The Girl Next Door 28

Dear Reader: I have received at least a dozen e-mail messages all saying essentially the same thing: "All your stories are about rich folks who live in Marin County or a ritzy Virginia suburb. They play golf and drink Macallan-12 at swanky country clubs. Why don't you write a story about ordinary people? They fuck too." Well, here is a story about ordinary people.

*

She was the girl next-door -- Nancy Lee Morgan - a Tomboy till her tits started to grow. We played together and skinny-dipped together till the seventh grade and then my Daddy took me aside and we had a long talk that finished with a request.

"Joe Bradley," Daddy said, "I want you to think of her as your sister and respect her and take care of her."

It was hard to think of her as my sister when we were in Junior High School and she wore that damn bikini and I tried to imagine what her tits looked like as they got bigger and bigger every month. I wondered if she was growing a thick curly haired beaver like I'd seen in the dirty pictures the guys passed around. When I started jacking off regularly she was the naked girl in my imagination.

When I was in the ninth grade I started to grow. I just kept on growing. By the time I was in the eleventh grade, I was six foot four and tipped the scales at 240. Daddy had played football and he made sure I went out for the team. I made first string before my Sophomore year was over and started every game from then on. I played defensive right tackle and I was good.

But there was a dark cloud on my horizon. It was named Lester Vernon Lowry. Lester Vernon only weighed a hundred and sixty-five pounds and he was as skinny as a beanpole. But, for some crazy reason all the girls thought he was gorgeous. That was the exact word that they all used -- gorgeous. I wouldn't a minded so much, except that Nancy Lee Morgan -- the girl that I was supposed to respect and treat like a sister -- the girl that I pictured naked in my head when I jacked off -- was the girl that Lester Vernon decided to date.

There was something else about Lester Vernon Lowry. Something that Coach was very interested in. Lester Vernon could throw a football farther than most guys could kick it and throw it through a tractor tire hanging on a rope. Hitting pass receivers was a natural for him. Lester Vernon made first string quarterback in his Junior year.

During games, Coach was always yelling at me. "Barrel-ass in there Greene. Lose those blockers and put that quarterback on his ass good and hard."

Only, he was talking about the quarterback on the other team. The quarterback that I wanted to knock on his ass was on our team. I only got one chance but I made the most of it. First-string offense was scrimmaging against first-string defense one afternoon and Coach was yelling at us to "Make it real! Make it real!"

I made it real. Lester Vernon was standing there flat-footed, looking to his right for a receiver. No blocker touched me and I was going full speed when I blind-sided him. Dead center! I must have carried him back in the air a good four yards before I landed on top of him -- all 240 pounds of me, facemask to facemask. It was a good clean hit and Lester Vernon just laid there, trying to breathe. I smiled and thought about the girl next door.

Coach comes running out on the field yelling "Time out! Time out! Dammit Joe Bradley! Not our quarterback. Never hit our quarterback like that! He breaks too easy."

I said, "Sorry Lester Vernon."

I didn't mean it of course.

I got a reputation at defensive right tackle and a knick-name. Even the newspapers used it. I wasn't black and they left out my middle name, but they called me "Mean Joe Greene" and I felt real proud.

There's something that feels real good about a nice, clean, hard hit. If you're bigger and going faster than the other guy, he's the one that gets knocked back on his ass. It's hard to describe. I don't think girls understand it. But it just feels good somehow.

One time we were playing a team with a defensive tackle almost as good as me, and he was just creaming Lester Vernon's ass. I was enjoying it until Coach switched me to offense and told me to get in there and protect Lester Vernon. I did, but it really wadn't any fun.

By our Senior year, Lester Vernon and Nancy Lee were going steady. I was still thinking about her when I jacked off, but Lester Vernon and I got to be very good friends. Playing on a winning team does that to guys.

Lester Vernon and Nancy Lee got married right after graduation. I was their best man. Lester Vernon got a job on the assembly line of an auto company, newly built by the Koreans near our town and Nancy Lee got an office job.

I thought I might get a college scholarship because I was big -- 240 pounds -- and was a pretty good defensive tackle. But they said I was too slow and nobody wanted me.

