Chapter 1

In August of 1957 I turned fifteen years old. That year was a very good year for me, probably the best year of my youth, maybe even my whole life, come to think of it.

I was raised on a cotton farm in the south, and was allowed to work by the day as soon as I turned twelve years old. I had to prove I could handle a pair of mules and a one row cultivator first, without plowing up the rows of cotton. Not only was it an easy job, it was really kind of boring. All I had to do was harness my mules in the morning, ride one of them bareback to the field where we were plowing and walk behind them all day. Once in the field my sole responsibility was turning them at the end and heading them back on the next row, only to turn them at the other end. They did the rest, all I did was follow along behind.

You ever smelled mule farts all day?

I must have walked a thousand miles during the three summers that I plowed mules. The scenery never changed either. Whenever I looked up, there were two mules’ asses right in front of me.

The best thing about growing up on that farm was, the money I made was mine. Mine as long as I saved it that is.

I was taught to save my money, buy my own school clothes, my books, and have my own spending money ($2.00 a week). I even had a banking account at thirteen. Not much money in it, but I had one.

I was determined to save my money and buy an old pickup. What a dream for a young country boy, to own his own pickup. Most of the boys I went to school with never owned a vehicle of any kind until they were out of high school and worked to pay for it.

I wanted one NOW.

Four weeks before my fifteenth birthday in 1957, I was walking away from the mule barn after putting my mules up at the end of the day, when my uncle drove up in his pickup. He was the farm manager. He had a Black man working under him as his assistant, called the Straw-Boss.

“Get in,” he said.

He was a man of few words. When he talked, I listened. My Uncle was my dad’s brother. Their dad was Mexican, their mother was White and Mexican mixed, so I was told. Our last name is Ruiz, pronounced Reece but most folks just called it Rueze. I was told that my dad had been killed during the war and I never knew him or my real mother. The story I was told, was that not long after my dad was killed, Uncle Ralph came home from the war and took custody of me. He was a strict man and expected me to do the work of a grown man when I was old enough.

He had one problem though – he drank whiskey like he thought they were about to quit making it. He never drank on the job that I knew of, and he always seemed sober when we were working. But when the weekend came, Uncle Ralph would tie one on.

Eventually, I would find out that my uncle would drink and get high on drugs, but I will get to that part later.

My uncle was a Staff Sgt. in WWII, serving in the Pacific. He married my aunt, a Mexican girl, when I was six. As far as I was concerned, I only had one mother and that was my Aunt Rita. She was a lot younger than Uncle Ralph, by maybe fifteen years, I’m not sure. I never knew how they met until years later, when I found out that he went to Mexico and made a deal with her to marry him so she would become an American citizen. Aunt Rita told me about that one day when I was 12 years old and told me that her and her three sisters all came to America the same way that year just to get out of Mexico.

Uncle Ralph always had something for me to do after work. Most of the time, I went with him to bring a truck or tractor back to the shop that was left in the field. Today was a little different.

“How much money you got in the bank?” he asked me this day, looking over at me without even a smile as he drove toward the backside of the farm.

“Three hundred sixteen dollars and nine cents. Why?”

“You want to buy a pickup truck?”

Now what kind of question was that to ask a young southern farm boy who was just four weeks shy of his fifteenth birthday?

“Heck Yeah, I do! Do you know where one is I can get that cheap? Is it any good? Will it even run? What kind is it?”

The woman my uncle worked for, had loaned a hired hand two hundred and fifty dollars, then held the signed title of his vehicle for collateral. The hired hand left and never came back. My uncle’s boss lady told him I could have the truck for what was owed on it.

“It’s a 1948 Chevrolet, looks a lot like this ‘53 model I drive. It runs good, and it’s in pretty good shape. No dents and no broken glass. I’ll have to take one of the men and go get it tomorrow. You need to write down your social security number, your height, weight, and your birth date. I’ll stop by the city hall and get your tags and driver’s license while I’m in town, then stop at the bank and get your money out. It’ll cost you two-hundred and fifty dollars plus your tags and driver’s license”

By the time we stopped at the bob-truck loaded with grain that he wanted me to drive to the shop, I’d borrowed his pen and had all of that written down and stuck in his ashtray.

