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From: One Gallus <onegallus@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Kentucky Wonder 5 (MF, cheat, inc)
Date: Sat, 21 Jul 2001 14:10:05 -0400
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<1st attachment, "KW 5.txt" begin>

Kentucky Wonder (Cheat, MF, Inc)  Part 5

Synopsis
Corrine Deere tells her own story.  It 
is the tale of a servile woman 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 5

I know I must have screamed and pulled 
back.  I remember frantically clutching 
my robe together.  As I recall, Lonnie 
turned his back on his father and was 
putting himself back into his clothing, 
a grimace on his face and uttering, "Oh 
God, Almighty."

Leon rushed at him and struck him 
between the shoulder blades with the 
heels of his hands, driving him into the 
shower stall door, face first, breaking 
the heavy glass. Lonnie crumpled to his 
knees and I immediately saw blood on the 
floor and splattered around on the 
broken shards.  I took a step between 
Leon and Lonnie and said, "Leon!  Don't!  
It was me . . ."

The back of his hand caught me across 
the eyes and I stumbled backwards, away 
from the shower stall.  I fell over the 
edge of the tub and back at an angle.  
The back of my head hit the enamel-
covered cast iron with a flat "clunk" as 
if I had struck a boulder of rock.  Pain 
inflated my cranium I went out.  

I came to and through the ache, I saw my 
bare foot up over the edge of the tub.  
I was looking down length of my naked 
body, lying on my back inside the tub.  
I heard Lonnie's groans from the shower 
and scrambled to my feet to attend him.  
He was on his knees and clutching his 
forearm just below the elbow.  He was 
looking at a diagonal cut across the 
artery in his wrist.  It pulsed blood 
with each heartbeat, but he had slowed 
the flow a little.  "God Almighty," he 
whimpered.

I drew the tie of my robe through its 
loops and tied it above his elbow, 
tight.  When he let go of his forearm, a 
gout of blood shot from his wrist, then 
slowed to a trickle.   

"Get up, Lonnie, we have to get to a 
hospital," I said.  He stood, and though 
there were bleeding cuts on his arms and 
face, they were not deep.  I felt a 
piece of glass slice into my foot as I 
pivoted to lead Lonnie out the door.  

I grabbed my purse off the bed as we 
passed by and turned down the hallway.  
I led him past his own room and when we 
came even with the guestroom, Leon 
reached out and grabbed Lonnie from me 
and pulled him into his room.  Lonnie 
fell to the floor and his Dad began to 
kick him in the side and in the head.  
With each kick Leon emitted a guttural 
curse, "You dirty (kick) motherfucker 
(kick).  You ain't no son of mine, 
(kick).  Fucking your slut mother 
(kick)!

I realized I was screaming, "Don't Leon, 
you'll kill him, he's already hurt!  
Don't!"  

Leon did quit and looked up at me.  His 
eyes were wild with hatred.  "Shame me, 
will you?  Shame me?"  He said and 
lunged toward me, pushing me so hard 
that I stumbled backwards landed against 
the doorjamb.  I slid down the length of 
the doorframe, which left an imprint of 
pain along my spine.  By this time, Leon 
had returned to Lonnie and was hauling 
him up off the floor. He threw him into 
his recliner.  Lonnie sat down hard, 
clutched at his belly and bent double.  
Leon kicked his face and Lonnie fell 
against the back cushion.  Then Leon put 
his knees on either side of Lonnie and 
perched on the arms of the chair.  He 
hovered over his son and began to 
alternately pommel him with both fists.  
I could see the muscles working in 
Leon's back as each blow found its mark.  
Most of them were on Lonnie's face, but 
at least once, Leon punched him in the 
throat.  Then he backed off the chair 
and kicked him hard in the scrotum with 
his heel.  Lonnie howled with pain, then 
he went limp.  Leon climbed back onto 
his perch and started hitting him again.  

