the twisted mind

Warning:  This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, please do not read this story.

This work is copyrighted to the author Please! Do not remove the author information or make any changes to this story. You may not post to other non-commercial "free" sites, or commercial sites without the author's express written and watermarked permission.
Thank you for your consideration. -- Earl deVere

story codes: Exh, Voy, Incest, pedo, MMF,Mgg,Fmmb, mmb, mmgg, MM

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(April Fool' Eve, 1969)

I was an hour and a half into my 3 to 11 shift when the dispatcher announced, "Armed robbery in progress D&D garage 618 Barber." Then, five seconds later, "Suspects, two white males in their mid 20s to 30s, last seen northbound on Barber in a dirty two-tone green 1957 Chevy."

I was westbound on Picket when I saw the suspects headed east. We looked at each other as we passed. If I read the driver's lips correctly, he said, "Oh, shit!"

I stomped the brake pedal, turned the wheel to the left, dropped the tranny to 2nd gear, and did a hook-slide U turn while activating flashers and siren. The Chevy sped up, as I suspected it would. I shifted into drive. I wondered if he had a 409 under the hood. If he maintained the engine as well as he maintained the body, it was a pile of shit, and no match for the Dodge's 383.

"21 pursuing suspect vehicle east on Picket, just crossing Jackson."

The other patrolmen radioed their locations.

Brake lights came on. He was going to turn south. The eastbound traffic was too heavy for him to turn left. I tapped the brakes three times, and dropped the Polara's tranny to 2nd.

The Chevy fishtailed wildly in the turn. The guy must have gotten his driver's license from Sears & Roebuck.

Pursuit driving wasn't taught at Chemical City's police academy. I learned my driving skills as a teenager, nine years earlier. The only car I could afford was a faded blue rust-tinged 4-door 1952 Plymouth Cranbrook with a 97 horsepower flathead six and a top speed of 90 MPH. I wasn't going to win any drag races. I became adept at Rat Racing on the unpaved roads of Jack Brooks County Park in the dark with lights off. It was also called Cat 'n' Mouse. You had a chaser (the cat) and a runner (the mouse). I became one of the best in either position.

Back to the chase:

The distance between us closed every time the clown made a turn. I was nearly on his bumper when he turned onto a dead end street. I glanced at my rear view mirror. There was a caravan of four pickups driven by pissed off rednecks who had been run off the road during the chase.

The Chevy came to a screeching halt.

I stomped on the brake pedal with both feet, jammed the tranny into Park, and jumped out with my 12 gauge pump action riot gun. I jacked a round into the chamber, ejecting the shell that was already there. I did it for the psychological effect. The 'Clank-Chunk!' of the shotgun's action is a frightening sound.

"Freeze, motherfuckers! Toss your weapons. Get out slowly with your hands on your heads."

They got out with a look of stark terror on their faces.

Behind me, four rednecks with high powered scoped hunting rifles and itchy trigger fingers were waiting for any excuse to execute the two miscreants.

Three patrolmen and a detective arrived.

"Thanks for the back-up, men. Please put your weapons away. We can handle it from here."

Before I finished speaking, the other cops were on the robbers and had them on the ground. They cursed, kicked and punched the poor bastards who weren't resisting arrest. Too many cops think it's their duty and their right to administer corporal punishment on criminals.

When the other cops finished having their fun, I placed the handcuffed perpetrators in the back seat of my unit, and drove them to the D&D Garage, where Donald and Daisy Duke and their 14-year-old fraternal twins, Huey and Dewey, positively identified the pair of dumbasses as the robbers, and the RG .25 caliber semiautomatic Saturday Night Special as the weapon used.

Donald and Daisy introduced the rest of their kids who came out to gawk at the criminals. Huey and Louie were big boys for their age, and looked older than 14. There was Mickey, 12; Minnie, 10; and Betty Boop, 8.

Huey was the clean-cut ROTC type. Dewey was a longhaired hippie. Betty Boop was petite. Small for her age, and Shirley Temple cute. Minnie looked older than her years, with a hint of trashiness. She had naughty eyes, and looked like she was anticipating the punch-line of a dirty joke. Little Mickey looked too pretty to be a boy. Daisy was a big woman. My mother would have described her as 'big boned.' Dad would have called her fat, but there wasn't an ounce of flab on her body. She was firm with large breasts, no waistline, broad hips, a big butt and shapely legs. Donald was a big, barrel chested man. The twins were definitely his offspring. The others looked nothing like their parents.

"You named them after cartoon characters?"

"With me and the missus named Donald and Daisy Duke, it seemed like a reasonable thing to do."

"Our dog is Yosemite Sam," Betty Boop said, pointing at their reddish wirehaired mongrel that looked like it might have been an Airedale-bloodhound mix.

Donald looked at my name tag. "L.T. Grey? El Tigre. The tiger."

"Huh? What do you mean?" Betty Boop asked.

"When you say his initials and his last name, it sounds like El Tigre. That's Mexican for The Tiger."

"Can we call you Officer Tigger?" she asked.

"Sure. Why not?"

I transported my prisoners to the jail, where I booked them for armed robbery and numerous traffic violations (There was no state law or city ordinance prohibiting fleeing from a peace officer). I wrote a detailed offense report. I knew I wouldn't have to testify in court. They'd cop to lesser offenses.

"Tiger," the dispatcher said. "Line three. Donald Duke? Really?"

Donald wasn't the only person to translate L.T. Grey to El Tigre. Tiger had been my nickname since junior high. I went by my initials instead of the name my mother gave me; Leonardo Tintoretto. Mom was a semi-talented painter. I preferred L.T. pronounced Eltee.

"Mr. Duke, how may I help you?"

"Please call me Donald. I just wanted to extend an invitation. I'll do any work you need on your personal car, and charge you for parts only. My cost, not retail."

"I appreciate it, Mr.--Donald. But I do my own tune-ups and oil changes. I've even replaced a water pump and a starter."

"The parts offer is still open. My girls got a big crush on you, and they've been badgering me to invite Officer Tigger over."

I heard the girls squeal, "Pa-paah!?!" in the background. My dick stiffened. I had been attracted to preteen cuties since I was 13, and my 8-year-old neighbor, Wanda, taught me how to French kiss. I'm almost certain her mother knew about us, and would ask me to watch her while she went to the corner grocery store.

Wanda's mother and my mother were best friends, and would sit in the living room gossiping and sipping coffee or wine for hours, while Wanda and I fooled around in my bedroom. Mutual masturbation was as far as it ever got.

