Chapter 3

Down in our part of Oklahoma, we got some of the horniest, orneriest, drunkenest, cheatingest and the dumbest people you will find anywhere on God's green Earth. Oklahoma and its people are all about extremes. Take Carl Fotheringill and the time he caught his fourth wife, Desire Mae, giving Claude Waterhouse head in the back room of the Humper, Oklahoma Community Center during the Spring Festival Dance last year.

I mean, she was chomping down on old Claude like he was a fast melting ice cream cone. The door to the back room swung open and there was Claude leaning against a table, grinning like he just won a million dollars. And there was Desire Mae down on her knees doing what was rumored to be her favorite pastime.

The fact that old Carl's first wife, Beulah, was leading him into that unlit room by his peter was not lost on Desire. She explained to Carl that she was giving Claude mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and got turned around in the dark. The problem with that explanation was the lights were all on in that back room. On the other hand, old Carl was willing to take her explanation at face value and not pursue it any further. But Beulah had to open her mouth and make a catty remark about how she'd just figured out why Desire always had such bad breath and the fight was on.

By the time the fight was over, both women were buck-naked and rolling around in the middle of the dance floor. The music stopped. The dancers all backed away from the center of the dance floor to watch the spur-of-the-moment entertainment. I thought it was a notch and a half better than all pro wrestling. Some of the guys were even betting on which one would win. And old Claude just stood there with his peter hanging out, half-drunk off his ass and wondering where Desire had got to.

Then Desire got on top and sat down hard on Beulah's face and yelled, "Make me happy, bitch, or never breathe again!"

Now I thought she was being just a mite melodramatic until I got a look at her face. She was as serious as a heart attack. Beulah must have thought so too, because suddenly, Desire got this great big grin on her face and she yelled, "Oh yes!" and got up off of Beulah before she completely smothered the poor woman.

Desire looked over at a very confused Carl and said, "I want to go home now." She acted like she wasn't aware of the fact that she was as naked as the day she was born.

Carl looked down at her crotch and asked, "How did you get them lipstick smears down there?"

"You wouldn't understand, Honey," she told him. "It's a girl thing."

"Can I go home with y'all?" Beulah asked. "Y'all done mortified the hell out of me and I don't feel like I can stay here another minute."

"Oh sure, you might as well," Desire told her. "But I ride in the middle."

So, confused as hell Carl Fotheringill led the way out to his old Chevy pickup, followed by two very naked ladies. The country band struck up "Good Night Ladies," and everybody applauded as the truck slowly rolled out of the graveled parking lot and onto the paved road.

Claude's wife Irma saw him wandering around with lipstick on his peter and made him put it away. "Who the hell give you lipstick marks on your dingus, Claude?" she asked in a pissed off voice. She looked like she was about ready to clean his clock right then and there.

He told her it was Desire, half-grinning and half-afraid she might raise a ruckus.

"Well, at least it wasn't somebody ugly,"she said and took him out on the dance floor. Just before they started to dance, she told him, "Put that damned thing away and if you ever pull that kind of shit again, I'm going to cut it off."

That's what you might call the background for what happened the next day.

I had big worries of my own. I was worried about losing my farm. I owed almost a hundred and fifty thousand dollars on a high-interest loan that was due that afternoon. The banker, Harold Loomis, had promised me I could have a few extensions if I needed them. But the problem was I had a real bad feeling Harold was not going to renew my loan like he promised.

I sat in my beat up old Dodge pickup truck trying to work up the nerve to have it out with Harold. For some reason, I happened to look up as a big semi pulled over to the side of the road and stopped with a loud hissing of its air brakes. Then this fine as frog's hair, lady hitchhiker got out of that semi truck. "I just thank you all so very much!" she called back up into the cab.

"Oh hell, little lady," the truck driver's voice came back at her. "It's me that has to be thanking you."

She turned away and gave him a wave over her shoulder as she started walking toward Humper. She had this big old-fashioned purse over her shoulder and wore a shiny, silver-white skirt, blouse and vest, all made out of a brocaded raw silk that had a hell of a lot of poor little silk worms working overtime to make. Her custom-made boots looked like they might have paid for the boot maker's oldest child to go all the way through college. Her coal black, bobbed hair was done in a retro fashion out of the thirties.

I saw her get out of that semi and wondered how come a pretty, little, fine looking thing like her, wearing a million dollar outfit, was hitchhiking. I mean, she looked like she belonged in Oklahoma City in some millionaire's house instead of walking down a dusty road headed toward a two-bit town a smidgen this side of nowhere. I did what any normal man would do and a whole lot of the abnormal ones would as well.

