The Making of a Gigolo (11) - Renee Zimmerman

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10


This is story number eleven in a series of stories about how Bobby Dalton was transformed, from a normal teenage boy, into a man sought after by many women. His story starts with "The Making of a Gigolo - Tilly Johnson", and there is much information in that first story, and the ones that followed it, that will be useful to you in understanding what happens in this story.

For your fullest enjoyment, and because parts of each story are continued in succeeding ones, please read the stories in order.


Chapter One

1973 - October

Constance Appleton grieved. Everyone who knew her wanted to help, but there are times when no one can. From her perspective, her world was over. Her life had been uninteresting as a teen, until Bobby Dalton had brought joy into her mother's life and her own at the same time. Then she’d met Tim and fallen in love with him. Now he’d been taken away from her by a war, far, far away, and life was, again, uninteresting.

There was no shortage of women in Granger who had experienced the same loss - some of them under the same kind of circumstances - and all of them sat with her, waiting to talk her through it. None of them got the chance, though, because Constance wouldn't talk. She just sat, her eyes staring straight ahead. Tim was gone, and almost all trace of him was gone too. There were some of his clothes at her house. The rest were still with his parents. She had nothing else. As hard as they had tried, in those two brief weeks he'd been home, she had not gotten pregnant.

There had been all kinds of official communications. The first had devastated her, with its notification that he had been killed in action. The following letters made it worse, because they represented the bureaucracy that had, to her mind, killed her husband, yet which rolled on without emotion, unkillable, as they notified her of survivor's benefits, body shipment details, and a host of other things that she didn't care about and didn't want to know. They offered to "let" her make funeral arrangements, and in the next sentence said that they would bury him in a military cemetery, if she didn't want to. The thought of seeing his coffin was unbearable. She knew she'd be sorry later, but she let the military take care of his burial. His parents begged her to go with them, but she declined.

Prudence collected all the letters he had written her daughter and stored them. They might be needed later.

Constance sat and stared, until her body finally collapsed from exhaustion, and people put her in bed.

She stayed there for almost a week. All she could think about was how unfair it was.

Life wasn't fair for another woman in Granger, that fall.

Renee Harqart-Zimmerman was a very unhappy woman. She'd had everything she could hope for, but then something went terribly wrong. Born with a silver spoon in her mouth, the only daughter of Howard and Wilamena Harqart, she had wealth lavished on her as a child. Her father was an investment banker, and a good one. Her mother was a socialite, who spent money freely on everything, including her only child. She'd been sent to the best schools, and had a degree in early childhood education, a new field that had only been in existence, formally, for a few years. She'd met a man in college ... a bright, handsome, wealthy man, who had convinced her that together they could lasso the world and have whatever they wanted. He had always had money too, and lavished it on her like her mother and father had all her life. He’d dressed well, had a beautiful, expensive Mercedes and perfect manners.

He'd been somewhat secretive about his parents. She'd never met them. He had convinced her to elope, something that had caused her mother endless anguish and grief. She had given in to his almost constant suggestions to sneak off and get married when their petting got to the point where she knew she was going to let him between her legs. They had left a graduation party to drive all night to get to Las Vegas. The next morning she had awakened, sore between the legs, with a new last name.

She'd been raised to be a strict Catholic. No birth control, no sex before marriage, and no divorce. Those were the rules and they were nonnegotiable. Even at twenty-one years of age, she bowed to her parents’ wishes in that and in many other things. The elopement had felt good, like she was finally able to thumb her nose at her parents. She had promised her mother there would be a big wedding later, but she was married now, and they were moving to central Kansas, so he could take advantage of that location for his business.

He hadn't been clear as to just exactly what his business was. He said he was in the import export business ... was a broker for others, who paid him well to find the products they wanted. He'd already started it in college. It required trips, occasionally, and he was gone for days. He was always upbeat and happy when he returned, and talked of all the money he'd made.

She realized now that she had been an empty-headed idiot, taking everything he said at face value ... never asking probing questions. She was used to being around wealthy people, and he was wealthy. Wealthy people were always a little secretive about their business dealings. He had always been very popular too. Tons and tons of people stopped by for a five or ten minute chat. He had a collection of baseball memorabilia they all seemed to be interested in. Most of the people who stopped in to chat wanted to see it and he took them to his room.

