Flossie's Revenge

by Lubrican

Chapters : Foreword | 1-2 | 3-4 | 5-6 | 7-8 | 9-10 | 11-12 | 13-14 | 15-16 | 17-18 | 19-20 | 21-22
23-24 | 25-26 | 27-28 | 29-30 | 31-32 | 33-34 | 35-36 | 37-38 | 39-40 | 41-42 | 43-44

Chapter 15

There was no interaction between any of the young people in Flossie's 'sexual education' class that night.

Jesse's parents were going to a neighbor's, for supper and to visit that night, so he couldn't dally on the way home. It was inconceivable to Johnnie Sue and Luthor, because they did everything together, to do anything together without him being there. Neither of them even thought about it.

At the Wilson house, there were television programs on that night that both parents wanted to see, and they stayed up late enough that their children could not experiment further.

Sexual tension built, during the hiatus of experimentation.

True to her word, Flossie did not revisit health class the next day. When the older children stayed, she worked on Geometry, using a textbook printed in 1918, that had been donated to the college by the white High School that had replaced them in 1932. They had sat around in storage until someone thought to offer them to the college. No one had thought it was a slap in the face of the institution of higher learning to receive High School hand-me-down textbooks that had been out of print for decades. She was allowed to keep it when she finished the class. It had cost her fifty cents.

Her students saw the application for Geometry almost instantly, in terms of how it could apply to farming. They eagerly soaked up the information.

For the next two weeks, the population of Catfish Hollow enjoyed the brief break between harvest and the new planting cycle. It was the one time of the year when people got together to chat, and share meals, and swap news, or stories, without having to hurry off home because there was work that had to be done. The children were always taken along on visits between families. Parents stayed up later in the evening.

And, while the Wilsons were not invited to share in this social splurge, the Wilson children were likewise denied the opportunity to further explore the new sexuality they had discovered. That's because Harvey and Marian's sex life was, perhaps not oddly, tied to stress in their lives. When things were difficult, they sought release together, in the bedroom. When things went more or less smoothly, they were satisfied to sit and watch TV. Basically, the only time they went to bed early, was when Marian knew her husband needed some relief from whatever stress was causing him to get ugly. Music is not all that soothes the savage beast.

And sexual tension continued to build.

To be sure, there was the odd opportunity to masturbate. Bernadette and Hilda Mae now did so whenever the mood struck them, which was almost nightly. Quite often one would start, and the other would join her sister, inflamed by what she heard in the bed next to her. If they heard their brother through the wall, it was the same.

But, for them and the others, the sharing of sexual feelings seemed so much better when a member of the opposite sex was involved. They had sweet orgasms, but those orgasms didn't quite quell the urge, quite often leaving them still excited. Where once a night had been enough in the past, the desire to feel that sweet release became stronger, and more frequent. In the case of Jesse, his mother came to his bed to see if he was sick, because he was tossing and turning so much in the night. At least that's what she thought it was. The squeaking of his bed springs couldn't be anything else, after all.

And each day, at school, the girls got to see the boys, and the boys got to see the girls. There were long, lingering looks between some of them, some noticed by the other, and some not. The unfortunate part was that Flossie didn't recognize what her eyes didn't try to see.

Perhaps "unfortunate" isn't exactly the right word. It all depends on how we look at things from our own vantage point these days. Integration, outside the Catfish Hollow Public School, was still years away, court ordered or not. There was trouble about it in the larger towns and cities, and that trouble was getting more and more visible. The NAACP was testing more cases of what, until now, had been lawfully mandated segregation, and people of color were beginning to demand their rights as they saw them described in the Constitution. That whites interpreted the same words differently was, back then, simply a matter of habit. Colored people were inferior. They weren't "men" in terms of all men having been created equal. Of course these days we know that a man is a man, regardless of his skin color. A white life can be saved by the transplant of a vital organ from a black donor. DNA research indicates there is less than .0000001 percent difference between the DNA of a black person, and that of a white person. The genetic differences are about the same as those of the animal commonly called "dog". They look vastly different, but they're all the same beast, on a genetic level.

And, while whites couldn't explain it, "separate, but equal" didn't mean "equal". Not in the South. The mixture of races was still taboo, and the strongest taboo of all was sexual mixture of the races. That was the other reason people resisted integration. It was assumed that, if colored and white children mixed, they would mix in all ways, including sexual, and that was not to be tolerated.

They were right, even though they didn't have any proof of it.

That was something that also had strange rules, though. Ever since the Negro had been purchased and brought to the U.S., white men had looked on black women as sexual partners. While a white man would never think of sharing food with a nigger, fucking one, perhaps the most intimate kind of contact imaginable, was commonly accepted. And, it was accepted by both white men and white women. True, it wasn't talked about. But white women knew it happened, and they made no bones about it, because, as they saw it, black women weren't really ... women. They were sub-human ... little more than animals. No one thought it strange that a white woman who would flay her husband alive, if caught fucking a sheep, would turn a blind eye to him impregnating a young, shapely slave. And, men who were willing to take a black woman gainst her will, were also the kind of men that white women weren't enthusiastic about being in bed with either. If the Master spent his lust on the slave women, that meant less time that the Mistress had to endure him in her own bed.

This incomprehensible (to us) and complex social structure began when the first slaves were bought, though the folks in America in the 1950s probably didn't know that. The slave traders bought their black slaves ... those sub-humans ... from other black men. Tribes in Africa raided each other for slaves routinely, and when the white man happened by, and saw the advantages of slave labor, he ignored the fact that the seller was exactly like the product. White men would do business with sub-humans, somehow seeing them as business partners. The product they purchased, however, was not seen as human at all.

None of it made any sense. That's because it was all based on emotion and greed, rather than intellect. Emotion often leads us astray. Greed always does.

At any rate, while desegregation was years away in most of America, it had a jump start that would probably equal twenty years in Flossie's little classroom. Her students, as hundreds of thousands would in the next twenty years, found that, once you looked past that .0000001 percent genetic difference, what you were left with was just another kid, who had the same interests, dreams and desires that you did. For those children, it was relatively simple. The tooth fairy was a myth. So was Santa Claus. Toads didn't really give a person warts. Lots of people didn't live happily ever after. Parents and other adults lied, and were found to be fallible. They hid things from children, and some of the things they hid, like sex, were very important, once they were discovered. Why, then, should they believe what those parents and adults said about race?

Racism wasn't dead in the Catfish Hollow Public School, but it had been dealt a mortal blow. Had it taken twenty years to deal that blow, things might have been much better. There would be innocent bystanders caught in the storm that was to follow, and, had it been twenty years later, it might not have been so painful.

Then again, there are those who say everything happens for a reason. What would soon happen to the students of the Catfish Hollow Public School would have far reaching effects on hundreds, perhaps thousands of people, some day. And those effects would include more good ones than bad.

The first thing that happened was that Nathan got a letter in the mail. It was completely unexpected, primarily because it was from the Kansas City Metropolitan Police Department. Nathan hadn't written to them. He had written, he thought, to the "Casey" Police Department, in Georgia, a town just outside of Atlanta. He had chosen that one because Atlanta now seemed too big a place to be a policeman in, at least in the beginning.

He had heard people talk about Casey while he lived in Atlanta, but didn't know how to spell it. "KC" seemed reasonable to him, and in those days before zip codes were the rule, mail got sent wherever a postal clerk thought it should go. His letter happened to be handled by a man who had lived in Kansas City before the war, and then moved to Atlanta after the war, where a buddy lived who had saved his life. That man threw the letter in the bag going to Missouri, and when it got there, it went to the "KC" Police Department.

It was the first letter that had ever been received in the Wilson household that was not addressed to either Harvey or Marian, and it caused a sensation. Marian presented it to her son, with great fanfare when supper was done, calling it "dessert".

"It looks all official," she said excitedly. "Though I don't for all the tea in China know what 'KCMOPD' stands for." She peered closely at the return address. The clerk that had sent the letter had typed only part of the return address on the envelope before being distracted by another task. The rest, including the city and state, was left off. That was to turn out to be a fortuitous event, at least as far as Nathan went. Had his mother known what was in the letter, it would never have been given to him.

Nathan looked at it. PD had to mean Police Department. He felt a thrill go down his spine. He tore it open and read.

