Road Trip


It was time to move on. Joel had been in one place too long; besides, Cheryl, the waitress he'd met in a greasy diner in a jerkwater town in middle-of-nowhere, Arkansas, was talking relationship. Before long, she'd be talking marriage.

Joel wasn't looking for a relationship, much less marriage, especially not to a thirty something year-old waitress of redneck ancestry. He had just graduated from TCU in Fort Worth, Texas. She'd probably never read a book.

She could screw, though. He'd say that much for her. That and the room she had over a garage were the reasons he'd shacked up with her for the past week and a half.

His old BSA motorcycle had broken down, and he'd had to wait for the local repair shop to find parts. They'd had to send to another town for them. He'd needed a place to stay, and it hadn't taken much to get Cheryl to offer him the use of her place and the use of her body.

He was a good looking guy, and Cheryl was desperate. She was over thirty. Joel had recognized the desperation in her eyes. As soon as she had looked at him -- when he'd stopped in that first day for a bite to eat -- he'd known he could have her. It hadn't taken much for him to get her to invite him to come home with her. He'd stayed there every night since.

Upon graduating from TCU two months before, he'd set out on his BSA for a road trip, ending up in Arkansas. While in college, he had been deferred from being drafted into Mr. Johnson's war, but out of school now, he was once again eligible.

Wanting to have a little fun before either settling down to a job or being drafted to go to Vietnam, he'd set out on his bike, deciding day to day, where he'd go next.

Now, he was in the Ozarks of Arkansas. It was beautiful, but the people were as backward as any he'd ever seen, nothing more than a bunch of hillbillies.

Many of them didn't like outsiders; and with a Texas license plate, he was considered an outsider. He'd been run off the road once by two men in an old beat up pickup.

Not knowing how Cheryl would react to his leaving -- afraid she might just cut off his cock -- he decided to leave while she was at work, without so much as leaving her a note on the dresser. What good would it do to leave a note? He'd taken the money she kept hidden in the cookie jar, almost a hundred bucks?

He wouldn't have taken it, but after paying for the bike repairs, he was low on cash; besides he had made love to her for a week. He was twenty-two; she was over thirty. Just call it his fee for servicing her. Certainly he had been worth ninety-three dollars and change. She had a job; she could make it back.

Joel headed north out of town, toward Mountain Home, up close to the Missouri border. Maybe, from there, he'd loop through Missouri, down through Oklahoma, back to Texas.

He'd ridden for much of the day, with a hundred eighty miles left to go to Mountain Home, when he saw a dilapidated sign pointing to an equally dilapidated dirt road. The sign said "Mountain Home -- 92 miles."

It wasn't much of a road, seemingly little used and in disrepair, but the one he was on -- gravel often as not -- wasn't much of one either. At least the other one would shave almost ninety miles off the trip. If he kept on the road he was on, he'd have to stop for the night. If he took the other, he'd be able to make Mountain Home that night.

Joel checked his gas, taking off the gas cap, shaking the bike back and forth, listening to the gasoline slosh around in the tank, figuring he had enough for the trip, even if there weren't a gas station along the way. He was tired; and it was late. If he could save ninety miles, it'd be worth it, even if it weren't much of a road.

And it wasn't much of a road. It didn't seem to have been used in years. Grass and brush encroached on it, narrowing it down to a single lane much of the time, leaving no room for oncoming traffic to pass.

He didn't have to worry about oncoming traffic, though. After he turned onto the road, he saw no other sign of human life, not even a driveway or other road leading off from it, at least not until his odometer registered that he'd gone fifty-three miles.

Then he saw what might have once been a driveway. It was overgrown, but he could see tracks that a car had once made.

He thought about stopping, but if there were a house, probably no one lived in it; besides, who knew what kind of reception he'd get, this far out in the sticks.

Five miles farther along, he saw the bridge, then -- too late -- he saw that it was out. The fucking thing had a fifteen foot gap in the middle; and it spanned a ravine, the creek at the bottom of it, fifty or sixty feet below.

Joel didn't have time to stop. He laid down the bike, pushing away from it with his feet. Both he and the bike slid out onto the bridge. It had no railing.

The motorcycle careened down the center of the bridge, toward the gap, Joel, slid behind it, then rolled, flipping over, when he tried digging in his feet to stop himself. It didn't look as if either he or the bike would stop in time.

