Chapter One

My Dad made mistakes the twelvemonth I was 18. He was a deputy sheriff in Oklahoma City. He was busted for dealing Lebanese pound of methamphetamine, and given 35 years. Because he was a lawman, he was put in nongregarious lying-in. Putting ex-lawmen in nongregarious confinement is a clever way of letting the superior general prison universe know they're copper. I was just finishing the draft I was going to send him for my 19 Christmastime, when I found out he had beaten himself up and then hung himself in his cell at the prison house at Lexington.

Mom made some mistakes, too, but hers were more innocent…at least at beginning. After Dad beat himself to death, Mom grieved for about a year, about the conquer time for a wife-beater who was wired all the fourth dimension. Then she started dressing more attractively. She also started taking the steps to and from the third-floor law office where she was a legal secretary. She had some extra weight to take off if she hoped to find a husband who wouldn't take off, she said. When she fell down the steps and broke her arm in seventeen places, her job as well as her motivating to practice ceased.

Mom had no pick. She was alone in Sooner State urban center without a husband or a job. She also had a hungry, growing teenaged son. She packed our belongings in the dorsum of her John Ford commonwealth Squire post wagon and tug us the one hundred and twenty Admiralty mile from OKC to Hanging Tree, Oklahoma–the strange smalltown in the world.

Hanging Tree was named after a dangling tree that still stood–after two century proud years of evil–in the yard of the courthouse public square in the center of the tiny Ithiel Town. The Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree had been used for hanging in the previous century first by the"civilized"indigen American language then by the"cultured"European encroacher. forget me drug tied to its strongest and most approachable branch had ended C of lives over the years. I thought the township was going to end my lifespan without the good manners of a noose.

Mom moved us in with her widow female parent in a white clapboard business firm at the southskirts of suspension tree diagram. From the moment we moved in, there was trouble. Trouble was named Sir Henry Morton Stanley. John Rowlands was my cousin, but he wasn't proud of that fact. To him, my father's shame was mine and my mother's as well. He was a blockheaded, ex-Marine, 18 years older than I was, but he became my personal fiend. He didn't like the estimate that Mom and I were living with his grandma, increasing her burden in her fortunate age. He loved his gran. He respected his nanna like any good military man. When he came over and threatened to kill me if I didn't leave, I told him to go get laid himself, so he decided to change tactics. That's why he told Grandma Bertrand Arthur William Russell that I'd been having sex with my female parent since Dad went to prison. It was his way of gently motivating his beloved granny to do the right affair and plain us out.

I had just walked into the pace at Grandma's house. I'd been across town at a ally's house smoking pot. I loved the way pot made me feel, and the fact that it was illegal only made me feel closer to my dead Dad. Grandma was out in the yard, hanging washing on the dress line. They liked hanging affair in Hanging tree. I had no idea my grandmother was waiting to hang me up for the rest of my life.

As I walked into the one thousand, Grandma Charles Taze Russell said,"Micheal, come here ! I want to utter to you !"

She sounded dangerous, so I stopped in the cubic yard and said,"What you want, Grandma ?"

She walked her bony, wrinkled ass, working her elbows for propulsion, and came quickly across the yard to where I stood by the logic gate. When she got two feet from me, she stopped, put one hand on a hip, and shook the index digit of her other hand in my face. Taken aback, I said,"What's the deal, grandmother ?"

"Micheal Russell, have you been having sex with your mother ?"The finger in my boldness wagged out each word."Stanley was over here this break of the day and said you've been doing it with your mother ever since your father went to prison house and died ! If you have, you had just better confess your sin so I can implore for you !"

I looked at her. I started to speak, but discussion wouldn't semen. I was shocked beyond tears or self-protection. From my 18-year-old stand, I was living through a underworld on globe. My Fatherhood had been disgraced, imprisoned, and killed. My mother had disabled herself, and we'd had to move from Oklahoma City to a rat like dangling Tree. I had been getting one or two zit that made me self-conscious. We had no money, I had no friends, and now my nanna was accusing me of fucking my mother !

"No, grannie ! No ! Christ !"

