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Subject: {ASSM} TxM6: The Books of Herrig - Billy, Helene, Sheila  M/g F/g  Incest
Date: Sat,  4 Jan 2003 06:10:21 -0500
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TxM6: The Books of Herrig - Billy, Helene, Sheila  M/g F/g  Incest
(c) 2003 Sean Farragher
sfarragher@nj.rr.com




http://www.seanfarragher.com
http://www.seanfarragher.com/txm6
http://www.seanfarragher.com/hyperfiction
http://www.seanfarragher.com/Joss






BILLY:

The Man Called "Billy" William Reese Smythe, as he was usually called, or
'Reese,' by his male friends, at 6 foot one, movie star handsome, and
atypically, an expert lover -- hated women.

Uncultured and lanky, an impure man, Billy's translucent blue eyes and
dirty blond Robert Redford hair left most women on first meeting dazed and
uneasy.

He was what you might have called in the 1950s, the universal white trash
ladies man: muscular and fit, but not too much; intelligent and a good
liar, but not formally educated; and while he seemed, at first, athletic,
assured, robust in his manners, and just down home white boy arrogant, he
was also doubtfully "vulnerable." using crude, profane and vulgar
language (when he knew better) to get under "your church going mother
humping nigger loving skins," so he said, smiling, picking a scab from his
arm. "I ain't no church man, but either are yo'all. You're all fucken queer
for
Jesus," he said. "Well I'm a better pervert, and if I had cause, I'd take
it up the ass before I prayed in or out of church for your forgiveness, --
Shit, I should forgive yo'all. You sure have fucked up rules and nothing's
fair. Billy continued speaking into his clasped hands.

"The biggest liar is the law, man. Man, if I were a nigger, I'd burn his
ass
and then his fucken town before I'd ride in the back of the bus or go to
second rate schools. I'd never kiss the white man's pussy ass,
that's fez sure."

"Shit, I know I ain't educated, but I is smart, and can at least read and
write better than most white folks who didn't go to a Yankee college or
half a dozen southern schools taught by southern gentlemen. They're the
worst assholes. "

"They lost the fucken war gave into the Yankees. Now, they
lost their niggers, and instead of fighting back, they whine like drowned
rats. Shit. Fucken genteel shits."

"What can a mother fucking southern good old boy do with the likes of
yo'all; you kiss white ass, and pray to a nigger loving God. My
grandmas would have rather slit their own throats than kiss a nigger."

"Now, I sees it everywhere up north in the cities. Shit, it'll be here
soon. It's all right for white men to fuck niggers, always been done, got
to improve the fucken race, but there ain't no need or excuse for any white
woman to fuck a nigger. You fucks are crazy listening to the rich
folks and their fairy tales. Don't you know they want you to kiss their ass
for a dime, and let them fuck your ass for a dollar- that kind of shit
keeps you down on the fucken farm so you can't fuck up Paris or white
Charleston? They even wrote a screwed up song about it when my Daddy
was 'cross the sea fucking up the Huns during the war to end all fucken
wars; what a fucken laugh, my pappy used to say.

What assholes, we become,  daddy, you fucken misbegotten sons of
a bitches; ain't got any pride. If you did, you wouldn't let those northern
do gooders fuck yea up."



**

Like cheap cologne, Billy lingered too long in the cuts and bruises, and
his insufficient disguises -- dull murmur to what passed for the spirit of
the
good old southern gentleman and the parsimony of the tired southern soil
madness of share cropping slavery.




**


Air conditioners, chemical fertilizers, women's rights and those more
general civil rights that protect men and children as well as cripples,
faggots and women, opened the southern highway to the Yankee white boy come
home back to Mama lately southerner who liked the way old black folks knew
their place.

These old guard didn't complain as they knew that this mostly white
migration, south, was matched or a response to black migration, north into
the cities New law cured the southern gentleman of any lingering notions of
the white man's burden and his absolute but invisible racial hegemony.

Billy like the good old boy farmer was a cliché,, a piece of shit clouding
up the past with a dreary after taste and finally a sad flowery funeral
without godliness or gentility.

When Billy spoke at large at a picnic, or in the pulpit, as a lay preacher
in The City of God Pentecostal and Reformed Church, or to one person,
although what he said, was usually racist and ignorant, when you really
listened, there was nothing but loose air and not even a false front of
camaraderie for a solid buttress.

