Chapter 2

May Allen stepped from the shower and strode nude across the threadbare carpet in the bedroom. She retrieved two shabby towels from the linen cabinet. One she coiled like a turban around her greying red hair. With the other, she began drying her back, seesawing it back and forth. She felt her pendulous breasts moved in opposition, swaying back and forth.

“Gawddamit, May, I don’t see why you have to go visit your sister! I need you here to help with the chores.”

Her husband, Henry, stood shirtless in the bedroom door in well-worn Oshkosh by Gosh bib overalls. They were faded blue/white with tattered knees. Dirt and straw from cleaning the barn covered him. Steel grey hair sprouted from his shirtless chest extending out the side of his overalls. Mud encrusted his well-worn Brogans. His face, covered in a two day greying stubble, was heavily lined and weathered from years farming in the hot central California sun. His bushy eyebrows topped a face that always looked as if he smelled something bad.

“First off, Henry, get the fuck out of the house and stop tracking mule shit, dirt and hay into my clean house! Second, I only get to see my sister a few times a year. I will go when I fucking well please!”

May placed one leg on the wooden kitchen chair in the bedroom. Her husband took no notice of her nakedness. She dried first one leg then the other. She slipped the towel between her legs and vigorously dried her thick thatch of reddish brown pubic hair. A faint shock went through her as this action encountered her clit.

“Hurry up then! I need to get back here to finish cleaning the barn!”

I am standing here necked as a jaybird and all he is concerned about is cleaning the fucking barn, she thought. After thirty years of marriage and five children, it was as if I was part of the furniture. Or a fucking field hand!

She turned to the chest of drawers and retrieved a plain white bra. The faded label read 38C. She donned it and inspected herself in the cracked mirror. Her breasts bulged out of the top of the old bra. At 48, her breasts had lost the fight with gravity. In contrast to her toned heavily tanned legs and arms, they rested like large white melons on her chest surmounted by large pink eraser like nipples. The rubbing of the towel had caused them to become hard and erect. Arduous farm work kept her belly flat and her legs toned. Even so, having five babies left a pattern of stretch marks across her abdomen.

Her quick inspection of her panty drawer revealed they were in a sorry shape. They were frayed and worn. She angrily slammed the drawer shut. A woman should have a decent pair of panties to wear. However, her husband was frugal to the point of being scrooge like. To hell with it, she thought, he won’t let me buy any lingerie; I will just not wear any!

May had these periodic moments of rebellion. Unbeknownst to Henry, she often went to church without panties. It made her feel incredibly wicked. It thrilled her to hear the minister preaching hell and damnation while she could feel the breeze from the fans blow across her naked pussy.

From their closet, she took her best dress, a faded flowered button up the front affair. It stopped about an inch above her knees; showing off what she thought was her best feature, her long, well-muscled legs. As she slipped it on and buttoned it, she felt a queasiness in her abdomen. Fucking great, I’m ovulating, she thought.

May and Henry had not had sex in nearly five years. She decided birth control pills were an unnecessary expense. Besides, her irregular periods suggested she was entering menopause. An unwanted pregnancy was the furthest thing from her mind.