The letter explained that, upon receipt of a bonafide High School diploma, they would happily consider his application for employment as a police officer in the metropolis of Kansas City, Missouri. It went on to say that, if his grade point average was 3.5 or above, his acceptance was merely a formality. When they had the diploma, along with a letter certifying his grade point average, he could fill out an application, take the necessary tests, and attend the academy.

Marian almost collapsed while contemplating that her baby might go what seemed like thousands of miles away, clear up in hated Yankee country. If he did, she'd never get to see her son again, or any grandbabies he sired, because there was no way in the world she could find her way, and she doubted that Harvey would even think about driving her all the way there. She basically lived the next twenty years of her AND Nathan's lives in her imagination, and it wasn't pretty.

Harvey, still on barely speaking terms with his son, didn't know what to say or do. The thought that his disappointing and uppity son might disappear and leave him in peace wasn't all that unpleasant. At the same time, he recognized something in his wife's behavior that warned him this was serious. He knew, somehow, that he would not be able to dictate to Nathan what would happen ... or not happen, as it were ... and that left him more or less helpless. Harvey didn't like feeling helpless.

That his daughters were also distressed by this news also bothered him. He would have thought they'd be happy to see him go too, seeing as how he had embarrassed the entire family, but that was decidedly not the response they displayed. They, in fact, started crying in their cups, along with their mother!

For Nathan, the electricity of getting a job offer that would take him away from "all this", caused a surge of emotion that left him grinning inanely. Then his mother fell to pieces, and he didn't know how to feel. His sisters joined her, and he suddenly felt guilty somehow.

Everyone went to their bedrooms early that night.

Only Harvey and Marian stayed there, though, easing the pain in each other as was their habit.

When Marian was upset, she liked sex that was rough enough to take her mind off her troubles. She was troubled enough, that she wanted VERY rough sex this night, and she was troubled enough that she forgot to send the children away somewhere while she got it. And get it she did. Harvey gave it to her rough ... and loud.

They didn't even have to leave their rooms to hear it this night.

"How about that, bitch!" came Harvey's rough voice, through the walls.

"You bastard. You know I love that!" screamed his wife.

"You want me to fuck another brat in your belly tonight?" he raged. "To take the place of that worthless son you worked so hard to raise?"

"He's not worthless!" she screamed. "Yes ... fuck me pregnant you cocksucker!" she howled.

"I'm not the cocksucker in this house, you whore!" growled Harvey. "You want to suck it now?"

"No, just fuck me harder, Baby."

"They can probably hear us, bitch! You want them to hear us?"

"No! I don't care. Just pound me, you bastard!"

It was shocking in an almost unbelievable way. Had they not been through health class, Nathan would have beaten down the door to save his mother. But, health class, while it had not approached covering this kind of sex, had expanded their consciousness about sex, at least a little, and they, themselves, had done things that would have been unthinkable just a short time earlier. That other unthinkable things might be done voluntarily ... intentionally even ... was no longer outside the realm of possibility.

The girls tears over Nathan dried, as they sat, pale and frightened, until they heard, in their mother's voice, that the words didn't really mean what they sounded like. It was clear, incomprehensible as it seemed, that this was some game they played ... something they did out of some kind of twisted need. The girls calmed, and then their own ... need ... manifested itself.

Nathan, too, heard the words. He recognized them for what they were too, but the effect on him was different. That his mother ... his staid, proper, dignified, gentle mother, whom he had lusted after until his sisters took her place in his dreams ... that she could use that kind of language ... could abide being called a whore and a cocksucker ... made her into a stranger to him. That his father could treat her like that made his blood run cold. The first thing he thought about was his father treating his sisters like that too. He got up and left his room, opening their door and walking into their room as if he owned the place.

"Nathan!" squeaked Hilda Mae. She was sitting ramrod straight on the edge of her bed.

"Come on," he said. "We're getting out of here."

"What?" asked Bernadette. His voice sounded like he meant forever.

"There's no call for you to have to listen to that," he said tersely.

"Where will we go?" she asked.

"I don't know ... just out ... at least until they finish."

"Oh," she said, relieved. "Okay."

They crept through the house, as though they were making an escape, stepping past squeaky boards they knew about, and cringing when they hit one they didn't. When they got outside they were still so stunned that they just walked down the street together, no clear destination in mind.

Nathan was so agitated that he stopped, his fists clenched as he faced his sisters.

"If any man ever treats you like that I'll kill him." he said, his voice intense, but quiet. It was clear that he meant it.

The girls stared back at him, wide-eyed, and then followed as he started off again. Both stared at his back, a strange warmth creeping into them. What they had heard through the walls scared them, because they, too, couldn't reconcile the words, and imagined actions, as being any part of their parents. They felt threatened in a vague, unspoken kind of way. Nathan's vitriolic threat, though, made that fear quail. They believed him ... knew, somehow, that he would protect them, and that knowledge let loose a flood of love and affection for their protector. Danger or fear, they say, can unleash passion, and the rush of gratitude each of them felt for this boy they had grown up with, but who seemed like a new person to them now, gave that passion an outlet. At the same time, the contents of the letter, and the implicit assumption that Nathan would leave them alone with ... what was back at the house ... made Bernadette feel an almost uncontrollable urge to clasp her brother in her arms and never let him go. Her "breeding", however, prevented that display of public affection.

"Nathan," said Bernadette, her voice low and husky. "Let's go to the fire Barn."

He whirled, his jaw slack. "How can you even think about doing that now?" he asked, his voice still intense.

She was taken aback, and stopped.

"I'm afraid," she said helplessly, unable to fully communicate that complicated fear.

"I don't understand," he said, looking puzzled.

"I just want to be somewhere safe ... with you." she tried again. Her mind was in turmoil. She was thinking of what she wanted to do with him, but it was still too new to speak of plainly, casually. Had she ever been on dates, and faced that moment when each person wants to kiss the other, but is unsure about whether they should, she might have recognized what she was feeling.

Nathan looked at Hilda Mae, whose emotions were just as fragmented and tumultuous. There was a single tear drop running down her cheek, and she looked at him with something strange in her eyes.

"Okay," he said.

They walked quickly, then, unaware that, while their earlier meandering might have drawn attention, the sure stride that they now exhibited suggested people with a place to go, and a task to complete. That kind of stride is almost invisible to the average person. It served them well, because people were still out and about in the town, and might have noticed three youths "sneaking" into the fire barn. Now, though, no one noticed them.

Once inside the building, the girls breeding lost sway, and they both rushed to hug the man they most loved at that point in their young lives. He didn't even have time to light the lamp before his arms were full of soft girls, who sobbed quietly into the front of his shirt. His natural instinct was to stroke their hair, and murmur that everything would be all right. That led to light kisses on that hair, and his hands stroked their backs. He was not aware, at first, that both girls, in clasping him, had straddled each of his thighs. It was unconscious, to give the girls their due. They were simply venting emotion and passion, and the fact that they ended up pressing their pussies against his hard thighs was simply a function of both of them trying to hug him at the same time. But the pressure applied there communicated itself to subconscious minds, which told the girls' bodies to "increase that pressure please", and, without realizing it, they began to ... rub.

Passion flamed brighter, pushing the fear back. Now the passion sought the kind of release that would banish that fear, at least for the moment. Bernadette raised her face, to ask him to light the lamp, and his lips, which had been aimed at her hair, met, instead, her own lips. The feel of lips on lips was almost electric. They had kissed each other in the past, and, in the Southern tradition, it had often been on the lips. But those were quick pecks of duty, perhaps tinged with affection of some sort. This was something that was infused with passion so quickly that it resembled lightning striking.

Neither had kissed a lover before, and one would have thought it would be awkward and stiff. But their lips remained soft, and the urgency of the almost electric shock caused a natural rubbing of those lips together, lightly at first, and then with crushing force. Wet, sucking sounds were produced, and Hilda Mae looked up. Nathan felt her head move in the darkness, and sensed her lips were exposed, and the sudden wrench in his gut from kissing Bernadette demanded that he kiss his younger sister too. She was unprepared for that, but her passion was at high burn too, and she went limp, surrendering to something she had never thought about doing before.

