Paw tole me "Iffen ya wants yer own man ya gots to be ready to get off the pot and find him by ya lonesome."
Ya'll kin call me "Sadie" even iffen my Christian moniker be Drusilla. I never abided by that silly name cause it sounded so evil-like. Us'en Hawkins folks are unusual strange and that's a fact. None of my kin has got any book-larning like the normal folks down in the holla cause us'ens scarce leave the mountain.
That's the way of it and that be no lie.
My mam looks powerful tired recent-days and I suspect she been hitting the corn jar kind a hard since
Billy Bob got took to the Army. Ole Billy Bob was mam's favorite and she ne'er hid the fact a-tall. I was the last of the litter and a fe-male to boot so I scarce paid no never-you-mind to that simple fact.
Most of the bottom-land bitches what wear fancy store-bought undies trap their men-folks by sticking they who-zit and they nasty heinies right under they noses until they pop the question. The women-folk on the mountain wait till a special day each year to track down and snare us a nice poke-stick to share in a soft bed when the moon is shining just right.
The last few months, I been tending the hillside corn squeeze still for the family since Billy Bob is off shooting communists. We got lots more of the stuff now since he ain't around to do all his "sampling" of the moonshine. I go to do the sampling now but make sure I chew up a little cornbread to keep from getting bamboozled. I let that squirrelly Sampson McGee get me cross-eyed with some polluted punch at the last school dance and he got all rambunctious with my personal female goodies before I could land a good one on him. I guess that's about as close as I ever got to "taking it" with a fella. Thank goodness he was so tipsy all he could do was lay on top of me like a daid dog.
I hast to fess up that my pappy is riche touchy when it comes to boys looking at me crosswise. Most of them fellas get the holla girls to haul they ashes on Saturday nights. I would be willing to do the nasty with any of the good-looking ones, but my pappy is powerful mean when he thinks some young whippersnapper is plotting to slip his man-stick into his youngest offspring.
The preacher man came up the mountain just recent and he tole me I had to fess up all my sins and ask forgiveness. Now that made me God-awful confused cause I ain't got no particular sin that I can recall.
I didn't want to seem like a spoil-sport, so I made up some whoppers for the Preacher about how I was getting my female parts used by a pair of brothers what already had wives of they own.
He kept wanting more and more details until I remembered one of my brother's girlie magazines and I tole him they poked me in my bottom as well. Hell's Bells, that preacher man like to blow a fuse and whomped my poor bottom with his belt so hard that I still got some marks back there even thought I got no mirror to see them. My girlfriend Mazie wanted to know iffen my paw was taking me over his knee to keep me decent and I didn't give her no direct answer as I didn't want to admit it was the preacher was the one what done my poor bottom real hard.
Well, the crops are in now and it is that time of the year when the leftover females is given a day to chase down a seed-giver to fertilize they own little patch of furrowed private area with a real mountain man cock. By my reckoning, we got about 2 dozen females a hankering to get plowed regular and raise a passel of young'uns.
Most of us girls are particular intent on trapping a certain three-legged hump hungry ass-scratcher, but I was of a mind to grab the first and slowest fella I could get my paws on, I was that desperate to be filled with cream in my special place. Mazie tole me she was after Mozzie, the son of "Crazy" Jessie, the old lady who never went anywhere without her shooting iron. I figured she was plumb loco herself as Mozzie was a bit short in the book-larning department. Still, I guess he did have a respectable long pecker and most females would be lucky to have him handy around "rutting" time.
Us girls started training early each new sun up over the mountain time and we was running like little she-imps up the hills and through the trees with no consideration for bugs or varmints. Them lazy yahoos watched us and laughed mightily at our efforts. They be all of the opinion they could escape our clutches for another year. I suspected that be true of most of them but there be some yokels what had gained some hand-grabbing rolls about they middle and a bit of droop to they ass. I had my eye on a couple of likely "slow ones" what I considered ripe for the picking.
The preacher man had us all settle down early on that special day that would eventually be known as "Sadie Hawkins" day in honor of my years of devoted attendance.
I was in fine fettle for the hunt.
Mazie and me were probably the two fastest cock chasers in the race this year and I knew that one or mayhap both of us wouldst be dragging a seed-giver to the preacher for his blessing. I just hoped it waren't one of those Wolveton mountain fellas what liked to whomp on a female's bottom. I neer-do-mind a little fun whomping on my behind even with my britches down but those fellas were a bit too rambunctious and mean-spirited with female flanks. I purely din't mind a-watching the fun but I was mightily wary of getting stretched over a Wolveton mountain man knee.
.... There is more of this story ...