The bike didn't. It slid off the edge, crashing down into the creek below. Joel slid on his stomach, stopping with his head hanging over the edge. He watched his bike crash into the rocky bed of the shallow creek.

Joel lost some skin sliding across the bridge and twisted his ankle when he tried to stop himself. He could see his bike. The creek, running over a rocky shoal, was less than a foot deep where the bike landed.

It had landed front wheel first, crumpling the whole front end of the bike. Without a hoist of some kind, he'd never retrieve the bike; and if he did, it would require extensive repairs before he could ride it again. The BSA was old and probably not worth repairing. This looked like the end of Joel's road trip.

His immediate concern, though, was to get down to the bike. He couldn't see an easy way down, his ankle hurt, and everything he had was in the backpack on the bike. Before he did anything, he had to find a way down.

It was almost dark by the time Joel reached the bike. During the trip down, he'd twisted his ankle again. He managed to pull his backpack off the motorcycle, but couldn't budge the bike. It was probably a total loss, and he didn't have the money to pay for repairs. "Bye, old friend," he said, patting the gas tank.

Since he couldn't climb back up to the road with his hurt ankle, he followed the creek downstream, hoping to find a way up when the ravine became less steep, but that would have to wait for morning. For now, it was to dark to try.

Once he found some flat, dry, land, Joel set up camp for the night. Everything in his pack was soaked, his sleeping bag, his extra clothes, and the food he'd swiped from Cheryl's house.

The loaf of white bread was a loss, but the bologna was still good. Along with it, he had a couple of apples and some cheese -- not much-- but he was hungry. He hadn't eaten since leaving Cheryl's house around noon.

Joel wrung out his wet clothes and sleeping bag and spread them on the rocky beach, then sat down to eat. Next, he'd have to start a fire. That high up in the mountains, the nights were cold.

He put an Ace bandage on his ankle, then hobbled around gathering wood. After starting a fire, he cut some evergreen branches, making himself a bed beside the fire. Then he tossed back a handful of aspirin to dull the pain of his hurt ankle, so he could go to sleep.

When Joel awoke the next morning, he finished off the bologna and cheese and the last apple. It was the last of his food. The stream had fish in it, but he had no way to catch them. Neither was there an easy way up to the road -- on either side of the creek.

Left with no other choice, he walked downstream. At least downstream, he would find people. How far, was another question. Other than that overgrown driveway he'd seen five miles back, the only sign of human habitation he'd seen had been back on the main road, and that was almost sixty miles by road. No telling how far it was following the creek.

Several hours later, after walking around a bend in the creek, Joel came upon a boy. He'd been sitting on the bank fishing. It startled Joel to see the boy, but it scared the shit out of the boy. He threw down his fishing pole, jumped up, and ran off.

"Wait," shouted Joel, "don't go. I won't hurt you." By this time, Joel was about half starved.

At the edge of the trees, the boy stopped, peering out from behind a large oak tree. "What are ya'll?" he asked.

"What do you mean, what am I?" asked Joel.

"Are ya'll a demon?" asked the boy.

"I'm no demon," said Joel. "I'm just a guy -- a very lost, hungry, guy. Is your mom or dad around somewhere? I wrecked back at the bridge. I've walked down the creek from there."

The boys stepped out a little way from the tree, but looked as though he was prepared to run at the slightest hint of danger. "Ya'll wrecked back at the ol broke bridge?" he asked.

"Yes," said Joel, " My motorcycle ran off it. There wasn't a sign saying it was out."

"That ol bridge," said the boy, "it been broke, since afore I were born. Ain't nobody never use this road no more."

"Then there's no way through here to Mountain Home?"

"I don't know nuthin bout no Mountain Home," said the boy.

"That's about the closest town to here, from what I can tell," said Joel, "You've never been there?"

"I ain't never been to no town," said the boy. "What's they like?"

Joel edged a little closer to the boy. The boy stepped back, looking around, as if making certain he had a clear place to run.

Holding his hands out, Joel said, "It's OK. I won't hurt you. Look," he said, pointing to his ankle, "I sprained my ankle. I can barely walk. I couldn't chase after you, if I had to."

The boy glanced at Joel's ankle. It seemed to reassure him, because he stepped farther out from behind the tree, placing his hands on his hips. "It all swole up, ain't it?"