I didn’t sleep at all that night.

When I came in from the field the next day, there my pickup was, covered in tons of dust. I walked around it, looked in it, sat in it. I checked the oil and water, and the battery. Back then we had to add water to our batteries or the cells would evaporate dry after charging so much.

I started it up and listened to it run.

I was grinning the whole time.

I walked around it once more and noticed the new license tag on it.

I found my driver’s license on the kitchen table and told my Aunt Rita that I was going out to wash my truck. We didn’t even have a phone and I wished we did right then so I could call somebody and tell them I had my own truck.

I washed and scrubbed on that old truck three times, rinsing it off after each time, and it looked really good, until it dried. Then it looked faded and dull. Right then I planned to wax my truck the next afternoon after work.

I was going to drive my pickup to school when school started in a few weeks. Dull paint, dusty gravel road and all. I knew I’d be the only boy in junior high who owned his own vehicle. There were only four or five boys in senior high who had a car of their own.

None of them had pickups.

“You need to go to town and buy a set of tires and a set of brake shoes for your truck tomorrow when you come home for dinner, so you can put them on this weekend. The tires are about to pop and the brake shoes are worn out,” my uncle told me that night at the supper table.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Go down to the Sears store and get four tires, 6.70X15. They got their black walls on sale for $19.79 each. Stop by the parts store and get re-built brake shoes for it and I’ll have the mechanic out at the shop, referring to the farm shop, help you install them Saturday afternoon.”

There went my plans for Saturday night.

“Yes, Sir. Uh, how long do you think it will take both of us to do all that, you reckon?”

“You’ll be through in time to clean up and go to town!”

I had already planned to go to the show Saturday night.

Saturday afternoon, I was all dressed up in my newest white T-shirt, my pointed toe cowboy boots and my starched and pressed jeans with the crease so sharp I had to be careful I didn’t cut my hand.

I wore my hair long back then, way before it became the thing to do.

This was back before blow dryers and hair spray, so I used the greasy kid stuff to make my hair stay in place as I drove with the windows down, yeah, I was a greaser. No air conditioning in nothing but luxury vehicles back then either.

We called it 240 air conditioning ... meaning 2 windows rolled down at 40 miles per hour.

There was always a double feature playing at the picture show and most of the time, one was a western. Each Saturday night, between features, there was a serial which was, at the time I started going out on Saturday night, a short episode of Zorro. Each week, it was just like the soap operas of the day. The first half of the new episode was spent reviewing last week’s episode, then there was the new part which took maybe five minutes, before the previews of next week’s episode. That is where I learned the term cliff-hangers. Boy did they leave us hanging with the feeling that Zorro would never live to film another episode.

Two Mondays later I drove to school in my pickup and as soon as I backed my old truck into a parking space between two teachers’ vehicles, I went from two or three buddies, to more best friends than I could haul around in that old truck. There were even two girls who came up to me in the hall between classes that day and ask if it was true that I had my own car. I quickly corrected that rumor.

“It’s a pickup!“ I said before I even turned around.

There I was, grinning like a clown, as I proudly and more politely told them again, “Yep, I do, but it’s a pickup, not a car.”

You’d have thought I told them it was a Cadillac, and they owned stock in it, the way they squealed and danced in the hallway as the other kids looked on. I didn’t even know one girl’s name and here they were acting like they’d known me all my life. I did know the other girl’s name, but had never spoken to her. She and her older sister had always ridden the same bus to school as I did. They were both really pretty, but they acted like they never even knew I was on the bus.

“Will you take us for a ride sometime?” Lena, the girl I knew only by her first name, asked.

Now what kind of question was that to ask a country boy in the south who just got his first truck and had never even so much as talked to a girl before?

Back when I started junior high, we had a teacher for each subject, not like back in grade school where we were in the same classroom all day with the same teacher. This would be the way it was the rest of that year I went to this school and I came to love the change.

