EPIPHANY

By Rex Antioch

1.

I have a name, of course.  A dull, ordinary one given to me by my parents.  That name doesn‘t matter, it‘s just an i.d. for them and the State.  My fans and clients know me by another, more glamorous sounding one and if you knew it you’d be able to find photos of me on the Net, but that name’s just as meaningless to me.  I call myself Epiphany.  If you don’t know what it means, look it up.  (Not the Christian stuff.  The original Greek, available in any good dictionary.)
I was the only girl in our family, which also had four boys.  The ‘only’ is important.  Not only was I the only girl.   I was only a girl.
Dad, you see, wanted boys.  Farmers often do, especially when they‘re the sort of farmer that does lots of labour-intensive stuff like planting out seedlings and weeding hundred-foot rows, bird-scaring and picking, sorting and packing.  The sorts of things that machinery or hired labour has to be expensive to do.  Children are cheaper.
Dad was old-fashioned, too.  I mean really old fashioned.  Not just a generation out of date like some people are.  I mean old.  As old as the Bible, and the old parts of the Bible at that. Oh, he didn‘t go round dressed in bed-sheets screwing camels like they did in the Old Testament.  We had a car and an old tractor and even a ‘phone because, Dad said, God had allowed some improvements in life.  God’s improvements, however, did not extend to a TV or CD player, that kind of frivolous thing.  You probably know where he was coming from.  You've had people like him standing on your doorstep telling you that God loves you and would love you ever more if you gave up the things you like, the things that make life bearable, and gave them $100.
So of course sons, to Dad, were a sign that God loved him and when he had first Joshua and then the twins Samuel and David, he must have been over the moon.  (OK, I know Mom actually had them, but only to the extent that she was there.  It was all done by Dad and she was just the vehicle, like the mail van.  That was Dad’s viewpoint, anyway.  If Mom disagreed, she kept it to herself as those biblical sorts of women do.)
Then I happened, which must have made Dad wonder what he had done to earn God‘s disfavour for in Old Testament times a daughter was almost as a curse, to be sold to a husband or swapped out for a few goats as soon as possible.  Whatever it was he put it right pretty quickly as my younger brother Aaron arrived within a year of me, which might have been too quick for Mom as she’s never had any more sons, or daughters.
I was six the first time my big brother Joshua put his prick in my mouth.  I remember it well.  Hell, it was a seminal moment for me, if you‘ll forgive the pun.
His prick wasn’t exactly new to me.  I‘d seen it before.  He was only twelve so I guess he‘d only discovered it himself a short while before - as something you can do more than just pee with, anyway - and he had shown it to me, and made it go stiff for me, a couple of times (and I’d stroked it, too, when he‘d asked me to) before he asked me to put it in my mouth.
Did he think of it himself or get the idea from a book?  Or did God whisper to him, ‘Hey, it would feel even nicer in your little sister‘s mouth than in her fingers‘?  Only God knows, and Joshua of course.  And I haven’t spoken to Joshua for while.  I haven‘t spoken to God either for quite a while, but that’s only because I got tired of one-sided conversations.
Anyway Joshua took me into the sack store, undid his flies and took his prick out, and told me to suck it.
Joshua, you know, was the name the Bible had said the Jews’ Messiah would have.  I guess every other boy born to the Jews in Old Testament times must have been called Joshua by hopeful parents.  Even Jesus is just the Greek version of Joshua because the New Testament books were written in Greek not Hebrew.  And my Dad didn‘t pick the name Joshua with a pin, which shows you what he thought of his first-born son.  I guess Jesus would have been too pretentious.  Where we lived, anyway.  The Latinos aren't so modest, it seems.
Not that we were Jews.  Josh wasn’t circumcised, not that the fact registered on me at the time.  His prick had a tube of skin I could roll back from its strawberry head like the wrapper off a Popsicle and as a six-year-old girl I found that fascinating.  (Hell, it still makes me giggle.)
After all, I didn’t have a prick.  I just had a slit with a hole in it.  I hadn‘t really been aware of it before Josh drew my attention to it by wanting to look at it and sticking his finger up the hole, which made me jump.  Freud says sisters envy their brother’s penises.  Crap.  Even at six-years-old I knew that I was a girl and Joshua was a boy, and that boys and girls were different between the legs.  It was the way God made us.  (That was how I thought at the time.  By the time I knew better it didn‘t matter because I knew by then that what I had was a lot better than what boys had.)  So I was just curious as to what God had done to Joshua and assumed I’d eventually find out why He’d done something different to me.
Anyway, Josh got his prick out and told me to suck it, and as in our family Joshua was looked on in much the same way as the Jews regarded Jesus at the time he entered Jerusalem (before he failed his exams) it never occurred to me not to suck it.  So I did.
I was six and my brother was a tallish twelve so I was pretty much eye-to-eye with it even with us both standing up.  Strawberries were one of the things we grew of the farm - a real money-spinner but a lot of work - and as I looked at the thing in front of my face and rolled back the tube of skin I remember wondering if would taste of strawberry.  It didn’t, but it felt like a strawberry on my tongue, round and velvety at first and then slick and hard-skinned over softness when wet.  It didn‘t taste of anything much, but my tongue, exploring it, found some of that white stuff that gathers under the rim if you don’t wash it too often and that was sharp and tangy until I‘d licked it away.  (I‘d draw the line at that now, of course, but I didn‘t know any different then.  And it never did me any harm.)
Of course the strawberry bit pretty much filled my mouth and when Josh pushed it in a bit further it hit the back of my throat and made me gag which I didn’t like.  So I grabbed the shaft  in both hands in self-defence and we compromised - Joshua holding still and me bobbing my head back and forth as far as I could without bruising my tonsils until he shot his load.
Yep, I knew he was going to do that.  After all, I‘d wanked him with my hands until he shot his load a couple of times and it was pretty obvious that all I was doing was wanking him with my mouth instead.
Did I like it?  Not much.  Cum looks like snot and tastes like it.
Did I know what my brother was doing to me?  No and yes.
No, in that I was only six and had no idea why Josh wanted to do it to me.  I had no experience then of that tingling a boy feels in his prick (and a girl feels in her cunt, as I eventually discovered) which gets into the blood like an itch and the only way to scratch it is to have an orgasm which kind’a burns it away for a time - it‘s the itch which tells you you‘re alive.  So although I know now that Joshua could have ignored it until it went away, as all itches eventually do, or even wanked himself off to scratch it, I don‘t blame him for using me to do it.  Itches are a lot better scratched than left, and scratching is a lot nicer if someone else does it, and I guess a little girl‘s mouth is much nicer for a boy to have round his prick than her little hands.
And yes, I did know in a way what he was doing.  After all, I was still sleeping in my parent’s bedroom - there wasn’t an empty bedroom in the farmhouse I could have had - and Dad still hadn’t given up seeking God’s approval and obeying His command to multiply into one of those obscene twelve-child families which is sucking the world‘s resources dry, so I got to see him fucking Mom almost every night.  So for me it was quite natural for a man (a class which included Joshua) to stick his prick into a woman (a class which included me.)  I knew Josh wasn’t sticking his prick into me where Dad stuck his into Mom but it was obvious even to me that the hole between my legs wasn‘t big enough for Joshua to stick his prick into but my mouth was, so that was obviously where Joshua was entitled to stick it.
So what was the seminal moment?  The moment that changed that little six-year-old girl‘s life?
It was when I was standing there able to breath properly again with the taste of my brother‘s spunk in my mouth and a teaspoonful of it on its way to my stomach, watching Joshua wipe my spit and a bit of spunk off his prick with his hanky.
“You won‘t tell Dad, or Mom, will you,” he said.
I don’t know what mouth-fucking me had just done for my brother, but what he’d just said to me blew my mind.  
First of all it told me that Dad didn’t always know what was going on and could be kept from knowing,  and that, to me, was an extraordinary revelation.  I mean, it was like the Pope telling Catholics that God went and played golf every Wednesday afternoon and, if you didn’t confess it later, would never know what you got up to while He was away from the office.  But even more than that was the implication that something bad would happen if I did tell Dad what had just happened, probably to me as well but certainly to Josh or he wouldn’t have been worried about it.  I know now that Dad would have been furious with Joshua, not for mouth-fucking me but for ‘spilling his seed on the bare earth‘, which is apparently a sin.  Then, though, all I knew from what my brother had told me was that I had power.  For the first time I had power.  If I wanted to stop Josh from sticking his prick in my mouth I could, even though he was my hugely older, vastly more experienced, almost devoutly loved brother.  All I had to do was to say, ‘I’ll tell.’  I was a six-year-old girl with Power.
Not that I ever considered using it.  It was just wonderful to know that I had it.  For two years I meekly allowed my big brother to mouth-fuck me almost daily and I loved the taste of his cum because, to me, it was the taste of Power.  It still is.
Of course my big brother was desperate to fuck me, and he tried.  Every so often he’d get me to lie on a pile of sacks, or the ground, or a bed if we had the chance, rub his prick in my crack and try to put it up my hole.  Rubbing it in my crack felt quite good to me as it made me tingle all over not just in my crack, but trying to put it in my hole hurt me and must have hurt Josh as well as I don’t think he‘d have stopped just because it was hurting me.  He could get the tip of his prick in me and sometimes squirted his spunk inside me that way but I preferred him doing it in my mouth as that didn‘t leave me with a mess to worry about.  When he shot his spunk into my vagina from outside it was always soaking into my knickers for hours afterwards.
