Message-ID: <26486asstr$969811805@assm.asstr-mirror.org> From: "Sean Farragher" <seanfarragher@msn.com> X-Original-Message-ID: <NEBBKECCILIDDPJFHMPOMENDCJAA.seanfarragher@msn.com> MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-Priority: 3 (Normal) X-MSMail-Priority: Normal Importance: Normal X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V5.50.4133.2400 Subject: {ASSM} From TxM6: Billy, Helene and Daughter, Laurie Fallon, 15 Date: Sun, 24 Sep 2000 12:10:05 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2000/26486> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: RuiJorge, newsman Also From TxM6 Hyperfiction http://www.txm6.com (updated 9/16/00) http://www.txm6.com/enfer (updated 9/17/00) http://www.txm6.com/lcfallon http://www.farragher.com (Poetry updated 9/20/00) TxM6 is entirely a work of fiction for adults only. Copyright (c) 2000 Sean Farragher. 0002j Helene and Billy Reese 9/24/00 The Book of Herrig: Helene & daughter, Laurie 15 Sunday, 12 January 1992, 16:35:21 "Billy" William Reese Smythe, Billy, as he was usually called, or 'Reese,' by his male friends, at 6 foot one was movie star handsome. Uncultured and lanky, an impure man Billy's translucent blue eyes and dirty blond Robert Redford hair left most women on first meeting dazed and uneasy. He was what you might have called in the 1950s the universal white trash ladies man: muscular and fit, but not too much; intelligent and a good liar, but not formally educated; and while he seemed, at first, athletic, assured, robust in his manners, and just down home white boy arrogant, he was also doubtfully "vulnerable." and love to use crude language to intentionally get under your church going mother humping nigger loving skins, so he said, smiling, picking a scab from his arm. I ain't no churchman, but either are yo'all. You're all fucken queer for Jesus, he said. Well I'm a better pervert, and if I had cause, I'd take it up the ass before I prayed in or out of church for your forgiveness, Shit, I should forgive yo'all. You sure have fucked up rules and nothing's fair. The biggest liar is the lawman. Man, if I were a nigger, I'd burn his ass and then his fucken town before I'd ride in the back of the bus or go to second rate schools. I'd never kiss his ass, that's fez sure. Shit, I know I ain't educated, but I is smart, and can at least read and write better than most white folks who didn't go to a Yankee college or half a dozen southern schools taught by southern gentlemen. They're the worst assholes. They lost the fucken war gave into the Yankees. Now, they lost their niggers, and instead of fighting back, they whine like drowned rats. Shit. Fucken genteel shits. What can a mother fucking southern good old boy do with the likes of yo'all, when you kiss white ass, and pray to a nigger loving God. My grandmas would have rather slit his own throats than kiss a nigger man. Now, I sees it everywhere up north in the cities. Shit, it'll be here soon. It's all right for white men to fuck niggers, always been done, got to improve the fucken race, but there ain't no need or excuse for any white woman to fuck a nigger. Shit, you fucks are crazy listening to the rich folks and their fairy tales. Don't you know they want you to kiss their ass for a dime, and let them fuck your ass for a dollar- that kind of shit keeps you down on the fucken farm so you can't fuck up Paris or white Charleston? Shit, they even wrote a screwed up song about it when my Daddy was 'cross the sea fucking up the Huns during the war to end all fucken wars. What a fucken laugh, my pappy used to say. What assholes, we become, daddy, you fucken misbegotten sons of a bitches; ain't got any pride. If you did, you wouldn't let those northern do good fuck ye up? Like cheap cologne, Billy lingered too long in the cuts and bruises, and his insufficient disguises dull murmur to what passed for the spirit of the good old southern gentleman and the parsimony of the tired southern soil and the madness of share cropping slavery. Well, air conditioners, fertilizers, women's rights and those more general civil rights that protect men and children as well as cripples, faggots and women, opened the southern highway to the Yankee white boy come home back to Mama lately southerner who liked the way old black folks knew their place. These old guard didn't complain as they knew that this mostly white migration, south, was matched or a response to black migration, north into the cities New law cured the southern gentleman of any lingering notions of the white man's burden and his absolute racial hegemony. Billy like the good old boy farmer was a bogus, a piece of shit clouding up the past with a dreary after taste and finally a sad flowery funeral without godliness or gentility. When Billy spoke at large at a picnic, or in the pulpit, as a lay preacher in The City of God Pentecostal and Reformed Church, or to one person, although what he said, was usually racist and ignorant, when you really listened, there was nothing but loose air and not even a false front of camaraderie for a solid buttress. When Billy spoke, it was like watching former President Regan doing his favorite fast walk shuffle new conference, just an "off the cuff" briefing to the press that was as confused as CIA policy in