My latest forbidden flame was my wife's 10-year-old cousin, Charlotte, who visited us from Shreveport the previous summer and stayed with us for two weeks. Her's was the first and only prepubescent pussy I tasted. I was immediately addicted, and had been longing for another fix ever since.

"Officer Tigger!?!" the dispatcher laughed.

"It's not nice to eavesdrop on other people's conversations."

"How old are his girls?"

"Minnie's ten and Betty Boop is eight."

"You're shitting me. Betty Boop?"

"I shit you not. Donald's wife is Daisy Duke. The kids are Huey & Dewey, Mickey & Minnie, and Betty Boop."

"The old guy's got a sense of humor."

I rounded out my day with a family disturbance call (the battered wife refused to file assault charges against her asshole husband), a minor accident investigation, and an arrest for public intoxication and indecent exposure. The drunk had an 11 inch cock, of which he was exceedingly proud.

"Ain't it a doozy?" he asked his shocked tavern audience, standing on the bar, swaying from side to side, flinging his semi-rigid crotch monster left and right.

It was around 11:20 when I left the station. The D&D garage closed at 7, and it wasn't on the way home, but I was drawn to it. The D&D wrecker towed a blue 1963 Dodge Dart (almost identical to my '64) onto the pad and was backing it into one of the bays when I arrived.

"He rear-ended a pickup," Donald explained before I asked. "Rammed the grille into the radiator and fan. Wrecked the battery. Took out the headlights."

"You do body work too?"

"Nah. The owner's the older brother of one of Huey & Louie's friends. He's an 18-year-old minimum wage day laborer. He ain't got no insurance. I'll get it running, the headlights working, and rig up some kind of tiedown for the hood to get him on the road again. There's a T-Boned '65 in my junkyard for parts. It'll be ugly, but it'll be legal."

"Can he pay?"

"He promises to pay a little every week from his paycheck. And he'll probably keep his promise for a few weeks, then there'll be excuses and promises to pay later."

"You know this, and you're still going to fix it?"

"I occasionally do charity work. It makes me feel good. People helped me when I was down and out. Maybe someday, somewhere down the road, the kid will remember what I did for him, and he'll do good for somebody else."

"Want some help?"

"I could use a hand. Go to our trailer out back. Daisy'll give you a pair of coveralls. We had an old wino who helped out around the yard for a while. He was about your size." He picked up a microphone. "Officer Tigger's coming to the trailer. Give him Jackson's old coveralls. They're in the Shasta."

I headed to the back door.

"It'll take her a few minutes to find the coveralls. Did anything happen after the robbery?"

I told him about Ross Stirling wagging his monster cock at Duffy's Tavern.

"Me and Daisy woulda considered that free entertainment."

"There was a couple there with their 12 and 14 year old daughters."

"Hell, I bet they enjoyed it more than the grownups."

"I got that impression myself."

Daisy was waiting for me, wearing sexy black negligee that displayed a lot of her magnificent mammaries. Her every move was sensuous. You don't expect big women to be graceful. In addition to prepubescent girls, big sexy women turned me on. That probably stems from my Oedipus complex. I had the hots for my mother since I was a toddler.

The mobile home was small for a family of seven. The door opened into the kitchen dining room. The living room to the right had been curtained off, and served as the boys' bedroom. The girls' bedroom was off the hallway to my left. The master bedroom was at the far left end. The bathroom was between the girls' room and the master bedroom.

A 6 ½ ' x12' Shasta travel trailer, parked 3 feet away from the mobile home's front door, served as their walk-in closet.

Daisy handed me the olive drab coveralls. "You can change in the bathroom, and hang your uniform on the curtain rod. I'll be more than happy to lend a hand, if you need it," she said provocatively, looking pointedly at the swelling in my pants.

I was putting my pants on a wooden hanger when I heard muffled giggling. I quickly flipped the lightswitch off, and saw Minnie's and Betty Boop's faces in the bathroom window. I turned the light back on, and leisurely took my shirt off and hung it up. I stepped into the coveralls, facing my prepubescent voyeurs, and left my cock and balls hanging out while putting my arms through the long sleeves.

"Want a beer?" Donald asked when I returned to the garage.

"Yeah, I could use a brewski."

"Get one out of the cooler. Bring me a Lone Star longneck while you're at it."

The D&D Garage was also a service station. It couldn't really be called a convenience store. They sold beer, wine, cellophane wrapped sandwiches, automotive products, maps, bumper stickers and sunglasses. There were vending machines for candies, snacks, soft drinks and cigarettes.

"I see you have an on-premises license," I said, handing him the bottle.

"I got a few regulars who like to sit around and drink beer. Especially the refinery workers that get off at seven in the morning."

"I didn't think about that."

"I bet that Jezebel wife of mine met you at the door wearing one of her revealing Fredericks of Hollywood outfits." Donald said, taking a swig of beer.

I nodded.

"She's a brazen hussy, She can't help it. She was born that way, I think. She was 11 years old when I first met her. I was a 26-year-old, deputy sheriff in Cou Rouge County, Missouri. My favorite thing to do on night patrol was sneaking up on people who were fucking in parked cars. I sometimes caught couples who were married, but not to each other. I never blackmailed or told on them. Then, one night, I caught Daisy in the back seat of her teacher's car. Like I said, she was 11. He was 30 something."

"No shit?"

"He got down on his knees and groveled and begged me to let them go, and swore to God that he'd never touch another little girl for as long as he lived. Daisy gives me a big naughty grin, and says 'Wanna fuck, Deputy Do Right?' I didn't give her a chance to change her mind."

"You fucked an 11-year-old girl in uniform on duty in front of a witness?"

"Daisy didn't look 11. She was big for her age, and had boobs and pussy hair. She looked 14 or 15."

"That's still statutory rape."

"We're talking about Missouri, man. If they're old enough to bleed, they're old enough to breed."

"Did that get you fired?"

"No. I quit after I got shot."

"You were shot?"

"Doing a fucking welfare check. A woman hadn't heard from her brother for a week. She said that he had health problems. I went there, expecting to be met by a stinking corpse. She didn't tell me that the son of a bitch was a shell-shocked World War Two veteran. I stepped up onto his porch while he was in the middle of an Anzio flashback."

"He shot you!?!"

"Hit my right thigh. Fortunately for me, all he had was a single shot .410, loaded with birdshot. Some of those pellets came uncomfortably close to my manhood. If he had hit my left thigh, he might have neutered me."

"You married Daisy."

