Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors

by David O. Dyer, Sr.

  “I can't do that, Billy,” she said.

  His countenance fell. He turned and walked slowly away, bouncing the ball noisily on the asphalt surface.

  “Wait a minute, Billy,” she called after him as she jogged to catch up. “It'll be our secret? You won't tell anybody?"

  “Billy not tell secret."

  “Okay. Here's the deal I am willing to make. When you learn the alphabet—your ABCs—both the big letters and the little letters—I'll ... I'll let you look at me naked for a few minutes, but you can't touch anything. Deal?"

  He smiled broadly and thrust out his hand. “Deal,” he agreed.

  Chapter Ten

  “Good morning, you lovely creature,” Mack said as Penny passed his study door. “You're walking funny this morning. Have you hurt your back?"

  “Not that I know of,” Penny replied. “It was fine when I went to bed last night, but it hurt like the mischief when I got up this morning."

  “Maybe we should get you to the clinic and let Mary Lou have a look at it,” Mack said with genuine concern.

  “Oh, it's not that bad. I may have slept on it wrong last night, or turned a muscle when I was getting out of bed. It could be psychosomatic."

  “My goodness,” Mack laughed. “Where did that big word come from?"

  As she eased down the hall to the church office Penny replied, “Just because I didn't go to college doesn't mean I am ignorant."

  “Hang up your coat and come back to my study. What you need is a good dose of Sandra Dollar tonic."

  Mack was coming out of his bathroom with a fizzing glass of water when she rejoined him. “What, may I ask, is a Sandra Dollar tonic?"

  It's just Alka-Seltzer Plus. Sandra thinks it will cure anything that ails you and she's made believers out of half of the people in Dot, including yours truly.” He handed the no longer bubbling glass to Penny. “It's lemon flavored. Some people don't care for the taste, but drink it anyway. It's mostly aspirin."

  She sipped the medication. “Not bad,” she said, exaggeratedly smacking her lips.

  “Penny, a good back massage helps me sometimes. Mary Lou taught me the proper way to do it. Would you like to give it a try?"

  “It does bother me a bit, Mack."

  “Just lie down on the sofa on your tummy."

  Penny drained the remaining contents of the glass and stretched out, as instructed, overlapping her hands and resting her head against them. Mack watched her breasts press into the cushion and for a moment wished he were the sofa.

  “Scoot over a little,” he said and, when she made room, sat on the edge of the sofa next to her left hip, unnecessarily letting their hips touch. “Now,” he said as he began to knead her shoulders, “what traumatic event has occurred in your life that might have caused a psychosomatic backache?"

  “I haven't analyzed it yet, but it might help to talk about it if you don't mind listening."

  “I'm a very good listener. I have to be if I want to remain married to Mary Lou."

  They both chuckled. “I guess there are two things that are bothering me. Last night I went home and cooked supper for Uncle Amos and me, like I always do. After I washed the dishes, he wanted to talk and turned off the TV. That just isn't like Uncle Amos. You know how Uncle Amos is, always loud and demanding—sure of himself and critical of everybody else."

  “I sure do,” Mack laughed. “According to Amos, God only created one perfect human being, and it was Amos Stone—not Jesus."

  Penny nodded and moaned with pleasure as Mack's fingers found a sensitive spot just below her right shoulder blade. “That was my first clue that something was wrong. He wasn't like that at all. He was very quiet and subdued. He told me he loved me and how he thought God sent me to comfort him in his old age."

  “Amos old? He's just in his fifties isn't he?"

  “No. He looks younger but he's sixty-nine and he has death on his mind. He said he wanted to get my parents and me back together before he dies. He called them on the telephone during the afternoon, but they wouldn't yield an inch. They told him they not only never want to see me again but also never want to even hear my name mentioned."

  He could feel her body trembling and pressed his hands firmly into her flesh as a sort of reassuring hug. “I know its rough, Penny, but they'll come around."