For perhaps five full minutes, the girls kissed their brother, alternating, somehow sharing him without impatience, but eagerly looking forward to their next turn with his soft lips. Their loins rubbed eagerly against his hard thighs. That level of passion demanded something else, though, and when that didn't happen, the passion cooled fractionally, unhappy at being disappointed. Nathan finally pulled back.

"Let me light the lantern," he whispered.

They let him go, but their touch was lingering in that way that communicates it doesn't want to stop. Nathan realized his penis was fully hard. He hadn't even felt it happen. With the flare of the match, both girls disappeared around the fire truck. By the time he got to the tiny living area, two shirts and bras were already on the cot, the girls' bare breasts gleaming in the light. Rushing away from something troubling, and toward something exciting and pleasurable, even though it was brand new, was an unthinking response to the situation. Bernadette looked at him as he came around the front of the truck, her fingers at the button on her jeans. Staring at him, she undid it, and then pushed the zipper down. It was loud in the silence.

"Bernie?" husked Nathan.

"I want to be naked this time," she said, passion in her voice. Hilda Mae didn't say anything. She hadn't waited and was already pushing her jeans to her ankles, her panties tangled with them. One shoe flew through the air as she kicked it wildly off. She was so excited that, as soon as her pants were off, she flopped onto the cot, making it creak, and her hand went immediately between her legs.

"You can't hog the cot," said Bernadette, shoving out of her own shoes more gently and pulling her pants off. She looked back at Nathan through her eyelashes, coquettish without even knowing it, and slowly pushed her panties to her knees, bending over. She stepped out of them almost daintily. Her hand drifted to the auburn fluff on her mons, and tickled it absently, roughing it up. Hilda Mae was already rubbing furiously, while Nathan goggled at them both. "You can't hog the cot!" Bernadette repeated. "Make some room for me."

"Ohhhhh," moaned Hilda Mae, frustrated that she had to stop. She already felt like an orgasm was near. She did stop, though, throwing a dark look at her sister, and sat up, then stood. She saw Nathan, standing frozen and went to him, reaching for the buttons on his shirt.

"Hildy?" he whined. He couldn't believe how beautiful she looked with her mass of hair, uncut for as long as he could remember, tumbling around her naked shoulders. Her nipples looked huge and swollen.

"I want to see you," she panted. "I want to touch you."

He stood, as Bernadette joined her sister in stripping him. They knelt together to pull his underwear down, pulling hard on it to get it to clear his erect phallus. Both sighed as they saw it. Bernadette's hand reached, grasped and stroked, slowly, languidly, uncovering his knob and then hiding it again. His pants and underwear were left, abandoned, clinging to his thighs.

"It's so beautiful," she sighed.

Hilda Mae stood up and hugged her brother again, this time pushing her wet pussy against his thigh intentionally, and using him to get the pressure she wanted. She lifted her face to his for more kisses, but he ignored her, staring at Bernadette's hand, slowly sliding back and forth on his rod. Impatient, Hilda Mae reached for his cheek with one hand and turned his head, standing on her tiptoes to reach his lips. Her breasts pushed into his side as she burrowed under his arm and he felt the heat of them on his flesh.

He kissed her and it was in the middle of that kiss that Bernadette, staring at his stiff prick, inches from her face, remembered oral sex. She sniffed lightly, but didn't smell anything. Then she leaned forward to kiss the tip lightly, her lips soft, like they had been when she kissed his lips. The feel of his skin, so tight and shiny at the tip, was smooth like nothing she'd ever felt before. With hardly another thought, she pushed the hood off the tip, opened her mouth, and leaned forward to suck the knob.

Nathan didn't know what was happening to him. He felt the heat surrounding the tip of his prick - a completely strange feeling - and groaned into Hilda Mae's mouth. That caused her lips to open, and his tongue, part of the groan, touched her teeth and lips. Her own instinct, feeling something in her mouth, was to explore what that was with her own tongue, and it slid against his. Her urge to pull back was foiled as his hand came up behind her head, his fingers dipping into her hair, and pulled her face to his firmly. His tongue pushed, the instinct to continue something that felt so wonderful driving him to do something he'd never even known could be done. The tactile sensation for both of them burst and he grunted again, his hips giving an unconscious thrust.

Bernadette loved the feel of that hard, smooth knob in her mouth. She hadn't had time to determine if there was taste or not, but the feeling was indescribable. Suddenly that knob was forced further into her mouth, and her lips and teeth felt the texture of the bumpy soft skin on the shaft of his penis. She lifted her teeth, automatically knowing they could hurt him, and pulled back, dragging her lips along the shaft, to where the head swelled into its spear shape, loving that feel too, so different than the other. She knew instantly that she liked doing this, and understood instantly why a woman would want to do this over and over again. She was contemplating that thought when a rush of salty fluid filled her mouth. She knew instinctively what it was ... had tasted it before. She didn't take the time to be upset that he hadn't warned her. She just accepted that this was part of the experience, and let the fluid fill her cheeks. His penis jerked in her mouth and she realized she'd need to swallow, or it would run out of her mouth. She swallowed twice, and felt the heat slide down her gullet. She imagined it plopping into her stomach, and sucked, in an effort to get more. She did as the penis released another surge of the warm liquid.

Nathan staggered from the intensity of the experience. It had taken him completely by surprise, and his orgasm had come upon him like a panther on a dark night, taking him without warning in a rush of mind-numbing ecstasy. His tongue planted firmly in his younger sister's mouth, and his prick planted firmly in his older sister's mouth, his knees gave out and he had to step back to catch his balance. He staggered as his pants restricted the movement of his legs. His prick slurped wetly out of Bernadette's oral clasp, and she moaned at the loss. Hilda Mae lost her lip lock, and she moaned too. His prick gave a final convulsive clench, driving a weak stream of goo onto Bernadette's chin as she leaned forward to recapture the thing that had been so much fun to suck.

Hilda Mae looked down to see her sister scooping that dribble up, and into her open mouth, whereupon she closed her lips and swallowed audibly. There was still a smear of white around her lips and on her chin.

"What did you do?" gasped Hilda Mae. In truth, the unhappiness she felt was centered primarily around the apparent fact that Bernadette had made him squirt, and that Hilda Mae had missed seeing that. Then, as Bernadette tried to scoop more into her mouth, and licked her lips, Hilda Mae's brain caught up with the fact that all that lovely spunk was ... missing. Where it had gone was not hard to figure out.

"You swallowed it all?" whined the younger girl.

"Mmmmmm, it was yummy!" sighed Bernadette.

"I can't believe you did that!" said Hilda Mae, feeling slightly faint.

"I can't wait to do it again!" said Bernadette, feeling an unusual energy in her body. Her hand drifted between her legs, where she was still squatting, and began to rub gently. "It was wonderful." She sighed again.

"You gave him a blow job?" squeaked Hilda Mae, her mind catching up with events.

"I sure did," said Bernadette, rubbing faster. "You have to try that, Hildy."

"Ohhh man," moaned Nathan, weaving slightly. He felt completely drained. "Was that what that was?"

"Uh huh," said Bernadette. "How was it?"

"Ohhh man!" groaned Nathan. "I can't believe that. I have to sit down."

There was an old wooden chair sitting by the wall. He wobbled to it, and it wobbled when he sat down on it.

Hilda Mae, still fired up, possibly even more so by the knowledge of what her sister had just done, went and lay down on the cot again. She spread her legs shamelessly, and began fingering her clitty.

Nathan looked over at Bernadette, who was still squatting, and still rubbing. He looked back at Hilda Mae and curiosity drove him to stand, pick up the chair, and move it to where he could see what he had never seen before, more clearly.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her hips giving a little involuntary lift.

"Watching you," he said, smiling.

"I should be embarrassed," she panted. "but I'm not."

"I never thought I'd ever be sitting here, naked, watching my little sister, naked." he said, shaking his hand.

"I still can't believe she did that," panted Hilda Mae. "What did it feel like?"

"I don't know," he smiled wryly. "It happened so fast I can't hardly remember it."

"Did you like it?" she asked, rubbing a little faster.

"Oh, yeah," he sighed. "I've never felt anything like that before."

"Do you want me to .... I mean if I wanted to ... would you let me?" she asked, her eyes glittering.