Russian at the time of the fall of the Berlin wall. Life was seemingly like a failed play, when Regan or Billy in drag explained El Salvador or the Iraq-Iran war. Billy spoke in a cloud, as did Regan before the Alzheimer's disease stopped his memory and cut off his lies. Questions we might have asked of the nearly dead, sometimes, are we dead before we die? Is that possible given the political plans and agenda as set forth by a newt? Is that an amphibian, Grandma? No, that's you wang, son. Old bad joke, sad to know. Why dost thou snicker, dear newt we might ask? Really, Billy's an actor after all. You know true speaker is dead; He suffered a miscarriage last year, and the fetus aborted was raised up to fulfills the creed of all good white men and born again niggers. But at curtain calls, all you heard about the play or the playwright were rude comments or some bluster about how some of the actors fumbled the dialogue. And who is that director? He did a terrible job, what boring blocking, and the back lighting was too dark, dismal, but that actor, what's his name, the one with the cleft in his chin, he had such a sexy mouth, one woman said, putting on her own deep red lipstick, rubbing her instrument into her lips, pushing, penetrating each pore, fucking the skin, making it shine and blush, exposing nostrils as vulva and tongue as clit. Women notice my mouth first, Billy said, then my ass, followed by my luminous eyesores I know some good words. My teacher taught me that one. She said look into my cunt, Billy, and smile at your reflection, that's a luminous cunt, dear boy. Billy often told friend and foe alike that the curves and flutter of his soft mouth stirred women like the lines of a woman's hip, or the upsweep of a firm breast stirred him. And when Billy's mouth opened, usually under a haze of cigarette smoke, flicking his ash, as men did, the cigarette cupped backward inside their yellow stained fingers, most women took two steps forward, one back, startled by how Billy made them wary and yet, strangely intimate, and although he didn't intentionally pose; it just appeared that way, and for those who had no imagination, well, they suffered because Billy said that bravado of love poetry was insulting and demeaned that pure southern woman and her good works for the suffering children and their impoverished parents. Overheard at the Gainesville, Fl. diner, where Helene Mae Herrig worked, after the terrible fire that killed three of her children and maimed another, a slightly plump, big titted middle age, three time divorced cashier, said, after running down the woman for her choice of men, drinking, excused Billy in an off hand way, that was certainly not complimentary, "you could call Billy almost a Donald Hall, you know, the Academy Award winning actor who was convicted last year for the statutory rape of an fifteen year old girl, and then was himself raped with a broom stick and then murdered by prison guards. Remember how the guards claimed there was a prison escape, and the actor was shot taking a female officer hostage. All bullshit, man. A deranged screw that blamed the actor for his daughter's rape and pregnancy executed the slob. The man was in prison. Get it. The only way the pedophile could have fucked her was if the Guard brought the slut to the prison, and set them up in the infirmary. Pure and simple. All bullshit. A curious allusion, for Billy like Donald Hall had spent several years in prison before and after the 1976 fire for selling drugs, burglary, car theft, pandering, child molestation (sold pornographic photographs and movies of children having sex with adults and other children), and contributing to the delinquency of minors. In a sense, what the rotund waitress had said, could have been taken as prophecy, for Billy would also, many years later, die in prison, in 1989, when a jealous inmate and Billy's former lover (a raging Queen), stuck a shim in his gut and then cut the fuckers throat, because Billy had sucked some black dude's cock (reportedly for protection) one summer evening while armed guards watched from the parapet that extended over the prison yard. Most women, and some men, who knew Billy (in prison or out), would have done anything to keep the man's affection. Others like teachers, principals, cops, prison guards, army sergeants, uncles, husbands, mothers and the boy friends of his victims wanted to kick the shit out of him, and then fry him in old Sparky. "I want to really fuck him up," one woman said, when she learned Billy had gotten her fourteen-year-old daughter pregnant a second time. Not that Billy was responsible for the first grandchild. That didn't matter to the woman, who should have known that first grandchild was by way of her own much younger brother, who while visiting two summers ago, had fucked the girl, paying her for sex, one ice cream cone for a blow job. Two 45 records for half and half, and a new sweater earned an over night stay and at least three good fucks if he could handle it. The old guy practically croaked making the attempt, but the girl didn't care. My fucken grandfather popped me when I was ten. Shit, you'd think I would mind. I hope the guy settles in Florida. I'll fuck him any time. Too bad I got pregnant. Shit, I don't really care, after