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Message-ID: <44490asstr$1064711406@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Russell Hoisington" <hoisingr@hushmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Fuquits02: Reverend Meeks 01/01 {Hoisington}(bg, inc, pett,bd, toys, Mg pett, cons, humor)
Date: Sat, 27 Sep 2003 21:10:06 -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

This is an erotic fantasy.  The characters and the situation are
purely imaginary, and this story is  **NOT** intended to be a
guide for actual behavior.  Any similarities between this story
and actual people or actual events you should be ashamed of are
purely coincidental.  If it is illegal in your part of the world
to access and read erotic fiction, or if you are underage, or if
you don't like underage sex stories, then you should stop now.

"The Fuquits: Reverend Meeks" is copyright 2003 by Russell
Hoisington.  Please do not remove the author information or make any
changes to this story.  You may post freely to non-commercial (free)
sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites.  That does *not*
mean that they are in the public domain, nor does it mean that I give
permission for you to use them in spam advertising.  I reserve the
right to determine what is "spam advertising" by *my* definition, not
yours or anyone else's.

Thank you for your consideration.



                          THE FUQUITS:
                         Reverend Meeks

                     by Russell Hoisington


     "WHAT do you CHILDren THINK you are DOING???"

     Sixth-grader Fylica Fuquit froze with her white cotton panties
halfway up her thighs and looked up in reflex.  From the voice, she
expected to see an old woman screeching at them through the park's
bushes.  She had thought they'd be far enough off the trail that
nobody would stumble upon them.  She recovered her senses and yanked
upward, causing the moisture band to squeeze the fat little pubes of
her bald, wet cuntie flat, and dropped her hands, allowing the hem of
her green school uniform skirt to fall.

     Franklin Frederick Fuquit the Fifth, better known to his fifth
grade classmates as Freddie, yanked his green uniform shorts and
undies up, covering his narrow butt and fat little dickie.  His shirt
tail was half in and half out of the elastic waistbands of the two
garments, something that would drive Mother crazy if she saw it but
didn't bother Freddie at all.  He also looked up.  He saw a skinny
old man.  All men looked old to Freddie, but this one looked REALLY
old.  He was staring down at them like a wrinkled cartoon vulture.

     Shadowed by the man's flat, black felt hat his lined face
looked to be an even darker purple, as if the collar of his dark gray
shirt or the narrow black necktie under it were too tight.  He held
the shrubbery back with one hand, and with the other shook a book at
them, a book bound in black leather and closed by a golden zipper. 
One gold cross hung from the zipper tab, and another was emblazoned
on the black leather cover.  A third one was on his tie, just above
the single closed button of his inexpensive -- Freddie would say
"cheap" -- black suit jacket.  Through clenched teeth he said in his
high, squeaky voice, "DON'T  you little PERverts know:

          "'SHOW and tell, 
          "'BURN in Hell?'"

     Both children continued to gape at the man who spoke in such an
odd sing-song voice, but Fylicia's blonde eyebrows pulled together
slightly for a moment.

     Spittle gathered in the corner of the man's mouth as he shook
with rage.  "If GOD had WANTED you to LOOK at each other's PRIvate
PARTS, He WOULDN'tThave given you CLOTHING!  My SAINTed WIFE is lying
YONDer in a HOSpital BED, waiting for Our HEAVenly FATHER to diRECT
the HANDS of REAL DOCTors to SAVE her, and you little HEAthens are
out HERE, trashing your EVerLASTING imMORTal SOULS, PLAYING 'Doctor!'

The LORD will strike thee DOWN, and I will AIM his THUNderBOLT!"

     He shook his head and spoke in a softer voice, one heavy with
sadness and without the sing-song accent.  "But in the meantime I
should call the police to take you into custody and notify your
parents that Child Protective Services will be seeing after you from
now on."

     Fylicia caught Freddie's eye and raised one brow.  Her
brother's nod was almost imperceptible.  She looked up at the man,
who was still shaking the book at them.

     "Golly, Mister," she said, "nobody never told us we was doin'
nothin' wrong before.  Nobody never said we shouldn't do it before
you come along.  We sure don't know NOTHIN' 'bout no -- no 'Hell,'
'cept it's a bad word that Daddy always says, but he thumps us if we
says it."

