August Moone
Book 9
Chapter 23
And the Saga Continues
Used Cow for Sale

If cows were philosophers:
	Nietzsche:  to moo is to be
	Sartre:  to be is to moo
	Sinatra:  moo be moo be moo

	An eccentric millionaire wanted a mural painted on his library wall, so he called in an artist.  Describing what he wanted, the millionaire said, “I am a history buff, and I would like your interpretation of the last thing that went through Custer’s mind before he died. I am going out of town on business for a week, and when I return I expect to see it completed.”
	Upon his return, the millionaire went to the library to examine the finished work.  To his surprise he found a painting of a cow with a halo.  Surrounding this there were hundreds of Indians in various stages and different positions having sex.  Furious he called the artist in.
	“What the hell is this?” yelled the millionaire.
	“Why it’s exactly what you asked for.” said the artist smugly.
	“No!  I asked for a mural of the interpretation of Custer’s last thoughts!”
	“And that’s what you have,” said the artist, “it’s “Holy cow, look at all those fucking Indians!”  

	Two cows munching grass in a field, one says to the udder,
	“Mooo!”
	The other cow says, “Hey, I was about to say the same thing!”

	Once there was a man who was in love with a beautiful woman and he wanted to marry her.  The woman told him that before they could get married he would have to ask her father who was a farmer.  So the next day the man went to the farmer and said, 
	“Sir, I love your daughter very much and I would like to ask for her hand in marriage.” 
	The farmer sat there and looked at him for a moment and said, “Alright, I’ll let you marry her, but first you must complete a test!”
	Willing to do anything to be able to marry the girl the man agreed. 
	The farmer explained his “test”, “First you must jump the fence, swim the river and screw the cow in the barn!”
	The man thought that it sounded easy enough so he did it.  (didn’t bat an eye about the “screw the cow” part!)  When he got finished he asked the farmer,
	“So I can I marry your daughter?”
	The farmer couldn’t believe that the man had actually done his test and thought the whole thing rather humorous.  So, the farmer said,
	“To ensure that you have the ability to stay the course (of marriage) I’ll have to ask you to do that task again.”
	So, the man jumped the fence, swam the river, and screwed the cow again!
	When he was finished the man went back to the farmer and asked,
	“How about now?” 
	Of course, by this time the farmer was amazed and wondered if his son in-law prospect would do it a third time.  
	“Ok,” said the farmer, “if you do all that ONE MORE TIME, then you can marry my daughter.”
	So the man did the climbed the fence, swum the river, and fucked the cow in the barn.  When he came back to the farmer this time the farmer was beaming and said, 
	“Ok, NOW you can marry my daughter.”
	The man said, “To hell with you daughter, how much do you want for the cow!?”

*
Used Cow for Sale
	Despite her harrowing ordeal—broken down car on a lonely stretch of back country road; an encounter with a cougar; lost in the darkness of a back country meadow, Morgan Wayhigh had fared fairly well.  She was not a tall girl, very slender, hourglass shaped, amazing smile, enunciated well, could sing very-very well, and suck the chrome off a ’56 Buick’s bumper!
	But she didn’t “suck the bumper off a ’56 Buick’s bumper”; instead, she sucked the life out of her brother’s cock.  On the sly—when no one else was around and most times in private.  Of course, sister Erica was there to suck, too.  But all that sucking (and other assorted naughty business) was risky; the Wayhigh trio messed around in between singing sessions at local churches at their home—when parental units were elsewhere.  Usually, while two were engaged in naughty acts, the third watched for danger—interlopers, parents, drop-by friends, etc.
	At length, though, a few close calls brought the trio to Moose Turdpie’s home.  It was a doublewide with an extended third room plopped down on a good size hunk of real estate.  He liked it; it was private, quaint, quintessential country living without being redneck about.  No engines or discarded tires lying about, no shells of cars or trucks, no refrigerators, old washers, or grass as high as your ass.
	When the trio arrived it was congenial; they were “friends.”  Moose was always glad to see them “drop by.”  How they came to do so was a bit of a mystery, though; Moose had instilled upon to “fool around” and to use extreme caution when doing so.  But he hadn’t had anything to do with them coming to his homestead.  They did so on their own.  After that harrowing encounter with the cougar, then the country doctor—Dr. Zoom, Moose had brought the Wayhigh trio to his home for an evening of—well, you know.  Mostly, though, after the visit with Zoom, Moose wasn’t in the mood for—you know.  Zoom got to “exam” the girls.  He wasn’t into boys so fifteen year old Zach was left out.
	At Moose’s humble home the effects of Zoom’s medicine began to take full effect.  The wound to his leg was numb—inasmuch as was Moose’s mind.  He and Zach smoked some righteous weed while the girls fell asleep.  Come the new morning and Moose still was not in any mood for—you know.  He did have presence of mind to begin dinking with the kids’ minds.  But just preliminary stuff—the fooling around at home without getting caught doing so.
	How they got home on their own from his place was a bit foggy.
	Then they showed up at his place.
	What happened with the cougar had stuck with Morgan.  What happened prior to that; the trek in the back of Moose’s Caddy, the rape in his front seat, her sister in the backseat, all seemed oblivious.  Morgan believed (as did her brother and sister) that Moose had rescued them from the back country road.  Other details remained in a cloud of frog breath.
	So, in the following days, Morgan (and her siblings) came to “drop by” Moose humble estate down that same country road—but in the other direction, there by the sign “USED COW FOR SALE” was a dirt road going half a mile into the wooded meadow.
	Moose was mending but his leg was very sore.
	On the Wayhigh’s first visit he tended to the kids’ minds, re-installing his plan for their incestuous lifestyle—and keeping it to themselves.  Then, subsequent visits more of the same plus—you know.
	It was like family, like family you like and haven’t seen in quite awhile.  The kids were show up and Moose was enlightened.  There was a group hug followed by a hurried usher in so whereas he could plant a kiss on the girls and no one see.  Of course, Moose lived a ways off the road and there were no close neighbors—but paranoia being what it was it was safer to be cautious (and paranoid!)
	After the hugging (and kissing),
	“Take off your clothes.” Moose no longer needed the EMAD to plant messages into the kids’ minds, they were readily accepting and followed thru with his commands.  
	Watching Morgan and sister Erica pleased him—pleased their brother, too!
	Once undressed, Zachary had a raging hard-on as did Moose.
	No sense wasting!
	Morgan went to her knees and Moose went to Morgan.
	Thirteen year old Erica went to her knees and brother Zachary went to her.
	Both girls were pretty and if it weren’t for their age difference, Morgan seventeen and Erica thirteen, they could be twins.  Erica was almost same height as her sister; had the same eyes, smile, and practically body shape.  Nice supple titties, a form beginning, super nice ass, and a great smile.  She had braces, her light brown hair was swept to the left while her sister’s was to the right.
	And naked she was a charm!
	After a few Ups and Downs and Moose pulled out to hump the girl’s face.  He loved doing that!  Morgan suckled his ball sac and while watching Erica suck Zachary he began to blast a hot load squirting his icky goo onto Morgan’s hair.  She suckled his balls until all his milky cream was emptied.  Then she sucked his dick some more to fully drain him.
	And inasmuch as Zachary loved fucking his sister’s mouth, he also loved fucking his sister’s cunt (and asshole.)  The girl (on her own) turned about presenting herself.  Zachary smiled and positioned himself up against the girl dragging his slobbered on cock up and down Erica’s cunt crack and asshole.  This put Moose into high gear and he put Morgan in same position.
	Good Christian family the Wayhighs; they prayed before every meal, they prayed upon rising from bed, prayed before going to bed; they sang in their church and sang in other churches.  Then, they got naked and had incestuous sibling love.
	Good Christian family.
	Moose enjoyed the trio; with just a little mind warping they had become pleasing—but the downside was they were willing.  Too willing.  For Moose, he seemed to prefer his Subjects to be a little more LESS willing.  He wanted control but he didn’t want zombies.  He wanted willing but not so much as there was no overpowerment.
	Regardless, he enjoyed the siblings and their antics.  In the days that came (after his wound healed) more antics performed by himself were to be facilitating his “overpowerment” desires.  Stay tuned!

*

Cow Logic
TRADITIONAL CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You sell one and buy a bull.  Your herd multiplies, and the economy grows.  
You sell them and retire on the income.

AMERICAN CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You sell three of them to your publicly listed company, using letters of credit opened by your brother-in-law at the band; then execute a debt/equity swap with an associated general offer so that you get all four cows back, with a tax exemption for five cows.  The milk rights of the six cows are transferred via an intermediary to a Cayman Island company secretly owned by the majority shareholder who sells the rights to all seven cows back to your listed company.  The annual report says the company owns eight cows, with an option on one more.  Sell one cow to buy a new president of the United States, leaving you with nine cows.  No balance sheet provided with the release.  The public buys your bull.

AN AUSTRALIAN CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You sell one, and force the other to produce the milk of four cows. You are surprised when the cow drops dead.

FRENCH CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You go on strike because you want three cows.

JAPANESE CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You redesign them so they are one-tenth the size of an ordinary cow and produce twenty times the milk.  You then create clever cow cartoon images called Cowikimon and market them worldwide.

A GERMAN CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You reengineer them so they live for 100 years, eat once a month, and milk themselves.

AN ITALIAN CORPORATION
You have two cows, but you don’t know where they are... You break for lunch.

A RUSSIAN CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You count them and learn you have five cows.
You count them again and learn you have 42 cows.
You count them again and learn you have 12 cows.
You stop counting cows and open another bottle of vodka.

A SWISS CORPORATION
You have 5000 cows, none of which belong to you. You charge others for storing them.

CHINESE CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You have 300 people milking them.
You claim full employment, high bovine productivity, and arrest the newsman who reported the numbers.

A BRITISH CORPORATION
You have two cows... both are mad.

A NEW ZEALAND CORPORATION
You have two cows... and the one on the left is kinda cute...

*

Mega overpowerment
	As far as “super stores” go, Super Store was super!  It was a mega store containing all the things to improve your life or at least stabilize it to the point whereas your neighbors hate you.  For Moose Turdpie, though, he had no neighbors so the point was moot.  He liked the mega store, it was a bit of a drive, out of Town and on the edge of City.  A home improvement store was there, a whole row of fast food places, a couple of restaurants, pet store, pizzeria, car wash, and park.
	Moose had found some unique nuances with the EMAD.  Along with the mind altering function buttons there were some other sensory buttons he didn’t know or was familiar with.  Two buttons were unmarked and he felt wise to leave those alone.  One button, however, was of particular interest:  Gray World.
	Now, what the fuck did that mean?
	Of course there was only one way to find that out.
	A mild case of the heebie-jeebies, though, kept him from depressing that button.  A creepy feeling overwhelmed him and he didn’t like it.  Curiosity was a bitch, though, and after his leg had healed sufficiently and those familiar “desires” ushered him back to the world—the time had come.
	For some reason he decided against finding out what the special button eluded to at home.  He didn’t feel comfortable traipsing into unknown territory at home where there was the possibility of fucking something up.  Then he would have nothing to go back to as sanctuary—in case of that zombie apocalypse thing.
	But, no; no zombies, no mad cows, no “end of the world.”  Parked in the lot of the mega store parking lot on a warm midday the time had come.  Midweek and the lot was not too full of patrons.  The temp was in the low 100s; there was a breeze—warm; it was a nice day.
	With a sign, Moose depressed the button.
	Nothing.
	He waited.
	And waited.
	And then waited some more.
	Then,
	The clouds.
	The clouds above him had been thin white things that suddenly turned thin gray things.  All around him and the world that was of “color” became—gray.  It was a little unnerving.  The inside of his car remained the same, but that was all.  All the cars of the lot had suddenly disappeared.  The few tress were still there; no air movement.
	No nothing.
	The building was still there, the trees, light standards, shopping carts.  But the cars and people—gone.  Creepy.  There, too, was a weird feeling of—of a feeling he couldn’t describe.  And as he moved out of his car he felt like maybe a sumo wrestler was sitting on his chest.  More creepy.
	How bad had he fucked up his life?
	Could what he done be undone?
	He sighed—and the invisible sumo wrestler settled in.
	As he made footsteps he noted—no sound.  More creepy.
	Selecting a small rock from the tree container he gave it a toss.
	Nothing.  No sound.
	Hmmm
	He cleared his throat; clapped his hands, banged a trolley (shopping cart).
	Nothing.  Creepy.
	Feeling a little creeped out he sat back in his car.  Then,
	He pressed the button again.
	At first, nothing.
	Then, he noted the clouds—once wispy strands of white, then gray, and then back to white.  There was a strange “rush” like when one is in a rollercoaster going “over the top” and going at “break your neck” speeds to the bottom.  It was also not unlike landing in an airplane—something of which always made Moose ill (sick bags were a godsend!)
	And just like that he was back in the real world.
	Creepy.
	Not knowing exactly what had happened—or how, Moose sat in the car and waited.  And waited.  Then waited some more.  Then he drove home.  Few things unnerved him; dishonesty in marketing—half a package of cereal and the rest “air”; cockroaches—‘nuff said; non-discreet public breast feeding; and the unknown.
	The Gray World was an “unknown.”
	He didn’t know what it meant—or if it meant anything at all.
	Summer heat had brought a lull to the meadows he passed on his way home. Tiny titmice and bright yellow warblers stayed close to watering places out in those meadows.  June bugs and other assorted noisy insects sang in raspy voices.  It reminded Moose that it was summer and it was a time to slow his pace and look around.  Hay bales dotted the meadows, corn swayed in the slight breeze; stinkweed, mint, catnip, and herb geranium filled the air.  Evening was alive with the songs of the meadow.