"Knocked her up when she was 14. Had the twins two weeks after her 15th birthday. I'm positive they're mine. Not so sure about Mickey & Minnie and Betty Boop. They don't look nothin' like me nor any of my kin."

"That doesn't seem to bother you much."

"He fucking loves it!" Daisy laughed.

We were busy working on the Dart, and didn't notice her enter the garage backdoor.

"He loves me fucking around. When he says, 'Get fucked,' he literally means it . Sometimes, we rent adjoining rooms at the No Tell Motel, so he can listen while some guy I picked up at the bar fucks me. Then he comes in and eats my pussy after the guy leaves. Sometimes, we hook up with a guy through the personal ads in sleazy magazines, so Donald can watch."

"That's a fuckin' fact," Donald said. "I love it."

"Did he tell you about catching the teacher fucking me when he was a deputy and I was a schoolgirl?"

"Yes."

"Did he tell you that him and the teacher continued to share me for two years?"

"No."

"The teacher quit us when he seduced younger girls," Donald said.

"My girls tell me that you've got a huge cock, and that you caught them peeking."

"You didn't say nothing to me about my girls spying on you," Donald said.

"I was engrossed listening to you tell me about you and Daisy."

"Be honest," Daisy laughed. "You weren't going to snitch on Minnie and Betty Boop."

"No, I wasn't. I didn't want them to get in trouble."

"You liked it. Didn't you?" Daisy asked. "You liked having my little girls look at your big hard cock. You didn't turn your back on them, and you took your time getting into the coveralls. You let your cock and balls hang out." She was not angry or shocked. She was amused, and maybe aroused.

"Yes. I confess. It was a turn-on. Knowing your girls were looking at my cock made it harder than it had ever been." I told Donald and Daisy all about my attraction to preteen girls, and my limited pedophiliac activities. It felt good to talk about it to somebody. It had been my dirty little secret for more than a decade.

"What were the girls doing up this late on a school night?" Donald asked.

"You woke them up with your PA announcement, and they heard me telling Tigger to change in the bathroom. They wanted to watch, so I let them."

"You want them to be sluts, just like you," Donald said.

"Yes, I do. And so do you," Daisy said, stripping. "Fuck me, Tigger. Fuck me here and now."

"Fuck her, Man. Fuck my slutty wife."

I backed her up against the wall, unzipped the coveralls from the bottom, pulled my cock out and fucked her standing. Donald ate her and fucked her and ate her again, then I fucked her again before showering and going home at 4:30 in the morning.

Before I left, Daisy said, "Anytime you wanna fuck, you know where to find me. I'll take it anyway you want to give it: mouth, cunt or ass."

(April Fools' Day, 1969)

Gail, my wife, woke me at 7:30 while she was getting dressed to go to work. "What time did you get in? I woke up at 1:30 and you weren't here."

"Around 4:30." I told her about the robbery, the chase, and meeting the Duke family, and helping Donald repair the Dart. I left out the sex stuff. My wife was a frigid prude, who only let me do it once a week if she wasn't too tired, on her period or had a headache, which seemed to happen with greater and greater frequency. In reality, I was lucky to get pussy from her once a month.

I had a lover on the side--Joyce White, a 40-year-old woman whose husband took her for granted, and mostly ignored her. In addition to Joyce, there had been more than a few one-night stands. Actually more like two-hour stands.

"They sound like trailer trash to me," Gail huffed. "Why on earth would you associate with people like that?"

"He was doing a good deed, and I felt like helping him. You know I like doing mechanic stuff."

"You should have called. You could have been dead for all I knew."

"You know that if anything bad happens, there'll be a cop knocking on our door to give you the news. If I had called, you'd have bitched at me for waking you."

She left, taking our 3-year-old daughter, Mary, to daycare on her way to work. I set the Big Ben alarm clock for 1:30, and went back to sleep.

When I showed up for work, I was greeted with jeers, "Hey, It's Officer Tigger, the preteens' heartthrob."

I acted offended, but I liked it. I preferred Tigger to Tiger. It sounded friendly. Not intimidating.

I was assigned to the north district patrol, as usual. It was the oldest part of town, and had gone to seed. Main Street ceased being the main street nearly a decade earlier, when all the businessmen abandoned downtown and moved south, to the strip malls lining Palmetto Highway.

"Motorcycle stolen from 7-11 parking lot 601 Bennington. A red 1968 Kawasaki dirt bike Last seen east on Bennington."

"23. I got him! North on Shafer."

I said, "21. I'm at Main and Shafer."

"23. He's west on Strawberry."

I moved west, guessing he'd turn north again. He'd hear the sirens coming up from the south. I'd wait until I saw him to turn on the emergency equipment.

"23. I lost him in the Flagstone Apartments parking lot."

"He'll cross that vacant lot behind the apartments, and go into Shady Acres," I said. "I'll come in from the north."

In less than a minute he was pinned in. His best bet was to dump the bike and flee on foot. But he was too stupid for that. He headed straight at me before doing a hook slide U-turn, and started south, where 23 was in his path. He could hear other units coming in from the west, and returned to the vacant lot, where he hit a deep dip and flipped.

Three patrolmen and a detective were on him, cursing, punching and kicking.

I don't know what got into me. I wasn't thinking straight. I grabbed Windell and Carter by their shoulders and pulled them off the kid. "Okay!" I said. "That's enough."

When we returned to the station, I was escorted to the chief's office. He slid a piece of paper across his desk to me. "You've got two options, Grey. Sign this resignation notice now, or be charged with interfering with a lawful arrest, and two counts of assault on a peace officer."

I signed, turned in my badge, ID and Sam Browne belt.

Detective Paul de Witt escorted me home, where I undressed and gave him my other uniforms. The Browning Hi Power and 12 gauge Model 97 Winchester were mine, not department issue.

I grabbed a Schlitz tall boy out of the fridge. Out of habit, I shoved my pistol in my belt at the small of my back. After three years, I was suddenly a civilian again. I didn't have to be armed at all times. In fact, it was now illegal for me to carry a handgun. I also came to the realization that I had no civilian friends. Not that I had a lot of cop friends.

I took my tall boy out to the car, and engaged in my favorite pastime; driving aimlessly, drinking beer and listening to rock 'n' roll on AM radio. I wasn't paying attention to where I was until I glimpsed Gail's car parked next to her boss's 1968 Royal Burgundy Lincoln Continental Mark III Coupe in the Fifth Avenue Motel's parking lot. The motel was in LaVue, less than five blocks outside of Chemical City.

