Queen Of The Night 1

Queen of the Night

By Otto Fussby

Becky watched the young men from the pantry window. They were shirtless in the hot sun, wrestling and horse playing. The thin but strong young man who worked in town, she didn't know his name, was especially beautiful. She could see perpetration shining on his tan skin. She was just 19 and he was years older but she still liked to think of him.

She first saw him working at the grocery store. He was unloading crates from the back of a wagon. She was impressed by how little effort he needed, how capable he was, and how handsome.

She closed the door with the toe of her boot to make the pantry darker, and harder to see in, and also in case ma came in.

Her hero picked up Jacob Morton like he was a doll and dropped him in the dust, just as easily. Jacob, the braggart, always tried to impress with words but never with deeds. Unfortunately, he lived closest and consequently was often at their farm.

She sat on a wooden crate, leaned against the shelves and pulled her skirt up out of the way. She compared them as she circled a finger around in her curly blond hair. She tried to picture them without britches; she tried to see their budging thighs and muscular buttocks. What would it feel like to be picked up and handled, pressed against the wall? Hands so strong... Her finger slid along the warm wet split between her legs. She knew boys sometimes licked girls there. She thought of her hero down there. She closed her eyes to see him better. The pantry was so hot, so hot. With her feet now up on the opposite wall she went to work with an ear of dried corn. Faster and faster and faster. But before she could find satisfaction the crate tipped throwing her like a bad tempered mule, she went sprawling out of the pantry and onto the cold kitchen floor, slick ear of corn in her hand. She made so much noise that buster started barking and ma opened the back door. Becky just had time to cover up before ma came in.

Ma looked perplexed seeing Becky on the floor in the center of a pile of potatoes, and assorted items. Her eyes went from floor to pantry, to pantry window, and through to the boys outside. There was an odor floating that Becky hoped ma didn't notice. And though Becky now had the corn deeply hidden, she knew ma knew.

"You clean up that mess right now and then come out back and help me with laundry."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And you bes' hurry up."

"Yes, ma'am."

But Becky didn't want to stand up, less the corn would fall out from under her skirt, then there would be no pretending that she might be innocent. But ma waited expectantly to see get to work.

"Hurry up now."

"Yes, ma."

She stood slowly.

"Is you hurt?"

"Oh, no ma. I'm just as fine as ever." She kept her knees pressed together.

"Well, then?"

She felt the corn slip a bit.

"I'll get it cleaned up in no time."

The corn slipped more.

She turned so that her legs crossed and started to pick things up. She knew she couldn't do this and look natural. When, she heard the backdoor open and close, she looked over her shoulder to see that ma had returned to work. With a sigh of relief, she reached up and pulled out the well-greased corn. She held it up, smiling at her butter sauce dribbling down the side. She had made a mess of it. But just then movement caught her eye. Jacob was looking through the pantry window. He saw her remove the corn!

***

They had guests that evening for dinner, her hero and Jacob and his nasty grin. Of course she was uncomfortable, worse, ma fixed corn (but not the same ear). Jacob made pleasantries about ma's cooking and how much he liked buttered corn. Then Ma, meaning to be modest, said Becky helped. She could feel her cheeks flush. Jacob licked his lips. If Jacob knew exactly how she felt about him right then, he would run screaming.

"Would you care for more corn, Morley?" ma asked.

Morley, her hero was named Morley.

"Yes, ma'am, if I may."

Becky watched him eat the corn. She had been deprived earlier in the pantry, unable to satisfy her craving which lingered even stronger now. What would Morley think if he knew how she felt about him? Would he run screaming? She didn't think so but if he did, she'd run him down and butter his corn cob for him.

She knew he was too old for her but he was exactly what she wanted. But she was invisible to him, even now that he was across the table. Morley's eyes were on her older sister Catherine or more specifically on her big utters. Between the two sisters, Becky considered herself the better looking, overall, but her boobs never developed like her sisters. She wasn't flat-chested. She had her share. She looked okay... just not attention grabbing.

What did Morley see in her sister's twin watermelons? When she was undressed they hung from her and wobbled around knocking things over, they'd probably knock her out if she tried to ride a horse like that. She looked like her sister in all other regards, blond fly-away hair, blue eyes, and freckles but not in the part boys noticed. Becky's were kind of pointy.

She would slide across the table top sending dishes crashing to the floor, and before anyone could react have her top open for Morley to inspect. She'd squeeze them together and ask him if they weren't good enough. She'd grab two handfuls of his hair and pull his face down into them. Taste me.

"Becky and Catherine, clear the table while I fix coffee."

"Yes, ma."

"Yes, ma."

***

Late that evening, the two sisters readied for bed in the attic. Becky watched her sister undress as she did the same in the orange lantern glow. They pulled on their night gowns, brushed hair, prayed, and got into bed. Becky couldn't stop thinking about the day.

Why couldn't it have been Morley at the pantry window? If he wanted, she'd let him watch as she finished up with that bumpy ear of corn. She'd show him how she liked it. She'd make him imagine doing it to her. He'd be on the other side of the glass, pants down to the grass, pulling his sausage hard and fast as he could. He'd leave steamy breath on the window. She'd give him reason, stabbed the great shank of corn in and out of her till she too squirted all over. Watch me. Look at all my parts. Memorize them.

