Three young women looking for a fun night, walked into the only drinking establishment, within a half hour's drive, where they could buy a beer. One faction of residents of the small farming community had repeatedly defeated the other faction's attempts to turn the county from 'dry' to 'wet'.

Adjacent to the dry county was another county that also did not allow the sale of alcoholic beverages. However, just to the south of those two dry counties, The Little Brown Jug sat at the rear of a long wide parking lot. It was just barely over the line of those two adjoining counties. The residents of that county, few in number, were not quite so protective of their neighbor's morals. Thus, they allowed the sale and consummation of beer, on the premises.

A few steps inside the door of the bar, the blonde with long hair stopped and muttered, "Oh sheee-it," her southern accent drawing out the last word so it wouldn't sound quite so nasty. She tried to turn around as if she wanted to leave, but her companions pushed her forward so they could get inside the dimly lit bar with its large dancehall at the rear.

"Dahmn," the brunette added to her friend's comment. Her word also echoed a sweet southern drawl.

"What? What?" The question came from the third female. She lacked the heavy southern drawl, making each word sound short and clipped off at the end.

"Nevah min'," the blonde lowered her voice. "Let's go git a booth."

Four bar stools along the nearest short side of the rectangular bar were empty. Few men cared to sit with their back to the door. A few men, who appeared to be farmers or local workers, none of them dressed in anything better than jeans and work shirts, occupied several of the stools along the long side of the bar. Most wore some type of work boots, none showing a recent shine. Those who had removed their gimme caps sported white foreheads, as was often seen indoors on men who worked primarily outside all day long. They were relaxed, bending slightly forward with their forearms resting on the edge of the bar.

Farthest from the door, along the other short side of the bar, were four more barstools. Only one seat was occupied. A young man, dressed a little better than the other patrons, sat nursing his second beer of the evening. The young man had turned on the seat of his stool to lean against the nearby wall, rather than face the well of the bar, where the bartender was quietly motioning to each man along the long side asking if they were ready for another beer. This young man appeared relaxed, placing one leg across the seat of the next barstool, his well polished boot hung off the other side of the seat. The toe of his boot was slowly moving as if he was tapping his foot in time with the soulful song playing on the jukebox.

The young women chose one of several empty booths and settled on the hard wooden seats, waiting for the barmaid to take their order. They looked around for a moment, gauging their prospects for a little fun and checking out any men who might interest them or who might like to dance or show a girl a good time.

Informing the young woman who lacked a southern accent, the blonde said, "Tha only choice you git, Elaine, is beer on tap or in a bottle. An' ya have ta ask fer a glass." Her words were hard, as if she was disgusted or perhaps she was disappointed the dance floor was empty, although it was still early with an hour or two to go before full dark.

"Don't talk like that, Sue Ann, it's just that most don't wont a glass," the brunette chided her blonde friend's derogatory comment.

"I'm jist tellin' her, Louise. Don't jump down my throat." Sue Ann's words were a little harsh, compared to the ones she might have used before they walked into The Little Brown Jug.

"Well, don't be like that. Jist 'cause those men caint settle their differences, don't mean you and me has got to make some fer ourselves." Likewise, Louise's words were harsher than she had used only minutes before.

Elaine's head turned from Sue Ann to Louise surprised at the vehemence from both women. "What happened to make you two mad at each other?"

Louise waved her hand at the men along the bar, "Oh its jist them men. Neither one'll give in, which means Rebecca caint neither."

"It wudden her fault!" Sue Ann exclaimed.

Louise looked at her friend and slapped her hand on the table as the barmaid placed frosted mugs and bottles of beer in front of all three. "I didn't say it was. I'm jist sayin' she won't budge if they don't."

Even the sound of Louise's palm hitting the table did not cause a single man at the bar to take his attention from the young man leaning against the wall. Nor did the young man's attention waver from a particular man seated on the long side of the bar.

Before the evening was over, the three young women would no longer use the mugs, they would drink their beer directly from the bottle as the men at the bar were doing. Before they could lift their bottles to fill their frosty mugs, however, their attention was drawn to the men at the bar.

The young man with the polished boots did not move his head or his leg, nor did he lift his bottle for a swallow of beer before or after he spoke. "Jake, is she coming home tonight?"

"I don't think so, Clay." Only by seeing one of the men on the long side of the bar shaking his head, could Elaine determine who had spoken. Other than the movement of his head, the man's posture did not change.

"That's my baby she's carrying!" Clay declared. His voice was just a little louder than necessary, but he wanted everyone to hear what he said.

"She ain't sure it is, Clay." Jake's response was similarly loud enough for every man along the bar to hear.