Not once did the thought of drugs ever cross her mind while she was dating Daniel. It wasn't that she was ignorant about drugs. Even exclusive schools had drugs in them. She was well aware of that. She knew about "Reefer" and "Ludes" and "Speed", even though she had no interest in that kind of thing. She didn't hang out with the kids who did. She'd known it was around in college too, but it didn't have anything to do with her, so she ignored it.

Then, two months after her marriage, while Daniel was on one of his trips, he had called. He was in jail, and needed her to bring money to bail him out. He wouldn't talk about why he was in jail. He just told her to bring fifty thousand dollars to someplace in New Mexico. Fifty thousand dollars! He asked for it like it was lying around somewhere in a shoe box. They had twelve thousand in their bank account. Renee was still receiving monthly checks from a trust fund set up by her grandfather. But they didn't have fifty thousand!

"We don't have that much!" she said.

"Get it from your parents," he replied.

"I can't just ask them for fifty thousand dollars and not tell them why!"

"I'm in real trouble here, Renee," he said. "I only get this one call. I'm going to need a lawyer too. A good one."

"What's going on, Daniel?!" she yelled.

"Just bring the money," he said.

He had hung up on her.

She didn't know what to do. They had only lived here, in this surprisingly small town in the middle of nowhere, for two months. She barely knew anybody. They'd gotten a good deal on a nice house that was up for auction in an estate sale, but it was just outside of town, and the nearest neighbor was a mile away. She hadn't met, and actually spoken to, more than five or ten people.

She wasn't stupid. She got in the car and went to the police department in town.

"Can I help you?" asked a burly man in a blue uniform at the big open window just inside the front door of the station.

She told him her story.

"He wouldn't tell me why he got arrested," she said. "His bail is fifty thousand dollars. I need to get more information, and I thought you could help me."

The man turned to a shelf of books, behind him, and pulled one down.

"What town?" he asked.

She told him and he flipped through the book. He picked up the phone and made a call. He gave them Daniel's name. "I got a request for assistance here," he said. "Mutual interest kind of thing. What do you have on this guy?" He listened, wrote something on a piece of paper and said "What kind of vehicle?" He wrote some more, said "Okay, thanks," and hung up.

"He was caught transporting six hundred pounds of marijuana," he said. "He also had other drugs in the car, but they aren't sure yet what they all are."

Renee's jaw dropped.

"There must be some mistake," she said. "He's my husband! He'd never do anything like that! It must have been someone else's car."'

The man looked at the paper he'd made notes on. "1970 Mercedes Benz, blue, Vermont license 2LR334, registered to one Daniel K. Zimmerman?"

"That's our car!" she cried. "But that can't be. My husband is not a drug dealer!"

"Ma'am," said the beefy man gently. "The car had secret compartments built into it. It's been into Mexico, according to the Border Patrol, more than a dozen times since 1971."

She had fled. Daniel was a drug dealer?

The drive home had been agonizing. Things she had ignored became clear to her now. All those visitors in college. They weren't there to say "Hi" or look at his autographed baseballs. They were buying drugs! His trips ... his "import export business" ... it was all a front for being a fucking drug dealer!

She was furious. She was so furious that she not only didn't get any of the money Daniel had ordered her to get, she also didn't go see the bail bondsman that the man at the police department had said she could talk to about the bail. She felt betrayed. He got himself into this mess ... and her with it! Let him get himself out!

She couldn't tell her parents. She'd never be able to show her face at home again. She stewed about it for three weeks, before she finally went to Eagle Bail Bonds and went inside.

A man named Johnny listened to her tale. He made phone calls too, several of them.

"I can't help you," he said. "He's already been tried."

"Where is he then?" she asked.

"He is currently incarcerated at the New Mexico State Penitentiary, in Santa Fe, for a term of twenty-five to fifty years," said the man, as if he were telling her the price of lettuce. "Tough break," he added.