     Freddie frowned at his sister.  She was talking like Mary Lou
Atkins, a poor girl bussed in to Anton Cermak Middle School from a
poor district somewhere else.  He didn't know if he could talk like
her that well, so he just looked up at the man, said, "Yeah!" and
nodded his head as earnestly as possible.

     The man lowered his book and his purple face faded into a look
of horrified concern.  "You two are BROTHER and SISTER?  And you're
committing -- committing -- INCEST?  Don't you children go to Sunday
School and Church?"  The way he said the words, you could just hear
the capital letters.

     "Unh uh," Fylicia said, shaking her head hard enough to make
her shoulder-length blonde hair spin out.  Freddie immediately shook
his head.  "Our Mama, she don't never take us, and Daddy don't never
wake up until late Sunday afternoon, an' he's usually throwin'-up
sick with a bad headache 'n' stomach ache then."  Freddie nodded.

     The man told Freddie to fix his shirt tail and then had them
carry their school book packs out to the park sidewalk.  He asked
them to follow him to the closest bench.

     Fylicia looked up at him with a wistful face.  "Mister, I
heared church sure was a nice place.  Is that true?" she asked,
sounding as if she was afraid it was a lie.

     The man's face lit up like Freddie's would if only someone
would just give him a new pair of Air Jordans, an X-Box game console
with all his favorite titles, and a blow job from a naked Britney
Spears.  "Oh, my child, it is the HOUSE of the LORD!  It is the most
glorious place the sinful hands of man can build."  He anchored his
skinny butt on the wooden bench but left the two children standing
before him, so that they were closer to, but still below, his eye
level.  "I preach in my own church, you know.  I'm Reverend Meeks of
the Church of Our Most Holy Lord and Savior of Galilee."

     Fylicia made big, round green eyes at him.  "Oh, Mister Meeks! 
I seen the outside of it down on Fourteenth.  I just knowed it was
beautiful inside."

     Reverend Meeks smiled at her naivete.  "Child, that's the
Catholic Church.  Catholics aren't True Christians.  They worship
idols and pray to a man in Rome and practice witchcraft and molest
children, and they think that man in Rome can forgive the Jews for
MURDERING the Son of God!  Then they claim that they can forgive each
other and can forgive the sins of men!  No, the inside of their
building is a monument to the false glory of man and the corruption
of gold," he said, shaking his head.  "They will all burn in Hell for
eternity for corrupting the word of God and our Lord Jesus, as will
all of those whom they have corrupted with their foul teaching."

     Fylicia frowned, and Freddie followed suit.  "Well, then
where's your church?"

     Reverend Meeks told them of his small building a few blocks on
the other side of the park, and the tiny cottage he and his wife
lived in that was provided by the church as part of his pay.  They
nodded and made appropriate "ooh!" and "aah!" sounds.

     "D'you have any kids, Mister Meeks?" she asked.  "They'd sure
be lucky to have you for a daddy, 'n' have such a nice place to go
ever Sunday."

     "No.  My wife cannot bear children.  Therefore, WE do not have
to engage in sins of the flesh, the way you and your brother were
doing."

     While Freddie frowned, Fylicia nodded slightly, then looked
ever so concerned.  "Mister Meeks, you said your wife was sick? 
What's wrong with her?"

     Reverend Meeks glanced at his watch.  "Yes.  I'm on my way to
the hospital now.  They will operate on Myra for -- for -- cancer of
one of her female parts in about two hours.  She saw me naked three
years ago, and she -- she fondled her private parts once last year. 
We believe the Lord gave her cancer as His punishment in His
righteous fury with her repeated sinning.  I pray to Him and to our
Lord Jesus to allow the doctors to spare her so that I can save her
corrupted soul before she leaves our mortal coil."

     Freddie frowned at Fylicia.  She spoke rapidly and moved her
hands about, trying to keep the man from noticing.  "Mister Meeks,
would it be all right if Bobby 'n' me come to your church some day? 
We'd sure like to know all about sinnin' an' stuff 'n' how to not get
in trouble with the Lord.  Can we do that?  Huh?"