The reason Josh was desperate to fuck me was that I was all he had.  Our farm was way out of town.  Dad didn’t like the things the State schools taught (i.e., the truth) and so we were opted out and Mom taught us instead.  All things considered she didn‘t do a bad job.  Dad managed at one time or another to get up the noses of all the few neighbours we did have so we didn‘t have much to do with them and they wouldn‘t let their kids with a mile of the place.    So as I said, although I was only a girl I was the only girl my brothers had.
Yeah, it became my brothers as soon as the twins started to get interested in what Josh was doing to me.  Then I‘d be on my knees (well, I was eight by then so wasn’t small enough to do it standing up any more) in front of the three of them in turn.  Josh was pretty quick as I knew how to suck his strawberry and stroke the shaft to make him come without hanging about and if I wanted him to come even quicker I’d play with his balls in their ridiculous hairy bag as well.  With Samuel and David, though, it could take ages.  Just getting their little pricks to go stiff in my mouth could sometimes take ages and it took quite a while before I felt the first pulsing of David‘s prick against my lips and the first few drops of his spunk on my tongue, and that was a month or more before Samuel‘s first ejaculation down my throat, much to his chagrin.  
They were both so pleased, though, at having finally come that it made me feel good as well.  I, their little eight-year-old sister, had taught them do what men do to women, and I felt the Power within me grow even stronger.
So for a while I contentedly mouth-fucked three of my four brothers enjoying the taste of Power for I knew, and they knew, that I had only to tell Dad or Mom about it and it would all come to an end with, quite probably, beatings all round as one lesson Dad had taken to heart from the Bible was the dangers of Sparing the Rod, as far as children were concerned..
Then my little brother Aaron told Dad.
Why, he asked Dad one day at table, had Ruth (that‘s not my name but it will do) been kissing Joshua‘s willy?
Dad went white and Josh went scarlet.  I don‘t know what I went because I couldn’t see.  Dad, though, just stared at Josh for what seemed like a long time but probably wasn’t and then walked out of the room.  For an hour Josh and I crept around waiting for the sky to fall on us and then he and I were summoned to Dad and Mum’s, and still my, bedroom.  Dad was there, Mom was there, the twins were fetched there and Granpa was there and it was Granpa who told us that as Joshua had decided to start acting like a man it was time he discovered what it was to be a man, and that he was therefore to fuck Mom properly.
I haven’t told you about Granpa yet.
If Dad was like God to us - that vengeful, erratic, capricious dispenser of thunderbolts in the Old Testament - Granpa was like the Supergod who’d wound God up and let it loose on the world.  He’d gone to Vietnam as a conscript, trodden on a mine and come home with most of his legs missing and some odd ideas as to what God was about.  He‘d been married and Dad had been born before he‘d gone off to war. and on his return had bought the farm with his Army compensation.  His wife, Dad’s Mom, had stuck it for a couple of years and then, for her own sanity, cleared out but because she had run off with another man (who had both his legs to do it with) and because the Court had sympathy for Granpa and what he had Suffered for his Country, and because Granpa in his wheelchair wouldn’t have been able to look after himself let alone run the farm without Dad even though he was only 14, he got custody of Dad.
Granpa  had joined one of those really weird religious groups and given them lots of money over the years so when Dad turned 16 Granpa got the group to give him one of their women who had been Bible-bashed into submission - practically into a coma.  Granpa had officially married her - she was eighteen and he was forty-something - but he gave her to Dad to breed from.  Granpa‘s balls had been mashed by the mine so he couldn’t make sperm, but he could still have erections and produce semen from his prostate so he enjoyed sex as much as the next man.  (Did you know that as long as they were not gelded until after sexual maturity the eunuchs in the Sultan’s harem could fuck the girls silly?  They just couldn’t get them pregnant.  So everyone was happy.)
Apparently the ancient Jews had a rule that if a man died before he could get his wife pregnant his brother had to do it.  Well, Granpa just extrapolated from that to the view that if a man couldn’t get his wife pregnant and didn‘t have a brother it was up to his son to do the job.
So at night Mom slept with Dad who did his best to get her pregnant and during the day she looked after Granpa her husband, who never left the house and rarely even came downstairs, and had sex with him because it was her duty.  She seemed quite happy about the arrangement.
I guess Mom had been the carrot Granpa had used to stop Dad leaving the farm as soon as he was old enough, and maybe he was now trying the same carrot on Joshua.  Or maybe he thought it was Dad’s fault that Mom had stopped having babies and thought a change of sperm might make a difference.
Anyway, at Granpa’s order Mom obediently took all her clothes off and lay on the bed. Joshua, who wasn’t quite fifteen, took all his clothes off and lay on Mom, Mom took Joshua’s prick in her hand and pointed it at the right place and Josh fucked her.
It was pure incest, of course.  Mom was being fucked by her own son, not just her step-son as Dad was, and even the OT is against that kind of thing.  But Mom looked like she was enjoying it so I guess the Biblical thing didn‘t worry her and presumably she knew she wasn‘t going to get pregnant again ever so had nothing to worry about there either.  I can only think that if Moses had come down from the Mountain with a post-script to the Ten Commandments saying that it was OK for mothers to fuck with their sons there would be a lot of happy young men and smug mothers around in the Western World, and as in our family Granpa outranked Moses and was anyway Mom’s husband who’s commands it was her duty to obey,  what he said went with her.
So Dad, the twins and I stood and Granpa sat in his chair watching as Joshua humped up and down on Mom and his prick jerked back and forwards in her cunt and she wrapped her legs around his waist and wriggled around his prick and moaned and gasped and Joshua puffed and panted until at last he rammed his bush of short, curly, gingerish hair against Mom’s bush of short, curly, gingerish hair, his butt twitched and I knew he was squirting his seed into her.  Granpa said “Alleluia”, Dad looked a bit put out, the twins looked confused and I felt a bit jealous of Mom because it always looked like having a prick working in your cunt was a mighty good feeling.
Then, as Josh lay puffing on Mom, Granpa turned to me and gave me a long, hard look that made my stomach scrunch into a little hot ball.
“Temptation,” he said softly, and when he spoke softly it was a lot worse than when he ranted and thundered.
He beckoned to me and on legs that could hardly carry me I crossed the room to him.  Believe me, (and I hope you don’t already know), no matter how many times you get beaten you never get immured to it, and I had been beaten a lot by then.  I had never once approached any of my brothers and offered to rub their pricks or asked them to put their pricks in my mouth but I knew there was no future arguing the point.  I was temptation just because I was a girl.
“Take your clothes off,” Granpa ordered, which was new as I usually just had to lift my dress - pants for a girl were a no-no in our house - and drop my panties if I was wearing any to my knees so that he or Dad could apply the rod to my butt.
I stripped.  Granpa looked my 8-year-old body up and down.  
“If you would act like a harlot, you will be treated like one,” he declared.  He undid his belt and being beaten by that was worse than being beaten by a cane, I had long ago found out.  Yet instead of pulling it through its loops in the waistband of his trousers as he usually did, he left it there and undid his trousers completely, freeing his prick from his pants.  It reared like a angry snake from his lap.  
I stared at it.  I knew the pricks of my older brothers intimately and had seen Dad’s often enough as he stuck it in Mom, but had never seen Granpa’s before.  It must have been caught in the mine blast as it was badly scarred with thickened white skin and bent far more than any man’s I’ve seen since (and I’ve seen plenty!)  Part of its strawberry head had been gouged away like someone had taken a bite out of it.  He had no pubic hair, just unnatural-looking white skin, and where Dad and my brothers had those floppy, wrinkled bags holding their balls he had a small, smooth pouch of tight pink skin.
Now, ten years on, I can imagine the skill and commitment of the surgeons who must have laboured for hours over the wreckage of my grandfather’s lower body, putting it back together where they could and grafting skin to replace that which had been burned off.  It’s probably as close to a miracle as you can get in the real world that they were able to save any part of his testicles at all and give him a sexually functioning penis.  Granpa, though, probably didn’t see it that way.
While I was still staring at it in horror Granpa reached out and grabbed me by the waist, turned me so that I had my back to him, raised me over his lap and lowered me down into it.  Years of wheeling himself around in his chair and manhandling himself in and out of bed or onto the john had given him the arms and shoulders of a weightlifter and he certainly made nothing of my forty pounds.  The stumps of his thighs forced my legs apart and I felt his prick press into my slit looking for the hole.  It was such a big, horrible-looking thing that I’m sure I was screaming as I felt its tip pop into me, and then Granpa forced me down onto it like an apple onto a corer.
Joshua and more lately the twins had been shoving things up my cunt for a year or more - carrots, pitch-fork handles, bottle necks, that kind of thing - but because of my power they hadn’t used anything big enough to really hurt me, and certainly nothing as big as Granpa’s prick.  That, as it ripped its way though my bent-but-unbroken virginity, did hurt.  Like Hell.
My bottom came to rest on his stumps and I could feel the thing inside me, deep inside me and skewing off to the side.  “Whore,” Granpa hissed at me, “Jezebel”.  His hands around my waist were like a vice and he began jerking my whole body up and down and rubbing his prick  with my cunt like I was a doll.
The torn skin at the front of my cunt still burned and the bend in Granpa’s prick felt peculiar as it twisted me inside yet for all that I felt a pleasant tingling between my legs which I was sure had to be a little bit of what had made Mom wriggle and gasp as Joshua’s prick had slid back and forth in her cunt.  I was now facing the bed and my family of spectators, and as Granpa rubbed me up and down his prick I could look back at them.  Joshua was still lying on top of Mom, whether because he didn’t want to get off her or because Granpa hadn’t given him permission to, I don’t know.  They were both watching Granpa rape his eight-year-old granddaughter, and I met Mom‘s eyes.