She got a letter from him two days later. He was furious with her. He blamed his imprisonment on her, for not getting him out on bail, and for not getting him a decent lawyer. He'd had to use a public defender. The car had been seized and forfeited. He'd set a record for the biggest marijuana bust in New Mexico history, and the wheels of justice had moved quickly. There were federal charges pending against him.

He called her "a stupid cunt" in his letter.

She hadn't written back. She hadn't gone to visit him. She knew she never would. In the two months since then, she had lied to her parents, saying Daniel was overseas, expanding his business. She had plenty of money. She had a place to live. But she was living a lie. Her mother kept insisting that the formal wedding needed to be done quickly ... that too much time had already elapsed.

She couldn't divorce him. That would get her thrown out of her family. And the Church. She couldn't tell them about him. She'd never live it down, and they'd never speak to her again. She wanted to run away. But from what ... and to where? She was already in the middle of nowhere, in Granger, Kansas. She couldn't abandon the house. This place ... this little hiding place, was all she had.

She even thought about suicide ... just ending it all and stopping the pain. She was a good Catholic, though, and the thought of eternal damnation was even worse. She envisioned Hell as where she was right now, with her life like it was right now. She got drunk and had a nightmare vision of waking up from dying ... right where she was, knowing that she would be here forever, throughout eternity.

She hid from the world for as long as she could, but there came a time when hunger drove her to leave, and head for the grocery store.

She was a mess. She hadn't showered for days ... hadn't slept much, and when she did sleep it was in her clothes. She hadn't eaten, because there was no food. For two days she'd eaten condiments from the refrigerator ... ketchup ... hamburger relish ... she'd even tried eating the mustard, but had thrown up. The meat in the meat drawer smelled foul. The frozen food was gone. A single can of beets was in the pantry.

The jolt of the collision pushed her forward and her forehead bounced off of the steering wheel. She flopped back against the head rest and stared, dazed, at the car in front of her. She'd run into somebody.

A man got out, and stopped at his rear bumper, staring. She looked around. They were at a stop light. She'd obviously seen him, but hadn't stopped quickly enough. She put the car in reverse and stepped on the gas. There was a wrenching, tearing metallic sound and the car lurched suddenly backwards. In a panic she stomped on the brake and the tires screeched. Something silver was lying in the road, between her car, and his.

Then everything faded.

She woke up in the hospital. Almost as soon as she sat up, a nurse was there, making her lie down again. A doctor came, and told her she'd been in an accident, which hadn't hurt her, but that she had collapsed from malnourishment. She'd been asleep for twelve hours, under sedation, while they pumped liquid food into her veins.

They knew who she was. The police had found her purse, and her driver's license. She hadn't gotten a new driver's license yet, and her maiden name was on the old one. The car was also registered in her name. They hadn't had time to do all the changes that a marriage brings about in officialdom. They wanted to know who to call ... was she married? She lied. She told them there was nobody to call, that she'd pay the bill herself.

They were skeptical. Women who had the money to pay hospital bills didn't starve themselves to death. Someone had taken her wedding rings off while she was unconscious and produced them. The suggestion was clear that they thought she was lying to them.

"My husband is out of the country," she said. "He won't be back for a long time. I'll pay the bill!"

They told her she had to stay there, at least several days. They said the police wanted to talk to her.

A man came to see her. He was the man she remembered getting out of the car she'd hit ... the man who had been staring at the bumper in the road between their cars. It was the last thing she remembered, before waking up in the hospital.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"No," she said dully. She hadn't meant to say that.

"They said you can go home in a couple of days," he said.

"I'm sorry I hit you," she said.

"I know."

She looked at him ... really looked at him, for the first time. He looked like he was a little older than her. He had black hair, with a loose forelock that fell onto his forehead, and very blue eyes.

"I didn't think you hit me on purpose," he added.

She didn't say anything. She didn't know what to say.

"I'm Bobby," he said.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

This, at least, was something she could concnetrate on that wasn't part of Hell. Her psyche jumped at it.

"I hit you," she said. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he said. "I saw you weren't going to be able to stop in time, and tried to get out of your way. It could have been much worse, but I was moving when you hit me."