So, I went to community college for a training program in corrections. The older brother of a buddy of mine had done the same thing several years earlier and got a good civil service job at the penitentiary just east of town. The pay was good, but best of all was the job security and retirement. That really attracted me. I took the civil service examination and passed the first time. I had to wait for an opening but I finally got hired and the work was good.

We have a nice little southern town. Our two industries are the automobile plant, which the Koreans built because we didn't have any labor unions, and the penitentiary, which a governor built because we were his hometown. If you drive south for a few hours you can see sugar white beaches and emerald colored water. We don't go there very often because it's too expensive.

After I got my job as a prison guard, I got myself a nice apartment. After a year or so, Lester Vernon and Nancy Lee got some money and bought a doublewide in a nice trailer park. I didn't find out till later how Lester Vernon got that money.

There was a country western bar with a big dance floor and great music just south of town and all of us spent a lot of our spare time there, drinking beer and dancing. It was called the "Casa El Rancho" but all of us called it "The Ranch". The guys and gals from our high school who hadn't gone away to college hung out there. It was a fun crowd, but sometimes we drank too much.

I dated a few gals that I had known in high school, none seriously. The closest thing to a serious relationship was a female prison guard named Ruth Anne Wells. She was a couple of years older than me and divorced. She was happy being single but was looking for guys to take her out and I fucked her from time to time. But, I still thought about Nancy Lee naked, not only when I jacked off, but even when I was fucking Ruth Anne.

It came as a big surprise, a real shock, when Nancy Lee called me in tears one night and told me that Lester Vernon had been arrested. I went right down to the station. The cops knew me and treated me nice because of my job as a prison guard.

It turned out that Lester Vernon had been driving up to the capital and buying grass and coke from some guys in the hood. He resold it in our little town and made some extra money -- that's where he got the money to buy their doublewide.

He had a clean record and a job, so the judge, who happened to be a football fan, was good enough to give him probation. But that didn't last long because, several months later, he got picked up speeding with several guys and a big stash of pot was found in the car. I don't know if it was his, but this was a violation of his probation and that meant he went to prison to serve out his full sentence.

So now I was a guard at the prison where my high school teammate was doing time. I didn't envy him. I knew what he was in for. And there was no way I could help him. Lester Vernon was a "pretty boy" and everybody knows what happens to pretty boys in prison. I watched over him as much as I could but I couldn't do it all the time. They finally got him one afternoon in the laundry.

I got a call from "Doc" who ran the prison dispensary and our small hospital. Lester Vernon had tried to fight them off and his face was a mess and he had bruises from body punches. But, it was his asshole that was the worst. He had lacerations and severe trauma and bleeding. At least half a dozen guys had fucked him.

Doc patched him up and kept him in the prison hospital till his anus healed. But then he had to go back to the cellblock. The guys were waiting for him. I tried to watch over him again but it was simply impossible. They caught him in the exercise yard in a corner where the guards couldn't see.

Doc called me and told me that Lester Vernon had been gang raped and beat up just like before. Doc treated him and kept him as long as he could but there was no way he could keep him forever. The next time Lester Vernon didn't fight very hard, so I guess you couldn't call it rape, more like a gangbang. But, his asshole was taking a beating -- getting stretched out just like a pussy. He was now a regular prison "punk."

Lester Vernon had sworn me to secrecy. I was not to say a word to Nancy Lee. And I didn't. But she was having problems of her own. Every weekend she went out to the Ranch to drink with the single gals she had gone to school with or the ones she worked with at her office. Sometimes she drank too much and sometimes the guys she danced with played with her ass. What finally happened was inevitable.

One night, about six months after Lester Vernon had gone to prison, Nancy Lee got staggering drunk at the Ranch. Her partner had to hold her on her feet on the dance floor. I figured I had better take her home -- she couldn't drive. I got up and went to the men's room to piss but when I came back to get her, Nancy Lee was nowhere to be seen. I headed for the parking lot, running.

Three guys had her lying in the back of an SUV with the hatchback up and her legs hanging out. They'd pulled her pants off and spread her legs wide with one guy holding each leg up in the air. A third guy was standing between her legs and had his pants down around his knees. He was trying to crawl on top and fuck her.

