Chapter 25: Stephanie Definitely

They’ve been trying for months, and so far, Alma has failed to catch. Tom figures she’s barren. She’s never been pregnant, she claims. Odd despite being plowed and re-plowed thousands of times by nearly as many different men, during her sixteen years. She would have caught several times, if she’s capable of catching. Skeet ha reached the same conclusion.

Another candidate for bearing his heirs has caught Tom’s eye. Stephanie has reached her fourteenth birthday. Today.

It’s unlikely Morgan will ever marry anyone. Tom considers himself the better candidate, even if she had a choice. Since he’s the only candidate, only possible choice, why wait?

A haloed dim moon lights a night fit for brisk rubbing of sweat sticky arms. Small ticklish hairs on the neck and forearms, produce an antsy feeling. Warns that brewing of a massive summer thunderstorm is in process. Muggy, breathless, the hot night is filled with a tactile premonition bad weather is approaching.

Tom silently enters Stephanie’s room. The room is in shadow, except where illuminated by the wan moon peering through the opened window

Stephanie lays spreadeagled on her stomach. Several intolerably warm discarded pillows randomly litter the floor.

.She wears only flimsy, loose fitting, panties, made of nylon or rayon. Tom isn’t certain. Something sheer. No top on her at all. Her thick mop of dark blond hair, cut short in a bob, covers her face. Tom combs it up onto her head with his fingers. Her exposed face is covered with the sheen of perspiration. She sighs at the relative coolness of air flooding her face without her dense hair blanketing it. Tom brushes the falling hair back away again. Stephanie rolls onto her side, almost onto her back. Holding her hand, palm out, near her struggling to awaken eyes, she shields her face from the weak moonlight spotlighting her.

“Tom?”

She can’t see much more than his silhouette, back-lit by the big round cheesy moon, but she can smell him. Tom has been cutting hay all day, and smells of hay, and salt. A salty peanut smell, from the salt deposited on his skin by evaporating perspiration. Both are good clean masculine odors. Tom type smells.

“Tom? What are you doing in my room in the middle of the night? What do you want?”

“You! And to be the first to wish you Happy Birthday.”

“My birthday isn’t until tomorrow.”

“It’s already tomorrow, my sweet. A few minutes after midnight. Happy Birthday, my dear Stephanie.”

“I’m tired, and I want to sleep. I was sleeping, and I want to. Go back, YAWN, to SLEEP! Go away. I’ll see you later today, and you can wish me Happy Birthday all you want to, then.”

“I want to give you your birthday present now.”

“Put it on the floor, slide it under the bed. I’ll look at it later.”

“My package won’t fit.”

“Okay, let me see it. What the hell kind of joke is this Tom? I’m very offended!”

“I just want to give you a birthday fuck.”

Tom places a smooth calloused palm over Stephanie’s exposed tiny left breast and rubs a gentle circle over her erecting nipple. It feels good. She neither complains nor resists. She considers how to respond. Should she accept? Tom is a very attractive man, an older man, and Stephanie already knows, she’s attracted to older men. First, Slim Chance, then Ranger Red, then Roy, and now ... Yes, she’d like to fuck Tom Franklin. Only on her terms. Tom has some nerve barging in here, her room, waking her up, and expecting she’ll open her legs upon his whim. No courtship, no seduction, no pretty words. Just a “MY NAME IS CHUCK AND I’M HERE TO FUCK!” approach. Not happening. Dammit, he keeps massaging her breast, stirring her up, making her weak. Get control of yourself and the situation, she admonishes herself.

“I see. Well, you certainly have a high regard for your irresistibility. Personally, I think, you over-rate your sex appeal. You are not Prince Charming. In fact you could hardly be less charming. You exhibit none, and haven’t made even a tiny effort to be charming. Are you so impressed with the size of your genitals, that you expect upon displaying it, everyone will be awed, automatically fall on their knees and worship it? Jeez Tom! Grow up! You’re being ridiculous and asinine.

A man your age, with such a juvenile cocky attitude, should be ashamed of himself. Why aren’t you?”

“Come here, you smart mouthed little bitch! I’m going to teach you what it’s like, to be fucked by a real man!”

Tom’s rage is up and functions like an aphrodisiac. He’s twice as hard as he was a minute earlier. Stephanie is getting fucked like it or not! Stephanie realizes her danger and her error. How can she diffuse the situation, and not be brutally raped by his indeed frighteningly huge cock? Not only will he hurt her, he could easily damage her internally, permanently.

“I’m trying to explain to you Tom, the “ME TARZAN, YOU JANE” approach died a well deserved death a hundred years ago. Cave men went out of style a long time before that. You need to be more gentle, suave, and sensitive. Want to try winning me with sweetness this time, instead of the dysfunctional macho arrogance?”

“I brought my Bible with me.”

What’s the significance of his bringing his Bible? Obviously, Tom places great significance on it. Jeez! He expects to marry me! Stephanie feels like she’s tiptoeing through a mine field.