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From: One Gallus <onegallus@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Kentucky Wonder 3 (MF, cheat, inc)
Date: Sat, 21 Jul 2001 11:10:04 -0400
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<1st attachment, "KW 3.txt" begin>

Kentucky Wonder (Cheat, MF, Inc)  Part 3

Synopsis
Corrine Deere tells her own story.  It 
is the tale of a servile wife and mother 
whose effort to be a person in her own 
right is frustrated by her boorish 
husband.  A full-blown compulsive, Leon 
masks his abuse and bigotry with self-
righteousness.  His repressive control 
results in a stinging backlash that 
neither she nor he could have predicted.


Disclaimer
This story contains graphic sexual 
scenes of incest and adultery.  If you 
are under the legal age of adulthood in 
your state, find another story.  This 
story is not to be read where it is 
illegal. The possible resemblance to 
actual characters, living or dead is 
purely coincidental.  This story may not 
be posted or changed or otherwise used 
by anyone anywhere without the 
permission of OneGallus.


"Kentucky Wonder"
Part 3

I awoke at 5:00 AM and felt the need to 
urinate.  I staggered to the bathroom, 
peed, and as I returned to the bed, the 
cottony haze of sleep was still padding 
my eyes. I slid under the covers, and 
turned on my side, pulling an extra 
pillow down between my knees.  I felt 
good. 

Almost immediately I drift into a foggy 
dream.  There is an assembly of men with 
beards and women in long dresses with 
bustles.  They are milling about, 
murmuring.  They gradually come to 
attention and the men remove their top 
hats and turn toward a freestanding 
stage with a white painted railing 
around it, hung with bunting.  An 
enormous American flag hangs in back of 
the stage.  I see a gaunt tall man in a 
black suit with high cheekbones rising 
from an ornate chair.  He removes his 
stovepipe hat and I see he is bald, with 
only a gray fringe of hair encircling 
his pate. He stands next to the lectern, 
not behind it, and his elbows are 
sticking out at a ridiculous angle. I 
see clearly that a bulge is pushing 
against the front of his pants.   He 
opens a Bible and begins to speak:

"Four score and seven years ago . . ." 

A little man with a nickel-plated pistol 
in his hand steps out from behind the 
flag and I tense up with dread.


I feel a slowly increasing, pressure on 
my face.  Soon I can't capture a full 
breath through my nose and the 
smothering sensation brings me back to 
consciousness.  The pressure graduates 
into pain and I am suddenly terrified.  
My eyes open and I see the blur of 
Leon's fist against my nose, pressing, 
pressing.  My eyes follow his arm up to 
his shoulder and then to his face.  It 
seems there's a blackness across his 
eyes but I can see his bared teeth 
plainly.  My heart is about to burst 
from my chest.  I want to wake up, but I 
finally realize I am not asleep.

"Listen, you . . . Listen you . . .You . 
. ." Leon said, trembling,  snarling.  
"It's been over two weeks now and you 
ain't got up and made me breakfast in 
all that time.  You think 'cause you got 
a two-bit job you can live like a queen 
and do anything you want?  You . . . You 
still got a husband  and you still got a 
house to take care of!"

Leon had never hit me, and he wasn't 
hitting me now, but he was hurting me.  
He was mashing and grinding and 
twisting.  My nose felt as if it would 
split away and slide down my face.  I 
became aware that a sound was coming 
through my clenched teeth "nnnnnnnnnn," 
broken by some kind of sick whimper.   

"You . . . You . . .  You're a . . . 
You're a . . ." Then he suddenly let me 
loose,  He stood up, shuddered, his 
teeth still bared and his nose wrenched 
into a snarl.  He whirled around, and 
tramped out of the room.  My nose was 
seeping blood and I was crying through 
my teeth.  I looked over at the clock; 
it was 6:30 AM. I had not spoken a word.  

