Butterface Page 3

  “He told me to tell ya that if anything happens to me he’s-a gonna have a talk with ya.”

  “Yup, I reckon he’ll shoot me sure,” Old Pap said. “But hell, ain’t my fault you ain’t dipped yer wick yet. You’re a good lookin strappin’ boy, sweet talk one of them Harlow girls. I keep hearin how all three of ‘em’s boy crazy. Or hell, you could always jist go talk to Miss Dixie down’t the cat house in the city, mention me and she’ll give y’a discount, heh heh.”

  “Thang is Old Pap, this all sounds like horseshit to me.” Horseshit was his daddy’s word for any kind of nonsense; Tommy Joe’s vocabulary didn’t really have any other synonyms for the concept. “It all sounds like some boogieman stories to get us hitched up and makin babies.”

  He spat again, on the ground, and then fiercely locked eyes with Tommy Joe. “Well it ain’t,” he said. “You’d best take it serious, now’s you know. Once’t you find out she’s a-comin for ya, you ain’t got long. When you turn nineteen, boy?”

  “Ain’t til next July.”

  “Well then, least you got til Halloween,” Old Pap said. “You’d best wet your willie by then or she’ll git ya sure.”

  Tommy Joe would have laughed if Old Pap weren’t staring at him so intensely. Halloween was only a week away. “That don’t make it sound less like horseshit though, Old Pap. Why Halloween, so’s they can make a movie out’n it?”

  Dumb Luther laughed sat straight up, and in his deep, hoarse voice, shouted, “Tricks-er-treats!” and then slumped back to drooling into his bucket.

  “Naw, you dumb shit,” Old Pap said, still staring a hole through Tommy Joe’s head. “That’s when the devils is out, ever’body knows that. And she’s a-one of ‘em. They get all kinda powers from th’other side on Halloween. If you ever darkened a church door, you’d know this. You ever read about a sucky-bust?”

  “Nope,” he said.

  “Well, she’s like one a them. You go to your yay-hoo on the computers and look up sucky-bust. Hell even I knowed to do that, that’s where I learnt the name Butterface too. It’s a joke, see, what we used’t call a two-bagger. Course, back when I was a young’un, we always jist reckoned she were a come-devil.”

  “A come-devil?” Tommy Joe said, his eyes wide, his tone disgusted. “You mean like…she’s made out of it?”

  “Sweet Jesus you kids get dumber ever year,” said Billie Joe Tyndale, an obese man in a plaid dress shirt, suspenders, and tan slacks who was half-reclining in the straining chair next to Old Pap. “She needs a man’s seed. She got old Luther and look what’s left once’t she got done suckin him dry.”

  “Tricks-er-treats!” Luther bellowed, as if on cue.

  “Forty god damn years and not one sensible word out of ‘im,” Billy Joe said, returning his attention to his Field & Stream magazine.

