*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
Chapter 1
Annette Young lazily scratched her flabby buttock while waiting for Gordon Ziegler to finish the joint they'd been sharing. She laughed at him as he suddenly sputtered and coughed harshly, the acrid marijuana smoke coming out of his mouth and nostrils as he coughed and hacked.
"Mother fucker, can't hold it, huh?" she giggled.
"Man, where'd you get that cheap ass shit anyway?" he finally choked out.
"That fucking n*gger end of the street," Annette shrugged, pointing toward the other end of the gravel road that cut through the oak trees of Bender, Louisiana.
"N*gger sells shit, you hear?" Gordon complained.
"You um, you want to...?" Annette whispered hopefully.
Gordon sighed inwardly. That was one downside to getting stoned with Jumbo Jet Annette; weed made her horny.
"Yeah; we do it doggy style?" Gordon asked, unzipping his jeans.
"Okay!" Annette smiled happily and shimmied out of her nylon running shorts.
She didn't bother taking off her tee shirt; she was nearly flat chested, despite the nearly seventy extra pounds she carried on her four foot ten inch frame. She got onto the bed on her hands and knees and waited while Gordon stroked his cock to full erection.
"I'm big boned," she'd once told Gordon.
"Bullshit," Gordon laughed. "You got big meat wrapped around them big bones then."
He knelt down behind her and thrust two fingers into her pussy to verify that she was wet enough.
"Ooh," she crooned and grunted happily when he slid his cock into her pussy.
He thrust his cock in and out of her blonde muff and imagined that he was fucking Cheryl Huvall instead of the short, fat, pimple faced, pimple assed Annette Young.
Annette giggled happily as she felt him stiffen up, and then felt his warm seed flood into her pussy. She did not have an orgasm; the only time Annette ever had an orgasm was when she masturbated. But she did enjoy the feeling of closeness and intimacy sex brought.
Suddenly, her eyes opened wide.
"Mother fucker! My old man's home!" she cried out. "Quick, quick, you got to get out of here!"
Gordon quickly thrust his cock back into his snug jeans, slid open the window of the small trailer, and shimmied out.
"God damn, a hundred degrees outside, air conditioning running and you got the God damned window open?" Gordon could hear John Young bellow as he scurried around the trailer to the gravel road.
July, 1982, in Bender Louisiana was unbearably hot, unbearably humid. The mosquitoes swarmed in unrelenting attacks no matter what time of day, and Gordon was soon swatting and slapping at the merciless insects as he trudged toward the newly paved Highway 52.
"Gordon, need a ride?" he heard Charlie call out and he nodded gratefully.
"Where you heading?" Charlie asked as Gordon climbed into the battered Ford Pinto.
"Cheryl said for me to come by you ever left the house, so I guess drop me off over there," Gordon told his former classmate.
"Aw, you bum, shut up!" Charlie laughed and turned onto the street that Gordon lived on.
"Tell me; how the fuck a short, ugly, hairy ass mother fucker like you ever wound up with her, huh? You hung like a donkey or something?" Gordon asked.
"Nope, got a wart on the end of it," Charlie laughed.
"How's she doing anyway?" Gordon asked.
"Good, good, and Iris's getting bigger every day, I swear," Charlie said proudly as he talked about his wife and their daughter.
"She look anything like you?" Gordon asked.
"No, thank God, looks just like her momma, but you can tell she's going to be a Gauchet; got my stubborn attitude! Haw, I swear! Just the other day, I took her toys, put them up? Not even ten minutes later and she's got them all out again," Charlie said.
Gordon tuned Charlie Gauchet out as the man just went on and on about his daughter. None of what Charlie was saying was of any real interest, until he happened to mention that he and Cheryl had managed to score some great cocaine.
"You're fucking lying; where you get that, huh?" Gordon asked.
"I know some people," Charlie smiled then clammed up
"I got sixty bucks," Gordon said.
""Let's see it," Charlie said.
"Let's see the coke," Gordon countered.
----
Annette fought the nausea and the panic. This was the third morning in a row she had felt sick to her stomach. Her period, never a very regular occurrence, was quite a few weeks late.
"Mommy, what should I do?" she quietly mumbled.
Annette was in the habit of praying to her mother when she felt frightened or alone. Her mother had drowned in the above ground swimming pool they used to have and it had been Annette that had discovered her mother's lifeless body floating in the flimsy structure.