"I don't know," he said. Then "It's all so strange."

She started rubbing furiously, panting and bucking her hips. She was close, but she couldn't make the feeling come. "Uhhhhh, she groaned in frustration."

"Doesn't that hurt?" he asked, watching her fingers mashing what looked like two tight lips all around. He could barely see them because of her hand, but as it moved he got a glimpse every now and then.

"Nooooooo," she moaned. "It feels soooo gooood ... but ..."

"But what?" he asked.

"I can't make it happen!" she gasped, finally sinking back.

"Is it bothering you that I'm watching?" he asked.

"I don't think so ... no ... I'm really not embarrassed at all. You put your tongue in my mouth!"

Her change of subject confused him. "What?"

"When we were kissing, you put your tongue in my mouth. How could I ever be embarrassed about anything else again?" She sighed, still rubbing gently.

"Could I help?" he asked suddenly.

"Huh?" she was surprised by the question.

"Well ... you helped with me ... the other day I mean. Maybe I could help you."

Bernadette gave out a loud groan that turned into a long sigh. She lost her balance as her orgasm washed over her and fell backwards, to land with a thump on her rear, legs splayed out, hand still pressing her clitty. She caught herself with her other hand.

"Ohhh damn, that feels good," she moaned.

"Bernie!" chastised her brother, looking over at the noises.

"Well it does!" she sighed.

"You want to touch me?" asked Hilda Mae, feeling a surge of new excitement run through her loins. Oddly, she had never thought about Nathan touching her, like she had touched him.

"If you want," he offered.

"Okay," she said. She took her hand away, and suddenly felt exposed, with her young legs spread and her privates displayed for a male for the first time in her life. "I think," she added.

"You'll have to tell me what to do," he said, getting up and going to the cot.

She showed him her bump, flushing furiously as she pulled those tight lips apart with two fingers, and touched the bump with another.

"Right there. That bump. It feels wonderful when I rub it."

He reached a finger and pushed at the bump. She hissed. His finger was dry, and even though she had some slippery substance all over, his finger absorbed it and skidded. She jumped. Logic told him to lick his finger, to make it slippery too, and he did, tasting her juices faintly. That taste was something he hadn't thought about, and it blossomed in his mind. He stared at her slit, still pulled open by her fingers. For the first time he saw the darkness of a small hole that led up into her. Her ... vagina? Wasn't that what Miss Flossie had called it? A penis was supposed to go in that small hole? Impossible. His little finger would fill it completely!

"Nathan!" huffed Hilda Mae. "Touch me!"

He sucked his finger again, and returned it to her bud. Now it slid across the bump easily, the bump somehow moving to one side. He drew his finger back gently, and made a game out of trying to rub directly across the top of it. It didn't cooperate, evading his efforts, sliding this way and that as her hips bucked.

"Yessss, like that," she panted.

He felt his prick move, and looked down to see it had grown to half hard. It still felt satisfied, but was hardening again anyway. While he was looking his finger slipped off her clitty and slid into the small hole down to the first knuckle.

"Ow!" yipped Hilda Mae, her head lifting. "What did you do?"

"Sorry," he said, pulling his finger back out. He felt some constriction on one side of it, as if something were dragging against it ... just on one side. "I slipped."

Nathan had no way of knowing that some hymens fill the vaginal channel, while others cover only part of it. Hilda Mae's was of the latter type. When his finger had slid in, it happened to be positioned on the side that wasn't blocked, but the width of his finger had stretched the half circle of tissue as it invaded, causing the pain. It hadn't torn, but it had complained. Just the hymen had complained, though ... the rest of her pussy flesh had welcomed the pressure on it.

"Do that again," panted Hilda Mae.

"What?" he asked.

"Put your finger in ... just a little. I never did that before. It feels ..." She couldn't describe how it felt.

Nathan carefully inserted his finger again. It struck an obstruction almost immediately, and she winced.

"That's where it hurts," she said.

He shifted his finger, probing gently, and found a way deeper. He slid his finger in very slowly. Bernadette appeared at his side, on her hands and knees.

"What are you doing?" she asked, staring at the finger as it slowly went in.

"Stop!" yelped Hilda Mae, as her hymen was stretched again. "Ohhhh ... I like it, but it hurts!"

Nathan, in masturbating himself, had always moved his hand up and down his shaft. It only seemed natural to slide his finger in and out of this fascinating hole. He did so gently, pushing his finger away from the barrier that caused her pain.

"Mmmm, that's better," she sighed. "It doesn't hurt so much that way."

"That's your maidenhead!" said Bernadette, her voice hushed.

"What's that?" asked Hilda Mae, her hips starting to move again.

"Annie caught me rubbing one time," said Bernadette. "She said that was bad, but wouldn't talk about it. But she said to be sure I never stuck anything up in me or I'd tear my maidenhead and it would hurt. She said I'd bleed."

"When was that?" gaped Hilda Mae.

"I don't know ... two or three years ago I guess," said Bernadette.

"You were rubbing clear back then?!?" gasped Hilda Mae, her hips moving more. She winced as her movements caused Nathan's finger to penetrate her further. "Ohhhh my goodness that feels good."

"I've been rubbing since the first time I bled," said Bernadette off-handedly. "The first pad I had to wear rubbed against me and it felt good. That's how I learned how to do it."

"It hurts too much now, Nathan," complained Hilda Mae. "Rub my bump some more."

Nathan pulled his finger out. Her thin lips had thickened, and gotten darker. He pulled them apart and exposed her clitty, which was easily visible. He absently put the finger in his mouth he had penetrated her with, and sucked at the tart juice on it.

"What are you doing?!" gasped Bernadette, watching her brother.

He realized what he had done. "I don't know. She tastes good." His brow wrinkled. "Didn't you say I tasted good?"

"Yes, but ..." said Bernadette.

Nathan stared at the bump, and Hilda Mae spread her legs farther in frustration because he wasn't rubbing it.

"Nathan!" she moaned.

Much as Bernadette had taken his prick in her mouth without really thinking about it, Nathan decided to taste her at the source. He leaned in and pressed his pursed lips around the bump, pushing his tongue against it. It evaded his tongue tip, just like it had evaded his fingertip. He darted is tongue all around it.

Hilda Mae basically went nuts.

Her head raised up off the cot and she stared. Then, as her head flopped back down to bounce two inches off the canvas, her heels came under her knees, and she launched her pussy up into Nathan's face.

"Ahhhh!" she almost screamed.

Bernadette's shock was tempered by the scream. It didn't sound exactly like her sister was in pain, but it was loud. She slapped Nathan's naked back, and went "Shhhh!"

Nathan sucked, drawing the slippery little bud in between his lips as much as he could. It was so hard to get hold of that it frustrated him, somehow, and he tried to nip at it. What neither of them had been able to do with their fingers, was accomplished quite suddenly with his sucking lips. His face got wet as Hilda Mae squealed until Bernadette put her hand over her sister's mouth. Then she flopped, alternating between being rigid in every muscle, and then going completely limp, just to do it all over again. Only Nathan's superior weight let him keep his mouth glued to her orgasming pussy.

Nathan would have gone on eating her pussy forever, but eventually her hands batted at his head as the stimulation got uncomfortable. He rose up, grinning from ear to ear, his face shiny with her juices. He knew he had made her happy, and few things make a man feel as good as when a woman is that happy because of something he did.

Hilda Mae pushed Bernadette's hand away from her mouth, and started gasping as if she'd run as far as she could and then fallen down because she was completely out of oxygen. Her throat continued to make little mewling sounds, and her eyes were wide open, staring at nothing. Her hair was a mess, having flown all around as she shook her head at an orgasm that had almost claimed her consciousness.

"He ..." she gasped, trying to talk. "He ..." but she couldn't get more than just that one word out before she had to gasp air back into her lungs.

"Are you okay?" asked Bernadette.

"Uh ... huh" panted Hilda Mae.

"Wow," said Bernadette, staring at her sister. She expected Hilda Mae to look different somehow, after having that done to her. But she didn't. She just looked like she was very tired, and very, very happy.

There was a sudden movement by the fire truck, and Bernadette saw it out of the corner of her eye. She turned to see Curtis Lee standing there in the dim light, his eyes round and white.