  “I don't think so, Mack. I did some wild things while in high school and after I left home. I'd rather not talk about that. I'm terribly ashamed of myself but, as Uncle Amos says, that's water over the damn dam. What's important is the present and future."

  “For once I agree with Amos,” Mack said, lightly fingering the wide bra strap underneath her cotton blouse. He moved his strong, talented fingers to the base of her neck and started massaging each vertebra.

  “Uncle Amos said there is no one left but me, since his wife died and they had no children. He wants to leave his estate to me when he dies. In fact, he showed me a new will he had Susan Kimel draw up."

  “That's a nice gesture, but I doubt if Amos’ estate amounts to very much."

  She moaned again as his fingers worked on a sore spot just above the waist of her jeans. He worked his fingers all the way to the tight fitting waistband and she continued to moan. “God that feels good, Mack. Uncle Amos’ estate may not seem like much to you, but as he told me about it last night, it sure was impressive to me. He owns his farm free and clear and there are more than five hundred acres of land with it. You know he built those big greenhouses. He's growing produce during the fall and winter and he says he's making a fortune off of it. He said it was Tim Dollar's idea."

  “As I recall Tim Dollar suggested that farmers in Dot search for alternatives to tobacco as a cash crop, but I think it was Dottie Frank at the diner who came up with the greenhouse idea. Amos, being a graduate of North Carolina State University, went to them for information and followed their advice to the letter. I didn't realize it was paying off so handsomely, however."

  “Whatever,” she said. “Oh, yeah, Mack. Right there."

  Mack pressed the heels of his hands deeply into the flesh on either side of her backbone, right above the belt on her jeans. Slowly he rubbed towards her sides and found his fingers probing the base of her tummy. He became aware of his throbbing erection and quickly moved his hands back to her shoulders.

  “He wants me to learn how to farm, Mack. He doesn't want me to sell the land for Tim Dollar to build houses on. He wants me to quit my job at the church and work with him."

  Mack's hands froze on top of the bra strap. Slowly he again pressed the heel of his hands against her flesh and firmly rubbed horizontally from the backbone to her side. He couldn't stop himself. He let his fingers discover the beginning swell of her magnificent breasts. She did not complain. “What ... what does Penny want to do?” he asked as beads of perspiration popped out on his forehead.

  “I don't know,” she said in a troubled tone of voice. “I like working here, and I've just gotten to the point that I think I am really helping Billy. On the other hand, I don't know where I'd be without Uncle Amos. He had faith in me when no one else did."

  Mack flattened his hands on either side of her backbone, just below the bra strap, and rubbed vigorously up and down. Her blouse pulled out of her jeans, revealing her beckoning flesh. “You do have a big decision to make,” he said trying to steady his voice. “I wish I could help you, Penny, but it's a decision only you can make."

  “You are helping, Mack. I'm beginning to relax. I am tingling all over."

  Me too, he thought. He slid his hands under the blouse and asked, “Do you mind if I touch you like this?"

  “Oh, no,” she said. “That feels even better.” Suddenly she reached back and yanked the blouse up under her armpits. “There. That should make it easier for you,” she said.

  He gazed at the flimsy catch on the bra and desperately wanted to unfasten it. His hands were trembling when he placed them once again on her shoulder blades. He smelled her hair and felt moisture forming on the
tip of his penis, soiling his jockey shorts.

  “You said there was something else that might be causing you stress.” The heels of his hands tugged at the strap as he massaged down her back.

  “Yeah. It's Billy. Mack, he's not as retarded as everybody seems to think."

  “What makes you say that?” As his hands continued to knead her lower back, his eyes studied the jeans that seemed glued to her buttocks. He remembered watching through his study window as Billy cupped those lovely mounds with his hands. Mack wanted to do the same.

  “We've talked about how quickly he is learning to make basketball shots."

  “Yes, but that's basketball."

  “Yesterday, while we were playing, he took out his penis and urinated. I talked with him about it. He said nobody ever told him it was not nice to urinate—actually he said ‘piss'—in public and that he wouldn't do it anymore."