"Yeah," said Joel, "It hurts like Hell. I've been walking on it all day."

"I guess ya'll ain't no demon," said the boy.

"My name's Joel. What's yours?"

"Boy," said the boy.

"Boy? Don't you have any other name?"

"Naw, I don't guess," said Boy. "That's all my maw ever calls me, just Boy. Ya'll Joel?"

"I'm Joel. That's what people call me. What do they call you when there's other boys around."

"I ain't never seed no other boy."

Joel sat down on the creek bank. Boy edged closer, just out of Joel's reach. "You've never seen another boy?" he asked, "and you've never been to a town? Where have you been?"

"I ain't been nowhere," said Boy.

"You've never been to the market with your mother and father -- or anywhere?"

"My paw's dead. They's just my maw, the girl, and me."

"The girl?" asked Joel.

"Muh sister," said Boy.

"Does she ever go into town with your mother?"

"Naw. My maw, she never go nowhere neither."

"Where do you get your food and supplies?" asked Joel.

"We gots some pigs. We grows some corn; and my maw, she raise some vegetables. Ol man Simmons, he come two, three, times a year. We trade him some pigs for flour and sech."

"You don't have a car or truck or anything?" asked Joel.

"They an ol pickup -- used to belong to my paw -- but it ain't run since afore I were born."

"How old are you?" asked Joel. He was having difficulty determining the boy's age. He could have been anywhere from eleven to fourteen. He was tall, but he didn't seem to have entered puberty yet. there was no shadow on his upper lip and his features were still the rounded features of a child.

Boy glanced aside, breaking eye contact with Joel. It seemed as if the question had embarrassed him. "I -- I don't rightly know," he said.

"You don't know what year you were born in? asked Joel.

Boy looked confused, as if the question had no meaning for him.

"I don't know what ya'll mean?" said Boy.

"This is 1967," said Joel, "you knew that much, didn't you?"

"What's that mean -- 1967?"

Joel shook his head. Could there really be someone living in the United States that had no name, didn't know how old he was, had never visited a town, and didn't even know what year it was? And how do you explain to someone what 1967 means, if he has no concept of calendars?

"1967. That's one thousand nine hundred sixty seven years since Christ was born. Have you heard of Christ?"

Boy's face lit up, "Yes, sir-re-Bob," said Boy, "Jesus Christ Almighty and Jesus Fucking Christ. Ol man Simmons, he always saying that."

Joel took a second look at the boy. Barefoot, Boy wore nothing but a tattered pair of pants, cut off below the knees. He had light brown hair, bleached blond by the sun. His skin was tanned a deep brown. He was a good looking kid -- would have been down right pretty -- had he been a girl. Joel wondered what the boy's sister looked like.

"I don't suppose you know how old your sister is, do you?" he asked.

"Don't rightly know," said Boy, "but she older'n me."

Fifteen or sixteen then, Joel thought. Hell, twelve was probably the legal age around these parts. If the sister was half as pretty as Boy, Joel would like to meet her. The mother might not be bad either. "Think I could come with you to your house?" he asked. "I'm really hungry."

"I guess it be OK," said Boy. His face lit up in a grin.

Boy walked over to pick up his fishing pole and undo a stringer of fish he'd attached to a tree root. He had three good size fish on it, two catfish and a bass. "Come on," he said, heading down a path into the woods. Joel followed, hobbling along.

Before long they came to a clearing. In it were a clapboard house, a shed behind it, and pens containing pigs. There was a small patch of corn and a vegetable garden. Joel could see the figure of a women, bent over, working in the garden. Boy ran ahead, easily outdistancing Joel.

The woman stood up as Boy reached her, looking over at Joel. Boy pointed at him. Joel hobbled toward Boy and the woman.

She wasn't a bad looking woman; once she'd been pretty; but time, weather, and a hard life had taken their toll on her. She had creases around her eyes and mouth; and Joel didn't think that she smiled much. A frown seemed to be frozen on her face.

"Hello," he said, using his most seductive smile. She didn't smile back.

"What do you want?" she said.

"I wrecked my motorcycle up at the bridge," he said, "and hurt my ankle. I'm hungry, too. I've got money. I could pay you. If you can give me a ride into town, I'd be glad to pay you for that, too."