	Other than the ’59 Caddy there was a modern big ass domestic American pickup truck.  Dark metallic gray with big ass tires, four doors with extra cab, heavy tinted windows, lots of chrome and testosterone!  A few days after the Gray World experiment and Moose’s unnerving had settled.  So much so that he was willing to traipse into the unknown again.
	And again, it was at the super mega super store.
	Why?
	Why not!?
	He was in his big ass domestic American truck, too.
	Why?
	No idea, he was still unnerved and felt that his big ass domestic American truck was more secure than his open air convertible Cadillac.  Maybe.  He was still uncertain as to what the Gray World pertained to.  If anything.  He was willing to give it a try—and hopefully be able to return to the real world should it turn badly.

	No wispy clouds but big fat puffy ones; one reminded Moose of a joint.
	The parking lot was lightly packed; the day was mildly warm.  He waited.  There was contemplation, consideration, re-consideration, trepidation.  Once he had gone to the Gray World.  And once he had returned.  Could it be done again?  Could he go willy-nilly to-and-fro with ease and no hangups?  That was the rub; what if there was one time no going back—to the real world.
	That would suck.
	The Gray World, from his first visit, seemed lifeless.  Empty and void.
	A pretty girl in red gym shorts, flat chested, pinkish flowery tank top, bouncy sandy blond hair, pink braids cross his path.  She was about 9yrs or so.  Nice little butt.  Moose figured she was probably a virgin.  Then there was a boy following with parental units in tow.  The boy was a couple years older; by his looks and association with the girl and adults he was the brother.  Moose assumed he had seen the girl naked.  Was he fooling sexually with her?  Did he want to?
	The family moved on to the mega store.
	The puffy white clouds lingered lifelessly in the azure blue sky.
	Moose pressed the Gray World button.
   
Gray World
	The other two buttons that were unmarked were of interest, too.  But the Gray World button was what he depressed and the Gray World was what he got.  A lifeless world.  Void of color, moving air, and sound.  No people, either.  No cars, trucks, birds, living matter.  The shopping carts were there along with the building.  Odd.
	He waited.  And waited.  Then waited a little more before taking steps towards the mega store mega building.  The lack of sound was annoying; the lack of “air” another annoyance.  And the further he got away from his truck—the more he felt uneasy.  He realized, too, that his hand clutching the EMAD was tight.
	At the garden shop double doors that usually zipped open upon walk-up—
	They remained shut.
	A little effort, though, and they opened—and stayed open.
	Inside, no lights.
	Creepy.
	It was a hallow experience—more than just being that “after hours.”
	No air conditioning, no air currents, no nothing.
	With a sigh—that he couldn’t hear, he moved into the store.
	Natural light from the big bay windows helped but there were areas in the mega building that were “dark.”  He should have brought a flashlight.  And that would have been interesting—would the light emitting torch work in the Gray World?
	Inside the main part of the store he paused.  Shaking the creepy feeling that enveloped him just wasn’t happening.  He was hard pressed to keep himself planted rather than bolting back to his truck.  Slowly, though, letting out his breath he took more steps.
	The aisles were clear.  No clutter.  All neat and orderly.
	A shopping cart aka. trolley was nearby.  Moose stared at it then took possession of it.  In the middle of the large transit aisle was a stack of soda cases.  Moose took one and plopped it into the cart.  Then said, “Fuck it.” and plopped in two more.  Then made way to the liquor aisle.
	A bottle of whiskey—good whiskey—expensive whiskey; two cases of beer and he was off the snack aisle.  To the medicine aisle nextly; then the camping area; paint department; hardware, clothes, jewelry, and then (with TWO carts full) made his exit.
	He didn’t feel badly about making off with the store’s inventory.  It was an experiment doncha know!  After unloading the carts he plopped himself back inside his ride and depressed the Gray World button.
	Watching the skies and the lingering clouds he smiled when the puffy gray clouds turned their usual white.  Then, there were cars, people, and a breeze.  The real world.
	A trek back into the store was next.
	He noted the “missing” cases of soda and beer.
	He noted the automatic doors.
	He noted the air conditioning.
	He bought a flashlight w/batteries and returned to his truck.

Creepy Part Two
	The flashlight didn’t work in the Gray World, and popping a soda pop?  No “pop” sound and no fizz.  Also no taste.  But, once in his truck and the Gray World gone and the Real World alive, the flashlight worked and the soda pop had taste.  He had gone home the first visit to the mega store.  Unloaded his ill-gotten goods, then stayed home brooding.  Contemplating.  For one thing, why would a device such as the mind controller have a means to thwart reality?
	And what were those two unnamed buttons?
	The Gray World, once he got used to it, could be fun—still creepy, but fun.
	There was some fret regarding “unknowns.”  What if something went wrong?  What if he were stuck in the Gray World?  That would suck.  With no sound, no life, no taste?  The lack of people would also make that existence unappealing.  Still, though…

	Using the Gray World feature and Moose was able to “stock up” on sodas, bread, batteries, beer, whiskey, toilet paper, and snacks.  And a thought crossed his mind—‘what about a bank?’
	A bank.
	That was an interesting proposal.
	A casino, too.
	Using the Gray World he could just waltz into a bank vault and “help himself”.  Interesting.  Very-very interesting.
	Hanging at the mega store was good enough—for now.  And some weeks after the initial visit he sat brooding once more.  Contemplating.  Contemplating.  Contemplating.  There were many choices, decisions, pauses for thought.  At length, ‘life’s been good.’ and as he sat outside his humble abode he thumbed the first unmarked button.
	You know that feeling when you “suddenly” get up to fast?
	You know that feeling when you are in one of those logs at the waterpark and it plummets over a drop-off?
	You know that feeling when you’re standing still and the world rushes past you at break neck speeds?
	You know that feeling when you’re wearing a dog cone and all that happens at once?
	Same thing.
	It was the most eerie feeling ever.  His vision was not blurred per se but it was distorted.  And the “dog cone” effect was in full force.  The world did appear to be “rushing” towards him; and there was a strange warbling sound accompanying.
	  And standing up?  Forget about it.  He got instantly ill; but knowing where the handrails were he was able to steady himself and stand up on the bottom step of the steps to his home.  What did it mean?  That ill feeling became a flush feeling, mostly in his face but then his chest and then everywhere else.
	The warbling sound was likened to those 1950s sci/fi shows featuring those flying saucers.  He could see his world; there didn’t seem to be any change, no difference.  It was in color; whether or not there was air movement, life, and so on wasn’t rightly known—he couldn’t tell due to the annoying “warbling” and distorted view.
	So what did it mean?
	There certainly was something to it; the button was unmarked—that meant something.  Didn’t it?  Just then and who should show up—the Wayhigh trio.  As they drove up he waited, casually.  Erica was out first; she was really a pretty girl, good body style, her smile, her speech, mannerisms, and cock sucking abilities.

	“Moose?” she called out.
	Hmmm
	Zachary hoped out and looked around for his back country friend.
	Morgan honked the horn.
	Moose leaned against his truck.  He waved.  The trio made way to the trailer steps apparently not seeing Moose at his truck.  The kids came up onto the deck and knocked on the door.  Moose was curious.  How was it that they didn’t see him?  He pondered—and the obvious assumption was that they didn’t!
	And checking himself in the side mirror of his mega truck proved.
	No reflection!
	He wasn’t there!
	Pecking at the mirror—substance.
	He could “feel” his truck, he could feel himself.
	Walking up to the steps he stood right in Zachary’s path as the boy came down saying something “Maybe he’s out back.” And Moose had to step aside lest he be trampled on.
	Invisible!  He was freaking invisible!
	Hmmm

Things that make you go hmmm
	The second button was just going to have to wait.  The first button was fun!
	Invisibility!  That was a unique experience.  Took a little getting used to; but once he did—
	The Little Church in the Woods.
	The Little Church in the Woods had a draw of about fifty peoples, give or take.  Some Sunday mornings were more—depending on who was preaching, who was singing, was there a lunch afterwards.  Moose wasn’t into church; someone yelling at him if he didn’t follow an unseen entity then he was going to Hell.  And, oh yeah, pay up to attend, too.
	Moose went to church on completely different reason.  Young pretty girls.
	That was the only reason.
	There were a lot of “reasons”, too.  Choices, lots and lots of choices.
	Choice One; teenage girl in a yellow top w/jeans, white sandals.  Bouncy blond hair, lightly tan, sweet smile, very bright white teeth, emerald eyes.  A pretty, about thirteen year young.  She was with a small group of her peers—they, too, were pretty.  Some boys hung loosely about and Moose was sure for certain that the boys, although dressed nice and polite and all, they would jump at the chance to jump the girls’ bones.
	But first!
	Chelsea Milkfed.
	Nice teenage breasts, good form of body all around.  He had heard her sing and she wasn’t so bad.  He wanted to hear her fart, though.  Waiting for the opportune moment took a few moments.  At length, though, just as service began, the girl wandered away from her peeps and to the bathroom located on the outside of the building.  Moose went the long way around then initialized the unmarked button designated as “invisibility” or “cloak” button.
	It was still a creepy situation but he dealt with it and entered the WOMENS restroom.  No one else was within.  Target Chelsea was in a stall pissing just pulling up her pants.
	‘stop.’ he minded electronically.
	Chelsea stopped midway hiking up her clothes.
	‘open the door.’
	Chelsea, holding onto her pants and panties with one hand opened the door with the other.  Moose eyed the girl then stepped inside the stall.  Strangely, she smelled of lemons.  She was a very pretty girl and Moose took a moment to look her over—then had her release her clothes.  A little fingering then he was lifting her yellow lemony top going after her breasts.
	Someone came into the bathroom.
	Moose braced himself against the stall door placing his feet up on the toilet.
	The “someone” washed their hands in the basin, farted then left.
	Moose resumed his antics realizing that there was probably more appropriate places for his shenanigans than the bathroom.  Whipping out his cock, though, he placed it into the girl’s mouth having her suck him.  It felt good.  A few Ins and Outs and he was out humping her very pretty face.  Angling the girl for vaginal penetration just was too awkward.  Moving the girl out of the stall was better—but more risky.
	Having a great need to “get some” from the teen other than the simple and quick blowjob, he minded her instructions to go out of the bathroom, down the walk, around the building, and to the big gray truck.  
	Well, that was the plan.
	The girl was out of the stall and he was hiking up her clothes when the bathroom door opened again.  Quickly he moved himself and the girl to the space open for where a stall was supposed to be but wasn’t.  And in a panic depressed the second unmarked button.
	To explain what happened?  He couldn’t.  His Subject, Chelsea, seemed to be suddenly enveloped in a sandy/grainy egg shaped cocoon.  What did that mean?  Then, as the intruder neared—more panic ensued and so Moose depressed the 1rst unmarked button.

	There was another option, the regular Panic button that flashed bombazling the minds of all those around in a near circumference.  It was for emergencies, or to wallop the minds of several Subjects at once.  But panic being what it was he chose button One.
	As he figured it; he was invisible—and so was Chelsea.
	Hmmm
	Interesting.
	Then,
	After the intruder left, Moose maintained the invisibility/cloak effect finding that he could merge with Chelsea.  And though she hadn’t been effected by the EMAD’s initial ability of mind blasting she was stunned nevertheless.  That was interesting, too.  Pausing for a moment or two while contemplating, Moose at length pulled the girl’s pants and panties down, then laid her on the mostly clean vinyl floor.  Her yellow top was moved up and Moose moved down.
	Fingering Chelsea’s pussy washed away some of the lingering concerns he had regarding the new finds of the EMAD.  Finger! Finger! Finger!  Cupping the girl’s ass was also good.  Sliding his cock into the virgin poon was the best.  The girl made a little yelp.  Moose made a gentle slid penetration; the girl’s nipples hardened; someone ELSE came into the bathroom—but didn’t notice (apparently) Moose’s presence—or the fact that he was putting it to a naked teenage girl on the floor!
	He went IN and OUT and IN and OUT and—
	BLAM!  The orgasm was quick.  Usually he lasted a little longer.  He wasn’t pent up—thanks be to Morgan and Erica Wayhigh.  But only a few pumps and his nuts exploded sending a tremendous wave of spunk into the virgin teen.  He continued to hump, though, stretching his cock to the max.  His fascination fell to the girl’s nice supple titties.  Sucking them, nipping the nips and there was a resurgence of orgasmic bliss.

Morals?  Never heard of him.
	A week passed before returning to church—and a different church, too.
	During the week?  More deciphering the idiosyncrasies of the EMAD and its hidden buttons.  And all testing was done at home or at the mega store.  And as a try out for his new found demoralizer, this happened—
	In the garden section among the zinnias and gardenias a cute little girl ran amok playing hide-n-seek with her younger brother.  The Subject was about seven years young, black, and cute as could be.  Moose wanted to “test” the EMADs hidden functions—so he did.

