MILLIE GETS EVEN WITH HER CHEATING HUSBAND
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Readers please be advised, the story 'Life in the Redneck Town of Panhandle in 1969' is written using Redneck slang, quotes, incorrect Hillbilly grammar, and terms relevant to the year 1969.
DISCLAIMER: All characters appearing in the series 'Life in the Redneck Town of Panhandle in 1969' are fictitious, as they do not exist. Any resemblance to a real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental, and should not be construed to associate a real person, living or dead.
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The Alaska Airlines jet had just taken off from Seattle en route to Juneau, Alaska where I'd meet up with my cousin Pauly for a week long fishing trip in a remote Alaskan fishing village celebrating my big 5-0 birthday.
The jet was at cruising altitude of 37,000 feet when my mind drifted back to 1969 and the great times Pauly and I shared together our senior year at Panhandle High before we went our separate ways in the fall of 1970. And, now after thirty-two years we'd be reuniting, reliving those olden days from yesteryear while our wives of twenty-seven years, took the kids and grandkids to Disney World for a week of fun in the sun.
The year 1969 may have been a year of crisis and turmoil within the USA with the civil rights movement, the Vietnam War continuing to escalate, the Gay-Lesbian movement kicking into high gear, not to mention the anti-war protests on virtually every college campus across American. But, not even Neil Armstrong walking on the moon fazed the folks in the town of Panhandle. Nothing really mattered to the hometown folks except harvesting the wheat and corn, cutting and baling hay, getting cattle to market, harvesting a whitetail buck for a supply of winter's meat, and last but not least, packing Panhandle High School's Red Panther Stadium like sardines on Friday nights during the football season.
Well, I guess I should rephrase that just a bit, the beginning of the gay rights movement with the Stonewall riots on June 28th did raise an eyebrow or two in the small Southern redneck town of Panhandle located smack dab in the middle of the Bible Belt.
It was the morning after my 18th birthday, July 4, 1969 to be exact, and the riots over gay rights in New York's Greenwich Village had continued for past six nights, launching sexual liberation out of the Dark Ages and into the 20th Century.
My cousin Pauly had stayed over for the night since we'd be taking Carla and Helen to the lake today for Panhandle's all-day Fourth of July celebration.
We were eating breakfast with Mom and Dad when Dad spoke out, "I see those queers are still at it up in New York. Serves those Yankees right, letting those queers get out of hand. I hear tell yesterday down at the feed store both the Adams and Jones boys are a couple of them damn queers."
Mom quickly interrupted Dad, "Ted enough of this talk at the table! Buddy and Pauly don't need to be hearin' about the unchristian like behavior of the Adams and Jones boys!"
Dad replied, "Like hell they don't! Buddy's 18 now and Pauly's 19, both are old enough to understand you keep queers away from your tally whackers. Now Betsy, don't interrupt me again!
"Ol' Chief Martin told us down at the store, 'I caught the Adams boy out at the lake sucking the tally whacker of the new junior high Coach...Mills, I think is his name.'
"Everyone was laughing and pretty much said at the same time, 'What'd you do Chief?'
"Chief Martin just smiled, 'Well fellas, once I shined my light inside the Ford pickup, I immediately recognized the Adams boy with the Coach's dick in his mouth. I knew the Adams boy graduated from PHS last year, so I figured what the hell, he had to be of legal age. I just smiled and told'em, 'You fellas just carry on about your business, don't mind me, no harm done.'
"Old man Pippins was laughing, then spoke up, 'Yeah, I'd hear'd that about the Adams boy too. Seems like he not only likes to suck on tally whackers, but likes to take'em up his poop chute too.'
"Fred told me not long ago, 'I was cleaning out the shower stalls in the locker room when I never hear'd the like in all my days of the gruntin', moanin', and carryin'on coming from inside the training room. I slipped around the corner and peeked inside. I had a front row side seat to sees what was causing all the gall dang commotion. Pip, I weren't three maybe five foot at the furest from all the action and it was really a shocker to sees PHS's head trainer of some twenty-eight-years, Rocco Ploggy, cornholing the hell out of that Adams boy.
'Rocco had him bent over one of the training tables, the kid's pants, and undies were down around his ankles, his hands were clenching the edge of the table so tight it looked as if the poor boy was hanging on for dear life every time Rocco rammed his cornholer in and out of his poop chute.
'Nows like I says Pip, I was just a stone throws away from them as Rocco was cornholing that kid and from the sides I could tell ol' Rocco was packing one bad ass cornholer. Nows, I never got a good looks at his length but damn if Rocco's cornholer weren't lookin' to be big around as a baby's arm.
'Rocco's britches were down to his mid-thighs, his strong hands were gripping the Adams kid hips like a C-clamp, and he was really givin' it to him.
'Rocco's egg sized hairy jewels were swingin' and slappin' around. His ol' gray hairs and hips were smackin' into that kids butt cheeks, and I knows that Adams kid had to be hurtin' the way Rocco was pounding his poop chute like a teenager instead of a 50-year-old fella.
'That kid was moaning to all git out 'OH GAWD...YOU'RE KILLIN' ME TODAY... PLEASE SLOW DOWN MR. PLOGGY' and every time he moaned and begged for mercy, Rocco pounded that big ass cornholer in and out of that kid's young poop chute just a bit harder. I mean ol' Rocco was pounding his cornholer balls deep in and out of the Adams kid's ass like a jackhammer busting up concrete.
'It ain't very long at all before I'm noticing Rocco gruntin' like an ol' Brahma Bull. Rocco was gruntin' louder and louder, and breathin' like his ol' hound dog in heat. His legs and ass tightened up, like a screw in a hinge. Them jewels weren't slappin' around, and he was thrustin' his cornholer faster than a jackrabbit on moonshine. Ol' Rocco was lettin' out them moans 'OHH...OHH...AHHH' and I knows then Rocco's cornholer was spittin' its wad inside that kid's poop chute.
'Rocco's pounding started to slow down and after one last deep 'AHHH' Rocco just stood still for a bit before he started pulling his cornholer out of the Adams kid's ass. And, Pip, when Rocco's cornholer came into plain view, just the sight of it made my butthole pucker up—Lookin' every bit the length of a regular sized Co-Cola bottle and thicker than a sausage roll! But to my surprises, there weren't a drop of do-do on ol'Rocco's pecker. Once Rocco had pulled his cornholer out of the Adams kid's asshole, them there flood gates opened. Cum oozed out of the opening of the kid's asshole like a leak in Elmer's pond dam, onto his balls, and down his thighs before finally dripping to the training room floor.
'Rocco stood still, his pecker still a boner, dripping the last few drops of cum out the tip of that wide mushroom head when Rocco finally spoke, 'Boy, you know the routine, now lick me clean.'
'The Adams kid finally stood up, turned around, dropped to his knees, and started licking Rocco clean. And, before long, Rocco's cornholer was clean as a whistle!
'Rocco pulled up his pants, grinned a bit, and as he was walking back to his office, said, 'Adams same time next week, be sure you're good and clean, and don't be late.'
'Pip, in all my born days—well, it was the God damnest thing I ever sawed!
'Afterwards, I just sort of slipped away, goin' back to mindin' my own business, and cleanin' out them shower stalls.'