"Oh," she said, and lapsed back into silence.

"I guess I'll let you get some rest," he said, moving to the door.

"Okay," she said, listlessly.

They kept her there for three days. The police brought her purse to the hospital, but didn't talk to her. She was unaware that the officer she'd talked to about New Mexico remembered her and already knew something about her. The nurse brought the purse in. She would be forever convinced that the only reason they let her go that day was because her check book was in her purse, and she was able to write them a check to pay the hospital bill.

They had kept her clothes, but, of course, hadn't washed them. They had washed her, while she was asleep. She did feel a lot better, now that she was eating again, but she dreaded putting on the smelly, stiff clothing she'd been wearing when the ambulance took her away. She was disgusted with herself for letting herself sink as low as she had.

The next hurdle, once she was dressed, was getting home. No one knew where her car was. There was no taxi service in the small town. Standing at the front entrance of the hospital, she didn't know exactly how far it was to walk, but she knew it was at least five or six miles. For the first time in her life she thought about hitchhiking.

She was, therefore, astonished when the man she'd hit ... what was his name? ... walked toward her from the parking lot.

"Need a ride?" he asked.

"Yes!" she said, staring at him. "But you're the last person on earth I thought would offer me one."

He shrugged. "You need a lift. I have one. It's the holiday season and it's the neighborly thing to do."

"But I wrecked your car!" she yipped.

"Wasn't that bad," he said. "There was some rust underneath, and the bolts pulled through. It's already fixed."

"I'll pay for the repairs," she said.

"Okay," he said amiably. "It took me two hours. You owe me twelve-fifty."

She blinked. "You fixed it yourself?"

"That's what I do," he said. "I fix things. I had to raise my rates, or it only would have cost you ten dollars."

"I don't believe this," she sighed.

"Somebody out there is worried about you," he said. "You've been missing for four days. Why don't we get you home, so they'll stop worrying."

"Why do you think anybody is worrying about me?" she asked.

"Well, nobody came to see you," he shoved a thumb over his shoulder at the hospital, "except me. Ergo, they didn't know where you were. And that means they missed you."

"No," she said, feeling the depression coming back. "There's nobody to miss me."

"Oh," he said. He looked pointedly at her left hand, where her wedding and engagement rings were once again in place. She hadn't been able to make herself leave them off, even though she didn't feel married any longer. "Well, at least let me take you home."

"All right," she said. "Thank you."

"Here," he said. "You didn't have a coat when they took you out of the car." He draped his jacket around her shoulders in the cold November wind. She realized how chilled she was only after the warmth in his jacket hit her.

He had been telling the truth. She saw the car, and the bumper was back on it. He opened the door for her, and then got in himself.

She gave him directions, telling to head out of town on Monroe, which turned into Highway 52. Riding with him, she suddenly realized she was with a strange man, about whom she knew nothing! She felt a stab of fear.

"You want to talk about it?" he asked, staring straight forward.

"About what?" she asked.

"About why you're married, but nobody missed you?"

"Not really," she said.

"That's okay," he said. "Maybe tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? What about tomorrow?" she asked, the fear pulsing in her veins.

"Well, the police impounded your car, and you obviously live outside of town. I'll come pick you up and we'll go get your car back. It wasn't damaged much either. The bumpers just got hooked together. I think it will run okay."

The thought that both Daniel's and her cars had been impounded by different law enforcement agencies, in different states, seemed suddenly hilarious to Renee, and she started to chuckle. All the stress bubbled up, past the barriers she had erected to clamp it inside of her, and she started laughing so hard she couldn't breathe. That soon turned to sobs, though, as she felt completely stupid for laughing at something that wasn't, in the slightest way, funny. He opened the center console, and pulled out a handful of napkins, offering them to her. She took them and pressed them to her face, crying real tears of grief, mostly for herself, but still true grief that her life had gone so terribly wrong.

He pulled over to the shoulder and just sat. She looked at him, embarrassed that she'd made such a scene.

"I didn't want to go too far and pass the turnoff," he said softly. "Which way?"

She pointed straight, and then, just past the city limits, to the left. Two houses and a mile and a half later she pointed at her house.