When Billy spoke, it was like watching President Reagan doing his favorite
fast walk shuffle new conference, just an "off the cuff" briefing to the
press that was as confused as CIA policy in Russian at the time of the fall
of the Berlin wall.

Life seemingly was failed plays when Reagan or Billy in drag explained El
Salvador or the Iraq-Iran war. Billy spoke in a cloud as Reagan before the
Alzheimer's disease stopped his memory and cut off lies. Questions one
might have asked of the nearly dead: are we dead before we die?

Is that possible given the political plans and agenda as set forth by
Billy? Is that an amphibian, Grandma?

"No, that's you wang, son. Bad joke -- sad to know."

"Why dost thou snicker, dear," Billy we asked?

Billy was an actor after all. You know true speaker is dead; He suffered a
miscarriage last year, and the fetus aborted was raised up to fill the
creed of all good white men and born again niggers. At curtain calls, all
you heard about the play or the playwright were rude comments or some
bluster about how some of the actors fumbled the dialogue. And who is that
director?

He did a terrible job, what boring blocking, and the back lighting was too
dark, dismal, but that actor, what's his name, the one with the cleft in
his chin, he had such a sexy mouth, one woman said, putting on her own deep
red lipstick, rubbing her instrument into her lips, pushing, penetrating
each pore, fucking the skin, making it shine and blush, exposing nostrils
as vulva and tongue as clit.



"Women notice my mouth first," Billy said, "then my ass, followed by my
luminous eyesores I know some good words. My teacher taught me that one.
She said look into my cunt, Billy, and smile at your reflection, that's a
luminous cunt, dear boy."

Billy often told friend and foe alike that the curves and flutter of his
soft
mouth stirred women like the lines of a woman's hip, or the upsweep of a
firm breast stirred him.

When Billy's mouth opened, usually under a haze of cigarette smoke,
flicking his ash, the cigarette cupped backward inside their yellow
stained fingers, most women took two steps forward, one back,
startled by how Billy made them wary and yet, strangely intimate, and
although he didn't intentionally pose; it just appeared that way, and for
those who had no imagination, well, they suffered because Billy said that
bravado of love poetry was insulting and demeaned that pure southern woman
and her good works for the suffering children and their impoverished
parents.





**


THE DINER IN GAINESVILLE

Overheard at the Gainesville, Fl. diner, where Helena Mae Herrig worked,
after the terrible fire that killed two of her children and maimed another,
a slightly plump, big titted middle age, three time divorced cashier, said,
after running down the woman for her choice of men, drinking, excused Billy
in an off hand way, that was certainly not complimentary, "you could call
Billy almost a Donald Hall, you know, the Academy Award winning actor who
was convicted last year for the statutory rape of an eleven year old girl,
and then was himself raped with a broom stick and then murdered by prison
guards. Remember how the guards claimed there was a prison escape, and the
actor was shot taking a female officer hostage.

"All bullshit, man."

A deranged screw who blamed the actor for his daughter's rape and pregnancy
executed the slob. The man was in prison. Get it. The only way the
pedophile could have fucked her was if the Guard brought the slut to the
prison, and set them up in the infirmary.

Pure and simple. All bullshit.

Curious allusion.

Billy like Donald Hall had spent several years in prison before and after
the 1964 fire for selling drugs, burglary, car theft, pandering, child
molestation (sold pornographic photographs and movies of children having
sex with adults and other children), and contributing to the delinquency of
minors.

In a sense, what the rotund waitress had said, could have been taken as
prophecy, for Billy would also, many years later, die in prison, in 1982,
when a jealous inmate and Billy's former lover (a raging Queen), stuck a
shim in his gut and then cut the fuckers throat, because Billy had sucked
some black dude's cock (reportedly for protection) one summer evening while
armed guards watched from the parapet that extended over the prison yard.

Most women, and some men, who knew Billy (in prison or out), would have
done anything to keep the man's affection. Others like teachers,
principals, cops, prison guards, army sergeants, uncles, husbands, mothers
and the boy friends of his victims wanted to kick the shit out of him, and
then fry him in old Sparky.

"I want to really fuck him up, one woman said," when she learned Billy had
gotten her fourteen year old daughter pregnant a second time. Not that
Billy was responsible for the first grandchild. That didn't matter to the
woman, who should have known that first grandchild was by way of her own
much younger brother, who while visiting two summers ago, had fucked the
child, paying her for sex, one ice cream cone for a blow job.