  “Don’t reckon I’ll be seein no more of Billie Joe’s little spunk-worms floatin round the fishin’ hole,” Old Pap said quietly. “You’d best make sure you ‘n your friend JimBob gets you some pussy right quick. And I said more’n I shoulda said, already. Don’t take no wooden nickels, y’hear?” And then he returned to his whittling, indicating the audience was ended. Tommy Joe sat a moment longer, thinking, then silently got up and walked back to the pickup for the drive home.

  ~~~

  The young man was so thin he looked emaciated, lying naked and sweat-covered atop the quilt on his hand-made bed. His blonde hair was matted to his forehead. He tossed yet again, rolling onto his side away from the door and covered his ear with his forearm. Mother’s music was playing quietly, but it was still enough to keep him awake with the heat; ever since Father had traded his mule to old man Johnson for the Victrola, Jimmy had heard nothing but the damn Enrico Caruso record day and night, and he despised it. He thought the Italian sounded like a cake-eater and he didn’t want to hear it.

  Regardless, sleep was not in store for young Jimmy tonight. He had been working and sweating his tail off all day even though it was late October. Very late October, actually, and almost his nineteenth birthday tomorrow on the thirty-first.

  Some of his friends were surprised that he enjoyed his Halloween birthday, but he did. Jimmy didn’t like to do much of anything except drinking, fishin’, and stealing, so Halloween was perfect for him. He could let his mean streak out anonymously, everyone was preoccupied so he could take most anything he wanted and get away with it, and usually he could manage to do it all drunk without Mother or Father finding out.

  He tossed and turned some more, then he finally lost his temper with Mother’s Enrico Caruso music. “Consarn it,” he whispered to himself. He stood quietly, put his britches and his hat on, grabbed his twin buckets and his cane pole, and snuck out his window to get some midnight fishin’ in. As he crept past the dogs, he retrieved his Mason jar of shine from under the chicken coop and placed it gingerly in his bait bucket.

  He stopped about halfway there, in sight of the old Spears place, to drink some of his shine. Fred was the only one of the Spears left. Mrs. Spears, his wife, had passed away from consumption last year. Their kids had died in a fire at the schoolhouse before Jimmy had been born, and the schoolhouse hadn’t been rebuilt even still.

  Jimmy always wished there was a school he could go to. He had learned to read and always wanted to learn more and see the world, but life on the farm made that impossible. He read all he could get his hands on, but aside from the Bible, that wasn’t much besides a few old grammar books. The dictionary he had stolen from the Pastor got ruined when the first good rain came along, because like everything else he stole, he hid it under the chicken coop.

  This was on Jimmy’s mind when the dim light of Mr. Spears’ lamp went out. Jimmy knew Mr. Spears was a reader, especially now that he was alone in the world, so he thought about snooping around some to see if he could get his hands on a book or two. After a few more sips to screw his courage to the sticking point, he stowed his fishin’ gear by a huge oak he could easily find again and crept toward the house.

  He was a quiet sneak, and Fred only had one old, retired coon hound that was asleep in his doghouse on the far side of the barn. The shutter was latched, but loose enough that he could easily just slip his finger between the slats and lift the hook, and the old farmhouse didn’t have glass panes. It was only a matter of ten minutes before Jimmy was back on his way to the fishin’ hole, two sight-unseen books nestled next to the shine in his bait bucket. He’d just groped around in the dark near Mr. Spears’ rocker and found the old man’s little book-basket. Jimmy was proud of himself for leaving some behind.

  Once he reached the fishin’ hole, Jimmy set his pole up between his feet so he could feel the pull when he got a bite, then he pulled out his candle and little box of Safe Home matches so he could read.

  He inspected his finds in the dim candle light. A heavily-bound black book had “Home Comfort Cook Book, 1925 Reprint, Wrought Iron Range Co., St. Louis, U.S.A” on the cover. The other was no bigger than the palm of his hand, and looked to be bound in some kind of snakeskin. Jimmy couldn’t identify the snake it came from; clearly it wasn’t from a species that lived around his area.

  “Well now,” he muttered to himself.

  The cook book went right back into the bait bucket, but he was intrigued by the mysterious snakeskin tome. It was small but almost cubic, being equally tall and wide and nearly as thick. He opened it randomly near the middle.

  On both pages he immediately saw intricate, nearly photographic sketches in dark red ink of a beautiful naked woman with strange words written all around the margins. His cock was growing before he had even scanned both pages. On the left page she was facing toward the reader and on the right she was facing away, in both cases posed like the Vitruvian Man, although he didn’t know that.

