Chapter 1

I came around the curve and took in the situation at a glance. The big sign that read, "Welcome to Barber County" right beside the partially hidden 35-MPH sign. Down the road a little bit, a police car, flashing lights, an overweight cop walking back to his car after just putting the touch on some hapless motorist for a "donation" to the county coffers in the form of a speeding ticket. I braked sharply, my slightly bald tires singing on the asphalt as I slowed to 35 as quickly as I could, but I could tell by the cops increased pace back towards his car that I was destined to be next in line to help him fill his monthly quota. I knew that if I were stopped by the local constabulary, even the smallest fine would totally empty my very thin billfold.

Unless... Yes!

There on the right between his car and mine, a side road offered my only chance of salvation. Slowing even further as if that had been my intention all along, I signaled for a right turn, just as any law abiding citizen would. The chunky deputy broke into a run, his fear of losing another conquest overriding his tendency to walk. As I made the turn, I saw his hat blow off, hopefully giving me a few more precious seconds. I had no idea what was down this small side road, but the more intersections I could put between him and me, the smaller his chance of finding me. I blessed the fact that the state that my car was registered in didn't use front license plates.

There was no signpost at the corner, but the road was paved. A few potholes slowed me down slightly as I desperately scanned the road ahead for any sign of a turn-off. If I hadn't been looking so intently for an escape route, I would have missed it. Just ahead on the left was a break in the trees. It wasn't a road, and it couldn't even be called a driveway. Maybe a place where a driveway used to be, now overgrown with weeds -- almost invisible.

My foot hit the brake and I turned as quickly and cautiously as I could, ever mindful that Deputy Dawg was probably in his cruiser and about to be in "hot pursuit." I didn't want to leave any pavement marks or dust clouds to show him where I went. My luck held; there were no trees, culverts, rocks or cliffs to bar my passage. Just weeds and small brush slowly reclaiming what used to be a small dirt road or driveway.

I coasted around a curve and killed the engine. I jumped out and ran back to the edge of the road to make sure I hadn't torn up the brush and weeds. I just had time to straighten a few mangled branches and step back into the shadows as the county cop car flew past with its lights flashing. Deputy Dawg appeared to be too intent on dodging the potholes and peering into the distance to notice the passage of my car through the weeds. In a few seconds, he was out of sight.

I got back to my car, plopped down in the driver's seat, and lit up a smoke. A quick check told me I only had a few left. Shit! Looks like I was going to try to quit smoking again, whether I wanted to or not. As much as I enjoyed the habit, I wouldn't choose smoking over starvation. I could get a full meal at the local fast food shack for less than I could buy a deck of smokes, even buying the no-name brands.

I sucked the butt until I tasted filter, then stabbed it into the overflowing ashtray in the dash. I started the car and moved slowly forward, looking for a place to turn around. I never was good at backing up or parallel parking. If the license examiner hadn't been a cousin of mine and let me slide, I never would have passed the driving test. But, like everything else in my life, I get by.

The path went on and on. I figured that by the time I got back to the main drag, Deputy Dawg would have his fat ass firmly planted on a stool in the local donut emporium, complaining to the Sheriff about the one that got away. Even If he saw me later, driving like Mr. Law-abiding Citizen, he couldn't make my car. It looked just like dozens of other ten-year-old, off-white rust-buckets that Detroit loves to pawn off on the local citizenry.

I drove out of the wooded shadows into a grass clearing and slammed on the brakes. The house was right out of the early 40's; dilapidated, two-story frame siding with a sagging front porch and a paint job that was so old it was hard to tell what the original color was. The glass in the windows was still intact, so it couldn't have been abandoned for very long. Then the sound of a closing door told me that it wasn't abandoned at all.

The yard was big enough to wheel my car around and I figured the best course of action was to get the hell out of Dodge. I usually don't get along too well with people. I was just about to put that plan into action, when an old guy with a gray beard, wearing denims and an old black sleeveless T-shirt, stepped out onto the front porch and waved. I gave kind of a half-wave back and started to turn around, when he motioned me to come on up to the house. I thought, "What the hell, maybe a free meal?"

There was a faint impression in the grass of the path that I was following, which led up beside the house. I let the Chevy idle forward while I checked out the geezer. He was mostly bald, with what little fringe that was left the same color as his beard. He was skinny, with a pot belly hanging over his faded jeans. The old T-shirt had a faded Harley logo on it. He was barefoot, but I could see a pair of high-topped biker boots on the front porch. He walked up and opened the car door as I came to a stop, and his odor rolled in. It was mostly sweat with undertones of old beer, stale piss and a touch of puke thrown in. He grinned through stained teeth as I stepped out of the car to get up-wind from him.