He pulled in and she got out. She stared at the house. Everything in there reminded her of Daniel ... of their perfect life that had been a lie. She still had no food, and, until tomorrow, no car. She suddenly didn't want to go in.

"Is there someone in there that might hurt you?" he asked, concern in his voice.

"No," she said.

"I'm not comfortable leaving you here, in your condition," he said. "Not alone."

"What else can I do?" she asked.

"You could come home with me," he said. He saw her stiffen. "No, that came out wrong. I live with my mother and three sisters. Four other sisters have gotten married and moved out. We have plenty of room, and you won't be alone."

She wavered. Not being alone sounded so nice. Was he telling the truth?

"You live with your mother?" she asked, clearly skeptical.

He grinned. "It's a long story. Maybe someday I'll tell it to you. What do you say? Home cooked meal ... nice soft bed ... women who'll talk your ear off."

"Won't your mother be upset?" she asked. "I mean you can't just bring a stranger home with you."

"Why not?" he asked.

She wavered some more and leaned closer to going with him. It was foolish. It might even be insane. She didn't know him from Adam. But he'd been perfectly nice to her thus far.

"Let me get something to wear," she said. "I can't stand these clothes."

"I'll be right here," he said.

It was the fact that he offered to wait in the car for her that tipped her over the edge. If he had some kind of designs on her, he'd have wanted to come inside with her ... someplace people couldn't see them ... where they couldn't hear her if she had to call for help.

She ran then, wanting to get her clothes and get back out, as quickly as possible. She grabbed her own coat, and a change of clothes, and ran back to the car. It was warm inside.

"I thought you'd change in there," he said.

"I didn't want to be there any longer than I had to," she answered.

Being around Bobby's family was a completely new kind of experience for Renee. She had probably had friends in High School and college who came from families like this, but she didn't know it. If her attitude toward people in general had been broken down to its basic components, a large part of that would have been the assumption that everybody had enough money to do whatever they wanted to.

Just the appearance of the old two-story farm house, with faded barns and outbuildings, and dusty patches of brown grass amongst trees with no leaves on them seemed foreign to her. Bobby's seemingly inane chatter, while he drove her there had been comforting, though she didn't pay that much attention to what he actually said. Her mind was still whirling, and her level of self pity was high. Now, though, seeing this dismal looking place where this man lived ... with his mother ... made her wish she'd decided not to come with him.

All that changed as soon as she walked into the warm, comfortable house, and was immediately caught up in a whirlwind of feminine solicitousness. Not only Mirriam, but Linda, Suzie and even the twins, who were only sixteen, seemed to sense how desperate this new young woman was. They knew about the accident, of course, but not much more than that it had happened. Bobby's description of her circumstances sounded completely innocuous, but somehow the women knew what to do. Perhaps it was the look on her face, or the clothing in her arms. In any case she was taken to a bathroom, where she could freshen up and change clothes. She was given a grocery bag to put her dirty clothes in.

Then, still off balance from her warm welcome, she was shown rooms, treasured possessions, even a stuffed animal or two, each with a name and a tender story attached. Renee was almost overwhelmed with the level of attention she was given. Within an hour, she was seated at the dining room table where her lackluster attitude toward eating vanished, as she was served mashed potatoes, beef so tender she could cut it with her fork, green beans, carrots, and homemade hot rolls that seemed to melt in her mouth. She'd eaten at the finest restaurants, but this food was even better, somehow.

The chatter around that table was inane too, in a sense. It was about what had happened that day, or that week, or what might happen in the days to come. Events in school were discussed, and she was included in the conversation as if she was an old friend of them all. No one probed into her life. They just made it clear they were glad she was there, and that they were eager to get to know her better.

Twice, during the meal, she put her fork down, blushing faintly, because she'd been eating like a pig. The others went on eating, and, eventually, she picked her fork back up, determined to be more ladylike in her consumption.

