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Message-ID: <31545asstr$995739006@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: One Gallus <onegallus@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Kentucky Wonder 6 (MF, cheat, inc)
Date: Sat, 21 Jul 2001 14:10:06 -0400
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<1st attachment, "KW 6.txt" begin>


Kentucky Wonder (Cheat, MF, Inc)  Part 6

Synopsis
Corrine Deere tells her own story.  It 
is the tale of a servile woman whose 
effort to be a person in her own right 
is frustrated by her boorish husband.  A 
full-blown compulsive, Leon masks his 
abuse and bigotry with self-
righteousness.  His repression and 
control result in a stinging backlash 
that neither she nor he could have 
predicted.


Disclaimer
This story contains graphic sexual 
scenes of incest and adultery.  If you 
are under the legal age of adulthood in 
your state, find another story.  This 
story is not to be read where it is 
illegal. The possible resemblance to 
actual characters, living or dead is 
purely coincidental.  This story may not 
be posted or changed or otherwise used 
by anyone anywhere without the 
permission of OneGallus.

Kentucky Wonder
Part 6

I don't remember George and Sandra 
leaving my bed that morning, but I woke 
up at 10:30 and they were not with me.  
I was still in Sandra's tee shirt and 
panties, so I went to the closet looking 
for a wrap of some sort.  All that was 
there were several long winter dresses 
of Sandra's.  A few blankets were on the 
shelves and some boots on the floor.  I 
went to my door, opened it and peeked 
out into the hallway, looking across 
diagonally to the open door of the 
bathroom.  I hurried across, shut the 
door and made use of the toilet very 
quickly.  I washed my hands and face, 
noticing a cheap Colgate toothbrush in 
cellophane laying on top of a folded 
washcloth.  Beside it was a small sized 
tube of Crest and a mini-tube of 
lipstick. I presumed it had been laid 
out for me.   I scrubbed my teeth, and 
examined a small cut across the bridge 
of my nose at the same time.  A faint 
blue hue flushed through my skin around 
both my eyes.  I rinsed my mouth, and 
returned my toothbrush to the folded 
washcloth.  

In the top left drawer of the vanity, I 
found a brush and began to vigorously 
bring order to my hair.  When I stroked 
the back of my head, a sharp pain flared 
to the surface.  It was where I had hit 
the bathtub.  I felt it but discovered 
no break in the skin.  I gingerly 
brushed around the bruise, finished up 
and decided that under the 
circumstances, I was passable.  A touch 
of Sandra's lipstick brought some color 
to my face. 

I opened the door and peeked out.  
George was coming up the hallway in his 
running shorts sans the tee shirt.  A 
morning hard on was pushing out the 
front, but there was no place for him to 
flee, so he just smiled.  "Are you 
through?" he asked, "Sandra's occupying 
the other bathroom."

"Sure, I was just leaving," I said, and 
padded out into the hallway.  

I wondered what the church members would 
have thought at that moment.  Their 
pastor and his secretary standing 
smiling at each other in a state of 
undress, he with an erection, she, in 
his wife's panties and his tee shirt.  I 
returned to the bedroom and just before 
I shut the door, I heard George's 
vigorous stream churning the water.  I 
sat on the bed, wondering when someone 
would bring me a wrap when I noticed the 
stack of underclothing and night wear on 
the dresser.  I went over and sorted 
through it. A light robe with a faded 
floral pattern lay folded at the bottom 
of the stack.  I shook it out, slipped 
it on, and it came almost down to my 
ankles.  I felt like a dwarf among 
giants.


At noon, we arrived at the hospital.  I 
had dressed in one of Abby's loose 
dresses. George sat in the waiting room 
while I went in to see Lonnie.  He had 
been moved to a regular room and was 
still improving, the nurse said.  
Because of his wired jaws, he could have 
no solid food. I assured him everything 
would be fine.  I didn't mention the 
doctor's prognosis for his larynx.  Abby 
stood on the other side of the bed, 
looking very sleepy, but very relieved 
to see Lonnie showing some movement.  He 
would wince with chest pain if he turned 
too quickly.  Abby began to cry and I 
told her she needed to go and get some 
rest.  She kissed him bye on an 
available patch of skin on his forehead, 
hugged me, and left.

"Lonnie," I said, "I'm sorry to tell 
you, you're dad is dead."

Lonnie's eyebrows raised, he looked 
frightened.

"He shot himself, drove to the church 
parking lot and shot himself."

Lonnie audibly took a deep breath and I 
watched him closely.  The look of 
anxiety was still strong.

"The police have determined it was a 
suicide and have ceased their 
investigation," I said.  "Other than his 
beating us, no one really knows what 
went on."  

Lonnie exhaled, visibly relaxed and 
nodded his head.  Then he lay back, 
turned his head away and lay still.  He 
would be all right, I knew.