I called and asked her through the open window, "You want a ride on into town, little lady?" Then I got a real good look at her face as well as her figure.

"Why, thank you, Rupert. I'd appreciate that a whole lot." She smiled at me with her Cupid's bow mouth. Opening the door on my close to worn out1988 Dodge Dart pickup, she crawled in beside me.

"Well, you seem to know my first name. Would yours happen to be Betty?" I thought I was being real clever there.

"No, you sweet, tasty-looking man and my last name isn't Boop, either." She smiled tolerantly at me in a way that said I was not being very original. But by God, she did look just like that cartoon character out of the thirties, Betty Boop. Then she said, "Boop boop ee doo!" in a squeaky voice that sounded just like the original Betty Boop did.

"Aw, now you're making fun of me," I told her. Where women are concerned, I always have been real sensitive.

"Honey baby, I can see how you are a real, high-class gentleman by the way you keep trying to hide that hard-on from me. But I find it a real nice compliment when I give a man a boner. It means that he thinks I'm good looking."

I felt my face get hot as the blood rushed to it. My head buzzed and I had no idea what to say. "You really hadn't ought to say things like that to a strange man," I finally told her. "The wrong person just might take it upon himself to, er, well..." My voice trailed of as I tried to think of a gentlemanly way to say what was on my mind.

"You mean, he just might try to fuck my little ole' brains right out of my empty head?" she asked me sweetly in an innocent voice. But I'll tell you the smile was nowhere near sweet or innocent.

"No ma'am," I replied with as much dignity as I could muster. "I was going to say that he might try and harm you. My mamma never raised me to use language like just came out of your mouth. It's very unseemly for a beautiful young lady like you to talk like that. It would give some men ideas."

"Good!" she said, "If fucking was ever done away with, most of the men in this world wouldn't have a thing to think about. Of course, that's all too many of them can do is think about it. They'd have no ideas at all if they didn't have ideas about screwing." She looked at me and grinned, and I could see the laughter in her big, round heavily lashed eyes.

"Where do you want me to take you?" I asked.

"Your place would be nice. I need a shower and to change my clothes. Riding from Oklahoma City in that old truck was hot, sweaty business." I wasn't going to ask her what was hot and sweaty about riding in a semi like that one with the windows all rolled down on a cold, early spring morning. I figured I already knew the answer.

"Now, wait a minute! I never invited you to come stay with me. Hell, I don't even know your name!"

"Well, your name is Rupert Morgan and my name is Angel Vine, middle initial 'D' for Darling." She smiled brightly. "You better get your ass in gear, the truck too and get me somewhere I can peel off these clothes and scrub off all that road grime. I feel really yucky right now."

"Angel D. Vine is a made up name. It makes you sound like some kind of hooker or something. Ain't you got a real name?"

"Sorry, Rupe, but that's my name and holiness is my game. By the way, I'll make you a loan to pay off the note on your farm. We better get to the bank right now. Hurry! That sneaky Harold Loomis is planning on closing a half-hour early, just so he can foreclose on your property. There's a big agribusiness outfit from Eastern Texas that's waiting to buy the place. How could you ever be so brain dead as to borrow money from a thief like Harold Loomis? That dude makes Scrooge look like Mother Teresa by comparison."

"Well, if it's any of your business, I needed the money to buy new equipment after someone stole my two tractors, harvester and everything else that wasn't nailed down. Nobody else would loan me the money." I felt real huffy that she knew so much about my business and here I did not know a single solitary thing about her.

"Will you please get this truck in gear so we can save the old homestead?" She gave me an exasperated look, and I took off.

Sure enough, just as we pulled up and got out of the truck, Harold pulled down the shades, even though it was only three-thirty. I pushed to open the door while his head teller Wilmer Wispy, a weasel of a man, tried to hold it shut. I got sort of mad and shoved hard, and the little jug head went flying.

"Why the hell are you trying to lock me out of your bank, Harold?" I asked even though I had half of a notion my new lady friend was right about him.

"Sorry," Harold told me, "but it's past closing time and you'll have to come back tomorrow.

"Harold, tomorrow my loan will be past due and you'd be able to foreclose of two sections of the primest land in this part of the state. You wasn't planning on doing something like that were you?" I gave him the fish eye.

"Come back tomorrow and we'll discuss it," he told me.

"Fuck you, Harold. We'll discuss it right now!" I yelled at him so loud he stepped back a pace and looked like he was getting ready to run.