"Don't you use the figure of the Savior in vain, Thomas Young man. You're in enough bother with paradise for having carnal knowledge of your own angelic mother and her with one bad arm !"

"But I didn't ! I didn't have sex with Mom ! Grandma ! Stanley's lying ! Why are you so quick to think something like that just because my sick cousin Sir Henry Morton Stanley says it's so ?"

She looked at me with obliterate letdown dawning as she realized that it probably wasn't true. She had been fix for a struggle against the devil for my soul and mamma's pussy. Now that she began to believe I was telling the the true ( and at the time I was ), she became embarrassed. But it was a strange embarrassment.

Instead of acting as if she were embarrassed about what she had said, she acted as if she were naked in front of me. When a woman is simply apologizing for being irrational, she doesn't cover her garment knocker with her arm, or splay her hired man over her clothed pussy. I was young, but I read a lot. I knew the foretoken, and there was no mistaking the look in nanna's eyes. She was as turned on as a cat in heat.

She took the bridge player that had symbolically hidden her pussy and put it on my arm. She smiled at me and laid her school principal against my shoulder. I couldn't believe what seemed to be happening. Then she removed any dubiety. Putting her former hired hand on the bulge in the social movement of my dungaree, my nan said,"Since your granddaddy died, it seems like my old cunt does all my thought process for me."

The longer gran massaged my dick through my jeans, the more forgiving I became."Your Mom is going to be in Tulsa till late tonight. Let's go in the business firm,"she said. I was easily led.

We went to her bedroom. She sat on the bed and pulled me close to her. With a wicked gleam dancing in her old eyes, granny untie my bang and fly, took out my rock-hard eight inches ( the only matter Dad left me ), and dove for it like a big-mouthed bass for a spinner. I'd never experienced the like before, but grannie had. She knew just what to do, grabbing my ass, twirling the tip of her tongue around the fountainhead of my dick as it bobbed in and out of her mouth. In what seemed care moments, I was holding the back of Grandma's head with both hands and squirting cum into her throat. She moaned as she sucked. My psyche was reeling from the climax and from the thought of what I was doing.

When she'd sucked me dry, she sat back, wiped her lips, smiled at me and said,"Now…you may not be fucking your mother, but you can be intimate your old nanna's puss if you want."She pulled her feet up on the bed, pulled up the hem of her dress, spread her legs, and scooted her articulatio coxae forward on the bed. I reached down and grabbed her panties and pulled them down her tightly fitting second joint and off over her tiny feet. She reached down and scatter her inner brim. My dick got surd again.

I kneeled on the bed and positioned myself between her thighs. Grandma reached in the front of her dress and pulled out a yearn, hard-nippled bosom. Then she reached between my stage and grabbed my dick."Oh, God forgive me ! nirvana knows I need this !"Then she put the heading of my dick between her moist lips. She threw her weaponry around my gloomy cover and slammed me into her sixty-year-old grab. It was warm, and soft, and I was hooked.

In the limited day to day rating of a teenage boy, I became quite fond of liveliness in Hanging Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree. I went to school where I was a slightly shy new kid with few friends, but when I came home I had great deal of opportunities to relieve the day's emphasis. Every metre Mom was out of the theatre, I'd piece of ass Grandma like we were newlyweds. I had her all over the household. She made me like the forbidden view of our lovemaking by being up front with her wickedness. Sometimes I'd worry about multitude coming to the door, because when I was sliding my big shaft in and out of grandmother's lush, withered bitch, she'd cry affair like,"That's it. That's it, son ! fuck Grandma's kitty hard ! Oh, you grandmotherfucker !"

Mom never let on that she knew. I found out that Grandma had told her soon after it began, but Mom played dumb. Then on the nighttime of July 4th, 1979, Mom and granny started getting ready to go somewhere. I came in the house and went to the icebox to get a Dr. Pepper. I noticed them getting set up and asked where they were going.

"You're going too,"Grandma said."Go get cleaned up some."

"Where am I going ?"I asked Mom who came into the kitchen, asking me to zip her up. ( Her rightfulness arm was still weak from the fall. )

"We're going to a peculiar Bible study,"Mom said, smiling over her berm at me after I pulled the zipper to her neckline.

