Butterface

by Press, Callie

  “No! Stop it,” she rasped again.

  “Well, ah guess you know all about how Butterface is a-comin t’get yer fella,” he said. “If it don’t bother yuh none, guess ah won’t offer mah services after all.” He smiled at her—a knowing, arrogant smile that implied he had more to say.

  “What...” she started, then took a drink of her water when her voice proved unusable. She knew, from her mother, that Old Pap had a connection with Butterface, but nobody knew just what it was. Most people figured it wasn’t much, and he had always denied having any influence or control—this was the first she had ever heard to even suggest it could be altered. “What can you do ‘bout it?” she said.

  “A bit, ah reckon. I could make her leave him be. If’n I was so inclined, that is.” He saw the cynical look on her face and continued. “Didn’t your Mama tell you the whole story?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t believe it.” She shook her head and took another drink. “Not that you can stop her. I know you started it all, and we cain’t tell the boys you done it.”

  “I can get her off him,” he said, “Same as I got her on ‘im.”

  “Well do it then!” she said vehemently, her throat hoarsening back up as she did. It hurt. Tommy Joe sure had been some kind of stiff. And finely big-sized, she thought, not for the first time.

  “Not less’n I get somethin’ from you,” he said. “Truth is, I don’t much like them boys. They’s always spunkin up my fishin’ hole, and goin fer dunks out there and scarin the fish. Don’t rightly bother me none if she gits ‘em all.”

  “You gonna just let her ruin em all?” she cried.

  He uttered a cruel bark of a laugh. “Oh, naw, she won’t roon all three of ‘em. Usually she kills least one of ‘em.” He moved close enough for his sour breath to fill her nostrils when he continued. “Less I put a word in ‘er ear…”

  “Is that true? She kills em? You can stop her?” she said quietly. “Mama never said…”

  “Your Mama may not’a said it, but she shore let you thank it, didn’t she?”

  What he said was true. All the rumors she had been told over the years implied that Old Pap had a special rapport with her, and that the ones Butterface left insane were the lucky ones.

  “I might could help,” he said. He reached up toward her again, cupping first one of her firm young breasts, then the other. She shuddered a bit at his touch, but made herself ignore his hands until she had heard him out—it was his sin, not hers. “Reckon it depends which’n she gets to first. You’d best hope it’s yer feller. If’n he’s next, I reckon he might jist be roont, stead-a kilt. Oh them’s nice,” he said, squeezing both breasts not quite to the point of hurting her. His big hands felt good even though he repulsed her, but she wished it was Tommy Joe squeezing them. It was just one of the trials of obeying the Lord, and she would be rewarded one day. She knew her flesh was trying to tempt her.

  “Please stop it,” she whispered. “I ain’t never let Tommy Joe do me and I ain’t-a gonna let you do me. I’m a Christian.”

  He leaned forward, still clutching her breasts, and whispered in her ear, “I know it darlin’, but we can make us a deal.”

  She didn’t face him; he was too close and his breath stank. But she looked at him from the corner of her eye and whispered, “What kinda deal?”

  “I’ll give a word to ‘er to lay offa Tommy Joe, if’n ya come on in back with me for, oh, half hour, and jist let me see ya and touch ya some. Nobody’s ever gonna know.”

  “God’ll know,” she said, just like she always said to Tommy Joe. “And them friends of yours outside,” she rasped.

  “Them boys won’t say nothin, and God won’t neither,” he said. Something about his words broke the spell he seemed to have put on her.

  “Don’t blaspheme!” she said angrily, stepping away, leaving him clutching air instead of her round tits. “I ain’t a-givin in to your lusts, Old Pap. Now if you don’t wanna help me with my shoppin, I’ll just say good day to you.” Her throat was on fire after that outburst, but she held her head high and proud.

  He chuckled, still ogling her body, but he nodded and winked at her obscenely. “Ok then. Course next time ah make y’an offer, I’ll be drivin’ a harder bargain, you jist member that.” He leaned in and purred lecherously, “Real hard.”

  Janie stood still long after he stalked out of the front door, trying to make sense of what had just happened. She was so lost in thought that she jumped when old Junior Johnson finally came out of the back and took the shopping list from her hand.