"Well, if you don't have the cash, I'm calling the note. I have that right, you know." His face twisted in a nasty sneer and I started to double up my fist to smash him in the face. Usually I am a very peaceful man, but Harold really made me mad.

"Stop this silly bickering," Angel told him. "You promised this man you'd let him renew as often as he wanted. You're going back on your word."

"You keep your nose out of this. This is a business transaction between this man and me. You have no business butting in. Hookers should be screwed and not heard."

"Snookums, here is one hundred and forty-seven thousand dollars. Take it and write out a receipt." She reached in her handbag and began tossing out bundles of hundred dollar bills.

I came close to having a bowel movement in my long johns, except I wore boxer shorts. Harold, on the other hand, looked like he had just had one in his.

"I'll have to verify that this money is good and by then, it will be too late. So you two run along to the nearest motel and I'll prepare the papers for my cousin, the sheriff, to serve. Beat it!"

I grabbed the phone off his desk. He made an effort to grab it back. All at once, smoke began to pour from the mouthpiece and it got too hot to hold. I dropped it. "What the... ?" I had never had a telephone set on fire before.

"Sorry," Angel apologized. "I want to get this settled right now." She smiled sweetly and said, "Harold, dear, do the people know about what you and Michael Jackson have in common? Would you like them to know? How about the local television station?" She reached in that big bag of hers and pulled out what looked like a Polaroid picture.

He took one look and yelled, "Give me that!" He made a dive across his desk and fell. Desperately he kept trying to reach the picture in her hand.

"No, Harold." She smiled a very, very nasty. "You'll take the money and mark the debt paid in full, and that will be that."

Harold whimpered as he filled out the papers and signed them, and had his scrawny little teller notarize the signatures. He handed her all the papers and she handed them to me. "Bye-bye, Harold," she said sweetly as we walked out. Suddenly, she turned around and said, "You have all this man's equipment back on his farm tomorrow. You are a disgusting, greasy ass hole."

"What was that all about?" I asked.

"Oh, Harold here stole your farm equipment in the first place. He's a real weasel. Come on, let's go home." She took my hand and led me to the truck. When she let go, my hard-on was back. She looked down at my crotch, laughed and got in. I walked around, scooted in behind the wheel and we took off.

I was numb as hell over what all had just happened. Here I was, about to lose my farm to an evil banker and this angel, who looked more like she belonged in one of those French fuck movies they call art, just happened to waltz right into town at a crucial moment. Then, she just happened to have the ready cash to pay off my mortgage, right there in her big old purse. I mean, right out of the blue, she saved my farm and now wants to go home and have sex with me. I figured she wanted to have sex with me. I admit, a great big part of me, wanted her to want to.

My poor under-worked brains were going around in wobbly circles with each other as I tried to figure out what was going on. Now, I don't know about you, but in Southern Baptist East Central Oklahoma, I been preached at and to about how the age of miracles has done passed, and we are living in what they called "the Dispensation" and that was all she wrote. Reverend Billy Bob, over at his True Gospel Church, says there are still miracles happening, but only he knows about it around our end of the state because he's God's right-hand man. I always figured he said stuff like that so he can get more pussy.

Then I thought about what just happened to me and I got confused. If it wasn't a miracle, what just happened then? I was crazy as old Nutty Ed Jones who tried to get a blowjob from a bull and was gored half to death for his efforts.

"Sweetie Lamb," Angel said, reaching over and gave me a squeeze. "You are not crazy as Nutty Ed Jones, who is gay and refuses to admit it even to himself. And all that Dispensation stuff is a crock of shit."

I winced as she used that unbecoming language again. She was just too pretty and innocent looking to talk like a drunken whore on army payday. It was just unseemly. But unseemly or not, with the entire rubbing she kept doing on the front of my pants, she had me about ready to explode in my underwear.

"Honey baby, you really ought to get on the right side of the road. There's a big old semi coming around the bend up ahead and he'll just flatten you and your old pickup truck flatter than a pancake after a three hundred pound man sat on it and farted. You get my drift, sweetness?" She giggled and added, "Besides we passed the turnoff to your place three miles back."

"Well, shit," I muttered under my breath and swerved over onto the right side of the road, just in time to miss a great big semi-truck loaded with non-fragrant hogs on the way to the slaughterhouse, owned by the vampire clan out west of Humper. I whipped a u-turn as soon as there was a wide enough place in the road, and headed back to the county road where I was supposed to turn off in the first place. Ten minutes later, we were home.

