The Ballad of Emily Jeffers

NOTE: We probably all know somebody a little bit like Emily Jeffers. That girl who wasn't that bright, but had all the goods. And because she wasn't so swift, guys took advantage of her naivety and easily convinced her into back seats, out of her panties, and plowed her like a fertile field — and then passed her on to their buddies. While this story is fiction, I have a certain fondness for Emily Jeffers. This is the first chapter.

*****

I hadn't been back in Johnsons Hollow for maybe 15 years until that night my truck tire picked up some shingle nails and I had to pull off the highway.

Turns out the closest garage was old Walt Dennis's just outside of town. I'd have breezed by the Hollow without a thought normally. The new highway bypassed the town now — and it's not like I grew up there.

It was about 8 p.m. and dark that time of year. The automobile association sent out a wrecker and some young guy winched my old F-150 up on the truck and I climbed in with the kid and we headed to the nearest off ramp and onto the old road into town.

Walt didn't own the service station anymore. It was mostly a convenience store these days but they kept one bay open and sold tires. The kid said it would be some time the next day before anybody could look at the truck. He was going into Owens for a beer if I wanted a drive.

I hadn't heard that name in awhile. They used to serve a mean grilled cheese and the kitchen was open 'til late. So I hitched a ride.

Some things never change, and Owens Bar and Grill was one of them. I knew Andrea, the girl behind the counter. She was older and if anything better looking than when I'd known her. She didn't recognize me right off, and I didn't go up to her or anything. Took a seat at a table and some young girl came and plopped a menu down. They still had the grilled cheese. Fries. The waitress came back a while later, put a coaster down and a beer on top of that. I looked her a question and she jerked her head to towards the back of the place and there sat Jack Misener with a shit-eating grin on his face looking square at me. He raised a hand and gestured me back to his table. I couldn't help but smile. Jack was a trouble maker if there ever was one, but as far as I know he never hurt anyone and would give you the shirt off his back. He'd taken me under his wing that first year in Johnson's Hollow. I owed him a lot because Johnsons Hollow is a strange place sometimes.

We caught up some. Talked old times. Had more drinks. A couple of guys I didn't know wondered over, young guys must have been just little kids when I left. And of course Jack had to bring up the name Emily Jeffers. There were a few snickers from the young guys, like they knew something.

I looked at Jack and he shrugged.

"They don't know Em like we did," Jack said. "All they know is the jokes told nowadays. They see her and think that's what she was always like. Not like she was 25 years ago. Not the finest piece of ass in three counties."

I nodded, but the young guys just rolled their eyes.

"Old Mrs. Jeffers?," one of the guys said. "You must have the wrong whore Jack. The one we know up in that double-wide ain't never been anything but a big breedin' sow."

Jack cuffed the young guy upside the head. Paul I think his name was.

"You don't know nothin' you twerp," Jack said. "Back in the day that old sow up there in that trailer could have done you and all your friends 'til you was wore right out — and turn around and do six Black boys while you was crawlin' home to yer mama."

Jack was right about Em. She'd milk it right out of you, get you back up in seconds, and pump you dry again. Jack Misener and I might have been the only ones who ever treated her with a little bit of respect. And it all started not long after I got the job as a clerk at the Savings and Loan. I was 23 years old, horny, and I had money to burn. And I spent plenty of it for the right to pump my ever-ready cock into her insatiable body.

The three young guys realized there was a story to be told and Jack ordered a pitcher and when it arrived he nodded to me. The young guys looked at me expectantly. I leaned back in my chair, looked at the ceiling, and let out a big gush of breath.

"Okay," I said. "Imagine the most beautiful woman you've ever seen. For Jack and I it might have been Marilyn Munro. Blonde like Emma. Full figure. Not some gym freak like you see these days, but a soft, loose body like in one of those Old Masters paintings they got over in Europe. That was her."

I took a drink and thought back, trying to find a starting point. I could visualize her, hear her moans, smell her like it was yesterday. I could feel what it was like to be inside her and her long velvet tunnel hot and wet gripping me. Milking me until I couldn't do anything but spill it all in that hole. Deep inn the centre of the universe.

Emily Jeffers wasn't maybe the sharpest tool in the shed, as Pastor Brown discovered. She'd flunked Grade 11 but the community college over in Haller City accepted her in the cosmetology course because, really, how difficult was styling hair?