I put my ear to the door of room 14 and heard her moaning, him grunting and the wet slapping sounds of flesh pounding flesh.

I rapped my fist hard against the door three times.

"Who is it?" Mr. Wayne Riggins demanded in his authoritative annoyed voice.

"Me," I announced with my more authoritative deep bass voice. (I caught myself before saying, 'Officer L.T. Grey.)

"Oh my God!" Gail whined. "He's going to kill us!"

"I'm not going to kill anybody. I'm not packing. Open the fucking door before I kick it in. You don't want me creating a disturbance and attracting more attention. Open it NOW!"

Riggins was buckling his belt when the door opened.

Gail was trying to zip up the back of her dress.

"What a coincidence," I laughed. "I lose my job and my wife on the same fucking day."

"What do you mean?" Gail asked.

"I'll have my stuff out of your house in an hour," I said. "Have fun, bitch."

I turned around, went out, got into my car and headed to my soon-to-be ex-home. I stopped at a Seven-11 on the way to acquire another tall boy.

The great thing about the Dodge Dart is the roomy trunk and rear seat. I had no trouble fitting all of my belongings in it.

I was in need of another tall boy and went to the D&D garage, where I told Donald what happened.

"I could use a mechanic-gas jockey-wrecker driver. There's a cab-over truck camper you can crash in until you find better lodgings. This ain't charity. I really do need the help. Gas jockey pays 10 cents over minimum wage. Book rate for mechanic labor, and 25 percent of towing fees."

"You got yourself a gas jockey-mechanic-wrecker driver."

"Officer Tigger!" the girls squealed when they came into the garage and saw me.

"Just plain old Tigger," I said. "I am no longer a cop."

"Why!?!" Betty Boop asked.

"What happened?" Minnie asked.

I told them what happened.

"You mean they fired you for stopping other cops from beating up a kid?" Betty Boop asked.

"Technically, I wasn't fired. I resigned after being given the choice between resignation and incarceration."

"They'd cut your balls off!?!" Minnie squealed.

"Incarceration means put in jail," Donald laughed. "You're thinking of castration. There's a big difference."

"Oh."

"What are you going to do now, Tigger?" Betty Boop asked.

"Tigger's going to work here, and take your playhouse away from you. I'm letting him live there until he finds better accommodations."

"You're going to live with us!?!" Betty Boop squealed. "You're going to be here all of the time?"

"Yep."

"That is so kew-el!!!" Betty Boop cheered.

"Really fucking cool!" Minnie said.

"Watch your fucking language, Kid," Donald laughed.

"I believe in Freedom of Speech," I said. "I believe in the First Amendment of the Constitution of the United States of America. So, you're free to say any fucking thing you want to say around me." I didn't mention the fact that dirty talking little girls made my cock rock-hard.

"Tigger's family now," Donald said. "For as long as he can stand us."

The girls squealed in glee, and ran off to tell the rest of the family.

"Truck camper?" I asked.

"It's at the back of the lot. Check it out. Tell me what you think."

A customer drove in and asked for an oil change and tune-up.

"Want me to take care of that?" I asked.

"I got it. Go check out the camper. I'll give you a couple of days to get settled in before I put you to work."

I drove to the back of the lot, where I found the big truck camper sitting on cinder blocks.

When I opened the door, I saw Huey and Dewey on their knees, on the floor, fucking Mickey, who was on hands and knees. Huey fucked his little brother's ass while Dewey fucked his mouth. The incestuous trio was in the throes of orgasm, and oblivious to my presence. Huey and Micky faced away from me. Dewey's eyes were closed in ecstasy.

When Dewey finished humping and pumping cum down his little brother's throat, he opened his eyes and saw me in the doorway.

"Officer Tigger!?! What are you doing here?"

"He's going to live here!" Betty Boop giggled.

I don't know how long she and Minnie had been standing behind me.

"He ain't a cop no more," Minnie said. "He's gonna work for Papa and live here with us."

"Papa says that Tigger is part of our family now," Betty Boop announced.

Mickey said, "Momma and Minnie and Betty Boop say that you've got a really big cock, and Momma says that you really know how to use it, and that you can fuck her again whenever you want to."

"Whenever, wherever and however," Daisy chuckled.

I hadn't noticed her arrival on the scene, and jumped at the sound of her voice.

"You're attracted to preteen girls. My preteen girls are attracted to grown men, including their own Papa."

"Me too!" Mickey said. "I like grown men. Papa says that I'm a world class cocksucker. And that if they had sex olympics, I'd be a gold metal winner."

"He really is good," Dewey said.

"Yeah," Huey agreed. "Mickey's better than the girls and Papa, and he's even better than Momma at sucking cock."

"Can I see it, Tigger?" Mickey pleaded. "Can I see your big cock?"

I looked at Daisy.

"You know you want to, you closet pervert," she laughed. "In the junkyard, you're free to indulge your perverted desires and fantasies, as long as everything is consensual, and everybody's having fun."

Betty Boop, Minnie and Mickey fondled my balls and stroked and sucked my cock while I watched Huey and Dewey double penetrate their mother, with Huey's cock in her cunt, and Dewey's in her ass.

"Fuck me, Boys! Fuck Momma! Finger-fuck my daughters, Tigger. Finger-fuck their hot little slutty cunts while they suck your big hard man cock."

I came and came and came. The kids each got a good share of my semen.

"Let's move this party to the boys' room, where we have more room," Daisy said. "This space is way too cramped when there are more than two people."

We walked naked from the camper at the rear of the yard to the mobile home in the front. The junkyard was enclosed by an 8' chain link fence, with plastic slats in the chain link for privacy. There were small gaps between the slats. Someone would have to have their face almost against the fence to peek in.

The boys had a triple decker bunk bed, and a king size Murphy bed.

Donald closed the garage at 6 o'clock and joined the incestuous orgy.

They took turns sucking my cock. I then performed cunnilingus on all the females, and fellatio on the males.

"You're a pretty fair cocksucker, Tigger," Donald said.

"I've never done it before, but I had a lot of experience getting sucked in public restrooms, gay bars, bath houses, adult book store arcades, and once in a Baptist Church's janitor's closet."

"You're queer too?" Mickey asked.

"I never thought of getting blowjobs and butt-fucking guys as being queer. I wasn't the one doing the queer stuff. In my teens, I was painfully shy around girls. I was a queer magnet."

"You really know how to use that cock and your tongue," Daisy said. "You didn't learn that from homos."

"A 33-year-old divorcee seduced me when I was 21, right after I got out of the navy. She'd been fucking my younger brother for three years at the time. She taught me how to please a woman."