I went to the bathroom and washed my 
face in cold water.  I was afraid to 
look into the mirror.  I washed till the 
water wasn't bloody anymore.  Then I 
carried a cold wet towel back to the 
bed.  I put the towel on my nose and lay 
on my back for a half-hour, tears 
running out of my eyes, but I made no 
sound.  Then I got up at 7:00, knowing 
that by now, Leon had left for work.  I 
walked to the kitchen.  I got a pot from 
the pantry, carried it to the 
refrigerator, opened it and dug into the 
ice bin, scooping a handful of ice-
crescents.  I carried them back to the 
bedroom, locked the door, and retrieved 
a clean towel from the bathroom closet 
and dampened it.  I turned off the 
lights and crawled back into bed.  I 
formed a little fist-sized hollow in the 
towel and put in a half-dozen pieces of 
ice. I held the ice on my nose till the 
wet freeze drove away the pain and all 
the feeling from my face. When the 
numbness turned into a pain of its own, 
I would rest until the nose started 
throbbing again.  Then I would replenish 
the ice and reapply it.  I was very 
quiet, so Lonnie would not hear me when 
he awakened.

When he did, I heard his door open and 
his feet shuffling down the hallway to 
the bathroom.  Then I heard him stirring 
about, getting ready for school, trying 
to be quiet, trying not to disturb me.  
After a while I heard the side door open 
and close and I knew he had gone.  I 
went back to the kitchen for more ice 
and then back to bed for the same 
routine.  The phone rang at 10 o'clock 
but I let the answering machine answer 
it.  

"Corrine?" George said over the speaker, 
"I was expecting you at 9 o'clock.  I 
hope everything is OK.  Give me a call.  
Bye."

At 11:00 it rang again,  "It's George.  
Please give me a call."  He stayed on 
the line for ten seconds more, then 
said, almost begging, "Please call, 
Corrine."

At 11:20 the doorbell rang.  I walked 
down the hallway from my room and looked 
at the front door.  A three-foot long 
oval window, with an translucent curtain 
on the inside, showed George's lean form 
standing there, his weight shifting from 
foot to foot.  When he turned to look 
toward the driveway, I realized he was 
looking at my Dodge Shadow.  He pounded 
hard on the door with his fist.

"Corrine, I know you're in there!" he 
called, "For God's sake, open this door 
or I'm going to break in this window!"

I walked unevenly to the front door and 
unlatched the chain, turned the dead 
bolt and opened the door.

George blinked when he saw me.  He stood 
silent, looking at me with incredulous 
eyes.  "Good Lord!  Corrine, what 
happened to you?"

He stepped in, closed the door behind 
him and I immediately pulled him to me.  
His hands were moving on my back and I 
realized I was in my nightgown, naked 
beneath, but it didn't seem to matter.  
I could not cry, but I clung to him and 
wouldn't let him go from my vise-like 
embrace for a long long moment.  He was 
silent too.  I had already begun to move 
my hands on the spareness of his back 
and side when I realized what I was 
doing. I finally released him and 
stepped back and he gazed at me 
anxiously again.  I looked down and saw 
that the bodice of my gown was stained 
with blood.  Tracks of it had dried on 
my breasts.  My nipples were in blood-
stiffened cups of satiny material, 
molded wet and now dried. 

He asked again, "What happened, Corrine?  
Did Leon do this?"

"I'm sorry George, I'm a mess.  You sit 
down and I'll clean up."

He walked over to the couch and sat down 
on the edge with his hands on his knees. 
He looked terribly worried and uncertain 
as he stared at me, then he looked 
steadily at the floor.  I padded back to 
my room and into the bathroom.  I looked 
at my face in the mirror and to my 
surprise, my nose was not dangling loose 
by a cord of flesh.  Aside from a little 
redness, a slight swelling and a thin 
crust of clotting around my nostrils, I 
could see I was OK. The blood on my gown 
looked far worse than any injuries I had 
sustained.  My upper lip was a little 
swollen.  I lifted it, and noticed that 
my teeth had cut into it.  I brushed my 
teeth, careful not to scrape the lip.  I 
stripped away the gown and stepped into 
the shower, which I ran lukewarm.  After 
that, I patted damp-dry with a towel and 
put on my thick terry cloth robe.  It 
felt wonderfully cozy as it continued to 
dry me.  I brushed my hair, looked at my 
self, and not caring to do more, I 
returned to the living room on bare 
feet.