Two 45 records for half and half, and a new sweater earned an over night
stay and at least three good fucks if he could handle it.

"The old guy practically croaked making the attempt, but the girl didn't
care. My fucken grandfather popped me when I was ten. Shit, you'd think I
would mind. I hope the guy settles in Florida. I'll fuck him any time. Too
bad I got pregnant. Shit, I don't really care, after all. He said I could
stay with him, if I liked. "

"Nah can't do it," I told him. "Don't want no prison guards," I said. "You
just another fucked up daddy hoping to pop his daughter's cherry. Shit, I
got you beat, and I didn't have to fake it, pretend to sleep. I jump your
mother fuckin bones right in front of your sister. She pretended to be
sleeping. I saw her eyes open at least three times, and I was only looking
for a minute. The cunt knew I was fucking you. She must have got off on it.
Shit, you got to love me. I want to settle in Florida by Miami Beach and be
a rich Jewish whore, fucking the Mafia to death for a diamonds, pearls, and
rubies."

"Shit, I got my great dreams too, you know. I hate fucken Brooklyn too.
Think I want to go back up there with all the other niggers. We sure are a
lost fucken race, right. What else could the little girl think, Billy said.
She sat on my lap rolling her ass against my thing while her Mama and I
watched Mr. Dillon on black and white Gun Smoke tip his hat and smile to
Miss Kitty's Pussy.

"A righteous whore if there ever was one," I told the little girl as she
rocked against my hardon while I fondled her breasts as she slept, leaning
against my left shoulder while we sat on the large over stuffed couch,
pretending to snore."

Later, after Gunsmoke, she slept in our bedroom, after she had staggering
through the kitchen looking for ice cubes and more bourbon. She briefly
asked if Sheila was sleeping, and I said, yes, and she closed the door, and
suggested that she wanted to sleep alone, and I could use the couch, or
sleep in Sheila's room. I doubt she knew that Sheila, wearing only a short
dress, and was truly bare ass, pubic pears exposed, legs open, fully asleep
in my lap, she shifted under my gentle fingers while I watched TV news
about a fucken prison riot and the murder of an inmate in Texas.

"Who the fuck cares about some slob who went to jail for fucking some
eleven year old slut?"

I shut the TV and carried Sheila to her bed, where I crawled under the
covers and yes, I slept cradled with Sheila and assorted teddy bears, and
we slept in the morning, Helena woke about six, joining Sheila and me in
the child's very large bed.

Helena noticed that Sheila was bare ass, and she helped with her
underpants, careful, not to wake her. Then she noticed I was buck naked and
sported a half hardon, which delighted as she rubbed it, making it stiff,
kissing my face, Helena turned to my neck, kissing my throat, she whispered
something curious: "I'm jealous of my daughter's affection for you. I know
that now, but its OK as long as you don't ever leave us."

I sat up, fully awake rocked together, gently fucking side to side while
Sheila slept, woke up, leaned closer to us, letting her sleepy head fall on
my arm while her mother rose above me, fucking furiously, no secrets,
nothing was hidden, as Helena came, riding my wave, I felt Sheila lean into
my neck as she innocently played with her mother's breast dangling and then
falling into us, as we collapsed, the child crawled between us, and we
rolled carefully around the bed, feeling the heat, open legs, and the wet
mouth of her mother's open organs.







**

MENTAL INQUEST:

"Why did Mama let Billy touch my body," Sheila asked. "I didn't know enough
then to stop it.  He made it as natural as eating. Later, even when I was
told it was wrong I didn't really give a fuck. I hated that that Billy lied
and never told Mama that I was his true sweetheart."

Fortunately, for most of his women, Billy never stayed around.

Unfortunately, for Billy, he never faced the shattered glass after the
assaults or cleaned up the blood from the mattress after one of his child
like sweet hearts bled to death after a botched abortion. Billy's abuse of
women and children, sacred and profane, was everlasting, and indelibly
fixed in the circuits, and each flaw, each transgression like a broken
computer chip or a missed lead. Billy became a living computer virus, host
and object, suffered equally. However, the victims, unaware of the
contagion, suffered the possible AIDS like mental complications in silence
and repressed it. Now we wonder how any one can fully isolate potential
victims from their predators.

You can't, Billy's smile, genuine, made sense if you looked at the larger
horizon accepting cause and result as information without moral data.