He could see the old pickup parked beside the driveway in front. He could tell at first glance that it didn't run. Brush grown up around it had taken years to grow.

"Ain't got no car," she said.

"How about a telephone?" asked Joel, even though he already knew the answer. There were no power lines or telephone poles to the house.

"Ain't got no telephone," she said.

"Could I buy some food from you, then, and maybe spend the night. I'll sleep in the shed or even down by the creek. I haven't eaten all day, and my ankle is killing me. I don't think I can walk any farther on it -- not today, anyway."

She stared at him a full thirty seconds without replying, then said, "Ya'll can stay. Supper be ready in bout an hour."

"Thank you," said Joel, "thank you so much, Ms..." He held out his hand. She didn't take it. Neither did she tell him her name. "My name's Joel, Joel Gray," he added. Where can I put my pack?"

She didn't answer him, but she said to Boy, "Have him put his things in yore room. He can have yore bed."

"I don't want to kick the boy out of his bed, Mam. I can sleep on the floor." but she had already knelt down and was once again working in the garden. She didn't answer or raise her head in response to Joel. He felt Boy tug on his arm. Boy gestured toward the house with a toss of his head.

Joel followed him, saying, "Thank you, Mam," back over his shoulder. She didn't answer.

"I don't mean to kick you out of your bed," he said to Boy.

"Hit don't matter," said Boy. "Hit ain't much of a bed, nohow. I can sleep on the floor just as good."

As they approached the house, the door opened and a beautiful -- absolutely gorgeous -- girl stepped out. This must be Girl -- Boy's sister. If the mother had once looked like this, it was a shame what the years and weather had done to her. Even without makeup and with dirt on her face, the girl was beautiful -- as pretty as any Joel had ever seen.

"That there's Girl," said Boy. "This here's Joel," he said to Girl. Girl smiled a quick, shy, smile, then ducked back inside. By the time Joel and Boy entered the house, she'd disappeared into another room.

Inside the house, to the left of the front door, was a sitting room with a rocking chair, a fireplace, and a couple of stools. That furniture, as well as the table and chairs to the right of the door, looked home made. There was a sink and a wood burning cook stove on the other side of the table. The sink had no faucets. Joel had noticed a well just outside the front door.

A hallway led off from the other side of the front room. Off it opened three doors, one on each side of the hall, and one at the end. Girl had evidently disappeared into one of those doors. Boy led him to the door at the end of the hall.

Boy wasn't kidding when he said it wasn't much of a bed. It probably had once been one of those folding metal army cots. It had a thin mattress supported by a wire lattice. The sheets were none too clean, but Joel intended to place his sleeping bag on top the bed and sleep in it, anyway.

The room wasn't much, either, no more than a small shed added to the house, leaving little room for more than the bed.

Taking off the backpack, Joel stood it in a corner, then sat down on the bed, relieved to take the weight off his ankle. Boy stood grinning at him. "What hit like?" he said.

"What's what like?" asked Joel.

"A town," said Boy. "What hit like in a town?"

"There's all kinds of towns," said Joel. "They're all different. Some are small and some are big."

"How big?" asked Boy.

"Some have millions of people."

"Is that a lot?" asked Boy.

"Don't you know how to count?" Joel asked.

"Shore," said Boy. "We got this many pigs." He held up nine fingers.

"But, do you know how many that is?" asked Joel.

"Hit's this many," said Boy, holding up his fingers again.

"Do you know what that many is called?"

Boy shook his head, obviously puzzled by the question.

Joel held up nine of his fingers. "That's nine," he said. He opened up his thumb. "That's ten." He closed and opened his hands ten times. "That's a hundred," he said. "Ten more times of doing that makes a thousand. A million is a thousand thousands."

It was no use. Such a number was beyond the comprehension of a boy who's ability to count was limited to his fingers and toes. Joel gave up, simply assuring Boy that a lot of people lived in a town.

"I don't guess you know how to read either, do you, Boy?"

Boy didn't even know what reading was, so Joel pulled a book out of his back pack, showing it to him. "This is writing," he said, pointing to the print on a page in the book. "This is a book. It tells a story." He read off some of the words.

"Them little squiggles say that?"

"Yes," said Joel. Digging farther into his backpack, he pulled out a "Sports Illustrated." He had some "Playboys" in there, too, but he didn't know whether Boy's mother would approve of his showing them to Boy.