I walked over to them and grabbed the guy trying to fuck her by the back of his jacket and pulled him off of her. The other two guys took one look at me and stepped back. The guy I pulled off of her spun around and drew back his fist to hit me. Then he just froze. When you're five-foot-nine and your pants are down around your knees and your pecker is hanging out in the breeze, you simply can't bring yourself to throw a punch at a six-foot-four, 240 pound tackle you've always called Mean Joe Green.

He dropped his fist to his side. I leaned into the van and picked up Nancy Lee with my left arm around her waist, keeping my right arm free, and walked back to my car. The guys just stayed where they were and said nothing. Nancy Lee sobbed and cried all the way home

When I got her home I carried her inside and put her to bed in the few clothes she still had on. She turned on her stomach, put her face in the pillow, and cried. I sat in my car outside her doublewide for an hour or so, to make sure no one stopped by. Then I went back to my apartment.

Nancy Lee didn't tell Lester Vernon about the episode at the Ranch, but some one else might have -- I'm not sure who it was. Lester Vernon got a letter that said Nancy Lee was spending a lot of time at the Ranch and drinking a lot and guys were putting the make on her. All of this was true, even though I had talked to her and she had promised to clean up her act.

I saw Lester Vernon one afternoon in the exercise yard. That's where I usually talked to him when I had a break.

"I'm really afraid that she'll get drunk some night," he said. "And you know how those guys at the Ranch are."

What scared him most was that she was going to get horny and find some guy to move into their doublewide.

"Look Lester, I go to the Ranch every weekend and Nancy Lee is there with several girl friends. They dance a little with the guys. I'll watch her to make sure that nothing ever comes of it."

I didn't talk to him about what happened. I guess I should call it an attempted rape but, knowing how drunk she was, it probably wasn't rape.

Lester Vernon was very worried. "Keep your eye on her for me. Will you?"

I promised him I would.

Lester Vernon had finally made the compromise that a lot of pretty boys in prison ultimately make. He got "married" as the guys call it. He found a big strong guy, who happened to be black, and asked to be his cellmate. He was still getting fucked regularly but it wasn't gang rape. And none of the other prisoners would dare approach him again. The guys called it "carrying coal" which meant he had a black man on his back every night.

I kept my eye on Nancy Lee and she started drinking less. I was picking her up and taking her out to the Ranch most weekends and the guys there left her alone when I was with her. I guess the story of what happened that night got spread around. They even stayed clear of her when I was there with Ruth Anne.

One night when I stopped by to pick her up she had a very serious look on her face.

"Sit down Joe Bradley and let me get you a drink. We need to talk," she said and poured me a half glass of Early Times and added ice and ginger ale.

"What about," I asked.

"When they say a prisoner is 'carrying coal' what does that mean?" She asked.

"Where did you hear that?" I asked.

"From one of the wives of the prisoners in the waiting room on visitor's day."

"What did she say?" I asked.

"She said her husband told her that Lester Vernon was carrying coal."

I didn't quite know what to say. I had promised Lester Vernon that I would not talk to Nancy Lee about him being gang raped. I wondered how I could explain this without breaking my promise. I couldn't. She would find out somehow from other wives during visitor's day. Maybe it was best to go ahead and tell her as gently as I could, before someone else did.

"Nancy Lee, what I am about to tell you, must never be mentioned to Lester Vernon. You understand?"

She nodded.

I proceeded to explain about pretty boys in prison and gang rape. Then I explained what the prisoners called "marriage" and how it saved a guy from gang rape. Then she asked me a question that threw me for a loop.

"Joe Bradley, what does it mean when they say that a guy 'settles into' carrying coal?"

I'm not a doctor. But I had learned a great deal about anal intercourse. Working in a prison, you really can't avoid it. I knew that Lester Vernon had long ago settled into his relationship with his cellmate. So I explained about the prostate gland and how it was stimulated during anal intercourse and how it caused the 'wife' to have an erection and an ejaculation.

Nancy Lee was obviously very surprised and upset by what I told her. She looked shocked and frightened.

"You mean he's gay?" She asked.

"Not at all," I assured her. "This happens all the time in prison. It happens when men are deprived of women. It doesn't mean he's gay. He's just adapting to an all male environment."