Like many of us, Billy wasn't just simply a flawed specimen. He spread
misery too easily like typhus after a flood inundated the reservoir, mixing
septic waste and clean water. More than another Typhoid Mary, Billy rattled
Bob Dylan's doors, and then when no one answered with the correct musical
phrase, Billy walked away to break down one door after another wailing his
country music Bad Lands music until nothing was left of the land but ocean.
Nothing was left of space, but space. Nothing in life is sacred, Billy
laughed. Philosophy is dead, He spoke the phrase softly, scratching his
left nipple blue tattoos and all.





**

NEWS REPORTS:

WHYN News, in Austin, Texas reported earlier yesterday, in an exclusive
report "that one prison guard had gone berserk murdering the Academy
Award winning actor, Donald Hall, who was DOA at the county prison
hospital shortly after being shot three times in the heart and head by
Correction Officers.

"No guards suffered injury. A brief riot by inmates contained with tear
gas and fire hoses lasted for half an hour.

Two inmates suffered minor wounds and were treated at the prison hospital.




**

Today, State Prison officials and Warden William T. Stallings, 53, at a
Press Conference at the prison, took serious exception to the WHYN news
report broadcast early yesterday "characterizing the activity at the prison
as a police riot." The Warden said, continuing, "this irresponsible
charge, undermines the reputation of all Corrections Officers, and he
demanded an immediate retraction and apology.

At no time, had any prison guard 'gone berserk,'" Stallings claimed..."and
the report by WHYN is grossly inaccurate. Donald Hall was not murdered
during a police riot. The inmate died of gun shot wounds inflicted by a
police sharp shooter after the inmate had seriously attacked two-prison
guard with an exacta style knife seriously wounding them. "
The News Conference also attended by the new Texas Governor, Joseph A.
Allen, sworn in just last week, will be rebroadcast later tonight.

The Governor in a two sentence press release stated this morning: "I am
here in support of Warden Stallings and all law abiding State Correction
Officers. They serve the people of Texas protecting us from violence, crime
and corruption."

TV news anchor, Cynthia Rawlings, in an exclusive new report from the
Texas State Prison refuted the earlier WHYN news report as inaccurate
and misinformed citing what appear to be serious errors made by newly
hired radio station news manager, Fred W. Whissant, 29, who apparently
had mistakenly broadcast that a police riot had caused the death
of an inmate at the State Prison.

The station manger Rawlings claimed, refused to reveal his primary
sources at the State Prison. He claimed he had corroborated the riot report
and murder of Donald Hall using radio frequency traffic picked up from the
State Police and the Prison Radio Stations operated by the inmates but
under prison supervision. Three independent and reliable sources
corroborated our story, the Station manager claimed. "We often employ
prison employees and inmates as stringers," Fred Whissant concluded.

"The State prison System is an integral part of our local broadcast
community. Out of fairness, the names of the stringers will not be released
at this time. "Reporting for rival WXST TV Austin, Ms. Rawlings reported
that  "Lieut. Davis Joseph Hedron, 47, a supervising Correction Officer at
Texas State Prison, for the past fifteen years here, and a former Staff
Sgt. in the Marines Corps and a two tour much decorated Vietnam Vet had
shot and killed the actor in a brief fire fight during a prison escape and
lock down. The thirty three year old actor had reportedly wielding a make
shift knife and had without provocation attacked two prison guards,
Correction Officers John A. Mohr Jr., 28, and Mary W. Rawlings, 25. Sources
at the Maximum Security State prison indicated that the actor had refused
to be stripped searched (after an earlier apparently unrelated prison
escape attempt), and during the struggle with the guards, Prison officials
alleged that the inmate Donald Hall had pulled a makeshift knife from off
his person, and then after seriously wounding John A. Mohr had taken
Officer Rawlings captive, apparently planning to use her as a hostage and
bargain for release. Lieut. Hedron, after repeatedly warning the inmate to
release Officer Rawlings and throw down his weapon, fired three rounds
using a laser sighted automatic weapon instantly killing the inmate, Donald
Hall. The two prison guards, injured during the incidents, were treated for
cuts and released from the County Hospital this morning. Doctors at the
County Hospital in Austin, after being repeated questions by reporters,
released the following statement today, " ...prison guards treated at the
hospital after the prison escape and riot, yesterday, are being released
after medical treatment for 'anxiety associated with work related stress.
We did not treat the Correction Officers for any physical traumas as
previously reported. We regret the error. Medical treatment at the hospital
Emergency Room was routine and entirely precautionary."