     Reverend Meeks beamed in delight.  Converts were getting hard
and harder to find in this world of corruption, sin, and degradation.

If he could bring these sinful, wicked children willingly into the
Light of the Lord, surely some of the multitude of his sins would be
atoned.  Three minutes later he looked at his watch and said he had
to leave.

     "I'm afraid I shall have to be at the hospital all day for the
next week, but while I'm there I can administer to the spiritual
needs of the patients while dropping in on Mrs. Meeks occasionally. 
After she has returned home and is better, you can come by the
parsonage any time and we will teach you individually.  We often do
that with young people.  You are always welcome to come to the Church
and Sunday School every Sunday.  If you wish, I can drop by your home
and talk to your parents about it, and maybe encourage them to attend
as well."

     "Oh, NO!" Freddie said, shaking his red head.

     "He's right," Fylicia agreed.  "Daddy said there ain't no
preacher comin' round our apartment, or else he'd blow their fuckin'
ass to Hell."

     Reverend Meeks blanched and looked as if he'd swallowed his
dentures.  "Young ladies do not use THAT word -- nor do ANY of God's
flock use it.  Ever."

     Fylicia frowned while Freddie strangled a grin into submission.

"But you used it when you said we was goin' there."

     "What?  Said you were going...?  Oh.  No, not 'Hell.'  That
other word, the vile one that begins with 'F.'  Using that one will
cause you to end up in the fiery torments of Hell forever, and that
'A' word is almost as evil."

     Fylicia's eyes widened.  "Oh!" she said, slowly nodding her
head.  "Then I won't NEVER use it NO more again, I PROMISE!  Cross my
heart!"

     Reverend Meeks rose.  "We'll talk about the pagan symbols of
witchcraft when I have more time," he said.  "Good bye, Bobby."

     Freddie frowned.  "My name's -- OW!"  He shifted his weight off
the ankle where Fylicia had kicked him.

     "You heared the preacher.  We ain't never gonna use that old
name agin.  You'll go by your right name of 'Bobby' from now on."

     Reverend Meeks smiled at Freddie.  "What old name is that?"

     "Shithead Stone," Fylicia said, trying ever so hard not to grin
when the man blanched again.  "But we'll only call him Bobby from now
on.  'N' I'm Sharon.  Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Mr. Meeks. 
We'll be seein' you at your church in a couple of weeks, if you sure
you don't mind?"

     With Reverend Meeks safely on his way to the hospital, the
siblings turned toward home.  Fylicia looked at Freddie and shook her
head.  "What a sanctimonious fucking asshole."

     "You said it," Freddie agreed, wondering what she'd just said
and guessing from the context.

     She looked at him from the sides of her eyes.  "This is your
fault."

     Freddie gawked at her.  "MINE?"

     She nodded.  "You're the one who couldn't wait until we got
home to fuck."

     "Well, if you'd learn to keep quiet when you cum, people
wouldn't hear you groaning and look in the bushes."

     Fylicia rolled her eyes and then giggled.  "Can you imagine
what would've happened if he'd come by a few seconds earlier and
caught me bending over while you got me from behind?  He'd be lying
there with a heart attack."

     The more Freddie's frown grew, the more his pace slackened. 
Fylicia stopped when she saw she had pulling ahead.  Freddie caught
up and gave her a worried look.  "Y'know, Sis, if he keeps coming
through here after school, we'll run into him again 'n' have
trouble."

     "Oh, shit!"  She turned around and looked for the man.  He was
almost out of sight, his head down reading his book as he walked. 
"Good," she said.  "He hasn't seen us going toward home instead of
where we told him we lived."

     Freddie ran his fingers through his red hair.  It looked as if
he were pulling his eyes open as his frown vanished and  they grew
wide.  "I hadn't thought of that!"

     They resumed walking.  "Freddie, you're right.  We gotta do
something about him.  I promise you we won't let him be a problem in
the future."

     His eyebrows narrowed for a few seconds and his mouth quirked
sideways.  He hummed three grunts, and then his shoulders sagged and
his expression turned bleak.  "I'm outa ideas, Sis.  You got any?"

