Outside of Their Jurisdiction

This story has been posted to Literotica.Com with the full knowledge of the original author, JimBob44. No part or whole of this story may be reprinted in any other format or on any other web site without the express written consent of the original author.

Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-Check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.

*/*/*/*

Elijah Clark was a minister of the fire and brimstone variety. While the War of Northern Aggression waged all around, Elijah jumped, whooped and hollered about the evils of alcohol and tobacco. Every Sunday, his small church was packed, mostly with the wives and children of the brave soldiers of the Confederacy.

After his Sunday Services, Elijah would bring comfort to one or two of the lonely wives of those brave men, the brave soldiers that were fighting and dying for their families. Even as he labored to bring satisfaction and fulfillment to these women, sometimes the very ground would shudder and shake as battles were waged just miles away from the simple structure that Reverend Clark called home.

When Thomas Bloutchen, a lieutenant of the West Arkansas Calvary arrived home after the surrender of Robert E. Lee and discovered his wife suckling a beautiful baby daughter, he was understandably upset. Thomas had not seen his beloved Abigail in three long, arduous years; this little child could not possibly be his.

Elijah Clark looked up as a tired, filthy officer of the Confederacy entered his church. He rose to his feet to greet the stranger. The man looked at Elijah with lifeless eyes.

"Reverend, I am Thomas Bloutchen," the man stated. "Lieutenant Thomas Bloutchen."

"Sir, welcome home," Elijah said, slightly unnerved by the man's eyes.

"And, I am given to understand that you've provided comfort to my beloved Abigail while I fought to quell the Union," Thomas stated, voice flat.

"I, hmm, Abigail?" Elijah stammered, now realizing the purpose of the man's visit.

"Sir, I have seen far too much bloodshed," Thomas sighed. "I have seen the damage cannon and rifle and even bayonet and sword can inflict upon the human body, the human sol. In truth, I have had my fill of bloodshed."

"Praise be to Jesus Christ," Elijah murmured, relieved.

"However, I shall allow witness to once more spilling the blood of an aggressor, an enemy," Thomas stated, swiftly slashing out with his sword and decapitating the supposed Man of God.

The true nature of Reverend Elijah David Clark was diluted by time and the recounting of his exploits. The county was named Clarkston in honor of the man that preached the Gospel, bravely standing for the side of right and God even as his church was rocked and shaken by enemy mortar landing nearby.

Bloutchen County was named in honor of the seventeen Bloutchen men that formed the core of the West Arkansas Calvary. The Bloutchen men, brothers, cousins, fathers and uncles banded together, urging others to join with them. Of the seventeen Bloutchen soldiers and officers that had fought valiantly, Thomas was the only Bloutchen to return.

In time, he did forgive his wife her one sole indiscretion. After all, she claimed it was during a time that they had just found out that Jonathon, Paul, and Charles Bloutchen had perished; she was sure Thomas had perished as well, fighting beside his brothers.

"It was just that one time," Abigail assured her husband. "I sobbed mightily, sure that I should never see you again. He did put his arms about me, to comfort me and then...well, to say I was truly horrified; why, I even thought to take my own life!"

But as Abigail and the other wives of the Confederacy labored to maintain the small cemetery where the bodies of their fallen husbands, fathers and brothers lie in hopes of the resurrection, Abigail would often steal glimpses of the headstone for Reverend Elijah David Clark. She would long for the many hours she'd spent in the good man's bed. She would long for the many hours she'd used her mouth upon Eli's fat manhood when her cleft and bunghole were far too sore to allow him access to those holes.

With mild annoyance, Abigail would notice that she was not the only woman that did cast longing glances at the small, modest headstone. More than one woman would unconsciously clamp her thighs together, face flushed with the memories of an afternoon or three in the bed chambers of Reverend Eli.

Delilah Catherine Bloutchen was the only child born to Thomas and Abigail Bloutchen. She was doted upon by her mother and thoroughly despised by her father. In time, she married Little John Bloutchen, the eldest son of Jonathon Alvers Bloutchen, Jr. the eldest son of Jonathon Alvers Bloutchen, the patriarch of the Bloutchen family.

Delilah bore three sons and one daughter for Little John. Then, after his accidental death from a tree falling on him, Delilah married Daniel Bloutchen, the only son of Paul Bloutchen. She bore two daughters and one son for Daniel.

(In truth, Delilah did wonder at the demise of her first husband. After all, Little John was an experienced tree cutter and certainly would have known to stand behind the tree after the second cross cut was completed.)