Several times she looked at the lone adult male at the table. He wasn't just sitting there eating. He joined in the conversation, sometimes giving an opinion, sometimes teasing one of his sisters, but he didn't hog the conversation, like the men she was used to being around. He hadn't sat next to her, either, which she had expected him to do. Some social rule in her head assumed that, since he had brought her here, she was for the moment "his". That's what the men she was familiar with would have done.

She also examined Mirriam, who had a baby sitting next to her in a high chair that she was feeding, like she was its mother. The woman had a healthy, youthful appearance, but she was clearly over forty, and Renee's assumption was that one of her daughters had had the baby, which she was caring for. He was a happy little thing, with black hair, an unruly lock of which fell forward on his forehead, just like Bobby's. His hands and feet were constantly moving, and he gurgled and chuckled, as if he too was taking part in the casual conversation that never seemed to stop, even though the food was disappearing at an astonishing pace.

She watched as that little boy reached constantly towards Mirriam. She'd feed him a spoonful of something when he opened his mouth, but his arms reached for her. Finally, he got fussy, as if he was frustrated.

"Oh all right!" said Mirriam suddenly. "What in the world am I going to do with you?" she complained, without really complaining. She turned to her guest. "I'm trying to wean him, but, like a man, he's not cooperating. I can take him in the other room if breastfeeding him would make you uncomfortable."

Renee blinked. She was breastfeeding? This was her baby?

Renee already knew there was no man around. Nobody had said anything, exactly, but it was just obvious that Mirriam was either divorced or widowed. No man had been mentioned in any of the conversation. No "Where's Daddy, tonight?" or "My husband is out feeding the cows, and will join us later," or anything like that.

"I don't mind," came from her lips, actually just an attempt to be polite in someone else's home. Simple manners required that she adapt to their home habits, instead of forcing her own mores upon them.

Mirriam took her at her word, and casually unbuttoned the dress she was wearing, to expose the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra. Slipping the dress off one shoulder, she reached for the little boy and cradled him in her arms. He knew what to do. That was obvious. His little hands went to knead and almost stroke the full, surprisingly young-looking breast in front of him, and his mouth opened to latch onto a long, stiff, brown nipple.

Everything had stopped for a few seconds, as if everyone in the room was honoring some special moment. The little boy's delighted gurgling coos as he sucked and swallowed seemed to fill the room. Renee was astonished at how noisy breastfeeding was. This was the first time in her life she had ever seen this activity. Her mind told her this had been going on for hundreds of thousands of years, but it was so immediate, and so personal, that it affected her profoundly. It was something that was both incredibly intimate and incredibly routine. While the baby sucked happily, Mirriam picked up her fork and continued to eat. That seemed to be the signal that everything should go on as before, and the conversation burst into the air again, almost as if someone had pushed "pause" on life, and then pushed "play".

Renee watched, out of the corner of her eye, occasionally. Seeing this made her have strange feelings in her belly. At one point, Mirriam pulled the baby off the breast, and handed him to Bobby, who was sitting next to her. Bobby lifted him in front of his face and kissed the little boy's nose, talking to him, while Mirriam covered the empty breast and exposed the other one. Then the little boy attacked that one, his hands grabbing, almost like Daniel had grabbed at her own breasts when they were making love.

Then, after sucking for only a few minutes, he seemed to lose interest and was put back in his high chair, where he happily played with the tiny spoon that had been used to feed him. He banged it on the wooden tray in front of him, and looked around again, making noises.

She thought dessert would undo her, because she already felt stuffed when a big chocolate cake was produced. How in the world these girls around her kept their feminine shapes was a mystery, if they ate like this all the time. She felt bloated, but the cake looked so good she had to try some of it. Somehow, Mirriam must’ve known that, because the piece she served Renee was tiny by comparison to that which she doled out to the others. It turned out to be just enough for her to enjoy the explosion of sweet taste, and then let her put her fork down for the last time.

She leaned back in her chair and sighed.

After supper, the activity level didn't drop much. The twins were working on a 5000 piece picture puzzle, spread out on a card table that was obviously going to be too small for the finished product. Someone else would stop by the table, from time to time, pick up a piece, and put it in place. The response was inevitably, "I was looking for that piece. No fair!" The television was on, but the sound was low and no one was actually sitting and paying strict attention to it. Suzie was doing homework, curled up in an easy chair. Mirriam, Linda and even Bobby were clearing the table and doing dishes, but didn't seem in a big hurry to be done with that, and took breaks to talk to Renee, put a piece in the puzzle, or watch TV for a few moments.