When I walked back into the room, George 
looked as if he had been about to cry, 
he stood up at the couch.  "Oh Corrine, 
you do look better!  I'm so sorry, 
Corrine.  Does he do this all the time?"

"No, he's never done it before, except 
for words. He hits with his words.  He's 
never hit me before with his hands.  
Actually, he didn't hit me this time.  
He just mashed his fist into my face,"  
I found my fist doubled against the palm 
of my other hand, grinding, and my teeth 
bared. 

I sat down on the couch, and George sat 
again too.  A sharp blade of sadness ran 
up under my ribs and shifted around 
inside my chest, yet I could not cry.

"Mostly, he just puts me down" I said, 
"He says I'm fat and lazy and stupid."

"Corrine, I want you to know, you're not 
any of those things."

"Well, I don't think I'm stupid," and I 
realized just then that I was speaking 
pure truth.  It was what I actually come 
to believe about myself  "I'm not lazy, 
but I am slow, George, I am slow.  But I 
like slow.  Slow is me."  

It felt good to say that, just the 
matter of fact truth of the situation.   
"I am overweight," I admitted, relishing 
the honesty.  Then I snorted, "I'm just 
fat," I looked at George, "I'm a little 
fat, George." I felt a slight smile at 
the corners of my mouth.

"No!" George rebutted,  "Even if you 
were fat, that's no way to treat another 
human being.  Anyway, Corrine, you're 
not fat.  You have a very pleasing 
figure, a classical figure.  You know, 
like Peter Paul Rubens."

"Who's he?" The name sounded a bit 
familiar.

"A painter, an artist, I think about the 
16th or 17th Century, Dutch."

"Was he fat?"

George threw his head back and laughed, 
"No, and neither are you!  You're like 
the beautiful women he did, you know, he 
painted them."

Then I laughed, relaxing now and 
realizing that a fist in my nose was not 
the whole of my life.  

"George," I said, stretching my legs out 
in front of me, crossing my ankles and 
wiggling my bare toes. "I just think of 
Sandra. She's so beautiful and willowy, 
and I'm so squat and short!"

"You might be short, Corrine but you're 
not squat.  You're different than 
Sandra.  You're physically beautiful in 
a different way, besides being the great 
person you are."

I felt myself blushing, happily 
blushing.  "Ralph said that to me,"  I 
said.

"Who's Ralph?"

"My little brother.  He's been dead a 
long time."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Corrine, but he was 
right about you, you know," George said.

Then sadness jabbed at me again and I 
sighed. "Then why doesn't Leon think so.  
Why does he treat me like the farmer's 
step-cow?"

"Now, that is a mystery!" he nodded and 
smiling at 'step-cow.'  "I think I need 
to get to know Leon a little better, 
maybe try to love him more than I do."

"He won't talk to you George, if that's 
what you have in mind.  He thinks he 
already knows what's right and nobody 
else is going to tell him different."

"But he can't love unless somebody loves 
him!"

"I'm not sure that I want his love 
anymore and I don't feel much love for 
him right now. And I'm not sure he'd 
welcome it even if I did." I said, 
shaking my head.

"Sometimes we have to pray for strength 
to love some people."

"George,  that's easy to say for you and 
Sandra.   She feels loved.  You feel 
loved, and it's easy for you to love. 
Leon is not a loved man.  He used to be, 
but not now.  I'm not a loved woman."

"Nonsense.  Your son loves you."

"Yes, but that's different, you know 
that."

"Ummm, I'm not so sure.  Others love you 
too, I love you Corrine."

"What?" At first I was puzzled,  Then I 
said, "Oh, you mean as a Christian, 
that's a different."

"Who says?" George asked.

"Well, there's family love, and married 
love and Christian love," I answered.

"Who says?"

"Isn't that what the Bible says?" I 
asked.