Boy was fascinated by the pictures, the first he'd ever seen. One picture taken at a football game, showed the crowd in the stands. "Is that a town?" asked Boy.

"No," said Joel, "that's just people at a football game. The football stadium is in a town. There's many, many, more people than that in a town -- in a city at least."

By this time, Joel had determined that Boy, having never been off their place, had never seen anyone other than his mother, his father -- now dead -- his sister, and ol man Simmons, who came out two or three times a year to trade supplies for some of their pigs.

The family was completely isolated. Other than Simmons, probably no one even knew they existed. They were vulnerable, weren't they? From what Boy had said, Simmons wouldn't be by for months yet. Joel could do whatever he wanted, and no one would ever know.

Joel was no criminal. Oh, he'd stolen Cheryl's money, but he had figured she owed it to him. One girl had accused him of rape, but it'd been his word against hers, and they had been on a date at the time. It hadn't been his fault that she had got him all turned on before saying, no. The cops hadn't even pressed charges against him for that.

He could do anything he wanted, and no one would ever know. He could fuck Girl. God, she was a nice piece of tail.

But -- his motorcycle was at the bottom of the gorge. They could trace him though that, couldn't they? No, he'd go on his way, once his ankle was better, but -- shit -- he'd like to have a piece of Girl.

There was no conversation at supper. Joel got no responses from anyone, not even from Boy at the table. Each person ate. then left. Girl cleaned up the dishes afterward. By that time, it was almost dark.

If there were candles or lanterns, Joel didn't see any. Boy curled up on the floor in the sitting room wrapping himself in a blanket. Within minutes Joel could hear his soft snores. The two females had already disappeared into their rooms.

Joel went outside, taking a leak against the side of the house. There was an outhouse, but it was around back, a good two hundred feet from the house. Back in his room, Joel stripped down to his boxers and t-shirt and climbed on top of his sleeping bag. The house was still warm.

He was almost asleep when he heard his door open, looking up, expecting to see Boy, but it was Boy's mother. Without a word, she pulled down his boxers, and climbed on top of him, hoisting up her gown as she did.

She lowered herself down onto his hard cock. It'd become hard the moment he'd seen who it was. She grinded away until he came, then climbed off him, shutting the door behind her. She had come in, fucked him, then left, without saying a word.

Neither did she say anything the next day to acknowledge what had happened. Joel would have thought he had dreamed it, had he been asleep first, but it had happened. He'd awakened with his boxers down around his ankles.

Except for Boy, who talked all the time when they were alone, no one in the house said much of anything. Maw -- as Boy and Girl called her -- would tell each of them what chores she wanted them to do. They would respond to her instructions, sometimes with questions about them, but other than that, there was no conversation. No one in the house made small talk. Joel tried, but without success.

When they were alone -- just he and Boy -- Boy wouldn't shut up. He had questions about everything. Joel revealed a world to him that Boy hadn't previously known existed. He wanted to know everything about it.

Every night, Maw came in to his room, fucked him, then left, without saying a word. He never saw her naked.

She hiked up her gown, mounted him, fucked him, then left. When he tried to reach up for her tits, she batted his hand away. She never let him on top, nor did she let him kiss her. He talked to her, but she never responded.

After two weeks, Joel still didn't know her name. He called her, "Maw," as did Girl and Boy. His ankle was better. He helped Boy do some of his chores, even though Maw never asked him to. She never asked him to do anything, nor did she ask him when he was going to leave. Joel guessed that the fucking was all she required of him.

It was late August. The day was especially hot. He and Boy had been slopping the pigs and cleaning one of the pens. "Let's go down to the creek for a swim," he said to Boy.

"I can't swim none," said Boy.

"Come on. I'll teach you," said Joel.

"I'm scart of drowning," said Boy.

"I'll be there. I won't let you drown. If you know how to swim, you won't be afraid of the water."

At the creek, Joel pulled off his clothes. He was wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and boots, so it took him longer than Boy, who, without shirt and shoes, just had on his pair of tattered pants. When Joel turned around, Boy was already naked.

BOY HAD NO BALLS. He had a small, prepubescent cock, but just a small flap of skin where his balls should have been. He had some pubic hair -- just a small triangle of it, like a girl.