My second period class in the 9^th grade was English and our teacher, Miss D. Wilkins, was new to the school this year. She was really young and this was her first assignment after graduating from a women’s college over at the State Capitol.

Damn. She sure is pretty but she must have never learned to smile. She always looks mad every time I see her look my way. She sure has some really, really nice tits though and a fine ass. A fine ass back then was as good as an ass could get. It was like a Blue Ribbon at the County Fair.

Even in junior high and on into high school, the teachers called the roll each morning, though to me, they could easily see who was here and mark them present.

When she came to the R’s that first morning, she never called my name. She called out for Josey Roooze and we all looked around for a new Mexican girl. She wasn’t here and no one spoke.

“Alright class, I have counted the students present today and there are the same number present as I have listed on my roll. Which one of you refuses to answer roll call?

No one spoke. No one even knew a girl named Josey Roooze.

Then it hit me like a brick, and my face turned every shade of red known to mankind. I knew it did because I could feel my skin burning as the shades changed.

“Uh, Miss Wilkins?” I stood and spoke. The whole class turned to look at me.

Then, they realized just who Josey was.

The class erupted in laughter and the guys whistled and made cat calls as I stood by my desk and tried to glare them down.

“Yes, may I help you? Do you happen to know who Josey is?” she asked and the laughter started again until Miss Wilkins had enough and stood to slap her long wooden ruler on her desk, making it sound like a rifle shot.

The room was instantly quiet, as if suddenly, the sound was turned off all over the world at that moment.

“There may have been a mistake in the way my name was written. I’m Jose, spelled j-o-s-e.”

“I’ve never seen Jose spelled that way, I’ve always seen it spelled h-o-s-e-a. I apologize for calling you Josey. Please be seated and we will continue with our class. From now on, there will be no such rude outbursts in this classroom. Is that understood, class?”

When no one spoke, Miss Wilkins stomped her foot and her high heel sounded like a spike being driven in a post, just as she slapped that ruler on her desk so hard it hurt my ears. She stomped so hard, both of her big pointed, torpedo shaped titties shook up and down and sideways at the same time.

“IS THAT UNDERSTOOD, CLASS?”

“Yes Ma’am!” came the answer from all of us.

I wish Miss Wilkins could have been hall monitor for the rest of that week. As soon as her class was dismissed, we filed out into the hallway. I was headed for my next class and the laughter started again.

From that day until this very day, Josey was my name. Not just in the ninth grade, but all over school. Then, all over town!

Seems that no matter where I went after that day, I ran into someone who knew me from school and they greeted me as Josey.

What I didn’t find out until about a week after that first incident was, the girls liked my new name. Why, I’ll never know. But my life changed dramatically after that unofficial name change took place in Miss Wilkins’ English class.

At first, it seemed to me like they were still teasing me over and over. Then after a while it got old, and Josey became my only name. Even the guys called me Josey without laughing or making fun of me. Some of the teachers even started calling me Josey before that school year was over. Now, no matter where I go, I am Josey and I have accepted it.

Even Aunt Rita found out about me being called Josey and she started calling me by that name. Later, Uncle Ralph started calling me Josey because she did. Hell, I even started liking it too when the girls told me they liked my new name.

On Saturdays at the farm, we only worked a half a day. This Saturday after dinner I washed my old truck and waxed it again with some super-wax which contained rubbing compound, that I’d bought at the parts store. This time, the wax did the job after most of the black paint came off on the rag. It sure was shiny and black though.

I was in a hurry to get to town and told my aunt and uncle before supper that I was meeting some buddies for a hamburger and coke at the Dairy Queen and would see them later. I could stay out until 11:00, since the last feature movie ended at 10:30.

They were going to town too in a little while to buy groceries. We had always done that on Saturdays, and now that I had my own truck they would have to go by themselves. My aunt had already told me though that she and I will go to town next week and buy groceries on Friday, since I get out of school early. I’m kinda excited about my aunt riding in my pickup with me. All my buddies tell me my aunt looks like a young girl. I told her that one day and she blushed redder than our old rooster.