"What are you doing here?!" she almost screamed. She didn't know what to do. That she was naked ... that all of them were naked ... was definitely part of her thought process. But higher than that in her mind, and demanding much more attention, was the fact that someone had seen them ... and would tell. She almost fell apart.

Nathan and Hilda Mae hadn't seen the intruder until Bernadette screamed, but they did as soon as they turned their heads. Nathan jumped up, his own fight or flight syndrome working hard in his body.

Curtis Lee held up a hand. He was panting. "Mr. Parsons sent me over here to get a wrench he needs for working on his tractor. I need to get that wrench and get it back to him or he'll come looking."

Bernadette charged him, tripping and falling to her knees in front of him, wailing, pleading and crying for him not to tell. He tried to back up, but her hands gripped his cotton pants in a death grip.

"Tell her to let go, Nathan," said Curtis Lee. "I got to get that wrench to Mr. Parsons or he'll come here!"

Nathan sensed, somehow, that Curtis Lee was actually trying to help them. He went to Bernadette, and pried her hands away from Curtis Lee's pants. Curtis Lee went instantly to a big table and started sorting through wrenches. "There!" he grunted, holding up a silver tool. He stepped sideways, staring at the girls, who were now trying to cover their bodies.

"White folks is crazy!" he said explosively, so rattled by what he had seen that he lost his normal cultured speech. He edged closer to the exit, not turning his back.

"Pleeeeease," wailed Bernadette, her hands reaching out to him again.

Curtis Lee couldn't help but stare. His hand strayed to the front of his pants and pressed against his erection. He had entered the shed in time to see Hilda Mae's orgasm. He recognized, based on the health class, exactly what he was seeing, but he hadn't visualized it quite like this. He'd never seen a naked girl, especially not a white girl, and that looked different than he'd thought it would too. Both girls looked so slim and delicate and soft. He thought about the fact that he was looking at two naked white girls, and that he had a boner, and a stab of fear shot through him.

"I won't tell," he said, jerking his hand away from his pants and holding it out, as if to ward them off. "I'll see you in school tomorrow," he said, looking surprised. "I won't tell," he said again. Then he turned and sprinted for the door as if ghosts were after him.

It wasn't quite panic that ensued in the fire barn when Curtis Lee left. There was too much despair to allow the energy that panic produces. The Wilson children got dressed, more quickly than they had undressed, even, and after Nathan peered out the door into the gloom of evening, to make sure the coast was clear, they moved out as a group.

Curtis Lee owed them nothing. They had, they now knew, been cruel to him when they first arrived. Their world view had changed to the point that they could view their own actions through others' eyes. They had never apologized to him ... or any of the others, for that matter. Knowing you're wrong is one thing. Admitting it to others is something else. They also knew that brothers and sisters didn't act this way in any other family they'd ever heard of ... instinctively knew it was something others would not approve of. As much as they hoped Curtis Lee wouldn't say anything, they had no reason to believe he would keep his promise.

Going home was part of the dread they felt, but it wasn't because of what they'd left there. Now it was because that, now that someone else knew about their activities, it was easy to believe that their parents did too. That dread showed even more plainly on their faces when they found their father, sitting up in the dim living room, waiting for them. His hair was uncombed, and he was sitting in just pants and an undershirt, something they had never seen him do before. The television was on, but turned down so low they couldn't hear the words.

"Where have you been?" he asked as they trooped in, looking uncomfortable.

"Took a walk," said Nathan nervously, just barely able to meet his father's eyes.

"Your mother is resting," said Harvey. "She's upset."

"I guess so," agreed Nathan. Warily he looked around. If Curtis had come here, the house would be in an uproar.

Harvey looked at them. They looked scared shitless. He almost smiled, thinking that they must have heard. She was louder than usual this time. Him too. Always before they had saved that kind of thing for when the children were gone somewhere. Once in a while he came home from the bank for that. But it had been a long time since she'd needed that. She only tolerated it under special circumstances. He loved dominating her, hurting her just a little, and, once in a very long while, she loved having it done. Still, if they'd heard, they wouldn't understand. Hell, sometimes HE didn't understand why she needed that kind of thing. Not that he minded. It took an effort on his part not to leave bruises. But these children wouldn't understand. He had to say something ... in case they'd heard.

"I love your mother," said Harvey, his fingers twitching on the arm of the chair.

"That so," said Nathan, making noise, rather than real conversation.

"Yes it is!" said Harvey, frowning. "I've always loved her since the first day I laid eyes on her, and I'll love her until the day I die!"

This was not the kind of thing the Wilson children were accustomed to hearing their father say. They stared at him, huddled together without knowing it. The girls still had the instinctive feeling that Nathan was their protector.

"There are things you'll understand when you're older," said Harvey, wanting to go back to bed. "Clean up the supper dishes for her," he ordered.

"Yes sir," said Nathan automatically.

Harvey almost smiled again. If the boy could be spooked that easily, maybe he could still be handled. Harvey didn't care if the boy went to Kansas City or California. But before he went, maybe things could be engineered so that Marian needed a little more of what he had just given her. Maybe he could start by telling her they had heard her sluttish cries. Yes, he would abase her, and then climb on board another time to take what was his.

The fear and dread left them slowly, as they cleaned up together. By the time the dishes were washed, dried and put away, and the leftovers put in covered dishes in the icebox, it was clear that nothing was going to happen. The relief left them weak, physically, but revived their spirits.

Their feet dragged on the way to their bedrooms. As they walked by their parents room, they heard the bed springs squeaking rhythmically. There were no shouts this time. It seemed unreal, somehow.

They got to the girls' room first, and Nathan stopped.

"Are you really going to go off to Kansas City?" asked Hilda Mae softly.

"I don't know," said Nathan. He hadn't had time to really think about it. Too many other things had distracted him.

"I wish there was something I could do to keep you here," she said, looking glum. "How 'bout a blow job?" she whispered.

Bernadette slapped at her arm and Hilda Mae ducked away, a smile on her face. She looked back at Nathan, who was grinning. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Any time, baby sister," he whispered back.

Bernadette snorted and pushed Hilda Mae into their room. She turned to Nathan, jumped and wrapped her arms around him, kissing him soundly. "I'll give you a blow job any time you want one," she whispered.

Nathan, who had caught her butt in his hands, squeezed. "Maybe I'll do for you what I did for Hildy," he whispered back.

She kissed him again and Hilda Mae's arm snaked out of the room and pulled at her shirt, knocking them both off balance. There was a moan from down the hall, through their parents' bedroom door. Bernadette let go and scrambled into the room, flashing another smile at Nathan. The door closed softly.

Chapter 16

The next morning, their father was already gone when they got up. The car was gone too. Their mother was fixing breakfast. She didn't turn around and look at them when they came in, and her shoulders looked stiff. They sat down, quietly, uncomfortable with their knowledge now that they could see this strange woman they had known all their lives.

"Your father had to go to a meeting up in Atlanta," she said, still not turning to face them.

"Oh," said Nathan. "Mamma ..." he said. She almost turned. "I don't know if I'm going to take that job or not, Mamma."

"You're a grown man," she said. "You'll do what you have to do."

Marian let out a yelp as hot grease burned her hand and grabbed at a towel. She banged the pan onto another burner and then grabbed the handle with the same towel and turned around to serve them, only to see the table empty ... unset. She stood there, holding the pan as her face crumbled.

"I behaved badly last night," she said, misery in her voice. Her shoulders began to shake.

Bernadette got up and took the pan from her. Hilda Mae got up and got plates to put on the table. Nathan went to his mother and took her in his arms. She melted against him, sobbing.

"I'm so sorry you had to hear that last night," she sobbed. "You must think I'm a whore."

Everyone stopped, and the only sound was their mother's broken-hearted crying. Then, as if they had been put on pause, and then activated again, they went on. Bernadette shoveled eggs and bacon onto plates, and Hilda Mae got silverware, then glasses. By the time she had them on the table, Bernadette was there with a bottle of milk, and poured. Nathan just held his mother.

"It's okay, Mamma," he said softly. Her hair smelled like his sister's hair. He shoved that thought away. "Daddy talked to us."