  She wasn’t really scared of Old Pap, but she was thinking now. Maybe she could find some way to manipulate the horny old bastard. Maybe she could cut a different deal and end this Butterface sinfulness once and for all. Maybe she could save, not just Tommy Joe, but every boy from here on out.

  What was scary was what it was liable to cost her.

  Chapter 5

  JimBob tossed and turned all the rest of that night. The old ratty sofa was soft but itchy, partly from the coarse old plaid fabric and partly from the bugs that lived inside it. The huntin’ cabin was poorly insulated, and the window right above the sofa had been broken years ago when Bobby Joe threw a rock through it, so it stank from mildew. The home place was nothing to brag about, but it was a sight better than this—although at least the huntin’ cabin was cool at night.

  He did finally doze off and was soon awakened by the familiar sound of his sister’s voice. “JimBob?” he heard her whisper. “JimBob, you in here?”

  “G’won home Susie!” he said loudly. “Git! I ain’t-a gonna make no retard baby with ya and ah damn well mean it!”

  Susie never listened to him, so he was amazed when she didn’t argue, and didn’t barge in, and didn’t just try to mount his pecker regardless of what he told her. But that’s what happened, and soon enough he had dozed off again.

  Then after another while—he had no idea how long, but he felt like he had started to dream—he was awakened by the sound of the cabin door opening, and then another voice calling his name, one he recognized but couldn’t place.

  “JimBob? JimBob Brown? Is that you, sweetie?”

  In the dim moonlight coming through the door he saw her outline, and at first he thought she was naked—a sexy hourglass shape that he quickly realized wasn’t naked, but close to it, wearing a diaphanous nightgown that barely reached past her hips. The light shone through it like it wasn’t even there. A little moonlight reflected off of her short, silver hair and he realized it was JimBob’s maw, Mrs. McRae, even though he could see nothing of her features; they were entirely cast in shadow.

  “Mrs. McRae?” he said groggily. “What’n tarnation are you doin out here?”

  “I come lookin for you,” she said. She stepped into the cabin a little closer to him. He couldn’t take his sleepy eyes off of her silhouette. She was outlined in the doorframe perfectly, and his half-slumbering penis started to awaken one step ahead of his half-slumbering mind.

  “Why?” he said. “Y’all should jist leave me be, you’re gonna have trouble for yourself if you don’t.”

  “JimBob, are you threatenin me?” she said. She didn’t say it angrily; she said it as if it hurt her feelings. Like she was disappointed with him.

  “Aw, no, Mrs. McRae,” he said. He sat up. “I didn’t mean it that way. Ah jist don’t want old Butterface a-making problems for nobody else. Leave me be,” he implored, his cock standing at attention and painfully forcing his jeans to bulge out even as he spoke. “Please jist leave me be!”

  No JimBob

  “No, JimBob,” she said, sitting on the sofa even though she had never moved from the door, her fine round ass where his head had lain, and yet still a featureless, hyperfeminine silhouette to his tired eyes. “We’re all alone now, not like it was earlier. Come on and gimme a kiss, let me take care of this for you.” Her hand slithered out toward his crotch and squeezed the sides of his long shaft through the mat
erial. “Oh you’re ready ain’t you?” Her voice turned a little deeper, gravelly, and still nothing registered as out of the ordinary to his simple brain. “Such a big boy.”

  Biiiiiig so fucking big you’ll feel soooo big inside my perfect magic little hole

  “Let me make you a man now.”

  The sensations her fingers created on his long dick made him shudder. “Oh mah Lord, Mrs. McRae, stop it please, what about Bobby Joe?”

  I’m gonna make you come so good forever

  “Too late”

  (TOO LATE)

  “for him,” she said. “Now take that big willie out and put it in me like you was a-gonna do earlier,” she said.

  Fuck me

  put that big hard pecker into (me)

  Bobby Joe’s sexy mommy

  give her (me)

  your first perfect, fertile load

  “Oh Lord!” he cried out, feeling his testicles tighten again. “Please stop all that dirty talkin, jist leave me be!”