Joel's jaw dropped at the sight, but his cock got hard. Somehow, Boy's small cock just made the sight of his ball-less crotch that much more erotic. His cock was at the most, two inches long. "What happened to you?" he asked.

Instead of answering, Boy stepped up to Joel, taking Joel's cock in his hand. He pumped it for a moment, looking up at Joel as he did. He smiled, took hold of Joel's hands, pulling him down onto the ground. Once there, he raised his legs, presenting his hole to Joel's cock. Joel was too shocked to speak.

Boy guided Joel's cock into his hole. It was tight. Boy winced when Joel entered him.

Joel had never even considered fucking Boy. He wasn't gay. But Boy wasn't like any boy he'd ever known. He had the soft features of a girl. In a boyish way, he was as pretty as Girl. Without balls, and with his tiny cock, he hardly seemed to be a boy.

He was beyond worrying about what sex Boy was, anyway. Joel was just conscious of Boy's tight, hot, hole. It was as good as any pussy he'd ever had. In no time, he filled Boy's ass with his spunk.

"Why did you do that?" he asked Boy afterward.

"Ya'll cock were hard," he said. "I thought you wanted to rut. Paw always did when his cock were hard."

"Your father fucked you?" asked Joel. He still hadn't asked Boy what had happened to his balls. He had thought Boy to be as ignorant about sex as he was about everything else in the world, but he knew fucking. He was actually pretty good at it. He had seduced Joel, not the other way around.

"Yeah," said Boy, "Maw, she wouldn't rut with him, so he rutted with me."

"Did he cut off your balls?"

"Nah," said Boy, "Maw did that."

"Your mother cut off your balls? Because you fucked your father?"

"Nah," said Boy, "she didn't see nuthin wrong with that. She say boys don't have no babies, so it don't do no harm for Paw to rut with me. She cut off he's balls when he rut with Girl. She said she don't need no two headed babies around."

"She cut off your father's balls?"

"Yeah," said Boy. He got a fever and die from it."

"Why did she cut off your balls?"

"She say balls just get a boy in trouble," said Boy. "If'n I have them I might want to rut with girl and make a two headed baby. She say boys like pigs. They better without balls. Would that really happen? Would Girl have a two headed baby, if'n I rut with her?"

"It probably wouldn't have two heads," said Joel, "but there might be something wrong with it. A brother and sister shouldn't have a kid together. Neither should a father and daughter. She still shouldn't have cut off your balls."

"I don't miss them none," said Boy. "What's they for, 'cept to make babies. Pigs -- they do just fine without them."

"You can't go through puberty without them," said Joel.

"What that mean -- puberty?"

"That's why your cock is so small," said Joel. "You've never been through puberty. When you go though puberty, your cock grows. Yours never will grow, since you don't have balls."

"Oh," said Boy, "I'd like to have a big one like yores"

Joel lifted Boy's cock with his fingers. "Does it ever get hard?" he asked.

"Nah," said Boy.

"That's something else you need balls for," said Joel.

Boy grabbed hold of Joel's cock. It did get hard. "Want to rut some more?" he asked.

"Do you like it?" asked Joel.

"I like it with you," said Boy. "I like it with you more'n I did with Paw." He rolled over on his back, raising his legs like he did before.

Joel fucked him two more times, kissing Boy as he did. Boy liked kissing. He said afterward that no one, not his father or his mother, had ever kissed him. They forgot all about the swimming lesson.

He should have left, even if he'd had to walk fifty or sixty miles. He should have gone to the police, telling them what Maw had done to both her husband and Boy, but -- if he did -- they might learn that he had fucked Boy, and even in Arkansas, fucking a thirteen or fourteen year-old boy might be against the law.

Besides, he wanted to fuck Boy some more. Fucking him was almost as good as he thought fucking Girl might be. He had it pretty good on the farm -- a bed to sleep in, food to eat, and two people to fuck. He could always leave later.

Maw still came in to fuck him each night, but that wasn't much better than jacking off. Boy came in after she left, spending the night in Joel's arms. Joel had folded up the little bed, placing the mattress and sleeping bag on the floor. The bed was too small for the two of them to sleep in.

Although Maw knew they slept together, she said nothing. From the noise they made, she had to know they were fucking. But as long as Joel fucked her, she didn't seem to care what he and Boy did.

One night, he and Boy were on the floor fucking. Joel heard the door to his room open, looking up, expecting to see Maw, concerned that she might object to his fucking her son, after all. It wasn't Maw, though. It was Girl.