"I read about synonyms of love, but I 
never read that there are categories of 
love.  The Bible just says to love.  
Love is the basis of our being. We're 
suppose to love both neighbors and 
enemies."  George was grinning like he 
had just solved all the  problems world.

"But, you don't have sex with your 
enemies!" I said, then immediately 
thought how silly that sounded.

George said, "No, but I don't have a 
sexual desire for my enemies," he was 
smiling, "and I don't have a sexual 
desire for everybody I love," he said.

"But you do for your wife," I said, 
trying to reason it through out loud.

"Ahah! That's my point, Corrine.  I both 
love and desire my wife."  George's eyes 
glanced down at my leg.

I looked down to see that my robe had 
separated halfway up my thigh.  I didn't 
feel like pulling it to.  I didn't want 
to pull it to.  I don't know why, 
unless, it was because George said I was 
beautiful and he loved me and I wanted 
him to see me.  Could it be that this 
pastor actually felt an attraction for 
me? The very fact that he was a pastor 
made this situation exciting to me.  I 
felt reckless. I  felt like saying,  My 
husband just tried to mash my face in, 
George. I have a right to be reckless, 
if you think I'm driving too fast, then 
you grab the wheel and put on the brake.  

When he raised his eyes to mine, I held 
his gaze. "George, what if you had 
sexual desire for somebody you loved, 
but it's not Sandra?" I asked.  I moved 
my right foot along the instep of my 
left.

"Well, if I truly loved her, Corrine, I 
wouldn't do anything to hurt her, or 
injure her, would I?" He watched my 
feet.

"No, I suppose not," I agreed.

"So," he said, "if I wanted to have sex 
with a desirable woman, but it somehow 
would hurt Sandra, or even this other 
woman that I loved . . . Well then, if I 
did, that wouldn't be love, would it?  
Or it might hurt the people that she 
loves, so I couldn't do that, could I?"

"How could that be?  How would it hurt 
her the people that she loves?" I asked.

"Corrine, suppose you and I made love . 
. ." his statement was exciting to me, 
even though I knew he was only 
hypothesizing.  

"Well that's interesting," I said 
recklessly, and shifted in my seat.  I 
grinned, but he ignored it and went on.

"How would that affect Lonnie?" he said 
seriously, "How would it affect Leon?"

I tried to sober up and be serious.  I 
nodded my head.  I could understand 
that, at least the part about Lonnie.  
However, with Leon, at the moment, I 
didn't really care.

"But what if they . . ."  Then I caught 
myself.  Should I ask this question I 
was burning to ask? I felt like I was 
driving out of control but pressing the 
accelerator anyway.  "What if they 
didn't know? What if Lonnie and Leon 
didn't know?" 

He paused.  "Well," he said, "that's a 
lot to think about, Corrine, you know, 
doing everything you do because you love 
people." He blinked his eyes.

I looked at George, knowing he was 
evading my question. I uncrossed my 
ankles and separated my knees slightly.  
The robe, already somewhat opened, 
revealed a bit of my inner leg.  I 
watched his eyes as they dropped quickly 
to my legs and then back to my face.  
They narrowed as he studied my 
expression.  

"George," I said, "You're not answering 
my question."  I braced myself for 
rejection.  All he'd have to do was say 
that even if Sandra or Leon didn't know, 
his love would keep him faithful.

"Corrine, Have you ever heard of the 
term 'polyamory?'" he asked, clearing 
his throat.

I wondered if he were trying to change 
the subject. I spread my knees a little 
more and then brought them back 
together, not quite as close as before.  
If he liked plump ladies, here was a 
plump lady to look at.  I badly wanted 
this man to want me, maybe because he 
was "unattainable." 

"No, what is it?  Poly . . .?"

"Well, 'poly,' means 'many' and 'amory' 
means 'love.'" 

I thought it over.  "Yes?" I said, 
asking for more.

George looked openly at my legs, and 
shifted around at a right angle and put 
a knee up into the couch.  His big brown 
wing-tip bobbed as he rotated his ankle.

