Chapter 10: Cappy’s Rebuttal

Almost a quarter of a century ago, my mom delivered our daughter Paula, and I was found out! Everybody now knows I exist for real.

Published in newspapers, broadcast on TV and over the air in radio announcements, the titillating, popular scandal, made more popular by the excessive media coverage, displayed me to the world. Held me up for the world’s caustic ridicule, and prurient delight. Surely as the day is long, some envy me. Mama is photogenic, and she looks real sexy on TV. Maybe some boys, and quite a few mom’s are inspired to emulate us. Might start a new incest fad, the media warns. My name is a household word, and an erotic topic of conversation. Something of a folk hero to some. Despised in nearly everyone else’s public stance. But n private, more than are willing to admit, see me as Erik, the lucky incestuous favored son of a bitch! That fortunate motherfucker with the hot sexy horny and willing mom. A living captive scientific specimen to parade. A certified real live and famous motherfucker.

Mama was tried and convicted of child sexual abuse, statutory rape, and incest and sentenced to thirty years! She only served eleven. Mom was murdered by another inmate, stabbed to death in jail. I had to suffer media attention. Who has it worse? I was never allowed near her again. After her arrest, I only saw mom in media presentations.

I was collected at the police station by Grandpa and brought home to Crescent City and it remains my home today. My family and the best years of my life are encapsulated here. Paula, our daughter Sandra, and Sissy with our daughter Missy live here. Not the most important but a lifelong treasure to me, Grandpa’s old fishing pier is in good repair, it’s still here, and is where my families luxurious floating home is docked!

‘YNGHOUSE’ and ‘SPORT’ are an integrated tug and barge, an ITB.

Originally a WW2 LCI, a surplus infantry landing craft I purchased her cheap at government auction. I dissected her, removing the engine room. Non self-propelled barges have far fewer regulations to contend with. At a local auction, I purchased a seventy foot, old single screw, model bow, retired fireboat from the city. It was left at our pier and the cit auctioned it off rather than pay for it’s removal. I wa the only bidder. I bid too high, a hundred bucks. On dollar would have been enough.

The house and deck were rusted out, and I replaced them.

The hull, continuously immersed in fresh water, is still sound below the waterline. The vertical sides, because gravity assists prompt shedding of water, suffers only minor corrosion, and easily refurbished.

Amazingly fortunate for me, the antique Fairbanks Morse opposed piston, direct reversing diesel, still ran, and still runs. They built those to last forever. And, the engine IS ten feet tall. I measured it on whim. Ten feet tall and built bullet proof. Sounds like a legend? You bet!

The Fairbanks Morse OP’s are indeed legendary for longevity and dependability. I’m pleased to own one. But it creates a problem.

Direct reversing is a maneuvering nightmare. Direct air-flood starting, means high pressure compressed air is fed directly into the cylinders. When the engine is turning over fast enough, fuel is injected and she starts running.

To reverse, the engine must be completely stopped. A cam shaft is manually shifted over, and the engine restarted in the opposite rotation. Takes lots of compressed air volume and pressure, and as a result, maneuvers are limited to about three starts before air pressure is depleted too low to restart again. Waiting on pressure to rebuild again, can be nerve wracking in a tight quarters situation.

Twin screw multi-engined propulsion from the LCI, is scabbed into the fireboat’s engine-room. SPORT’s new outer propellers have unlimited available reversals, quickly reversed by clutches. Fairbanks Morse driven center prop, is strictly used for economical distance cruising. Twin screw maneuvering solely depends on the shiphandler’s skills.

Overtime, the deck and house were redesigned and rebuilt with a stylish facade and modernistic lines. Looks like a million dollars.

‘SPORT’ now looks like a mega-yacht, and ‘YNGHOUSE’ looks like a palatial Casino Hotel. When ‘SPORT’ is in the notch, and all buttoned together, the two vessels appear as one, resembling a luxury liner!

Pssst! A secret you should appreciate. Any notion of the magnitude of attraction this pussy magnet, this fabulous vessel has? Hahaha!

Fuel is difficult to find. The generators burn a hundred gallons of diesel per day. It’s not even scheduled to route electricity from the dams in the Tennessee Valley to Florida at this current time. For an insider’s access to information, and the promise of a measly million barrels of Naval diesel, I volunteered for Slim’s reconstruction mission to the midwest. Fuel isn’t really so difficult to locate, the storage tanks are prominently visible. It’s getting access from the residue of officialdom is the problem.

A presidential signature on a gift certificate bypasses all minor authorities jealous greedy resistance to sharing the hoard.

Ann is a stupid cunt, by breeding, experience, and skimped education.

Sometimes men refer to thinking with their little head, when they let passion over rule reason. I could draw a size comparison between clits and glans, to make a point about whose thinking with the smallest head, but that’s misogynistic. In Ann’s case, it’s the cavernous empty space inside her cunt that she attempts thinking with. Don’t credit her with insight. She needs a hand mirror held between her thighs for that.

Talented she says? Ha! Decades of observing and studying people give me my psychological edge. Psychology is my true hobby, pussy just my pleasure diversion. Make that pussy of all ages, sizes, races, and nationalities. I enjoy them all. But psychology is my obsession. Understand peoples obvious options and preferences, it’s easy to block, or obstruct certain optins to steer them where you want. Pointing out to them an unperceived option, almost always gets that the novelty vote. Let me tell you about an early experience, and you’ll understand better where I’m coming from and leading you to.