There was pain in them.  I guess she could imagine how Granpa forcing his big, mutilated prick into me had hurt and I am sure it hurt her to watch her eight-year-old daughter being raped even though she didn’t do anything to try to stop it.  But that wasn’t all I saw.  I saw power in her eyes, and she was trying to pass some of it to me.  It was the power to master and transcend men that all women have even if a lot are unaware of it.  It was my Epiphany.
She was being fucked daily by Granpa and Dad, and was now being fucked by her oldest son as well.  From what the public now knows of the kind of lunatic sect she came from I’d suspect she’d been regularly fucked by men whenever they felt like it since she was my age or even before.  Don’t forget, the Prophet Mahomet had been given a nine-year-old girl as an extra wife so it had to be OK, hadn’t it? 
And you can take it, her eyes told me.
So I did.  Whether Granpa’s prick wasn’t sensitive any more or whether he was just enjoying fucking his virgin eight-year-old granddaughter too much to make it quick I don’t know but he was sweating and his mighty arms were trembling with exertion when at last I felt it throbbing inside me and knew he was shooting his load into me.  My eyes were smeared with tears as my cunt was still hurting like Hell each time his prick-shaft dragged at the tear in my hymen and Granpa’s fingers were digging deep into my waist but I wasn’t crying or screaming.  When he at last dropped me wearily into his lap and I could feel his prick wilting inside me and his cum crawling down my cunt-walls I knew I could take more than he could give and I sat up straight on his prick to prove it.
Big mistake.
“You want more, harlot?” he asked so quietly in my ear I’m sure no-one else in the room would have heard it.
With a heave that made me squeal he wrenched me off his bloodied prick - my blood - and threw me onto the bed.  I twisted and fell right next to Mom and Josh.
“Still she has Satan’s unseemly itch in her body,” he thundered, “And we must drive it out.  The Devil is tempting us, too, with her smooth, white flesh and cloaking his foulness in her innocence, and we must know it so that we can recognise it and defeat Satan’s designs.  Isaac, know the Devil in your daughter,” he commanded.
Dad hadn’t been christened Isaac as a baby, but the church he had been christened into had become, to Granpa, a meaningless, deeply compromised travesty of a religion (and I actually wouldn’t disagree with him on this)  so at about the time Dad first fucked his step-mom he had been re-baptised Isaac.  
Did Dad have any reservation about fucking an eight-year-old girl?  Did it make any difference that the eight-year-old girl in question was his daughter?  Did he do it because when Granpa said ‘jump’ he’d been trained to respond ‘how high’ automatically?  Did he not want to do it but did it because he was too scared of Granpa not to?  Did he do it because men don’t often get the chance to fuck eight-year-old girls?  Or their own daughters? Or did he do it just because he wasn‘t about to turn down the chance for a good fuck?  I don’t know.  I don’t actually care.
Dad took off his clothes quickly enough and climbed onto the bed.  I didn’t try to stop him spreading my legs because there was no point and when he did so he must have seen the blood on my thighs and fanny, but that didn’t stop him.  He wriggled between my legs, took his prick in his hand and worked it into me.
Although bigger than Joshua’s Dad’s prick was at least normal and although it hurt when it dragged at my split hymen it wasn’t all that bad and I could feel the power Mom had shown me still giving me strength so I didn’t show the pain.  When Dad began stroking his prick up and down inside my cunt it actually began to feel quite nice.
Unexpectedly something touched my hand in the middle of the bed and after a moment my mother’s fingers crept into it, hidden from view by our bodies.  Next to me she was lying underneath her son with his prick still in her cunt while I lay underneath my father, his prick in mine, and she was telling me again that I could take it.
And I could.  I even began to enjoy it but knew that if I showed a hint of that Granpa might be driven into real witch-hunting mode which could likely stop only a step short of my being burned alive at the stake, so I lay quiet and passive as Dad worked himself up inside me, gasping, humping and straining, until eventually he rammed his hairs against my little, bald, wounded fanny so hard that it forced a squeak out of me, I felt his prick pulsing and twitching inside me and I knew the sudden hot flush pooling in my insides was his cum.
He had been holding himself off me with straight arms to that point, but as he came all the strength seemed to pour out of him with his cum and his two-hundred plus pounds collapsed onto my forty-nothing pounds.  I turned my head aside at the last moment to protect my nose and as I was about thirty-inches shorter than Dad I found myself with my head squashed beneath his chest with my ear about level with his heart, and I could hear it racing and pounding as he gasped for breath.  I could feel his prick going soft and wilting in my cunt and knew that just at that moment he didn’t have the strength to lift himself off me.  My mighty, all-powerful father, lay on me as weak and helpless as a baby while I, a tiny eight-year-old girl, was a little sore perhaps but otherwise unaffected by what we had done.  At the realisation I felt the Power tingling even more strongly within me and gave my mother‘s hand a squeeze to show that I understood.
Eventually, wearily, Dad lifted himself off me, his prick slid messily out of me and I wondered if I was going to get the blame for the cum I could feel running out of me onto the blankets beneath my butt.  Granpa, though, was not worried about blankets.
“Joshua,” he ordered.  “Face and recognise the Devil in your sister, so that you might know and resist Him in the future.”
I saw a sudden flare of fright and panic on my eldest brother’s face as he realised that he wasn’t certain what it was Granpa was actually asking him to do, for if Granpa gave you an order and it was misunderstood or wasn’t instantly obeyed, the child concerned was not spared the rod.
Mom must have seen or felt it too, for “Granpa wants you to fuck Ruth,” I heard her breath quietly to him.
Of course Joshua had fucked Mom only a few minutes before but teenage boys recover quickly enough and his prick looked more than adequate for the job as he slipped it out of Mom and rolled onto me.  His prick wasn’t a lot smaller than Dad’s and he hurt me as, inexperienced, he prodded it against me searching for my cunt.  I could easily have helped him, and myself, by guiding it there but I was sure Granpa would have seen that as a sign of eagerness on my part which would have been punished, so I didn‘t.  Eventually he located it and slid himself into me as he had wanted to do, I knew well enough, for many months.
He could, of course, have gone easy with me.  He could have faked an ejaculation in me after a few dozen strokes and spared me somewhat, but in Joshua’s world women were created by God from a man’s rib as second-hand rather than original divine creations, and then only in response to man’s need for a companion and plaything.   I realised pretty much straight away as my eldest brother’s prick began reaming my cunt that he was enjoying it too much to worry about me, and that he was going to keep going until he got there.
Not that I was bothered by that.  His prick in me didn’t make me want to wriggle and twitch and gasp as it had in Mom’s.  It just set up and maintained a lovely warm tingle in my cunt that I could close my eyes and relax into.  Lying there quietly under my big brother with his prick stroking my cunt-walls certainly beat hoeing a dusty ten-acres of corn under the hard sun, which was the alternative.
Eventually he came in me.  By then the sweat was dripping off him and where our skin touched - which, as he was lying on me with his arms around me was pretty much all of me - I was slippery and greased with it.  “Oh, oh, oh,” he groaned almost as if the great pumps by his prick as he squirted into me were hurting him.  Then like Dad he lay gasping on me bonelessly, squashing me against the mattress and twitching inside me while I couldn’t help giving a little sigh and wishing he would get off me as it wasn’t very comfortable.  Mom’s hand gave mine a warning squeeze.
“Did you feel it, Joshua?” Granpa asked eagerly.  “Did you feel Satan in your sister sucking at your life-force?  Did you feel behind the sweetness of her cunt as it drew you in and tried to swallow you the hand of the Devil beckoning to you and offering the chalice of poisoned honey?  Do you know now the snare set by the Devil in the beauty of women’s bodies?  Can you now be on your guard against it and see through the lusts of your body to recognise the Devil’s designs on your mind?”
As Mom had done I felt Josh’s panic at being asked such an impossible question for even his prick shrivelling in my cunt twitched in response to his sudden fright.  Of course he didn’t have a clue what Granpa was talking about, neither did I and I don’t suppose Granpa really did either.
“Yes, Granpa,” he whispered, tight with terror that the old man was going to ask some follow-up question which would unmask the lie.
After a paralysing moment of silence Granpa merely grunted acceptance and approval.  Josh, wanting I suspect to get out from under Granpa’s gaze, slipped wetly off and out of me, rolled off the bed and crossed somewhat unsteadily to stand beside Dad.
Nearby, white-faced and wide eyed, were the twins, their gazes switching from their naked mother and sister on the bed to their naked father and brother standing nearby and then back again.  Most often their looks lingered on me, and more particularly on what I knew they could see between my still widespread legs as the yellow-white semen of my grandfather, father and big brother dribbled out of my cunt and mixed with the bright red blood still oozing from my torn virginity.
“You two.”  They jumped as one as Granpa’s voice lashed across them.  “Are you men enough yet to face the Devil that lies between a woman’s legs?”
They were still a few weeks short of twelve but I knew well enough that they were both men enough to stick their stiff little pricks in my mouth and squirt their semen against the back of my throat.  They stood paralysed, mouths opening and closing soundlessly as they tried to think of the right answer to the question.
“Drop your pants, both of you,” Granpa ordered.
Slowly they obeyed.  Perhaps in response to their fright but more likely as a result of the four sex acts they had just witnessed - three of them involving me - their little pricks stuck stiffly into the air, trembling.