As I crawled toward the chair, I know I 
must have been screaming for him to 
stop, because afterward my voice was 
hardly there.   I got to my feet and 
came up behind Leon and put a hand on 
each shoulder.  "Stop!" I croaked, and 
pulled backward, but Leon was too well 
situated on the chair for me to separate 
him from Lonnie.  

"Thou shalt not uncover the nakedness of 
thy mother!" Leon sobbed.  Lonnie was 
completely helpless and at his father's 
mercy, but there was none to give.  I 
knew at that moment, my husband would 
kill my son.  I looked for something to 
hit Leon with.  I stepped to the speaker 
cabinet and lifted it.  The wires 
trailed after it as I pulled it away 
from the wall.  I tried to boost it over 
my head to bludgeon Leon with it, but it 
was solid and heavy and I couldn't get 
it any higher than my chest.  I ran at 
Leon with it and rammed it into his 
back.  He only paused for a moment, and 
looked back glowering at me, as the 
cabinet crashed to the floor.  Then he 
resumed beating Lonnie. 

I looked to see his pistol on the shelf, 
his "African-American gun," as he now 
called it, laying there among the 
miniature deer surrounding it.  I took 
it into my hand and touched the back of 
Leon's head with it.  

"I'll shoot you Leon, you sorry son-of-
a-bitch.  I'll shoot you if you don't 
stop."  

I could barely hear my voice but Leon 
heard it and stopped.  He held himself 
stock still over Lonnie's body for a 
moment, then whirled, slashing with his 
arm and knocking the pistol out of my 
hand.  He picked it up from the floor 
and pointed at me. Tears were running 
from his eyes. Blood was on the front of 
his shirt.  Then he pointed the pistol 
at Lonnie who lay limp on the chair. I 
could not see Lonnie breathing. 

"You've already killed him, Leon" I 
rasped,  "Just go ahead and finish me 
off now!  Then you can really be rid of 
all your problems," I said, sobbing.

Leon shook his head and stomped out of 
his room.  I heard the door into the 
garage slam.  I walked to the telephone 
by Leon's bed and dialed 911 with a 
trembling hand.



They treated me for a minor cut on the 
sole of my foot, a severe contusion on 
my head and a few minor bruises.  I sat 
in the Emergency room of Toledo Hospital 
feeling the pain pill beginning to take 
effect.

The doctor, an Indian, came in and sat 
beside me.  His voice was mild, very 
sweet and very kind.  "Your son was 
beaten quite badly," he said, "but he is 
young and should recover well. I removed 
the spleen and reset four broken ribs.  
Five others are cracked.  His scrotum is 
painful, but should recover completely.  
His larynx is severely distorted and he 
will only be able to speak with limited 
volume."

"No singing? I asked foolishly, 
distraught. 

"No singing," he said.  

"Ever?"

"No singing, Mrs. Deere."  He looked at 
me steadily. "I have given him two pints 
of blood and repaired the artery in his 
wrist.  His nose, cheekbone and jaw were 
broken. The plastic surgeon repaired the 
nose, reset the jaw and wired it shut 
for six weeks.  Other than the larynx, I 
expect a complete recovery.  He will be 
in intensive care tonight, but I really 
think he is doing well.  I am keeping 
him there just in case.  You should kiss 
him goodnight, and go home now.  Get 
some rest, and come back tomorrow.  

"Thank you doctor." I said.  He nodded 
his head, patted my shoulder and walked 
away.  A nurse escorted me back to the 
intensive care unit, where Lonnie lay 
swathed in bandages and attached to an 
intravenous bag of liquid.  He was 
resting quietly and his breathing was 
regular.  I kissed him on the forehead, 
and walked back out into the waiting 
room.  

Tears flowed freely, as I sat there.  
The lights had been dimmed in the 
waiting room and a black family was 
huddled on the far side of the room, 
whispering, looking at me. 

"Corrine, dear."

I looked up and it was George and his 
daughter, Abby.  He was dressed in a 
wrinkled sport shirt and mismatched 
pants.  Abby had also thrown on a dark 
shirt and a pair of jeans. 