George took me to my house, and Sandra 
was there; she'd been there all morning.  
I dreaded the clean up but when I 
entered, she had already picked up the 
broken glass and washed away the blood 
in both rooms.  The house smelled 
strongly of disinfectant and pine soap, 
but I welcomed it.  


Leon's body was cremated and the remains 
shipped to his elderly mother in Hardin, 
Kentucky at her request.  When I told 
her on the phone what had happened, she 
wept and then said something surprising, 
"Bless your heart, Corrine, I was afraid 
he might do something like that some 
day.  He was an unhappy boy."  She did 
not want to hear the details of the 
suicide.

My own mother had been dead for these 
many years, and we had been north so 
long, only a few acquaintances remained 
in the area.  When I told Leon's mother 
that I planned no services for Leon, she 
said they would have a memorial service 
at the old home church and bury his 
ashes on the farm.  "One of these days, 
that'll be Lonnie's farm," she said.

That bit of news was a relief to me.  I 
would be OK.  My own moderate 
inheritance from Mama before had 
remained untouched except for some safe 
investments and that had been accruing 
compounded earnings during that time.  
Leon had known nothing of the 
inheritance.  George had long since paid 
off the house.  When we had taken out 
the mortgage, the bank had required my 
name to be on the deed as co-owner, so 
the house came over to me.

George and Sandra kept in touch every 
day, stopping by, bringing meals, 
telephoning.  The sexual tension was 
strong, but I could tell they were 
holding back in consideration of the 
recent trauma.  I had not attended 
church or worked at the office after 
Leon died, preferring to stay home and 
work on my scrapbook and get the house 
ready for sale.  I had not discussed the 
latter task with anyone as yet.

The day before Lonnie was discharged 
from the hospital, George came over 
without calling ahead.  However, it was 
not a surprise, for I had expected some 
kind of talk before my son came home.

We sat in the living room, both of us on 
the couch again, each with one knee in 
the seat and turned toward one another.  
Our knees were almost touching.  After a 
little small talk, George said, "Well, 
Corrine, how do you see things playing 
out in your future?"

"I don't really know for sure, George.  
I plan to sell the house, maybe move out 
of town."

His eyebrows rose.  "Really?" he said.  
"I was hoping you'd come back to me.  
You know, work with me again."

"No, George, I don't feel right about 
it."

"Corrine, as long as we love each other 
there is no reason . . ."

"George, I looked up your `Polyamory' on 
the Internet."

"You did?"

"Yes, I read all about that guy out in 
Phoenix who's pushing for Christians to 
get into multiple sexual relationships."

"Yes, but . . ."

"I know, George, 'Everybody loves one 
another, truly loves one another, and 
it's just what the Lord wants.'"

"Well . . . Yes!" he said.

I reached across George's leg and put my 
hand over his crotch, fondling what lay 
beneath the fabric.  "George, do you 
know what `Polyamory' is all about?"

George smiled.  I reached with my other 
hand and unzipped his fly as he watched.  
I found his hardening penis and pulled 
it out for view.  Lonnie was large, but 
this preacher was outsized.  Funny, how 
that never seemed to matter to me 
sexually, except that it was remarkable.  
The idea of it was more extraordinary 
than the mere experience of the size.  

Of course, as I have since learned, the 
excitement of the idea can make the 
experience exciting.  But that could 
also be true of a small penis.  Since 
that time in Toledo, I have allowed a 
small penis into places I would not 
welcome a large one, increasing both the 
man's enjoyment, and my own.  A small 
penis rooting around my clitoris is as 
good as a large one, though I know that 
well-hung men would not agree with me. 
Mainly, it's what at the opposite end of 
the penis that makes it interesting to 
me.

"`Polyamory' is all about this right 
here, George."  I ran my hand up and 
down the length of his penis, watching 
the foreskin enclose the head as I 
brought my hand up.  The blue veins were 
standing out along the side and I leaned 
my head over to see them clearly.  I 
pushed the penis back toward his abdomen 
and examined the rigid flesh underneath.   
It was as firm as a garden hose when I 
pressed it with my fingertips, but 
somewhat bigger, of course.  

"But love is . . ."

"This so-called 'love' is just an excuse 
to get into a lot of women's pants, 
George."  

I stood up and came around in front of 
him.  He brought his knee off the couch 
and squared around in front of me, his 
knees now together.  He looked up at me 
uncertainly.  I lifted my skirt and 
straddled him, waddling up along his 
thighs till I was crowding his member.  
I braced my self with one hand on the 
back of the couch and took hold of his 
cock.  I rubbed it against the crotch of 
my panties.  I tried to move my panties 
aside with the head, then with my 
fingers but I had a little trouble.  
George deftly reached in and pulled them 
aside and inserted the glans into my 
vagina.  I lowered myself, feeling my 
own heat reflect back into me as he 
filled me up, fraction by wet fraction.