Here is the anecdotal tale, but it’s a true story.

First graders have the playground to themselves, during their own recess periods. Avoids bullying of the timid neophyte first year students. First day in first grade, during the very first recess, I observed another kid leading our grade group.

A natural leader, he had organized our entire first grade in a pop-the-whip game. Prior to that first day as a schoolboy, playing and socializing with a group larger than half a dozen kids was an unfamiliar experience. Pop-the-whip was equally totally unfamiliar to me!

Albert had all the kids hold hands and run together in single file. I merely observed at first, not yet participating. They ran at full speed, in a long train following Albert, who pulled them along in roughly a straight line. Suddenly, and without warning, Albert would double back at an acute angle. While continuing to run at full speed, the locked on, hands holding kids forming the line, would bend, struggling to follow him. The last dozen kids or so, on the tail end, were whipped into hyper-velocity! Unable to maintain their grip with their mates or keep their flying feet under them, they were flung separated, to tumble and roll across the sawdust/wood-chips covered playground. Thrilled, unhurt, and laughing, the kids quickly got up and raced to rejoin their running classmate’s speeding train.

At first, I was content to just watch. In this era, little girls wore to school, short, above the knee, voluminous skirted dresses, and decorative panties beneath. I liked reading the embroidered slogans on their panties. Yes, I already read simple words. Already interested in little girl’s crotches, too.

Blessed with a long and good memory, that line of running kids has two identical ends, I now recall thinking. The only difference being, one end has a leader. Either end can easily become the caboose, if the opposite end acquires a leader. Deciding to tail on, I was, at first, flung far and wide on several cracks of the whip. On one of those violent snaps, I was flung into the side of the school building. Banged my skull pretty hard, too. Have experienced a double vision phenomenon ever since, but more about that later.

Seem obvious, it is dangerous to play near obstacles, like buildings, and the whip maneuver should always be executed at a safe distance and an angle to fling kids away from obstacles, not toward them. Of course it was not just obvious to me. Albert led the kids away from the building after that, and we never had a similar incident again. I’m extremely doubtful he could read my mind. I said nothing. It was simply obvious to everyone without anyone needing to mention it.

I intended to become one of the leaders of a newly organized double headed snake or train! A bit of a revolution, rebel resistance was in order. Tailing on, then dragging and impeding the onward rush, my impediment reducing our seed by just a mite, enough to avoid an unsurvivable speed, made it possible for us to keep our feet and retain our gripped hands connections. It worked just as I envisioned it would! No one else was expecting it, though!

That mad rush of terminal acceleration, when this time, surprisingly, nobody fell down or disconnected, enabled me to use inertia to lead the kids on the tail end with me, in a new direction. Our speed gave us enough extra momentum to reverse the direction of the entire train! Now as a new head, I was leading, pulling, and cracking the whip, and it was a very surprised and unsuspecting Albert’s turn, to take a wild hyper-speed tumble. Albert was a good sport, bless him, taking it all in stride with an enthusiasts grin.

All the kids enjoyed the reversal of fortunes. We played turn and turn about together, cheerfully alternating being the end. Whipped into happy chaos, the call of the bell to return to class sounded and ended the fun much too soon. There were many recesses other days and we played pop-the-whip, and recesses were always inevitably too short.

That interesting kid’s game taught me some important life lessons. Groups are powerful, can accomplish more than single individuals. Leaders are only individuals who choose to be out in front with a plan! For a group to alter course and achieve hyper velocity, it requires a foresighted leader to pop-the-whip.

Here is the fly in the ointment. If you want to fly yourself, a co-captain is required! The captain steers, pulls the group through the change, but is not themselves expendable to fly! You need a relief captain, if you want freedom from the constant obligation to lead!

To be free to fly, you must be separate, apart and alone!

We became good friends, Albert and I, and were soon unofficially acknowledged, unanimously, the two class leaders. We were also the oldest kids in first grade, discounting a few repeaters. Albert and I, competed for best grades and popularity. Fortunately, we liked different girls, so the competition remained jealousy free, civil and cordial.

Boys and girls don’t think of each other as attractive in first grade, you say? You must have been a numb-nuts repeater.

I had my hand in more panties between age six and twelve, than for the next half dozen years after age twelve! Little kids are curious and adventurous. All that was required, was to find a private spot, and smile when I invited the chosen girl to accompany me there. Not one of my darlings ever said no.

Unfortunately, my mom and I moved away at school years end after first grade. Never again met or heard any more of my friendly rival Albert. First grade was quite an education!

The lessons I learned, I kept for life. First grade was the best five years of my life! That’s a joke. Actually, I completed the first six grades in five years, by skipping in midyear of third grade, to midyear fourth grade. It was a welcome change.

There was a fresh group of already impressed little girls to feel up! Brains is attractive to even prepubescent girls, and I was big for my age anyway, as well as smart. No problem!

Yes, they were innocent, but they knew the planned agenda and were agreeable! Occasionally we were caught. On several occasions I was rewarded with opportunities to explore inside the panties of the adult woman who caught me! I happily demonstrated my pussy eating skills to all ages.

Performance was at least adequate. Encores were frequent.

My finger was mutilated that year. Soon, not a single virgin girl remained in my entire class. I finger fucked them all.

When mom was arrested and I came to live in Crescent City,