     "No, I...."  She stopped.  A sly grin spread across her lips. 
"Yeah."  She pulled him aside and let a jogger pass while she looked
up, her lips pressed together and pushed to one side.  Her eyes
squinted, and she seemed to be reading something written in the
trees.  "I hope Mother hasn't done the laundry yet.  I need some used
panties besides these."

     "Maybe you could get some from the gym locker room, like you
did with Candy Carroll's."

     The way she dropped her eyes, tilted her head, and stared at
him made Freddie feel like he'd just said he liked shitkicker music
instead of Britney Spears.  Or that he'd rather fuck that little
bitch Candy Carroll instead of his sister.    He shook his head and
threw up his hands.  "What?"

     "Tomorrow's Saturday, shithead!  Monday will be too late.  We
gotta do something tomorrow.  Those panties where Daddy's cum drained
in them Wednesday would be perfect.  I gotta look up some stuff about
church on the internet.  We got any film for that Polaroid camera? 
We better get some at the drug store over there.  How much money have
you got?  Oh, and we need some of your bondage rope, and don't forget
a blindfold, too.  Maybe two of 'em.  Did Uncle Bud leave any of that
wine?  "N' you'll have to cough up a magazine...."

     Freddie shook his head in bewilderment and led the way across
the grass to the Walgreen's at the near edge of the park.

                              -----

     "There he goes," Fylicia said, nudging the half-asleep
Freddie's shoulder with her own.

     Freddie yawned and followed her gaze around the corner of the
church.  They had found a spot where they could watch the house,
which sat behind and to the right of the church, but not be seen from
the street because of some bushes.  "What if we can't get in the
house?"  It was the fifth time he'd asked since she'd explained her
plan between the drug store and home the previous afternoon.  This
time she had an answer.

     "See that window?  It's open enough that I can get through if
it won't go up any higher.  I'll open a door from the inside. C'mon."

She rose and brushed the dirt from her shorts and legs.  She had
insisted that they wear old clothes for their mission.  Mother, of
course, wouldn't want them to leave the house unless they were
spotless, so they had  waited until she was busy in the back of the
house before slipping out the front door.

     Fylicia took four steps, turned her head to speak to Freddie,
and whispered, "Oh, SHIT!"  She jumped back, pulling him along.

     "Hey!"

     "Shhh!"  She pointed.  "That bottom window is open.  There may
be someone in the church who'd see us."

     "Oh, no.  Whadda we do now?"

     She thought a minute.

     Freddie's expression brightened.  "We could leave the bag under
the hedge and climb in.  If anyone's there, we just tell them we're
Bobby and Sharon and couldn't WAIT to see the inside.  We couldn't
get in the front door and crawled through the window."

     Fylicia shrugged.  It was as good as any plan.  "You know,
Freddie, between the two of us, we've got an answer to every problem.

I sure am glad you're my brother."  She gave him a big kiss, sliding
her tongue down his throat the way he liked, while she gave his
dickie a squeeze.  "Let's go."

     They worked their way through the basement classrooms and
storage and work rooms and up to the main floor.  The building was
empty.  "We should take a couple of pictures in here," she said as
she stood in front of the pulpit, looking at the cheap stained glass
windows, "in case nobody recognizes the inside of the house.  And
we'll bring the pictures from the house in here."

     "Want me to go get the bag, Sis?" Freddie asked as he looked at
the baptismal font and wondered why a bunch of prudes would put a
bathtub in view of the whole audience.

     Fylicia pushed her puckered lips to one side and furrowed her
brow.  "On the way back," she decided.  "Let's do the ones in the
house first."

                              -----

     Freddie would have called the interior of the house "rustic" or
even "spartan" if he knew those words.  Since he didn't he looked
about the bedroom and said, "This place looks REALLY old."

     "Wait a minute," Fylicia said.  She rushed out the door and
flew back in a few seconds later.  "I thought so.  This is all his
stuff.  Her bedroom is next door.  C'mon."

     "They have separate bedrooms?" he asked as he followed her.

     "Looks like it."

     "That's sick!"

     "WE have separate bedrooms," she reminded him.

     "But we sleep together when we want to fuck," he said.  "Maybe
they do the same."

     She gave him that tilted-head, patient look that told him he'd
just said something stupid again.

     He shook his head and threw up his hands.  "What?"