Clay dropped his leg off the adjacent bar stool, stood, and glared at the man who had responded to his declaration. He walked around the corner of the bar, passed by the men who sat with their forearms resting on the edge of the bar. He paused for a moment behind the largest of the four men and patted him on the back and spoke quietly, "Tell her I love her, Jake. Just tell her that. I need my wife to come home."

The man to whom Clay had spoken did not turn to acknowledge the younger man. Instead, he nodded his head and picked up his beer, drained it and very gently placed the empty bottle on top of the wooden bar, while the young man walked toward the door.

As the door banged closed behind Clay, Jake stood, stretched, and placed his hands on the back of the two men who had sat beside him, "I'll see you fellas in a day or two." Both men nodded, gave wordless grunts of acceptance of their friend's comment, and the big man turned to walk toward the front door.

However, Jake stopped behind another man farther down the bar and clamped his hand on the man's shoulder. He squeezed gently, "Don't be late for supper, Joel. Mom don't need to be up late waitin' fer you to show up."

When the door once again banged shut, it was as if a pall had lifted from the room, the jukebox began playing a foot-stomping song that sounded several decibels louder than the one just ended. Most of the men at the bar leaned against the backs of their seats and looked around to see who had walked into the bar, to whom they could now give their attention.

A couple from the booth behind the three young women walked to the dance floor and began to dance. Two couples from tables on the far side of the large room rose from their seats and joined the first couple. The waitress called out an order to the bartender. The front door opened to admit two more couples, all four of them laughing at something said as they walked inside, or a private joke. They carried with them, the expectation they were going to enjoy themselves. The fun of a Saturday night at The Little Brown Jug had just begun.

Elaine looked around at the changed atmosphere inside the building and watched both of the other women with whom she shared the booth. Their shoulders straightened and smiles began to spread across their faces. To Elaine it appeared everyone was awakening from a deep depressive trance.

"Can you tell me what that was all about?" Elaine looked at Sue Ann and then Louise, neither of whom was giving their attention to Elaine.

"Later, darlin'," Sue Ann responded as she patted Elaine's hand then offered her other hand to the man who stood in front of their table. "I'm gonna go dance with Charlie."

Music from the jukebox grew louder as the bar and dancehall filled with young and old dancers. Rarely was a stranger seen in The Little Brown Jug. Hard working farm families met friends, talked about the weather, bragged about their fields of growing crops, and bottles of beer soothed parched throats.

When a couple slipped out the side door for a few minutes of fresh air, no one remarked when they returned, not even if the man had a smudge of lipstick on his mouth. After all, farming communities are far removed from larger cities where entertainment opportunities were varied.

It was many hours later when Elaine heard the first few details of the story that caused Clay Hogan and Jake Westerman to exchange words. It was a complicated story. Many of the details were argued about, but everyone had an opinion. It was a story about Rebecca Westerman Hogan and the pregnancy her doctor had just confirmed.

"Oh gawd," Sue Ann moaned as she walked into the living room taking careful steps across the room until she reached the short bar which separated the living room from the kitchen. She twisted the seat of the vacant tall stool and flopped down, but closed her eyes and moaned.

"I know, me too." Louise commiserated with her friend. "I thought you might go home with Charlie."

Sue Ann shook her head, winced at the pain it caused, and answered, "Naw, he was too drunk. I don't fancy his kind of fun when he drinks."

Their attention shifted from their hangover misery to a groan from the living room at their backs. Sue Ann turned to look at the back of the couch as one slender arm appeared giving a half-hearted wave.

Sue Ann didn't bother to speak to the young woman who slowly sat up from her bed on the couch and pushed herself up to stand for a moment. Elaine appeared to be just as miserable as the other two young women were.

Sue Ann's head swiveled back to Louise. "Is that coffee?"

"Yeah, it's almost done." Louise gingerly left her stool and walked around the end of the bar. She opened cabinets to remove cups and sugar, and the refrigerator door looking for the cream, carrying everything to the small kitchen table.

By the time Elaine returned from the bathroom, Louise was pouring coffee into three cups. The three young women mentioned something to eat but none of them had the energy to do anything other than sit and enjoy the coffee, waiting for their bodies to recover from the prior evening of drinking too many beers and expending a lot of energy dancing.

"Okay," Elaine said, took a deep breath and asked, "Now tell me about those two men at the bar."

Sue Ann began the explanation. "Clay Hogan won't believe Rebecca, that's his wife, was unfaithful."

Louise explained, "The big guy, Jake Westerman, says Rebecca, that's his sister, says she don't know if she did it or not."

The way the two life-long friends made their opening remarks told Elaine there was disagreement between them and that they had taken sides. She listened as the discussion grew into an intense argument or settled into a simple recitation of details. Although it was almost a subject of daily discussion between some people, few knew if there had been any result of the latest meeting between a husband and an over-protective brother.

