Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors (37 page)

“Now I like that. A married man has responsibilities and isn't as likely to lay out of work, but how come a cute thing like you wants to marry an ugly duck like Bo?"

“If you had ever seen him in a shower you wouldn't have to ask,” she replied.

Big Willie howled with laughter. “You got you a good one, Bo. When are you two gonna tie the knot?"

Bo glanced at Betty. “We haven't discussed a date yet. It's gonna have to be pretty soon, though. This is Thursday and we both start work next Wednesday."

“Hmm—takes three days after getting the license. You kids go to the courthouse this afternoon and get the paperwork done. I'll reserve the church for Monday and find you a preacher too."

“What church?” Betty asked.

“Used to be a little Methodist church, a hundred years ago or something like that. When old man Reynolds gave the land for a park, they decided to restore the church and keep it as a park attraction. It's just on the other side of the clubhouse. Come on. I'll show it to you."

Betty hadn't been inside a church since the funeral featuring four caskets. She didn't think much of a god who would let such a tragedy occur, but the little log cabin with stained glass windows was appealing. She squealed with delight when Big Willie started pumping the pedals of the old organ and his one-fingered effort produced sounds that resembled music.

The trailer in Advance appeared to be brand new, but the landlady told them, when they picked up the key, that it was actually seven years old. She and her husband lived in the trailer while they saved money to build their dream home.

Betty's heart beat faster and faster as they moved through the rooms of the trailer. She thought the furniture was beautiful and the kitchen appliances looked as if they were on display in a department store showroom. The place was even air-conditioned; a luxury neither Betty nor Bo had ever experienced.

Standing in the master bedroom at the foot of the king-sized bed, Bo pulled Betty to him. He slid his hands to her sparse bottom and pressed his lips to hers. She did not pull away, but neither did she respond.

“Betty,” he said in the most romantic tone he could manage, “we are as good as married. I think it's time you made a man out of me."

He unbuttoned her shirt, but when he slid his hands inside and cupped the mammary treasures, she placed her hands on his and gently drew his active fingers away. Still holding his hands, she sat on the bed with a suddenly serious look on her face.

“Things are happening so fast, Bo. There's something we must discuss."

Bo realized a serious issue was on Betty's mind, but having made up his mind to have intercourse, he refused to back off. He sat beside her and roughly forced the shirt over her shoulders, leaving her arms still in the sleeves. Without encouragement, she allowed him to suck her left nipple and fondle her right breast, and she freed her arms from the shirt.

“Bo,” she said as she slowly ran her fingers through his hair, “under no circumstances do I want to ever have children. Think about it. As ugly as both of us are, any children we might have would be hideous."

“Not a problem,” he replied, temporarily releasing her nipple but at the same time trying to force his right hand inside the front of her jeans. “I have no use for children at this stage of my life either. Later, if we change our minds, perhaps we can adopt."

She unsnapped her jeans, allowing his searching fingers to discover the growing stubble of her pubic hair. “We can't have sex, Bo, unless you have a rubber. I'm not going to risk getting pregnant, damn it."

“I don't have a rubber,” he muttered, jerking his hand away from the area he desperately wanted to explore.

She looked at him, sitting beside her with hands between his knees and his shoulders slumped. She slid to the floor and pulled his pants to his ankles.

“Damn,” she said. “You do have a huge cock. That thing will split me in half."

“Don't make fun of me, Betty."

“Lighten up. Most women would kill to have a man built like that."

She stroked his scrotum with her right hand and grasped his penis with her left. She rubbed it gently against her cheek. He moaned. She barely touched its head with the tip of her tongue. He exploded.

“Thank goodness there are paper towels in the bathroom,” she laughed.

“Gawdalmightydamn, son. Surely you're not going to marry that ugly piece of white trash with a mama crazy as shit."

“Who the hell are you calling ugly and trash?” Bo shouted back at his father. “Would you take a good look at me. Talk about ugly. She can't help what her mama did, and somebody that married the whore you did has no right to call anybody trash."

