistency of shit. I just had to come see for myself"
"You sure talk funny, not at all like real folks is supposed to. Now, what else you planning on getting for that twenty dollar bill? I ain't no whore. I never took a cent in my life for fucking." She mentally crossed her fingers as she thought of a time or two when nice men showed gentlemanly gratitude. One feller showed her ten whole dollars worth of gratitude. Just that once. (But that was different.)
"Heaven forbid that I should cast aspersions upon your pulchritude. Any man with half an eye can see you are the embodiment of all that is good in womanhood. Although I would so love to taste your beauty and fondle your, oh so wondrous charms, the twenty dollars is offered as payment for you if you would pose as a model for me. You were so eye fetching that I would love to do an essay on your, oh so wholesome, nude form."
"I don't know about you getting any of that 'assey' or into that 'hole some' you was a talkin' about, but show me the money and your camera." Twenty bucks? Why that was a new dress at the thrift store in town and some store groceries, flour an' fresh yeast an' things.
Deer hurried out and returned with three things: a tripod mounted professional Petrie camera, a twenty-dollar bill and his big erection. It had never flagged nor softened a bit. He handed her the money, which she quickly put on the table. She saw that the camera was legitimate. She also saw that the hard on was persistently present.
"Like I said, I ain't got no time for strangers. So let me eat, grab a plate for yourself if you're hungry. Ain't no bread, we're out of damned near everything. When I'm done eating, you can take your pictures. She started forking the food into her mouth. He wordlessly joined her and they ate in silence.
Sweet blood of Christ, he thought as the first taste violated his taste buds, how could anyone eat such awful tasting garbage as this day after day? He faked appreciation for the food as well as a whore faked an orgasm. As soon as she had finished the last bite on her plate, she stood and he did too. His hard cock was still very evident. She gathered up the dishes and carried them over to the sink and pumped some water into it and put everything but the cast iron skillet to soak.
Suddenly she felt his presence behind her. Then, before she could turn, she felt him place his arms around her and kiss her neck and lick her ear lobe as he cupped her breasts. With thumb and forefinger of each hand he worried her nipples and caused them to firm up. His erection was nudging at her ass.
Suddenly she knew she wanted this stranger who dropped in from nowhere and excited her with his alien big city ways. She did not realize that she was wet down there until he slid in easily, all ten or so inches. He released her breasts and grabbed her hips. She willingly followed the urging of the pressure on her to bend over. Almost without thought, she backed up hard against him and moaned softly. "Oh, yesss," she whispered with great feeling, "Oh God yesss." she moaned as he oh-so-slowly invaded her wet and willing pussy.
Suddenly he pulled out and turned her toward him. With a strength his thin frame belied, he effortlessly lifted her work firmed hundred thirty pound body up and sat her on the edge of the sink and re-entered her, to take up where he left off. He lifted her left breast up and bent over and sucked on it. "Do the other one, too, please." she begged in a whisper. "Oh, this is good." She could feel a sweet, hot pressure build up inside her, rising higher and higher until it reached a crescendo no conductor could urge from an orchestra...
At one point he withdrew, dropped to his knees and buried his face in her s he greedily licked and nibbled at her Venus mound. Then, abruptly, he stood and he slipped quickly inside her and began to fuck her with a jack hammering motion that sent waves of pleasure through her body. Her clitoris, so sensitive from his demanding tongue felt like it was going to explode. Oh shit. I hope he never quits was the only thought in her mind. In her mind's eye she saw herself as riding a great cloud high into the sunny sky.
He stopped and pressed hard against her, grinding her clit with his pelvis. She felt a hot gushing inside her as he emptied himself completely, to the last drop. "Oh, Jesus. Jimmie, you sure as hell ain't no stranger no more. That was the best I got off in a long time." Her inner voice said, "The best I ever had, ever."
She shook her head and collected her thought. "You want to start taking them pictures, now?" she asked.
His erection had temporarily gone away and he was suddenly another man entirely, ready for a different sort of action. He wanted to photograph this young woman right now. She was good, he felt it deep inside that she would be damned good. Great with sex and greater as a model, was his personal assessment. The light freckles on her body would not show to her disadvantage. Somehow, he was positive that the fickle ultra high speed Kodak film would create in her form a chubby Venus guaranteed to make him the envy of all the other photographers around. Everyone will be jealous at what I create here, he told himself.
"Okay, whilst you set up your doodad, there, I'll just rinse myself out and off a little. You always shoot jizzum like a stud horse?" She smiled at him, the soft, serene look on her face showed full satisfaction. Her wonderful face completely overcame the jarring reality of her crude dialect.