	He was wary of the security cameras and wasn’t sure how they would react to his “sudden” disappearance or the little girl’s.  But once the deed was done he waited just a moment before scooting out of the area and to his truck parked off to the side along where trees were planted and usually where the employees parked.
	To be amazed at the ability of the EMAD would be an understatement.
	He was awed.
	And his Subject was totally mind zapped and unawares.
	Laying her in the floor behind the cab seats and he paused.  A looksee for security purposes and then he crawled up into the mega truck, switched on the a/c and paused once more.  Then,
	Whitney Nothouston; seven years young, African-American, soft jet black hair, beautiful skin, beautiful smile, happy-go-lucky kid.  She wore short knee length jeans and a flowery tank top.  Moose loosened the pants then pulled them on off.  The girl had been “released” from the 2nd Button effect but the EMAD kept her mind lulled.
	Lavender panties.  A nice pair of fairly new and clean undies.  Moose began an earnest bout of fingering the girl’s cunny thru her panties before removing them.  She appeared to be a virgin.  Going down on the girl he licked, nipped, and devoured the girl’s cunny before schlepping his schlong to the virgin territory and humping the slit.
	Other than a visit from the Wayhigh trio he hadn’t engaged sexually in a week.  Saving himself.  Poking his prick’s head to the girl’s smooth pussy thrilled him causing his balls to surge—and then purge.  Gobs of cum blasted hotly onto the girl’s quim with some going in as he prick managed to work just inside the child’s snatch.
	Pushing the girl’s legs back he attempted anal entry.
	That was a no-go and would require more work.
	He did straddle her chest and finish his debauchery in her mouth.

Conduct that is considered contrary to the community standards of justice, honesty, and good morals
	Chelsea, Whitney, and our next contestant—
	Laci Martwall!
	She was an odd duck; not too tall, very-very slim (skinny as a bean pole), no butt, no chest.  There was this kinky weird hair on her head and a high pitched voice, too.  But she was friendly, knowledgeable of where items were in the store, and was quirky enough to get Moose’s attention.
	In her late 20s, Laci Martwell had Moose’s interest.  Her hairdo was that kinky perm kind; brown, with ribbons and such embedded in it.  She was friendly enough, knowledgeable, and Moose just had to see her naked.  Just had to!
	She also had a long narrow face, and when one hand wasn’t busy tasking the other was twisting on the side of her face.  When she farted—Moose just knew he had to see the production hole.  The woman had to be about a “zero” in the waist, and an “A” cup on the chest.  A fascinating woman.
	Zapping her mind with the EMAD was easy; then it was a once over to see what accruements she may have in the way of security—tracking devices, EMAD detector/preventor, and the like.  When said devices were deactivated the Subject was directed out of the store and to Moose’s truck.  He followed via a different out door then meandered his way to his mega ride and helped the quirky woman inside.
	As with Whitney, he laid her out on the floor for a quickie.
	A moment was needed to look the woman over.  She was out of his usual age range, but that was ok—exceptions were alright (now and then.)  Laying on the girl but not so much as to crush her, he took his time looking her over.  Hazel eyes, soft enough skin, light perfume.  She wasn’t overly sexually appealing; but maybe once naked that would change.
	Sitting back up he removed her shoes, socks, and then eased down her pants.  She wore a belt with the uniform slacks—the size she wore was the smallest uniform slacks offered.  She basically had no hips.
	Green tinted cotton panties, French cut.
	And when he tugged the undies down—he was mildly shocked to see the lack of pubes.  Not one!  She wasn’t a virgin; evidence plain by the pouting “lips.”  But was that from dick or something other.  Strangely, Moose didn’t pry into her mind.  He had a hard-on.
	He wasn’t overly sexually attracted to the woman, he just wanted to see her naked.  A fuck was not an option but a requirement that would follow.  But that wasn’t the point; Laci W was beyond his age prerequisite; and there was the other criteria, too—her looks, lack of titties, like of body form overall.  But still, there was something—something about her oddness.  To Moose, he realized that just seeing her naked regardless of her age and looks got his dick hard.
	Off came her deep blue top and he was correct; her titties were “A” cup, small.  A handful, palm full was all there was of the titty department.  He didn’t mind, most girls of his normal criteria didn’t have titties to begin with!  Oh, well.  He enjoyed them just the same—he was able to engulf the whole titty!
	But the object of his affection was the gal’s hairless poon.
	He licked it on introduction; kissed it, sucked it, nipped the lips, then drove his tongue into it getting a plethora of cunt juices flowing onto his nose.  It was awesome!  The woman was gripping the carpet, bucking his face, and cumming—just from his eating her out!  Awesome!

	Gliding his cock up and down the quirky woman’s poon was intense.  Strange, but not unique feelings, surged thru his loins.  He was more than tantalized and could only glide his cock up and down about a minute before plunging in.  Despite her lack of virginity she was a snug fit.  Moose glided in part way, pulled out, and wondered casually if he had been missing something all the time he was pursuing young’uns?
	Then he wondered—‘where the hell’s my cock going?’ the woman was so small that it was mind boggler; his cock was “more than average” and the woman he was putting it into was—less than average.  His cock was much more than the woman’s pussy interior.  He was sure he was busting thru her cunny cavity.
	Oh well.  It was a good fuck so he went for it.
	And not all of his cock did fully insert.  But that was ok.  Laci was thrashing about—her mind in a whirl of blur and sexual frenzy.  She was a wild one in the sack!  That, too, was a mind bending boggler.  Straight laced Laci was a lion and not a kitten!
	After a righteous-righteous fuck he knew that he had to do her again.
	And maybe more?  Up the ass, some spanking, in the mouth?  There was no point of trying for a titty fuck.  Sitting up he spotted a woman and her young daughter walking down the parking aisle.  Dressing, Moose slipped out of his truck and unloaded his cart he had left there by its side.  The Subjects neared.
	Unlike other visits, Moose actually paid for his purchases and afterwards after emptying the cart he gave it a gentle shove across the parking aisle to kiss the sidewalk the opposite side cars parked against—instead of pushing said cart some car spots over to where those carts were corralled.
	“Excuse me!  Excuse me!” said the Subject woman flagging Moose down.
	“You shouldn’t shove those carts across the road like that—” she bitched, “people and cars could get hit.”
	Moose smiled at her, shook his head, “I didn’t see anyone and you weren’t that close.”
	“That’s not the point—” griped the woman, and she went on to tell him (off) why.
	Moose took the verbal lashing—in his mind he was lashing her—with his cock!  Seemed like a good idea—so, on the sly, he zapped her (electronically.)  The little girl also got hit (electronically.)  Then both were loaded into the truck; the woman down alongside Laci and the little girl on the bench seat.
	Moose then fired up the truck and moseyed out of the mega lot.

	His cock still ringed with the doings of Laci.  His mind was on Laci; he thought somewhat of Morgan and Erica, Chelsea, Whitney, the Gray World, the two new buttons, and then the two new added passengers.
	His attention to the two new added additions was brought on by the woman who began moaning—and moving about.  The EMAD readout revealed her brain wave patterns fluctuating with the diode lights connected to her brain wave patterns flickering.  That wasn’t good.
	The girl, too, was moving about and talking.
	Moose wasn’t sure but guessed the EMAD was taxed; using the extra abilities probably drained the Device’s nifty mind holding abilities.  Moose made a clicking/sucking sound with his tongue to his teeth.  One of those dissatisfaction sounds of discouragement.  Noting the gas gauge on his truck he made a quick stop at a station, grabbed some snacks and drinks and headed for the back country.

What happens in the back country…
	On a fading wood plank sign alongside the country road:  
“Tractor for sale  No seat  No steering wheel
  Perfect for the farmer who has lost his ass and nowhere to turn”
	Laci remained in a state of funk.
	Lorrianne wrestled in place; in her mind she was “tied up” but she was not so.  But the more she began to wrestle the more she began to thrash about and “free” herself.  Her nine year old daughter, Amber, quietly cried and was also “tied up” in her mind.
	In a remote location by Fart Lake—correction, Farr Lake (damn kids keep changing that last letter!) Moose parked his mega truck; made a security check, then crawled into the passenger area behind the cab.  Lorrianne was having a fit and almost to the point of frothing at the mouth.  Her nine year old daughter was crying and had wet herself.
	That made the choice easy—who to do first.
	Short green pants the girl had on; Moose slid them down (and off) followed by her shoes and ankle socks.  Matching green panties the child wore with a lime green bathing suit top to conceal her burgeoning breasts.  Moose made a quick admiration then slipped off his own clothing.  The naked Laci made some squirms, then farted.
	Amber lay wriggling some; her pussy was bald and enticed Moose greatly.  He firstly went down on the girl, never minding the fresh urine.  He munched, sucked, nipped, and drove his tongue into the girl’s crevice while her distraught mother on the floor freaked the fuck out.  So outraged was the mommy that she couldn’t speak.
	For full shock effect and did the monstrous Moose lay his cock against the girl’s cunny and hump thereon.  The girl’s mommy was going insane.  And it was a marvel to Moose that although she was not restrained her mind told her so and the mind was a marvelous thing.
	The woman’s mind told her, convinced her, that she was tethered.  But she wasn’t.  She wrestled on the floor while on the bench seat above her naked daughter was being horrendously molested—raped.
	Moose wasn’t penetrating—not yet.  He merely grinded his manhood against Amber’s pussy, gouged the head into the slit, but didn’t penetrate.  He did, though, move up to straddle her chest and hump between her beginning titties.  Then, with a hand to the back of her head force her to kiss (and then suck) his cock.
	Lorrianne was out of her mind.
	Amber began to weep and show signs of “awareness.”
	Moose retrieved his EMAD noting that the girl WAS aware—as was her mother.  More than was acceptable—but in their minds they were restrained, so that helped.  But the woman and daughter’s antics were annoying.  They thrashed about, cried, made demands…
	Moose undressed the woman—who fought him with the thrashing of her body, twisting, and trying to kick him.  Which only further amused Moose as the woman was unable to actually lash out at him, kick or pummel him with her “bound” hands.
	Pawing her mommy breasts and the woman just went berserk.  But it only enthralled the pawer who tweaked the woman’s nipples before schlepping his salami between for her own titty fuck.  Lorrianne wasn’t into that shit and Moose’s EMAD couldn’t make her.  The “lights” indicating how much control the Device had flickered in the yellow—and that wasn’t good. There was control, and still control in her mind that she was restrained.  That WAS good.
	Forcing her legs open and Moose re-positioned himself driving his bone into her cunny.  She was a furry cunted woman sporting a rearing pissed off unicorn just to the right of her pussy.  Moose drove most the way in then pulled out to hump the gash.  Lorrianne wrenched herself side to side as well as beat Moose’s sides with her knees.
	Her efforts only thrilled Moose—he liked ‘em a little lively rather than “zombie-like.”  Returning his cock into her recess and he slid almost all the way in again, then pulled out to hump the gash.  Above them, on the lengthwise bench seat, and the woman’s young daughter stared in awe at the happening to her mother.
	Moose smiled, “Watch this!” he said to her and drove his cock all the way into the woman and began to pump vigorously.  Lorrianne stopped her thrashing; her face took on an “OMG” look, her eyes bulged, mouth open big enough to hide a moonshine still.  Then her breath was taken away, replaced by chuffing—that sound steam locomotives make while sitting idle.
	 Moose ploughed the road driving his manly manhood DEEPLY into the womanly crevice stemming off the tide of cum that was ready to blast.
	Little Amber was awed; Laci was gassy.
	Moose pumped like a wild man; Lorrianne thrashed about like a wild woman. Her eyes bulged, her nipples hardened, she made haughting breaths and was in a state of disbelief.  Moose’s cock did wonders for her!
	And brought her to a wonderful climax!
	“Oh, my God!” she uttered, “NOOOOOoooooo!”
	Despite the fact that it was rape, it also felt good.  Like a scratch you know that you shouldn’t scratch but fuck it—it feels good!  Lorrianne submitted to the ordeal—but inasmuch as so far as it pertained to herself.  When the man raping her fixated himself to her daughter she once more went into hysterics.
	Moose once more planted his mouth to the nine year old’s pissy pussy and sucked it.  His tongue snaked into the youngster’s cunt driving her a little crazy with sexual awe, too.  A little pussy massaging, expert fingering, and a few minutes from after when he had fucked her mother he was sliding into virgin pussy.
	Lorrianne was having none of that and “broke” the restraints restraining her.
	Oopsy.
	A little tussle, a knee to the balls, a hard-hard slap to the face, and Moose Turdpie had his hands full.  She was a little more livelier than he wanted.  Still, though, he was stronger than she and managed to knee her pussy.  That disabled her long enough for him to grab real restraints—rope, cuffs, duct tape, and a hand-dandy cow motivator—an electronic cattle prod.
	Jamming the electronic device designed to “motivate” a stubborn moo-moo into Lorrianne’s fresh fucked snatch box and the young 30-something woman settled right the fuck out.  This gave time for Moose to secure her via rope, handcuffs, and duct tape (all the while she twitched.)
	After a few minutes (and the woman and settled down) Moose got her attention; then lifted Amber’s legs and spanked he hell out of her.  Lorrianne, in typical fashion—freaked the fuck out.  Amber’s tender white ass turned beet red.  Moose held nothing back and smacked the girl until his hand got hot.  Then, while the girl screamed in agony, he raped her.

