Butterface Page 2

  How can pussy be better’n that? he wondered as he grabbed himself under his single sheet. He was coated in sweat, the mild breeze coming in his window doing nothing to cool him. Oh, that moment when his fat pecker head plopped right past that tight ring in JimBob’s ass and he slid in deep, feeling his big nutsack push up against JimBob’s little stones…

  He was mistaken in thinking the warm breeze brought nothing with it but humidity.

  It brought something much hotter than just the sultry night air, something much wetter than the swampy moisture that usually saturated everything in his life.

  He was answered in his own mind by a voice that didn’t belong to him.

  It can be better than anything your mind can imagine, Bobby Joe.

  Oh what the fuck is that, he thought, although he didn’t much care. He was busy working his wide dick up and down, his back turned to the door so Maw wouldn’t walk in on him. He already busted one nut too many thinking about his own Maw to be comfortable with it, because the boys hadn’t been lying, she was still pretty finely built, in spite of premature graying. She wasn’t even close to forty yet and she did have huge titties and a nice round butt…

  Oh you naughty boy, would you put that big fat hard cock into your mother? the voice said in his mind.

  No, oh my Lord, he thought. No it’s just sinful thoughts, I would never…

  Of course you wouldn’t, the voice said, just like you’d never fuck JimBob in his ass

  And he saw

  (Maw in her swim suit, fabric all soaked and ridin up inta her crack and that purty bare butt cheek all wet and shiny)

  “Hey,” he said aloud—realizing this was not his own thought, but his cock was firming up even more, almost as much as it could—

  and then he opened his eyes and saw something in the shadows of the corner of his room, shadows made by the bright moonlight through the swaying branches and leaves outside his window, something that made him firm up totally, a flash of beautiful silver light on a round, bare little butt cheek, half an apple of perfectly formed rump flesh turned into lust itself, his Maw forgotten as he stared trying to capture the illusion again…

  And then he saw the whole apple, the immaculate, heart-shaped mounds of flesh divided perfectly down the middle, the pinnacle of absolute perfection that a woman’s naked ass could be, right in his room, right in front of his eyes, thrust out intentionally for him to look at and stroke his cock to…

  Oh yes but I want you to do more than stroke your cock to it…but not until you know what you’re missing, you naughty boy…you’ve gone far too long without using your wonderful manhood on a real woman…you’ll forget all about your hand and hard male asses after you’ve penetrated my perfect, soft, wet, bottomless pussy…

  (a bald little mountain rising upside-down from the sky, smooth, hairless, split by delicate lips, a nub peeking out under a hood)

  And after you come…and you’ve given me your wonderful seed

  (a nub with teeth and lips of its own inside the lips without teeth on the upside down mons)

  In my magical womb forever

  (zooming in past the lips, diving into the black inky darkness in the hole, distant specks of something appearing, twinkling faintly like the dimmest of stars)

  And then Bobby Joe saw more…creamy perfect thighs supporting that perfect plum of a bottom…a lovely, lean lower back above the delicious flanks…hair tickling down, long and sexy just how he liked it, silver and shimmery just like Maw’s no, dark edges, sparkling,

  now dark brown just like Susie, just like JimBob, no, silvery, no, it’s

  I’m changing to find your favorite oh shit It’s changing color while it brushes it’s-a changin’ color while it moves around Over the swell of my over the swell of bare naked ass them naked hams and oh hell it’s that

  (lovely round cheeks bouncing and slapping together, slapping, slapping, opening and closing, closer and closer, dizzying spiral emanating from inside)

  it’s that pretty yellow hair like ripe corn kernels that drives your cock crazy purty yeller hair just like Janie, oh mah Lord yes, so long and yeller and look how it brushes the curve above that bouncin’ little ass…

  Just like that the ass and legs and back and hair danced slowly backwards into the light—never turning, never letting him see the front of her perfect form. Keeping his eyes drawn to her bare little heart-shaped ass, she stepped one abruptly-unnaturally-long leg over the bed, pulling his sweat-soaked sheet away from him and gripping his all-time biggest hard-on at once.

