When the young and ambitious Continental Congress of the United States signed the Northwestern Treaty in 1787, it opened up the lands west of the Ohio and Allegheny rivers to homesteading. The original thirteen colonies had felt the need to expand beyond the eastern coastal area, into the unexplored western lands. By boat or by land, settlers arrived at a small river town on the banks of the Ohio called Marietta. The tiny outpost would grow through out the next few years to become known as the "Gateway to the Northwest". In 1788, it was a few hastily built log cabins along the river bank, providing shelter for the 48 men of the Ohio Company of Associates. The small village grew as more settlers arrived to outfit for the trip inland and up the Muskingum River into the heart of the rolling hills west of the big river. The white settlers considered the land to be raw and unexplored, but in that fact they were completely mistaken, for when Harman Blennerhausett arrived in 1798 to purchase his island paradise and build his mansion upon its soil, inhabitants had already been there for nine thousand years.
Blennerhausett's Island itself had been used by water going groups of humans as early as 8000 B.C. These people left little to acknowledge their existence, save a few shards of crude pottery and stone tools. The next group to leave their mark was the Adena, who occupied the area around the future site of Marietta from about 800 B.C. to somewhere around 100 A.D. The Adenas are notable in that they built large mounds of earth to house the remains of their dead. For reasons quite unknown in this day, the Adena were replaced by other tribes of Native Americans, notably the Shawnee and the Iroquois. The old story tellers of these tribes would set around the campfires and tell the story of the O'cu'aka or whatever name they gave to the thing that visited the hills of the area. Whatever the name, the translation was always the same, "The Winged Demon That Lays With Our Women".
Constance McCullough found the bawdy river town to be wild beyond belief. The wellborn daughter of a New England businessman, she was used to finer attire and accommodations than she was experiencing in the mostly unsettled western lands. Rivermen tied their barges at the wharf and found their way to the inns and taverns of Marietta and into the arms of the ladies of pleasure that worked in the tiny town. The roaring laughter and sounds of sex could be heard at all hours of the day and night down next to the river. Constance avoided this part of town whenever she could, preferring to stay around the church that her husband, Marcellus had founded only a few months before. Located a short distance up the Muskingum, the church, and farms that lay around it, were a far cry from the rowdy town on the river, where the men and women did that vile thing that men and women did with their clothes off. Constance had little experience with sex, even though she had been married almost a year. She had never seen her husband's nakedness, only felt the hard thing below his waist on a few occasions. The first was on their wedding night, when the pain had been almost unbearable. Good wife that she was, Constance had silently let him finish. Truth be known, the entire act took five minutes. The good preacher was as inexperienced as his good wife and did not know that she was not ready to receive him into her body. Nearly three months passed before Constance once again allowed her husband use of her body to satisfy his lust. The second time was less painful, but no more pleasurable for her. Constance had been hoping for a quick pregnancy, so her husband would stop his amorous use of her.
Constance was a tall woman, lean of leg and heavy of breast. She had wide hips, good for child birthing, her mother had said. The comment, although well meant, sent a chill through Constance's body. She knew well what getting pregnant meant. She had seen her father doing that thing to her mother. They had thought that she was going to a friend's house one day back in her home town. She had returned home early to find the door ajar and went into the dark interior of the comfortable little house. A noise from her parents' room drew her attention. Curious as to the source of the sound, the young girl tiptoed down the short hallway to the opening into her mother and father's bedroom. There she saw her father, Oliver, naked and on top of her mother, who was laying on her back with her big billowing skirts pulled up around her waist. Oliver Wendelcome had his face buried in a pillow as he humped up and down between his wife's open thighs. Mary Wendelcome bit her lip and stared at the ceiling, anxious for her husband to finish. Constance, undetected, watched as her mother held her husbands head down tightly while tears formed in her eyes. Constance backed away from the doorway and staggered outside into the bright sunshine. She found herself gasping for breath and soon burst into tears at the horror of what she had witnessed. Although young at the time, Constance never forgot the look on her mother's face that day, and swore she would only tolerate the act for the purpose of producing offspring.
Constance Wendelcome met the young preacher who would become her husband in the spring of 1791. Marcellus McCullough was a tall man, one of the tallest Constance had ever seen. He rivaled in height the great General Washington, whom Constance had met on a business trip to Virginia with her father some years earlier. Marcellus was a guest of the Reverend Thomas Johannsen of Boston and had spoken at a church meeting about the need for good men and women to fight for souls in the newly opened territories to the west. He spoke with a great passion, and with fiery oratory, won the hearts of his congregation. His fire and passion also stirred the young woman, Constance. Later, at dinner, they had a wonderful conversation in which Marcellus told Constance of his plan to settle in the Ohio River Valley, start and pastor a church and win souls. Constance listened as he described the area around the new settlement of Marietta. His vivid account of the men and the life they led intrigued the young lady for hours. When they parted, Marcellus asked Constance's father for permission to call on his daughter. Oliver Wendelcome was indignant to the point of anger that his only daughter would take up with a wild eyed young man with no real job to support a family, as is normal for a father to do. As is normal for a daughter, Constance chose to see the young preacher on the sly, stealing brief moments with him as often as she could. They hid the encounters from Constance's father and mother.
In the late summer of that same year of 1791, the two lovers eloped, sneaking away in the midday, when Oliver Wendelcome was at work and Mrs. Wendelcome had left to see a friend. The two stopped at the next village to the west and found a preacher who was willing to marry the runaway pair. Pronounced husband and wife, they took a room in a local inn. In the darkness of the room, Constance faced her fear of sex bravely. They kissed briefly and awkwardly. Marcellus waited patiently as Constance changed into her nightgown, actually a thick, heavy robe that concealed her figure completely. Upon seeing his bride in this state of undress, Marcellus was inflamed with passion. He quickly removed his trousers, exposing the bulge in his underwear caused by his rigid tool. Blowing out the lamp at the bedside, he rolled over to take his wife in arms. In seconds, he was on top of her, pulling the robe apart in the front to allow access to her. Her legs parted only slightly at first. Marcellus forced one leg between her thighs, then the second one. His weight forced her to open herself for him. His cock head touched the dryness of her vagina lips and he began to push hard against her. In his inexperience, he did not realize that she was not aroused or lubricated enough to permit comfortable intercourse. Being the good wife that she intended to be, Constance bit down on her lip to stifle a scream. As the hard penis forced its way past her maidenhead, the blood from her bitten lip was similar to the blood that was weeping from her lower opening. The torn hymen served to provide a little lubrication for the penetrating cock of her husband.