"Ah, Mom. I don't want to go to church."We didn't make it a wont of going to church. Dad had been a nonbeliever, and Mom hadn't made a big matter of her beliefs if she had any. I had come to the determination that God was a story like St. Nick Claus that they told you to convince you to be good.

With Mom standing right in front of me, smiling at me and working to put her earring on, Grandma walked right up to me and grabbed my bulge. She'd never done anything like that in front of Mom before. I looked at Mom's nerve, expecting surprisal, and saw only that kindly light she always shined at her merely child. Grandma said,"You'll like this Bible report, you hard-dicked sweetheart. Now go get ready !"She gave my bulge a squeeze that made me see whizz. I went to comb my hair.

It was indeed a"special"Bible study, but I wondered then, and I still enquire, how unique it was. Christendom, in its more fundamentalist grade, is a repressing disease that starves its practioners for sex. If there were no Christianity, there would be a century times LE perversion. Christendom forces people to refuse their gender until it bursts forth in slightly twisted bang. I wondered how many church across the nation has special encounter that only the more sultry Biblethumpers attended.

The Bible study was held at a house in the commonwealth. When we pulled up about sunset, there were six cars parked carelessly around the throwaway effort at the battlefront of the expensive house. Grandma parked the station wagon, and we went inside.

A beautiful blonde girl of about twelve twelvemonth met us at the presence threshold and escorted us to a large internal room. There were 11 the great unwashed in the way. Our routine would play the total to a multiple of seven. I learned that this was thought to be important. The new blonde introduced us to the gathering by happily proclaiming,"The seventh family is here ! Here they are ! The seventh folk is here."

The room was furnished with style. The paries were covered with bright snarf paintings and the leaves of potted works set all around its perimeter. The undetermined square of the center of the elbow room was bordered by long, plush, E. B. White sofa. We sat in one corner of the fencing of lounge, and a tall, cut, dingy man in a black business suit stood and began addressing the congregation :

"If you have known lovemaking, you have known God,"said the deacon.

"If you have known Love, you have known God,"we all repeated.

The deacon strolled slowly around the inner second power, smiling at each, acknowledging each, as he spoke :

"This is a great occasion for us today. final calendar month we lost three of our members who moved to Los Angeles. We have done well, but there is only so much we can do if we lack the holy place Numbers. Now we have seven families represented by fourteen people. Our petition will be mighty tonight, congratulations God."

"praise God,"the congregation echoed.

"I am called The Protestant deacon. No one here uses their everyday epithet. This is a exceptional meeting of true believers in God's grace of God. We believe, as did the firstly century Christians, that nothing is wrongly as long as it hurts no one and is done in dead on target love. Our freedom, eroded by centuries of dogma, is the impropriety of the Law of Love.

"We all go to unconstipated Fundamentalist Christian church because Fundamentalism is about all there is in OK. But this is our avowedly office of worship. Here we thank God for the natural endowment of our consistence. Here we live as we were created to live in shameless Eden."

At that, everyone stood. I'd only been to church once or twice in my biography, but I remembered they were big about everybody doing everything together, standing together, sitting together, singing together. I stood. Then everyone started taking their apparel off. It was quiet, unhurried, almost reverent. Not until I saw Mom and Grandma, to my right field and my left, disrobing did I fall out of my amazement enough to do likewise.

When everyone was naked, the deacon took a can on the sofa. Then the cleaning lady, all the women, stood and paraded in the center square. At start they said cipher, just walked around, every shape and size of women, every age from the twelve-year-old blonde to my sixtyish grandmother. I couldn't take my eyes off my beautiful, big-boobed, brunette-bushed Mom. Since I had been wrongly accused of fucking her, fucking her was all I could think about. The mind is comic that way.

Then, at a nod from the Deacon, the charwoman stood together in a clustering, raised their prayerful manpower to their back talk, bowed their promontory, and began chanting a Bible verse over and over–

"springiness to every man who asks of you, and from him who would adopt of you, twist not away.