World War one, the War to end all wars created a few more Bloutchen widows. WWII came along and more Bloutchen men went to war and more Bloutchen widows were created. Some of these women married other men from the Clarkston and Bloutchen counties; some even moved away from Arkansas altogether.

**..**

Stan Spuntzin, son of Ronald Spuntzin and Deborah Spuntzin nee Bloutchen had been a prisoner of the Imperial Japanese Army. A once vibrant, hale and hearty young man returned to Scribeltz, Arkansas a broken shell of a man. Shuffling off of the bus, Stan looked around at Scribeltz, which was little more than gravel roads and soybean fields. He stared, uncomprehending as Darlene Miller clung to him, sobbing her little broken heart out.

In 1947, with some help from Johnny Miller, Darlene's Daddy, Stan and Darlene opened a general store and gas station at the corner of Holly and Vines inScribeltz, Arkansas. Adding a lunch counter drew in some farmers, some field laborers; Darlene was a good cook and the meals were generous and filling. A local dairy put in an electric cooler for milk and cheese, eggs and butter. Buying a second electric cooler, Stan put in some soft drinks; beer and other intoxicating beverages were illegal in Clarkston and Bloutchen Counties.

In the United States Army, Stan had been a cook. Referring to his knowledge, Stan baked breads and other pastries for them to sell along with the milk and eggs and some local vegetables.

He also utilized some other skills he'd learned while in the inhospitable jungle encampment. With a wink and a nod, followed by a furtive glance around, a nickel would get a thirsty farmer a bottle of Stan's sorghum home brew. The ice wagon came by every morning, so by lunchtime, those bottles of sorghum beer would be just as cold as the ice they were packed in.

Darlene and Stan welcomed Ronald 'Ronnie' Johnathon Spuntzin to their family in April of 1949. Caring for his son seemed to rejuvenate the broken man; Ronnie became a regular behind the counter at his father's store. Caring for an infant, then a precocious, inquisitive toddler seemed to breathe some vitality into Stan's very soul.

"I get big, I'm be just like you, Pop," Ronnie would say, patting his father on the shoulder as he sat on the counter of the store.

"Well, first thing you need to do is learn how to potty like a man," Darlene would say.

When the act of going potty like a big boy was mastered, Darlene would find new goals that would ensure that Ronnie did grow up to be a man like his father.

From time to time, the sheriff of Clarkston County would storm in, trying to confiscate all of the bottles of beer and arrest Stan Spuntzin for the manufacture and sales of intoxicating beverages. With a smirk, Stan would show the good man that Spuntzin General Store was in Bloutchen County. Therefore, Sheriff Simpson had no jurisdiction in the store.

When Sheriff Duplantis would attempt a raid, he would be shown that the general store was in Clarkston County; out of the reach of Sheriff Duplantis. With grumbles and curses, the man would stomp out of the store, vowing to one day bring an end to the illegal sale of alcohol.

"You know, one these days, them two going get together and raid you at the same time," Darlene would chuckle as they would clean up after the overzealous lawman. "What you going do then?"

"Never happen," Stan would smile. "See, first thing them two would have to do is talk with one another. And because of Polly May? That ain't never going happen."

"Polly...never could figure what them two seen in her," Darlene shook her head. "Girl's so homely she needs sneak up on a mirror brush her hair."

"Don't think neither one seen her face," Stan said, cupping his hands far out in front of his chest.

"What? Them titties? I got bigger titties than her," Darlene scoffed.

"You do not!" Stan said, locking the door of the store.

"What? Stanley Ronald Spuntzin, I most certainly do," Darlene protested.

"You do? Prove it," Stan challenged, shutting off the majority of the electric lights.

"You get me in the family way, I'm take it out on your hide, you hear?" Darlene giggled, pulling her dress up and off.

"Well I'll be damned! You do got some titties there. Here, let me count them; you supposed have two of them, right?" Stan said, grasping his wife's breasts.

When Ronnie went to Thomas Jefferson Elementary school, the school bus pulled up right in front of the Spuntzin General Store. Ronnie, his cousin Darren, and Francine Wilson, Polly May's daughter would climb the steps and Darren and Ronnie would try to get away from Francine; she had cooties. More than once, the little red head made Darren cry when she would kiss him. More than once, Ronnie made Francine cry when he would pinch her on her butt for kissing him. Then Mr. Taft, the bus driver would yell and threaten to put any combination of Francine, Ronnie, and Darren off of the buss.