That had been four years ago, prompting the ten sixteen year old girl to drop out of St. Thomas Aquinas, sit on her ass, and eat junk food and smoke dope all day.
The psychiatrist John had selected to help the girl deal with her grief had told John that the best solution was just to let the grief run its course.
The good doctor also told the chubby girl that learning to give good blow jobs was a healthy way to deal with such a terrible loss.
Annette looked around to make sure she was alone in the trailer before picking up the thin telephone book for the DeGarde/Bender area and searched for a doctor.
"Wonder who Cheryl went to," she muttered and looked up Charlie Gauchet phone number.
Cheryl picked up after five rings and brightened slightly when she recognized her former classmate.
"Yeah, I go to Dr. Lassen, right there off nineteen," Cheryl told Annette. "He's all right, but he's a lot better than that Dr. Scott; he's weird."
She lowered her voice, even though it was just herself and her one year old daughter in the small trailer.
"Why? You don't think you pregnant, huh?" Cheryl asked.
"How you know when you was?" Annette asked.
----
Gordon was not happy to have to spend forty three dollars on a doctor's visit, not when that money could be going toward a few lines of Charlie's prime coke. He sat in the small, hot waiting room with a harsh looking mother and her frightened daughter and an emaciated looking woman. The receptionist apologized again for the failure of the air-conditioning unit.
Gordon tried to start a conversation with the emaciated looking woman, but the woman just shoved her face into a two year old copy of Cosmopolitan magazine.
He looked up as Annette waddled into the room. She looked around, saw him and smiled happily.
"Guess what, Daddy?" she smiled and blinked back a few tears of joy.
She was happy; finally, finally, she would be loved. Gordon would hug her and kiss her and they would have a beautiful wedding and would get their own trailer and he would go to work at that new mattress factory.
"So, how much the abortion going to cost?" Gordon asked.
Chapter 2
John Young tightened his face; Gabriel was screaming again. There was no smell of dinner cooking, there was no other sound in the trailer, other than the screaming baby, and there was no sign of Annette.
He lumbered into the small bedroom the baby shared with Annette and scooped the boy out of the crib.
"Shh, shh, Paw-paw's here," he soothed to the child while trying to find a clean diaper.
"God damn it," he grumbled as he had to carry the still fussy, still soiled child with him to the small laundry closet.
"Great, just fucking great," he growled.
There were no clean diapers; the full diaper pail sat next to the washing machine.
"Come on, kiddo," John soothed to the boy as he carried him into the bathroom.
He quickly folded up a hand towel and made a functioning diaper out of that.
"Now, try not to take a dump until your other diapers are dried, okay?" he smiled at the no longer crying infant.
"Now, you hungry? When's the last time you ate, huh?" John asked his grandson as he walked down the hall to the small kitchenette.
----
Annette smiled at the truck driver and he smiled back.
"So, why you heading to San Antonio?" he finally asked the chubby little blonde.
"Why not?" she cheekily replied.
"Dropping off my load, heading to Montana next; ever been to Montana?" the trucker asked.
"No, what's in Montana?" Annette asked.
"Snow. Lots and lots of fucking snow," the trucker laughed.
"The good kind? Or that cold stuff?" Annette laughed.
"Aw hey, you into that I got me some..." the trucker said and produced a small bag of powder.
"Aw yeah!" Annette exclaimed, blue eyes alive with excitement.
"You want some of this, all you got to do is..." the trucker said and Annette was immediately crawling across the seat toward his cock.
As Annette worked the trucker's skinny cock down her throat, she had absolutely no thought of the five month old baby she'd left sleeping in his crib three hours earlier.
Her stupid old man had threatened to take the boy to Family Services in Lafayette if she ever abandoned the child again, but Annette knew her father wouldn't make good on that threat. He loved his only child and his only grandchild too much.
Plus, Dr Walcott told John, it was just a phase she was going through. To punish her, or reprimand her, according to Dr. Walcott, might push Annette off over the deep end.
"Aw fuck, Honey, where'd you learn do that shit, huh?" was the only warning she had that the trucker was about to blow his load.
"Fucking psychiatrist," she admitted as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Dr. Walcott said I needed to learn how to suck guys off and did his best to teach me."
"Um, no shit?" the trucker said, a little surprised, a little nervous, and a little excited.