  Jimmy just knew it was the most arousing, exciting thing he had ever seen before. He’d never done more than tongue-kissed and played a little grab-ass with his cousin Becky Sue, and he’d certainly never s
een a naked, grown woman like that. The best he and his friends had ever done was peeks at some of the girls when they bathed, before they got savvy enough to catch them and chase them off and tattle-tale on them.

  He stood up and slid his britches down to his ankles, then sat back down, his eyes glued to the book as he started stroking his long, broad, already tumescent penis. Jimmy was the owner of an eleven-inch erection and testicles the size of both of his fists, a true prodigy, and no one knew it but himself (though some suspected, as he was healthy-sized even when soft, and of course many had seen him naked—but never erect).

  “Damn what a Sheba,” he muttered to himself, madly jerking his throbbing cock as he looked closely at the drawings of her anatomy, the round glutes, the nipples, the lines between her thighs and the little patch of hair indicated above them. “Oh my you’re a hotsy-totsy for sure.”

  Thank you Jimmy

  He froze, his hand at the base of his massive hard-on, two thirds of it sticking up over his thumb. “Who said that?” he asked. “Show y’self.”

  I am showing you all I can. Look at me again and keep going.

  “Horsefeathers,” he said. He looked at the book anyway, and saw the words moving around on the page as if they were floating on a pond. The beautiful face drawn on the woman was smiling now, and before the expression had been neutral.

  “What in tarnation,” he whispered, and some of the letters of the strange Latin-like words separated out to form an instruction: READ THIS. Then all the words clustered together and separated again into a string of unintelligible words. He was moving his hand again; he couldn’t seem to help himself whenever his eyes landed on the illustration of her exciting body.

  Say it out loud and I’ll be real. We’ll be friends. I’ll fuck you for the rest of your life.

  He knew what that meant, and he knew no lady would ever say such a thing. That was fine with Jimmy, though, because he never planned to be any kind of a gentleman anyways, as long as nobody knew.

  So they haggled. And once she convinced Jimmy, and he admirably made her answer many questions she was reluctant to answer, and he decided that all the church talk wasn’t more important than dipping his wick into her perfect body any time he felt like it—

  At that point and no sooner, he read the words to bring her through, from wherever she was, over to this side, and she immediately brought him to the first and best orgasm of his life.

  But in spite of their deal and the protections and duties it laid upon him, she had to hide her face as she took him into her magical womb, because did he ever mangle the unfamiliar language as he spoke the words…

  Chapter 3

  Tommy Joe and JimBob decided that, once a day or two had passed (but not too long), they ought to talk to Bobby Joe’s mother, Lucy McRae. She’d been a widow for the last few years and worked night and day at the diner, basically running the place for old man Wilkins, who never even showed up any more except to sign the checks on payday. The diner, like the rest of the town, was doing poorly to start with and slowly getting worse, but the boys gathered their little cash and thought they’d meet her at work. They figured she would at least try to stay calm and collected while she was in public.

  They didn’t need to worry much about that. Lucy was no stranger to misfortune, and apparently, each time a new calamity befell her, she handled it with fewer hysterics. Bob McRae had wedded the early-blooming Lucy when she was quite young, thanks to her parents’ consent, even though she hadn’t ever really even liked Bob. He died in an accident in the coal mine where half the town worked, and shortly after that their oldest boy, Billie Bob, had gone joyriding in a stolen truck that stalled on the train tracks. He had kept trying to get the truck to start until it was too late to get out, and the train smeared him across half a mile of track. The next day, her long auburn hair had turned white, and she had gone into town and had it shorn into a bob that she never allowed to grow out again. Aside from the white hair, she could have passed for 22.

  Apparently, along with her original hair color, she had lost something else. Some measure of caring, some capacity to give a damn.

  “Hey Mrs. McRae,” JimBob said as they took stools at the counter. Nobody else was there, even though it was noon.

  “Hello boys,” she said with a smile. “What can I get you?”

  “Coffee’s fine Mrs. McRae,” Tommy Joe said.

  “You boys call me Lucy from now on, you’re not children no more.”

  “Yes ma’am, Mrs…Lucy. How’s Bobby Joe?”

  The faintest shadow crossed her face, but the smile stuck. “Oh, you know. Layin around just a bit more than normal,” she said, smiling wider to stress the joke and putting cups and saucers in front of them. “I expect he’ll hang on this way for a long time.”