Emily flunked that too. She did her driver's test five times and still hadn't passed.

But she was a nice person, and when Able Jeffers caught sight of her at Owens Bar and Grill one night, he'd quickly realized here was a somewhat clueless 22-year-old with a body built for bed. If she could cook, clean the house, and fuck on demand, well she'd be quite a catch.

Able wasn't so bright himself, but smart enough to sweet talk Emily, seduce her, and in a few short months get her to marry him. She could cook, she could clean house. Her mother was a drunk and her father was a long-haul trucker and gone for weeks at a time. Emily looked after things at home back before she and Abe got hitched. Once shown how to do something, she could manage to muddle through on her own the next time.

And she could fuck like she'd grown up in a whorehouse. With total abandon. Her creamy white body could increase pulse rates and set men to breathing all funny. And that's when she had clothes on.

"The Lord didn't bless her with brains, but He allowed her the body and talent of Mary Magdalene, and the generosity befitting a good Christian," Pastor Brown said once. "Her ministry here in the Hollow will certainly afford her a place in the Kingdom of Heaven."

Or as one recipient of Emily Jeffers' ministrations said, "When you put your dipstick in her, it comes out wet. Real wet."

Able owned a little farm with a few cows, chickens, and a couple pigs. He always planted a big truck garden, and sold vegetables at a couple of local farm markets. It was all mud and stink in the wet weather, and dust and tumbleweeds when it didn't rain for a while. In the winter it was just cold.

Emily helped out. She did as she was bid to do and of course never thought to think there was something different. Passersby might slow down to watch her bent over doing some weeding. She wasn't one to wear very much in the hot weather, and everything she had sort of hung out just right.

"You could see those big pussy lips hangin' out clear from up at the road," Vince Travers reflected one time as he and the guys sat at a back table at Owens Bar and Grill. "She'd wear those loose cutoffs without much left in the way of material and those fuck flaps were plain as day. 'Course I slid through those lips a few dozen times since those days. Like the good reverend says, surely Heaven has come down to Earth."

He allowed watchin' Emily out in that garden was like watchin' an x-rated Petticoat Junction.

Of course she didn't know she was exposin' her private parts all over the place.

And for a few years after they exchanged vows everything went as fine as you could expect out in the country during an economic downtown on a hard-scrabble farm.

But soon Able drank a bit too much. He wasn't a mean drunk or anything, but the booze cost money. And when he drank he wasn't working, and when he wasn't working he was falling behind on the mortgage payment. And fallin' behind got him to drinkin', just a vicious circle. And turnips rotted in the ground.

Emily cooked, did chores, and the rare times that Able was 'able' (so to speak), Emily was more than willing to spread her legs and take his cock. Fucking was just something she was naturally good at. She'd milk the cum out of Able and leave him worn out on the bed - with her just getting started.

That was at the beginning, when Abe thought he was the good Lord's gift. He did his new wife good and often in the beginning, but the booze soon sapped the libido. And Able Jeffers was lazy to start with.

In short, the little bit of a man that he was when Emily first hooked up with him disappeared quickly into a bottle. So when his inability to perform became an issue between them one night, Able said it wasn't him, it was her.

"You're some kinda nympho," he said after he'd finally got all horned up and then let it go into her a couple minutes later. "It'd take five men lined up one behind the other to finish you off."

Although he didn't know it, there was a lot of truth to what he said. And as fate conspired, there were times when men did line up.

Of course Emily believed him about it being her fault. She was somehow to blame for his small cock and his inability to please a woman. She'd only been fucked by one other man, but he'd satisfied her no end those half dozen sessions. She came on his big shaft countless times.

So she took it to heart and tried not to play with her pussy. To not think about playing with it. But in the end not using her fingers to rub that hooded nib at the top of what her mother called her 'man hole' just made her hotter and that nib bigger. And that hole wetter. So when she did pleasure herself, it was always more intense.

And Doc Edgerton had told her she'd better be careful. He'd examined her plenty of times and as soon as possible put her on birth control. Doc goes all distant when he recalls that appointment after she'd turned 18 - like he's recalling that Christmas when he was a boy he got the steel runner sled, or that time he and Medgar Stevenson hauled in the big trout.