  “That's a good start,” Mack laughed. “Now see if you can get him to quit masturbating in public."

  “I did. One thing led to another, he seemed so eager to learn, and he learned so quickly. In just a few minutes I taught him the proper terms for the vulgar words he was using, like tits, pussy, piss, and shit."

  Mack's hands began to tremble again. “I'm impressed. You're doing something very important in teaching Billy whatever you can.” He was working his hands up her back. He tried to slip his fingers under the bra strap, but it was too tight.

  She folded her arms behind her as if she were double jointed, and her slender fingers unhooked the catch. “Mack, he asked who my teacher is and I told him that I learn from books. Then he asked me to teach him to read."

  “That's wonderful,” Mack exclaimed as he concentrated on using his fingertips to stroke the deep impression in her flesh left by the strap.

  “I'm not so sure,” she said. His fingers again found the emerging flesh of her breasts, and this time there was no cloth between his skin and hers. She sighed deeply.

  “Would you like for me to see if I can find some teaching materials for you to use?” he asked, forcing his fingers to retrace their path away from the beckoning swells of her mammary glands.

  “That might help, but I don't think there is any hurry. I'm afraid it will take months for Billy just to learn the alphabet.” She reached beneath her and unfastened her belt, unsnapped and unzipped her jeans. “Mack, your magic fingers have made me feel so much better, but it still hurts just under my pants. Would you mind working a little lower?"

  “Don't mind at all,” he almost panted. He repositioned himself on the sofa so that he was facing her feet. He wanted to slip her pants down just an inch or two. He hooked his thumbs beneath both her jeans and panties and, expecting them to be difficult to move, pushed down with more force than necessary. She lifted her hips and the fabric slid too far, fully revealing her glorious, rounded, milk-white buttocks. She did not complain.

  “The thing that worries me is the deal we made,” she continued.

  Mack used the middle finger of his right hand to trace her tailbone to its end, considerably within the fold of her buttock cheeks. “What kind of deal?” he asked, realizing that his voice had risen nearly an octave.

  “Billy has been interested in my body from the first. I didn't want to frighten him off by being too stern, but I continually said ‘no’ when he would ask to see my breasts or vagina. Like I said, yesterday I taught him the proper words for some of the vulgar terms he has been using.” She felt the heel of Mack's hands dig into the top of her buttocks and she moaned. She felt Mack's breath on her buttocks and knew that his face was near her flesh. “Billy couldn't grasp the concept of how a woman urinates and masturbates. He pleaded with me to let him see my vagina. Of course I told him I couldn't do that."

  Oh, man, Mack thought as he continued to gaze at her beautiful bottom. What I wouldn't give to see your vagina too.

  “I told him I would try to teach him to read if he would promise to work hard and stick to it. He said he would promise if I would make a deal with him."

  “And what was the deal he wanted?” Mack forced himself to ask.

  “He wanted me to agree to let him see me naked."

  “And did you agree?” Mack asked, trying to force from his mind the image of a naked Penny Swanson.

  “I know I shouldn't have, but I told him that when he learned the alphabet, both lower and upper case letters, I would let him look, but not touch. Oh, Mack. What am I going to do?"

  Mack tried to speak but words would not come. His fingers were again on the brink of exploring her bottom. He swallowed and tried again. “It sounds to me like he wants, and maybe needs, a laboratory experiment. Perhaps if you are careful to make it a purely clinical, not erotic, demonstration, it will be okay and may actually help him."

  “Do you really think so, Mack? I mean, do you think it would be okay? If you think it is the right thing to do I can quit worrying about it."

  He lost control. He grasped her buttocks savagely and pulled them apart. He stared at the tiny opening of the anus he longed to caress. He bent his head to her right buttock and sucked with all his might. He raised his head and looked at the oval patch of red skin he created. He made a matching blotch on her left cheek. He quickly made one pass over her anus with his quivering tongue.

  “Mack. Oh, Mack,” she groaned. “Are you going to fuck me?"