"Give her my compliments the next time you see her. She's an excellent teacher, and you were a very very good student. You eat pussy like a lesbian."

"Eat me again, Tigger!" Betty Boop giggled. "Eat my pussy again. You're better than Papa and the boys, and almost as good as Momma."

She wrapped her legs around my head, forced my face into her crotch, and humped my mouth while I licked, nibbled and sucked her prominent clit and inner lips before tongue-fucking her hot juicy prepubescent cunt.

Surprisingly, Minnie was big enough to take my cock. Everyone helped me get it up one more time, and fuck her before bedtime. It was amazing, watching her slender legs straddle me, then watching my nine inches slowly disappear into her preteen pussy as she impaled herself on me.

I bucked and she bounced while our incestuous audience cheered us on.

Betty Boop sent me over the edge when she obscenely cheered me on, "Fuck her, Tigger! Fuck my fucking sister with your big fucking cock! Fuck the fucking slut bitch! Fuck her slutty cunt!"

After that, I was definitely done for the day.

"You've got suits," Daisy said. "I saw you hanging them up."

I owned three 3-piece suits; a dark blue, a baby blue, and a blue-green almost iridescent sharkskin suit that seemed to change color under different lighting conditions.

"Yes?"

"Donald never dresses up. I want to dress up and have you take me wining, dining and dancing."

"Tonight?"

"No. And not here, in Podunk. Let's go to Houston, get a room in a nice hotel and do the town."

I looked at Donald.

"Do it. My baby deserves a fun vacation. My treat."

Wednesday, April 2, 1969

We were awakened early the next morning by thirsty refinery workers pounding on the garage doors.

Donald introduced me to his regulars as his new assistant manager.

Daisy came in wearing whorish makeup, black fishnet stockings, a black leather miniskirt, and a man's white dress shirt with the tails tied in a square knot just below and between her huge boobs. She wore no bra.

She served as our waitress. The shift workers shoved various denominations of bills in the skirt waist and in her shirt. She made no objection to frequent pats on the ass.

The kids came through to wait for the school busses out front.

A Royal Burgundy 1968 Lincoln Continental Mark III Coupe arrived at the gas pumps.

"I'll take care of this one," I said.

"Fill it up with premium," Riggins said, not recognizing me.

I put the nozzle in the filler tube, and proceeded to clean the windows.

He and Gail were talking, and not paying attention to the service station attendant until I squirted the windshield with cleaner and squeegeed it clean, grinning broadly at them. "Pop the hood, and I'll check your fluids," I offered.

"No," he said, looking around nervously. "That's okay."

"Check your tires?" I asked holding up an air pressure guage.

"No. They're okay." He was almost visibly trembling.

The pump clicked off. "That'll be $3.23"

He handed me $5. "Keep the change." He departed like a bat out of hell. My almost ex-wife was staring at me in disbelief when Riggins pulled out into traffic, where the steel reinforced right front bumper of a faded green 1958 GMC 3/4 ton pickup smashed into the Mark III's left front wheel well, rendering the car undrivable.

Patrolman Jeff Majewski was southbound, on his way to set up radar in a school zone at the moment of impact. He radioed the accident investigator, and directed traffic around the scene.

Riggins was issued a citation: negligent collision-failure to yield right of way.

The accident investigator, Patrolman Dale Bronstein asked, "Which wrecker service do you prefer?"

"The nearest one," he replied.

"That'll be me," I said. "Where do you want me to take it? I'll give y'all a ride to work."

"Take it to the dealership," he said. "We'll take a cab."

Both Bronstein and Majewski went through the academy with me, and knew Gail was my wife.

Bronstein asked for my address and phone number as a witness to the accident.

I gave him the D&D address and phone number.

"Your home address and number?" He asked.

"The D&D 'Is' my home."

When I returned from the Lincoln dealership, the graveyard shift workers were gone. Donald and I resumed work on the wrecked Dart. The owner, Mark Felt, came in as Donald was adjusting the headlight beams.

"When do you think it'll be ready?" he asked.

"It's ready now." Donald replied.

"Wow! Thanks. If there's anything I can ever do for you, just let me know."

"Blow jobs would be nice," Donald said.

The kid looked around furtively, licked his lips nervously and asked in a near whisper, "Here? Now?"

"You don't have to if you don't want to. You said 'If there's anything I can do,' and a blowjob was the first thing that popped into my dirty-old-man mind."

"I'll do it."

"Watch the front, Tigger. I'll get you when it's your turn."

I got to the front in time to pump gas for a customer, sell a quart of oil and a six pack of Budwiser before Donald relieved me, and said "Your turn. You're in for a real treat. That boy is a sword swallower. He's going to love your big cock."

The boy was indeed a sword swallower. I pulled my cock out. He took the head in his mouth and grabbed my buttocks with both hands. In an instant, his nose was buried in my pubes. His name should have been Kirby Hoover. He sucked me dry in a couple of minutes. Mark was ecstatic when he discovered that my erection didn't diminish after ejaculation.

He wanted me fuck his ass, but I have an aversion to feces. I don't want shit on my dick. I could have gotten a condom from the restroom dispenser, but wasn't really in the mood.

The kids returned from school as Mark drove away in his ugly but legal Dart.

The garage had two bays separated by a 7' high brick partition; one with a lift and one without.The side without the lift was used for state safety inspections and served as a social gathering space. Two folding 32"x32" card tables and eight folding steel chairs leaned against the north wall. The family's evening meal was eaten there because it was roomier than the trailer's dining room.

The twins sat with their parents. Betty Boop, Mickey & Minnie demanded that I sit at the kids' table.

Donald and Daisy made certain the kids had completed homework before participating in any incestuous fun and games, and were in their separate beds before 10 o'clock on school nights.

"I booked you and Daisy a room at The Hilton Friday afternoon through Monday morning. It's Easter weekend, so the rates are a little higher." Donald said. "After that, I'll want you working weekends: Noon Friday till Noon Monday."

I excused myself to go cruisin' and boozin' and rockin' 'n' rollin'. I needed to be alone for a while to try to wrap my head around the amazing turn my life had taken.

A Metallic Turquoise '69 T-Bird ahead of me suddenly accelerated then made a left turn.

Old habits die hard. I pursued it. The Dart's puny slant six was no match for the T-Bird's big V-8 on a straightaway run. But the dumb ass in the Bird wasn't going straight. He was making turn after turn. Those huge Ford brake lights let me know when he was going to make another turn.