Clay Hogan appeared in the small community as representative of a seed and chemical company that sold their specialty products to farmers and ranchers. Fresh out of college, with a degree in farm and ranch management, he had been assigned a specific area of the state. He drew a rough circle around his sales area then pinpointed the center of the circle as his base of operations.

For the first two weeks, Clay lived and worked out of one of the six rooms at the only motel in town. He learned the owner of the combination bakery and doughnut shop had a small furnished apartment above the shop that she was willing to rent. The apartment was really only two rooms and a bathroom. One room was barely large enough to walk around in when the Murphy bed was lowered but the room was bare when the bed was folded and raised in place. The other room contained a red plastic covered couch, a small refrigerator with a hot plate on top and a sink with a badly dripping faucet. The small table would remain upright if the side with the missing leg was wedged into the corner of the room. A rope tied around the legs of the only chair kept it from falling apart.

Clay spent his time calling on the local farmers, selling his products, and making himself known in the community. A few months later, one farmer offered him the use of a small house, a few miles from town, where his deceased mother-in-law had lived. He even suggested he would waive the first two months rent because the yard was severely overgrown and the house needed cleaning plus a few minor repairs. After that, the farmer agreed to allow Clay to pay for paint and some plumbing repairs instead of rent. By the time Clay had lived in the house for about six months, the community had cautiously accepted him as one of them, partly because the house once again looked like someone lived in it and cared for it.

Like the other young people of the community, Clay spent some of his Saturday nights at The Little Brown Jug, just over the county line. If any of the 'fun time' girls saw more of him than the time they spent dancing with him, they did not admit it. Clay did not share what he did the one day a week he traveled to his company offices to turn in and arrange for delivery of his orders. Nor did he give many details about his review of new products, or the discussions with the agronomists at the state agricultural experimental station. However, he shared his knowledge and expertise with the farmers he called on and treated as friends, more than customers.

Clay was a quiet man. He attended the local community church, and although he was friendly, he was private about his personal life. If he tipped his hat or held a door open for a farmer's wife, he wasn't doing anything more gallant than the farmer or a neighbor would have done. When the farmer's wives thanked Clay, they did so by name. They had seen him many times, fed him a meal when he spent time with their husband, and nodded at him when they passed him on the sidewalk.

More than a year after Clay arrived, as he was becoming accepted as a 'local', he asked Rebecca Westerman for a date. Actually, he asked her father for permission to ask her for a date. He had seen her enough times at her parent's farm to like the young girl. She smiled at him. Although he was five years older than the recent high school graduate was, Rebecca's parents were impressed with the young man's assurance that he understood she was still a very young girl, just barely eighteen years old.

For many months, the majority of their simple dates were spent on the front porch of her family's farmhouse. They sat in the swing, often visiting with her father or one of her three older brothers who sat in one of the nearby rocking chairs.

On the evenings when none of her family members joined them on the front porch, Clay and Rebecca's date grew more physical than verbal. Those were the evenings when Clay left a little earlier than usual after Rebecca walked him to his pickup. The minutes she spent in his arms as he leaned her against the front fender left both of them panting with sexual arousal. His vehicle barely hid them from anyone in the house who might have walked into the front parlor and looked out one of the windows.

Amelia Westerman was not aware the reason her daughter wore a skirt was to give Clay easy access to what was hidden beneath her skirt. The woman thought Rebecca was merely dressing a little nicer than her usual jeans because her boyfriend was coming to visit for a few hours. Nor was the woman aware of the number of times her daughter opened the front of Clay's jeans to discover he wasn't wearing underwear. It allowed the young girl to stroke his hard cock until she leaned over and pulled it into her mouth as he groaned with his release.

The first night Clay lifted Rebecca to sit on the hood of his truck she separated her legs and wrapped them around his shoulders, pulling him closer. His fingers trailed up and down the insides of her thighs, slowly getting closer to something he usually felt through or under her clothing. When his fingers reached the vee between her legs, he discovered she wasn't wearing panties.

"Rebecca your brothers are going to kill me."

"They're watching TV, Clay. I'm so wet, I need it."

Clay leaned forward, his lips nipping along the inside of her thigh, savoring her heat as his mouth searched for the source of the sweetness he sampled on her skin. At the first touch of his mouth on her sexual core, he groaned. He had tasted her essence on his fingers but this was his first time to actually get his mouth close enough for the taste he craved.

Rebecca whispered, "You like that baby?"

Rather than lift his head to respond, Clay's head went up and down in an affirmative response to her question.

Rebecca giggled, "I shaved it just for you."

Clay feasted on her luscious wetness, pushed his fingers into her warmth, and held her still when she wiggled from the stimulation.

In minutes she was panting and whispering, "Oh, oh, oh I'm gonna, uhmm-mm." She muted her final sounds as she bit down on the knuckle of her forefinger.

As her tremors subsided, she was demanding, "Pull me down Clay. Can I put you inside me?"