After supper I took my bath and was in my room getting dressed. Uncle Ralph was taking a bath and when I heard him leave the bathroom I walked in to take a piss. I had my jeans and boots on with no shirt so I just unzipped, pulled my jeans down past my butt and was really pissing a stream when I heard water splash behind me. I looked around to see Aunt Rita standing with one foot in, and one foot out of the tub. I mean she was totally buck-ass naked. We just looked at each other wide-eyed and then Aunt Rita smiled at me. We had always been close and she never fussed at me if I walked in on her while she was in her underwear. I’d never seen her totally naked until now though, and I was staring. I had never seen any woman naked until now.

I was shaking my dick off and just kept on shaking it as she kept staring at it.

“Josey, you should be ashamed,” she whispered then stepped out of the tub and walked over to hug me from behind, pressing her pussy hair against my naked butt cheeks as she reached around and grabbed my dick, then started jacking me off. She made about a six long slow pulls on my dick and I shot plumb to the ceiling all the way up the side of the wall behind the commode.

She was grinning and trying hard not to laugh out loud. I was shaking, I was so scared and excited but my dick stayed hard.

“Don’t you hurt those little girls with this monster, Josey. Be sure you go by the service station soon and buy some rubbers too ... ummmm, would you mind if I did this again sometime, when we have more time?” she asked me and I grinned.

“Heck No. Are you sure? It was the best I ever had, Aunt Rita.”

“Am I the first person to touch your cock other than yourself?”

“Yes Ma’am. You sure know how to make it feel good too.”

“Your uncle used to fuss at me when I did him. He says I did that to keep him from getting some.”

“Did you?”

“Lots of times I did.”

“You don’t like to do it?”

“I do like it, but he’s too quick on the trigger and it leaves me wanting a good one, if you know what I mean. But we hardly ever do it anymore since he started drinking so much at night and on weekends.”

“I know what getting a good one means. You better let me wash my dick and get out of here before he comes looking for you.”

“Let me wash you, Josey. You sure have a big handsome cock. I never knew my nephew was as gifted as you are. I wish your uncle had one like you; I’d try to do him more if he did,” she said as she knelt in the floor and grabbed a washcloth to hold it under the hot water.

She washed my dick and my balls, then she pulled my dick over to try and suck the head of it in her mouth. I shot off again and she was laughing and swallowing.

She grabbed me by my butt and pulled me close until the head of my dick went all the way in her mouth. I could feel her big titties mashed against my jeans and reached down to feel both of them. I shot off again with my dickhead almost in her throat and she moaned and wiggled on her knees.

“Get out of here so I can bathe. You just made me get the biggest one I’ve had in years. It felt so good for me to give you two of them with that big thing in my mouth.”

“I’d like to do it some more one day, except I’d like to do you just like you did me.”

“Josey! Have you ever done that to a girl before?” She sounded shocked.

“No, I’ve never done anything with a girl, but I read a book where a man did that to his girlfriend and she got so many good ones she passed out.”

“I-want-to-read-that-book!”

“It’s under my pillow. Tell me how you like it after you read it.”

“Get out of here. I’m wet to my knees.”

“Will you show me that sometime too?”

“Would you really want to look at me down there?”

“For as long as you’d let me.”

“You are so different from your uncle; he won’t even touch me anymore.”

“I would.”

“You mean you’d look me over good, I mean all over down there?”

“Yes and suck you too, if you’d let me.”

“Get out of here! I need to take a bath and go buy groceries.”

“I forgot to tell you, Miss Wilkins said to tell you hi yesterday.”

“Tell her hi for me. I bet she just wants to get your dick in her mouth too – that’s all she wants. You should hear her go on about you when I go to Parents and Teachers Meetings.”

“I wish she would. Would you get mad if she did that?”

“I’ll never get mad if a girl or a woman does that with you, or gives you some pussy, Josey.”

“You said pussy like it was just an everyday word.”