Mirriam called out "Who did eggs today?"

Suzie looked up. "Oops, I forgot."

"How am I supposed to feed you in the morning if there are no eggs?" asked her mother.

"O-kay!" sighed Suzie, who closed her book and started to get up.

"I'll get them," said Bobby. He turned to Renee. "Want to help me wrestle some eggs away from the chickens?"

Renee had never even seen a chicken. Not a live one anyway. All the eggs she'd ever seen were properly in an egg carton, where she assumed they mysteriously appeared.

"Okay," she said, not sure why she was agreeing to do this thing.

She would have forgotten to put on her jacket, if he hadn't put his on first. She followed him out, surprised that it was dark already. She was nervous as he took her to a little wooden house, and she was surprised, for some reason, when he reached in and flicked a switch, and a light bulb went on inside. She wondered, for an instant, why she had assumed there would be no electricity out here.

Then she was terrified, as real, live chickens, sitting on beds of hay, on shelves, were displayed, and began to squawk and make noises. Bobby casually reached under one, which lifted and flapped her wings, standing, as if outraged. His hand came back with an egg in it. Within the space of a minute, he had five eggs in a basket she hadn't even seen him pick up and bring with him.

"You want to try it?" he asked.

"No!" she gasped.

"Come on, it's easy. They won't hurt you."

"They're alive!" she said weakly.

"Yup," he said, not making fun of her.

He basically bullied her into it. Terrified, she reached out and, like he was telling her to, slid her hand under a real, live chicken. She was surprised at the warmth, and realized that her hand must be cold, though she hadn't felt the discomfort of that. She felt around, but nothing was there. The chicken got up and walked away, flapping her wings.

"Dry hole," said Bobby. "Some of them don't lay every day. Try the next one."

She did it again, and this time came up with an egg. She was delighted.

By the time they left, they had a basket with twelve eggs in it, and she felt like she had accomplished something akin to landing a man on the moon. She was practically giddy as they walked back in the warm house. She held the basket, carefully, as he took his jacket off, and handed it to him as he assisted her in removing her own.

"Just take them to Mamma," he said, abandoning her to walk towards the living room.

Delivering the eggs to Mirriam somehow turned into a conversation that morphed into something Renee would never quite understand. Eventually, in the somehow dim kitchen, warm and well fed, Renee's fears, concerns, and life story spilled out. She told Mirriam all of it, astonished at times that she was sharing such personal information with this woman. And, eventually, she found herself engulfed in strong arms, as the woman patted her hair while she cried.

This crying, though, was a release, as all the poison that was killing her seeped into the tears. It was a catharsis. At one point she felt like that baby, being held in Mirriam's loving arms, her face pressed to soft breasts.

It was very late when Mirriam took her to a bedroom and put her into a bed that was indeed soft, though not immediately warm. Blankets were piled on top of her though, and she felt warm again almost immediately. With a casual, "Night. Just get up when you feel like it," Mirriam turned off the light and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her.

For the first time in months, she slept, deeply and dreamlessly.

In another room nearby, unbeknownst to the relaxed, sleeping young woman, another young woman was relaxing too.

Linda was relaxing under the weight of her brother, while Bobby plowed her horny sexual furrow with his stiff prick.

"I love this so much," she moaned. "I think I'm addicted to your penis." She wiggled her hips, trying to get him deeper. "Your mouth and hands too," she added, pulling his lips to a nipple.

Bobby didn't say anything. Instead, he went in deep and rubbed in the way he had learned would make her pop an orgasm. She wiggled and her pussy rippled, but he held off cumming. He wanted to keep going. When she caught her breath again, she talked, while he worked on getting her there again.

"Renee's kind of cute," she said. "Is she going to be another one of your women? Are you going to do this with her too?"

"Probably not," said Bobby. "She was just in trouble. I didn't want to leave her alone. Something's got her really down."