Also reported: Corrections Officers will not be taken off the duty roster,
and would report tomorrow for their scheduled shift had been sentenced two
years ago to ten years to life in state prison for statutory rape and
criminal incest.

Prison inquest held this morning: Donald Hall pronounced dead at 4:12 AM
today. The Cover Up, not Revealed: Lieut. Davis Joseph Hedron, 47, a
supervising Correction Officer at Texas State Prison, for the past fifteen
years here, and a former Staff Sgt. in the Marines Corps and a two tour
much decorated Vietnam Vet had executed Donald Hall for allegedly raping
his fourteen year old daughter, making her pregnant. Donald Hall, in fact,
had never met, nor could never have met, Lieut. Hedron's daughter, Patty,
14.

Unfortunately, Donald Hall resembled a local Datrix gas station owner,
Mitchell Reisen, 38, who was a widower with two daughters, Heather, 13 and
Samantha, 11.The three girls, best friends, with each other since first
grade, played daily at the pool behind the gas station. Mitchell Risen and
Davis Hedron, good buddies, former marines, and Vietnam Vets drank whiskey
and soda, resurrecting broken down stock cars as a shared hobby.

Last summer, for a long month, when Heather and Samantha were at a
Christian camp in Michigan (a gift of the Reisen grand parents), and Patty
was not, the young woman, wearing colorful halters and shorts (or a bathing
suit and towel), rode her bicycle casually through the gas station islands,
while Mitchell worked on cars, or pumped gas. He obviously enjoyed her
company, and when it got busy, she helped out, pumping gas, checking oil
and water. Mitchell even let her drive her father's car in the back lot
knowing the girl wanted to practice for her license next year.

Back home, father worked fifteen hours a day at the prison, and Patty's
mother, Janice, 30, ran a downtown used clothing store and had a lover on
the side. My parents are always busy Patty complained, and Mom's messing
around with somebody, Patty confessed to Mitchell, please don't tell Joe,
she begged, realizing she may have revealed too much, Patty pulled back,
joking about it, but she knew she hadn't fooled anyone. The secret was out
for good, and there was nothing I can do about it. Patty was sad, but
resigned.

Then, Mitch surprised her. Your father knows, he said. Your mother told Joe
last year. They like their family, as it is, and neither wants to divorce,
so they came to an understanding. Your mother has a lover, but your father
has one too. Who is it, Patty asked. I know Mom's seeing that Dentist, who
just opened a practice on the mall, but who is Dad's lover?

You know her, Mitchell said. And when Mitchell told her the woman's name
carefully, so softly, it couldn't be heard. He felt lost, and realized he
was opening a secret box too big for the child to ignore and also too
powerful for the young woman to fully tolerate. After all, its one thing
for a daughter to know her mother is fucking around, Patty said later,
describing what had happened to Heather, when her best friend returned from
camp. But now, with Heather's father, she coyly covered her ears not
wanting to really hear, or see the face of the woman who made love to her
father. I'll hate her, Patty thought, and then, as if confused, bewildered,
unsure, she begged Mitchell again, tell me, Who is it, please, I've got to
know.

It's the English art teacher at the High School. Georgiana Wells. She
taught you last year, that's how your father met her at your first art
show. Then Mitchell looked down, felt the cold room shut behind him, after
this confession to Patty, he added, I doubt I would be able to let such a
thing pass without challenge, he said. I loved my wife but she's dead not
two years. I miss her every day.

I've been so lonely, and if it weren't for Heather and Samantha and you
too, Patty, I don't know. You and Heather have changed so much. Last year,
you were kid, playing in the basement with dolls. Now, we're telling dirty
jokes, playing cards, and then he thought, but did not say: -Really Patty,
your look, talk, and act like a woman. I know you won't be fifteen until
next February. You're my best friend's daughter, how can I?

Patty, looking at the stopped man, at the speech he said, through her mind,
if not her ears. What do I do? I can't lead him. What do I know? I care for
him. I want to help, and instinctively, she reached up, and did the right
or the wrong thing depending on what you consider right and wrong.