The Ford suspension was no match for Mopar's torsion bars. I heard that the stunt drivers in the movie "Bullitt" decided they wanted to see which car was actually better, Steve McQueen's Mustang or the bad guy's Charger. The Mustang had a beefed up engine and suspension. The Charger was right off the showroom floor. It kicked the Mustang's ass.

He ran a red light. I stopped. His next pursuer was a cop in a stealth patrol car. He immediately stopped.

I passed them. The T-Bird's driver was my almost ex-wife's boss and lover, Wayne Riggins.

When I returned to the D&D, Donald said, "Your wife called. She wants you to call her. She sounded really pissed off."

She was definitely pissed. "Stop stalking Wayne!"

"I'm not stalking anybody."

"Why did you chase him?"

"Because he ran. I chased him out of habit. The T-Bird took off, and habit kicked in, and I chased. I didn't know who it was. I didn't know Riggins owned a T-Bird."

"It's a rental."

"Tell the asshole that I'm not stalking him. I don't give a shit about him. The only reason I chased him was because he ran. And because I am very good at it. Also tell him his driving sucks."

"He's really upset about the traffic ticket."

"I didn't make the idiot run the red light. He deserves the ticket."

"He's afraid of you."

"Tell that snivelling chickenshit wimp he has nothing to be afraid of. Tell him that I'm glad I caught him boning your sorry cheating ass, and freeing me from you."

She slammed the handset down hard.

"Damn!" I exclaimed. "That felt so good. I've never talked to her like that before. Our conversations consisted of her bitching about something, and me saying 'Yes, Dear' or 'No, Dear.' In fact, I usually tuned her out. The tone of her voice told me whether to reply with yes or no."

I told the Dukes about the chase in detail. "Yesterday, I was a cop, chasing people. No one ever got away. I caught a GTO: Road & Track's fucking Car of The Year. I was a Rat Racer as a kid. Chasing's in my blood."

Daisy laughed, "You really got off to it. Didn't you? Tell me it didn't add to the pleasure when the Rat turned out to be your wife's lover."

"Yeah. It did."

I spent Thursday shopping. I got another pair of coveralls for work. I grocery shopped for the first time, and picked up some cookware, dishes and utensils at a resale shop. I also picked up an L.C. Smith No.8 typewriter. It was nearly 40 years old, and still worked smooth as silk. I'd start work on that police procedural novel that had been bouncing around inside my head for a couple of years.

I got a craving for good fresh caught fried shrimp and drove down to Hill's Pier 19 on Galveston Island. I went up to the top deck, where I found Gail and Riggins. They were sitting at "Our Table." They gaped at me. I smiled, waved and took a table as far away from them as possible.

Gail recovered from her shock and gave me the evil eye. Riggins signaled the waitress for his bill, and handed her his Diner's Club card. Now, they're really going to think I'm stalking.

When I returned to the D&D, Daisy said she wanted us to rest up for our big weekend date, and prohibited the girls from seducing me.

I took advantage of my new position, and gave the Dart a tuneup, oil change, lube and front end alignment.

Friday

We hung my suits and Daisy's dresses on a rod in the Dart and headed to Houston.

Guess who was registering at the Hilton's front desk when we walked in.

That evening, we went to the theater to see Support Your Local Sheriff. Guess who was in line ahead of us.

Gail stared at the big, slightly whorish looking woman beside me. Daisy wore a snug little red dress that accentuated her curviness.

"We're going to Allen's Landing from here," I told Gail. "Don't follow us."

Gail always hated watching comedies with me because I don't attempt to stifle my laugh. I belly laugh. I guffaw. I'm loud. Daisy's laughs were as boisterous as mine. We even laughed at each other's laughs. It was the most fun I had ever had in a movie.

I took her to Love Street Light Circus Feel Good Machine, where we were entertained by the light show, and ZZ Top's performance.

"What kind of name is ZZ Top?" she asked.

"Cigarette rolling papers. Zig Zag and Top. Used to roll pot."

"Have you ever smoked marijuana?" she asked.

"No. You?"

"You're not going to bust me, are you?"

"Hell no."

"I was introduced to the Killer Weed two weeks ago. A guy I picked up at a nightclub and brought home to Donald. The fucking was fucking fantastic. Wanna try it?"

"Why not? Got some?"

"No. But if you'll get lost for a little while, I can probably score some."

I went to a coffee shop two blocks away. It was nearly an hour later when she came in, grinning from ear to ear. Her eyes were bloodshot.

"Call us a cab," she said to the hippie waitress.

"Y'all are a cab!" she giggled before pointing to the pay phone, where cab companies' business cards were thumbtacked to the wall.

In the room, we shared a joint. The manicured marijuana was in a matchbox. "I used to roll cigarettes for my Daddy," she said.

I hacked and coughed and wheezed, but felt no different.

"Sometimes, nothing happens the first time," she said. "Fuck me anyway."

We fucked, and she was even more animated and vocal than usual.

We started Saturday morning off with another joint. "WOW!!! No wonder this shit is against the law. I can't believe that I could feel so relaxed and so horny at the same time."

My cock grew at least two more inches. I know it was an hallucination, but it seemed so fucking real. And, pussy never felt or tasted so good!

We didn't get out of bed until around one oclock. We went to the Hermann Park Zoo stoned, and talked to the critters. The Burke Baker Planetarium under the influence of reefer was incredible.

That evening, somewhere south of South Houston on Old Galveston Road, I turned onto a dirt road that led to an abandoned dilapidated barn with a rusted corrugated tin roof. We smoked another joint, got naked, and fucked in the back seat, with both doors wide open, the backs of the front seats tilted forward, and the dome light on.

We were in mid-fuck when we became aware of snickering. Two boys in their early teens were watching from the barn door.

"Don't stop, Tigger! Fuck me! Fuck me hard!"

I pounded away as the teens drew nearer and nearer until they were standing by the open doors.

"You boys want some of this?" Daisy asked when I withdrew.

The boys, Elwood, 12, and Harvey, 11, led us into the barn, where they had a mattress in the tack room. Elwood fucked her cunt while Harvy fucked her mouth.

They humped and pumped frenetically until Harvey squealed, "I squirted! I came. I really came!!"

The kids then traded places, with Elwood getting head and Harvey getting pussy.

After the boys finished, she rolled over onto her back, spread her legs, and said, "If my husband was here, he'd want to gobble up this cream pie."

I dove in and devoured the thick white goo that oozed from her hot cunt.

The horny boys fucked her again and again, and I cleaned up their profuse ejaculations.