      "After what he said yesterday?  I think they have separate
bedrooms to KEEP FROM fucking."

     "That's SICK!" Freddie repeated as Fylicia shucked her
clothing.  That took almost no time because she was wearing a
pullover top, knit shorts, yesterday's panties, and slip-on shoes.

     "It makes things easier.  I'll bet he doesn't come in here. 
Put these panties under one of her pillows.  We'll wrinkle the sheets
and smooth the bedspread over the wrinkles after we take a picture."

     Freddie pulled aside the bedspread and jumped into the
four-poster bed.  He shoved the panties under the pillow and began
rumpling the sheets while Fylicia pulled rope out of the gym bag. 
Freddie had pre-tied some sections that could be slipped around
Fylicia's limbs and body to make them look like intricate knots that
had been tied in place.  Her brother was a genius with ropes and
knots.  Mother always said it was a shame that there were no Bondage
Scouts he could join.

     She slipped her hands through some wrist loops and her feet
through ankle loops.  "Okay."

     Fylicia jumped into the bed as Freddie climbed down and took
the lengths of rope she handed him.  She lay on the bed with her arms
and legs spread while he ran double lengths from her feet and hands
to the bedposts and back.  "I forgot the blindfold," she said.

     Freddie slid one over her face, tucked her hair under her head
so that nobody could tell how long it was, deep-kissed her for a
second, spread the slit of her cuntie, and grabbed the camera.  While
they waited for the first picture to develop he moved the ankle ropes
from the lower to the upper posts, leaving Fylicia's wet little
cuntie and round little ass fully exposed.  The front of his shorts
began to push outward.  He adjusted his dickie to a comfortable
position inside his tight jockey shorts as he asked, "You wanna
vibrator?"

     "We don't have time for that."  She sounded disappointed, if
not sad.

     "For the picture?"

     "Oh.  Okay.  Sure.  Uh -- put it in my butt."

     They left the first picture between the dirty clothes hamper
and the wall and then took other pictures in his room, the living
room, and the kitchen, where they used the man's shaving cream to
make it look as if someone had been licking whipped cream from
Fylicia's pussy.  In the bathroom Freddie got a picture of her
squatting with her feet on the toilet seat and peeing into the bowl.

     Freddie looked at the indicator.  "Last two shots."

     "I was just getting warmed up," she sighed as she turned back
to retrieve her clothing.

     "How about one of me fucking you?"he asked, watching her butt
wiggle in front of him as the need in his throbbing dickie grew
worse.

     She looked over her shoulder and again she gave him THAT look.

     He shook his head and threw up his hands.  "What?"

     "Don't you think that he might figure out who we are if we did
that?"

     "Oh." <Damn,> he thought.  He was getting REALLY horny.

     The phone rang as she slipped into her shoes.  They looked at
each other for a moment and then she grinned.  "C'mon!"

     In the living room she lifted the handset.  "Hello?" she asked
in a younger-sounding voice."

     She winked and nodded at Freddie.  "No, Reverend Meeks can't
come to th' phone.  No!  He's in th' other room givin' c'moon'un to
Betsy.  Betsy's my big sister!  She's nine.  Oh, yes!  She always
likes it when he gives her c'moon'un.  I do, TOO!  Uh HUH!  No. 
Well, he says we can't drink th' wine 'cause we ain't big enough.  He
drinks it for us and a MIRACLE happens!  Yes, it's REALLY wine! 
Yeah.  'Cause I smelt it!  I KNOW what it smells like 'cause Uncle
Bud sometimes gives me a taste.  Reverend Meeks says Jesus trans...
trans... Jesus makes the wine into this SPECIAL MILK we can drink! 
Uh huh!  It happens RIGHT INSIDE his body, and then we can DRINK it!

Yeah!  Right out of the Staff of Life itself!  Course, it's kinda
salty, but it sure tastes GOOD!  Uh HUH.  No, God lets him KEEP the
Staff of Life, right there in the front of his pants!  He just --
hello?  Hey?  Are you there?"

     She hung up the phone and started laughing, causing Freddie to
explode, too.  "We gotta hurry," she said as she raced to the woman's
bedroom to retrieve their gear.