Moonlight streamed through his window. Girl stood, illuminated by it. She looked down at him and Boy for a moment, then pulled her shift off over her head. She was naked under it.

She was beautiful. She was fucking beautiful -- her pert breasts sticking straight out. Although the moonlight bleached the room of all color, Joel could see that her bush was darker than her sun bleached hair.

Joel rolled off Boy, looking up at Girl. She nudged Boy with her foot, causing him to move out of the way, then lay down in his place. Then she reached up, pulling Joel to her. He entered her with his still hard cock.

She wasn't a virgin. She didn't bleed. Apparently what Boy had said about her father having at her had been true. She knew nothing about kissing, but was a quick learner. Joel was an eager teacher. That's not all he taught her. He taught her fucking and cock sucking, as well as kissing. She did them all well.

Winter came. Joel was still on the farm. Maw didn't come to his room anymore. She was pregnant, growing big already. Boy came in after Girl left, but Joel rarely fucked him. Girl usually drained him of all he had.

One night, Joel was on the floor fucking Girl. The door opened. He looked up, expecting to see Boy. It wasn't Boy. It was Maw. She left, leaving the door open. Girl jumped up, grabbed her shift, and ran out of the room, holding it over her breasts. Joel heard her door shut.

Joel slipped on his boxers and t-shirt, then turned to put on his jeans. If he was about to have a confrontation with Maw, he didn't want to be naked, while he had it. He only had one foot in his jeans when everything went black.

When he woke up, he was in the shed, lying on the floor, naked, his arms and legs tied spread eagled to opposite walls. His head hurt like Hell. Boy was standing over him. "What happened?' he asked. He had double vision, possibly the sign of a concussion. He could see two of Boy.

"Maw hit you with a chunk of firewood," Boy said.

Joel struggled against his bonds, but he was tied fast. "Untie me," he said.

"I can't," said Boy. "Maw, she said she kill me, if'n I did. She said you ought never have rutted with the girl. She say you just like my paw. She goin fix you, like she did him. She don't need you no more nohow, she said. She already got the baby she wanted."

"Please, Boy," Joel begged. "You've got to untie me. We're friends, aren't we?"

"Yes," said Boy, "we's friends, but I's afeard of Maw."

It was too late, anyway. The door to the shed opened. Maw came in. As usual, she said nothing. She picked up a sharp, curved, knife, the one Joel had seen her use to nut pigs, and with no more expression -- apparently no more concern than she had when she'd nutted a pig -- she grabbed the bottom of Joel's ball sack, gathering the loose skin in her hand, scooting his balls up, out of the way; then she cut off the bottom of his sack. She did it despite his pleading, despite his screams when she began cutting.

With the bottom of his scrotum cut off, Joel's balls dangled, fully exposed. She grabbed them in her hand, twisted them, gained a new purchase, and twisted them again, repeating the process several times. Then she yanked. There was an audible 'snap' as the cords to Joel's balls parted. His balls came loose in her hand. She threw them on the floor, then walked out the door. She had fucked Joel without saying a word; she castrated him the same way.

Boy had watched the whole thing. "That's how she done me," he said. "I'm sorry. I wouldn't have told her you was rutting with Girl if'n I'd known she were going to fix you. I just wanted her to make Girl stop rutting with you. Ya'll wasn't paying me no mind."

Joel couldn't answer. He hurt too bad. Nothing that had ever happened to him had hurt that much. It felt as though she'd ripped out his guts along with his balls.

Boy brought him water and food. He untied his feet so he could sit up, brought him a pot to piss and shit in, and nursed him the best he could, but no matter how Joel pleaded, he wouldn't untie his hands, even though he had to feed Joel and hold his pecker when Joel had to pee.

Joel bled from his castration, but not enough to endanger his life. Since the blood vessels to his balls had been torn, not cut, they sealed. He was sore after a couple of weeks, but what was left of his ball sack no longer drained, and the swelling had gone down. His cock was limp most of the time. Occasionally, he awoke with a hard-on, but not everyday, as he always had before.

He hadn't seen Maw or Girl since Maw had castrated him. Boy was the only one that had come into the shed. Then, after about three weeks had passed, Maw came into the shed. She said nothing to Joel, despite his pleas to be let go. He even told her he'd say nothing to anyone about what she'd done.