  He looked down at himself and saw her long, long, blood-red nails holding his erection straight up, aimed at her

  (hole full of eternity, never reaching those faint stars)

  crotch oh lord she’s-a gonna put me in her pussy

  He could see her beautiful, strong, soft buttocks flexed and posed over his protruding belly, and just a hint of the lower lips showed, but so exciting, so

  (mountainous, obscured)

  slim and tiny and slick and

  (slimy, spongy, moist)

  and

  Oh Jesus I’m in it my pecker is in there, oh that’s, fuck, oh, ohhh

  His hands grabbed the immaculate bottom and it felt so perfect, the powerful motion of those flanks under the velvety skin, the feeling of those muscles flexing in his palms and fingertips making his head spin like he’d snuck too much corn liquor. He was losing control already just seeing his sausage fingers dig into the milky white skin and watching her broad hips and narrow waist grind down onto him and up again in a steady, slow rhythm.

  (spirals and spirals inside, twisting him in ways pussies can’t twist, the vertigo-inducing hypnosis spiral turned into muscles, juicing his head and shaft down the whole length)

  His balls were tensed and ready to ejaculate within two strokes but he managed to stop himself, which he told himself he could do since he had already squirted a few times today. After another two bounces of that perfect cunt onto his throbbing penis he managed to stop himself again.

  She, mercifully, paused in her riding…bringing the same leg back, the one that Bobby Joe hadn’t even realized had stretched inhumanly to straddle him, so she turned on his lap, corkscrewing his massively thick, stumpy erection inside the hole that was tighter than his fist could ever grip his own meat, and she leaned forward so that her mostly-golden hair covered her face in shadow, and he got a look at her flat, muscular belly, the delicate curve of her belly leading down to her smooth hairless pubis, her nether lips, her enormous breasts and their pink nipples that were the size and texture of fried eggs, just like what turned him on the most…

  Oh them titties Jesus Gawd

  And he got his hands on them, the first time in his life he had actually had bare breasts in his hands and they were perfect ones and he couldn’t help it, he whimpered like a dog who got its tail stepped on and his balls exploded and he felt all of his spunk shooting out, a blast, all at once into

  the spiral

  what the fuck

  I’m falling there’s nothing here oh help

  everything this is everything and it’s

  no, no, there can’t be this much nothing it’s too much and that can’t be her face that’s

  Chapter 2

  “Tommy Joe. Tommy Joe, hey,” Dad said softly. The light flipped on and Tommy Joe started half-upright.

  He looked at his clock, an old wind-up hand-me-down. It was almost 4 am, earlier even than Dad would get him up normally. Still groggy with sleep, he said “What?”

  “Wake up son. Come on out to the kitchen and get you some coffee, we got to have a talk.”

  “All right,” he said, rubbing his eyes. He got up and pulled his jeans over his tightie whities. It was still hot and sticky so he left it at that, then stepped across the hallway into the bathroom to splash some water in his face and went to the kitchen.

  Dad and Mama sat at the table, Dad with coffee and Mama with tea. Clive Fre
eman, an old friend of Dad’s and a deputy sheriff, stood leaning against the door holding a mug.

  “Mornin Tommy Joe,” the deputy said softly.

  “Mornin Mr. Freeman,” he answered, pouring the last of the pot into his Dale Earnhardt mug, which someone had already set out for him. “What’s goin on?”

  “Got some bad news, thought you might want to hear it before rumors start a-spreadin,” Deputy Freeman said.

  Tommy Joe’s stomach did a flip. “Is Janie all right?” he said.

  “Oh she’s fine, honey,” Mama said. “It’s Bobby Joe McRae.”

  “Yeah, he had what appears to be a stroke several hours ago,” the Deputy said, speaking slowly and precisely and nothing at all like he normally spoke. “Just needed to come ask if y’all had got up to anything unusual yesterday. Bobby Joe’s awful young for a stroke. The Boss Man told me to look into it some more, see if’n there’s anything out the ordinary that could might have contributed to his demise.” He paused and took a long drink of coffee after he said dee-mise. “See, it’s just that the Sheriff’s been watchin that one doctor show lately, so he’s been warnin us to be on the lookout for strange chemicals and such. No matter what’s goin on,” he added with a roll of his eyes.