“Ha!  It seems that you are,”  Granpa observed.  “Then you too shall learn to recognise the foul taint of the Devil’s purposes in the sweet honey of a woman’s cunt, here where we can see and guide you lest she lure you to some private place where the Devil’s work can go on unhindered.”  At that he gave me a baleful, contemptuous glance and I knew he was firmly convinced it had been me who had lured my big brother to private places and persuaded him to put his prick in my mouth; so firmly convinced that nothing on earth up to and including a full confession by Joshua would have dissuaded him.
Put as it had been it was not surprising that neither boy rushed forward to undergo the experienced offered and as I had never, and despite the discovery of the Power still didn’t, consider myself a woman I had not realised that the foully tainted sweet honey of the cunt being offered the twins was mine.  Mom, though, had.
“Let them do it to me,” she offered in a small, nervous voice.  There was a moment of shocked silence which included even Granpa. I had never, ever, heard Mom counter, even partially, anything ordered by Granpa, or even Dad, before.  Mom was always meek and obedient as required by the Bible, to the point of being a robot.  If Granpa or Dad told her to do something she did it even if she knew it was wrong, from taking a week to paint a picket fence with oil-based paint on top of water-based primer so that it was peeling off in a month, to letting her own son have sexual intercourse with her - not that I think the latter is inherently wrong, but I’m sure she did.  Even if she knew a better, easier, more efficient way of doing something she did it the way she was told to do it.  Despite it being frowned on even in the OT and has nothing whatever to do with procreation she never tried to stop Dad or Granpa having vaginal sex with her during her periods despite the fact that it can be damned uncomfortable and gets menstrual blood all over the sheets which she had to wash out the next day.  Dad even had anal sex with her, too - I knew because I’d watched it - and if she enjoyed that she never showed it.  Had Granpa or Dad parked her on the roadside naked and with a sign around her neck saying “$10 a fuck” - and still only thirty she was a pretty woman for, don‘t forget, I‘m her daughter- she would have sat there and collected the money, and handed every cent over to Granpa at the end of the day like the temple prostitutes in Ancient Greece.
So for her to suggest to Granpa that the twins should fuck her, their mother,  rather than with me, their sister, was as though a burning bush really had spoken.
“Silence,”  Granpa barked after that stunned moment, putting her back into her place.  “They are still young, and the Devil is not yet strong in the girl.  It is better they know Him in her at this time.  They shall know you in good time, for you are not yet past the time for childbearing and the Lord commands the time not be wasted.”
Mom’s hand in mine gave a sad little squeeze of regret and apology, not that I was looking for either.  What she thought of the news that Granpa was expecting her to have children by all her sons I could not tell.
The twins still hesitated, standing there with their pricks hanging out.  They were not identical twins and were in fact very different people.  David, eldest by a couple of hours of agony for Mom, was Granpa’s favourite.
“David, copulate with your sister,” Granpa ordered.  I, and I’m pretty sure David, had never heard the word ‘copulate’ before but in context it was fairly obvious what it meant.  As David slowly dropped his pants Granpa ranted on, “With your penis in the harlot’s vagina feel how the Devil in her seeks to draw your strength to Himself.  Guard your mind against His lewd whisperings in your ears that you surrender to pleasure, for that is how He gets its claws into your soul.  Eschew the temptation to lose yourself in the sweet clouds of carnality for once lost you might never find your way back to the true service of God but wander lost in your beads and  clouds of hash without hope or direction….”  He ranted on, capitalising all the personal pronouns, amazingly lucid and quite mad, his mind trapped in the ‘80s when, I suppose, his own world more or less came to an end.
Not surprisingly David had become convinced that some kind of evil, clawed monster was actually lurking in my cunt waiting eagerly for him to stick his prick into its lair, and was now clearly reluctant to do what, only a few days previously, he had been only to keen to try, lying on top of me in the pump house and pressing his prickhead vainly against my virginity.  I had pretended it was hurting more than it actually had and he had backed off.  Very reluctantly he climbed onto the bed and knelt between my knees, staring with horror at my bleeding cunt while Granpa raved on, only partly aware of what was going on.
“Do it, dear.  It will not hurt you,” Mom said to him softly from beside me, giving my hand another apologetic squeeze even though I could see no reason for David to bring Granpa’s wrath down on himself by not doing it.  “But try and be quick,” she added.
Carefully David lay on me, poked gingerly between my legs with his prick and then slid it into me.
It was a small prick and caused me no great discomfort.  I lay limply under him as he humped away at me and knew instantly that he was faking it when he arched above me gasping as he had seen our father and his elder brother do only a few minutes before.  Perhaps he was trying to spare me, perhaps he had realised that under the avid gazes of the rest of the family he was never going to get there and decided to give up.  I never asked him.
“Did you feel it, boy?”  Granpa asked eagerly.  “Feel Satan making His nest in her cunt and waiting to fasten onto any man using it for any purpose other than the one God intended?”  I cannot imagine how he squared that with the use to which he put Mom’s cunt on a daily basis, for through his open bedroom door we’d all seen Mom with her skirt around her waist bobbing up and down over his lap with absolutely no chance of getting pregnant, although perhaps Granpa still hadn‘t given up on miracles in general and miracle births in particular.
“Yes, Granpa,”  David agreed.  “I felt Him there, dark and terrible.”  Embellishment was a dangerous thing when dealing with Granpa as it offered more opportunities for him to catch you out, but David was the quickest and brightest of us all and knew he was Granpa’s favourite.  For David it worked this time, but he hadn’t done me any favours.  Granpa’s eyes blazed eager malice and satisfied self-justification at me.
“Well, we’ll soon drive Him from poor Ruth,” he promised and I didn’t like the sound of that at all.
“Come Samuel,” he said as David, sagging with relief, climbed off me.  “You too shall learn to recognise the Devil that lurks within women.”
Dropping his pants Samuel approached me nervously.  Granpa was still staring fixedly at me as though for a glimpse of the Devil within me and I saw David breath a couple of words to his twin as they passed. ‘There’s nothing there, really’ perhaps, or ‘fucking your little sister is fun’.  I tried to give him a little smile of reassurance without Granpa seeing it and in the corner of my eye I saw Mom doing the same.  Then my third brother climbed aboard, very gingerly plugged himself in and was fucking me.
Though they say it isn’t possible it seemed very much as if the twins had shared out between them in Mom’s womb what should have made just one boy.  David got most of the wit and intelligence but not much bone and muscle.  Samuel was much heavier, bigger and stronger  - and thus Dad’s favourite - but relied almost entirely on his twin to supply the brains.  I expected him to try to go all the way to ejaculation in me as it just wouldn’t occur to him not to, and he didn’t disappoint me.  Having five people watching him fuck his little sister bothered him not at all but I could tell he was absolutely terrified of what might be lurking in the depths of my cunt and so he did little more than slip his prickhead in and fucked me like a rabbit, with quick, shallow and very short strokes.  As the torn hymen at the entrance to my vagina still hurt when it was touched and I only got the nice feelings when a prick was actually inside it, this was not very satisfying for me.  However with Mom still holding my hand I gritted my teeth and called on the Power, and endured.
Eventually Samuel came in me - I could feel the little hot jets of his semen hitting my vaginal walls - and he popped his prick out of me almost before he had finished.
“Did you feel it too, boy?”  Granpa demanded.
“Yes, Granpa,” Samuel agreed faithfully.  As two words were about the longest sentence anyone ever got out of Samuel at any time Granpa accepted it.  Dismissed, Samuel scrambled back to stand beside his twin leaving me fully exposed to Granpa’s gaze.  My insides scrunched up again.
“We’ll drive the Devil from you, girl,’ he promised and ordered Dad to give me back to him.  Dad lifted me from the bed and handed me to Granpa and Granpa impaled me on his prick again.  Watching his son and three of his grandsons fuck me one after the other had very much restored it to life and with his hands gripping me cruelly by the waist again he fucked me and fucked me and fucked me, driving me up and down on his twisted prick for what seemed like hours until, with his arms barely able to lift me and me lolling in his hands like a rag doll and weeping with the pain of his bent prickshaft sawing at my torn hymen, he managed a second weak ejaculation into me.  He was too weary to throw me back onto the bed and made Dad put me there, and then Dad was lying on me and fucking me again and it was only Mom’s hand in mine that enabled me to hold on.
I didn’t feel Dad finish and it was Mom’s hand that called me back.  Dashing the tears of weariness, pain and fright from my eyes I looked around the bed and saw Granpa in his chair, his misshapen, bloodied prick an angry red raw colour and shrivelling.  Dad’s prick, too, was shiny with my cunt-grease and smeared with cum, and though twitching weakly was shrinking wearily.  The twins’ pricks were already soft, floppy and spent and Joshua’s sagged out of his black bush of hair.  Five of them, two of them twice, and I had beaten them.  Little eight-year-old me had been fucked by the five of them seven times in one session and I knew that without the one-off pain from my torn hymen I could take more.  I even felt a jag of annoyance that the men and boys standing or sitting around the bed looking down at me hadn’t been able to manage one more between them so that it would have been once for each year of my life.  Tidier that way.
I had bruises like a belt around my waist from Granpa’s fingers, my hair was limp and tangled, and my face wet with tears and my body soaked with sweat.  There was blood, cum and my cunt-grease smeared from my knees to my navel.  The torn skin that had once partially blocked off my cunt was burning between my legs and I was sobbing quietly but I wasn’t finished, and I knew each man and boy around that bed knew it.  My Power -  the Power that is Woman -  filled me, singing in my blood and tingling in my weak muscles.  The gazes of five men and boys rested on me and I think they saw it.  They were looking at Epiphany.