  “That’s good, I guess,” JimBob said.

  “Yeah, I guess,” she said. The boys exchanged a confused glance when her back was turned to them while she grabbed the coffee pot. “I’m more worried about you two, honestly.”

  “Why?” JimBob asked. “We’re jist fine. Poor Bobby Joe ain’t.”

  “Well, I reckon Bobby Joe’s done got all that life has to throw at him,” she said. She filled their cups, then her own. She and JimBob fidgeted with the cream and sugar, and Tommy Joe immediately started drinking his black. “You two, well. I ain’t gonna be the one to tell you certain things, but…”

  “You mean about Butterface?” Tommy Joe said. “You really think that’s what happened? You don’t reckon it was a real stroke?”

  She stared at Tommy Joe over the rim of her cup as she drank, then said, “It was a real stroke all right. But it wasn’t no natural one. And I’m worried you two are gonna get worse’n he got.”

  “Why?” JimBob asked.

  “Always happens ‘at-a way,” she said. “Each one gets worse. And with poor Bobby Joe bein’ the first one of yuns…”

  She sat in silence a moment, and they didn’t interrupt it. Then she looked up quickly. “Hey, can I get you boys to do me a favor after your coffee? I need some boxes off a high shelf in back, and you’re both so tall and strong. I can’t get it by myself.” Lucy wasn’t any taller than five-foot-five, if that.

  “Sure,” they both said together.

  “Well finish up your coffee and let me get you a piece of pie, and put your money away,” she said, getting up to do just that.

  The boys were digging into the amazing pecan pie she made from scratch every day and didn’t notice her lock the door and turn the sign to CLOSED, but her timing was perfect. She beckoned them to follow her in back with a finger as they were wiping their mouths with their napkins.

  They did notice the strut in her walk, although they didn’t yet realize it was intentional. Her backside drew the eyes of almost every man in town, at least when they weren’t staring at her double-D breasts. These two were no exception, even though Tommy Joe tried not to gawk.

  “My, but it’s hot for October…you know, I reckoned Bobby Joe learned about Butterface somehow,” Lucy said as they walked past the walk-in cooler and the freezer, “But I didn’t know it for sure. How did you boys hear about that?”

  “Old Pap told us,” JimBob said, his head unconsciously swaying to the rhythm of her steps, his eyes glued to her heart-shaped derriere.

  “That nasty old bastard,” she said, stopping in front of the tall metal shelving units that held boxes of supplies. Somehow the top three buttons of her white uniform blouse had come undone and the boys could see far more of her pale, freckled cleavage than they had ever thought to. “Did you know that you ain’t got to worry about her unless you know she’s out there? If he’d never said nothing, Bobby Joe would be just fine right now.”

  They were trying to listen and trying and failing to not stare at her chest, and she pretended not to notice. She pointed up at two large boxes on the top shelf, almost tumbling a breast out of her shirt in the process. “Those are the ones, I can’t reach ‘em.
They’re just Styrofoam so they don’t weigh nothin.”

  The boys stepped up to the shelving and reached up for the boxes. They could touch them, but not quite get a hold on them; each grasp slid the light boxes back a little more on the wire racks. JimBob leaned in and used his fingertips from underneath to poke and prod it so that it would move Tommy Joe’s box back to the edge, where he could grab it.

  As he was doing that, they both felt Mrs. McRae step between them. Tommy Joe turned his head first and saw that she was stripped down to nothing but a pair of purple thong panties, and his eyes locked onto her massive, round breasts and the hard nipples on each, swollen and barely darker than her pale, sweaty flesh, like pink scrambled eggs. She reached down and cupped her hand over his groin, her little fingers massaging his balls through his jeans and his cock already starting to swell against her wrist.

  “I’m not gonna let her have you boys, too,” she said, smiling at Tommy Joe. As she was speaking, JimBob turned and noticed her, as well. His eyes boggled enormously as he took in all of her exposed flesh.

  She smiled and reached out to him, taking his hand in hers and placing it on her breast.

  “Mrs. McRae…” Tommy Joe started.

  “Lucy,” she corrected him. She smiled sweetly up at him and gently rubbed his groin. “I know you got a gal. This ain’t got nothing to do with that.”

  “But…” he said again, but was silenced by her fingers sliding back up over his crotch and unfastening his jeans. JimBob squeezed the breast overflowing his hand and uttered a little moan.

  “I expect it won’t take but a few minutes,” she said, wrapping her fingers around Tommy Joe’s shaft inside his briefs. “But if it does, I don’t mind.”

  JimBob held and stared at her bare tit dumbly, and she turned her attention to him, stroking Tommy Joe slowly and working him mostly out of his briefs as she slid her other hand down to JimBob’s crotch.