  He yanked up her panties and jeans and jumped off the sofa. “What am I doing,” he cried in anguish. “Penny. Dear, sweet Penny. I am so sorry—so very, very sorry. Please, please forgive me."

  He moved to the window and stared blankly through the glass. “I'm so sorry, Penny. I didn't mean to do that. Oh, God, Penny, I am so sorry."

  He listened to sounds of clothing rearranged. He heard her approaching. He felt her breasts press against his back—her pubic bone against his buttocks. Her arms encircled him and her hands caressed his chest.

  “I love my wife,” he said, still looking out the window. “I really do. And she fulfills me in every way, if you know what I mean. It's just that she's been so busy at the clinic the last few months that there hasn't been time for ... for me."

  “Mack, there's nothing to be sorry about. I'm not as naive as you think. I know you have been very horny the last few weeks. It's natural. You help me when I need it. Why shouldn't I help you?” She kissed him on the back of his neck, then nibbled the lobe of his ear.

  “This is wrong, all wrong,” he said as he turned at last to face her. His mouth dropped open as his eyes fell on the most beautiful naked woman he had ever seen. His hands automatically cupped her breasts. “We can't do this. We must not..."

  She stopped his speech by drawing his head to her lips and filling his mouth with her experienced, probing tongue.

  Chapter Eleven

  The roar of the rented truck's engine and the bumpy ride over pavement desperately in need of repair kept Jo on edge. “What time do you think we'll get back to Dot?"

  “It'll be well after midnight,” Randy replied. “Why don't you take a nap?"

  “Yeah, right. The noise and rough ride are bad enough, but this truck literally stinks."

  “That's the fragrant aroma of burnt motor oil,” Randy joked. “The heater's pulling in air over the engine. There's not much I can do about it."

  “I wasn't blaming you."

  “I know. Why don't you crack your window a little."

  Jo rolled down the window a couple of inches and deeply inhaled the fresh frigid air blowing against her face. “That does help,” she commented. “Your mother has some nice things, Randy, but it's far too much for our little house."

  “I know. There's a storage building behind the house. I've been in it only once, but I thought we could unload everything there and leave what we don't need in the house."

  “I was thinking the same thing, but from the looks of it I'll bet the roof leaks. I wouldn't want your mother's furniture damaged. I can't blame her for insisting that we take it all. There's no point in continuing to
pay storage fees."

  “I hate to leave the oak dining room table in the barn, but we just don't have anyplace to put it."

  “I was thinking we could put it in the living room and use it as a conference table, or maybe put it in your study or mine."

  “It might fit in the living room, but we'd have a devil of a time getting it up the pull-down steps to our studies."

  “I'm sure you're right. I wouldn't want to tear the table apart like Office Depot did in order to get our desks upstairs."

  “You're very disappointed, aren't you Jo?"

  “Yeah, I am. I was looking forward to having your mother with us."

  “Maybe later."

  “I doubt it. I know she said she'd continue to think about it, but she was just trying to be nice when she realized how disappointed I was."

  “I'm not so sure. I think she was genuinely surprised when she finally recognized how badly you want her to move in with us. My guess is that she thought you didn't really want her, but were just being polite. Now she knows, and I think she may change her mind."

  “I wouldn't feel so bad, Randy, if they would move her back to an apartment. She is so miserable in the health care unit."

  “I'm afraid mother may have more problems that she is admitting."

  “If that were true, don't you think the nurses would tell you? You're the woman's only living relative, for goodness sake."

  “They were closed-lipped about her condition, weren't they? I think the next time we go I need to clean house—go all the way to the top if necessary to find out what is actually going on."

  “We should have done that on this trip,” Jo agreed. “Why do you suppose she is so obsessed with that doctor of hers?"

  “I don't know, but that's the ticket. She's the one we should talk with. Do you remember her name?"

  “I think it was Angela Wood."

  “That's it. Hell, I'll give her a call tomorrow and see what I can find out."

  For thirty minutes or more, they did not speak, lost in the world of their inner thoughts. Randy broke the silence. “Hungry?"