It was well after dark when we heard a woman calling the boys' names, and they quickly dressed and departed.

We drove to Stewart Beach in Galveston, where we tried to fuck in the surf, but it was too rough and gritty. We fucked on a lifeguard stand under an almost full moon, and fell asleep.

We smoked a joint and enjoyed the sunrise naked.

She flashed her boobs to truckers on the way back to the Hilton, where we again ran into Gail and Riggins at brunch. I made certain that Gail caught me sneaking feels of Daisy's bodacious tatas.

When Daisy knew we had their attention, she gave my cock a squeeze under the table, but in their line of sight.

We went back to the room and slept until evening, and went clubbing.She was an excellent dancer. I'm a bit awkward. I let her lead. She picked up a 19-year-old University of Houston psychology major. We took him back to the Hilton and fucked his brains out.

We took him to brunch with us Monday morning, and left no doubt in anyone's mind that we were a menage a trois.

We returned to the D&D, and gave Donald a detailed account of our fun and games.

"Reefer!?! The harlot's corrupted you beyond redemption."

The kids got home from school, and the girls complained about the unfairness of their mother having me all to herself for the whole weekend.

"We get him next weekend!" Betty Boop proclaimed.

"He's going to work weekends, beginning at noon Friday," Donald said.

"That's so fucking unfair!" Minnie stated.

Donald said, "Think of all the fun you'll have with him during the week this summer."

"That's two whole fucking months away!" Betty Boop whined.

Adults forget how slowly time passes at that age. The older you get, the faster time seems to pass.

"Don't dawdle with your homework," Daisy said. "And you'll have time in the evenings, if Tigger is up for it."

"I'll be up for it."

"I don't have any homework today," Betty Boop stated.

"Really?" Daisy asked, giving the 8-year-old nymphet a hard, questioning stare.

"Honest. And we don't got no school tomorrow."

"Don't got no?" Donald repeated. "I'm an ignorant old redneck, but even I know better than to say, 'Don't got no'."

"We don't have any school tomorrow," she said.

"Why not?" Daisy asked.

"Fuck if I know," Minnie said.

"It's an In Service Day," Mickey said. "Whatever the fuck that means."

Betty Boop giggled, "We'll have all fucking day tomorrow to fuck around as much as we fucking want to, and don't have to go to bed early tonight."

Daisy said, "If I find out that you're fibbing about no homework, you'll be grounded until your 21st birthday."

"I wouldn't lie to you, Momma."

"Make sure you don't."

It didn't take long for the girls to wear me out. The weekend's activities drained me. I was in bed, asleep a little after sundown. Daisy ordered the kids to let me have some rest.

At 9 o'clock the following morning, I was awakened by an authoritative knocking on the camper door. Detectives Don Gates and Warren Dennis stood there with guns drawn.

"What the fuck!?!" I asked

"Where were you between two and three o'clock this morning?" Gates asked.

"Here. Asleep. What's up?"

"Can you prove it?" Dennis asked.

"What the fuck's going on?"

"Answer the question!" Gates barked.

"Fuck you, asshole. You answer my question. What's up?"

"As if you didn't know, Wayne Riggins was murdered last night. Shot twice. Once in the left thigh, one in the mouth. Probably .22s. I believe you own a .22 magnum derringer that you carried in an ankle holster."

"No shit?"

"No shit," Gates said. "You have the motive, the opportunity, and the weapon to do it. We know he was fucking your wife. We know that you were stalking him. You chased him."

"We have a search warrant for the weapon, a watch and a wallet." Dennis said.

It did not look good for me. If the murderer used a 9mm instead of a .22, ballistics would prove that my gun wasn't the weapon used. But .22 slugs tend to splinter when they hit bone, making comparisons of lands and grooves nearly impossible.

My derringer hadn't been fired in months, maybe even a year. I couldn't remember the last time I took it out on the range. But, that fact wouldn't clear me. They would say I cleaned it after the killing. They didn't have a spent shell for comparison of firing pin marks.

I took the gun from the upper storage cabinet, opened the breech and handed it to Dennis. "It's been months. Maybe a year since I fired that piece of shit," I said.

He dropped into an evidence bag.

"I have the right to remain silent. I have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. I can't afford an attorney, so one will have to be appointed for me. Now, go fuck yourselves."

"I can afford a good lawyer," Donald said.

"Turn around," Gates ordered. "Put your hands behind your back."

"Whoa," Donald said. "I want to take pictures of him, to show that he doesn't have any bruises or injuries on his body."

He got his Polaroid Land Camera and photographed me nude; front, back and both profiles.

By the time I got dressed and cuffed, the family was awake and up, cursing the detectives.

"Cool it, kids. I have to admit they do have good reasons to be suspicious."

They charged me with capital murder, and transferred me to the Harris County Jail, where I sat for two days before bond was set. The DA was convinced I was a flight risk.

I talked Donald out of hiring Percy Foreman, and got a court appointed attorney who convinced the judge that I lacked the financial and material wherewithal to flee.

The judge knew me. I had been on his witness stand, testifying on some of my cases.

My young lawyer doubted my innocence.

My mugshot was on television and the area newspapers.

"Ex-Chemical City Cop charged with capital murder in the shooting death of wife's lover."

Mrs. Riggins, who had been out of state at a family reunion, was shocked to discover that her husband had a lover. It was rumored that she was overheard saying, "If I knew the son of a bitch was cheating on me, I would have killed him myself."

Unfortunately for me, she had a rock-solid alibi.

Donald told Steve Adler, my lawyer, "She hired a hitman. Pros are known to use .22s."

Ma Bell and my wife got unwanted media attention. She must have been fucking someone higher up the corporate ladder than Riggins. She was transferred to El Paso, not terminated.

The service station and garage got more business because of my notoriety. The majority of the new clientele were women. Why do women get the hots for murderers? And it wasn't just women. Teens and even some preteens from nearby subdivisions and apartments started haning around the garage, competing for my attention.

Some of those flirtatious preteens were awfully tempting. They were there for the taking. But, way roo dangerous. They would have to blab. They'd have to brag about being the killer's lover.

Donald put up a sign; "Buy or Bye" "No Loitering"

Some of the girls blew their allowences on soft drinks, candy and snacks.

Captain Charlie Denson, Chief of Detectives, was one of the few career cops who liked and respected me. I wrote more detailed reports than anyone else in the department. No one was better on the witness stand. He said he would make certain I had access to all the evidence against me.

