by Edward Lee
what gits ‘em to love ya. Lick that stanky meat hard’n fast, boss, and it helps ta work yer finger in’n out ats the same time ‘cos that really gits ‘em hot, and once ya git ta cornholin’ her, boss, just make shore ya reach around’n keep a finger up that stanky slit ‘cos—” “Hays! That’s enough!” the Chief cracked loud enough ta turn some heads in the place. Hearin’ the dirty talk ‘bout town gals were bad enough, but it were reglar blassfermee ta hear the same talk ‘bout the luscious Captain Majora. Just . . . shut . . . up!”
“Sorry, Chief, I were just tryin’ ta give ya some pointers, on account—and I means no disrespect, sir—but on acount I reckon ya ain’t had many occasions ta lay some peter on some strange, if ya know what I mean, what with you bein’ married to that fat cracker
cow of a wife ya been married to fer the last twennie some-odd years . . . Oh, and I’se mean no disrespect by referrin’ to your betrothed as a fat cracker cow. That’s just Guy Talk, ya know. Fer instance, if’n I was married, I’d take no offense if you was ta refer to my wife as a fat cracker cow ‘cos, in a sense, alls women is. None of ‘em ain’t nothin’ but a bunch’a dirty fuck-dumps, boss, ain’t nothin’ but a bunch’a stanky fun-holes on two legs. Aw, yeah, they tell ya they love ya, they’ll take care’a ya and be faithful to ya forever, but they ain’t nothin’ but a bunch’a lyin’ truckstop whores, all of ‘em, ya thank? Greedy, selfish, cocksuckin’, cum-eatin’, leg-spreadin’, takeit-up-the-ass-fer-two-bits, pussy-reekin’ trailer-park jizz-buckets . . .” The Chief were too distractered by the oncoming flow’a imagery to take exception to this tirade’a misogerny to reply right off, but once he calmed hisself down and got a grip on hisself, he opened his mouth to do just that: unload on Hays in the big way ‘bout havin’ such’a low opinion’a of the fine things that God put on this earth called gals. “Hays!” he bellowed like to shake the roof’a June’s Diner, “if you so much as ever, and I’se mean ever, say one more derogeratory thang ‘bout gals, I’ll—”
And it was at this precise time that Hays’Motorola portable radio squawked off in the crackly voice’a the sector’s dispatcher who, by the way, was a woman: “Unit Two-Zero-Eight, this is County Dispatch.”
“Go ahead there, County Dispatch,” Hays replied into the mic. “This here’s Luntville Unit Two-Zero-Eight’n PFC Micah Hays, riproarin’and ready to tackle some serous poe-leece work. And let’s me tell ya, County Dispatch, you are one hot-soundin’chick, so what say we go out sometime?”
A static pause, then: “Two-Zero-Eight, please conform to proper radio-traffic conduct as outlined in the County Manual for Interagency Communications Protocol. Violations of such protocol may be punishable by reprimand and a $1000 fine.”
“Shee-it,” Hays whispered to the Chief. “She problee ain’t had no cock in about ten or twenty years, got a pussy on her dry as a pile’a pretzels. That’s why she’s actin’ like such a frigid post-mentalpausal bitch—”
“Two-Zero-Eight,” the dispatcher proceeded, “respond to citizen complaint of a possible Signal 9N at 861 Mount Airy Road.”
“Roger that,” Hays dutifully replied. “Unit Two-Zero-Eight is on the way! Over’n out, sweetheart!” The PFC hooked the radio back on his belt. “Git them viddles down, boss. Time to go check out this Signal 9.”
Chief Kinion made a quick nod, wiping his lips with a napkin. Signal 9? He didn’t quite recall that one, did he? Nevertheless, they pushed off from the table.
“My treat, boss,” Hays insisted, whippin’ out his billfold. “I’ll even leave Martha the Tail a good tip, yes sir.”
Matha the Tail, now that was another the Chief didn’t quite get. She’d been runnin’ the counter at June’s for long as he could remember. A sassy, skinny ol’ gray-hairt woman probably pushin’ the shit outa seventy by now. Had no teeth in her yap’n never wore dentures, and here she was right now smilin’toothless at Micah Hays as they lumbered up to the register ta pay.