His mother stiffened in his arms, and she looked up, uncomprehending. She couldn't believe that Harvey would have been able to explain the savage needs she felt sometimes, or the way he met them.

"He said we'd understand when we were older," said Nathan. "It's okay, Mamma, really. Don't ever call yourself a whore, Mamma," he pleaded. "You're our Mamma and we love you."

The girls joined the hug, crying also, though they couldn't explain why. Everyone swayed, holding on to everyone else. Finally Marian pushed them back. Bernadette handed her the towel and she wiped her eyes. They sat and ate quietly. Finally, Marian was able to look up.

"Thank you," she said softly, looking back down again immediately.

The incident was never mentioned again, either in the house, or out of it.

They got to school late because they pedaled very slowly. They pedaled slowly because they didn't want to face Curtis Lee. When they got there it was quiet, the older ones bent over their desks, practicing writing longhand, and Flossie working on letters with the younger ones.

"We got a late start," said Nathan, in explanation.

"That's fine. You all write very well already anyway," said Flossie.

Curtis Lee looked up, and met Nathan's eyes, but then he looked back down again. It just so happened that the desk next to Curtis Lee was vacant. Bernadette and Hilda Mae slipped into other seats, so Nathan had to either sit next to the boy, or six seats away ... an obvious snub. When he sat down, he looked over, to find Curtis Lee looking sideways at him.

"What are we s'posed to do?" asked Nathan, trying to be casual.

Curtis Lee showed him the page he was copying from a book onto butcher paper. The paper had been used to wrap meat, and the pencil slipped sometimes. Nathan hadn't seen a real tablet since he came to this town. Other children were writing on the back of scraps of wallpaper, or pieces of newspaper, simply writing on top of what was already there. Somehow, they could see what they did. So could Flossie, who came to stand between them.

"You're penmanship is excellent," said Flossie, looking at Curtis Lee's work. She was used to all the children now, and didn't guard her tongue as well as she had in the beginning. "If you were white you could pass the test to register to vote with penmanship that good." She realized Nathan was sitting right beside her, but it was too late. He didn't say anything ... didn't react at all, in fact, and she was surprised.

"You want me to copy too?" the boy asked her.

"No, we're almost done. As I said, your penmanship is impeccable."

She went back to wrap up with the little ones.

Nathan looked around and then said softly under his breath: "Thanks for not telling."

Curtis Lee looked uncomfortable. "What white folks do is none of my business," he said.

It was as if a wall had been built instantly, and Nathan, for the first time in his life, felt what it was like to be shut out by another person his age. He didn't like that feeling. Even worse, he didn't know what to do about it.

"Well thanks anyway," he finally whispered. "I mean that."

"Curtis Lee?" called out Flossie.

"The rope on that tire swing out in the yard has been broken for two weeks now. I got Mr. Hawthorn to give me an old one. Would you and Nathan get that swing fixed so we can have a proper recess?" She went to a cubby hole and retrieved a coil of rope, holding it out.

Both boys stood up, looking uncertain. Johnnie Sue stood up. "I'll do it Miss Flossie," she said animatedly.

"Let the bigger boys do the climbing this time, Johnnie Sue," said Flossie, smiling.

Nathan reached for the rope, and they went outside. It was an easy climb, and Curtis Lee started up gracefully. Nathan found the tire leaning against the tree, and untied the old knot, having to work at it for a while because it was tight. When he got done he looked up to see Curtis Lee staring down at him.

The only thing he could think of to say came to his lips again.

"Thanks. I mean it."

"I don't have a sister," said Curtis Lee.

"It's complicated," said Nathan, helplessly.

"Didn't look complicated," said Curtis Lee, softly. He had been dreading seeing them this morning too. He had expected Nathan to threaten him, not thank him. Now he was curious.

Nathan had expectations of Curtis Lee that hadn't been met too. He had expected Curtis Lee to blab it to everyone. That's what he'd have done ... back in Atlanta ... he realized. But he wasn't back in Atlanta. This was a whole new world he was in.

"We got curious," he said tentatively. "You know, because of health class."

"I'm not sure," said Curtis Lee carefully, "but I 'spect you wasn't s'posed to get that curious."

"I know," sighed Nathan, throwing the loose end of the rope up. Curtis Lee caught it and made a quick knot around the tree limb. He left the broken rope right where it was, since it wouldn't get in the way. "I'm tellin' you, Curtis Lee, that sex is powerful ... stuff."

"I could see that," said Curtis Lee. "Can I ask ... what was it like?" He stayed in the tree, just in case Nathan took offense to asking what oral sex with a white girl was like.

Nathan didn't think about it that way. Had it been his girlfriend Curtis Lee had seen, he might have. He would have demanded their privacy. But being caught with his sisters was something completely different, and he thought about that completely differently.

"I don't know if I can explain it," he said. "I mean, to say it was fun isn't right, because ... I don't know ... I didn't do it for fun. I feel something for them ... something powerful ... and it sort of makes me want to do things I know I shouldn't."

"You think you're in love with your sisters?" Curtis Lee said, incredulous.

"No, it's not that," insisted Nathan. "I mean I do love them, but it's not like I want to marry them, or have sex with them or anything like that." He looked confused. "At least I don't think I do."

"Iff'n I were you, I think I'd shy clear of that ... if you haven't already ..." Curtis Lee stopped talking.

"No, we haven't done that," said Nathan, urgency in his voice, and a clear desire for the other boy to understand the truth of his denial.

"Well, like I said, what white folks do is none of my business," said Curtis Lee, getting back on familiar ground. He hadn't talked to a white boy this frankly ... ever. "But I think I'd try not to do that."

"Don't you think about having sex?" asked Nathan.

"Sure ... all the time," admitted Curtis Lee, feeling uncomfortable again.

"So what do you do?" asked Nathan, honestly curious.

"Same thing you do," said Curtis Lee. Then his face wrinkled up. "I mean ... you know ... like I said, I don't have a sister ... I masturbate."

"That's all I used to do," said Nathan, feeling uncharacteristically honest. "But then they wanted to see me do it ... and things kind of got carried away."

"I guess they did," agreed the other boy.

"So ... how come you didn't tell?" asked Nathan, still curious.

"Like I said ... not my business."

"You could have blackmailed us," said Nathan.

"A nigger boy, blackmailing a white boy and two white girls?" asked Curtis Lee, incredulous. "I'm not looking to get hanged."

"Oh," said Nathan, uncomfortable, for some reason with Curtis Lee's self characterization and the image the rest of his comment provoked. "You're not a nigger, you know," he finally added, almost shyly.

"Thank you," said Curtis Lee, climbing down. "But there's folks in this town that would disagree with you." He held out his hand and grabbed the rope. "And those people got nice new rope."

"I know," said Nathan.

"What do I do if they try to talk to me too?" asked Curtis Lee suddenly.

"Who?" asked Nathan, thinking of the men with the nice new ropes.

"Your sisters," said Curtis Lee.

"I don't know," said Nathan. "Talk to them, I guess."

"You wouldn't get mad if I talked to them?" asked the other boy.

"You talk to them all the time," said Nathan.

"Not after what I saw," he said.

"Yeah, I guess that's true."

"They're all embarrassed now, and probably hate me." said Curtis Lee. "I don't want to get in trouble just for seeing them ... you know?"

"That isn't going to happen," said Nathan firmly. "We weren't supposed to be there, and we weren't supposed to be doing ... what we were doing." He looked at Curtis Lee. "In fact, they haven't said one word about that."

"I was sure they'd come for me," sighed Curtis Lee. "Seeing a white girl naked is a killing thing."

"Not this time," said Nathan. "You didn't tell, and we owe you for that. Besides, if they complained about you seeing them, people would find out I did too."

"They might whip you," said Curtis Lee. "They'd hang me."

Just then the children started coming out of the school house, and the boys had to lift up the tire and tie the new rope on. Soon the bigger children were pushing the smaller ones through the air. Nathan was standing off to one side, watching, when his sisters came up to him, questions in their eyes.

"Did he say anything?" asked Hilda Mae anxiously.

"He said that if anyone finds out he saw you two naked, he'll probably swing from a rope for it," said Nathan.

Both girls looked horrified.

"But that's not right!" said Bernadette, her voice hushed.

"That's what he thinks."