"Hiya, kid. I'm Biker Jim. You're either lost or running away to find yourself way out here. Either way, welcome. We don't get many visitors any more." He pulled out a crumpled pack of Pall Mall reds and shook one into his mouth, then offered me one.

I accepted the smoke, then said, "My name's Dave. Back when it mattered, people used to call me Lonesome Dave, but I see so few people nowadays, that it doesn't really matter what I'm called." I inhaled the non-filtered smoke and spit out a piece of tobacco. "You said we... ?"

"Oh, Anxious Mary's inside workin' on dinner. Like I said, we don't get much company. You're welcome to stay for dinner if you like, but I gotta warn ya. Mary don't talk much. In fact, Mary really don't talk at all."

He seemed almost eager to get me inside, and I wondered what I was getting myself into. Still, I had him by a good ten inches and about 50 pounds. I can hold my own in a fight when I have to. I get by. "Dinner sounds great, and I could use a bathroom, too," I said, blowing a cloud of smoke his way to help cover the stench.

"Yeah, we got a bathroom in this dump, but shit, I usually just take a whiz out here whenever I gotta go." He waved his arm in a circle. "Ain't nobody gonna see except Anxious Mary, and like I say, she ain't gonna say nuttin' about it."

I followed him up on the porch and through the sagging screen door. It took a few minutes for my eyes to get used to the dim light after being outdoors in the sun, but the house was cool and scented with some spicy, flowery scent. That is, until I got too close to Biker Jim and his scent took over. He said, "Hold on a minute and I'll get Mary and introduce ya. Remember, she ain't gonna say much of anything at all." He disappeared through a doorway hollering, "C'mere, Mary, we got company for dinner."

I took the time alone to look around the living room. The furniture looked like something you might see in an old magazine, or maybe in a John Waters movie... one of those old ones with the big fat guy that always dressed up like a broad. Although it looked like it came out of a time capsule, everything was clean and neat. Everything except one beat-up old stuffed chair in the corner, surrounded by crushed beer cans, old magazines, Fritos wrappers, and mashed cigarette butts. That corner had to be the lair of Biker Joe. As I walked closer to the chair, the odor told me I was right.

"Mary, this here's Lonesome Dave. Dave, meet Anxious Mary." I turned to say hi, but stopped, frozen, with my jaw hanging open. Biker Joe had a grip on the arm of one of the most striking woman I had ever seen. I looked into a face that reminded me of a deer caught in my headlights. If Biker Joe didn't have a death grip on her upper arm, I think she would have bolted. Her eyes were open wells into her soul, and I could see the fear and uncertainty that lie deep within her. She looked to be in her mid twenties, with long straight brown hair that was tied back with a scrap of cloth. Wide deep blue eyes and rosy cheeks offset her full, red, sensuous lips.

She was wearing an old housecoat belted at the waist, faded and coming apart at the seams. There was no sign make-up that I could see, and a glance at the robe told me she wasn't wearing much of anything else either. Anxious Mary wasn't one of those sexy broads like you see in the strip joints, but she had an unearthly quality about her that drew you to her like a magnet. Her overall figure was a little on the heavy side. Not fat, but just soft, like someone who never got any exercise. The V-neck of the housecoat revealed a deep, dark cleavage created by a generous set of boobs. The belt cinched her robe into a medium waist, and then it flared back out to a generous pair of hips. "Not bad," I thought. I like women with a firm foundation anyway.

The housecoat came to her knees. Her legs and feet below were bare, but nice looking. Her hands were locked in a death grip at the neckline with her forearms covering her nipples. She wasn't holding the neckline closed, like someone who was embarrassed to be seen wearing so little, but each hand was gripping a side of the V-neck. It almost looked like she was getting ready to rip it open. She was breathing hard, and with each breath her boobs swayed gently back and forth.

I finally got myself back under control, well, most of me anyway. My old blue jeans were squeezing my dick and balls into an uncomfortable position. I took a deep breath, pulled my jaw shut, and plastered a grin on my face. "Hi, Mary. It's nice to meet you."

I took a couple of steps toward her with my hand out, but stopped and dropped my arm when I saw her eyes go even wider still as she tried to pull her arm out of Biker Joe's grasp. She never let go of the neckline of her housecoat, and her struggles made her boobs dance delightfully. I stopped and dropped my hand to my side. I smiled again. "I'm sorry," I said slowly. "I didn't mean to frighten you. I'm a pretty harmless guy. I'll just stay over here if I bother you that much."

Biker Joe wasn't going to be put off that easy. "G'wan over and say 'hi, ' why don'cha," he said, giving her a shove in my direction. She took about three steps under the momentum of his shove, which put her about a foot in front of me. She stood there, still holding the neckline of her housecoat, breathing hard and looking down at my feet.