"I'd known Emily since she'd been born," said Doc. "That day she came in and said 'you'd better look at me - down there.' I got her in a johnnie and up in the stirrups. She'd had sexual relations recently and they must have gone at it long and hard from the looks of it."

Doc remembers at first he just put two fingers into her. Easiest way to check if sliding a big piece of stainless steel up into her would hurt. And he asked her if there was any pain.

"It hurts good," she said to Doc, who thought she meant she was in pain. He applied a bit of downward pressure and asked again.

"That hurts better," she said, giving a little moan and lifting her hips up a little to increase the pressure and the pleasure.

"I had those blue latex gloves on, so thin you could feel anything," he said. "In less than a minute her female, ah, lubrication was dripping down my fingers to my hand, and down my wrist. I got home that night and my wife asked me if I was having an affair."

Doc took his fingers out right quick and told Emily she was fine, just her hormones were workin' extra just then.

"They always work like that," she said, looking down through her spread legs as Doc sat there on that little organ stool, right hand in the air as her juices slid down his arm. She wasn't shaved down there but she had this small tuft of blonde hardly coverin' any of her parts at all. "But Wilson Smith put his, well, you know, his thing in me and filled me up with his white stuff. I heard that could give you a baby, so I was just checkin' if he done that.'"

Doc assured her there was no baby, but prescribed some birth control pills and told her how to take it. He knew her mother Annie didn't have any money left over from the vodka so called over to the drug store and told Hebb Landry to put it on his own tab - three months' worth for now. Old Doc footed the bill for the next few years.

"I saw what she had between those legs there, and how those big breasts of hers matured," Doc recalled. "It wasn't gonna be too long afore every man in the county was lookin' to get wet in that woman's nether parts. And she got het up so quick and easy, well she'd be havin' that baby afore you knew it. I tell you I was close to being unprofessional that day."

Wilson Smith, from the Lonestar State where everything is bigger, did her a few more times on his big cock but got rotated out to the Middle East again where he told Emily he'd be doin' virgins. Unfortunately he found one in a bombed out tenement and was just ready to inject a good 'Texas Load" into her when she screamed in orgasm, reached down, pressed a little button and blew up under him.

His two buddies were waitin' their turn when Smith and the girl flew apart.

But the long and the short of it was that Abe was no good in bed. After Sgt. Smith's stellar performance as a yardstick, Emily was more often than not walking around in jean shorts, tingling down there as the denim slid back and forth over her moistening mound.

So Abe caught her masturbating (more than once if the truth be told) and after laying down his own law, set up a Couples Session with Pastor Brown in hopes that he could exorcise her demons, or at the very least lay down the Biblical law on lust.

By that point Emily was 26 and Abe was 10 years older. They were going to lose the farm if Abe didn't smarten up, and with her few abilities Emily wasn't going to find a job around Johnson Hollow.

Pastor Brown was no slouch. He knew what was going on, and the banker who held the note on the farm and all the equipment sat two pews behind Emily and Abe each Sunday morning.

"I do admit Mr. Harper does look covetously upon Emily Jeffers' body," the good minister admitted in reference to the banker. "I saw it from the pulpit every week, and Wendell and I meet over lunch Wednesdays over at Owens. Abe's name came up more than a few times - about his drinkin' and bein' behind on his payments to the Savings and Loan."

One day Harper said it wouldn't be more than a few months now that he'd have to foreclose.

"Able Jeffers is one step beneath a low-life," Harper told Pastor Brown. "But that girl of his, well, now, it would be a shame to see her out on the street. Lord, Lord what a sin that would be."

Harper said it to Pastor Brown in a sort of suggestive way. What he was suggesting didn't register with the good shepherd right away, but a few nights later when he was buried nine inches deep into his sixty-something wife Bethany, all he could see was Emily Jeffers' face. He exploded a big load into Beth and was maintaining a stiffness that was becoming more rare with each passing year. Rev. Brown wasn't a young man anymore.

Suddenly, with that balls-deep dump into his wife, he saw Emily's future all planned out like he'd received a message from God. To this day he believes that's what happened. His big Black shaft was still twitching inside his wife and well on its way to recovery. Beth was particularly happy that night.