"But he didn't even do anything!" said Hilda Mae.

"I know that," said Nathan. "But you know what Daddy would do if he found out any colored man saw you naked."

"But he didn't do anything!" said Bernadette, repeating what her sister had said.

"He was colored, and he was there and he saw you naked. That's all Daddy would care about," said Nathan. "Curtis Lee knows that too, and he's scared."

"I'll talk to him," said Bernadette.

"That's one of the things he's worried about," said Nathan.

Bernadette looked confused. "Why would he be worried about me talking to him?"

"Because he saw you naked, and you know he saw you naked. I guess most white girls would have already screamed their heads off about that by now."

"Well then what am I supposed to do?" she asked, frustrated.

"I don't have the foggiest idea, Bernie," admitted her brother.

Because she couldn't think of anything to do, Bernadette did what came naturally when someone is trying to appear non-threatening. Whenever she caught Curtis Lee's eye, she smiled. It was, at least to some extent, a forced smile. It was intentional, that is, rather than natural. But Curtis Lee couldn't tell that. All he saw was a white girl, who he had seen naked, smiling at him. It was very confusing to him, because he couldn't tell if that was a feral smile, as in "I have you now, my pretty, and your little dog too!", or a real smile, as in "You saw me naked, and that just doesn't make me all that unhappy." He didn't know what to think.

The next thing that happened that would have far-reaching consequences was when Nathan went for a bike ride one night after supper. He had gotten into the habit of going out for three reasons. First, he was bored. He no longer enjoyed watching TV, with his father making a running, and usually negative commentary on what was showing. Second, it got him away from his sisters. The three teens had all agreed to slow things down, after being seen by Curtis Lee. They were afraid to go back to the fire barn, and didn't have any place else to go. As such, Nathan hadn't had a chance yet to taste Bernadette, but he was nervous about that. He'd been having dreams lately, about his sisters, and in one of them he'd stuck way more in their pussies than just his tongue. Being away from them made it a little easier to deal with things. He could duck into the woods and masturbate, for instance, and there was no chance his sisters would catch him at it, strip naked and cause him, as he saw it, to lose control.

The third reason was that he just enjoyed moving around. He saw things through different eyes these days, and actually looked at things now .. buildings ... people ... even vehicles. He'd polished up the old fire engine while he'd been living in the fire barn, and it now sparkled. Seeing it spruced up let him look at other things in town and imagine what they might look like spruced up too. While he didn't know it, part of liking to be out on his own had to do with his building desire to be free of parental restraint. Going out each night had begun to bring about a situation where, his being gone didn't seem odd any more. In the beginning, he was questioned quite closely, by both his mother and father, about where he was going and what he was doing. Now, they barely looked away from the TV when he left the house.

On this night, he happened to be pedaling at an end of town he'd never been in before. Here the houses were smaller and scattered, with large gardens between them, and huge old oak trees that leaned over the houses like protecting hands. At the very edge of town was one that was bigger, but looked different. The architecture was more along the lines of a barn or outbuilding, rather than a house. Clearly, though, someone lived there, because there were flowers planted along both sides of the front door. There was no garden, and no car or truck. There was also no dog, something he was aware of on an unconscious level. As he stood there looking at the place, the door opened and a woman came out. She was dressed in baggy clothes that were way too big for her, and her head was wrapped in a towel or rag of some kind. She was a Negro, but her hands had large areas of white on them, as if her skin were different colored there. About the time he realized it was paint on her hands, she looked over at him.

"Nathan!" she said, plainly surprised.

"Miss Flossie?" He gaped.

"What on Earth are you doing here?" she asked.

"I was just out for a ride. What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I live here!" she said, as if he should know that.

He did, in fact, know all about what his father had done that summer, evicting Flossie from the house she was living in. He knew where that one was, but had not known where she had moved to. He moved closer.

"What happened to your hands?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm trying to spruce the place up a bit," she said. "I'm not much of a painter, as it turns out. I seem to get as much on me as I do on the wall. It smells too! I have to come out here every once in a while just to keep from getting dizzy."

She had given up the idea of wall paper, and was now trying to paint. The oil based liquid was messy, and she didn't have a gas can, or anything else to put gasoline in to wash the paint off her hands once it was there.

"I could help you."

It was out of his mouth before he realized it. Back in Atlanta, men had been hired to come in and paint, and Nathan, only twelve at the time, had been fascinated. The men, rather than rebuffing his interest, gave him a brush and a spot on one wall, and let him loose. Annie had been horrified when she found him, splattered with paint. With the help of the men, and the solvent they had with them, she got him cleaned up before his parents saw him, and forbade him to get near the paint again. He had been unhappy about it then, and had always remembered his painting adventure with fondness.

"Oh, I couldn't ask you to do that," said Flossie,

"It wouldn't be any trouble. I've done some painting before," he said. "Besides, I get bored with nothing to do. That's why I'm out riding around."

"Your father wouldn't hear of it," said Flossie, trying to wipe the paint off her hands with a rag. It didn't work.

"I sure won't tell him." Nathan grinned.

"Well, it wouldn't be proper for me to take advantage of a student," she said. "If you insist on helping me, then I must insist on paying you."

Nathan thought for a moment. He wasn't really interested in the money. By helping her he could, in some small way, mitigate what his father had done to her. It was a measure of how much he had changed that he didn't think it was odd that he wanted to help a Negro.

"Okay, he said. My price is high, though. It'll cost you two dollars."

"That's ridiculous," she said, aware that it was ridiculously low.

"Well, that's too bad," he said, trying to sound gruff. "That's my price, and it's not for arguing."

"Negotiable," said Flossie. "It's not negotiable."

"Exactly!" said Nathan, filing the word away for possible future use.

"I'm not so sure about this," said Flossie, feeling like there was danger in this somehow.

"Oh, come on," he said. "You could use the help, and I need something to do."

"Well, I suppose we could try it for a bit, and see how things turn out," she said. "Let me just get my lungs working again and I'll show you what I'm trying to accomplish."

Nathan surveyed the house more closely. It was even more rude and simple than the homes of all the farmers he'd met during the summer. He looked at it with dismay. For a college educated woman to have to live in something that looked like that just didn't set right with him. He wasn't aware of that on a conscious level, but it affected him emotionally.

He looked at Flossie too. She looked like a child in grown up clothes.

"Where in the world did you get those clothes?" he asked, grinning.

She looked down and blushed.

"These are my pappa's clothes. When he died, Mamma just left them where they were. I think it broke her heart that he'd left her and she didn't have the strength to do anything much at all after that. She just wasted away herself after that, until she followed him."

"I didn't know your folks were passed on," said Nathan, wiping the smile off his face. "Sorry."

She waved a hand. "It happens. Death is just the last part of life. It happens to us all, sooner or later."

"I can't imagine my mamma dying," he said, a sad look on his face.

Flossie noticed he didn't mention his father, but didn't say anything about it.

"You sure you helping me won't cause trouble at home?" she asked, leading him into the house.

"They don't know," he said simply. "I told them I was going for a ride. I did too. I rode over here." He grinned.

"Well, if you paint like me, they'll know it the minute you get home," said Flossie, looking morosely at her paint spattered clothes and hands.

"The men who taught me how to paint kept telling me that a good painter gets the paint on the wall, and not on himself," said Nathan sagely. He didn't mention he hadn't been such a good painter back then.

"Well, then, you'll just have to teach me how to be a good painter," she laughed. "If I keep this up, people are going to stare at me. They'll be afraid the black is wearing off or something," she joked. "It would scare them to death that I might be turning white."

"Now wouldn't that be something," Nathan said, trying to joke back.

She led him in and he looked around. The place was in awful shape. He couldn't believe anybody actually lived in it. Boards had been nailed up like clapboard on the inside walls. They had shrunk, somewhat, leaving cracks between them. Since the boards on the outside went vertically, the theory must have been that together, they would block out the wind. Even the light breeze outside, though, found places where cracks lined up. There was an up and down almost whispering sound as the wind found its way inside in little puffs.

The interior was broken into three basic rooms, not counting the bathroom in one corner of the living space. The living space had the kitchen on one side, with a massive wood stove along one wall. A ragtag collection of furniture spaced around a huge old scarred wooden table tried to fill the other side.