"You're just a preacher who wants an 
extra pussy, and maybe your wife does 
too," I said, moving now in long 
strokes, both hands on the couch back, 
looking down into his bony face.  "You 
know, George, it makes me wonder if 
maybe you have an extra pussy at your 
home already."

George was too far into me and too far 
gone let that statement affect him.  I'm 
not sure he heard it perfectly. "Umm, 
um," was his response.  By turning his 
hand around in reverse and tapping away 
at the apex of my vulva, George flicked 
my clitoris into a demand for faster and 
deeper action.  I did what it demanded.  
Finally, knowing I was near, he put both 
hands on my ass and lunged at me 
violently.  First I, then he, went into 
a shared paroxysm, twisting and wresting 
each other, till there was no where else 
for the current to flow but out of, then 
into, then out of each other.  

It occurred to me suddenly that I had 
been in complete control of this 
intercourse.  That had never before 
happened, unless I count Ralph. Though 
he took charge of my orgasm Ralph was 
not inside my sex.  It certainly never 
occurred with Leon, and even Lonnie was 
the pacesetter in our escapades.  No, 
this was a first for me.  I had directed 
it, and consumed it.  It felt good.  Not 
that I wanted it like this always and 
forever.  I just wanted enough so that 
my own identity was there.   I did not 
want to be a masturbatory object for 
anyone, not unless I was absent.

I sat heavily on the pastor as he shrank 
away from inside me.  "In fact, George," 
I said, "I think this `Polyamory' stuff 
is just a pitiful attempt to avoid the 
feeling of hypocrisy.  You and I both 
know what the God of your Bible says 
about what we are doing.  Leon was 
wrong, but at least he was consistent." 

"What do you mean, Corrine?"

"That's all right, George, I know what I 
mean."

George raised his eyes to me, completely 
serious, very worried.  "I think I'd 
better go," he said.

I moved away from him and he stood and 
zipped his pants. "Maybe you're right," 
he said, fighting to keep his eyes on 
me.  "But I really do love you Corrine."

"And I love you too, George, but that 
doesn't change the truth, does it?  We 
have to accept the way things really 
are, don't we?"

He nodded his head and walked to the 
door.

"You'll never know how much good you did 
to me," I said as he stepped out the 
door.

"No more than you did to me," he smiled, 
and walked away.



I sold the house and Lonnie and I took 
an apartment in downtown Toledo.  I 
located a job as a receptionist-clerk at 
a doctor's office, and fared adequately 
for the next two years.  During that 
time, I never saw George or his family 
again.  As often happens with young 
people, something eventually broke up 
Lonnie and Abby.  After that, my son 
devoted himself totally to completing 
his education.  My scrapbook, which is 
collection of the significant events of 
my life is now is now ten volumes 
strong.  Only a few pages mention Leon 
Deere.  I am thinking about advertising 
Corrine's Customized Scrapbooks in the 
regional papers and on the Internet.  I 
did one for one of our physicians and he 
was thrilled with it.  I didn't charge 
him for it, but he gave me $200.00 and 
said it was worth more.

Just before we moved out of Toledo, the 
board of deacons defrocked George 
Hewlett.  The Toledo Blade said that, 
"The prominent minister of the small 
middle-classed fundamentalist church 
resigned under pressure for an apparent 
breach in orthodoxy.  However, 
individual members spoke of 'suspicious 
liaisons' between the pastor and some of 
the women of the congregation.  When 
asked about these charges, the minister 
simply said he would not dignify them by 
answering.  Rev. Hewlett and his family 
plan to move to Phoenix for what he 
calls a 'more forward looking 
ministry.'"


Shortly afterward Lonnie's graduation, 
he and I moved to his late Grandmother's 
farm outside of Hardin, Kentucky.  We 
continue to be very close emotionally, 
but others are in each of our lives too.

Lonnie rents out the working part of the 
farm to local farmers, taking part of 
the proceeds when they sell.  Actually, 
he merely updated and continued the 
arrangement that his grandmother already 
had in place.  

We really don't have time to take care 
of farm work anyway. Almost every week, 
from Thursdays through Mondays, we are 
traveling to and from Lonnie's gigs.  
His voice did come back, in a kind of 
preternatural high-tenor.  A Kentucky 
nurse and a retired Tennessee grandpa 
travel with us.  Lonnie is on the 
guitar, the girl is on fiddle and 
grandpa is on mandolin. When they 
harmonize, something wonderfully 
mysterious happens somewhere between the 
people on the stage and the people in 
the audience.  There has never been a 
bluegrass group quite like them.  Some 
offbeat record label wants to sign them.  
Since I am the business manager, I am 
negotiating the contract.  It won't be 
much, but it will keep us in cornbread 
for a while.  The group is called, 
"Kentucky Wonder."  


The End

Comments to OneGallus@yahoo.com

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