She shook her head in disbelief. "You mean every night he gets fucked in the ass and gets a hard on and ejaculates and he's not gay?"

"He's not gay. The prison is full of guys doing the same thing. When they get out, after a while, they start to look for girls just like they did before. Of course there are gay guys in prison but they're gay when they go in and gay when they come out."

She shook her head again. "That's hard to believe."

She sat there for a moment, deep in thought. Then she said, "Now I want to talk to you about something else."

"What's that?" I asked.

"It's been almost a year now," Nancy Lee began. "It will be at least two more before Lester Vernon is eligible for parole. I'm as horny as a mountain goat. Vibrators don't do the job. You've seen me dancing with those guys at the Ranch. You remember that night in the parking lot. I was not getting raped, Joe Bradley. I went out there on my own. I was very drunk, but I went out there on my own. Do you understand that?"

I nodded. "I understand that."

"I'm grateful for what you did. Really. But I wasn't getting raped. Sooner or later it's going to happen again, and then again, and I don't want to be known as the whore from Casa El Rancho."

I nodded. Listening to her quietly.

"I've talked to Lester Vernon about it. Has he talked to you?"

Her question made me remember a strange conversation with him in the prison yard the morning after the last visitor's day. He had mumbled something about not wanting Nancy Lee to be a whore and asking me to please take care of her. I thought he was still talking about her getting drunk at the Ranch, but thinking back now I was not so sure.

"He said something I didn't understand. I'm not sure what he was trying to tell me," I responded.

"He was trying to tell you that it was okay for you to fuck me," Nancy Lee said.

I shook my head. "I'd better go home, Nancy Lee. Don't you go out tonight. I'll talk to Lester Vernon on Monday. I'll talk to him straight. This is too important to speak in code."

I did what I promised her I'd do. I spoke to Lester Vernon in the exercise yard. We had a nice long private talk. I asked him flat out what he had meant when he told me to take care of Nancy Lee.

He answered me directly. "I want you to fuck her, Joe Bradley. She needs it. I'd rather it be you than those assholes at the Ranch. And if you don't do it somebody else will and she'll get a rep as the town whore. You'll be careful about her rep -- I know you will."

When I got home that night I masturbated. And, as I had done since the seventh grade, I thought about the girl next door naked, only this time my fantasies went a bit further than usual.

The next night I walked over to her doublewide and told her about my talk with Lester Vernon. I explained that we had to keep a low profile. I had promised Lester Vernon I would do that. I had to keep dating and I could take her to the Ranch only couple of times a month like an old friend would do. Most of the time I would just walk over to her place so nobody would see my car there overnight.

She understood, and as we talked quietly, there seemed to be a gradual building of sexual tension between us. I suggested that we have a few drinks to relax us and she got out the Early Times and ginger ale. We talked a little about when we were students. After a couple of drinks she turned the lights down and we sat together on the couch.

I kissed her and ran both my hands down her body to her waist, then put them behind her back, pulled her close, and kissed her again. We didn't talk much. She ran her hand up my thigh and caressed my erection.

"Nice," she said. "A lot bigger that when we were skinny dipping."

Then she got up and went into the kitchen -- I thought to get more ice. But when she came back she was buck-naked wearing spike heels. She posed provocatively in the dim half-light.

This was the body I had dreamed about -- fantasized about when I jacked off -- since the seventh grade. Five nine, 120 pounds, narrow waist and big 36C tits -- nipples erect. Her belly was taut and flat. And that beaver! It was thick with curly, dark, brunet hair -- almost black. Legs! Jesus those legs! They had looked that way since she was fourteen years old. She had exactly the body I had always pictured in my mind when I jacked off.

At five foot nine those spike heels made her six feet tall. She was a big woman -- too much woman for most men. But not for me! God! She was beautiful! She just stood there letting me look at her for a couple of minutes before she spoke.

"Fuck me Joe Bradley. Pick me up and carry me to bed and fuck me. And don't be gentle about it. I need a real man between my legs tonight. I know you got a big one -- I just felt it - and I want you to shove that Polish sausage into me and stretch me out. I want you to make me feel it."