"You know, one day? You going wish that little Francine Wilson would kiss you," Darlene lightly teased her handsome son.

"What? You got bats in the belfry?" Ronnie accused.

"Hey!" Stan said, delivering a not so gentle swat to his son's backside. "Do not talk to your mother like that."

"But, but, she said..." Ronnie whined, rubbing his smarting backside.

"I know what she said. But, just because she's wrong doesn't mean you can talk to her like that," Stan said, hugging his son.

"I am not wrong," Darlene argued.

"You and me? We know, them girls ain't nothing but trouble. Big stinky trouble," Stan assured his son.

"We are, huh?" Darlene smirked.

Darren's mother and father worked at the Ubelhauser Cotton Mill so when they would get off the bus, the two boys would enter the general store. They would take a seat at the counter and kneel on their stools and do homework. Francine would stand by the big glass door of the store and stick her tongue out at Ronnie and Darren before turning and walking down Holly Road to the two room shack she and her momma shared.

"Why you don't ask that girl Francine come in with you?" Darlene suggested, more than once. "You three could split a soda water and..."

"Daddy!" Ronnie would call out.

"Yeah?" Stan would ask from his perch at the cash register or as he was sliding a few loaves of bread out of the oven.

"Momma's saying batty stuff again," Ronnie would declare, causing Darren to giggle and Darlene to smirk and shake her head.

And when they started James S. Conway High School, it was a different bus that came to get them. Now there were five children waiting for the bus; Ronnie, Darren, and Francine, along with Joanna 'Jo' Anderson and Gretchen Dahl. Ronnie and Darren didn't have to worry about Francine kissing them; she and Jo and Gretchen were far too busy to be bothered with either boy.

Darren idolized Elvis Presley, idolized Marlon Brando in 'The Wild Ones' and dressed to emulate his heroes. Schott NYC Perfecto 618 leather jacket, blue jeans rolled up, an array of tee shirts in white, red, or black, complete with Lucky Strikes cigarette pack rolled up in the sleeve. He wore heavy engineer boots, and on cold days, his slicked back hair would be crowned with a heavy leather cap.

Darren was popular with the girls; he knew how to dance. He knew all the latest moves and after school, they would crowd into the Spuntzin General Store, drop a handful of dimes into the juke box Stan had put in the store and Darren would grab a girl and dance.

He also read poetry and when the jukebox wasn't jangling and warbling the tunes, Darren would enthrall the girls as he read aloud from Whitman and Longfellow; he believed Shakespeare was a little too contrived for his tastes.

Along with a longer lunch counter and a small area near the jukebox, Stan had also begun to sell a distilled rice home brew. The rice drink packed a hell of a wallop, according to the wizened old men and young pups that drank the stuff. The beer was also quite the favorite among the men that would come in and sit quietly, sipping from the sweating brown bottles. Of course, Clarkston County was no longer a dry county so Sheriff Henderson didn't pay much mind to a man making himself a little beer. But Sheriff Zed Duplantis did mind; Bloutchen County was still a dry county.

After the Christmas break, the five high school students were joined by three more students that waited for the bus. Betty Lou was in her last year and had moved to Bloutchen with her father. Larry and Doug Gordon were a grade older and younger than Sammy, Darren, and Franny as she now wanted to be called. Larry was pretty sweet on Betty Lou Wilkinson and she seemed pretty sweet on him as well. But Larry couldn't dance and Betty Lou loved to jiggle, wiggle and gyrate to the latest tunes pouring out of the jukebox.

"Need stay away from my girl, hear?" Larry ordered Darren one morning as they waited for the bus.

Betty Lou, Jo, Gretchen, and Franny were all in the restroom of the General Store, rolling up the hems of their skirts and slathering on the makeup that their daddies wouldn't let them wear. So it was just Doug, Larry, Darren and Ronnie standing outside in the cold January morning, waiting on the bus.

"Cool it, Larry; he don't mean nothing by dancing with your girl," Ronnie ordered.

"You stay out of this, Spuntzin," Larry ordered, shoving Darren hard against the brick façade of the store.

"No. I don't think I will," Ronnie said, giving Larry a haymaker to the nose.

Doug tried to sneak up on Ronnie. Somehow, as petrified as he was by any physical confrontation, Darren had the wherewithal to stick out his foot and trip Doug. Another punch to the solar plexus and Larry was out of the fight.

"That's your hide, Darren," Doug snarled, advancing on the terrified Darren.

"Hey Doug? I'm not going to sneak up on you like a weasel," Ronnie spat.