"I know you," he said. "And I know you wouldn't do it. It was a robbery. His wallet and watch were stolen."

"Dennis and Gates and the DA are certain I took the wallet and watch to give it the appearance of a robbery gone bad. And I used the derringer instead of the Hi Power for ballistics evidence."

Charlie nit-picked the report and evidence. The autopsy report indicated the victim shot himself in the thigh. Residue on the victim's hand and shirt indicated he drew a pistol from his belt, accidentally inflicting the in-and-out wound to the left thigh. The gunshot into the mouth struck the C3 vertebrae, instantly killing him. The angle and trajectory of the shot indicated that it was likely to have been fired by someone other than the victim.

Two hours after I got home, Donald got on the PA and said, "Tigger. Call Captain Denson at the PD ASAP."

"You've been cleared," Denson said. "A junkie,Ted Cruz, tried to sell Riggins' gold Longines Flagship watch at a Houston pawn shop. The pawnshop owner has a camera that shoots everyone who enters the store. Houston's pawn shop detail knew the junkie from previous arrests. They picked him up. He was packing a S&W Model 17 snub nose .22. It was sold to Riggins the day you chased him."

"If he hadn't been armed, he'd be alive today and have his expensive watch returned," I said.

"And, if the hammer hadn't snagged on his shirt, we might have a dead heroin addict," Denson said. "You can pick up your derringer at any time. It's at the booking desk."

"How about some poetic justice, Charlie. Can't you have Dennis and Gates hand deliver it to me."

"You do realize that their suspicions weren't unfounded. They don't like you. I hope you're not expecting an apology."

"They took it. They should return it."

They knocked on my door an hour later.

"Jesus, man! Put some clothes on," Dennis growled.

"Why? You've already seen me naked."

"You're fucking disgusting!" Gates said.

"Your inferiority complex is showing," I chuckled. He had small hands and feet, indicating a small penis.

"Sign here," he ordered, handing me the property sheet.

I signed, kept a copy and took my derringer.

"That's a cute little thing," Daisy said, standing in my doorway.

The detectives looked at her, then at me.

"Little?" I responded. "Oh, you mean the gun. You can have it. I'll teach you how to shoot."

"You're going to teach someone how to shoot?" Gates sneered.

"I'm a country girl. I know how to shoot."

I barely qualified on the Practical Pistol Course in the academy using a model 10 S&W revolver. I have big hands, and the S&W's standard grip wasn't big enough. I bought a bigger grip. Still no good. Then, I saw the Browning Hi Power in a gunshop. It fit my hand perfectly. I was accurate with it. I was told it was the terrorists' handgun of choice.

I was the only cop I knew in Harris County carrying a 9mm. Most cops carried revolvers; .38, .357, or .44magnum. The Colt 1911 was the only on-duty semi automatic to be seen. The Hi Power stood out like the proverbial sore thumb. Most militaries in the world were using it.

"Bye y'all," I said to the cops. "Have a nice life."

"Eat shit and die, asshole!"

The cops and DA cleared me, but suspicions lingered. I was put on trial by Cruz's defense lawyer. The heroin addict found the gun and wallet in some bushes near the crime scene, where the real culprit, me, disposed of them after murdering my wife's lover. Cruz's confession was thrown out, and the jury never heard it.

The first trial ended in a hung jury. The lawyer convinced two jurors of my guilt.

The publicity was good for the D&D. The weekend business got so good, Donald hired a gas jockey to help me out. I was getting fan mail, love letters, marriage proposals, panties, nude photos.

A TV crew came to the garage, and I went on a rant about the sickos who are attracted to murderers.

"I am not a murderer. I have never killed anyone. I have never wanted to kill anyone. I do not want to be around anyone who wants to be friendly with a murderer. You all need psychiatric help. Leave me alone!"

The notoriety and scrutiny also put a serious damper on our sexual activities. When word got out that I lived in the junkyard, people were climbing over the fence.

Donald bought motion detectors and alarms. When Yosemite Sam was being friendly and playful, he looked kind of goofy. When he went into protective mode, he looked vicious and extremely dangerous.

The second trial began in September. Again, the defense lawyer put me on trial.

The prosecutor put Detectives Gates and Dennis, and their sloppy investigation on trial. She showed the jury that they disliked me, and ignored any evidence that may have cleared me. They ignored a knife found near the victim's body that had the defendant's finger prints in it.

He used the knife to rob Riggins. After handing the robber his wallet, Riggins drew his pistol and accidentally shot himself in the thigh.

They struggled for possession of the pistol. The junkie won, pointed the pistol at Riggins and accidentally fired it into Riggins' mouth, killing him.

I was subpoenaed, and explained the coincidences that led to the stalking allegation. I told them about 'the chase.'

That got a few supressed chuckles from jurors.

The defense attorney, Albert Prince, didn't do his homework. He was unaware of my reputation on the witness stand.

In the academy, we were told that a jury trial is like a tennis match. The prosecutors and defense attorneys are the players. Witnesses are the ball to be batted back and forth.

"Don't try to be witty or sarcastic on the stand, the defense will eat your lunch. They will try to rattle your cage. Don't take it personally. Answer questions as directly and briefly as possible. State only facts."

Cruz's lawyer badgered me, and insulted me. I remained calm and professional. My cage was unrattleable. My lunch was inedible. I won the jurors' sympathy.

Cruz was found guilty of armed robbery and capital murder. He was sentenced to have a seat on 'Old Sparky.'

There were still people who believed I got away with murder. And, that made some women very horny.

I can't say that I turned down every offer of sex. But I soon rejected sexual advances.

Some of them, on the verge of orgasm begged me, "Tell me you did it. Tell me that you killed that mother fucker!"

"Tell me how it felt watching him die. Did you see the life go out of his eyes? What does the death rattle sound like?"

I had business cards made up with Cruz'a name and mailing address on death row. I handed them out to killer's groupies. All fan mail was returned to sender.

The junkyard provided all of the sex I could handle.

In addition to the Junkyard Dukes, there were frequent visits from incestuous country cousins, aunts and uncles, ranging in age from 4 to 95.

Someone was always ready to do whatever I wanted to do.

Betty Boop's birthday party was an incestuous fuck fest. I ate her pussy and fucked her after watching her brothers, father, two uncles and one of her grandfathers take turns banging her hot little twat.

She spent the night with me.

I woke her up the next morning with my tongue in her twat. We sucked and fucked and licked all day, and into the night.

The junkyard was my home--my world.

THE END?

[Earl responds to all critiques, comments, compliments & complaints at ]