  “Naw, nothing really,” Tommy Joe said, finally taking a sip of his own coffee to give himself a moment to think. Something weird happened all right, but damned if he was going to ever say anything about that. “We went down to the fishin’ hole, and had a dunk while we was there, that’s it. Me, him, and JimBob Brown. We didn’t even catch anything.”

  “Well how often y’all take a dunk there?” he said.

  “All the time, pert much,” Tommy Joe said. “Maybe two three times a week, more when it’s hot like this.”

  “I reckon y’all don’t get no girls down there a-skinny dippin or nothing, do ya?” he asked.

  There was a brief pause as Tommy Joe blushed. “Naw,” he said, blurting out an embarrassed laugh. “Ain’t no girls would ever skinny dip with us, even if we asked ‘em to. They’re all good church girls round here, Mr. Freeman.”

  “Yeah I reckon that’s so, but they ain’t all from round here neither. No city girls out there a-frolickin with you fellas?”

  “Never,” he said. “Nothin like that, never.”

  “Well, ok then. I reckon that’s good.” Freeman put the cup down on the kitchen table and nodded to Dad. “Thanks for the cuppa Joe, Joe,” he said, using the same predictable pun every time. Dad’s name, of course, was Joe.

  Dad responded as if he’d never heard it before, laughing with amazing sincerity. “Sure Clive, you’re more than welcome to another if you want. It’s damn early to be out without at least a second cup.”

  “Oh that was my third for the day,” he said. “Had two out to the McRae’s place, talkin to Bobby Joe’s poor widowed mama.”

  “Bless her heart,” Mama said. “Poor Lucy. Ain’t no wonder her hair’s gone white, just like that queen a England. First Bob gets killed, then Billy Bob got hit by that train, and now Bobby Joe’s all but gone too.”

  “Don’t say that Mother,” Dad said. “You never know. Folks can come back from a stroke.”

  “Yes, that’s true Joe, but maybe that ain’t gonna be no mercy for her. You know she can’t afford this with what she makes down at the diner, poor girl.”

  The deputy cleared his throat. “Well, thank you Tommy Joe, sorry to wake you with such bad news. Walk me out, Joe? Ma’am,” Freeman said, tipping his hat to Mama. Mama just shook her head and wiped her eyes with a cloth doily she was holding. Dad stood and walked the deputy out as Tommy Joe sat with his coffee at the table, in silence, by his mother.

  Mama got up and poured herself some more tea and sat back down. “I reckon I’ll cook y’all some eggs in a minute, I just need to set a spell longer. Poor Bobby Joe.”

  “I ain’t hungry anyways, Mama,” he said. “Don’t worry ‘bout me none.”

  “Oh you need to eat, you’re a growin boy,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes again and then drinking from her cup. “I’m just…Tommy, you need t’get hitched up with Janie, I know she’s sweet on you.”

  “What? Mama, what’s that got to do with the price of tea in China?” He laughed a little at her seemingly strange train of thought, patting her on the shoulder.

  “Don’t you pat me like I’m some addlepated old dingus,” she said. “You don’t know everythin’, Tommy Joe Barnett. You need to get you hitched up and give me some grandbabies.”

  “Well you might oughta talk to Janie bout them grandbabies,” he said. She looked at him and he winked. “I’m-a tryin.”

  “You rascal,” she said, smiling through her tears. “You make an honest woman out of that girl. Just do it soon. I don’t want nothin a-happenin to you like…I better make y’all some eggs, your Dad’s gonna be hungry soon. Make me up a piece of toast, would ya?” She stood and went to the fridge, unloading a pound of butter, a large saucepan full of grits from the day before, half a cake pan of cornbread, milk, orange juice in a pitcher, a basket full of brown eggs, and white butcher packages of bacon and ham. She always called breakfast ‘making some eggs.’

  Tommy Joe dropped two pieces of bread in the eight-slot toaster. “Mama, are you thinkin’ Bobby Joe didn’t have no stroke?” he said. “Why would you worry about me?”

  Mama was getting pans out. She didn’t say anything right away, but then she turned and looked at him seriously. “Janie’s a good Christian girl, she’ll be a good wife for you. You kids just don’t grow up as fast these days. Not like when me and your Dad was young’uns.” She turned back to the stove, the ham she dropped into the skillet letting out a hiss and a puff of steam.

  “You’re thinkin’ about that Butterface, ain’t ya?” he said.