2

Granpa didn’t like it.  Gripping the wheels of his chair angrily he spun it round and bowled himself out of the room.  Dad and the boys awkwardly, even a bit shyly and guiltily, filed from the room in silence.  Mom stirred beside me, climbed from the bed and, naked, crossed to the washstand.  She returned with the bowl full of cold water and a flannel and cleaned me up, sponging the sweat from my body and the mess from between my thighs.  Gently she dabbed at the wound in my vagina until the bleeding stopped, which took some time, but she didn’t say anything.
What was there to say?  Dad perhaps might have been able to save me had he stood up to Granpa but he had never been able to do it before in his life and I certainly wasn’t important enough for him to change the habit of a lifetime.  There was nothing at all Mom could have done, in the world she lived in.
And there was nothing now she could tell me.  At eight years old I had come into my Power, a Power any woman has although so few seem to know it, or use it.  Perhaps you have to go through something like I did to know it, if it doesn’t break you first.  And Mom knew it. When the bleeding had stopped and I was clean she wiped her own fanny where her son’s semen had dribbled out of her, then dressed and went down to begin the evening meal for us all.
I lay where I was, feeling myself.  No, not with my fingers or anything like that. Feeling myself.  Exploring myself.  Getting to know Epiphany.  Then I got up, dressed and went downstairs to peel some potatoes for Mom.
If Granpa had thought his story about there being a Devil in my cunt might stop the boys from wanting to get into it, he failed.  For a few days they as well as Dad all avoided me as much as they could and certainly avoided my eyes when they couldn‘t avoid me, and for me it was a confirmation of my Power when I saw them go a long way around so as not to have to see me, or pass me with their eyes downcast to the ground as though I was just too bright to look at.  Slowly though, when I just went on being the Ruth they had always known, they began to accept me again.
Granpa had no such problems.  A week or so after he had ordered my gang-rape by my own family Dad took me up to his room and I stood before him in his wheelchair.
“So, girl,” he asked me.  “Do you still have the Devil in your cunt?”
I knew him.  Women with the Power in their blood can read a man, any man, like a book.  He could see the Power in me - most men can see the Power in a woman - and it frightened him like it frightens all men.  Men are bigger and stronger than women, and converted into violence this strength can crush the Power.  Yet men yearn, too, for a woman to have the Power for She is the whore/goddess they desire in their deepest dreams and in overcoming her by violence they put that desire out of reach of fulfilment.  Only by submitting their strength to the Power - like the unicorn to the Virgin - can they possess it in the woman of their dreams.  I had come to understand that, though not in those terms, at eight-years-old.  Many men never understand it.
Granpa was one of them.  He could see the Power in me, had seen it in my battered body on the bed a week before, and it frightened him because his only answer to it was violence even though he knew that to use violence against it was to lose.  According to his lights, then, it was all too easy to see it as the work of the Devil and his only response was to try to drive it away.
I knew he was going to fuck me, and fuck me, and fuck me week in and week out trying to break the Power and I knew that the Power existed only to protect me in my weakness against men who had the strength to fuck me and fuck me and fuck me week in and week out.  Granpa was setting out to stop an advancing glacier with a sword and he knew it.  In truth the answer is easy -  the Power will submit to Love - but love did not exist in the Old Testament world Granpa had adopted so he had no choice but to pick up the sword.
He called it the Devil  but I called it the Power and so couldn’t deny that I had it in my cunt.  I stared the answer back at him, terrified because no-one in the family answered Granpa back.  He saw it in my eyes and was frightened.
“Take your knickers off,” he ordered and I did.  Then he picked me up again, impaled me on his prick and fucked me as hard as he could.  Knowing it was coming, for he had already readied his prick, I managed to arrange my legs around the front of the chair so that I could at least touch the floor with my toes and take some of my weight so that I could stop the head of Granpa’s prick thumping quite so hard against what I now know is my cervix.  Granpa used all his strength to try to master the Power but in his dressing table mirror  I could see myself standing over his lap as Mom did, holding my skirt around my waist as the old man jerked and twitched in his chair and his prick banged around inside the soft padded cell of my cunt, and I knew the Power was secure.
And infinite, whereas Granpa’s strength was limited.  Try as he might he could not hold off indefinitely his ejaculation and orgasm in me and as soon as he lost that battle, he lost the battle with my Power for his strength fled from him from his cum and his weapon, his prick, began shrivelling and going soft.  Then, beaten, he threw me from him again and lashed at my bare butt and legs with his belt but with no strength left in his arms and his aim hindered by the tears of fury and despair in his eyes he did not hurt me much. Epiphany had beaten Granpa and we both knew it, though I also knew he would not stop trying for a while.
I said nothing of this to Mom, Dad and the boys but Dad had seen it and I knew they all knew.  I had beaten Granpa.  That frightened Dad and the boys, too tho’ Mom, I know, understood for the Power was in her too.
And in a way Granpa was right.  Having tasted the honey of my cunt Dad and the boys were lost in it.
Though they avoided my eyes I could see it in theirs.  I could feel their sidelong glances at my limbs as, bare-armed and bare-legged, I hoed my way with them along the rows of pumpkins.  I could feel their breath in the breeze lifting and playing with my long ashen hair as I held the pea-sacks open for the full, ripe pods they were plucking from the vines.  I could feel their hot, shamed gazes on my thighs, buttocks and pudenda in the shade of my dress as they stood beneath me holding the ladder and I picked the last apples from the topmost branches of the trees.  Through the sounding-board of the Power I could feel the hot blood pulsing with its need for me in their stiff pricks as I, younger and smaller than any of them, danced wet-slicked in the warm rain at the end of a long, hot, dusty drought.
Weeks of fucking and beating me later a defeated Granpa finally gave up trying to defeat my Power, the Patriarch of his Tribe trying to purify it for God.  He was just an old, sad man half-mad with anger and bitterness and despair who found a special joy in fucking his eight-year-old granddaughter, so I began helping him to fuck me more comfortably - for both our sakes - and in return he stopped beating me afterwards. 
About six months after Epiphany was born on the bed in the peeling clapboard farmhouse and not long after I turned nine I was working alone with Dad pricking out lettuces in the frame shed and the Power was telling me of his need, and the pain of that need.  When it became too great for me to bear I just put down the tray, dropped to my knees in front of him, got out his prick and massaged it with my mouth until his cum jetted down my throat, taking with it all his need and the pain of it.  As I had been working on him he had been breathing my name and his hands had been fondling my head and stroking my hair, and he had never before in my life touched me so gently.
The boys were still too much in awe of Epiphany to approach me despite their throbbing needs but once I’d begun to let Dad fuck me I let them know that I was willing to let them fuck me, too.  Not all at once, unless I chose, and only when and where and as I chose, and they did not challenge my Power to make that choice.  The boys knew Dad was fucking me because they sometimes saw us fucking in the wood or the orchard, and Dad knew I was letting the boys fuck me in the sheds or their bedroom but said nothing.  Mom knew, of course, because we were women together and Dad and the boys were fucking her too and I’m sure even Granpa knew as he fucked me that his Devil had won but he closed his eyes to the knowledge and concentrated on the honey in my cunt, because my Power was now the power of the family.

3

So two years passed with us fucking as a family.
Like many farms we kept a shed by the roadside and in season sold surplus produce in little bags for cash.  The road, run-down and dusty, ran from nowhere to nowhere and most of the vehicles that passed by were from farms just like ours.  Enough people, though, did venture out of the towns particularly at weekends to buy little bags from roadside stalls, which they thought made it better in some way than the same stuff bought from the supermart,  to make it worthwhile having one.
With Joshua and the twins big enough now to do a man’s work in the fields and Aaron stronger than me despite being ten months younger, I was given the task of minding the shop.
I loved it.  I had rarely been left alone for so long.  Nothing to do but sit by the table smelling the strawberries in their punnetts on the table next to me, listening to the birds, watching the clouds drift by and perhaps waving to the occupants of the wagons and trucks as they occasionally rattled by.
On the third day an auto braked sharply as it passed the driveway where I sat and swung into it.  It was a town car, expensive, undinted and with only one layer of dust.  The man who climbed out of it was wearing town shoes and a dark suit with a tie like they do in towns.
“Hello,” he said.  “What’s your name?”
“Ruth,” I told him.
“How much are the strawberries?” he asked.
It was a strange question as the price was chalked in big figures on a board beside me but I wasn’t surprised at it as the Power had already made me aware of his eyes on my knees and lap, and on my chest where my breasts would one day grow.  I told him how much the strawberries were.
“They look very nice,” he said.  “I think I’ll have four cartons.”
“OK”
He took out a fat shiny wallet and began counting out some money.
“How old are you, Ruth?”
“Eleven.”
He set the money for the strawberries on the table and then stopped with another bill in his hand which he half-offered me.
“Would you like twenty dollars for yourself, Ruth?” he asked.  “It’s yours for a peek at your panties.”
I already knew what he wanted.  Although he was a complete stranger and I had met few men outside those in my family the Power told me all about him.
And I felt a huge disappointment.  I had never in my life had a cent of my own and here I was being offered twenty dollars for something I couldn’t do.
“I’m not wearing any,” I said sadly.  It was easier that way and I don’t think Mom liked seeing the semen stains in my panties when she had them for the wash.
Through the Power I felt his heart stop and his chest tighten.  I could feel the want boiling in his blood to see me, to touch me, to fuck me, but I was not frightened of him as he did not have in him the darkness Granpa did and which made him want to hurt because he couldn‘t love.
“Would you let me see under your dress, then?” he whispered, still holding out the banknote.