Her sister was already sleeping. She thought at last she could, if she was very discreet. She unbuttoned two buttons, felt her soft fluffy hair. She liked having it out but sad there was no one to look. She wanted some sort of fashion that had a little window for a poof of hair to stick out. She'd let everyone see but only let the best boys pet. She found she was wet again. It didn't take much to make her that way. She needed Morley so bad now.

"What are you doing?" Catherine asked.

"Nothing."

Catherine flung the sheets back exposing Becky's half buried finger. "Oh God, that's not nothing. You know that's a sin?"

"Leave me alone." Becky pulled the sheets back.

"You're not supposed to--"

"If I don't then who will?" Becky started crying.

Catherine pulled her close, "It's alright. Come on," she whispered. She stroked Becky's hair. "Your day will come."

Becky felt the warmth of Catherine's body. Her big boobs pressed against her. She put her hand on her sister's waist, pulled her close. She could feel fabric brush against her hair. She ran her hand down Catherin's back, over her womanly buttocks.

"Becky?"

"Oh, please."

"No, Becky!"

"Just a little. Just a..."

Becky felt a burning inside, heat like high-noon sun on damp grass. "Touch me," she begged, pulling her sister's hand in the wet spot. "Yes, yes, touch, feel me." Her lips were on her sister's neck.

Becky was suddenly thrown to the floor. Her sister had put her feet up on her and kicked her right out.

"I'm your sister!" Catherine reminded her.

Becky pulled herself up off the floor. She was angry, maybe not so much at her sister, angry with the whole world -- including her sister. How could she be made to feel this way and be so deprived?

She pulled on her boots.

"Where are you going?"

Becky climbed down the ladder. Tip-toed across the floor, unlatched the door, and tromped out into the cool night air. Her buttons were still undone, she had her fashion. She went off into the woods, down to the big flat-topped rock that the creak bent around. The water gurgled like whispering voices. She stood there, on the rock, looking deep into the forest. Around her lightning bugs flashed and toads called. Moss and discarded leaves filled the air with earthy smells. She dropped her nightgown and was standing nude in the wilderness, nude save for her boots. She was a queen of the night. She raised her arms high and turned slowly to survey her kingdom and for her kingdom of little critters hiding in the underbrush and in hollows of trees and on branches and peeping from burrows to witness her arrival. Then lay down on the cold rock. She tried again. It wasn't working. She just felt naked, cold, and very small. Even when she had her way, she couldn't have her way.

Looking up through the branches she saw the stars shine, pinhole lights from the vault of heaven.

She put her hands together, "Dear God, please give me relief. Take away this burning or let me find a way to quench it. Sometimes, it's so much more than I can manage. Why did you make me so?"

There was no reply. God never talked to her.

An owl hooted, maybe surprised to see such a curious site.

***

The next day, Becky churned butter in the kitchen. She propped open the door to let the air move through and sat on a chair in shadow of the doorway, straddling the churn. She pumped the shaft up and down through the cream making rhythmic sloshing sounds.

The boys were back to help pa. They all stumbled past, paying no attention to her, a knot of maleness with arms and legs shoving and pushing along.

She wiped her brow and brushed the ringlets of hair off her cheeks, then continued shoving the stick up and down, over and over. A nosy little bumble bee bumbled past in the same general direction as the boys. Her hands were getting cramped so she paused to stretch them and give them a wipe on her calico skirt. The sun beat down mercilessly on the hard ground and the old gray bard beyond. She could feel perspiration trickling down. She flitted the hem of her skirt but the heat still burned on. The cream was still cream. Another bug when skittering through the air passed the open door. She grabbed the stick again, gave it a yank. It was the dullest chore anyone had ever invented.

Presently, Morley trotted by. He was alone. He went into the barn. He was alone in the barn.

Becky went after him. She looked around when she got to the door, no one was near. She went in, closing the door behind.

"Becky," Morley said, half in greeting and half in surprise.

"I want you to know one thing this day, Morley. You will pay attention to me now and always."

He stepped back from her, odd since he was so much taller and stronger.

She hurriedly stripped off her dress, camisole, and drawers. She didn't know how much time they had.

"Do you like what you see, Morley?"

"Becky..."

"What do you think? Is the shape to your liking, sir?"

He was so flustered it was all he could do but swallow. He was now with his back up against rough honed planks. The hanging tools swung as he absently bumped them.

"I got something to give you, Morley, and you're gona like it."

"Becky... I Becky... no."

She dropped to her knees in the loose hay and unfastened Morley's britches.

"You think I don't know how? I'll show you I do." She looked up smiling.

She pulled them down to his knees.

"I've been so hungry for you. You can't imagine how long I've wanted to show you."

She rubbed her cheek across his underpants.

"I want you so badly. Give me your full measure. I want it all."

She stripped him down but saw a troubling sight. He was still flaccid. She crab walked back from him as he quickly pulled himself together.

"You don't like me," she said. Her heart ached, she had exposed herself body and soul to him and he rejected her.

"I... ah... I don't... It's not you. I don't feel like that about girls."

"You like Catherine, don't you."

"No. Not that way."

She looked up at her hero.

"I'd rather spend my time with men."

Becky laughed, now realizing what he meant. The laughter didn't last long as she still was laid bare and rejected all the same.

"I'm sorry, Becky," he said, handing her her cloths.