Sunshine, wild catnip, wild herb heather, freshly plopped down cow dung
Moonshine, lazy dog on porch, farm made wine, cow piss
	Boone Drunkskunk made the best homemade wine in the county and everyone knew it.  Wild raspberries was one concoction, elderberry was another.  It was similar to moonshine and would definitely knock your dick in the dirt.  After messing with Lorrianne and Amber (and the gassy Laci), Moose needed a drink.

	On the back country county road he tooled along coming to Rooster’s Nest.
	On appearances it was as redneck as you could get; an old rusting Cadillac hearse off to one side—next to the sofa swing swinging between to huge elms.  Then, a toilet with flowers growing out of the basin and herbs out of the tank.  A stack of tires, a fountain made of colored empty wine bottles, an old 1930s wringer washer with tomatoes growing out of it; a Harley lawnmower; an old school bus buried in the ground serving as an “emergency” haven should the Powers That Be Get a Case of the Dumbass; and then the classic blue/white 1950s style travel trailer that had long since given up the chance to travel.
	The property was surrounded by large stands of trees and shrubs; from the main road it was ½ a mile to the sofa swing swinging.  A pasture was on three sides; a creek, rolling rustic and lush hills, and a tall as treetops tower supposedly to bring in television and radio signals from as far away as Canada—Russia, China…
	The fellow who lived there lived alone—and he made wine.
	Moose and the redneck wine maker were friends—they were back-ups for each other should something in their world go awry.  The redneck wine maker was a short fellow, 5’10, and of average weight.  He was muscular, well built, and his raven black hair was trim above his ears and all around.
	A friendly smile and blue eyes greeted Moose.  They shook hands and took a seat on the extended porch.  There was a second blue/white 1950s trailer snugged up to the first one making it a double wide.  A jar of ‘shine was offered to Moose who took the offering and gave no indication that he had “passengers.”
	The hour was late; gnats and mosquitos made pests of themselves as did the uncomfortable air.  The men talked shop; discussing local politics, the new shopping center, the sheriff, state of the union, state of the planet, and back to politics.
	“Seems like Andy Bytheduck’s got himself a hot one.” Rooster said mentioning.
	“Yeah, that cunt running against him is a royal twat!”
	“His sidekick’s offering some money up to trim her pubes.”
	“Oh?”
	Moose wasn’t in the need for money, nor was Rooster.
	Rooster was ex-CIA, former Army Intelligence, retired Ops.  Not long after he moved to the spot he now claimed and aptly dubbed Rooster’s Nest and did he come upon a news story of horrifying nature.  A young mother was raped by a black man.  The happen was in the nearby town with a bigger population (and more black people, Asians, and a small population of Greeks.)
	The mother was raped in her own home and her six year old daughter was forced to watch.  The man escaped minutes before the hubby arrived.
	That man made a statement on the local television news cast that it would be better if the cops got to the “nigger bastard” before he did.  The man was plainly racist and didn’t give a rat’s ass who knew it.  But most folk who knew Randy Polekat knew that he was a bonafide racist.
	As it turns out, Rooster knew of the black man, Bo Stickit.  The man worked as a handyman and Rooster required his services when moving in to the Nest.  Thereafter they drank together and when Bo got drunk he tended to let his lips fly.
	Rooster went to Randy, whom he also knew casually, to let him know he knew his wife’s attacker.  They went to confront Bo with Rooster cautioning his young white friend that they had to “play it cool” and that anything done to the man had to be done on the quiet—
	“Should anything happens to Bo, or any black man in the community, cops will come to you first.”
	Randy didn’t care.
	“You will care,” cautioned Rooster, “right now your wife and daughter need you; they need you not to be in jail.”
	Randy hated it, but it was true.
	At the bar between the City and Town popular with rednecks and bikers, Bo Stickit liked to hang out.  He wasn’t alone or stood out in the crowd and was summarily liked by both crowds.  Mostly because he brought weed and other forms of the means by which one could get righteously high to the point of fucked up.
	Rooster went inside; outside were a few bikes, bikers, and skanks.  A two lane country road ran out front swinging in a long “U” shape around Point Hill.  The parking lot was a huge gravel plot of land with old hitching posts out front of the wooden covered deck.  Country was the theme; hard country non-mainstream music was the sound.
	Once inside he quickly scanned the large main room; there was a back room for card playing and other vices, and an upstairs for hanky-panky with the biker skanks (if one so dared be intrigued.)  Bo sat at the bar having a brew.  Rooster made his way (sauntering) to take a seat next to him.
	The men greeted one another, a slap on the back, a smile, acknowledgement of the existence of the other one.  Rooster took a beer and talked shop with the 6-foot black man.  Bo could have been a basketball player, but selling drugs was more profitable—without flying all over the country to sweat with nine other guys and get “chummy” on the court.
	“You got some good stuff, today?” Rooster said off-handedly.
	“Everyday!” chided Bo back.
	“Let’s go out back,” said the ex-CIA man, “crowded in here, and out front.”
	Bo was cool with that.  And unwary.
	Bo stepped out the back door and was immediately smack upside the head with an old piece of 2x4.  It dazed Bo who stumbled about slinging his head.  Randy, a bit shorter than the black man, hit him again.  Bo stumbled backwards into Rooster who threw the rapist back into the fray.  This time, Randy dropped the length of wood and smacked the man dead in the face.
	Somehow, Bo Stickit still stood and he lashed out at the puny racist white man.  Randy was stocky, muscular, hefted bales of hay, and was no slouch in a fight.  He took a hit from Bo, dodged another then body slammed the black man into the side of the building.
	Bo managed to turn and swing with all his might and toss the redneck with the brown blond hair buzz cut backwards Rooster—who calmly shoved the white man back to Bo who wrapped his beefy arms around the smaller man.  But damaged already he wasn’t strong enough and the smaller man managed to head butt the black man and then knee him in the balls.
	As Bo went down, Randy kneed him in the face—then brought a busted cinderblock down onto the back of the black man’s head.  Bo went down to the ground and didn’t move.
	Randy stumbled back, “FUCK!” he yelled.  He was woozy and tried slinging off the fight.  Bo remained still, lifeless.  Rooster stretched, yawned, wasn’t impressed with the fighting.  Randy heaved, bled, and while catching his breath and senses,
	“Stay here.” Rooster said and returned to the bar.
	A few minutes later and he pulled up in his old pickup.  Together they loaded Bo Stickit (who was still amazingly alive) into the truck, covered him with a piece of canvas used to haul stuff to the dump, and drove off.
	“He needs to disappear.” Rooster said calmly.  Then,
	As they turned down a country dirt road that led out to the proverbial “sticks”, “and so do you.” Rooster pulled out his trusty 9mm Glock w/silencer and put it to the still dazed Randy Polekat pulling the trigger.
	The unfortunate side effect of blasting one’s brains out inside a pickup is that the blood and brain matter almost certainly become a part of the vehicle.  No matter how much bleach, repainting, and air freshener, the stench of death lingers.
	Didn’t seem to bother Rooster too much, though.
	Ten miles along the dirt road and it became a questionable dirt road.  Not good for the bladder, kidneys, or other internal organs.  Lots of pot holes, canyons, and possible black holes in the road that at length took off up a large hill.  At the top of the hill, just shy of being 1,000 feet the road leveled out going in a snake-like pattern for a few miles thru rugged woody territory.

	Then, just as the moon was appearing (and the hour was late) the road began to dip down.  At the bottom of the hill was a small cobblestone bridge overgrown by weeds.  A small creek ran beneath it.  Rooster parked the truck and got out.  The air was humid, icky-sticky-unfriendly.  With a sigh he got to the business of dragging Bo out onto the road and undressing him.
	Then he tossed the deadman’s clothes back into the truck—Bo had finally passed on as no medical care was made to him for his severe concussion.  Randy’s body was removed and his clothing also taken.  Rooster spent a few minutes in the near darkness cleaning up the mess on the side of his truck’s door.  Eventually he would replace the door thus eliminating Death’s “odor.”
	Dragging Bo’s huge body was a chore and more than Rooster was into.  But it was a necessary task.  He had to “disappear” and in the back woody country was just the place.  He’d been there before—hunting, survival training, mining/panning for gold (as a hobby.)  And it was that panning for gold that led him to the remote locale he was currently at.
	Down the small embankment to the rocky-weedy shoreline of the creek and then wrestling thru the weeds to that spot under the bridge where the bank touches.  Lots of rocks where there—big ones, small ones, every size.  Rooster moved some of them then wrestled Bo’s lifeless body into place—alongside some other bodies already there entombed.
	Randy’s body was next.
	Then the rocks were realigned to make like natural and the foul deed was a done deal.  Rooster offered a small prayer, urinated on the area—to keep pesky critters away for awhile, then fired up his truck and left the area.

*

With friends like these…
	Once arriving home, a little after 3AM, Rooster burned the clothing of the dead men—after taking the packet of weed from Bo’s clothes, and the pertinent ID from Randy’s.  Then he burned the clothing, smoked a joint, drank some of his homemade brew then went to bed.
	The following day he arrived at Randy Polekat’s apartment where he introduced himself as a member of the press and would it be alright if he did a follow-up investigation.  The woman was worried about her husband,
	“He hasn’t been home all night!” she wailed.  She was a dishwater blond, hair extra curly and up high on her head; lily white complexion, hazel eyes, 5’7” and quite slender at the hips.
	“Besides,” she bitched, “I’ve given all the info to the cops and other news team.” She was in a huff, but worried mostly.
	“It’s possible,” said Rooster, “that your husband has gone to settle with the man who attacked you.”
	The color in Amanda’s face was lost.  “Oh, no!” she said becoming shocked.  She backed up into her apartment and Rooster followed; shutting and locking the door behind him.  Amanda’s hazel eyes looked to the “reporter” of whom she hadn’t asked for his credentials or anything of the like.
	As she started to speak,
	“Who’s that?” inquired Rooster, noting the small wee child poking her head out of a door.  When Amanda turned to see (who else would it be?) Rooster karate chopped her expertly and she fell to the floor.  He then chased after the little girl who slammed the door—but didn’t lock it.  She fled to her bed and under it—but didn’t scream.
	Nor did she scream when Rooster dragged her out.  She was hysterical, her antics all the norm for a child being dragged out by a strange man but she made no sounds.
	Rooster smacked her bottom—hard.  The girl, approximately seven, was shocked; her mouth hung open, eyes wide, and no sound whatsoever.  Quickly then, whilst the girl was in stunned shock Rooster secured her via handy rope tying her up hog tie style.  No gag needed for this one.  He then carried her into the living room where her mother was just beginning to stir.
	A handy stun gun was just the thing here.
	Amanda twitched, drooled, wet herself; Miranda cried silently.
	Like with her husband, Rooster made Amanda naked.  Then he stripped off his own clothing and lay on the woman who was still twitching and “not of this world.”  Rooster smiled to her, fondled her breasts, lay his cock against her womanness, and casually casted an eye to the highly distraught daughter.
	Spreading the woman’s legs he went down on her.  When she began to fuss—he zapped her with the stun gun.  For several minutes he dwelled on eating out her pussy never minding the fact that she had peed.  Nipping her clit got her thrashing about, zapping her pussy and asshole at the same time (a prong in her cunt and one in the hole) got her crazy.
	Amanda was well stimulated—so was Rooster!
	As the woman twitched, drooled, peed, and her bowels became “loosened”, (ewewew) Rooster mounted her shoving his sheathed schlong into her sex.  His eyes became transfixed with Amanda’s.  She was out of her mind with her neck muscles tightening, nostrils flaring, eyes blaring.  Rooster eased into her sex and began to pump—slowly at first but then the dog in him kicked in and it was all about the orgasm.
	Amanda thrashed about some, gurgled, and spoke incoherently.  Her nipples hardened and her pussy, despite the offence, came.
	The woman’s body shuddered; the stench from her “loose bowels” filled the air conditioned room, and the sex sweat also permeated the air.  Rooster finished his deed, sat back and removed the soiled condom.  A moment was stolen to gander at Amanda.  Any other time and she would have been a right fine dish to have.  Her racist husband had fine tastes.
	Rooster’s eyes then fell to the little girl, Miranda.
	First! Though,
	A little cleanup was in order—specifically any evidence of DNA.
	Various chemicals were used on Amanda’s soiled cunt; a syringe inserted into her cunt DEEPLY splashed a concoction of chemicals that would eradicate any useful DNA.  More chemicals were used on the door handles.  Then,
	The pretty seven year old had also wet herself.  To Rooster, it didn’t matter but only excited him.  Laying the girl down beside her mindless mother Rooster stripped her clothing off.  Then, kneeling between her opened legs he took a long looksee at her goodie.  Soft, smooth, hairless, inviting.  It was just a little puffy, her pussy was, and Rooster had to wonder if her racist daddy “got some”; or did he finger her and leave it at that?
	Too late to ask him now.
	The girl’s cunny was well wet with her urine.  Rooster didn’t mind and lapped up the cunny until it was twitching.  Then he lay beside the hapless child fingering her.  He took his time and was in no hurry.  It was late afternoon and he was waiting for the late evening.
	At length, and with his schlong nicely wrapped in fine lambskin, the deflowering of Miranda took place.  There was effort, resistance, but the deflowering came—and so did Rooster!
	Cupping the girl’s butt the man power slammed his cock into her pounding the back of the girl’s cunny.  His meat stick stretched to the maximum—7-plus inches.  The pounding repeated itself over and over until the explosion ended the event.  Pulling out he smacked his still sheathed schlong against her broken-in cunny; poked her asshole, then re-fucked the girl (unsheathed.)