"There isn't any floor!" Nathan blurted, looking at the hard-packed dirt under everything.

"Nope," said Flossie, trying to sound cheerful. "Pappa wanted to put boards down, but never could afford to get what goes underneath them, and the boards at the same time, so it just never got done. We got used to it I suppose."

"You grew up here?" he asked, incredulous.

"That's my room right over there," she said, pointing at one of the two other rooms. "The other one was for Mamma and Pappa. I just use it for storage now, not that I have much to store." She looked around helplessly. "I was hoping that paint might brighten the place up a bit."

Nathan was devastated. Nobody should have to live like this. It was still a barn, even though people had lived in it for years and years.

"Wouldn't it just be easier to sell this and buy a proper house?" he asked.

"There has to be something to buy first," she said. "And then you have to be able to afford to buy it. If you can't pay cash, then you have to get a loan, and in this town ..." She didn't finish, embarrassed.

"My father won't give you one." Nathan finished it for her.

"Not just me," she said, trying to make it seem less personal.

"Negroes," he said heavily. "Negroes can't get a loan to buy a house."

"If you farm, it's different," she said, still trying to mitigate the disgust she saw on his face. "Then there's collateral. But if a Negro owns a house, all that will ever buy it after that is another Negro, and not many have the means to do that."

"There's white people living where you used to live," said Nathan, his voice almost accusatory.

"Well, that young couple was living with her parents. I 'spect they were more interested in having their own place than worrying about what I might have left behind. Besides, they were my students in their last year of school. Since it had been aired it out for several months, and since they knew me, I imagine that had something to do with it." She said it so matter-of-factly that it just sounded like a normal, everyday situation.

It was. That was the problem.

"I'm really sorry about this," said Nathan, meaning it from the bottom of his heart.

"It's not your fault," she said. "It's just the way things are. And things are changing ... slowly ... but they're changing. Just look at you. Last year you were calling me a nigger and a liar, and now you've offered to help me paint! If that's not change, I don't know what is!"

As they began to paint, the conversation went on, sometimes about serious things, like how people got to be as hateful as they were, and sometimes about inconsequential things like why someone would think a paint needed to be called eggshell white, when white was what color it was. The next time either of them checked their watch, two hours had passed.

"You'd better get going!" gasped Flossie. "Your parents will wonder where you've gotten off to."

She checked him over carefully before he left, taking a butcher knife and scraping off small spatters of paint that had gotten on his hands. They had done more talking than painting, and hadn't gotten that much done, but what WAS done was covered well, and very little paint had gotten on either of them.

He lucked out. When he leaned his bike against the front wall, and eased in through the door, only Bernadette was still in the living room. She was dressed in her nightgown, and had a book held limply in her lap, sleeping.

He woke her up and she stretched, telling him their parents had gone to bed shortly after he'd left, deciding that what was on TV wasn't that interesting. Hilda Mae and Bernadette stayed up a little while, hoping he would come back so they could play some more, but Hilda Mae had finally gone to bed herself. She looked at her watch.

"Where have you been?" she whispered.

"I'll tell you in the bedroom," he whispered back, looking at his parents' door.

They went to his bedroom, which was farther away from their parents' room, and so they could talk softly without waking Hilda Mae up.

"You smell funny," said Bernadette, sitting on the edge of his bed.

"I was helping Miss Flossie paint her house," he whispered.

"You're kidding!" Bernadette's eyes widened.

"No, really!" he said. "I was out riding around and saw her outside and stopped to talk and just decided to stay and help."

"You smell like paint, then," said Bernadette, stepping closer to him. "You better do something about that or they'll smell it in the morning." She stepped closer still, and started unbuttoning his shirt. "I'll take your clothes and put them outside."

He stood and let her take his shirt off. Just her fingers on drifting across his chest made his prick stiffen.

"I miss you," she said coyly, pushing the shirt off his chest.

Just like that, a woman conquered a man. It's been going on for millions of years.

"Are they asleep?" he asked, looking at the door.

"We'll have to be quiet," she said, her eyes sparkling.

Bernadette made little cooing sounds as she got to his pants, and smoothed her hand over the bulge there. He leaned down, one hand on her shoulder, to help her get his pants off his feet. Instead of taking his clothes outside, though, she knelt in front of him and grasped him gently. He watched in awe as she took him in her mouth, playing with his penis like it was some kind of candy, kissing and sucking and licking the head. He kept watching as she began sucking, glancing up at him, her eyes telling him she liked this. He put his hands on her head and said her name softly, to warn her, but she kept her mouth firmly on his prick as it bucked and spurted, swallowing twice, then taking her mouth off of him and swallowing again. She milked his softening rod, sucking at the tip to get what little was left, and licked her lips.

"I'm horny," she said softly.

She got on his bed, which squeaked softly, and pulled up her nightgown to display her sex. She spread her legs and pulled her heels up beside her buttocks.

"You have to be quiet," he warned her.

She nodded vigorously, looking eager.

He approached her carefully, getting to his knees on the floor and crawling to the edge of the bed. He couldn't quite reach her, and the only way they could arrange it was for her to scoot closer to the edge of the bed. Then there was no place to put her heels, so she just lay her calves on his shoulders, keeping her knees spread. He leaned in. She smelled slightly different than Hilda Mae had. His first taste told him she tasted slightly different too, in a way he couldn't describe. She was tart, like Hilda Mae ... tangy too ... but still slightly different. She gasped as his tongue laved her vulva, licking from the bottom of her slit to the top. He looked up in warning and she put a hand over her mouth. The other hand was gripping the covers. He stiffened his tongue to split her sex, trying to find her button with the tip as it got to the tip of her cunny. He found it, but couldn't get the lips to spread apart enough to get his lips around it, like he had done to Hilda Mae. Her legs were in the way of his hands, and he fumbled with his fingers, trying to use them to spread her open. More by feel than anything else, he finally got what he wanted, and sealed his lips around her clitty.

Her back arched, and her legs went rigid. The hand gripping the covers came to his hair and pulled painfully. His hearing dimmed as her thighs closed on his head and her pussy pushed up at his face. He flicked her bud with the tip of his tongue, pushing it this way and that, and she shuddered all over. Her hand left his hair to slap on top of her other hand, both hands pressing tightly to her mouth. Her legs flopped back open and he could hear her breath rasping through her nostrils. Her bucking moved her bud away from his lips and he pushed his face against her to get at it again. She started making whining noises through her nose, along with explosive snorting sounds and he got worried enough to stop and lift his head. Her head came up, mouth still tightly covered with her hands, eyes wide.

"Get the pillow," he whispered.

Bernadette's head arched as she looked for it, and an arm shot out to grab it and pull it to her face.

Within twenty seconds of getting her clit back in his mouth, Nathan knew she was there. He heard ragged, soft groaning sounds penetrating the pillow, but they weren't so loud that he had to stop again. He kept licking and sucking as she flopped under him, until one hand pushed at his head and he leaned back finally, her legs now limp on his shoulders. One slid off to fall with a soft thump against the edge of the bed.

He stood up, his joints creaking and her other leg fell limply too, to hang. Her thrashing had uncovered one breast, which was heaving as she drew breath through the pillow. The nipple looked delicious, somehow, and he bent over to try sucking on that gently too.

The pillow flew off her face and she lifted her head. She was gasping, and he stopped sucking the nipple to look anxiously at the door.

Nothing happened, and he stood silently, just looking at her as she caught her breath. Finally she held up a hand to him and he pulled her up. She stood shakily and clasped him, reaching to kiss him, despite his wet face.

When she was done she licked her lips and her face scrunched up.

"That's what I taste like?" she whispered, still panting gently.

"I guess so," he said. "I know you taste good. I love your taste."

"That last thing you did," she said softly. "I think that's what Mamma was talking about. That felt really wonderful."

"I don't think we'd better do this here any more," he said, looking at the door again.

"Me neither," she agreed. "But I'm sure glad we did it tonight."

They waited a few more minutes, composing themselves. Nathan got some shorts on, just in case. When they felt secure, she kissed him once more and then slipped out and back to her own room.

Nathan picked up his clothes and sniffed at them. They did smell like paint. He dropped them out his window and went to bed.

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