Back in 1969 Butch Oliver was a 52 year old ex-Marine who was a contradiction to the old saying, "you can't judge a book by its cover" because the grizzled trucker was usually every bit as cold and unforgiving as he looked. His former wife would have testified to that but not to his face, because while Butch wasn't violent he was a mean man who could wither most people, be they man or woman, with a caustic stare.
Mary Oliver had put up with it for almost 20 years before the very things that had attracted the once rebellious woman to Butch had made him impossible to live with. The long haul trucker was rarely home but when he was the former Marine was demanding in every possible way, from her housekeeping to her cooking and the TV shows she watched, but especially in the bedroom.
Before Mary fled to her sister's place out in Arizona, she had a final conversation with her friend Betty in which she detailed the reasons she was leaving, and while Betty was aware that her friend's husband was a bit of a brute, Mary had never spoke of the sexual side of their marriage until that parting chat.
"You have no idea what he's like," Mary had complained. "He's only home 2 or 3 days a week but it's practically non-stop with Butch. Sex is all he thinks about."
"Hey, you've been married for a long time. You should be happy he still wants you Mary," Betty related. "Hell, my Herb screws me once a month if I'm lucky and spends the rest of the time farting and drinking beer. Plus, forgive me for saying this but your man might not be the most handsome guy in town, but what a body! Especially for a man his age."
"It's what attracted me to him from the start, but I can't take his constant demands of me any more, and that's with him fucking every broad at truck stops or hitchhiking the rest of the time," Mary confessed. "A couple of months ago I thought I would do him a favor and clean the cab of this truck out for him, and there were empty condom packages all over the stinking place. Even some used rubbers!"
"What did he say when you asked him about it?
"Ask him? No way because he knows I know and doesn't care what I think. He'd just drag me into the bedroom and screw me," Mary replied. "He's so rough too, and what makes it even worse is that he has a gigantic penis too."
"You're leaving this guy?" Betty had said incredulously. "Girl, I know you've threatened to leave Butch before, but if you actually do this time, do you mind if I come by to see how he's doing after you're gone?"
"He's all yours Betty," Mary said before saying good bye to her friend forever. "You've got exactly what Butch insists on."
"I do?"
"Yep. He's always said that he doesn't care what they look like, so long as they have a pulse and a pussy."
Despite her friend's warning a couple of months after Mary bolted, Betty paid Butch Oliver a visit, armed with a plate of cookies and a shoulder for the trucker to cry on. Betty had no idea if the cookies were ever eaten and she knew her shoulder wasn't needed, but when Betty waddled out of the Oliver's house well after midnight she did so knowing that her friend wasn't lying about Butch.
"The sex was amazing," Betty related on the phone to her sister after she recovered. "At least for a while it was, but it got so that he was just tossing me around the bed like rag doll and having his way with me, over and over again. The skin on my knees and back is rubbed raw, and as for my you-know-what? Thankfully Herb rarely bothers me for it, and I don't think I would feel him if he did. Never again."
"Well, at least not for quite a while," Betty reasoned after thinking about it.
Betty had considered getting in touch with Mary Oliver but changed her mind, not wanting to admit what she had done or having to listen to her saying 'I told you so'.
In the meantime Butch Oliver had set his sights on other gals, but on a Saturday afternoon in late June an opportunity arose that the randy trucker could not resist, and it only happened because of a camera his nearly forgotten wife had left behind when she fled.
***
Butch Oliver had just gotten home after driving halfway across the country for seven days, and he had been hoping for a quiet day around the house before heading to the local gin mill to pick up one of the willing locals for a workout in a bed instead of the cab of his truck but he saw that it would probably be noisy around here because the people next door were having some sort of party.
A graduation party according to the balloons and banners, and as she watched the busty woman and her daughter set up the tables he struggled to remember the girl's name. All he could recall that it was kind of a snobby name. That would be something that his ex-wife would know, but Butch never paid attention to any of that, and as he watched the scrawny girl laying down tablecloths he realized how time had flown because it seemed like yesterday the girl was riding a tricycle.
Butch had always referred to the kid as sweetie or girly but he caught on that she didn't like it because instead of saying hello she would nod and go on her way, her nose in the air like her shit didn't stink. That was the way she walked to the bus stop wearing that stupid Catholic school uniform, her head held high like she was the queen and her books clutched to her chest.
"Stuck up little snot," Butch growled to no one as she checked out the rather homely girl with a big nose and no tits to speak of, and while Butch found the neighbor girl no great shakes to look at he admitted to the empty kitchen, "I'd still do you, whatever your frigging name is - knock that attitude out of you."
Butch kept his eye on the party as he went about his business, today concentrating on weeding though his ex's crap and pitching what he didn't want, when he came across a camera that she had wasted money on. One of those Polaroid cameras that printed out pictures right away, and Butch - not being one to normally take or look at photos - was about to toss it in the trash when he saw there was film in it.
For the hell of it Butch played around with the thing and after glancing at the instructions tried to figure out how it worked, and when he thought he had figured it out he took a picture. After waiting the prescribed time he looked at the finished product and laughed his ass off.
"Not bad. Something for the ladies," Butch guffawed when he looked at the picture he had taken of his cock laying on the kitchen table, and he wished he knew where Mary went so he could mail it to her to remind her of what she wasn't getting any more, although the crow would probably be more pissed at seeing his dick on the damn table instead.
About that time Butch Oliver happened to look out the window just in time to watch the neighbor girl sneaking back into the woods that were behind all the properties on the block, a state owned welcome buffer from possible development, and while he usually had no interest in what went on back there, the sight of the graduate weaseling back there with some hippie kid with a Prince Valiant haircut got his attention.
Armed with the camera Butch Oliver went out the back door and made his way through the patch of woods, trying to be quiet like he had in the jungles of Burma while looking for the young couple. There was a chance that they were just doing some bird watching like Butch's former wife had done, but since Butch had a mind that most had conceded was a tad perverted he was hoping for something else, and when he saw the two teens he wasn't disappointed.
"Oh you prissy little thing," Butch muttered as he watched the neighbor kneeling in front of this scrawny hippie who had his shorts and underwear down around his ankles while his erection pointed at the neighbor girl, and as she leaned forward and took the pale needle dick into her mouth he snapped a picture, and then another.
It didn't last long, and the last picture Butch Oliver took was that of the pious girl turning aside and spitting out the load that the hippie had deposited in her mouth. After that the former Sergeant Oliver used the same stealth-like movements to go back home so he could enjoy the photos.
"I ain't no Ansel Adams," Butch chortled to no one as he set the photos on the table, but the quality of the pictures did get better as he went along, although that may have the result of his moving close and closer to the action, something he didn't realize he had done until then.
Something else he had gotten from the little stroll was an erection, and he made quick work of that as he retreated to the bathroom where he promptly rubbed one out while staring at his favorite of the photos, with the neighbor girl's lips down in the boy's pubes while she looked up at him.
"That could be you," he told himself, and because he had always liked them as young as the law allowed he didn't feel guilt about what his active imagination was working on as he cleaned his mess. "It will be you."
***
"What's your name?" Butch Oliver sang off key as he stood in the garage and warbled the old Don and Juan song from the past as he watched the neighbor girl the next morning cleaning the mess in their backyard.