"Stop." he ordered her. He set the camera and tripod down and immediately jerked the lens cap free and took the shot and another and another.
"Ah. Turn a little and smile. click. Did I tell you your pussy hairs tickled my nose and I almost sneezed?" She threw back her head and guffawed, exactly as he was hoping she would, "Hoold it." click. "Turn that beautiful ass toward me and look at me over your shoulder. Perfect." click. "Now move sideways and smile at me as you think about how we are going to do it again. click."
And on and on, he went as he wheedled her and cajoled the poses he wanted from her. He quickly took shot exposure after exposure and changed rolls of film in the big custom built commercial camera. He clicked the shutter, cajoled and joked and worked her into new poses until he was down to his last roll and a half of film. He calculated he had just forty shots left. He led her to the primitive shower and pulled the lanyard one last time and joined her. This time he lifted her up and she threw her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. There was a muted click she did not hear as she was transported to that never, never land where all was ruled by passion and a warm-glow not anchored in reality.
He set her down on her feet and hurried back to the camera, observed he had but ten exposures left and returned and dropped to his knees and used his magic tongue to wonderful purpose, once again.
His tongue dueled with her clitoris and she felt explosion after explosion, each one threatening to cause her to fall to the wet earth. She was aware he was taking pictures of the two of them, as she waited impatiently for him to hurry back from each trip to the camera to reset the timer. She knew but she didn't care. All she wanted was for this to go on forever. Every interruption to reload the camera just added a little more titillation to the best sex she ever had. Oh, she hoped he would use his tongue down there some more, Jesus. But it was so good.
Damn, but them guys always wanted her to use her mouth on them, but this was the first time anybody ever gave her some that way. Oh yes. This was wonderful. Finally he stood and returned to the camera reset the times and came back to her. He pressed down on her shoulders and she dropped to her knees and he began to fuck her face. For some strange reason she found it enjoyable. She always obliged the others and sucked on their dicks some, but she wanted this strange man to blow his nuts in her mouth. She wanted it.
Down to the last four exposures, he turned the rig to face the sun. Then he posed the two of them in profile, as if she was leading him by his penis. They were between the camera and the sun. The polarizing filter was placed over the lens and adjusted. They were posed as if the camera had caught them in mid stride, his lank body slightly bent forward, one foot off the ground. She was leaning slightly forward and reaching back, seemingly to pull him forward by his penis. If that shot alone comes out, my life is complete. He silently prayed an unspoken supplication to the unknown god of horny photographers.
"Get your dress on," I want to do a portrait of you," he ordered.
Silently she obliged and donned her old button down the front dress and she looked at him questioningly.
"Go inside and look out that window at me; rest your elbows on the window sill. He took the picture and hurried over to the Ford and rummaged around and brought out a brush. It was a silver and tortoise shell brush with pure China pig bristles. It was an expensive woman's brush. One of his lady friends, back East, had left it behind, carelessly forgotten.
He offered the brush to her and said, "Now I want you to brush your hair and give me that same pose again. The brush is yours."
Reverently, she took the proffered brush and brushed her hair very carefully, as if afraid she would damage this oh-so-costly gift. "Okay, look at me and hold it." Just as he clicked the shutter, she brought the brush up to her hair and closed her eyes, smiling beatifically. Hell and damnation, that was the last exposure. He had no more film. Well, maybe it came out okay. Hiding his disappointment, he smiled and replaced his gear. He put everything back in the car.
"When I get these developed and printed, I'll send you a portrait of the prettiest girl in the state of Oklahoma." He promised and he kept that promise.
Forty years later:
I took a trip back to Chicago from my offices in Oklahoma City. The purpose was to attend a series of lectures given by one of my old law professors who taught me so well at the University of Oklahoma. Old Professor Hilderman was in his mid eighties and still had a mind that missed nothing and remembered everything.
The second purpose was to lay back and relax and get some well-deserved rest. I had been in the middle of a heavily contested legal action that lasted for three years and in all that time I never had so much as a day off. It came to a very satisfactory conclusion for my clients, an oil company, so I could afford a protracted period of leisure. I decided to take a whole two months off. The most strenuous thing I planned to do was open the door to my hotel suite and let room service in to serve me.
I spent three interesting days listening to Professor Hilderman lecture for one hour each day. At the close of the third lecture, the professor said, "Now that this series is finished, you all can do whatever it is lawyers do when they're not out in the cruel world suing somebody." This got the expected light laughter and then he added, "I see that one of my old students is in the audience. Jim Cutter, will you come up here for a moment?"