"It carries the idea of having loving, 
responsible sex with more than one 
person, but not injuring the loving 
relationships you already have," he 
said.

"So," I said, "as long as I keep it a 
secret, I won't injure my relationships 
with others? Is that what you're telling 
me George?" 

Then time I shifted my position, and put 
my knee up onto the couch also.  I clung 
to other side of the robe, keeping my 
naked crotch covered, but my inner leg, 
from toe to thigh was open to George's 
eye.  George could kill it now.  All 
he'd have to do is stand up and say that 
even if our spouses never would find 
out, our love would keep us from 
adultery.

I looked at his enormous foot compared 
to my size six.  I thought of the old 
Kentucky wives' tale, "Big Feet, Big 
Penis." George reached toward my bare 
foot, touched its arch with his knobby 
fingers, and traced its length.  It 
tickled a little, but it felt heavenly.  
I concluded that with that gesture, 
George was saying yes, he would do it.  

Now the ball was back in my court.  I 
was wavering whether or not I should 
take a shot, when George called a time 
out.

"Well, some of us have agreed not to 
keep things secret from people we love.  
It's a 'trust' sort of thing.  We never 
lie to one another."

I swallowed hard, wondering if I should 
have come down this road so far.  "You 
mean if we . . .You mean you'd tell 
Sandra?"

He stilled his finger on my foot, 
studying it as he did.  An angled shadow 
threw his face into a brooding 
expression as he considered my question.  
His cheekbones looked as if they had 
been carved out with a chisel.  There 
was a tiny mole just to the right edge 
of his mouth.  God, he looked like 
Lincoln.

"Yes, Corrine, Sandra and I share 
everything," he said, encircling my 
ankle. 

The prospect of Sandra knowing I had 
been dallying with her husband cooled me 
considerably.  I pulled my leg off the 
couch and my robe over my knees.  George 
sat there with his index finger hanging 
limply in the air.  Then he dropped his 
hand to the couch.

"She knows how I feel about you, he 
said, She knows you're unhappy in your 
marriage.".

"You mean you told her about Leon and me 
and . . .?"

"Oh, no, I'd never break your 
confidence, but she's a smart lady.   
She actually pointed it out to me before 
you ever said anything.  She sees these 
things."

"Good Lord, George, what must she think 
of me?"

"She loves you, Corrine, just like I 
do."

I thought that one over.  Did she love 
me like a sister, a friend, or was it 
this "poly-love" stuff George had 
mentioned?  I sat, confused and feeling 
that it was just too much to take in at 
once.  

"George, thanks for talking with me," I 
stood up, and he followed.  "You 
probably don't want me to come back to 
work for you after this conversation."

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked, rubbing his 
big hands together, smiling.

"After we . . .  I mean, after I . . ."

"Corrine, dear, there is enough loving 
friendship between you and me that 
whatever you do, you will not offend me.  
Don't you feel that way too?"

"Yes," I said tentatively, feeling I was 
saying more than I should.

"I mean, have I said or done anything 
today that would offend you?"

I thought, it should have, George, it 
surely should have; but I said, "No."

"OK, then, tomorrow is an off-day for 
you, but since you missed today, you 
want to come in then?"

I blinked. "That's fine, George." 

"Here," he handed me a folded check, 
"It's not much, but better things will 
come, I think."

I took my first paycheck and looked at 
it. Only then did I remember that I had 
been working for pay.

"Now, give me a hug," he said, and 
opened his arms.

When I hugged him, I sensed his stiff 
penis against my navel.  He held me 
tight, the feel of his erection obvious 
to us both.  Perhaps he even rolled 
himself against me slightly.  He was not 
hiding it and I was not tearing myself 
away.  Yet, I had already dismissed him, 
and he was not one to press it.

When he left, I went back to bed, closed 
my eyes and tried to assimilate 
everything that was coming down. The 
faces of three men superimposed 
themselves alternately on my brain.  
Leon was nowhere in the trio.    

End of Part 3
Go to Part 4

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