"Oh George!" I cried.  His sad scarecrow 
figure looked so good to me. "How did 
you know I was here, George?" 

"Well, the police came and got me from 
home," he said, glancing over at Abby.  

I wondered why the police had called 
him.  I had contacted no one but the 
ambulance service.  I had decided I 
would call George in the morning, tell 
him all that happened, but I didn't want 
to bother him tonight.  EMS must have 
contacted the police and they had 
contacted George.  After all, the house 
was certainly a scene of violence.  But 
why would the police contact George?

"Why did they notify you, George?"

"Corrine, they are just outside.  I 
asked them to let me tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"It's Leon, Corrine, he's dead."

"Dead?" I was dumbfounded.  A cold 
tingle burst through my chest.

"Yes, he shot himself in the church 
parking lot."  The police called me and 
I went over and identified him."

I sat, numbed by the turn in events.  I 
shook my head, then nodded it.  Yes, 
that would have made sense to Leon.  
This was something he couldn't control.  
Getting his way had finally come to an 
end and getting his way was what he 
lived for.  What surprised me was that 
he had not shot me first, then killed 
himself.  I was so chilled I couldn't 
speak.

"Are you OK, Corrine?"  




I was OK, and I'm better now.   There 
have been times when I felt guilty that 
I had not grieved over Leon's death.  I 
did feel regret that he had savaged his 
son as his last act toward him.  With a 
little human kindness and common 
decency, everything that led to Leon's 
death could have been prevented. I was 
sorry that Leon had not shown that 
decency and kindness.   If he had 
treated me with understanding and 
sympathy through the years, even a 
little, I would have responded.  I could 
have loved him again, but now I only 
felt a cold emptiness. 


The police had questions.  They took 
fingerprints from me. "Routine," they 
said.  Later they told me that my bloody 
prints were on the gun, along with 
Leon's.  "How come?" they wanted to 
know.  I explained that Leon had been 
surly to both of us and that he'd ground 
his fist into my face the day before, 
that he had charged into the bathroom 
where my son and I had been talking and 
started beating on us. Then he had 
almost killed Lonnie in his bedroom and 
I had grabbed the gun and threatened 
him, but he'd knocked it from my hand 
picked it up and threatened us and 
stormed out of the house.  I was 
purposefully vague about everything 
else.  I didn't mention Leon's ravings 
about incest but the rest of the story, 
I detailed just as I had remembered it.

Since it was obvious that I had been at 
the hospital just before and right after  
Leon's death, they could only conclude 
that it was a suicide, for whatever 
reasons.  They determined not to 
investigate further.

Abby stayed at the hospital with Lonnie 
that night.  George took me directly to 
his home, and Sandra met us at the door, 
and hugged me tightly.  They let me 
sleep in a spare bedroom, next to theirs 
and across from Abby's.  While I was 
showering, Sandra laid out a variety of 
sleepwear and underwear on the bed.  I 
chose a long tee shirt and panties and 
laid the rest on the dresser.   I 
crawled under the covers, and pulled 
them to my neck.  Sandra came in, bent 
over me like a big sister and kissed me 
goodnight.  "Call me if you need 
anything,: she said.  I tossed about for 
a couple of hours, twisting and turning 
on the queen-sized bed, not able to 
sleep.  Finally frustrated, I sat up 
very quickly and reached for the clock 
to check the time. Instead, my hand 
swept it off the table and it landed 
with a crash.   I went down to the floor 
on my hands and knees, feeling around 
for the clock in the dark, when my door 
opened.  It was Sandra; behind her, and 
to her side, stood George.  They looked 
like elongated versions of  "American 
Gothic" in do-it yourself-pajamas.

"Corrine, are you OK?" she asked.

"Yes, I just can't sleep, I'm all 
nervous inside.  I stood and set the 
clock back on the table.   It said, 3:30 
AM.  "I know he's going to be all right, 
but I just can't relax."  