"William says that's the night the Lord spoke right to him," Bethany Brown told the ladies at the church group some days later. "I saw a light brighten up all golden behind him like a halo and angels singin' some place far off. A light shone down upon us and my good God-fearing husband heard the voice of the Lord."

Of course she didn't tell the good women of the church that old William was pounding his nine inches into her at the time and the light and the angels happened as she came for the first time in 23 years.

The next Wednesday over coffee, the good reverend and Wendell Harper hatched a plan that they figured made everybody happy. The pastor frowned as Harper added a third teaspoon of sugar to his cup, but didn't say anything. The pastor and the banker weren't exactly friends, but they weren't exactly enemies either.

The waitress backed away from the table as usual so the banker's hands wouldn't be able to grab her posterior. Harper may have owned her little house, but he didn't own her backside. At least not yet. But that's another story.

"The Lord spoke to me this past Monday evening," Brown revealed. "He told me of his will concernin' Abe Jeffers and that young wife of his. It's the girl is gonna' save the farm."

"Do tell," said Harper. "I've long known that Abe would run that place to ruins. A wonder his girl ain't run off long ago. There's many a young Black stud has looked longingly in her direction."

He laughed.

"And a few older ones," The banker also allowed.

Pastor Brown blushed at that, recalling his enhanced sexual prowess at the mere thought of Abe's woman. The reverend had a penchant for young white women, and if truth be known, he'd knocked up plenty of them in his 67 years.

"So tell me what the good Lord said William," the banker was watching the waitress, Lori Travers, bend over to wipe off a table. He was getting thoughts too. His own shaft twitched a bit, but seeing as it was just a white six inches it didn't take up much space in his trousers and the small 'tent' wasn't particularly visible. The good pastor's problem was a bit more obvious.

"Well, Mrs. Jeffers is bountifully blessed," said Brown. "But it would seem her abilities might be limited to, let us say, more carnal pursuits."

"I'm a listenin', William," said Harper. "Please do go on."

"There ain't nothing in the Bible tellin' that carnal affairs is a sin," the minister led off. "And it's a fact God in his wisdom made us mere mortals the way we is and with the wants and needs of a man for a woman."

Wendell Harper nodded his agreement on that point, signalling the waitress for more coffee.

"Emily Jeffers is amply endowed and according to Doc, she's plenty agreeable to sharing her God-given assets," Brown continued. "The Lord said to me 'William, use this woman in the service of thy God. Let her lay down for men for the profit of my Church.'"

"The Lord actually said that to your very self," Harper said, eyebrows arched a bit in credulity.

"Some such," said Brown. "I didn't catch it exactly, what with Bethany in the throes of divine pleasure at the time. But that's the gist of it."

Wendell wasn't going to question the reverend's pipeline to the great beyond, but he failed to see how Emily Jeffers having sexual relations for the church profited his bank for a mortgage note that was about six months past due. He knew the church was struggling after the renovations the year before.

"That's the Lord's wisdom at work, Wendell," Brown said. "She takes collection as she ministers to the needy and the Lord gives you special privilege - call it a side deal - to raise the necessary funds to save Abe Jeffers' farm. If they lose the farm, how could she do the work of the Lord? The two go hand in hand."

Harper thought about it, so enthralled with the idea that he missed a perfectly good opportunity to feel up under Lori Travers' short dress as she brought the coffee. Unbeknownst to the banker, Travers was without undergarments and her nether parts were moist from the busboy's administrations a few moments before behind the counter.

"I like the way you, ah, I mean the Lord thinks," Harper said, his smile becoming a leer as Travers walked away. "I can certainly find some vacant real estate in which to hold up my end, and for a small fee could lease it to the church for its use. I'll get young Lawton to take charge."

Brown pondered the proposal. His original plan had been for the Jeffers woman to visit the individual homes of the needy men in the congregation. Of course that became complicated if there were wives or girlfriends involved.

They discussed costs, and terms, and percentages. They did up a chart on a napkin. Harper had a place in mind, and they hit upon Thursday morning to take a look. They contemplated marketing, which they both agreed had to be subtle, with a word here and there into the right ear. And of course they must sit down with Emily Jeffers and make their proposal. Pastor Brown saw no problems in this regard, after all, the Jeffers woman would be doing the Lord's work - and she was a devote Christian.