  She laughed, dropping some bacon into the other pan. “What’n tarnation’s a Butterface?” she said.

  “Old Pap said it’s a woman who comes to ruin folks what’s still virgins.”

  Mama whirled, a terrified look on her face. “Oh my dear Lord,” she said. She lunged across the room, more spryly than Tommy Joe figured she was capable of, and grabbed his strong shoulders in her pudgy, calloused hands. “When did he tell you? WHEN DID HE TELL YOU?”

  “Yesterday, down at the fishin’ hole,” he said. “Mama, what’s wrong? You don’t believe all that horseshit, do you?”

  She slapped his face, hard like she did when he cussed as a boy. “Don’t you talk that way in this house! Oh my Lord Jesus, protect my boy,” and then she grabbed him in a bear hug. “Oh my Lord Jesus, oh Jesus protect my boy.” He just hugged her back with his eyes wide. He didn’t know what else to do.

  “Mother, you’re gonna burn that ham,” Dad said as he came back inside.

  Mama let go of Tommy Joe and looked at him as if nothing had happened. She straightened her dress and said, “Well then. I did not know they was callin’ her that, nowadays.” She went to the stove and continued cooking without another word.

  “Dad,” Tommy Joe said quietly, trying to exclude his mother, “What the hell’s all this about? What’s Mama so scared of that Butterface story for?”

  “When did you hear about her?” Joe said in a low voice, putting a hand on Tommy Joe’s shoulder and turning them both away from Mama. The look on his face was almost as panicked as Mama’s had been.

  “Yesterday. Old Pap was teasin’ us about JimBob bein’ a virgin.” No way would he confess to his dad that he hadn’t done it yet. “It’s just horseshit, ain’t it, Dad?”

  Joe looked at him and sat in a kitchen chair without looking at it, still watching Tommy Joe. “I reckon once we eat, you best run into town for me, we need some feed for the chickens and horses. Davey’ll be there even if he ain’t got the mill open yet. Take the truck.” He rubbed both his temples with one hand, covering his eyes as he said, “I reckon you best go have a talk with Old Pap while you’re at it, make him tell you ever’thin.”

&n
bsp; “Ok,” Tommy Joe said.

  “And you let that old lollygagger know that I said if anything happens to you, I’ll be havin a talk with him myself. One he ain’t gonna like.”

  ~~~

  It wasn’t quite seven a.m. when Tommy Joe pulled into the long, narrow gravel patch that served as a parking lot for the general store. It had passed through several franchises and bore the marks of some, but always ended up as just ‘the general’ or ‘the old Johnson store,’ in spite of what was left of the JOHNSON’S A&_ sign (which hadn’t had the missing P in Tommy Joe’s entire lifetime) and the old Johnson Conoco Gas sign (even though the pumps had been gone since the late 1960s).

  The store served as a hangout for the oldest of the old men in town, and Old Pap was top seniority on that list. There were always three or four of them hanging around in addition to John “Junior” Johnson, who had been the proprietor since his own father passed away during the Ford Presidency, and Dumb Luther, his baby brother. After the harvest they would move a few shelves and set up a card table right inside the big display window, but most of the year, like that day, they had their chairs outside in a line along the right-hand side of the storefront.

  Tommy Joe took one of the two vacant seats, next to Dumb Luther, who was staring off across the road and drooling into his bucket. Junior was apparently in the store, and Old Pap and a few others were sitting there smoking their pipes talking about the strange, unseasonally warm weather.

  “Well if it ain’t Tommy Joe Barnett. I ain’t seen you two days in a row since you got caught stealin a matchbox car from Junior and your daddy marched ya back here to apologize,” Old Pap said. “You boys catch anything?”

  “Naw,” Tommy Joe replied. “But I’m-a wantin to talk to you bout what you told us yesterday. Bobby Joe had a stroke last night and I guess he’s all messed up. Dad told me to come down here and get you t’tell me ever’thang you know.”

  “Well ever’thang I know is gonna take some doin,” he said. “I hope you got ten minutes, heh!” He held his scraggly white chin-beard against his overalls, leaned forward, and dribbled tobacco juice into the brass spittoon between his boots. “I reckon he’s thinkin I ought not to’a mentioned Butterface to you boys.”