“You gonna let him talk about me like that, good as I've been to somebody else's brat?"

“Good? Shit. You know why your bitch hates me Dad? The very day you came home from your honeymoon she forced her way into the shower with me and got pissed off ‘cause I wouldn't fuck her. Talk about white trash."

“There's no call for you to make up lies about your mother."

“My mother's dead. I killed her when I was born. You and your bitch can go straight to hell."

Bo stormed out of the living room, packed his things and spent the night in the doublewide rented late that afternoon.

“It's your life, Betty. I hope you're not making a mistake. We're getting a new foster kid on Monday so we can't make the wedding, but if you like, I can help you move your things Sunday afternoon."

Betty expected no more from her foster parents. They had been good to her. That was enough.

The ceremony was short. Only the preacher, Big Willie and his wife Louise attended. Although the service began at noon and was over three minutes later, the preacher already had too much to drink. He managed to slur his way through the script in the little black book he held in his hand, and to sign the marriage license on the appropriate line.

Bo thought Betty deserved better and resolved to make their first sexual experience a thing of real beauty. While the doctor examined Betty on Friday morning, Bo sat in the waiting room reading a pamphlet. He learned that women have something like a tiny penis called the clitoris. He studied the accompanying illustration until he memorized its location. He learned that this was the center of a woman's sexual excitement and a loving mate would spend plenty of time in foreplay, giving his partner pleasure before seeking his own. The author also said something about a G spot, but Bo didn't understand it.

As soon as they were inside the doublewide following the ceremony, Bo began his carefully rehearsed seduction. Things did not go according to plan.

He hugged her too tightly and she scolded him. He tore her dress trying to remove it too quickly. He couldn't get the bra unhooked and she had to do it for him. When at last she was naked and lying on the bed, he tried to pull off his pants before removing his shoes, stumbled, fell and crashed into the dresser cutting a one inch gash on his forehead. He had stocked up on condoms, but he pulled open the nightstand drawer too eagerly and dumped the contents on the floor. She cried out in pain and pushed him away when he bit her left nipple too hard. He tried for five minutes, but could not find that little penis. Determined to give pleasure as well as receive it, he attempted oral sex, but the thing stunk too badly, even when he held his breath. When she insisted that he enter her, he had no erection. When at last it did get hard due to her oral efforts, he ejaculated as she rolled on the condom.

Betty thought it was funny, or at least said she did.

They spent the afternoon playing with their new home, putting away their few possessions, picking and displaying wild flowers, rearranging furniture, making lists of things they needed to buy when they could afford it and, occasionally, kissing and fondling each other as if no disaster had occurred.

When she took a shower, a terrific idea of how to salvage their wedding day popped into Bo's head. He stripped off his clothes, ripped open the shower curtain and realized in dismay that the stall would comfortably accommodate one person only. The sight of Betty rubbing her body with a bar of soap gave him an instant erection and he wasn't about to waste it. He wedged himself between his new wife and the showerhead, pressing her breasts against the shower wall and his penis in the valley between her buttock cheeks like a hotdog in a bun. He soaped her back, her breasts, her stomach, and the curly stubble below.

His penis began to throb. He grasped it with his right hand and tried to maneuver it to the desired spot. Yes, he could reach it in this position although there would be very little penetration. Her hand blocked the entrance.

“Condom,” she reminded him.

By the time he returned with the red package in his hand the erection was gone. Standing outside the stall, he asked her to face him. He tongued her nipples, then her belly button. She parted her legs for him as wide as the enclosure would allow. This time it smelled like ivory soap—but his tongue couldn't find the magic spot.

He apologized.

“Don't worry about it,” she consoled. “Experience is the best teacher. We'll learn."

She placed her hands on his shoulders and gently guided him across the bathroom floor to the commode. “Sit,” she instructed. Dripping wet, she straddled him and impaled herself on his oversized penis.

“Oh, Bo,” she whimpered as she began to grind against him.