“Well, hey there, Martha,” Hays greeted. “How’s my favorite gal in the whole blammed town?”
The woman’s smile pulled her weathered face up into somethin’ that had more lines than a state road map. “Why if it ain’t Micah Hays, every woman’s southern dream. When you gonna come by and see me again, hon?”
“You’d be too much fer me, Marth,” Hays complimented. “Some gals are just too hot, ya know. ‘Sides, me’n the Chief here got an urgent call out on Mount Airy Road, and when duty calls, we’se there.”
“Just you be careful, Micah Hays,” the old woman urged. “Anything ever happen to you and ever single gal in county’d be at a loss.”
“You got that right, Martha.” Hays slapped down a five. “Keep the change, darlin’, ‘cos you’re worth it!”
Martha the Tail shot him a lascivious wink. “You tryin’ to buy my affections, honey?”
“Martha, your affections is worth millions!”
“Oh, ain’t you just the sweetest thang,” Martha gushed.
The Chief’s frown sharpened once they was back out in the sun. “What’s that shit all about, Hays? She acts like she got a thing fer you.”
Hays whipped out the keys as they approached the Luntville cruiser. “A’corse she does, boss. All women got a thing fer me, ‘specially after they had me.”
Kinion stopped in the dusty parkin’lot. “Now hold on there, boy. You ain’t tellin’ me that you . . . well, you know—”
“Fucked her?” Hays interpreted his supervisor’s curiosity. “Hail yes I fucked her, Chief.”
“But . . . she’s—” How could he say this without soundin’ disrespectful to the elderly? “She’s, uh--”
“A busted, toothless, seventy-year-old hag?” came the PFC’s next interpretation. Then he shrugged. “Pussy’s pussy, boss. Just ‘cos it’s old don’t mean it shouldn’t be fulla cock. Ya know how cheese is better after it’s been aged? Twat’s the same. Or let me put it this way, sometimes I like my meat seasoned. Yes sir, ‘bout a year or two ago, I done fucked the giblets’n gravy outa that old bitch, and I ain’t just talkin’‘bout her snatch. Ooo-yeah, boss, she kin fuck’n suck with the best, ol’ Martha the Tail.”
Holy hail. The Chief were absolutely flabbergastered, but then . . . What can I expect from Hays? he realized. But then that brought up the next topic of inquiry. “You are one irredeemerble male slut, boy, such that I cain’t hardly believe it. But tell me this, somethin’I’se always wondered—”
“You wanna know why she got that nickname, huh, boss? You wanna know why they’se call her Martha the Tail?”
“Well, yeah. It’s always been somethin’ I never could quite figgure.”
Hays opened the driver’s door and slid in. The car started right up, and Hays pulled out, snappin’ on his sharp-lookin’ mirrored sunglasses. “Shee-it, Chief. I never told you ‘bout the time I fucked Martha the Tail? Well that’s just dandy ‘cos it’s one’a my best stories and we gots ourselves a good twenty-minute drive—plenty’a time to tell ya . . .”
Chief Kinion sighed in his seat, knowing that he had it comin’for asking in the first place. Me’n my big chow-hole, he thought.