     Freddie picked up the bag.  "What about the rope?"

     "Let's leave it in the church instead, in case nobody looks
here."

     They slipped out the kitchen door, which locked when they
pulled it closed, and raced to the open church window.

     In the sanctuary Fylicia again shucked her clothes while
Freddie took the camera and a small bottle from the gym bag.  Freddie
opened the bottle while Fylicia knelt in the seat of the front pew
and stuck her ass forward.  The bottle was one of the hotel hand
lotion samplers that their father brought back from some of his
business trips.  It looked a whole lot like cum, and Freddie had
discovered that a little bit of Mom's clear cooking oil added to it
and then shaken made it look perfect.

     He shook the bottle, opened it, and dabbed his finger in it. 
He smeared the liquid around his sister's fat little hairless cuntie
lips that were swollen and gaping with desire.  She was all wet
inside with her diddle dew.  He gathered more on his finger and wiped
it down her slit and across her clitty.  She moaned at that touch and
made him promise to fuck her as soon as they got home.  Not that
Freddie ever needed much persuasion.

     He wiped his finger on a paper towel and grabbed the camera. 
"Get your head down behind the seat back," he said.  "More.  I can
still see blonde hair.  That's it.  Hold it."  A drop had collected
at the front of her groove, looking as if a man's creme filling were
leaking out of that hot little twinkie.  The flash fired and the
picture popped out of the slot.  "Now where?"

     "We gotta hurry.  Over there on the piano bench."  She grabbed
a blindfold before handing the bag to Freddie.  "Tie me there."

     Freddie faked tying her to the piano bench, with a rope running
from one ankle, behind her neck, and to the other ankle, pulling her
knees back to her shoulders.  He pulled her pussy lips apart, added a
big dollop of fake cum to her juicy cuntie, and snapped the last
shot.

     Fylicia sprang up and wiped her pussy with the paper towel. 
She stuck the towel in a sandwich baggie inside the gym bag and then
removed the ropes.  They would toss the baggie in one of the trash
containers in the park.  She scrambled into her clothes while Freddie
put the camera in the gym bag.

     "Where do we put the pictures?" Freddie asked, leafing through
them and feeling his dickie starting to swell again at the sights.

     "Stick them in the holders for the songbooks on the back of one
of the seats."

     Freddie jumped into the first pew and leaned over the back.

     "Not up front, shithead!" she said as she removed the
cum-stained panties from the bag and frowned at them. "Nobody ever
sits in the front of a church.  Uh -- in the middle or near the
back," she indicated with a dismissive wave of her hand.

     Freddie raced down the aisle as she smiled and tucked half the
panties into the waistband of her shorts for safekeeping.  She
grabbed a bondage magazine out of the gym bag and stuck it and some
white rope in with the sheet music inside the piano bench.

     "Here?" Freddie asked from the middle of the aisle.

     Fylicia looked.  "Yeah.  Stick 'em behind a song book and let's
get out of here."

     "What about the wine?" he asked, following her instructions

     "There's a refrigerator downstairs.  We'll put it in there on
the way out."  She picked up the bag and ran toward him.

     "That way's closer," Freddie said, pointing to a door next to
the choir.

     "Yeah, but the nursery is at this end," she said, pulling the
stained panties free of the waistband.  "Let's put these in with the
diapers."

     Freddie sighed as he chased after her.  "Too bad we don't have
a smoke bomb like we used for Mr. Stinky."

     Fylicia stopped, cocked her head sideways, and gave him THAT
look again.

     "What?"

     She shook her head.  "If we use smoke bombs every time, don't
you think people will catch on?"

     "Oh.  I guess you're right."

     Fylicia stuck the panties behind some disposable diapers in a
small white cabinet while Freddie took the wine to the refrigerator.

He was unscrewing the cap when she arrived.  "What are you doing?"

     Freddie grinned wickedly.  "There's grape juice in the fridge."

     A similar grin spread across Fylicia' face.  They added half
the wine to the grape juice and stuck the bottle on a lower shelf. 
"Let's get out of here," she said.

     "Good idea.  I got REALLY horny looking at you and taking those
pictures.  I've got the SEXIEST sister in the whole world."