all. He said I could stay with him, if I liked. Nah can't do it, I told him. Don't want no prison guards, I said. You just another fucked up daddy hoping to pop his daughter's cherry. Shit, I got you beat, and I didn't have to fake it, pretend to sleep. I jump your mother fuckin bones right in front of your sister. She pretended to be sleeping. I saw her eyes open at least three times, and I was only looking for a minute. The cunt knew I was fucking you. She must have got off on it. Shit, you got to love me. I want to settle in Florida by Miami Beach and be a rich kraut whores, fucking the Mafia to death for a diamonds, pearls, and rubies. Shit, I got my great dreams too, you know. I hate fucken Brooklyn too. Think I want to go back up there with all the other niggers. We sure are a lost fucken race, right. What else could the girl think, Billy said. She sat on my lap and openly played, rolling her ass against my thing while her Mama and I watched Mr. Dillon on black and white Gun Smoke tip his hat and smile to Miss Kitty. A righteous whore if there ever was one, I told the girl, Laurie, as she rocked against my hardon while I fondled Helene's breasts as she slept, leaning against my left shoulder while we sat on the large over stuffed couch, pretending to snore. Later, after Gunsmoke, Helene now slept in our bedroom, after she had staggering through the kitchen looking for ice cubes and more bourbon. She briefly asked if Laurie was sleeping, and I said, yes, and she closed the door, and suggested that she wanted to sleep alone, and I could use the couch, or sleep in Laurie's room. I doubt Helene knew that Laurie, wearing only a short dress, and was truly bare ass, pear exposed, legs open, fully asleep in my lap, she shifted under my gentle fingers while I watched TV news about a fucken prison riot and the murder of an inmate in Texas. Who the fuck cares about some slob who went to jail for fucking some fourteen year old slut and then took a knife from an equally fucked up miserable con. I shut the TV and carried Laurie to her bed, where I crawled under the covers and yes, I slept cradled with Laurie and assorted teddy bears, and we slept. In the morning, Helene woke about six, joining Laurie and me in the girl's very large bed. Helene noticed that Laurie was bare ass, and she helped the girl with her underpants, careful, not to wake her, and then she noticed I was buck naked and sported a half hardon, which delighted Helene, as she rubbed it, making it stiff, kissing my face, she turned to my neck, kissing my throat, she whispered something curious: "I'm jealous of my daughter's affection for you. I know that now, but its OK as long as you don't ever leave us, and I sat up, fully awake, not wanting to wake Laurie, Helene and I rocked together, gently fucking side to side while Laurie slept, woke up, leaned closer to us, letting her sleepy head fall on my arm while her mother rose above me, fucking furiously, no secrets, nothing was hidden, as Helene came, riding my wave, I felt Laurie lean into my neck as she innocently played with her mother's breast dangling and then falling into us, as we collapsed, the girl crawled between us, and we rolled carefully around the bed, feeling the heat, open legs, and the wet mouth of her mother's open organs. Years Later, an Inquest, of Sorts: Why did Mama let him touch my body, Laurie asked years later. She wouldn't have believed it, and I couldn't and didn't know enough then to stop it. It was as natural as eating, playing with his thing. Later, I knew it was wrong. But then I didn't really give a fuck only hating that Billy lied and didn't tell Mama that I was his true sweetheart. Fortunately, for most of his women, Billy never stayed around too long. Unfortunately, for Billy, he never faced the shattered glass after the assaults or cleaned up the blood from the mattress after one of his girl like sweet hearts bled to death after a botched abortion. Billy's abuse of women, sacred and profane, was everlasting, and indelibly fixed in the circuits, and each flaw, each transgression like a broken computer chip or a missed lead, like any computer or human virus, host and object, suffered equally, however, the victims, unaware of the contagion, suffered the possible AIDS like complications in silence, and now Billy wonders how any one can fully isolate potential victims from their predators. I guess, you can't, Billy's smile, genuine, made sense if you looked at the larger horizon accepting cause and result as information and not morality. Like many of us, Billy wasn't just simply a flawed specimen. He spread misery too easily like typhus after a flood inundated the reservoir, mixing septic waste and clean water. More than another Typhoid Mary, Billy rattled Bob Dylan's doors, and then when no one answered with the correct musical phrase, Billy walked away to break down one door after another wailing his country music Bad Lands music until nothing was left of the land but ocean. And nothing was left of space, but space. Nothing in life is sacred, Billy laughed. Philosophy is dead, Man, he spoke the phrase softly, scratching his left nipple blue tattoos and all. -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> | | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+