Patty reached up and touched Mitchell's cheek, letting the tear melt under
her finger. She ruffled his hair, and then she caressed his cheek letting
her nails run through the grooves of his face, finding each line
attractive, each pock mark from ancient acne, a secret cave for
exploration.

Mitchell let her hold his face, and then taking her hand, he kissed her,
letting himself enter her mind, feeling her body respond, she said, I don't
know what to do. Not here, he said, we'll go back home, OK. "Just until
Heather and Samantha return," Patty said. Not realizing what she had said,
she spoke it carefully, like an adult planning an outing. These things are
considered and these are not. Plans are choices, and imply connection and
completion.

Lead into the graveyard, running over the minefield, the soldiers died
softly, holding their comrades in battle.

Mitchell just didn't make love with Patty, he taught her the power of her
body, how to move it gracefully under him and then above. He taught her to
touch lightly, with staggered pressure, letting her mouth work his penis,
making it hard and then powerful, letting him come inside, feeling the
richness of the semen as it pushed inside her mouth and wet her throat.
Patty kissed him gently, afterwards, mixing come and spit. They did it all.
Nothing withheld. They played games. He pretended to be a little boy, and
she was the schoolmarm.

He was the old man, who needed a nurse, and she was the bashful lady
fucking four men, one after another, and Patty told him as they fucked,
hard, rolling around, what each man had done that was special even asking
forbidden questions.

"Have you ever wanted to fuck your daughters," she teased him one night,
and when he withdrew, Patty became cruel. "I am Heather, fuck me," she
shouted at him. "I am Samantha let me blow you."

Taking his cock in her mouth she made him come, and she knew he was
resisting, and at first, she feared he would run from her, and then
suddenly, he joined in, calling her Heather, Samantha, Annabelle.

Yes, that's my wife. She fucks us too, and watches now, see her in the
ceiling. And what about your father, dear Patty, you want him, that's why
your mad about the art teacher. You want him to see us now, to take him to
bed with us, to fuck his spirit as he fucks your daughters, Patty laughed,
"this is a miracle, how can I be so lucky," and when she came, she felt her
father's hand on her clit, pushing it, and when he came, he felt Heather's
tit, and his wife's hair in his face.

Patty was wanton, not bashful. Feeling the expansion, the tide, as an
artist of images she loved the possession and her throat contracted and
expanded like the cock she imagined that she sucked to it slippery, wet
finish. In ten days, they made love for a century, and when it was over,
they would rest as god did after the last day.

I hold him, Patty screamed. I hold him in my hands, and feel that life
swollen and fertile, I will breathe with him, allow each short breath to
reach higher, and then slower, and finally, as we pass by the other, up and
close, down and inside, I feel the other voices, that chatter of fools
thinking what he has taught, what we do, as exploitation. No, It is not
that. I exploit him as he does. It's equal.

Age is irrelevant. I knew what I did, Patty wrote in her diary. "Dear
Father, I love him," she said. "He loves me. We are both single, and could
marry with your permission. And in two years, when I am seventeen, I will
do it in any case. Nothing will stop us," she wrote not as a defiant
schoolgirl, but as a woman knowing what was real, and what was not. There
is balance now, in my life, and he is my support, as I am his. Patty and
Mitchell secretly made love a thousand times in ten days.

"Yes, that's an exaggeration, and every day, it was better than most know
in a lifetime. And yes, that's one terror. They knew they had to keep the
secret. And there was the times when Patty's father came to the pool, and
they had one, tow picnic, and then another time, Patty's mother asked
Mitchell if he as fucking her daughter. He denied it. "You're a liar, but I
understand, he couldn't accept it."

Finally, when Mitchell's daughters returned, as agreed, they stopped making
love, promising to remember, and Patty told Mitchell that she wanted him to
find a woman he could proudly love, and not hide. "I found her," he said.
"It's you. No, we can't."

Patty didn't know it, but she was pregnant when Heather and Samantha
returned.

Heather knew immediately when she saw Patty shadow her father's movements,
that Patty and her father were lovers. -

"It's OK," Heather told Patty.

"What? -I know. -What?

"You're sleeping with my Daddy"

"Not my Daddy."

"Don't be silly. I know, and it's OK."

"What did you tell your sister?"

"I told her about you guys."

"Does she know, you know, about sex?"

"Are you kidding?"

"Who told her?"

"At camp that's all you talk about?"

"I thought it was religious, that's what your father said.