“With us, it will be from now on. You just be sure and tell me all the details when you get your first girl. Your first woman too, Josey. No, not just your first, I want to know about all of them. You’re going to get lots of pussy when word gets out that you have a monster cock, just wait and see.”

“Do I really have a monster?” I never knew I was bigger than other boys. I had never seen another boy’s or man’s dick before.

“Josey, believe me. Your cock is one in a million and you’re a handsome young stud to boot. Have you ever measured it?”

“No, why?”

“Hand me that sewing tape there on the vanity. I want to measure you while it’s still semi-hard.”

Before she could measure me, my dick began to grow again and she laughed as she looked up at me from where she knelt.

“Nine and a half inches and it’s not as hard and as long as it was just a minute ago. Hold still,” Aunt Rita said and sucked nearly all of my dickhead in her mouth again.

I felt another good one coming on and hunched my hips at her. She tickled my balls and I felt like my dick was going down her throat.

She jerked back and measured me right then.

“Ten and a half inches, Josey! I told you that you had a monster cock!” She said, then sucked me until I got a really big one, with her hands cupping my balls.

I met my two best buddies and we ate while they caught me up on the town gossip, before going downtown to see who all was waiting to see the show. They were in one of their brother’s car and left ahead of me.

I saw a few of my friends when I first arrived downtown, slowly cruising the short, one-way street in front of the theatre. Of course, I tooted my horn and waved as I slowly made my way down the street. On my second pass, there was an opening as a pickup backed out of a parking space in front of me.

I eased my old truck into the empty parking spot, nearly running over some of my new friends, since they were there waiting before I could even park.

Some of them had seen my new-old truck at school, but a lot of them hadn’t seen it. I had boys all over my truck! Underneath the raised hood, sitting in the seat, one bench seat it had, and sitting on the insides of the bed after wiping off the dust from the gravel road.

I looked up to see three girls pushing their way through the small crowd of boys as they made their way over to where I stood. I’m sure I looked like a clown, as I grinned at them in front of all the boys.

Two of the girls were Lena and Martha, the two who first asked me about my car. The other girl was the older sister of Lena. I had seen her before on the school bus, but she never let on like she knew who I was. The only time I ever saw her after school, she was with a big, tough looking older boy who I didn’t know and I figured he was her husband, though she was still in school.

I learned real quick her name was Becky, short for Rebecca, which she told me later she hated.

Becky was what is known as a wet dream. I had heard that term once or twice before back then and beginning that night, I had many of them about Becky.

She was a senior and lived with her sister Lena and her mother out in the country. I knew where they lived, because Lena and Becky rode the bus with me up until I got my truck and drove to school.

Most all girls back then wore button up blouses or tight sweaters. Some even wore a sweater over their blouses no matter how hot it was. Hardly any of them wore T-shirts except at home. Lena, Martha, and Becky all wore white, short sleeve sweaters that night. Becky’s looked like it was about three sizes too small, the way her tits stuck out in front. I mean she was really big up top and she wore her sweater tucked in at the waist of her full, knee length, red skirt.

I had seen pictures of movie stars who wore those tight sweaters and they looked just like Becky did that night, with their big pointy tits sticking way out on their chests. Becky even looked better this Saturday night than Jane Russell, one of the most famous sweater-girls ever. Becky was real though and she was standing real close to me as she leaned over to look in the driver’s side of my truck. I was holding the door open as she leaned forward. Damn if I didn’t see the top of her white bra where her sweater dipped to a deep V down between her huge tits.

“Oh, you have a stick shift in the floor. How cool.” Everything was either cool or neato back then. “My daddy had one like that years ago when we lived with him. He taught me to drive it when I was real young,” she said as she turned to look at me. Her tit raked my elbow, almost ripping the hair and hide off when she rubbed her tit against my arm.

I was afraid to move and she just smiled then turned toward me, mashing those big hard tits against me as she eased past to walk all around my truck. She was looking it over like it was for sale as she strolled through the crowd of boys. They fell back away from her, parting a wide path like she was a wild animal or worse, as they stared open mouthed at her.