He was happy to oblige. He opened the top of his jeans, pulled them off his hips, and slid her straight down onto his throbbing cock. She jerked and gasped at the invasion and then shook. Clay groaned. He had not known and he could not withdraw. The heat and wetness inside her felt too wonderful to the sensitive head of his cock.

Rebecca kissed him, as he moved his cock in and out of her wet heat. She sucked on his neck. She finally latched onto his fat earlobe, flicking it with her tongue, which always sent chills down his spine.

When he could finally open his eyes and think straight, he managed to lower Rebecca to stand on her trembling legs. The next thought was a thunderous "Oh shit." The ever present condom he always carried in his hip pocket was still there, in his pocket.

"Rebecca, I'm sorry. Damn, damn, I didn't use a condom. Please, please, tell me you're on the pill."

"Not yet, Clay. I'm taking the first pill in a little over a week, right after my period."

To say that Clay's nerves were on edge for the next few days was an understatement. The evening he visited, he barely kissed her and left her as early as he dared. He was a nervous wreck until Rebecca assured him she was not pregnant. That week's trip to his company's office was the shortest he could ever recall making or his thoughts were so jumbled and busy he didn't pay attention to the time on the highway. The next Sunday he joined her family for a meal after church then spent some time with her father looking at Hiram Westerman's newest farm implement.

When Clay and Hiram returned from the barn, Clay asked Rebecca to take a walk with him. By the time they returned Rebecca was wearing Clay's ring. Several weeks later they were married in the parlor of the Westerman farm house with so many friends and family around half of them were standing while the minister read the wedding vows from his thin black book.

Clay and Rebecca spent two nights in the nearest large town that had a decent hotel but they rarely left their room. They returned to the rent house that Clay had changed from a dusty rough looking house to a home that might have been pretty enough to photograph for a postcard. He ceased taking sandwiches for lunch and no longer accepted a farmer's invitation to a home cooked meal. He had those meals, plus a wife who was learning to be sexually adventurous waiting for him at home. Some days he failed to make his afternoon rounds of farms in his sales area, but his sales didn't decrease, he just made better use of his time. He was often asked about his pretty new wife, or when they planned to start a family.

Rebecca grew quite addicted to the Saturday night dances at The Little Brown Jug, despite the need to drive for almost half an hour to reach the county line. No longer watched by a protective mother and father, or guarded by three over protective brothers, she was finally free to enjoy a little fun. Regardless of how tired he was or how hard he had worked all week, she usually managed to drag Clay to the dance. He danced with her, reluctantly allowed her to dance with other men, and occasionally danced with the wives, or girlfriends, of those other men, while keeping his eye on his friendly, though shy, young wife.

During the first year of their marriage, when Clay had to attend his annual week of training, Rebecca went with him. She was absolutely bored with nothing to do all day long while Clay was sitting in a classroom and studying at night. Similarly, the second year of their marriage, Rebecca went with him for the winter training and was smart enough to take a book she could read while he was otherwise occupied. The third year, a year when the training session would take two weeks, Rebecca stayed home. Two months earlier, she had stopped taking birth control pills. Anticipating her pregnancy, she was beginning a project of redecorating the smallest bedroom to make a nursery for the baby they wanted.

To cover Clay's absence for the two weeks of training, his employer sent a new trainee to visit the farms in what the seed and chemical company considered a model sales territory. Not only had Clay's sales volume increased each year, the company occasionally received letters from farmers complimenting Clay's knowledge and attention to their needs. The salesman, Jerry Napes, arrived Thursday and was invited to have supper with Clay and Rebecca as soon as he was settled into his motel room.

Giving attention to her ovulation calendar, as they had done every day for more than a week, Rebecca and Clay had sex as soon as he got home for the day. They were still laughing about barely getting dressed when Jerry knocked on their front door. Later, while Jerry and Clay stood on the front porch and talked for a few minutes, Rebecca cleaned the kitchen. As soon as Clay walked back into the house, Rebecca was pulling him into the bedroom. She woke him in the middle of the night and wouldn't let him leave their bed the next morning until he had filled her with his sperm laden ejaculate.

It was no different when Clay rushed home for Friday's lunch. He tried to tell her he was too exhausted that night, but her talented mouth soon had him very interested in any activity that would make her pregnant. Before he left for his Saturday afternoon drive to the University where he would attend two weeks of class, Rebecca took a shower and put on the sheer light blue short night gown she had worn on their wedding night. She gave Clay a novice's version of a bump and grind striptease dance that had him ready to go again. Clay left her lying on the bed where she was still snuggled under a warm quilt, kissed her, and told her he loved her. He took his suitcase to his truck and began his four hundred mile drive, expecting to spend all day Sunday with his fellow classmates comparing notes on their best sales techniques.