This tale will reveal to you the strange interlocking lives of three perverted people, citizens of the town, Purple Plains, somewhere in the vast heartland of the North American prairie.
Purple Plains was a good little town, full of good little people, doing their very best to keep Purple Plains perfectly plain and pure, not like those Sodom and Gomorrah-like sewer cities on the east and west coast of the country, where they tolerated every kind of disgusting deviation ever known to mankind.
In Purple Plains, nothing was tolerated. Absolutely nothing. After all, Purple Plains was the very place where the Triple F had been founded. The Functional Family Foundation. And now it had gone national. The whole continent was getting on the bandwagon. And this great organization had been started by none other than Purple Plains' own mayor, and most influential businessman, Perry Pepple (one of the three perverted people that are the subject of this tragic tale.) In Purple Plains, members of the Functional Family Foundation were known affectionately as 'Pepple's People.' In Purple Plains, they had even raised the age of consent to twenty-four. Anyone younger than that was considered an adolescent or a minor. This gave parents many extra years to protect their darlings from all the evil vices swirling about in the world. It just made so much sense.
Perry Pepple was the wealthiest person in Purple Plains. He had made his modest millions peddling purity. First he had peddled purity to the poor, because they were desperate for something better than they already had. But little by little, the poison spread, and even the middle-class and the rich were converting to purity, though only in public. (What's private is private. Everyone knows that.) Many people joined the foundation, and contributed, even beyond their means, to fight the fight. To support the struggle.
And what was the struggle? The prime purpose of the Triple F was to encourage heterosexuality, which would lead to the expansion of the family. What could not be tolerated was same-sex intercourse, where the seed could only fall on barren soil and be wasted. This was an abomination condemned by the almighty, himself. (Everyone knows that. Read Leviticus.)
Perry Pepple's single ambition in life was to ferret out faggots. Of course, there were no longer any faggots in Purple Plains, but one could always hope to find a faggot, and then to????? What? Tattoo them? Imprison them? Deport them? Perry Pepple's dreams barely fell short of total annihilation. Extermination. Oh, to purify this great land of ours. A consummation devoutly to be wished. Perry Pepple had always detested queers, but, even so, he was not preaching hatred. He was advocating the all-encompassing love that would shine forth from the great redeemer upon all the righteous holy people, such as himself, and his handsome, athletic son, Petey.
Perry Pepple doted on his singular son, Petey. For Petey was all that was left to him of his formerly functional family, ever since he had come home early from his office at the bank one day, and discovered his wife, Paula, in their very own matrimonial bed, doing unmentionable things with the Purple Plains High School girls gym teacher, Penelope Padway. His own wife, it seemed, was what they called a 'dyke.' She was a queer. They were really everywhere. Paula Pepple had shortly thereafter been dispatched in disgrace from Purple Plains to parts unknown, never to see her precious Petey again. The Purple Plains High School girl's gym teacher had lost her job and her teaching license, as she was obviously unfit to be around impressionable teenagers. It is said she moved to Santa Fe, and became quite successful, designing turquoise jewelry.
Poor Perry Pepple, founder and owner of the Purple Plains Savings and Loan Associaton, was left alone to raise his boy by himself, and it may even have been this incident which inspired him to found the Functional Family Foundation, so that this horror would never again be visited on another family. He now had a mission in the world. Stamping out sodomy from Purple Plains, and indeed from every city, town, village, and hamlet on God's green earth.
Perry and Petey Pepple lived, just the two of them, in the big house on the hill. Perry Pepple never remarried. He decided to remain celibate, and devote his life to raising Petey. He no longer trusted women. From now on it would be just him and Petey.
Petey Pepple is the second of the three perverted people whose strange interconnections are discussed herein. Petey Pepple was the star quarterback on the Purple Plains Community College football team. He was also the school swimming champion. He was also the school boxing champion. Perry Pepple knew that Petey Pepple was perfect, even if he was a little girl-crazy. Every young boy should be a little girl-crazy. That was good.
Some people would have said that Petey Pepple's only defect was his habit of pounding into powder any other boy whom he might find slightly effeminate. Or not quite all man. Yes. Petey Pepple was a chip off the old block, all right. The apple had not fallen far from the tree.
Once the College dean had foolishly brought Petey into his office, after some alleged bullying incident, and had the temerity to call Perry Pepple and ask him to come down to the school. Perry Pepple went right down to the school, and gave that dean a piece of his mind, and afterwards, had the man fired for protecting unmanly boys. Perry Pepple didn't see anything wrong with what Petey had done. It was perfectly proper to pick on such people. Girlish boys and womanly men were a threat to the continuance of life as we know it in this town and in this country, and, indeed, on this planet. They were a disease.
And now we come to Dr. David Drucker, the third thespian in this dreary drama. Dr. David Drucker was the town Medical Doctor, and the husband of Dierdre Drucker. They had two sons, Donny Drucker and Danny Drucker. Donny Drucker was a Junior in Purple Plains Community College as was Petey Pepple, but Danny Drucker had just turned eighteen and was only a Freshman.