     Fylicia knew he was buttering her up for later, but she smiled
at the compliment and squeezed his dickie while deep kissing him
again.  She needed relief as bad as he did.  And then they raced to
the open window.

     "Oh, shit."

     "Yeah," agreed Freddie.  Two women and a man were ringing the
doorbell of the parsonage.  The white-haired man started beating on
the door with his fist.  "Now what?"

     Fylicia thought for a moment.  "Out the front door."

     Freddie frowned at her.  "What if someone sees us?"

     "As long as they don't see us coming out the door, it's okay."

     They were halfway down the sidewalk when the car crept through
the parking lot like a turtle on tranquilizers.  Its occupants saw
them, stopped, and called them over.  They introduced themselves as
George Mitchell and his wife, Martha, and Alice Wilson.  They were
members of the church's administrative council.

     "Well, we was hopin' t' see Reverend Meeks," Fylicia said in
Mary Lou Atkins' voice as she looked up at the three people standing
before her, "but he don't answer th' door.  She gave them her
sweetest big-eyed smile.  "He stopped us in the park yesterday.  Oh,
this my brother, Bobby Stone, 'n' I'm Sharon.  He told us we could
come by any time 'n' he'd teach us 'bout not sinnin' no more.  We
knowed his wife was sick and all, but we thought we might catch him
'fore he left for the hospital.  We ain't never been in no church
before an' he said he'd show us the Glory o' God 'n' teach us all
about the joy o' communion 'n' stuff."

     Both women went white-faced at the word "communion," while the
white-haired man turned scarlet, making his small white mustache seem
to glow.  He asked through gritted teeth, "He's not in the parsonage
or the church, either one?"

     Fylicia frowned.  Freddie saw it and followed her lead. 
"What's a pars... pars...."

     The man pointed.  "The house he lives in back there."

     Big eyes.  Twice.  "He don't live in th' church?"

     Mrs. Wilson, the darker-haired, younger woman, looked at the
man and then back at Fylicia.  "Oh, you poor, sweet dear.  You really
don't know anything about the ministry, do you."

     Shrug.  Two of them.  "Mama said I wouldn't start doin' it for
another year or two."

     Three blank faces stared down at her.

     "She said she didn't get her pooberty 'til she was fourteen."

     Freddie nodded.

     The man went ashen, the woman who had spoken blushed, and the
gray-haired woman looked as if she were about to faint.

     "My child, God-fearing people don't talk of such things in
public."

     "But you started it," Fylicia protested.

     "Alice," said the older woman before the younger could speak
again, "she doesn't know.  She's been lost in the Wilderness."

     "No, we ain't never been outa the city," said Freddie.  He felt
proud of himself when his sister looked at him with approval in her
eye and started nodding.

     "Daughter," said Mr. Wilson, "you obviously need to be
instructed in the path of righteousness, and it's commendable that
you seek to know Him of your own volition, but I must ask that you
not return until we can locate a new pastor.  Do you have a Bible to
study in the meantime?"

     "Uh unh," said Freddie.

     "Yeah," said Fylicia.

     The man frowned at them.

     "Oh, Bobby don't know that I borrowed one from Missus Jenkins
in the next 'partment," Fylicia explained.  "We can't afford to buy
none," she added in a sad tone with face to match.

     That seemed to make everyone very pleased.  The older woman
nodded her head.  "Well, you just study it every night.  We can call
you when the new preacher arrives.  What's your telephone number? 
George, you write it down."

     "Oh, we can't afford no telephone."

     All three gave her a sad smile.  "That sign will welcome the
new pastor when he arrives.," the man said, pointing.  "When you see
that, you'll know that you can start coming to Sunday School and
Church."

     They thanked the people and wished them a good day.  At the
corner, they watched the car creep into traffic and go the other way.

When it was out of sight they headed for the park.

     Freddie sighed.  "That was close. I almost blew it, didn't I?"

     Fylicia gave him a big smile.  "I was proud of you," she said,
slipping an arm around him and squeezing.  "I'm going to take you
home and I'M going to 'blow it,' and then you can fuck me with it any
way you want to."

     Freddie thought about that for a moment and then broke into a
huge grin.