“It was one night, like I said, a year or so ago,” Hays began his tale of Martha the Tail. “I’d been up the bowlin’ alley with the boys and had me like eight or ten beers, but it was men’s league and there weren’t splittails around fer me to pick up and fuck till their cracker brains rattle in their heads so I decide to hail with it and go on home but it were just my luck I weren’t a mile out on the Route before my left rear tire blows’n worse luck still that my spare was flatter than Dolly Carrigan’s chest after her masterectermee, so I ain’t got no other choice but to hoof it. So I’se walkin’ along the Route, and it’s a nice hot night, Chief, the crickets chirpin’and the moon out and I got me a belly fulla good brew so I’se start ta thinkin’wouldn’t it be just dandy if some dog-horny young bar-bitch droved by’n picked me up, but what happened instead, see, was some dog-horny old barbitch picks me up and it’s Martha
the Tail drivin’ that big piece’a shit Chevy jalopy’a hers that looked like it were probably old as she was, and anyway, she’s drunker’n a truck-stop tramp she is and my dog’s up’n barkin’ so fuck it, right? Old tramps need love too, so I figger it’d be selfish fer me not to give her some. So she drives us back to that old shit-box of a house her pa left her way back when, ‘member? He was all stewed on shine and falled into his thresher? And once we git inside, she’s all business, boss. She’s got my pants down to my socks and she’s suckin’my dick like it’s a meal--as fine a cocksuck as I ever had, and I’ve had me more than a few, and lemme tell ya somethin’, Chief, you ain’t HAD head till you’ve had it from a toothless gal, and I swear I got my peter shoved so far down her throat I thought maybe I was about to come on her gall bladder’re somethin’, but I decide to do the old bitch a favor so I hold off’n tell the hag to git outa her clothes so’s I can fuck her hard’n proper like the way all gals need ta be fucked, and once she got outa them duds—shee-it, boss—I thought I was lookin’ at somethin’ on one’a the slabs down at the county morgue. Her tits hung down so far it looked like maybe gorillas had been swingin’ from ‘em, and she got big gnarly nipples on her that looked like a coupla loogies like you spit out when ya got a chest cold, only they got hairs stickin’ out of ‘em and she got a bellybutton on her like someone shot her with a pumpkinball, Chief. All in all, this old cracker weren’t nothin’ but a bag’a bones—”
Chief Kinion brought a hand to his forehead, as if overtaxed by exertion. “Hays, please, ya ain’t gotta tell me the whole thang, just why folks call her Martha the Tail.”
“And I’ll be gettin’ to that in a minute, Chief,” Hays assured him, steering now through the long sunny bends of Route 154, “and like I was saying, this old cracker weren’t nothin’ but a bag’a bones but a’corse this particular bag’a bones had a coupla holes in it that
my dick was very interested in. And she’s lyin’ there on the dirty floor pantin’ like mutt in heat and her skin all saggin’ and then she spreads her legs—and I might add that her legs looked like a coupla broomsticks painted white—and her pussy looks like a ground-pork sandwich, boss, except that ground-pork sandwiches don’t generally got a big pile’a hair at the top, and I figger that just ‘cos it’s been around since probably like before the Battle’a the Marne ain’t no reason why I cain’t put a big petersnot in it, right? So’s I push that old bitch’s knees back into her mummy face and get the pipe right up there, yes sir, right into that ground-pork sandwich and I get to humpin’ her so hard I figgure her old bones might break, but what the hail? A nut’s a nut, right, and I figgure I’m doin’a kindness to her since the last time she had a good hard fuckin’like this was probably like back before Harding was in office, but ya know what, boss?” Kinion’s face felt puffy and hot, and them pig’s feet weren’t settlin’ too well now. “What, Hays?” was the only reply he could make.
“I start to notice somethin’. . . well . . . Kinda funny. Like somethin’ felt not exactly ordinary on my ten inches’a pecker, sorta reminded me’a what it might feel like to have my wood in a bag’a raw chicken gizzards, and then she looks up all gustin’ breath and sweaty and she says, ‘Don’t stop, honeybunch! Keep stratchin’ ‘em! It feels so good to git ‘em scratched by a nice big pecker like what you got!’So I say, ‘Scratchin’‘em? What’choo talkin’‘bout? Scratchin’what?’and she says ‘My vagernul polyps, that’s what the doctor called ‘em. See, Micah, I got these growths in my pussy called polyps, and the doc says they’se harmless and I’se too old to have ‘em removed anyhow.