  She grabbed the belt loops on his waist and slid the jeans off his lanky, non-existent hips, taking his underwear down right with them.

  “Please! Mrs. McRae! I cain’t take it!”

  His erection sprang up and slapped his belly button, and as she moved closer, hunching over him,

  All of this cock is mine forev—

  he ejaculated. Prematurely.

  Again.

  It shot like a firehose, right up into her silhouetted face, spurt after spurt, as if he had never fired a load before, and certainly not as if he had gotten off twice that day already. It was a prodigious amount that seemed to go on absurdly long, shooting into her obscured front side with one long pearly rope after another, over and over.

  what in the FUCK

  “Oh mah Lord, I’m sorry Mrs. McRae, I thank I got some napkins from Mac–Donald’s in the cupboard over where the sink used to be, oh Lord.”

  She hissed and curled up, into the shadows, as he stood up to check the cupboard. When he turned back to her, holding the lone, ancient McDonald’s napkin he had promised, he was alone.

  “What’n tarnation’s a-goin on here tonight?” he asked himself quietly, but he suspected he was just too dumb to ever figure it out.

  He decided that he’d explain it all to Tommy Joe tomorrow; maybe he would know. Probably not, but it couldn’t hurt to ask. He got almost comfortable on the sofa again, and then slept the innocent, flatline sleep of every man with fully exhausted testicles.

  ~~~

  Tommy Joe was at his part-time job the next day, wrenching on an ancient Ford truck, when Mr. Cooper told him Janie was there to see him. She never came to his work—she hated the little garage. She hated being in town at all, but especially Mr. Cooper’s dirty little shop. So he grabbed a rag and wiped his hands as he went out back to see what she wanted.

  Janie was standing by the oil drums holding a bottle of water. She was in cowboy boots almost to her knees and a short little sundress, which was almost see-through, that made him hard instantly. He could clearly make out her black bra and panties underneath the orange and yellow flowers on the gauzy white fabric. She gave him a genuine but sheepish smile when she saw him.

  He gave her a hug and a peck and she said, “Hi baby,” with a raspy voice.

  “You getting a bug or somethin, hon?” he asked. “You sound sick.”

  “Naw, still tore up from your big old pecker,” she whispered with a big smile. “I’ll be fine in a day or two.”

  “Aw hell, I’m sorry,” he said. “I never meant to…”

  “I know baby,” she interrupted. “Don’t worry none. I liked it, mostly.” She hugged him again.

  “So what’s goin on?” he asked, still holding her, loving the feel of her body through the thin cloth and wishing they had fewer prying eyes on them so he could do a little squeezing. “You never come see me at work, you hate this place.”

  “I don’t neither!” she said. She took a drink to soothe her throat. “I hate you havin to work is all. I love it that you’re handy, you’re my little grease monkey.” And she smiled at him hugely again.

  “Well I’m glad to hear that,” he said.

  It was the truth. He’d rather work on cars than run a farm, and he was hoping to convince her that he should work full-time at the garage when they got married rather than staying on with his parents. His father already considered a little acreage as Tommy Joe’s, but he didn’t want to farm for a living. He certainly didn’t want to wait on a sizable income until his parents passed away and the farm became his. Cooper’s Garage didn’t pay much, but he didn’t make much from his farm earnings, either—his father had taught him the value of a dollar by treating him as he did any other worker, including the paycheck.

  None of which explained why Janie was here in the middle of the day. So he just enjoyed the long hug and how her soft little body felt up against him, and waited for her to say more.

  “I’m a-runnin errands,” she said when she finally drew back. “I just wanted to see ya, that’s all. I was kinda bitchy that last time.”

  “Naw, shucks, if I’d’a knowed I hurt your throat so bad…”

  “It’s nothing,” she croaked. Then she gave him a coy look and a smile and said, “I just need more practice, that’s all. We’ll work on that, ok? I love you, Tommy Joe Barnett.”

  His enormous smile was clearly genuine. She didn’t expect him to say it back, he rarely did.

  “You g’wan get back to work now.” She playfully swatted his muscular butt. “Meet me in my barn late tomorrow night, ok?”

  Tommy Joe nodded and gave her another hug, then floated back into the garage on a cloud of bliss. She kept the smile on her face until he was clearly inside and the door was shut behind him, then she let it drop.

  He’d better know how much I love him, she thought. I’m probably gonna be goin to hell for him, so I hope he knows it.