                              -----

     Franklin Frederick Fuquit the Fourth, known to the world in
general as Frank but to his wife Phyllis as Superstud, to Fylicia as
Monsterdickie, and to Freddie as the cash register, was sitting at
the head of the breakfast table, reading the morning paper and
sipping coffee when his yawning kids meandered into the kitchen.  The
robe he'd worn out to get the paper had been neatly folded by Phyllis
and placed in the exact center of an empty chair.

     Phyllis, dressed in a gold necklace with amethyst pendant, a
flower-print, full-front apron that matched the color of the
amethyst, and matching slippers, was preparing omelets.  She greeted
the red-eyed children and gave a silent "tsk, tsk!" at their
appearance.  At least Fylicia had made an attempt to brush her hair,
poor as it had been, but Freddie's red mop stuck out in all
directions.  However, he had washed his little red dickie before
coming down to breakfast.  She gave each a quick kiss and returned to
cooking.

     Freddie laid his sleepy head on his dad's shoulder, exchanged
hugs, and mumbled, "Morning, Dad," before climbing into the chair
next to his father's.

     "Good morning, son.  I see you had a busy night."

     Fylicia mumbled, "Good morning, Daddy," and tilted her face
toward his.  He smiled at her slitted red eyes and said, "Morning,
sweetheart."  He slipped his tongue into her mouth and a finger along
her reddened little slit.  She flinched at his gentle touch.

     "I see you had a busy night, too."

     "Uh huh," she said.  She sighed deeply and said, "I fucked up."

     "Language, dear," Phyllis said without looking back from her
place at the stove.

     "Sorry.  Freddie did something good yesterday, and I told him
for his reward he could do me any way he wanted to."

     Phyllis threw a sympathetic quick glance over her shoulder. 
She'd made that mistake once with Frank.  "You didn't!"

     "Uh huh.  I did.  I wasn't thinking," she said with another
yawn.

     Frank hugged her to him and grinned.  She was so tired she'd
forgotten to squeeze his Monster while she kissed him.  He kissed the
top of her head and said,  "And naturally how he wanted to do it
was..."

     "...all night long," she confirmed.  "He didn't fall asleep
until way after midnight."  Her tone was accusatory, but she knew it
was her fault for not thinking before she promised.  And her father
always said that a Fuquit NEVER breaks a promise.

     Frank gave her little round butt a gentle caress and squeeze as
she went to the chair on the other side of Freddie, and then he
picked up his paper.

     While the children sipped orange juice, he turned the page. 
"Holy shit!"

     "Language, dear," Phyllis said as she brought plates of omelets
and hash browns to her children.

     Frank ignored her.  "'Reverend Ezekiel Meeks of the Church of
the Most Holy Lord and Savior of Galilee over on West Elm was
arrested yesterday on charges of contributing to the delinquency of
minors.'  Hmmm....  'They also charged him with possession of child
pornography and sexual abuse of children.'  Hmmm....  Seems they're
looking for a Sharon and Bobby Stone to corroborate the testimony of
the church's administrative council, though the materials they found
in a search of the church and the parsonage give them enough reason
to hold him."

     Freddie and Fylicia blinked at each other and then looked at
their plates.  Fylicia put her fork down.  "Daddy," she said in a
whiny voice as she turned big, pleading eyes to him, "I don't very
feel good today.  Can we stay home?"

     Phyllis placed Frank's plate in the exact center of his
placemat and adjusted the position of his fork until it was aligned
to her satisfaction.  "You should have gotten more sleep last night,"
she said.  "But we'll stay home.  Right, dear?"

     Frank grunted agreement, then pinched her bare butt after she
refilled his coffee cup.

     She jumped and slapped his hand playfully, indicating that
she'd empty the coffeepot in his lap if he did that again.  Then she
turned serious.  "But I think it's a shame about that preacher.  It's
a sad state of affairs, just like with all those priests.  Here he is
minding his own business, showing those children how to have a little
fun, and those do-gooders interfered.  It's just not fair."

     "Yeah," Frank agreed, placing the folded paper aside.  "Life's
a bitch, and then you die."

     Phyllis picked up the paper and realigned the fold so that the
edges matched.  "Language, dear."

--
Copyright 2003
Russell Hoisington
State of Confusion

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