"Holy Fucking Christ," and they laughed. "You got let me tell about this
one guy. He was twelve, and all the ten-year-old girls loved his ass. He
must have had some kind of sex with every fucking one of them. They were
wild."

"You're full of shit," Patty said.

"Got me. OK"

"I like to lie; sue me.".

"Don't you tell tall tales, sometimes, your self, (pausing) no I guess
not."

"I love your father, Heather, Isn't no mother humping lie."

"Does Joe know?"

"No, but my Mother thinks its OK."

She walked into his bathroom at a picnic last week, and I was on the floor
sucking your father off. -All Mom said, well, you're taller 'n him, smarter
'n him, and probably a better screw than me, so why not."

"Your Mom likes my father. -Have they, do you think my Mom has. Shit, that
would be funny. -I won't share Mitchell with her, Heather, and then Patty
was light headed, letting blank thoughts collide as well as floundering,
and yet she was full of that plenty that helped out with conversation. For
what we learned is also hidden. -Who said that? -The Pope-Get
serious. -It's a parable: At first there's the subtle manipulation of the
flower (clearly out of phase), and then pollen splits, divides again and
again.

You know what I'm thinking, heather, that sex can't be felt until you're
too distant from your lover. You need to miss it, to realize the foundation
and its over growth. -Yes, I know, and then suddenly, it's as if nothing
could happen, and you feel hands on your breasts, inside your legs, opening
your mouth, in your ears, but rationally you know that he's a century or
more away, down the pike in the future tense, and here you are lost in some
past, but then it shifts again and you are closer and closer, and he is so
fucken close but still out of reach, and instantly you are charmed by the
intimacy of love, memory and its odd confessions. "You're nuts, Professor,
shit, now what can I call you, Patty, I can't call you Mom? -What about
sister. -OK? "

Heather smiled, assured, turning over, holding her pillow under her chin,
thinking of that utter nonsense, you know you think when you try to be
profound. "Now, that would be incest, but that's OK, it's only a word after
all"? -What, incest?

No being a sister, and Patty reached out, touched Heather's lips, gently
pressing her fingers between them, forcing them to open like raw fruit; let
me kiss you like I do your father, Patty said, and suddenly, she was there,
kissing Heather, letting her tongue explore, and then, quickly, Heather
struggled up and free, out of breath, truly frightened.

I know you're stronger and all, but I swear Patty, if you make another move
on me tonight, I'll knock your block off, now stop it, I can't handle
incest, too. -"Don't worry, Heather, I won't get you pregnant."

"And I really wanted a baby, pooh." Getting off it. -"I'm carrying your
sister, Heather. Now, touch there, and now, here's my tit, feel how I
breathe and the tension under my nipples. Now, yes, take it between your
finger and thumb, now, push in while you tighten your fingers, then pull
out, again, more, feel how soft, now hard, now, lean down, look at it
carefully, take it n your mouth, I melt if you stare first. I loved showing
off, now that's it, here let me do you, feel where her tiny mouth will
suckle. -Good thing, I'm going to get you a breast pump. -I'm not
pregnant. -You could be. Wouldn't that be fun, doing it all together? -You
said it's a girl. You don't know. -Has to be. I have dreamed of
daughters. -No, you're crazy, and pushing Patty away, Heather laughed. Now
tell me if you're so smart. Who's the daddy? -Who would you like? -Joe. -My
father. You got to be kidding. How about, yours? -Why not yours? -Next
time, feeling playful. The babies would almost be twins. -Fucking my
father. I almost did, you know. When my mother died I slept in my father's
arms. Samantha did also. I was eleven and she was nine. Neither of us was
very developed. Now, if I had been more experienced, I would have known
better how to help him. Anyway, he woke up, just as he was about to come
against my leg, and I held him, letting him. He cried, and never let us
sleep together. Samantha was real curious. She wondered what he was doing,
and then I showed her the stain on the sheet. That comes from men. It makes
babies, and the twerp, you know what she did, she rubbed it on her finger,
and then lifting up her night gown, she rubbed it on her bare cleft and
announced she was having a baby. You know I liked the way he kissed. His
mouth was soft, not hard like the movies. I know he kissed her, and I was
my mother, come back, for a moment. I wished he had finished inside. -Do it
then, with him. But you gotta let me watch, OK What about Samantha? -What
about her? She can hold your hand, if you want more company. -No, I'll hold
yours. -Would she tell someone? -Never. -She was the biggest slut at the
camp last summer. I could get her boy friend in a lot of trouble. She likes
them older, too, you know.