She looped a noose over one of his feet, stretching out his leg, tying it to a ring on the opposite wall as she had done when she'd castrated him. Although he tried to prevent it, she snagged the other foot, securing it the same way. Once he was again spread eagled on the floor, she left.

Boy stepped into the shed. "What's going on, Boy?" Joel asked.

"She afeared you might run away," said Boy. "She goin fix you so you can't."

"What's she going to do?" asked Joel, but before Boy could answer, the door opened. It was Maw. She carried an axe.

It took her two chops to cut through his ankle, severing his foot from his leg.

Again, Boy nursed him until his leg healed. Joel was kept locked in the shed until his foot healed, then he was let back in the house.

Girl was pregnant, too. Maw had a baby boy; she had a girl.

Joel didn't try to run away. Maw watched him, never letting him close enough to grab her. She wouldn't let him bring the crutch he'd made into the house, so he had to hop around on one foot. He had no chance to get back at Maw for what she'd done to him.

What could he have done, had he been able to? He couldn't walk fifty or sixty miles on one foot. Besides, what would he do, were he to make it back to civilization? He had only one foot and no balls.

At least, he had family here, his two kids and Boy. He and Boy slept together in his room. Joel had forgiven him for telling Maw he was fucking Girl, realizing that Boy hadn't meant him any harm. Neither Maw or Girl ever came into his room. He had nothing to offer them. He hadn't had a hard-on for months.

Epilog:

Boy and Joel remained friends. They loved each other. They didn't have sex, because neither was capable of it or felt a need for it. A hug or a kiss was all they required of each other. They became mother and father to Joel's two kids. Once Maw and Girl weaned the children, they paid little attention to them, satisfied to leave the upbringing of them to Joel and Boy.

Day by day, Girl became more like her mother. Once Joel had lost his balls and could no longer screw, she had no interest in him. Like her mother, she only talked when necessary, and like her, never showed affection to anyone, not even to her child. As far as the children were concerned, their parents were Boy and Joel.

They were bright, beautiful, kids, and -- because they were loved -- were happy. They had quickly learned not to try to engage either Maw or Girl in conversation. Those two kept to themselves, interacting with others only when absolutely necessary.

Joel taught Boy to read, then taught his children when they were old enough. He named his children Kirsten and Jeremy.

One day -- when Jeremy was eight -- Joel was working in the cornfield. He saw Maw lead Jeremy into the shed. By the time the reached it, Maw had Jeremy tied spread eagled, naked, on the floor. She was poised over him with the nutting knife.

"What are you doing?" Joel shouted.

Maw looked up at him, as if puzzled that he would even ask. "He old enough," she said. "It's time he were fixed."

"No," said Joel, "you're not castrating my son."

"His balls only get him in trouble," she said, "He be better off without them."

She bent over, grabbing hold of the bottom of Jeremy's scrotum, gathering the loose skin in her hand, preparing to slice it off. Jeremy was terrified. He screamed, pleading with his father to help him.

When Maw ignored Joel's demands for her to stop -- when she moved to cut off Jeremy's ball sack -- Joel swung his crutch, catching Maw alongside the head. She dropped to the floor, the knife flying from her hand.

She lingered for a week, then died. They buried her out by the garden, next to her husband. No one, except for the two small children, shed a tear over her. Girl seemed incapable of them, and Boy -- if he'd once loved his mother -- felt nothing for her now. Joel had let him know that mothers don't routinely castrate their sons, as she had Boy.

The next summer, the State built a new bridge. The road, a short cut to Mountain Home, became heavily used. Before long, they had neighbors. Joel found a title to 640 acres of land that had been in Boy's family for years. He sold some of it, bought an old pickup, and took Boy along for his first look at a town. Boy didn't like it. He couldn't get used to having so many people around.

Girl left. They lost contact with her. Joel ran into her years later. She was no longer beautiful. She'd become a prostitute and a drug addict.

Fitted with a prosthesis, Joel was able to walk without crutches. He got a job in town, but continued to live on the farm with Boy and his kids. Mountain Home had too many people for Boy.

Jeremy and Kirsten went to school in Mountain Home, picked up and let off by a school bus that stopped at the end of their driveway. Although neither of them had a mother, Joel and Boy were all the parents they needed.