One senior boy poked me and leaned over to ask if I knew who she was.

“Yeah, her name’s Becky Taylor. She’s Lena’s sister. They live way out past us on the county road and ride my bus. Why?”

“She’s spoken for. Don’t even talk to her. Her boyfriend is Buck Steele. He’s a pool shark and my brother told me he stabbed three men at a beer joint over in Sheridan cause one of them told him that he sure had a fine looking girlfriend.”

“You mean Becky goes to beer joints?” I was really let down. I’d always heard that girls who go to those places are nothing but White-trash.

“Bill, he’s my brother, said she wasn’t even there, that the man had seen them together once before and the man was only telling Buck he thought his girlfriend was good looking.”

“And he just jumped up and stabbed the three of them right there for that?”

“No, he waited outside and jumped them in the dark, stabbing all three of them in the back when they were getting in their car to leave. One is still in the hospital and the other two left the state, was what Bill told me. He just told me that the other day, so it must have just happened recently.”

“Did they arrest him?”

“He had witnesses that swore he left earlier that night. His uncle is a deputy sheriff over there in that county and they said it would more than likely get dropped.”

“Damn.”

“Yep. Better stay away from that pussy!“

“The first time I ever talked to her was tonight.”

“Better be the last too, if you know what I mean. Buck is bad news.”

Lena, Martha and Becky came back around my pickup and told me they were going to the show and asked if I was going.

“Yeah, I planned on it. I reckon I’ll go sit with my buddies. I’ll see you girls at school Monday,” I told them, never looking at Becky as she stood so close I could feel the heat from her body.

“You could sit with my sister and Martha, I wouldn’t mind,” Becky said and I turned to see her smile a smile that made me wish my hand was on my dick, choking it to keep it from shooting off in my shorts.

“Maybe next time, I already told the guys I’d sit with them.”

I didn’t see any of them after the show was over, and after telling my friends good night, I drove home. I was wondering what it would be like to drive on down the gravel road past where Becky and Lena lived.

I started down that way and chickened out at the first crossroad.

Monday, just after school was out, Lena ran up to me and told me she had a message for me.

From Becky, no less.

“She asked me if I ever saw you at school, and I told her we had lots of classes together. I called you Josey and she laughed. She thought we were sweet on each other and Josey was my pet name for you. When I told her that the whole school called you Josey now, she told me to give Josey a message from her.

“Josey, you better remember that she was the one who said this and not me, cause I never say bad words like she does all the time since she dated that Buck Steele guy a few times this past summer.”

“What did she say? Was it that bad?” I was almost afraid to know. Becky was a senior. Now, my name change was known in senior high. Those senior boys can be hell on us guys in junior high. I hope she never mentions my name to Buck Steele either. Damn, did Lena just say Becky only dated him a few times? It sounded like it may be over between them.

“She told me she just loved your new name and that you had the sexiest ass in our whole town, not just the school. Remember, Josey, she said ass, I just passed it along.”

“Becky said that about me?”

“Yes. Yours is the sexiest, Josey. Whether you’ve ever looked at yourself in the mirror or not, all us girls here in junior high think so,” she told me and I never knew a girl could turn so red as she did right then.

“You’re kidding, right? This is a joke and I’m being set up for the punch line, right?”

“No, I’m not kidding, Josey. There’s not a teenage girl in the whole school that wouldn’t go out on a date with you if you asked, including me. NOW, are you convinced?”

“ME?”

“Yes, YOU, Josey, you really have a sexy ass. I mean, er, uh, rear end. Ask any girl in this school above the 5^th grade and they’ll tell you the same thing. Martha told me that her older sister, Eileen has a friend who works in the lunchroom, and she overheard Miss Wilkins talking to Mrs. Mortensen our math teacher the other day and Mrs. Mortensen told Miss Wilkins that you had the sexiest ass ... I mean rear end she’d ever seen. Then Miss Wilkins said she thought your rear end was sexy too, only she didn’t say rear end, and that she just loved your long black hair too.”