I reached out and gently gripped her shoulders. "Hi," I repeated softly. Slowly, her eyes traveled up my body. She took in my worn sneakers and my faded jeans. Her eyes lingered at the bulge in my crotch, causing me to swell a bit more. Up over my stained work shirt and the tarnished chain I wear around my neck, finally to stare into my own eyes. She was still breathing hard, but a brief smile flickered at the corners of her ruby lips. Her tongue peeked out to moisten them briefly, then she stepped back, once again staring at my feet.

"That's about all the 'hello' yer gonna get outa Mary," cackled Biker Joe, giving Anxious Mary a light push toward the kitchen. "She jes' really don' talk at all. C'mon, let's eat!"

I just smiled at him. Mary had said more with those deep blue eyes in ten seconds than Biker Joe had said since I pulled into the yard.

Dinner was pretty much a one-sided conversation, conducted by Biker Joe. He had pointed me to a small bathroom off the side of the kitchen as he pulled out another plate from the cabinet. I had to think of some unpleasant things out of my past to get my dick to soften up enough to let me piss. I managed to get myself arranged in my pants so I wouldn't embarrass anybody when I saw Mary again, then realized it didn't matter when I walked back into the kitchen and saw Biker Joe at the kitchen door with his dick in his hand, hosing down the back steps.

Mary didn't seem to care one way or the other as she moved between the stove and the table with steaming plates of food. She had finally let go of the robe and watching her boobs bounce back and forth as she walked to the table had me hard again in an instant. Her nipples were very prominent, sticking out about a half inch as they rubbed back and forth against the material of the robe. Biker Joe put himself away and came back to the table, wiping his hands on his pants.

He told me that he had found the old house about seven years ago much the same way that I had, trying to get away from the law. Anxious Mary was living there by herself at the time, and he had simply moved in with her. She got some sort of monthly insurance check because her parents were dead. Once a month, they would walk down a path at the front of the clearing that led to a small country store out on the main road. Mary would endorse the check over to the shopkeeper, who kept some kind of store account for Mary. They would load up on food, beer, and cigarettes for the month, then haul all the stuff back up the trail to Mary's house. The shopkeeper also used the money to pay the utility bills that came in for Mary. She had all her mail delivered there. Evidently, Biker Joe didn't get any mail and he preferred it that way.

"I used to come an' go as I pleased. Never stayed anywhere long enough to need a mailbox," he said. "I never intended to stay here this long, but Mary's like a little puppy. Once ya take it in, ya can't jes' abandon it. Besides, for a while, it was better that nobody knew where I was, but I think the statute of limitations is just about up now."

He wouldn't elaborate any more about who or what he was hiding from. Mary occasionally looked back and forth between us as she ate, but mostly she stared at her plate. The food was simple, but very good. Biker Joe said Mary grew a lot of the stuff in a garden out back, which left more of her check for his beer and smokes. He was flipping his ashes in his plate and stubbing the butts into his uneaten mashed potatoes. Mary flinched every time he did this. She didn't say a word, but she didn't care for his table manners.

I told them a little about myself, dropping out of college, the draft, my time in Nam (what I remembered of it), the doctors, and the therapy. I didn't tell them about the nightmares. I don't tell anyone about the nightmares. If I did, I would probably still be stuck in that part of my life that revolved around the doctors and therapy. Like everything else, I get by.

It took a long time to tell them what little I told about myself. Everything I said reminded Biker Joe of a couple of other stories, and he kept interrupting. I finally just shut up and let him ramble.

It was pretty late when he finally ran out of gab. He walked to the back door and took out his dick for another wash-down of the back steps. I stood up and thanked them for dinner. I hoped I would be able to find that faint driveway in the dark, but Biker Joe said, " Hell, don't run off. You can crash on the couch tonight and get a good breakfast in the morning, too." His dick was still hanging out of his pants. "Don't mind the noise none, though. Me 'n' Mary's gonna play hide th' salami 'fore we go to sleep."

He belched and grabbed Mary's arm to drag her to the stairs. As he did, for one glorious split second, the top of her robe gaped open and there was one big boob, staring at me in all its glory. Her aureole was a good three inches across with a thumb sized nipple that stuck out a good half-inch or more. Then they were gone up the stairs. A door slammed and about ten seconds later, the bedsprings started their monotonous song.

I gave a mental shrug, and walked into the bathroom to piss. I considered using the back steps like Biker Joe did, but somehow that didn't seem the right thing to do to Mary's house. I flushed, then killed the lights as I walked back to the living room. I kicked off my sneakers and shucked my jeans, then stretched out on the couch.

Sleep came quickly, even though the bed head was banging the wall upstairs. No nightmares, just mixed up dreams of fire hoses washing off the porch steps and hundreds of big bouncing boobs.