"springiness to every man who asks of you, and from him who would take up of you, turn not away…"

Besides the Deacon, there were two other male person in the room, a fat man with a Second Earl Grey beard and a skinny redheaded guy a few eld senior than me. They were all masturbating their hammer to get them hard. I didn't have to.

The women stopped chanting their Word verses. Then Mom walked over to me, her big breasts swinging, still firm. She held her bad arm under her titty. She got on her articulatio genus in front of me and said,"Be careful of my arm, darling."Then she bowed her head again and took the head of my prick in her mouth.

I was enraptured. Nothing had ever felt as effective. Looking down incredulously, I saw her beautiful hazelnut tree eyes smiling at me merrily as she sucked my big, buddy-buddy hawkshaw into her somewhat mouth. I began to rock my hips up and down, fucking her mouth. Her respectable hand crept up my second joint and squeezed my balls.

"Oh, fuck this,"I said. I got up and set her where I'd been sitting. She was more beautiful to me, sitting there with her legs pulled back, smiling at her son about to fuck her, than anything I'd seen before or have seen since. I grabbed my throbbing shaft in my right hand. I was going to sleep with my mother ! I was going to be a motherfucker just like I'd been accused of being. I was about as far from being ashamed of it as I could be. I felt like the prosperous guy in the world.

I could find the someone haircloth of my mother's hot cunt touching the head of my tool as I guided it between her fat, olive-pink pussylips. When I stuck the mind in her kettle of fish, Mom cooed,"Oh, yes ! pin that big, beautiful hawkshaw in mom's hot, hairy pussycat. Oh, Micheal ! marijuana cigarette it in and fuck me. I've wanted this for so long."

I shoved my dick up in my mother as far as I could. Her heat and dessert soupiness was all the more delightful because it was foreclose. I was fucking my dear sweet mother, had my dick in her pussy, and I wanted to stay there for the residual of my life story. Pumping my dick back and forth, in and out of Mom's subdued, wet snatch, I heard the sucking sound that's a soundtrack to sex. The auditory sensation itself turned me on even more. I looked down and see Mom's cuntlips cling to my dick. Her breathing was becoming quicker and uneven. I reached down and began sucking her rose-brown nipple while my pelvis continued driving my truck up her tunnel.

I was sucking and fucking Mom enthusiastically, when I felt her beginning to spasm. She began moaning my name faster and faster, throwing her pussy up to meet my jabbing cock. Then she almost screamed,"Oh, God is erotic love ! Micheal, fuck momma's twat. Oh, hump Mommy's wet hairy hole ! I'm cumming ! I'm CUMMMING ! !"

Pulling my sassing roughly off her tit, I straightened up and began kissing Mom's sass like we were horny kids in the backseat of a car. I pounded my cock in her cunt and French kissed her through her orgasm. When she was spent, I kept fucking her slowly. Her eyes looked into mine and widened. I smiled at her, kissed her mouth briefly, and then, punctuating every word with a thrusting of my gumshoe into her honeypot, I said,"Mom, I hope you like what you started, because you're mine now. I'm going to get laid you like you were my girlfriend from now on. Say it. Say this pussy is mine."

She put her script on my biceps and wiggled her kitty-cat from incline to side as I slammed into it."Oh, yes, darling. Mom's yours now. Your Daddy's gone, and you're going to fill More than his shoes."She laughed and then pulled herself up to my sweating torso and began slapping her sopping cunt up to meet the rhythm of my dick."Anytime you want to borrow a little of your Momma's hot pussy, all you have to do is ask, sweetheart. All you have to do is ask."

Still fucking, but feeling my own climax rising, I laughed and said,"Why do I have to ask ?"

When I asked the question, Mom had been sucking on my ripe nipple. She pulled her boldness back and began running her finger through my sweaty chest hair as my fortuity in her steaming zany got faster and faster."Because that's the Law of dear,"she said. Just as I started shooting a huge load of cum up her gleefully incestuous cunt, Mom began chanting :

"Give to every man who asks of you, and from him who would borrow of you, plow not away. Give to every man who asks of you, and from him who would borrow of you, turn not away. Give to every man who asks of you, and from him who would borrow of you, twist not away. ”