	A little spanking, poking the untouched hole, more spanking, and Rooster Nest was at it again.  Little Miranda was a little bit of a fighter but a hard slap to her face and then an even harder slap to her ass settled her right out.  Enthused (by the slapping) Rooster sat on the sofa bringing the stunned naked child to him laying her across his lap.  It was evening type time and he could just barely hear music and televisions from adjoining apartments so the insulation was so-so.
	So the spanking of Miranda was a go.
	Her screams, anyways, were in a range too high for human ears.

	Smacking the ass flesh of the seven year old seriously enthused the ex-Army Intelligence man.  Turning the flesh of the youngster a bright red hue made him smile his quirky smile.  Squeezing the flesh, pinching, and then smacking it some more got him hard-hard-hard.
	After smoothing his hand over the seared bum he put the child down onto the floor into a doggie-style position.  Then, after licking her asshole thoroughly, finger it, licking it some more, he shoved his unprotected cock into the unfucked hole and—fucked it.
	Amanda lay twitching on the floor watching with hollow eyes.
	Miranda cried.
	Rooster howled—albeit silently.
	Cleanup via chemicals followed.  The chemical treatment to mother and daughter was not pleasing; kind of a serious stinging sensation and when done so with a syringe depositing the eradicating DNA DEEP inside their bodies—well, it was an internal itch that couldn’t be scratched.
	Rooster had a solution.
	It wasn’t pretty.
	The 9mm Glock w/silencer returned to play and was inserted into Amanda’s cunt. The entire length of the silencer went in.  And for a kick the man fucked her with it before pulling the trigger.
	The woman’s entire body twitched for several seconds before going still.
	Rooster sat back on his haunches looking the lifeless body of the woman over.  He sighed, farted, and took in the woman; he was a little saddened by her demise.  She wasn’t the first.  A fine woman; he wondered if she were as racist as her husband had been.  Too late now.
	For Miranda, another fuck, more spanking, then to set the investigators and coroner on their heels, he inserted the Glock’s silencer (all the way) into the girl’s asshole—then pulled the trigger.
	Afterwards and there was cleanup to do, then a shower, then a raid to the refrigerator helping himself to Randy’s brews.  More cleanup taking painstaking measures to ensure there would be no evidence to be found.  The local constabulary would be in fits over this one.  They, at length, called in the FBI, the investigation lagged on—months after the foul deed.

Back at the porch setting…
	“Did he say how much?”
	Rooster shrugged, “Man’s got connections, connections got deep pockets.”
	Moose mused, “He’s got some businesses, don’t he; that logging outfit, trucking?”
	“Yep, but he’s willing to lay out serious cash to, uh, “fix” his problem.”
	Mina Warhze was Andy Bytheduck’s problem.  She was a lawyer, for one, and a bitch for two.  Both were run-off candidates for city council and they had aspirations for mayor in coming years, too.  Both were running disparaging ads against one another digging up as much dirt as possible to smear the other for the good peoples of the land to turn against him/her.
	“If the money’s good, then, yeah, I’m interested.” Moose said casually.
	“He’s serious, fifty thousand.”
	Moose swigged on his moon juice and nearly verily choked.
	“He’s serious.” Moose stated trying to recover without looking like a douche.
	“You interested?” Moose asked.
	“Not this time.” He had other pokes in the fire.
	“I’ll do it.”
	“I’ll let him know.”
	The rest of the evening was all about drinking, the wars in other countries, and more drinking.  Finally, with the hour late, Moose trotted back to his truck and made his way home.

*

A horse walks into a bar; the bartender says he says “So why the long face?”

Farmer goes to the vet and says, “My horse is constipated.”
The vet tells him “Take one of these pills, put it in a long tube, stick the other end in the horse’s ass, and blow the pill up there.”
Farmer comes back the next day and he looks very sick.
The vet says, “What happened?”
Farmer says, “Fucking horse blew first!” 

Farmer and his wife go into town for dinner; both have news for the other.
Farmer  “You know, for years I’ve been trying to get the infertile chickens fertile, well, as of today they ARE fertile!”
Farmer’s Wife “That’s great!  And for years, you know, I’ve been infertile, too; but I’ve got news for you, I’m pregnant!”
Farmer “That’s great!”
Farmer’s Wife “How’d you get the chickens to be fertile?”
Farmer “I switched cocks.”
Farmer’s Wife  “What a coincidence!”

Little Johnny dashes into classroom.
	“Late again!” the grade school teacher scolds to little Johnny.
	“It’s not my fault, teacher!  You can blame my Pa on this one.”
	Teacher sighs, sits on the edge of her desk, arms folded,
	“Alright,” she says dejectedly, “let’s here it.”  The teacher was wise to all of Little Johnny’s excuses but found some of them amusing.
	“Well, Ma’am, the reason I’m three hours late is because my Pa sleeps naked.”
	This was new.  Teacher rolled her eyes.  ‘You’re late because your Pa sleeps naked.  This oughta be good.’
	“Go on.” despite her mounting fears she asked for more clarification.
	“Well, you see, there’s been this coyote at the farm, usually a ways off but he’s always howling and each night for a while now he’s been getting closer.”
	Little Johnny and Trouble were old friends; but he always told the truth.
	“Now lately the for past few nights he’s been getting Ma’s hens and recently killed Ma’s only milkin’ goat.  So, last night, when Pa heard a noise out in the chicken house he grabbed his gun and said that he was going out to shoot!”
	Teacher drew in her breath, she maintained herself with as much dignity a 40 yr old grade school teacher could summon.  Little Johnny was going somewhere with this—she hoped.
	“And like I said, Pa was a sleepin’ naked.” That’s the important part of the story.
	“So he goes out there in the middle of the night, stuck the .3006 into the coop and as he waited to get the draw on the mangy coyote up comes our hound, Bocephus and he stuck his nose right up Pa’s crack.”
	“Teacher, we’ve been up cleaning chickens ever since!”

	Little Johnny is walking down the country road one day with something cupped in his hands.  The old farmer sitting on the porch sees him coming and wonders what he is up to.
	“Hey, Johnny, whatcha got there?”
	Johnny replies, “Gots me a bullfrog, goin’ to town to get me a bull!”
	The old farmer chuckles.  “Alright, Johnny, have a good trip.”
	A short while later and here comes Johnny leading a bull!
	The old farmer scratches his head; puzzled.
	Next day, here comes Johnny again something cupped in his hands. 
	The old farmer looks up from his paper and asks again, 
	“Whatcha got in your hands?”
	“Got me a horsefly, goin’ to town to get me a horse!”
	The old farmer shakes his head, ‘What a strange boy.’  He sits back and waits.  And, sure enough, here comes Little Johnny leading a horse!  The old farmer is stunned.
	Very next morning, here’s Johnny walking passed by with again something in his hands.  The old farmer looks up and asks, “Whatcha got in your hands today?”
	Johnny says, “Got me a pussy willow, goin’ to town…”
	“Wait for me, I’m comin’ with you!”

*

The one with the most fertilizer wins
	The candidates, Andy Bytheduck and Mina Warhaze, really-really-really wanted to be city councilperson.  It paved the way to be mayor later on and they really-really wanted that job.  They both had high aspirations, no integrity, no morals, mud slinging abilities, and would do anything—anything to win the run-off election.
	Anything.
	Well, not them personally, they farmed out the “anything.”
	Mina was dishing out dirt on her rival; dirty politicking, digging up shit from 20-30 years ago—along with making up shit that poor Andy had to spend precious campaigning time to defend publically.  Finally, enough was enough; scams of this, planted evidence of that, and hurtful misstatements from the Warhaze camp pushed Andy over the edge.  He was offering a cool $50,000 in cash for someone, anyone, to “take care of” his Mina problem.
	To take care of…
	To thwart…
	To piss off royally so she will fuck up while bitching to media…
	To remove her from public eye…  Bingo!
	Some people go into politics obstinately to help people but secretly to line their own pockets and purposes.  Both Andy and Mina had such cause.  Andy, however, had deep pockets, if not his own then others who supported him.  He had resources Mina did not.
	He also had contacts; unscrupulous contacts where money offered made all the difference in the world.
	“How would you like this to go down?” Moose asked informally.
	Milton Borrowbee was nervous, sweating, mind in a whirl knowing that he was in deep—much deeper than he ought to be.
	“I-I don’t know,” he said unsurely, “I-I really don’t.”

	Moose sighed, it wasn’t his line of work, but there were occasions, when the money was right, that opportunity presented itself.  Such was the case present.
	“W-what do you think?”
	Moose mused; Milton was a pussy, he was a former accountant, dentist, and girls softball coach.  Of the being a dentist and softball coach he had been “accused” but not convicted of being a little too friendly with his job.  He was not a strong man, not in voice or body or general overall persona.  He was meek and was only bolstered into prominence by his association with candidate Andy.
	“You want her to disappear?”
	Milton nodded, but sweated and exhibited great nervousness.
	“Don’t worry about it,” Moose said at length, “I’ll come up with something.”
	“She needs to be smeared.” Milton said hurriedly.
	“Oh?”
	Milton tried to regain himself, catch himself,
	“Yeah, she—she’s said some stuff about Andy that—that just isn’t right.”
	Milton was a sensible man, a pussy, but a sensible man with a heart.
	Milton was not a violent man.
	“Well, don’t worry about it,” smiled Moose, “these things have a way of working themselves out.”
	Moose offered the man another glass of ‘shine.
	“She shouldn’t have said those things about Andy.” bitched the timid man.
	“Probably not, but this is a campaign for a prominent seat; people will say anything to get what they want.”
	“She needs to be punished.”  The moonshine the man was swigging was working.
	“Well,” drawled Moose, “I’ve got some ideas.” then, “Do you?”
	Milton swished his drink in the glass, then downed it.
	“I’d—I’d like to see her embarrassed.”
	“That can be done.” Moose waited.  The man had ideas swirling in his head, along with the potent 90 proof!
	“I dunno,” said the man slurring his speech a little, “naked pictures of her.”
	It was a beginning.
	“And?”
	“With men,” Milton said with a smile, “and women.”
	Moose smiled.
	“Good start.” then, “Anything else?”
	“And dogs.”
	Moose was intrigued.
	Dogs, horses, boys.
	“Boys?”
	“Teen boys.”
	“Young boys?”
	Milton licked his lips, swallowed hard, thought harder; then,
	“Yeah, young boys.”
	‘what about yourself,’ Moose asked via his EMAD, ‘you like teen boys, young boys?’
	The hour was early, lazy summer Saturday; Moose’s double wide blue/white trailer was inviting, relaxing, cool.  Most “trailers” had simple swamp coolers to keep the inhabitants cool.  Fuck that, after a couple of swelter summers and Moose replaced the swamp cooler on top of the two units with air cooler air conditioning.
	Simple furnishings, country style; no big screen television but a good sized wall mounted one regardless.  A nice stereo; some antique table lamps, throw rugs, soft lighting, good thick carpeting, and a wet bar made the interior of the rinky-dink trailers calming, inviting, relaxing.
	Milton swished his drink, staring into oblivion.  He sat on an upgraded furnishing, one of those button-tuck leather swivel/rocker/recliner chairs.  There was a matching love seat, too; but Moose wouldn’t part with his country style sofa.
	“Young boys, yeah.” Milton answered.  He liked ‘em young, and boys.
	“Girls, too?”
	Yeah, girls, too.  But mostly boys.
	That made things interesting, doncha think?  Cluck-cluck!

Here is a chicken recipe that also includes the use of popcorn as a stuffing.  Imagine that!  When I found this recipe, I thought it was perfect for people like me who just are not sure how to tell when poultry is thoroughly cooked but not dried out.
BAKED STUFFED CHICKEN
5 lb. baking chicken
1 cup melted butter
1 cup stuffing
1 cup uncooked popcorn
Salt/pepper to taste
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Brush chicken well with melted butter, salt, and pepper.  Fill cavity with stuffing and popcorn.  Place in baking pan with the neck end toward the back of the oven.
Now, Listen for the popping sounds.  When the chicken’s ass blows the oven door open and the chicken flies across the room, it is done.
And you thought I couldn’t cook!