  ~~~

  Janie got a few things at the store—the first time she had been in the store more than once in a month since she was twelve—and noticed Old Pap wasn’t there. The shopping was a ruse, so she jokingly commented as she was leaving, “Why, I didn’t think that chair would stay in place without Old Pap’s butt in it. He out somewhere harvestin beans?”

  That brought a laugh from both of the old men who were sitting there, which Dumb Luther quickly joined without understanding why. Nobody had ever seen Old Pap do a lick of work aside from fishin’ , or puttering about in his little garden patch.

  “Not on a Friday, no how! Heh. Heh. Ain’t seen him yet t’day, so he must be, I reckon,” said Randy Wilkins from under his John Deere baseball cap.

  Billie Joe, who was a fixture at the general store, looked up from his Field & Stream to stare at her tits as he spoke. “Nope, he’s to home. Said he was gonna can up his last buncha tomaters fer the season.”

  “Tricks er treats!” Dumb Luther volunteered loudly.

  “I reckon you wouldn’t know any better, than to want tomaters for trick or treatin,” said Randy.

  Dumb Luther barked a hiccoughing-like laugh and nodded his head so vigorously that his own ball cap almost slid off his head. “I likes tomaters!” he said.

  “I reckon Halloween tomaters wouldn’t hurt you none, Luther,” she said sweetly. “Enjoy this heat, y’all,” she said to the other two, and she tried to ignore their ogling, and also not to run, as she headed for Old Pap’s house.

  She just realized she was going to miss her Friday Bible study if this took more than a few minutes, and she expected it would take a terrible lot longer than she wanted it to. In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought, figuring it was too late to make any difference to her soul’s eternal fate.

  ~~~

  “So I guess ya thought on what I was a-sayin?” Old Pap said as he stood over the steaming kettle.

  “I thought on a lot,” she said, standing against the yellow wallpaper of his kitchen, across the table from h
im. She felt safer that way, but she knew it wouldn’t last long—although he was remarkably intent on his canning, even as dolled up as she intentionally was.

  “I must admit I didn’ spect to see you, leastaways not so soon.” He wiped his hands on a surprisingly clean towel. The whole house was surprisingly clean, to Janie; she had expected the inside to resemble Old Pap himself, as well as the outside of the house, both of which were dirty and ramshackle at best. He was apparently a meticulous housekeeper. “So what happened, you decide you like some more experience in yer man, or what?”

  She said an offended, “No,” even as he was cackling at his own poor joke. She ignored him as she went on, her voice still a little hoarse. “I have a counter proposal for ya.”

  “Well well well,” he said. He turned his back to her and opened a cupboard, then poured them both a glass of lemonade. Clean glasses, she noticed, and a clean pitcher. The kitchen was probably a hundred and twenty Fahrenheit, but he sat at the table and pushed one of the glasses toward her casually, behaving as if they were on a breezy porch. “Set a spell and let’s talk bout this counter proposal, then. I’m-a listenin.”

  She sat across from him and took a sip of the lemonade, which burned her raw throat like whiskey going down, but tasted exquisite. “I was thinkin that since you can get her to lay offa Tommy Joe if I…fool around a little with you, that maybe you could…well…”

  He leered at her. “You’re a-blushin, Janie Anderson,” he said. “Why, whatever must you be thankin about?” When she took another drink rather than answer or look at him, he said, “Did you mebbe enjoy my strong hands on you yestadee?”

  She ignored him, even though there was a little truth to that, and even though she could feel her face burning. “I was just wonderin how much you can do about her. If I did more.”

  “I reckon I might could do considerable bout her, if’n I had cause to,” he said. He leaned toward her and said seriously, “You speak plain now, Janie, or I’m-a gonna have to make you git on home. I got tomaters ta can.”