He grabbed Doug's shoulder and spun the boy around. Doug scowled at Ronnie while Darren sidled away from the combatants.

"Nope. I'm going give you a thrashing face to face," Ronnie said, but the bus's arrival stopped any further trouble.

"Darren tell them girls they need put a move on," Ronnie ordered as Larry held a handkerchief to his bloodied nose and Doug muttered threats under his breath.

When Betty Lou found out why Larry had a bloody nose, she dumped him. The entire bus heard her tell him off; who she danced with was none of his business and he had no right to tell anyone they couldn't dance with her. Darren had a stricken look on his face when Betty Lou sat on the bench right next to him and cuddled up with him for the rest of the ride to school.

In April, when Ronnie got his driver's permit, he quietly asked Franny if she'd like to go on up to Myndee and get some barbeque; Lefty's was known statewide for excellent barbeque and then they'd go to the drive-in and see that Cleopatra film with Elizabeth Taylor and...

"I'm sorry, Ronnie," Franny said in a voice that let him know she wasn't sorry in the least little bit. "But I'm going with Larry; we're going to Mama's Fried Chicken and then to the Westgate; they got air conditioning and ain't showing last year's movies neither."

"Yeah, they're showing the latest film there," Larry smirked at the crestfallen look on Ronnie's face.

"Oh, oh wait. Wait just one cotton picking minute there," Darlene gently teased her son when he'd relayed the sad news to his parents. "Remember? I told you, one of these days you'd want that little Francine Wilson kissing you? And you said I must have bats in the belfry?"

"Hush," Ronnie smiled ruefully. "Who'd known she would grow up looking like that?"

"Just about everyone," Stan chuckled.

So, while Franny was firmly pushing Larry's hands away from her 26C breasts in a darkened theater, Ronnie was home, learning the steps to making a good sorghum beer. Stan assured Ronnie, Ronnie would be as good a beer maker as Stan ever been.

"Rice? Pretty much the same thing," Stan said, nodding with his head toward the cache of bottles that waited to be sold.

He put an arm around his son's shoulders. Ronnie was already two inches taller than his father, but at fifteen years old, Ronnie still needed a dad.

"Biggest thing, son? Making it is one thing. Drinking it is another," Stan whispered urgently. "Want to see what I mean? Just pay mind to that old Paul Brown. Or that Mr. Wilkensen."

"Betty Lou's Dad?" Ronnie asked.

"Mm hmm. Monday through Friday? Not a finer man in the state. Payday comes? Man's got five or six of them quarts of rice brew. Promise you; that Betty Lou? She'll be in here tomorrow morning looking buy some eggs and milk and other stuff her daddy done forgot about 'cause he were too busy drinking it all up," Stan said, shaking his head.

Just as his father had predicted, Betty Lou was in the store coming on noon the next day. She put some eggs and two quarts of milk into a basket. Counting the change in her hand, she put one quart of milk back into the cooler. Ronnie watched her eyes flicker to the fresh butter before she turned and picked up a loaf of fresh baked bread, still warm in the wrapper. Again, she checked her handful of coins and put the bread back onto the wire rack.

"Hey there, Betty Lou," Ronnie smiled and Betty Lou gave him an embarrassed smile.

"Hiya Ronnie," Betty Lou whispered.

"You know, I saved up some money to take Franny to the movies," Ronnie said, wrapping the butter, a hunk of mild cheddar cheese, some bacon and two quarts of milk into the heavy paper.

"Yeah?" Betty Lou asked, only mildly interested.

"Yeah well. She decided she'd rather go with a snake, though," Ronnie said, putting the loaf of bread into Betty Lou's basket. "Now this? Mrs. Tate made this apple jelly. Me? I think it's a little too sweet, but you tell me what you think of it, hear?"

"I, I can't let you do that," Betty Lou said, fighting back the tears of shame.

"You better," Ronnie said, ringing up a 'No Sale' and putting four dollars into the drawer. "See? It's already paid for."

Betty Lou fled the store, forgetting her purchases. Darlene gave her son a kiss on the cheek and gathered the girl's basket. She left the store, carrying Betty Lou's purchases.

"Hey, Chief, how come you never do that for me?" Willie Dennis, a trucker that always made a point of stopping for a good plate lunch asked.

"You ain't pretty," Ronnie shrugged, causing the other customers to laugh.

"Chief, heard you'd saved up that money take you a little Honey on a date," Willie said, slipping four singles to the young man. "You go on and take her on that date, hear?"