The three rump riders arrived in town by the light of the rising new moon, still as all-boned-up as a graveyard. They’d lost Mewsy.
(This bunch gave new meaning to the “man’s men” moniker with their triple dong-in-the-dook arrangement.)
“Tarnation!” grumbled Purchase, “‘S a dolgarn burden bein’ middleman in this trickle-down.” They were stuck determining how to alight.
He tried to shimmy the stranger off his tootsie pop but the li’l twitterloo was full addicted. “Upgrade me to offload me!” he bawled.
Tybalt barked, “Christi mater, get him off! I’ve a horse’s whole pelvis lodged up my back end!” “You’re not the only one,” groused Purchase.
It was a tight spot. Just then a local townsfolk came round the corner. “Stick o’ corn!” he exclaimed, “Heav’n o’ mercy done sent ’em down!”
“Good sir,” Purchase gave his best impression of a Respectable, “Might one be availed of thine aid in the uninsertion of this wilful youth?”
“Y’all boys be besmirchin’ well vig’rous. Jus’ the fellas fo’ encouragin’ economical enrichification here in Barebones Cordial, I reckon!”
“Indeed it may be,” strained Purchase, feeling raw, “Perchance – perchance discussion could follow our, shall we say, disinterlockment?”
“Yessiree, I gots jus’ the locale f’y’all type. Boy-o, wi’ Genius Joe Georgia battin’ fo’ y’all Ba’bones’ll spread out ‘er riches, and how!”
As he spoke, the toothless rube seized the reins of Tybalt’s thoroughbred, Thurgold S., and led the men down Cordial’s cobbled thoroughfare.
Each bump rumpled Collier’s dark star. The stranger, glutes herculean from so much door-to-door, clung strong and would not be dislodged.
Purchase was trapped, split open, milked by a merciless anus, and, now, led along Gawd-knew-whither like a leashed gelding. The humiliation!
This mistreatment should’ve sent him over the edge – emotionally – but it instead sent him “over the edge”. He HAD been fasting, after all.
Uh-oh! Just like that the ’til-recently-unspoilt stranger experienced his first insemination.
Their hillbilly helmsman caught an earful as, despite best intentions, the bedraggled Purchase hollered out, “Mama made me! Mama made me!!”
Whereupon Joe Georgia couldn’t help but remark that this here was one innerestin’ sumbitch.
“Mm-hm-hm, is mah lady gon’ squeak when I brings y’all lot by. There ain’t nothin’ ‘tall ‘s ever mo’ prof’table ‘n sexual atypicality!”
It sounded as if Genius Joe was licking his gums in anticipation of some specific bedroom-type reward, but, thought the men, who could know?
Purchase was defeated. Behind him (he felt the vibrations in his used-up chasm) Tybalt harrumphed disapprovingly, “Acquirit qui tuetur…”
HIS obelisk would not crumble; Stahl men regulated their starch-soldiers strictly. Plus (he tsk’d) he didn’t go in for anything so WEIRD.
Just straight-up good ol’ boy’s dunk-‘n’-dodge for Tybby. “A roll in the hay, not a roll in the gay,” he thought with some satisfaction.
At that, he hearkened down memory’s corridors to the echoes of his first boff. A boarding school chum – Regatta Caption. And she was a goer.
“Fertilize me, Stag!” she would whine as they went at it in the school’s hothouse, “I’m in heat! I need to rut! Put your offspring into me!”
How wholesome it was! He remembered warmly how, after solo flights, he would carefully save his man-syrup for her to slosh around in later.
Ah, the sweet innocence of kids in the Golden Age! He smiled to think of her adorably demanding he seed her six, seven times in an hour.
Regatta! To him she had the golden haze of the Virgin Mother. But, somehow, she became “in the family way”. Pulled from school. It was over.
He had mourned her loss by masturbating with all hell’s fury. And a week later he was deflowering Mewsy Stone against the bougainvillea…….
“Anthills afire, boy-ees, here afore th’moon done waned,” the hayseed hyuk’d, “Wipe y’feet ‘n c’mon in!” They had got where they were going.