I hesitated for a moment because the Power told me to and then bundled the skirt of my dress to my waist as I had so often for Dad and the boys, and Grandpa.
I felt the man’s breath turn to concrete in his throat and lungs as he gazed on the tight innocent slit in the little soft cushion where my legs met my body.  I could hear the blood rushing in his ears and feel the heart thumping in his chest.
His mouth popped open a little as he made himself breath again and his eyes flicked for a moment to mine in wonderment before fixing again on my little fanny.
“You’re very beautiful, Ruth,” he breathed.  I knew that..
“Would you,” he whispered, “For another twenty.  Let me touch you?”
He was much bigger than me, of course, and older than Dad but he was soft and puffy with a stomach that flopped over the waistband of his pants.  He was rich and knew all about the world, and he was frightened of me.  If I had dropped my dress and burst into tears he would have run back to his car and disappeared in a cloud of dust, leaving his money on the table.
“Yes,” I said.
He had to bend down and forward a little and his hand sneaked out towards my fanny like a boy’s trying to grab a wary mouse.  I heard him swallow and his shallow, shaky breathing and knew his heart was hurting him.  Because he only had eyes for his hand creeping up to my fanny and had forgotten that anything existed beyond the little cleft Y that was my thighs and my tummy I looked around to make sure no-one was coming. No-one was.
He moaned, a little whine he was unaware of as his trembling fingertip touched the very tip of my split and, hardly touching me, traced it downwards to where my legs pressed together. I moved my feet slightly, opening my legs just enough to let him slip his finger between them to where the little roll of my clit peeked shyly out of the slit.
The Power was tingling like electricity up and down my spine and was letting me feel the soft dry warmth of my skin on the man’s fingertip and its brush with each tiny blond hair like those on my arms and the backs of my hands which also, I had not realised before, were thinly spread on the curve between my legs.  I could feel what he was feeling through his fingertip as it stroked so lightly across the dry wrinkled back of the worm of my clit and burrowed on further.  I marvelled as did the man at the sudden warmth, like the opening of an oven door, and the moist breath his fingertip felt as it softly parted the little flaps that lay at the entrance to my cunt.
No-one had ever touched me like that before, so softly and with such fascination and such wonderment.  Even when they knew I was Epiphany - , tho’ they didn’t know the name as I didn’t then -  even then when the boys were in awe of me their hard farmers’ fingers were rough as sandpaper and direct as bullets as they rubbed my fanny and poked into my cunt.    This stranger’s fingertip was gentle and cautious like a man’s exploring the innards of an unexploded bomb as it softly probed the entrance and eased itself into the warm sheath of my vagina.
He was a sad man, my Power told me as my cunt enfolded his finger.  A lonely man for all that he had a wife and kids.  A man of disappointments, of masks over emptiness.  The bending twist his slack flabby body was having to assume in order to get his hand between my legs and his finger up my cunt was hurting his back and I could feel it.  I could smell scented soap and the tangy fragrances men wear on their cheeks but it didn’t cover the heavy sour smell of his fat.  He had hair in his ears and dapples of sweat on the bald patch on his head as he bowed over me, snorting in his tension and not knowing it.
“Oh,” he breathed as his knuckles pressed against my clit, and through the Power I felt the soft press of my cunt walls sucking at his finger.
He kept it there for an age, unmoving as the Power in me watched him grapple every precious moment of the experience - his finger in an eleven-year-old girl’s cunt - to his soul. Then reluctantly he removed it and, despite my Power, surprised me by dropping to his knees in his expensive trousers on the gravel of the roadside and lowering his face to my fanny.  He breathed in the scent of my cunt and I experienced it as he did, young as apple-blossom, fruity as ripe strawberries, strong as a thunderstorm.  Then he kissed me square on the clit.
Granpa had never wanted me to take his mutilated prick into my mouth for, I guess, he thought the act a perversion and the work of the Devil.  Or perhaps he was just too ashamed of it.  And for all the hundreds of times over the years I had taken their pricks into my mouth Dad and the boys had never kissed my fanny.  The boys had studied it, sure.  They’d looked closely at it, spreading apart the lips to my cunt with their fingers in order to see the hole, teasing my clit out of its hiding place and trying to see where I peed from, but they had never kissed it.  They had never thought to.
And the man was right, I thought as I checked around again to make sure no-one was about and the man’s tongue lapped at my crack.  It was right that he should be on his knees before me, kissing the source of my Power.  Worshipping it, worshipping me.  After all, I was a goddess.  At that moment his Epiphany.
He let go of my little bottom, lifted his face away from my thighs and climbed awkwardly to his feet, brushing the dirt from his knees.
“Ruth, you are amazing,’ he whispered.  No,  I‘m not.  The Goddess is.
“Have you ever…?”  He paused, terrified of me.  “Have you ever…?”  I waited, though I knew from the Power what he was trying to say.  “Have you ever seen a man’s prick?” he asked quickly.  I waited again and then nodded slowly.  A little doubtfully.
“Would you like to see mine?”
I shrugged that I didn’t mind one way or the other.  He unzipped his flies and pulled it out.  It throbbed stiffly before me, little different from Dad’s or Joshua’s tho’ bigger than the twins’ of course. I looked at it.
“Ruth,” he breathed.  “I’ll give you another twenty if you’ll touch it.”  His prick waved in the air as he twisted to add a bill to the little pile on the table and then pointed at me again.  The Power told me to wait a moment and then put out a hand to it a little reluctantly.  It was warm and dry and alive.  And it wanted me the way a baby wants its mother.  The way worshippers want their goddess.
I stroked it with all the experience learned in six years of stroking pricks - more than half my life -  and felt the man’s soul in my hands.
I knew my Power was absolute and I tired of the game.  Sinking to my knees before the man I took him in my mouth.
Had I been the Devil as Granpa believed the man’s soul would have been mine as there was not an atom of him that had not become mine to command.  But Granpa was wrong, and I did not want any part of him.  The Power protects.  It does not seek to command.
His hands on my head were as soft as my father’s had been once he had seen the whore/goddess in me and as I sucked him he repeated my name over and over like a mantra, a prayer.  “Oh Ruth.  Ruth.”  I brought him to climax and his cum tasted no different as it carried from him into me all his impossible longings, bitter disappointments, self loathing.  His prick softened between my lips and the Power let me feel the huge stillness and peace and vast satisfaction that filled the space left by his orgasm.
“Oh Ruth,” he said with a sigh.  “That was fantastic.”
I rose to my feet, no taller than the smart pen-top peeping out of the top pocket of his slightly shiny jacket, and popped a strawberry from one of the punnets he had bought into my mouth to take away the taste of his cum.
He put his prick back into his pants, still shiny with my spit and with a last glob of semen oozing from its little mouth, and looked at me.  Yet he had nothing to say.  What is there for a man to say to a Goddess at his Epiphany?  I looked back at him.
“You won’t tell anyone?” he asked eventually.
I looked puzzled.  Who was there to tell?  What was there to tell?  I’d only done what I’d already done twice that day, and would probably have to do again before I got to bed.  To reassure the man I shook my head.
“Are you here every day?”
I nodded. “While there’s strawberries.”
“Would you mind if I came to see you again?”  
What was there to mind, or not mind?  He was nothing to me.  But my Power was huge to him and he had to ask these things.  I shrugged.
He dithered for a moment more, loaded his strawberries into his car and drove away.  I sat down as the dust and the quiet settled again and I looked at my $60.  I would have done it for nothing had he just asked.
He came back three days later, first just driving past and looking carefully around.  When he drove by the other way there was a woman with a child buying some strawberries so he had to keep going. When he returned ten minutes later I was alone.
“Hello Ruth,” he said.  “Remember me?”
I nodded.  The peace I had given him had gone and I could feel the desire in him, driving him like the tide.  Though only his finger and tongue had tasted the honey of my cunt he wanted more.  Needed more.  And he was afraid of me.  Afraid I wouldn’t give him any.
“What we did…” he began.  “What we did.  Did you mind?”
I shrugged.
Thanks to the Power I knew the questions boiling in his mind.  Where had I learned to do it?  How long had I been doing it? Who did I do it to?  What was I thinking and feeling as I did it? Yet he was afraid to ask and, after all, only one question really mattered to him.
“Ruth.  You are so beautiful. You are an amazing little girl.  If I gave you a hundred dollars….  would you let me put my prick inside you?”
He showed me the bill to prove he had it.  I had never seen a $100 bill before.
“Buy some strawberries?” I asked.
“Yes.  Yes.  Of course.”  He placed the price of four punnets onto the table next to the $100 bill.  His hand was shaking.
A car on the road announced its approach with a plume of dust five minutes before it arrived.  There were no plumes on the road in either direction.  The drive to the house half-a-mile away where the well had been dug was empty and nothing moved under the hot sun.  I nodded at the man and led him to a little rusty-iron lock-up next to the stall where the boxes of fruit were stored overnight.  Left on the stall they disappeared.
Inside I hitched up my dress, sat on the rickety old table and lay back with my legs dangling over the edge as I had there and in a dozen other places for Dad and the boys.
“Ruth, my Angel,” the man croaked as though he was having difficulty speaking, and I liked ‘Angel’ because it went with Epiphany even if I didn’t know the word then.  I knew the concept.  “Can I see you….?” He softly and reverently touched my chest.