"She did seem kind of ... I don't know, subdued, I guess."

Bobby slicked in and out of Linda's slippery pussy and sucked one of her nipples.

Linda bucked and let another orgasm flow through her. She felt Bobby tense, during this one, and he let her nipple pop out of his mouth.

"Should I pull out again?" he panted.

Her legs went to wrap around him, in the midst of her orgasm. She wasn't clearly into her safe time, but she didn't care, at that moment. At that moment, she wanted to feel that wonderful, warm and wet ball exploding in her orgasming pussy.

Bobby sighed, and overfilled her young pussy, giving her what she wanted ... and more.

Linda should have been more circumspect. She should have waited another day or two, before letting her brother fill her with dangerous, active sperm.

She would find that out in nine months. Well, truth be told, she'd find it out in only ten days, when her period did not rear its ugly head. But, for now, she just loved feeling her brother's love squirting into her so warmly.

As they rested she wondered, aloud, what was bothering Renee.

"I don't know," said Bobby. "She wouldn't talk about it."

"She's married," said Linda. "What about her husband?"

"I don't know," said Bobby again. "She wouldn't talk about that either."

That question was answered in the morning, when Bobby got up and went into the kitchen, and his mother filled him in.

"I was going to talk to you last night," she said. "But you'd already gone to bed. She's caught between a rock and a hard spot," said Mirriam, while she made biscuits, and filled him in on Renee's troubles. By the time she was done, she was frowning. "Her husband is gone, for all practical purposes, and she feels like she can't do anything about that. She's had a pampered upbringing, and she's scared to death of her parents hating her."

"Why would they hate her?" asked Bobby. "It wasn't her fault."

"I know that," said Mirriam. "And you know that. She can't see that, right now. She's lied to them already ... and everybody else too, apparently. She's feeling pretty worthless."

"Well, then," said Bobby. "I'll be her friend."

His mother looked at him. Theodore was playing happily in his high chair, and she looked at him too.

"Bobby, the last thing that poor girl needs is you in her life."

He grinned. "Mamma, I'm shocked you'd feel that way. I've never hurt a soul!"

"I know you, Bobby," she snorted. "I know how you affect women. That girl has enough problems without you upsetting her even more."

"All I said was that I'd be her friend," he said.

"And all you said to me was that I deserved to be happy," she said, looking at Theodore again, meaningfully.

"Aren't you happy, Mamma?" asked Bobby, stepping behind her and reaching around to cup her breasts. With her hands in the biscuit dough she was helpless, unless she was willing to get flour all over him.

She was.

When he finally stepped back, he had flour on his hands, and his shirt sleeves, and his cheeks. That, though, was from her holding his face while she kissed him.

"I'm very happy," she said, when she let him go. "But her circumstances are different."

"I know," he said. "I'll just be her friend."

"I'm worried about her," said Mirriam. "She has nobody to talk to."

"I told you I'd be her friend," said Bobby.

"I think I will be too," said Mirriam. "I'm going to introduce her to some others too. When people find out her husband is in prison ... and they will find out ... they'll treat her badly."

Mirriam was talking about the social difference in the small town of Granger, where single mothers, divorced women, and, it was likely, women whose husbands were in prison, were considered lower class by some. Those women had, over the years, banded together and formed a social support network. It was casual, but sometimes vital to the mental health of the members.

"Now, I told her she could sleep in, but why don't you go wake her up and we'll feed her again. She hasn't eaten decently in weeks."

Bobby didn't think about being sent on that chore, but Mirriam did. None of the girls were up yet. Had they been, she would have sent one of them.

"And don't molest her while you do it," she ordered, over her shoulder.

Bobby wouldn't have thought about molesting the woman, even when he found her with her covers kicked off, lying in only the shirt she'd changed into when she’d come to the house the night before. She hadn't brought a change of underwear, and her lower body was naked.

Still sleeping, she looked young, and helpless, except that she was fully grown. Her pubic hair was light brown, and sparse, doing nothing to cover the pouting tight lips that guarded her sex.

He lifted a blanket, pulled it up to her chest, and then shook her awake.

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