Cum stains for everyone!
	‘stand up.’
	Karyn stood up.  A pretty girl, sandy blond hair tied back in a middle of the back length loose pony tail.  Beautiful smile, beautiful eyes.  The eleven year old had a good personality; outward going, could sing, clean up after her doggie, and give a perv a reason to live.
	A deep purple shirt she wore, short sleeved with stitched designs on the sleeves; she wore jeans with matching purple pockets.  She had a nice butt, nice crotch, nice smile.  And dribbles of cum dripping off her face would be nice, too!
	But first!
	‘take off your shirt.’
	Compliance!
	No fuss, no hesitation.  The happy girl with jutting upper mouth/teeth unbuttoned her light airy purple shirt and let it drop to the floor.  Her shoes and lavender socks had already been removed.
	‘take off your pants.’
	No hesitation, no fussing, no screwing up her face; the jeans were undone and pushed down revealing lime green panties.  Nice!
	‘like what you see?’
	Milton Borrowbee nodded.  He sweated, blinked his eyes a lot, licked his lips, and had the want-lust etched on his face.
	Boys Hector and Tommy nodded their heads, too.
	Karyn rolled her panties down on further EMAD command, stepped out of them and stood butt naked before the boys, another girl, Milton, and Moose Turdpie.  She was a good choice; selected from the pizzeria in town where she hung with several others she had great potential.
	The girl was eleven and had a nice crop of pubes.  The girl was lightly bathed in light from Moose’s low light emitting table lamps.  The scene was within Moose’s humble abode; the hour was evening type time.  The shades and curtains were drawn, the a/c on, and the dawn of sin was about to begin.
	‘stand up.’ Hector was told.
	The boy complied.  He was of Mexican origin, but Americanized.
	Nice looking fellow; short dark hair, dark Mexican skin, good body size, likeable, friendly, avid soccer player.  When he pushed his short brown walking shorts down (along with his tidy-whiteys) his eleven year old cock was proudly prominent.  He liked the naked Karyn.  A lot!
	The two children were brought together with Karyn taking holt of Hector’s cock.  “Loving,” as she was so instructed, “caress it.”  the outgoing girl did so (and Hector’s cock grew harder, stronger, hotter.

	Just how much the children were “aware” of what they were doing wasn’t clear; but Karyn was all a blush and Hector was all grins.
	‘reach around,’ Hector was electronically minded, ‘rub her ass.’
	The boy complied; his throbbing hot hard cock pressed against Karyn’s body nicely.  The girl was a shortie and was a whole head beneath Hector.  The two embraced and then Karyn “dropped to her knees” before Hector’s cunt pleasing cock.
	Milton was all eyes, perched right on the edge of his seat, he was pensive like a wild animal ready to strike.  Moose played it cool; thinking ahead he smiled.  Then he continued with the kids.
	Whether or not Karyn Killdillhopper had ever seen a boy naked was not known but she looked Hector’s cock over, smiled, and then proceeded to carry out the command goading her on:  ‘kiss his cock’ followed by ‘suck his cock.’
	Tommy Treeshoes and Sara Kat sitting nearby on the floor—their mouths dropped to the floor.  Karyn closed her pretty blue eyes and pressed her lips to Hector’s pulsing prong.  There was awareness there among them all but the amazing EMAD managed to curb their adverse reactions, still their horror, and instill upon them that what they were doing was ok.
	Regardless, Karyn made a face as she “went down” on her friend’s dick.
	Milton began massaging his.  Time was nearing.
	Karyn sucked and sucked and sucked; she made faces, retched, gagged, but sucked and sucked and sucked.  There was no explosion from Hector who admitted to jerking off “now and then” but he wasn’t avid about doing so.  After much ado about sucking the girl was ordered to lay down “and spread your legs.”
	Moose thought Milton would explode.  The man took in the full nakedness of the young girl and although he professed to having a strong like to young boys; there, too, was a strong and equal like to young girls.  Go figure.
	Karyn spread her legs and Hector was ready to explode.
	The boy had seen wee little girls naked but no girls his age (or older.)
	Sex acts were limited to old fashioned Missionary.  Doggie-style, around-the-world, Reverse Missionary, and other tantric acts were a mystery to the boy.  But he was willing to learn!  And his first lesson was to “go down” on Karyn.  Inasmuch as she had sucked him—it was his turn to suck her.  The low light in the large living room bathed the naked girl in a wondrous pale yellow light.  Her nakedness was incredible and bits of cum was beginning to drip from Hector’s schlong.
	Milton’s attention drifted from the naked Karyn to the naked Hector.  His azure eyes focusing in on the boy’s swinging balls, his ass, everything.  It wouldn’t be long now.  Hector noshed on Karyn’s cunt making her squirm.  She giggled, peed, and bucked into the Mexican-American boy’s face laughing all the way.
	Soon, and Hector Azal was driving his bone into Karyn.  There was blood coating his cock and balls but not much.  The young girl made a little cry out as her cunny was breeched but other than that it was a tolerable “first time” experience.  Hector fucked the young girl until cumming off a few minutes later.  He had never cum off before but after doing so he wanted to do so many times over.
	Karyn’s snatch box was sore.  Hector rolled off and was in a tizzy; his cock and balls, his body overall were in a fiery wreck of sexual emotions.  Using his own underwear he cleaned off his cock and then wiped down Karyn’s cunt before the girl was commanded to stand and come to Milton.
	Moose waited.
	The room was cool but there, too, were waves of heat.  Sex heat.
	Milton stared and stared at the beautiful naked eleven year old.
	‘do you like ‘em even younger?’ Moose was curious.
	Milton didn’t answer right off but Moose got the notion that he did.
	Standing up and the timid pussy of a man dropped his pants and undies.  His manhood stood out and was about average.  The tip was already soiled with his man juice.  Tugging on it and Milton made it longer—and on his own he put his hand to the back of the young girl’s head bringing her in.
	‘kiss it.’ Moose e-minded to the girl.
	There was slight hesitation but that was probably due to the mixed emotions swirling about her.  She did press her lips to the man’s cock but the taste of his cum was not to her liking and she very nearly vomited.  No amount of electronic input could circumvent the distaste of sperm.
	Anyways, she did roll her tongue around the super sensitive super soiled cock head; then glided her mouth up and down the shaft like blowing on a harmonica before taking the whole of the man’s cock into her mouth and sucking it.  Good girl!  She retched, gagged, spurted, and almost coughed up a lung but managed to suck well bringing the man’s stout prong to a glorious end—happy ending!  The spunk mattered bursted into the girl’s mouth—then he pulled out and blasted the remainder onto her sweet-sweet face.
	There was a little exhaustion but Milton continued (on his own volition) and sat back down, opened his legs, and brought the naked eleven year into him.  His cock was still hard (and still spurting!)  He hugged Karyn, ran his fingers thru her hair, ran his hands up and down her arms, cupped and squeezed her butt, drew the back of a finger to her pussy, then hugged her again.
	‘lay across his lap.’
	Milton accepted the girl across his lap.
	“Give her a swat.” suggested Moose.
	Milton paused a moment then landed a light handed smack to the girl’s ass.
	Moose wasn’t impressed.
	‘try again—harder.’ he e-minded to the timid in-the-closet pervert.
	Milton smacked Karyn’s ass—a little harder.
	Then again.
	Then once more.
	Karyn was “aware” of being smacked and she didn’t care for it.  Moose tried fidgeting with her mind to except the spanking but her emotions were too wrecked to do so.  Oh well.  Milton didn’t “abuse” the girl too much longer or harder.  He stood her up, hugged her, then—
	On the thick carpeted floor was Karyn laid—again.
	Milton looked her over as he would a fine dessert.  And she was!  A very nice body she had, and the light bathing her only intensified such.  Milton knelt between her legs, opened them a bit more, and eyed her cunny.  The man was almost drooling.  His cock was amazingly hard (and dripping!)
	While Milton eased his hard dripping manhood into the young Karyn’s pussy,
	‘take off your clothes.’
	The other two eleven year olds present stood up and undressed.
	Milton’s attention was all on Karyn.
	Tommy Treeshoes had sisters; older and younger, so, yeah, he had seen a naked girl.
	‘do anything “naughty” with them?’
	Sheepishly and the boy admitted that with two of the four he was.
	Details:  the thirteen year he was having fun with in the way of mutual masturbation, showering together.  No oral, no anal.  The eight year old sister he was doing same but she WAS giving him oral.  He was doing same to her.
	Of friends Karyn and Sara—yeah, he’d like to see THEM naked, too.
	Of friends Karyn and Sara—yeah, he’d like to mutual masturbate them, rub his dick on them, and definitely get off in their mouth.  Pussy and asshole would follow.
	Moose took first dibs with Sara; cuddling her between his naked legs, his cock gliding nicely up and down her peach fuzzed cunt.  The pre-cum soiling his cock’s head made things all the nicer.  Caressing the girl’s ass was nice, too.  On the floor and Milton was sliding his cock into Karyn.  He liked boys but girls were in there just as good.
	Moose laid back on the sofa lengthwise bringing the naked Sara onto him.
	More cuddling, more caressing.
	On the floor and Milton had cum.  He wasn’t boisterous about it, no antics, no announcement or even a shout out to God.  Karyn made some yelps but otherwise her emotions were checked.  The man withdrew and lay heaving on his back beside her.  Karyn’s mind was in total disarray and she lay nakedly still.
	Checking Tommy, part American-Indian, part Mexican-American, Moose gave him the nudge to ‘fuck her.’  Slight hesitation and then he was mounting Karyn sliding his willing cock into her.  As he got busy with the fuck, Milton, lying beside them, began caressing Tommy’s ass.

A little bit and a while ago, this happened
	It was another lazy summer; with chores done, Milton made for the tool shed where he had a bevy of projects he was into.  Bird houses, dog houses, bird feeders, small go-cart models, anything of wood.  Suddenly, in comes his best friend, “Pony-boy”.
	“Hey, whatsya doin’?” he asked.
	Same thing as he (Milton) did every day—try and take over the world!
	Oh, no; try and build a better bird house.  Same thing.
	Pony-boy was full of energy; “Pony-boy” wasn’t his real name, it was Kory, Kory Kanepole.  And Pony-boy wasn’t an association with horseys—it was his shoulder length ponytail he refused to cut despite the times of the day that frowned on young boys with “girl’s” hair.
	“Hey,” said Pony-boy, “I found something we can do.” He was all smiles.
	Milton was wary, Pony-boy was known for mischief; and usually, that included Milton.  The boy was clad in his typical wear; faded blue well-worn bib overalls.  He wore old shoes, no socks (and seldom underwear, too!)
	Milton was game.  “Ok,” he said, “what?”
	“Cock sucking!”
	Milton gave him a “WTF?” look.
	“Are you serious?”
	“Damn straight!” beamed Pony-boy.
	“It’s real fun!” said the enthusiastic boy.
	Milton wrinkled his nose; he had only recently discovered the pleasures of playing with his cock.  For years, he and his best friend peed together, swam naked in the rivers, lakes, ponds, and Pony-boy’s backyard (dashing about under the spray of a sprinkler—when no parental units were home.)
	Sex was something that was hazy to the boys—but there was curiosity about the opposite sex.  A lot of curiosity.
	“Sooo, what do we do?” asked Milton curiously.
	“Simple,” said a grinning Pony-boy, “you suck mine and I’ll suck yours!”
	Simple.
	Milton gulped.

Tastes like string cheese!
	One thing Milton noted about his friend, his cock was “banana” shaped.
	For another, Kory “Pony-boy” was clean; his face and hands especially.  Usually and the boy was grimy with dirt, grass, something from on his dad’s garage floor, whatever.  His dirt blond hair was askew, as always, his blue eyes were bright, his teeth mostly white.  And his cock was banana shaped!
	Inside, towards the back of the tool from where Milton had been putting together bird houses, the boys pushed down their pants.  Pony-boy, wearing his typical faded bib-overalls stood rocking on his feet, grinning ear to ear.  Milton was apprehensive.
	“Come on, Embee, suck me!” chided Pony.
	Embee (Milton Borrowbee—think about it) wasn’t really into the deed presented him.  But, wrinkling his nose he thought it best to just “do it” and get it over with.  He had no idea what it would be like—and frankly, he didn’t want to.
	Pony tugged his penis’ skin to the base; the cock wasn’t too hard and hung to the left a bit.  Milton had seen his friend’s cock before, they had been naked together many-many times; skinny dipping, peeing in the woods, running amok naked in their backyards.  But this was different.  Way different.
	“Stop yer stalling and do it!” bitched Pony.
	Milton, disgruntled—and disgusted by the prospect of sucking cock, knelt down and eyed his friend’s half boner.  Closing his eyes he moved in.  Pony-boy did, too; tilted his head back and glided his prick against his friend’s mouth.  Milton’s disgust over the deed increased.
	To describe the “taste” of dong—he couldn’t.  It was a taste unlike any other.  He was only doing to do the “head” but right at the last moment and Pony shoved his cock all the way in.
	“DUDE!” bitched back Milton.
	“Aw, come on, Embee!” cried Pony, “If’in yer gonna do it, do it!”
	“I’ll do it,” said a pissed off Embee (did you get it yet?) but give me time.”
	Milton huffed, let out his breath, and more than ever was unnerved.
	But, with eyes closed (again) he moved to his friend’s semi-hard bone and no foreplay, no rolling the tongue about the super sensitive crown; none of that.  It was a simple lips passed the bulbous tip and then down—and up.  Quick.
	“DUDE!” complained Pony-boy.  “Do it some more!”
	“FUCK YOU!” Milton bitched loudly, and angrily.
	“I’ll do you!” returned Pony.
	Milton sighed (again.)  Wrinkling his mouth and nose he “went down” on his friend bobbing his head back and forth several times.  When done he sat back determining that Pony’s penis reminded him of string cheese.  String cheese!
	Penis flavored string cheese!
Cornholing 101
	To describe the sensation (of having his cock sucked) he couldn’t.
	It was—unique.  And Pony seemed to like it—too much.  The tallow headed boy bobbed his head up and down sending incredible sensations young ten year old Milton (M-B) Borrowbee had never experienced before (but wanted to many times over!)
	Masturbation was still a bit elusive, but oral was just as pleasurable.  So pleasurable that the boys engaged in the act several more times!  That day and the rest of the week!  “Techniques” did come around eventually; rolling the tongue around the super sensitive crown, diddling the tongue into the piss slit, and gliding the mouth up and down the shaft.
	The boys eventually learned self-pleasuring, too.
	Then one day,
	“Hey!” said an over enthusiastic Pony-boy charging into the shed.
	Milton was somewhat startled and jumped as his eager friend barged in.
	“What the fuck, dude!?” complained a distracted Milton.
	“I knows something ELSE we can do!”
	Milton was deeply involved in crafting mega bird house.
	“More than what we’ve been doing?” he liked the oral play, and the standing naked with his friend, masturbating, and “cock fighting”; and in doing so there were some strange feelings erupting in his soul.  It had been a week since the two boys had entered into the realm of gaydom (though neither knew what “gay” was or pertained to) but young Milton was finding strange feelings—no, strange thoughts invading his mind.  He had yet to sort them out.
	Now, his goofy friend was coming to him with another gay venture.
	“Butt fucking!” announced the grinning Pony-boy.
	Milton knew what “butt” was, he got walloped a time or two from his Pa.
	And “fucking” was—was—he wasn’t sure.  He knew about dog sex, horses, and once saw a bull mount a cow in the nearby field.  He got the gist of “sex” that a Mommy and Daddy did it in bed, in the shower, living room sofa, back of the truck, and so on.  But the actuality of the “act” itself—elusive.
	“What is it?” Milton asked.
	“Take yer clothes off and I’ll show ya.”
	Milton sighed, his folks were gone for the day, it was early afternoon, it was mildly warm, he was in the shed working on his projects.  He shrugged and made for the sanctity and security of the back area of the shed—out of sight of potential interlopers.  Country folk always were dropping by; for spreading gossip, bringing a load of fruits and vegetables, seeing what the folk they were visiting up to.