I sat down on the bed. George's tee 
shirt came almost down to my knees and 
Sandra's panties underneath were well 
hidden from view.  From the looks of it, 
Sandra had on a similar outfit, except 
with her height, I could see her panties 
peeking out under the tail of the shirt.  
Her long thin legs were not knobby or 
uneven, but they were extremely narrow.  
I thought, what a contrast we two women 
were.  All we had in common was our 
sleeping attire.  

George himself was in a tee shirt and 
running shorts.  He said, "Can I get you 
an aspirin, Corrine?"

"Yes, thanks George, bring two."

As I sat on the bed with my head down, 
waiting for George with my aspirin, 
Sandra sat beside me.  I felt her hand 
on my back, stroking my spine.  

"You know we love you, don't you 
Corrine?"

"George said that you did." I said, 
nodding.  "Thank you, Sandra."

"I admire you so much for putting up so 
many years with what you have and still 
raising a wonderful son."  Sandra put 
her head against mine.  "I've been 
looking forward to our being a family 
together. I still am, Corrine."

"Well," I said, "There's just Lonnie and 
me now."

"Corrine," she said, now passing her 
hand laterally along my shoulder blades 
and speaking tenderly, "That's all it's 
ever been, hasn't it?"

I nodded.

"Would you like me to sleep with you 
Corrine?" she asked.

I nodded, feeling the static of my hair 
against her forehead.

She drew back and looked at my eyes, 
smiled, pulled her feet up into the bed, 
and moved to the far side and lay back.  

I looked back at her and smiled my 
thanks.  George came into the room with 
a glass of water and pills in his hand.  

"There are two choices there," he said, 
spreading his palm, "two aspirin, or one 
Darvocet."

I chose the Darvocet and drank the water 
down, handing it back to George.  I slid 
in next to Sandra and pulled the covers 
up to my neck.  George stood above me 
smiling.  My throat felt almost too full 
to speak. "You two have been so kind to 
me," I managed, "I love you both."

"Oh, we love you too, Corrine," he said 
softly. He stooped, put a hand on my 
shoulder and smiled.  He patted my 
shoulder and straightened up.  He picked 
up the water glass from table with his 
two middle fingers inside.

"Would you like George to lie down with 
us?" asked Sandra.

George slacked his jaw and raised his 
eyebrows, obviously surprised by his 
wife's question.  He stood still, 
suspended, an uncertain look on his 
face.  I knew I desperately wanted him 
to lie down with me but I couldn't 
speak.  Seconds past.  

"No, that's OK," George said, you just 
rest now and . . ."

I shifted over toward Sandra and felt 
her arm come over my waist.  George 
stood there and looked puzzled.  I 
reached out and pulled back the covers.  
He set down the water glass and got in.  
He lay on his side, facing me.  His face 
was not a foot away.  I saw his eyes 
gleaming in the darkened room.  I felt 
Sandra mold her body behind mine, her 
breath on my neck.  I reached for 
George's shoulder and pulled.  He slid 
closer and I put my arms around him and 
he around me.  Sandra's hand came up and 
cupped my breast.  Leon kissed my 
forehead and we lay still.

Was it outrageous to do what I was doing 
so quickly after my husband's death?  
Surely after his vicious attack on my 
son and me, I owed Leon no honor, no 
tears and no regret.  If what I was 
doing was ever wrong, then it was least 
wrong that night.  If what I was doing 
was all right, then it was most right 
that night.

No woman had ever touched my breast or 
had lain pressing herself against me as 
Sandra did that night.  I didn't know if 
I desired her sexually, or simply 
thought of her as a fellow occupant in a 
warm cocoon of love.  I just felt safe, 
and fixed and secured.  I snuggled 
against George and wanted him inside of 
me.   I kissed his face, his eyes and 
his mouth.  I slipped my hand behind and 
down into the waistband of his shorts, 
filling my palm with his small firm 
buttock, and squeezed.  I wanted him, 
but a great unbidden landslide of 
fatigue cascaded over me and I went to 
sleep.  


End of Part 5.  Go to Part 6

Comments to OneGallus@yahoo.com

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