This surprised me.    I knew how interested Dad was in Mom’s tits as I was still sleeping in their room, and the boys loved them too.  Several times I had nearly tripped over Josh or one of the twins fucking Mom on the kitchen floor, for if they asked she gave it to them then and there, and then got up and went back to whatever she had been doing before.  Dad and the boys knew perfectly well that I had no tits to be interested in and thus paid no attention to my chest. Why the man should be interested in my titless chest I couldn’t imagine but the Power told me that he really, really was so I unbuttoned the front of my dress and folded it back for him.  I could have taken it off quite easily but I never did for Dad or the boys and didn’t see why I should for him.
He stroked me, fingertips gently tracing the ribs under my prairie-flat chest, and kissed as though they were the Pope’s ring each little brown nipple.  He stroked me from neck to knee, even slipping his hand under the rumpled dress lying on my stomach in order to stroke that, but left out my fanny as though leaving it the way you leave the best bits of a pudding until last.  He teased my nipples with a gentle finger as though they were buttons that, if pressed, rewarded you with either a million dollars or a million volts, and for the first time ever the Power which let me share what he was feeling let me know how velvety soft they were while I felt for myself how a gentle touch on the little round pimples at their centre sent tingles of pleasure like streams to join the great ocean of Power in me.  The man’s hand made me feel nice in a way Dad and the boys had never even attempted - had never even thought of attempting, the Power told me - and I began to enjoy myself.
Too soon for me he moved on, although I knew the man was terrified that someone would come and catch him in the shed with me and was being lashed by every passing second he spent there.  He moved around to stand  between my knees draped over the edge of the table and laid his hand on my fanny like a priest touching a sacred object on an altar and through the Power I felt the warm softness of the kiss that the lips between my legs gave him back on the palm of his hand.  So I understood why he bent and kissed it in worship, slipping his tongue inside my cunt as far as it would go, and for the first time I tasted my cunt juice.
Once, years ago, Dad and Mom had taken Granpa to hospital in town when the pain in his legs had him screaming, and the boys and I had been left alone in the house.  In a cupboard in Granpa’s room we had found an open bottle of cherry brandy and it seemed to me that the taste of my cunt as it lay on the man’s tongue was just like that one sip of cherry brandy stolen so long ago.
Time was clawing at the man’s back like a cat and he rose too soon from the kiss, his prick jutting stiffly from his thighs.  Nervously and trembling with tension he stepped between my knees, bobbed down the  couple of inches necessary to line his prick up with my cunt and eased it into me.
He knew immediately that his was not the first prick to slip into me, and the Power told me that if he were to know in that moment how often and for how many years how many pricks had gone that way before his heart would break. But he didn’t.  All it meant to him was that I was whore/goddess, and that as he had paid for the whore, deserved the whore and had properly worshipped the goddess, his conscience could accept what he was doing.   Had I been virgin, I realise now as I didn’t then, what he was doing would have been Sacrifice and he knew in his heart that he didn’t deserve that.  He would still have done it - his need was driving him too hard - but afterwards his conscience would have demanded atonement which could have destroyed him.  I was Sacrificed on Granpa’s prick, a victim of his mad imaginings, and Epiphany was born to revenge me.
The man’s prick sliding back and forth in me was only knowing the whore and for $100 he could have bought that anywhere.  What he recognised as a precious, once-in-a-lifetime moment for men like him was that he was coupling with a goddess as well.  It was this that was pounding in his heart and singing in his blood as he fucked me, this he was confirming when he lay smoothed gentle palms across my breastless little-girl’s chest as he fucked me, this his eyes were telling him as he watched his prick slide in and out of the vagina in the bald, young fanny between my child’s thin thighs. When his cum burst from him into the tight confines of my vagina it was the unbearably sweet knowledge that he was impregnating a goddess that made him cry out and sag at the knees, and broke out in sweat across his brow, for the whores he had paid in town to receive his seed had never, could never be as sweet.
“Oh Ruth, Ruth, my Angel,” he gasped as the aftershocks of his orgasm wracked him, my Power sharing with me the tingling cascading from his scalp to his toes as his prick twitched and pumped the dregs of his ejaculation into me.  ‘Angel’ pleased me as it proved he was in some way aware of what I was and I was also glad I hadn’t been lying under him when he had come for it would not have been pleasant to have had his soft bulk collapsing on me as his flabby strength left him with his cum.  I didn’t mind the boys lying on me when they fucked me as they weren’t too heavy but I always made Dad fuck me standing between my legs as I didn’t like being squashed under him.
The moment was already past but the man was still clinging to it as he stood with his shrivelling prick in my cunt.  His blood was still burning with the knowledge that he was fucking a goddess - although to him I was just an eleven-year-old girl with a Power he could dimly see - but he was old and flabby and the life was dying from his prick.  Sadly he let it slip out of me and it was gone.
“Are you all right?” he asked me, panting.
It was a surprising question as he had done nothing even remotely capable of harming me in any way.  Puzzled, I looked at him and nodded.
“Good, because I wouldn’t want to hurt you,” he said.  “I could never hurt you.”  I already knew that.  He had seen and felt the Power and although it awed and humbled him he knew it did not threaten him.  In any case the man was too soft and weak for violence.  I sat up on the table and began buttoning up my dress.
“You won’t…..  You won’t tell anyone about this?”  he asked.  I shook my head.  He was stuffing his prick back into his trousers just like Dad and the boys did afterwards.  I slipped off the table onto my feet, my dress falling like a curtain around my hips and hiding my legs to the knees.
The man wanted to cry, my Power told me.  In the huge, still peace left behind by the storm of his orgasm he no longer saw my Power.  He saw only a smallish eleven-year-old girl with straight ash-blond hair half-way down her back in a cheap flower-print summer frock, wearing no socks in her scuffed black lace-up shoes and a serene expression. A smallish eleven-year-old girl he had just fucked.
He had a girl at home like me, I knew. Young and waifish.  Perhaps younger.  Yet not like me in that the Power had not yet woken in her, or been woken.  The serenity he had purchased from me was already being troubled by his thoughts of her, his reawakening need for her only momentarily sated by what he had done with me.  And a need that would return all the stronger as he transposed what he had done with me onto what he wanted to do with her.  He was already seeing her face on his memory of my body spread open to him on the table, feeling my cunt as hers.  If he was no longer aware of the difference between us, overlooked the fact that he saw a Power in me that he didn’t see in his daughter, he would burn to experience in her what he had in me and expect it to affect her as little as it had me.  Now, with his soul at peace, he could see it yet he knew the storm would gather, destroying that peace and the understanding that went with it.  He knew dimly that the little girl he would not hurt for the world was now at far greater risk of such hurt because of what he had done with me.  Perhaps because of me, who had enabled him to have a once-in-a-lifetime experience.  He wanted to cry.  I felt sad but, like my mother when I was sacrificed to his mad beliefs and his lusts on the altar of my grandfather’s lap, there was nothing I could so about it.  He gathered up his strawberries and left.  I added the $100 bill to the $60 in a jar I had stolen from the kitchen and hid the jar very very well.
I never saw him again but four days later another shiny town car pulled up at the stall and another flabby man in a suit climbed out, already tingling with his need and anticipation.
“Hello,’ he said.  “Is your name Ruth?”
“Yes,”  I said.
“Would you like to earn $100?”
So I let him fuck me in the little shed and added the bill to the jar.  And sold him some strawberries.
Two days later two men arrived in the same car and one kept watch while the other fucked me and then they changed over.  Later still one of them arrived with two others in two cars and as one kept watch the other two crowded into the shed with me and one took pictures while the other fucked me, changed over to take more pictures then one went out to keep watch while the third man came in to have pictures taken of him fucking me.
When the strawberries started going soft and mushy so that no-one wanted them the stall was closed down and I had $3, 460 in the jar.  I was glad, though, that it was over for the men who were arriving with the $100 bills in their hands were not, most of them, like that sad first man who had seen the Power in me.  Most of the men thought the power was in the $100 bill so I was just whore to them and I let them bang away at me while I watched the cobwebs wave in the draughts in the shed roof.  They never saw the Goddess and went away without Epiphany.
I went on being whore and Goddess for Granpa, Dad and the boys and when the stall reopened to sell the apples and pears and peaches in the fall I asked that Aaron mind it, because I knew the men would return and I did not like just being whore.  And because of my Power Granpa agreed.
At Christmas I bled for the first time and Mom told me what to do about it.  And about Easter Dad, Joshua or one of the twins got me pregnant.  I know it hadn’t been Aaron because although he was beginning to take an interest in me he hadn’t been able to fuck me properly.
The strawberries were ripe on the plants when I told Mom that my bleedings had stopped again.  She got me to take my dress off, stroked my belly and told me I was going to have a baby.  Granpa, who liked to think he was the only one fucking me, was overjoyed and said it was his Easter Miracle, Dad looked unhappy, Joshua looked proud, the twins were confused, Aaron looked sad and it for me was just too big to comprehend.  Mom just hugged me and told me that God knew best.
As Granpa said I wasn’t to work in the fields in my condition I was sent out to the stall again to sell strawberries and after a week the men started coming back.
Granpa, Dad and the boys had not stopped fucking me as the baby was still very little, although Mom told the boys not to lie on me when they fucked me, and so I let the men who came to the stall fuck me although I didn’t like it.  When the strawberries came to an end I had $9, 472.50 in the jar, as some of the men liked to give me a tip afterwards as well as the $100 up front and three men who made a film of me being fucked in the shed by them, gave me $500.
I also didn’t like it that my tits had begun to grow about the same time my bleedings started  and Grampa, Dad, the boys and the men were all fascinated by them.  They were stroked, fondled, kissed, squeezed, pressed and caressed so often some days that they were almost permanently sore.