She didn't fuck anyone, as far as I know, but she gave blowjobs out left
and right to all the little boy lifeguards, and the rec. director, and the
fart was at least thirty-five. My boyfriend told me all about it at camp.
He was embarrassed, he said. I told him to fuck off, and I had another guy
the next day.

I'm experienced, really, Patty. Suddenly without reservation or surprise
Heather and Patty cuddled, held the other, while Patty made Heather come,
and Heather fucked Patty as she came. I thought you just learned how to do
it, Patty was surprised by Heather's fluency. What do you think we do at
camp, on those nights?

You know they keep boys locked up on the other side of the lake. The brave
swim across the lake, but my friends Lynn and Julie, we didn't just mess
with the boys, we had more fun with each other, and then we fucked the two
adult counselors at the boys' camp. I walked right in his room, one night,
stripped off my bathing suit, and asked this male nurse if he would treat
the poison ivy I had inside my thigh.

Don't get me wrong, I like boys as well as men, but I think they are sticky
and messy. We don't have that problem yet, do we?

Picking up the box, no I use the tissues your father keeps here.-  Mother
bought a case of them. She didn't like it messy. -I like how it tastes,
sometimes, when I am into it. I know that sounds sick.

Can you still taste my father? -Yes, and I like it. -In the back of my
mouth. Three Murders, Suicide, and Patty survived. The next day all hell
broke lose. Joe Hedron learned that his daughter was pregnant with his best
friend's child. Joe accepted death and the mad surgery of murder. I will
kill them all including that fuck at the prison. He must have done her too.
Looks just like Mitchell. What an asshole, I've been to trust anyone. Fuck
my wife and daughter. They're all sluts. I cannot let them hold me back.
They know it. Its over.1 PM. First, Joe murdered Mitchell, quietly while
they fished on the lake. Joe was surprised by his reserve and control. And
when Mitchell finally gave up, allowed the bliss of the end to cover his
presence, Joe smiled, cleaned the boat and returned home without fish or
tackle.11 PM. All in all, Joe saw it as a mission. Next, letting himself
inside Mitchell house, he waited for the children. First, he raped Heather,
who seemed to get into it. When she did, he strangled her with a piece of
rope, calling her slut and hussy, finally sleeping next to the body, he
woke, time to murder Samantha who slept in the bedroom far on the other
side of the house.




**

3 AM

Reaching Samantha, he held her down, covering her ass, he fucked her raw,
and then when he was done, he slapped her, letting they hysteria growl,
until she resembled an animal that he simply smothered with one hard hand,
letting the spine and the throat meet at the edge where oblivion and the
beast devour, swallow the each other's sleep. As a final coup, Joe covered
Heather and Samantha' heads with the pillow, making certain, he drowned
them in a cover of feathers.


4 AM

Joe buried Samantha and Heather in the deep well behind the lake house. No
one knew about it, and Joe resisted the temptation to call the cops when he
was done, and give up the ghost, confess all of it. They deserved it. No, I
rather die with them.


5 AM

First Joe slaughtered his wife, who was having breakfast with his daughter.
One shot gun blast and she was finished, and then Patty, who was quicker
than her father, escaped into the woods. Fuck her, he said, and he left
her, took a shower, got dressed, and then drove to work, as if nothing had
happened. Patty, and no one believed this later, was crazed by the murders.
She cried, and unable to move for hours, she stared at the walls, and shook
from head to foot, and then when she learned that her father had murder
Donald Hall, taking his own life, shortly after. That last crime made the
least sense, and was the most reprehensible. And yet it was the murder of
two families that made the headlines, but with no living murdered, it was
over before it started.

Patty, alone in the world had her baby and suffered with a crazed mania. I
can't move without crying, she sighs. I am alive and dead. He's alive and
dead. Madness is this possession, the folly and lost of the boundary where
the empty sky slips beneath the tide, and then no relief. My child and I
are swimmers, she said. Let's fly.

Governor replacing former Governor Tits Little, who had recently been
removed from office for misappropriation of more than 2 million dollars in
State prison Authority funds. Governor Little, currently under indictment,
claimed his campaign committee legally used the funds under current state
law.











Story Continues at http://www.seanfarragher.com






XXXXX

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