In horror, he realized he was beginning to lose his erection. Desperately he searched his memory for anything that would help. He pictured his bride with legs cruelly stretched apart and a Herk ready to enter her. The erection strengthened.

Her superior size allowed her to wrap her arms around his neck, pressing his face into her magnificent breasts. She began to pump him, slowly at first, then faster, then even faster. Her gyrations became so furious that her breasts seemed to be flying in all directions at once. His mind turned to mush. He thought he would never want to masturbate again.

She cooked a delicious dinner of fried chicken, rice with milk gravy, fresh garden peas, oven-baked rolls and iced tea.

He insisted on washing the dishes, and promptly broke a glass.

With no television set to watch, they went to bed early. She played with him for a long time. She tried to show him her clitoris. Finally, in desperation he pretended to feel it. Everything was so strange down there he couldn't tell one part from another.

Eventually they had intercourse again. She aroused him with her mouth and managed to get the condom on without over-stimulating him. She sat on him and rocked back and forth for less than a minute. It was over.

Embarrassed, he pretended to fall asleep. Presently the bed began to shake. He knew she was masturbating. How is it, he wondered, that she knows so much about sex and I know so little?

His mind flashed back to a seventh grade girl, sitting on the playground with her shirt hanging from her waist and boys admiring and playing with her young breasts. Damn, he thought. Aren't they supposed to bleed when they have sex for the first time? Experience
is
the best teacher, you damn slut. I guess dad was right after all. From whom did she obtain this experience? He thought of Pete Williams, her foster dad. No, it couldn't have been him. He was a nice guy. Then he thought of her real dad, the one who deserted his family and the one person she would never discuss.

“You look great,” he said truthfully when she modeled the park uniform they picked up Tuesday morning.

She really does, he thought. The wig is prettier on her than her natural hair, and the uniform hides her huge breasts, making her body look more proportional. Too bad about those teeth.

She wanted to go to bed after lunch. He said he needed to cut the grass. She wanted to go to bed before dinner. He said he was too tired. She wanted to go to bed after dinner. He joked that he “skinned his pecker” the night before.

He slid into the tub of hot water. It was the first time he felt good all day. He tried to sort through the images flooding his mind. He thought of Betty on the playground with the boys enjoying her breasts. He thought of the bridge and could almost feel her hand on his immature penis. There was no ejaculation. He was too young, but oh boy, did it feel good. He thought of her tongue dancing inside his mouth. He thought of her huge boobs with the big, hard nipples. He thought of her naked, arms bound behind her, two Herks playing with her breasts and a third between her legs shaving her pubic hair.

He grew hard and promptly covered the huge erection with the soapy washcloth. That felt good. He slowly began to wash his penis. He closed his eyes. The shaver finished his task. They stretched her legs wider apart. The shaver lowered his pants and rammed his dick inside her. Another Herk dick slammed into her throat. The two playing with her breasts savagely crushed them and began to burn her nipples with cigarettes.

“You okay, Bo?"

He sat up quickly, releasing the cloth and its contents. “Yeah. Nearly asleep,” he lied.

She was naked. He was horny.

“Go back to sleep. Don't mind me,” she said as she stepped into the tub and sat on its edge at his feet.

She reached for the wash cloth, applied soap and thoroughly washed her left leg, saying nothing about his erection. She shaved her leg using his safety razor. The right leg was next. Using the bar of soap only, she soaked the pubic stubble that had grown since that day in Reynolds Park. She carefully shaved it, moving in slow motion when she serviced the vaginal area.

Bo was not aware that his mouth dropped open and his eyes were popping out of their sockets.

She rinsed sensuously. With legs sharply bent she propped her feet on opposite sides of the tub.

“Come here,” she demanded.

He obeyed on hands and knees.

“Lick it from bottom to top, like an ice cream cone."

What is that smell? he thought. That taste? Damn, she's put syrup in it.

Using the first two fingers of each hand, she parted her vaginal lips. “Lick the inside of my right pussy lip,” she commanded.