Granpa had never allowed Mom to have a bra as he believed their purpose was to thrust a woman’s breasts in a man’s face and he wasn’t about to change that rule for me.  I liked it in that some men looked at them and touched them like they could see the Goddess in them but they could be uncomfortable, too, and some men sucked them so hard it was like they were trying to drink the milk that was not there yet.
By the time the apples started my belly had swollen so that everyone could see it and some of them men who came to the stall went away again without fucking me.  Most stayed, though, and fucked me carefully on the little table in the shed with their hands softly stroking my lump with wonder as though it was the Goddess’s, which I liked.
Then one day yet another shiny town car scrunched to a stop on the gravel in front of the stall and a man climbed out.  He was younger than most and not dressed in a suit as most of them were.  He reminded me of the men who had come to make the film of me being fucked and I wondered if they wanted to make another one, especially as my Power told me that although he’d looked at me and wondered what it would be like to fuck me, his blood was not burning with the need to like it was in most of the men.
“Hello,” he said.  “Are you Ruth?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to have a baby?”
“Yes.”
“Who put the baby in you?”  Some of the other men had asked that one.  Sometimes the answer had made them go away without fucking me and as it was hot and my baby was heavy and my little tits were sore I half hoped it would make this man go away without fucking me. He seemed very kind and friendly but I had known instantly that he had seen nothing of my Power and never would, and I preferred being fucked by the ones who saw my Power because they worshipped the Goddess in me.
“Dad, or one of the boys.  It probably wasn’t Granpa though he thinks it was.  His balls don’t work.”
“How old are you, Ruth?”  A lot of the men wanted to know that.
“Twelve.”
“Uhuh.”  he smiled sadly.  “You gonna be here a while?”
“Uhuh.  While there’s apples to sell.  You gonna buy some?”
“Not today.  But I’ll be back, OK?”
“OK.”
He came back with a nurse and a kind woman in a shiny town car, and three police cars.  While they put me into the back of the car with the nurse and the kind woman the police cars drove on down to the farm.
They took me to a ‘place of safety’ with locks on the doors and bars on the windows.  Men in white coats talked to me, for hours sometimes, and tried to take the whore out of the Goddess which showed that they did not know Epiphany because that’s what the Goddess is. Women tried too, one so old that she told me to think of her as my grandmother, which I couldn’t as I’d never had one, and a pretty young one who had trouble because the whore/goddesss was strong in her and she was fighting her own while trying to fight mine.  She thought she was clever because she had read lots of books and studied.  I though she was silly for ignoring the obvious and fighting the inevitable, and turning her back on the Goddess.
The pain came and  they took me to a place for me to have my baby and I did, and they took it away without letting me see it and wouldn’t even let me know if it was a girl or a boy.
When I was well again I was taken to a different place with no bars on the windows but a high fence around its gardens just one gate which a man in a uniform opened to let people in and out.  There were adults there, some deeply unhappy ones and some blissfully happy ones that lived in their own worlds like Granpa but who had found something better to make them with.  I was in a ward for problem children, which didn’t surprise me as I knew I represented a problem to them as I refused to let them mould me into their image.
Two years passed after the birth of my baby and the Goddess gave me strength.  The people at the institution gave me schooling and because the Goddess told me I needed it I revelled in the truth Granpa hadn’t wanted us to see as it didn‘t fit into his world.  I was, they declared, a highly intelligent girl who would do wonderfully well in their world - if I would only forget the Epiphany born on Dad’s bed six years before and move on.
But I am Epiphany, and would not deny the Goddess.
Then Mike came to the boy’s wing, where they had to send him because he was too young for prison. Mike had the Devil in him.
Not Granpa’s Devil, with horns and hooves and evil intent.  Mike’s Devil was just his defence against what had happened to him and made him clever at looking after himself.  Mike’s Devil recognised my Goddess and each knew they needed the other.
Mike found somewhere we could fuck without getting caught and there one night I told him about the jar with over $10,000 in it hidden by the little roadside stall in the middle of nowhere.  Four nights later we ran.
Mike stole cars and food for us and clothes off washing lines and two nights later I stood again in the little stall with the jar in my hand, looking over the still, dark fields to the light in Mom and Dad’s bedroom, but I didn’t want to go there.
Two days later we reached the city Mike knew and he found a room we could live in from people who didn’t ask any questions.  Mike would go out and bring back men to fuck me while he took the money and we ate well and bought nice things and laughed, for Mike’s Devil wasn’t dark when he laughed.  He took me to a shed where I put on schoolgirl’s clothes or clothes like Shirley Temple’s in the ‘Wizard of Oz’ and films were taken of men fucking me, six men at the same time on one film.
And after that because Mike said it paid better they got me to fuck animals, and although animals cannot see the Goddess her Power could still touch their maleness and made the dogs and horses and the frightened chimpanzee want to fuck me so that the men behind the cameras shook their heads and said ‘fantastic’.
Best paying were the films with the ropes, chains and handcuffs, and the whips, needles and clamps.  I did not understand then what these had to do with the Goddess but she told me I had taken worse under Granpa’s belt and could take it, so I did.
Then it all changed again.
In the shed where they made the films four men were waiting to fuck me for the cameras.  Often the Goddess was quiet at these times for only the men behind the cameras, and the men behind them, saw her while the men who were fucking me didn’t.  But one of those four men did and even when I couldn’t see whose prick it was in my cunt, ass, mouth or hand, I knew which prick was his.
During a break when they were checking the tapes and the men were getting their breath back I talked to him and we arranged to meet next day.  We met, he took me back to his place and we fucked for ourselves, not the cameras and not for money, and I had the first orgasm of my life.
Does that surprise you?  
I was not fucked often during the two years in the institution but often enough during the other six years since Epiphany to claim a very conservative average of three a day, every day.  That’s about nine thousand fucks, by perhaps a thousand different men - Mike had kept me busy - and not one orgasm among them.  Twice as many fucks by the time I was sixteen than most men manage in a lifetime.
But Epiphany is Goddess/whore and whores do not orgasm unless they want to, for that is not their job.  Yet Alan loved me despite the Goddess, the first man to do so, and I could be Goddess without whore for him.  And so I could orgasm.  And orgasm and orgasm.  Alan blew my mind and, because he loved me, I blew his.
At last, exhausted and the quiet after the storm, we talked.  Alan was athletic and handsome, which the men behind the cameras liked for their films, and he did it for the money to help pay his college fees - and because it was fun for a man, of course.  He usually worked for a better company, though, and he took me to them and they defended me when Mike came looking for me.  Then I made for them the classy films you’ve probably seen, and which I’m still making as Alan manages my career and we fuck each other just for love.
A while back I got hold of copies of some the films I’d made before, the dark ones, which wasn’t easy as they are much in demand, from cops most of all.  For the first time I saw myself as men see me and I understood.
A pearl, they say, shines brightest amid shit, and they put me through some shit.  Yet even the men who find it hardest to see the Goddess cannot fail to see her in the steady gaze and serene smile of the little girl transcending the pain of the whip-weals and the needles in her flesh, the clamps crushing her nipples and her clit, the ropes and chains biting into her skin, the joint-stressing contortions on the cross and sinew-wrenching strain of the chains.  And although I did not see it then the Goddess knew, and endured so that even the saddest of men might have Epiphany.
So I have gone back to making those films but with a far better crew and under the direction of the Goddess, and can trust in the man who loves me.  And the future excites me.
Yet this is not quite the end.
Two weeks ago the table next to ours in the restaurant ordered strawberries and as their fragrance reached my nose the Goddess spoke to me of unfinished business.  I cleared my diary for two days, promised Alan I would be back and drove and drove until I was on a road, run-down and dusty, from nowhere to nowhere.  In a broken-down stall beside a table bearing strawberries a young boy sat watching the traffic go by.  I drew in.
“Hello, Aaron,” I said to him.
He did not recognise me, of course.  I was far from the twelve-year-old, pregnant Ruth he had last seen.  The Goddess saw the fear and awe in his eyes as he yearned for her in the me beneath the thousand-dollar shirt and two-thousand dollar jeans.
“It’s me.  Ruth.”
His Epiphany left him panting and quivering as he admitted it to himself,  for only the Ruth he had known could have asked him the questions I did.
The police had questioned them all and must have known that the boys were fucking Mom but they did nothing for I guess it was all too difficult, and with me no longer there they saw no real harm.  Granpa went madder and madder and was taken away to an institution just like mine after he tried to burn the house down with himself in it.  As soon as he was old enough David had run and joined the Army and they had letters from him now and then but Dad was still fucking Mom by night and Joshua, Samuel and Aaron were fucking her by day - for Dad needed them - and she still hadn’t had any more babies.
As he told me all this I saw his eyes on me still dazzled by Epiphany and through the Goddess I knew his thoughts.  When he had finished I took him by the hand and led him into the little tin shed, took off the thousand-dollar shirt and two-thousand dollar jeans and lay on the same rickety table so that my little brother could at last fuck me as he had so often seen his big brothers do, laying at last to rest the envy and jealousy that had been eating at his heart for five years.  
And the peace he at last felt when he came in me made him weep at its beauty, for this is the gift of the Goddess to all men if they only will acknowledge Her.
Dressing again I asked Aaron to let Mom know he had seen me and that I was happy, safe and successful, and missed her.  I asked him not to let Dad or his brothers know lest it starts them yearning for the Goddess they once knew and had lost.  Aaron I promised to visit again, unannounced and for a few moments only as is a Goddess’s way, and I will.  Then I drove away down the road to nowhere again, plume of dust at my tail and the car filled with the sweet scent of the strawberries filling the back seat.

©  Rex Antioch 2003