	Milton shed his clothes; Pony-boy stripped off his.
	“Now what?” asked Milton.
	“Turn around.” grinned Pony-boy.
	Milton wasn’t sure and there were some reservations beginning to swim about him.  But he turned nakedly around.
	“Bend over.”
	Milton objected, “Why?” usually when he “bent over” he was going to get the belt from his pissed off Pa.
	“Just do it!”
	Milton sighed; Pony wasn’t equipped with a belt.
	As soon as Milton was “bent over” hands on his knees, best friend (best cock sucking friend) tried to shove his cock up his ass.
	“WHAT THE HELL!?” yelled Milton charging up and turning around.
	“It’s butt sex, I told ya!” exclaimed a giggling Pony-boy.
	Milton was miffed—and alarmed.
	“All it is is instead of putting my cock in yer mouth I put it in your ass!”
	Wow.  Milton Borrowbee couldn’t wrap his head around that concept.
	“That’s wacked!” he said.
	“Yeah,” grinned Pony, “but fun.  It’ll feel good, too!”
	Wrinkling his nose and having stronger reservations the boy sighed and turned around again.  Pony-boy pressed his hard cock against his friend’s unbreeched shit hole and attempted entry.
	No-go.
	There was determination but the unfucked hole refused to give.
	“Yer too tight!” Pony-boy said.
	Milton shrugged, “I can’t help that.”
	“You need some lube.”
	“Lube?”
	“Yeah, somethin’ like—butter!”
	The boys gathered up their clothes and after pausing at the open double door of the shed dashed to the house.  Then up the cement steps to the kitchen door and in.  No one was home; Pa was at work at the mill, Ma was at work at the beauty parlor; Uncle Effrin was driving long haul (trucking) and not due home for a few more days; cousin Emmet was in jail, cousin Lou was on a shrimp boat.  No one home.
	Into Milton’s bedroom he shared with cousin Emmet the boys went—after grabbing a container of butter from the refrigerator.  Pony-boy lubed up his schlong with a helping of store bought butter.  Milton was stunned and still couldn’t wrap his head around the concept of “butt sex.”

Cementing your relationship with a little dirty sex never hurt anyone
	After slathering up his cock, Kory “Pony-boy” Kanepole began once more to insert himself into Embee’s turd chute.  There was limited success.  Embee’s cornhole was virginal and thusly still too tight; Pony’s cock was not absolute hard causing his schlong to “bend”.
	So, Pony rammed his finger into the virgin hole.
	“HEY!” yelped Milton, “What the fuck!?”
	“Chill, homeboy!” quipped Pony-boy.
	Milton had qualms enough as it was and to be “fingered” was his limit.
	“We need to unloosen yer asshole.” said Pony.
	Milton had turned about, his ass against his dresser.
	“How about the plunger?” he offered.
	Pony smiled, “Works for me!”
	It didn’t, however, work for Milton.  Although his asshole was lubed up with more butter, inserting the wooden handle of the toilet plunger was more uncomfortable than thought.  No-go.
	“Need something softer.” Pony determined.
	“A banana?”
	Not a bad idea.
	So, an unpeeled banana was shoved up into Milton’s cornhole.
	It was gravely uncomfortable and the young boy squirmed.
	Next up was a cucumber; followed by the long neck of one of his dad’s beer bottles.  A carrot was next, then more rude fingering from Pony-boy before Milton decided enough and “try your dick again.” And so right there on the kitchen floor the act of sodomy took place.
	“You shoulda sucked my cock first.” said Pony-boy, “It’d been harder.”
	Milton wasn’t going to suck it now, it was covered in butter!
	But the prefucking with inanimate objects (and Pony’s dire determination) but the effort a good one and he managed to slid his prick into his friend’s hole.
	“Son-of-a-bitch!” yelled Milton grunting as he was buggered.
	“Take it all!” Pony yelled back and dramatically made ever effort to slid his ten year old cock into his friend’s shitter.  The butt pounding began soon after and both boys found a new sin—one that they both liked.
	Milton was a little apprehensive about shoving his bone into his friend’s hole; but he did anyways—this after shoving the cucumber, banana, carrot, and beer bottle in there and sodomizing his friend with much vigor and vim.  The boys were both close to being eleven years young—and regardless, boys as young as ten, younger, have been known to ejaculate.  That was with both Milton and Pony, each boy, ten and a half years young, creamed the hole they were fucking.

*
When the cat’s away…
	So, cocksucking and butt fucking became a “way of life” for Milton and Pony-boy.  And after a rauncheous bout of ass play the two nearly eleven year olds hopped into the shower.  There they enjoyed a bit of cock fighting, peeing on one another, mutual masturbation, and more cornholing.
	Then one day,
	“Hey, Embee, come over to my house.” Pony’s house was empty and he was up to something.  Milton hung up the phone, polished off his sandwich, then peddled his bike down the lane to Pony’s house.
	At the door was Pony, smoking one of his dad’s cigars.
	“Son-of-a-bitch!” exclaimed Milton.
	“Come on in.” Pony said enthusiastically.  “Dad just got a batch of these in, I saw where he kept them.”
	The cigars were short and fat—and stunk to high heaven.
	…and made the boys sicker than a dog!
	So, from cigars to beer.
	The beer wasn’t to their liking, either, but didn’t make them sick.
	“How the fuck can they drink this shit!?” Pony bitched.
	Milton was certain that he would never drink beer—ever.  It was nasty!
	“Got something to show ya!” beamed Pony.
	In Pony’s bedroom he pulled out from a secret compartment behind in his closet a thrashed porno magazine.  It was soiled with time, grime, dirt, mud, crud, and hoof prints.  But there were several pages in the middle that deemed ok.  More than ok—some used-to-be glossy magazine pages showed adult gals butt bare assed naked, asses in the air, pointing to the viewer, revealing her arse, cunt, and the whole thang.
	Other gals were sucking HUGE man dick.
	Other gals were taking HUGE man dick into their cunts, assholes, and mouths—some at the same time!  Some gals were masturbating, peeing, and squirting milk from their titties.
	“Holy shit, dude!” said Milton, who seldom cussed for fear of a rash beating from his Pa.
	More pages just showed guys with huge cocks.
	One page was hard to see but there were two dudes, one was sodomizing the other on a beach scene.  It was awesome!  Other scenes on the beach had the same two men sucking one another—once scene in particular was with the men 69ing.
	“Whoa!” said Pony.
	“Shit!” said Milton—who was rubbing himself and totally engrossed in the homosexual actions.
	Pony looked down to his clothed friend.  He grinned and began humping his bed, then snaked a hand to Milton’s hand and began “helping.”  The boys grinned to one another and then hurriedly stripped off their clothes.  Then, laying side by side facing one another they began caressing one another—mostly hands on the other’s ass.
	Then it happened.
	What happened?
	They kissed.
	It just sort of—happened.
	Pony was the one stunned—he leaned back, “Why’d you do that for?”
	Milton shrugged, “I-I don’t know, I just did.  It felt like I should so I did.  That’s all.” He was embarrassed.
	“It’s ok,” said Pony-boy, “if you weren’t gonna I was!” and so they kissed again.
	The boys embraced and began humping—which led to Pony mounting Milton’s ass and buggering him.  Laying on the bed and Milton’s hard cock felt immensely good—especially humping the covers there.  After he was royally sodomized he turned over and the two began kissing again as Pony came down on him.
	“Our Pa’s see us doing this and we’re a couple of dead blokes!”
	“No shit!” said Milton.
	The boys showered then as they were drying off—Milton took Pony’s cock and began sucking it as he was on his knees.  In the shower and he had stuffed himself up Pony’s hole.  After sucking his friend to a satisfying hardness he lay on his back, “Suck me!” he said.
	Pony was only too happy to comply!
	Then, it just sort of happened; as Pony began slurping on his friend’s dong, and Milton caressing his thigh, Pony moved to settle his balls onto Milton’s face.  Milton gobbled them.  Patting Pony’s ass and Milton began ball washing his friend’s nuggets.  Pony slobbered all over the cock in his mouth while Milton gobbled his balls; then he flicked his tongue to Pony’s corn chute.  More ass play followed, spanking and gobbling before he took Pony’s cock and began sucking it.
	The boys had found 69ing!
	The afternoon was filled with more of the same; ass play, cock banging, ass banging, rim jobbing, cock sucking, and kissing.  Another shower, some spanking, and then another attempt at smoking cigars.
	They got sick and washed it down with beer.
	Which made them sicker so they put their clothes on and went to their friend, Joe.  Joe was black.  His family had one of the biggest watermelon patches anywhere.  The boys three drank sugar colored water and ate watermelon.
What happens on the family farm—usually results in a cousin getting pregnant
(Or the pig, goat, and something terrible with the school hamster…)
	Assigned chores:  take out the trash  Pony-boy’s response?  Fuck it.
	                             mow front yard     Pony-boy’s response?  Fuck it.
                                       take veggie basket to Aunt Flo?  Fuck it.
                                       do this chore, do that one, clean this, put that away.
	Pony’s response?  Yep, fuck it.  It was his usual response to anything his Dad wanted him to do—unless threatened.  Even then and the boy usually shirked his responsibilities.  Usually he got yelled at, sometimes a whippin’.  Most times and Pony shirked those abuses off, too.
	Then one day and he was happily circle jerkin’ on his bed (with that particular peculiar grungy magazine in one hand when his Dad walked in on him.  Not doing his chores was one thing but whackin’ off was something else.  His Dad went off on his young naughty son; the belt was just the beginning.
	The thrashing was horrendous; the belt, the hand to the bare ass, then holding his son firmly on his bed bending the boy’s legs back and walloping him some more on the bare bum not caring that he also hit the boy’s balls.  And when Pony tried to fight his Dad he got smacked in the face blooding his nose and lips.  And not one black eye but two!
	The naked Pony crawled into his closet covering himself with his piled clothes (most of which he never wore).  He lay whimpering for a long time before passing out.  Staying hid out for the rest of the day seemed just the thing.  He was too stiff and sore to move much; and every sound he heard in his vicinity caused him to freeze.
	At length he went from being in fear to being enraged.
	All the night long he conjured up foul plans of vengeance.  And come the new day his plans were set—but changed when he learned of his Dad’s plans.  Although his Dad was the quintessential asshole, he did make a mean pot o’ chili.  And that day was the day the old man was making a big batch of his famous chili; so famous that at the local fair he had won five years in a row!
	Pony could barely move and he kept far out of sight of his abusive Dad.
	“Stay away from my chili, boy,” his Dad always said, “or I’ll knock you in the fuckin’ head!”
	The boy did come out to the kitchen; his Mom had already done gone to work.  His Daddy eyed him, “You get them chores done ‘fore I gets home or I’ll whip yer fuckin’ ass again!” then he added,
	“And stay away from my chili!”
	The chili was in a HUGE pot buried partly in the backyard.  Hot coals were underneath the pot, more coals were on the lid.  The pot was cast iron as was the lid.  Pony nodded.  His Daddy sneered and left for work.
	Sitting at the breakfast table he thought.  And thought.  And then thought some more.  Vengeance.  Retribution.  Retaliation.  And an hour later it came to him.  He smiled and said, “I’m gonna need some fiber for this one!”
	A bowl of cold frosty flaked cereal to begin with.  Then a banana.  A few spoonful’s of cottage cheese and his Mom’s salad.  Pony wasn’t much into salad but he needed the roughage.  Then he soaked in the tub for a while as his stomach digested his reprisal.  It took about two hours before he felt the first stirrings of his retribution.  Out to the backyard where the chili pot was simmering away.
	The backyard of the Kanepole home was surrounded by a huge well weathered fence.  There weren’t any neighbors too close anyways but still there was a high fence; shrubs, bushes, and trees also lined the property boundary which was all well in good ‘cause it well enough shielded Pony as he naked squatted over the open chili pot releasing his bowels.
	The first turd was huge followed by a mammoth turd followed by a small plop and then a runny stream.  Pony then grabbed up the cast iron ladle and stirred-stirred-stirred the pot mixing in the “extra” ingredients.  Then he peed into the pot before hocking a generous loogie.
	Then he added more spices and flavored it up a bit more with a couple bottles of his Dad’s special beer.  Then, seeing the jar of moonshine in the back of cabinet he poured that in, too!  Sure enough those extras had to quell the possible aftertaste of Pony’s turds.
	That evening and Pony’s redneck country friends arrived for the chili dinner.
	Just before, though, and Pony’s Dad noted the absence of his specialty brews, plus the missing moonshine.  Another beating ensued; midway thru and Pony had had enough and flung himself out the bedroom room yelling “FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE!” and ran off—limped off—to the woods and Shosoknee Creek.
	His Dad chased after him a little ways shouting,
	“You bes’ not come back, boy, gonna beat the tar outta you!”
	Pony swum the creek—the cold water was not a pleasant experience.  The creek was not big or deep, but it was cold.  On the opposite banks he lay in the mud shivering, bleeding, and losing consciousness.  That evening he made his way back, just in time to see his Dad’s friends scarfing down the famous chili.  One bowl after another was choked down and that made Pony very happy.
	And it only took a couple of hours before the gathered drunk rednecks began puking their guts up.  Most heaved, blew chunks, and crapped themselves.  Pony was ecstatic!  Several of the rednecks had to go to the hospital (where later it was determined that the chili was suspected of having “fecal” matter laden in it.)  Pony’s reputation was soured—and he was even more enraged blaming Pony.  The boy concocted that some critter must of crapped in the pot.
	His Dad, of course, didn’t buy it and beat Pony unconscious.
Girls!
	A little girl goes to the barber’s with her dad and stands next to him eating a muffin while her daddy gets a trim.
	“You’re going to get hair on your muffin.” says the barber.
	“Yes, I know,” says the little girl, “going to get tits, too!”