But, holy hamhocks, they itch! I pick up young fellas all the time and they scratch ‘em for me with their peters but-but-but nothin’ like you, Micah! That big dick on you scratches ‘em deep! Deeper than they ever been scratched! Look, I’ll show ‘em to ya.’ Fuck, Chief, I didn’t really wanna see no growths in this old dust-bag’s cunt but-hail. I pulled my willy out and Mathra jacks her skinny legs back as far as they’se’ll go and then pulls her old pussy open with her fingers and shows me. A right gross it was at first but then as I got ta lookin’ I found ‘em downright interestin’, I did. She kinda like flipped back her pussylips and folded ‘em out and I could see ‘em, I could see them there polyps! Looked like her pussy was fulla meatballs! And I figger what the hail—she wants me to scratch them meatballs with my dick, then I’ll do it. So I park my peter right back in there and git back fuckin’ her good’n hard like the old bitch that she is and shore enough, boss, I come all over them polyps, yes sir! I done flooded the Valley of the Meatballs, I did, and while I’se comin’she’s havin’a nut herself, friggin’her clit with her finger—looked like Dash Woolley’s nose her clit did, right before he keeled over from drinkin’ hisself to death—and my dick can feel my come slickin’ up all them polyps in there, oh yeah! It were an absolutely new kinda pussy experience, boss, yes sir, fuckin’ a pussy full’a polyps.”
The dissertation ended, or at least it seemed to then, as Micah Hays properly decelerated and veered right onto the spur of Mount Airy Road. Thanks God it’s over, the Chief thought, a paw to his belly, but then another thought dragged back. Wait a minute . . . Polyps? Vagernul growths? “Hays,” he couldn’t help but ask. “What’s all that got to do with folks givin’ her the nickname’a Martha the Tail?”
“Nothin’,” Hays answered. “’Least not yet ‘cos, see, the story ain’t over. After I hosed down her polyps with my spunk, next thing I know, ol’ Martha’s back to doin’ a fierce suck job on me—she got both my nuts in her mouth at the same time—no lie—and she’s suckin’ on ‘em like they’re hard candy, and a’corse my dick’s still hard anyways on account I never lose my wood, ‘least not after the first jackerlation’re two, and she’s suckin’ my balls’n strokin’ my pole with her spitty hand and I’se thinkin’: hail, I’se gonna have ta give this old biddy another load for history, and she says ‘Micah Hays, not only are you the most handsomest man in town but God hung a pecker on you that is posertively the most beautifullest. I seen a lotta peckers in my time, but I ain’t never seen one as gorgerous as this,’ and I imagine she has seen a lotta peckers in her time, Chief, probably been seein’ ‘em since like back before the Boer War, and a’corse I trully did appreciate the complermint, not that it weren’t somethin’ I already knowed, which is not to sound eagertistical, Chief, but I gotta admit ever splittail I ever dumped a fuck in has tolt me the same thing, that my Johnson is the best they ever seed—”
“Just tell me why they call her Martha the Tail!” the Chief nearly exploded.
“Oh, right, boss, I’se gittin’ right to it like I’se promised. After that dandy suckjob on my nuts, they’se feel like they got enough sperm in ‘em to like knock up every splittail in China and my dick’s so hard it looks like it’s gonna split open like when ya leave a hotdog in the microwave too long, so what happens next, see, is Martha flips over’n gits up on her skinny hands and knees’n says ‘Now put that great big beautiferal peter right up Martha’s ass, honey, ‘cos I need a cornholin’ like I ain’t had in a coon’s age,’ and I figgure it’s probably quite a spell longer than a coon’s age since she had a love-stick big as mine up her backside, like maybe not since before Schylar Colfax were Secretery’a War, and since I’se never one to refuse a gal what she needs, I pop my peckerwood right in there’n get to givin’ her the backdoor hump somethin’fierce. Now a’corse I’se always preferred a somewhat tighter asshole on a gal I’m cornholin’ but, hail, this old bag cain’t help it. A fella’s only right to figger that an asshole’s gonna lose some’a its elasterticity after it’s been gettin’ poked and takin’ shits since back before the internal combustern engine was invented, and ever fella knows that second nut’a night’s always the best, I figgure the best place at the time ta have that nut is right up into the middle’a what she et yesterday, yes sir. Some gravy for her poop, ya know? So I grab onta her bony old hips and really give it to her’n them empty sacks for tits she’s got’re swi