"We better hurry inside so you can pay the first installment on that loan I made you back at the bank, lollipop boy," she said.

"Installment? Loan?" I asked in total confusion.

"You really ought to lock your house up when you leave," she said as she opened the front door and stepped through ahead of me.

"Why?" I asked. "What if one of my neighbors wants to borrow something when I'm not here? It would be real unfriendly to lock them out."

"You're such a sweet soul," she said and ran a finger down the front of my throat and to the middle of my chest. A wonderful thrill shot down my body and my hard on got even harder. The next thing I knew her clothes just plain old dropped off her body, like leaves falling off a tree at the end of summer.

She pointed a finger at me and I felt my belt squirm around on my waist and my pants came open by themselves, unzipped, and dropped down around my ankles without any help from me. My boxer shorts dropped down and my shirt opened itself up and wiggled its way off of me. "Raise your foot," she said, and I did. As soon as my right foot went up my shoe worked itself loose and dropped to the floor.

"Raise your other foot," she told me.

"I can't," I said. "I already got my right foot in the air."

"Your blond hair is affecting your brain, sexy boy toy," she said to me. "Put your right foot down and then put your left foot in the air." She sighed and shook her head.

"Oh," I answered and did as she said. The left shoe slipped off and my pants and shorts also, and I was as naked as she was.

"Come here, cupcake," she growled deep in here throat. "We have some unfinished business that hasn't even been started yet."

I swear my feet just sort of slid across the floor and I was suddenly standing in front of her, my hard-as-a-hammer peter pointing up at the ceiling. "Boop boop ee doo!" she squealed as she jumped up into the air. She threw her legs around my waist and eased herself down on my hard-on, taking it all in at once.

I tell you, she had a pussy like a velvet vice. It clamped down on me and squeezed. She rode it up and down and better than a trick rider at the rodeo. Her nice cupcake titties felt like they were burning holes in my chest. "Oh fuck!" I moaned.

"That's exactly what we're doing, lover boy," she answered before I could apologize for using intemperate language in her presence. "Oh yes," she purred. "Oh yes, yes, yes, so good."

I don't know how long we were coupled the way we were, me standing and working hard with all my might and she with her legs clamped around me, moving every which way at the same time. It felt like it would never end and I didn't want it to, but it did. All at once it was over.

With no warning at all, I exploded inside her, in what felt like gallon sized gushes. I drew her tight against me and gave one last spurt and sighed. I went all at once limp. She slid right down my body until she was standing on the floor in front of me, with a real pleased expression on her face.

"Now that's the best welcome I've had in eons," she said and gave me an affectionate smack on the lips. "Tonight, when we go to bed, we'll take our time and drain you dry."

"Jesus, lady, what did you just do? My balls are plumb empty." I looked at her and wondered if I didn't have a bull by the tail and didn't dare let go.

"Don't talk profane," she said primly. Then she grabbed my cock and did her mind reading thing again. "Lover boy, this is not a bull's tail, and when we're enjoying the greatest pastime ever invented, the only thing I want you to let go of is your inhibitions.

"Are you sure you're an angel?" I asked and started to get dressed. "You sure don't look like any angel I ever heard of. You don't have wings, you screw like a mink and you use very un-angel like language. Besides, I never ever heard of an angel who went around with millions of dollars in her purse. And what's more, you didn't even nag me once about my sinful ways."

"Well, my tasty lollipop, all you know about angelic beings is what the preachers told you. And the preachers are just plain old full of shit." I winced at her language as she continued. "That wing bit was a bunch of theatrics Michael pulled one time when he wanted to bed this cute little Bedouin chick some three thousand years ago. He got a dose of clap for his trouble. Boy, was he pissed.

Even though being an angel he was able to cure himself right away. It was the whole embarrassing episode that got to him. Here she'd been going around acting holier than me, and all the time she was putting out for anything with a dick, including two camels who were not too happy when they caught the clap also." She smiled to herself, obviously remembering the whole episode.

"Well, you sure don't act like those angels in the bible." I argued. "How do you explain that?" There, I figured I stumped her. Not even close.

"Which angels are you referring to, bunny boy? You mean the ones who came here to Earth from Headquarters and married those little Earthie bitches who were in heat all the time? Some of Adam and Eve's grandkids got mixed up with a bunch of horny angels and spewed kids all over the landscape. In fact, I remember a couple of those sweet young Earthlings I had a fling from time to time. Lover boy, let's face it. That's one of the reasons I'm here right now. I just needed some good old fashioned down and dirty sex."