	A little boy and little girl out were out in the woods.  The little girl asks,
	“What’s a penis?”
	The boy doesn’t know so when he’s home he asks his dad,
	“Dad, what’s a penis?”
	The dad whips out his cock and says “Son, THAT’S a penis.  And as a matter of fact it’s a PERFECT penis!”
	Next day and the little boy and little girl are in the woods.
	“Did you find out what a penis was?” asks the little girl.
	“Yep!” and he whips out his cock, “THIS is a penis.” He smiles boldly, “And if it were two inches shorter it would perfect!”  Oh!

	The lazy days of summer were winding down; soon and school would be upon them and thus cutting into the play time.  Milton and Pony-boy had explored a great deal of their surroundings; following the creek, railroad, and various dirt roads as far as they dared.  One day they were crossing Big Meadow when they saw in the distance a rider on a horse.
	At first they thought nothing of it but they did wonder who it was.
	Then, being boys, they went “Commando” stalking the rider.
	When they got close enough they saw that it was Heather Longpoke.
	Heather was sixteen, they didn’t out and out know her but they knew OF her.  There’s a difference.  She was on a brown Tennessee Walking horse named “Sierra”.  
	As the boys got closer making their way thru the wild weeds and tall grasses, their cover was not so much.
	“Quit it!” bitched Heather.
	The boys tried to be stealthier, but once more,
	“I know you are there!”
	The boys shrugged.  And when Pony-boy kicked a small palm sized rock he smiled.  Chucking the rock with all his might he managed to “just miss” Sierra.
	“Knock it off!” yelled the girl turning around.  Her horse continued to go forward and the boys ducked down trying to keep out of sight.
	Pony-boy found another palm sized rock and hurled it striking Sierra on the rump.  The horse didn’t like it and took off near out of control.  Milton flung a rock—kind of a pussy throw and managed to hit Heather on the head!
	“Holy shit!” he blurted.
	“Good shot!” said Pony-boy just as amazed as Milton.
	The girl was pissed, and hurt; she whirled around and came charging towards where the boys thought they were hiding.  Milton ducked down but Pony stood right up yelling “AHHHHHH!” to wit Sierra reared up tossing Heather to the ground.  The horse then ran off while his rider lay motionless on the ground.
	“Shit!” Milton said almost hysterical, “She’s fucking dead!”
	Heather was not “fucking dead.”  She was unconscious.  Pony pointed out the fact that she was breathing—and had pissed herself.
	For a long moment the boys stood looking at the girl.
	“Whattya think we should do?” Milton asked sheepishly.
	“Fuck if I know.” Pony said.  then,
	“Hey, wanna see what she looks like—naked?”
	“Dude!” Milton was stunned.  Curious, but stunned.

	The banana; the carrot, the plunger handle, cucumber, all had invaded his asshole. The experience was—odd.  He couldn’t put words to it.  Staring at the unconscious Heather and all Milton could think about was having vegetables shoved up his ass!
	It was a very unique experience.
	But so was what was displayed before him.  He was in utter awe as he watched his friend undress Heather.  Off came her boots, then down came her kinda-tight light blue jeans.  Red panties she wore and it was a mind blower for the boys gawking.
	Milton then realized that he had a boner.
	Pony pulled the unconscious girl’s panties off and there she was—naked.
	Well, she still had her shirt on—but not for long.
	Nice teenage titties—concealed in a matching red bra.
	THEN she was naked.
	The boys were stunned.
	And hard.
	Pony stood up and shucked his overalls and wasted no time in getting on the girl and grinding his cock against her pussy.  Too eager was he to shove himself in; but he was happy enough to grind.   Milton shucked his own clothing; it felt a little weird and a lot strange to be unclothed out in the open.  Looking around he saw no one but Heather’s horse meandering off in the distance.
	There were some concerns but replaced quickly by Pony’s fucking of Heather.  The boy had finally managed his cock into the teen girl’s cunt and was pumping.  His body was prone and up at an angle with his hips doing the work of pumping.  Heather moaned.
	As Pony pumped, Milton put his hand on the boy’s ass.  His other hand was choking his chicken.  Rubbing his hand on Pony’s ass felt good!  Unique sensations were riled up and more than getting his chance at fucking Heather he wanted to fuck Pony!
	But after Pony-boy got his nuts off and rolled off of Heather, Milton took his turn with the girl himself.  And to describe the sensation of fucking a girl compared to fucking his best friend?  He couldn’t.  Save that it was truly a unique sensation,  Heather’s cunt wrapped about Milton’s cock and thrilled him like nothing ever before thrilled him.
	He pumped slowly at first but then doggie/rabbit/Neanderthal instincts took over and he began to fuck rapidly. The sensations increased putting a look of sheer joy on the young fellow’s face.  Ass fucking was great, getting his weenie waxed by his friend?  Also great.  But fucking a pussy?  Wowzers!

*

What happens at the barn dance—usually finds a redneck saying “Hey, watch this!”
	BARN DANCE  Jerrel’s FARM  SAT NITE  6PM  $5 at the door
	The thing with country folk is that they like to get together and socialize; not for gossiping sake but to dance, listen to hicks sing, count chickens, sell a tractor, and drink jars and jars of liquor.  A fair amount of other shenanigans go on, too; pitchin’ woo for one; up in the loft, behind the barn, in the back of a truck, in the nearby cornfield, wherever the fancy to frolic takes the horny couple.
	Also, when drunk enough—or that doesn’t even have to be an excuse, one can find a country redneck humping something other than Mary Lou, Betty Anne, or Nancy.  Milton and best friend Pony-boy went to the barn dance but being under age they didn’t have to plunk down the five dollar entry fee.  The boys met up with their friends, Pony-boy’s Dad was a no-show, he was still somewhat ill from his chili “surprise” and many of his friends were not so kind to him.  Pony-boy wasn’t staying at the house for fear his Dad would kill him—literally.
	Anyways, after socializing with their friends, checking out some girls, Pony pouring some moonshine into the punch, Milton getting a whiff of Tara Whaleye’s perfume, the boys slipped out to the adjoining barn where they saw Harold Whrectum fucking a sheep!
	He was drunk as a skunk—but it didn’t matter if he was or not, he liked sheep!  And Spooner Jones liked soft cotton bales; nearby a bale of baled cotton had Spooner’s attention—and his cock buried into it.  Both men were totally blitzed on moonshine and it was time for the boys to move on.

	Tanya Littlehorse, thirteen, wearing a blue checkered knee-length dress was found with two boys, Lank Horthrob and Bobby Justintime.  All three were getting well onto being soused.  And Lank was the first one to hit the ground.  The day was early, yet; the air was cool enough to be tolerable; and it wasn’t even yet 7PM and half the rednecks—guys and gals—were already drunk off their proverbial gourd.
	And Tanya Littlehorse was wavering.  She was sixteen, cute as a bug—if you found a bug cute.  Super curly shoulder length brown hair, she was not unlike a typical Southern Belle; ‘ceptin’ she had a flat face, sharp nose, brown eyes, dozens of freckles, and an overbite.  Nice titties and a nice ass, though.
	When Bobby J turned to go pee on some cotton bales, Pony led Tanya off behind one of the barns and then behind some farm equipment.  Milton followed.  Providing Tanya with more drink, stronger than what she had already been consuming, the girl was grateful.  And she showed it, too, by lifting her dress revealing the fact that she wore no underwear.
	She was being silly, loose, and not too much from her ordinary self.
	Then she smiled and passed out.
	Pony wasted not a second in pushing the girl onto her back and then pushing her dress up out of the way.  Milton stood with his cock out checking for security purposes.  Pony humped the teenager creaming into her poon in minutes flat.  The girl moaned, groaned, and when Pony pulled out—she peed!

	Years later and at the ripe age of thirteen he hung loosely about a lumberyard while his Dad jawed with the owner.  Milton was bored—bored as fuck.  So when you’re bored you begin to wander around and that led him to the property next door—which happened to be a church.  There was a gathering there, it wasn’t a normal come-to-church time but for some special occasion.  Milton didn’t know what it was—didn’t care.
	As he leaned against the fence, hands in pockets, bored as fuck, he saw a little girl.  A wee little girl about five years old or so.  Cute as a bug!  A pretty blue dress, pretty blue eyes, seriously blond hair that was short just to her ears.  An adorable child.  What possessed Milton he didn’t know; but after slipping thru the chain link fence he slipped up on the little girl who seemed to be lost and just “wandering” around the parking lot—no one looking for her or anything.
	It was an age of the dawning of EMADs and Milton had him one.  It was new and not with a lot of features.  Kind of like the comparison of the first cell phones—the bulky ones compared to the ones you know can wear in your ear.  It was plain, the EMAD, with one sole purpose—to overwhelm a mind to the point of stunning it into submission.
	Milton had used it a couple of times so far.
	Fear, though, kept him from over using it and he dare not let anyone know he had it, especially Pony-boy!  ‘nuff said.  The pretty five year old was “stunned” and Milton snagged her dragging her behind a couple of big vehicles.  He paused to look the girl over; then, listening for anyone calling for her lifted her dress and checked her out.
	Basic white panties.
	He tugged them down.
	The first girl he “stunned” was ten year old Jessica Varamunchie.  She had been in a dress, too; a long to the knee dress.  No panties!  She was a long tall gall, long sleek black hair, skinny as a rail.  The second girl had been younger.
	Laying “Matilda” down he worked her panties off, opened her legs, then quickly positioned himself on her, his cock right against her virgin slit.  He was seriously hard and in deep need of sexual relief.  Since Pony-boy had gone to juvy Milton hadn’t had a good sexual encounter in quite awhile.  (Pony-boy had gone to juvenile hall for a long stint for killing his abusive dad.)
	The little girl made a face as he entered her.  Covering her mouth should she let out a cry Milton fully penetrated her and began to fuck.  He smelled the barbeque from the church of which was the reason why there was an assemblage of peoples on a non-church service day.
	He grunted and let his mind drift; to Pony-boy, his cousin Millie—of whom he also “stunned” and then fucked the bejesus out of—she was a mere lassie of five, also.  From somewhere deep down inside him was an evil.  Most times it was quashed and not an issue.  Then, there were those times it made its surface and frightened the usually timid-pussy Milton.  This was one of those times.  It mattered not how old the girl was, three or ten or sixteen.  Milton pumped vigorously for several quick minutes—and when the child began to thrash about he smacked her upside the head with a hunk of 2x4.
	This knocked the child out and Milton went on to complete his deed.  Using her own panties he cleaned himself then rolled her under one of the cars.  His Pa was calling for him and he got the wrath of a glare as he made he appeared—dirty and with torn shirt.  He helped load some plywood and other home improvement stuff; next door, as they drove out, the peoples of the church were amassing calling for the missing five year old.
	Thereafter and the use of the EMAD was not so much used.  It didn’t work well so much anyways and Milton occupied himself with normalcy; building a birdhouse business, academics, and the pursuit of getting the hell out of the small hick town.
	Only years later and—there he was—back!
	He didn’t fit into the city life.
	He did, though, fit into eleven year old Karyn Killdillhopper!