ngin’ back’n forth like a coupla pieces’a flat pasta, and she’s reachin’ back friggin’ that big nose-sized clit’n startin’ comin’ again’n shriekin’ ‘bout how I’se the best fuck she ever had in her life and then—wham-o, boss!—I have myself a dandy nut’n pump so much jizz up her ass I wonder when it’s gonna start fallin’ out her nose, but when my nut’s done, I figger I done my duty fer the elderly so’s I best wipe my dick off in her crack’n git on home, so’s I’m about ta pull my stick out but she says ‘No, no, ya cain’t go yet, Micah! Please! Ya see, there’s still one more thang I need’ja to do fer me!’ and I’se thinkin’ shee-it, she wants me to fuck her a third time? Shore, I could do it, I can fuck all night, just ask any gal in town, but I ain’t really up to it, ya know? Might even have a tough time keepin’ wood after for so long lookin’ at the way her skin’s hangin’ off her and them empty tits swingin’, but I decided to give her a more gentlemanly let down rather than sayin’ the truth that might, you know, hurt her feelings, like sayin’ her ancient pussy ain’t worth another stiffer from the Great Micah Hays or I wouldn’t fuck an old whore like you with Dash Woolley’s cock’n the only reason I done so the first two times is ‘cos I’m drunk or somethin’like that, no, so I say ‘Jiminee, Martha, a fine hot gal like you just up’n wore me out! You done took it all from me, darlin’, I’se so wore out it’ll be a day ‘fore I can get it up again.’ But then she looks back over her bony shoulder’n says “No, no, I don’t need ya to fuck me again but, see, when a gal gets up in her years like me, we start gettin’ problems, ya know, like them polyps in my pussy I was tellin’ ya about that you were so kind enough ta scratch for me,’ and then I say, ‘What’cha mean, Martha? Don’t tell me ya got polyps up yer ass too!’ and she says back, ‘No, no, I ain’t got no polyps up my ass but I do got me a problem back there. It’s what the doc calls Inflamed-Bowel Syndrome—see, I got these sores up there’n I can only eat certain foods’n gotta take special medercation’n such. And another thang I gotta do is have me an enema every day—that’s what the doc said—so what I want’cha ta do, honey, since yer pecker’s still up my ass, is pee,’ and I say ‘What! You want me ta pee up yer ass?’ and she says ‘That’s right, sweetheart. See, I got so many medercal problems in my old age, more than a few n’fact with my backworks, if ya know what I mean, and I just hate stickin’that enema nozzle up my rear ‘cos it hurts, but since your own nozzle’s already up there, how ‘bout savin’ me a step? Just be a dear and give me a nice warm piss-enema, will ya, honey?’ Well, shee-it, Chief, I’ve had gals ask some pretty dang strange things of me in the past but never has no gal ever asked me to pee up her ass, and just then it hits me, and it hits me hard—like just how bad I do n’fact have to pee ‘cos like I tolt ya I’d chugged me eight or ten beers back at the bowlin’ alley and alls of a sudden all eight or ten or ‘em had snuck up on me a right fierce, so I figger what the hail? Kill two birds with one stone, right, Chief? She needed an enema and I needed to pee so—fuck it—I just leaned back and let ‘er rip. I musta put the biggest beer-piss in history right up Martha’s backside, yes sir. I guess she didn’t quite count on so much not knowin’ how many beers I’d drunk back at the bowlin’ alley but—hail—she wanted it so she got it. I swear, boss, I musta been peein’ in her a good five’re six minutes—no lie—dang near thought it would take the rest’a the night! But finally I finished’n popped my pecker out’ started to get ready ta leave, but when ol’ Martha stands up, I nearly bust out laughin’! and I guess you’re thinkin’ what the fuck’s so funny ‘bout peein’ up a gal’s ass, huh, Chief? Well, I’ll tell ya, dang straight. Ol’Martha stands up and I guess she’s fixin’ta walk inta the bathroom’n push all my piss out her ass, but you shoulda seen her, boss! I peed so much inta her that her belly was stickin’ out like she was eight months pregnant! It were hilarious, it was! And ever time she took a step, I could hear all that hot piss sloshin’around in her gut like if ya got a gallon jug’a milk but it’s only half full and ya shake it around? That’s what she sounded like!”