Donny Drucker, unfortunately was not the captain of the football team. He was not the school swimming champion. He was not the school boxing champion. He was, however, president of the college Drama Club. He was also, unfortunately, the boy Petey Pepple had pounded into powder in the athletic field, the day that Perry Pepple had been called down to the school.
Dr. David Drucker was a card-carrying member of the Triple F, because in Purple Plains you had to be a member of the Triple F. You really had to be. He was not enamored of the organization nor its goals, nor its message of intolerance and hatred. Especially since he, himself, while not purple, was ever-so-slightly lavender, and whenever he went out of town to medical conventions, he would tip the bellboy to find him a male hustler, whom he would fuck silly, all night long. There were also those special evenings, when a particularly handsome hustler would overcome all his foolish inhibitions and fuck him silly, all night long.
His hatred of Perry Pepple grew daily. It was yea verily at the point of exploding, but, of course, in Purple Plains such an emotion had to be concealed at all costs. His hatred and resentment became a gangrenous wound festering within him. How he wanted to destroy Perry Pepple, and even along with Perry Pepple, Petey Pepple. The two of them. Take them down. Remove intolerance and gay-bashing from Purple Plains. He longed to avenge his closeted, intermittently-queer self, and to avenge his beaten boy.
It so happened, that both Perry Pepple and Petey Pepple were patients of Dr. David Drucker. He was the only doctor in Purple Plains, after all. And it was thanks to this doctor/patient relationship, that Dr. Drucker was able to start formulating the most evil, diabolical plan ever devised by man. At least by any man in Purple Plains.
Petey Pepple was coming in to get his physical to make him eligible to enter the state shot-put tournament. Dr. Drucker was looking forward to examining Petey Pepple. It wasn't because Petey Pepple was a gorgeous, irresistible, long-limbed teenager, with the smoothest skin, and the most brilliant blue eyes, and the roundest, most adorable butt anyone had ever seen, or even that he possessed an unbelievable physical endowment, which had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, when he had encountered puberty. This endowment, Doctor Drucker knew, was genetic and inherited. (Perry Pepple was a walking prick in more than one way.) Dr. Drucker had beheld his formidable instrument many times, and each time an excited shiver had wracked his body. It was the one really good thing about Perry Pepple.
No. The reason Dr. Drucker was salivating, anticipating the approaching interview was that he was about to put into effect his long-dreamed-of enterprise, which would cause the downfall of Perry Pepple and of Petey Pepple. Oh. It was clever. It was original. It was dastardly.
The day arrived, and handsome young Petey Pepple entered his inner office. Dr. Drucker had him strip to put on a gown, with the opening in the back, but did not leave the room while Petey Pepple changed. He had to see that spectacular endowment one more time. And that ass. That ass. Petey Pepple was not the least bit shy about stripping in front of Dr. Drucker. He was almost flaunting his perfect body. He was almost swaggering. Oh. Did Petey Pepple ever know that he was magnificent. Petey Pepple had never had so much as a pimple on his peerless, unparalleled posterior.
Dr. Drucker tried to calm himself and stop his hands from shaking, because he was going to have to draw blood to send to the lab. But first, he checked Petey Pepple's eyes, and ears, and even beamed the tiny flashlight into Petey Pepple's nostrils. Everything was fine.
He checked Petey Pepple's blood pressure. 110 over 70. He took his pulse. 65. He pressed his stethoscope against Petey Pepple's back and told him to take deep breaths, so that he could check his lungs. Then he moved his stethoscope to Petey Pepple's heart to listen to the beat. He then did a cardiogram. Perfect. Everything was perfect. Everything about Petey Pepple was extraordinary. Too bad he was such a mean motherfucker.
Next, Dr. Drucker, lovingly fondled Petey's enormous round balls. "Cough," he told Petey. Petey coughed. "Cough again," said Dr. Drucker. Petey coughed again. Dr. Drucker hated to let go of those tantalizing testicles. After that, Dr. Drucker slipped a rubber glove over one hand and had Petey bend over the examining table. He squeezed lubricant on his index finger, and ever so gently wormed it into Petey's tight rectum, feeling all the walls, spreading the hole as much as he could, inching forward, and now touching the prostate. No trouble there. It was a perfect prostate. He didn't want to withdraw his finger. Such a perfect prostate.
"Doc," protested Petey Pepple. His dick was starting to puffen from the digital stimulation he was receiving. It was feeling just too good. Just too good. "Doc," he said again, his voice a little unsteady. Dr. Drucker came out of an almost hypnotic spell, and grudgingly withdrew his delighted digit. He pulled off the rubber glove, regretfully. It had been lovely, but it was time to move on.
"I'm going to have to draw some blood, now," said Dr. Drucker.
"Sure, Doc. Whatever you say. Go ahead." Petey Pepple held out his arm. He was a strong brave lad. He was not even afraid of needles. Dr. Drucker filled several tubes with Petey's precious red fluid, and finally drew out the needle, pressing a gauze pad onto the wound and holding it for a couple of minutes, so that Petey Pepple would not get a hematoma on his perfect white skin.
