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Archive name: ourtown2.txt (Mm/f, rom, ped)
Authors name: Lor Oldmann (jamwad@hotmail.com)
Story title : Our Town - 2

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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2002.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  You may post freely to non-commercial
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Thank you for your consideration.
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Our Town - 2 (Mm/f, rom, ped)
by Lor Oldmann (jamwad@hotmail.com)

***

It is a peculiar thing, but in our town, as in any other 
small American town, there was an intimacy so close it 
became part of you, and so real that you felt you could 
tear a huge lump away and pack in a suitcase when you 
left. One of the immediate results of this is that any 
sort of sex seems incestuous, and consequently incest is 
not such a big deal in small-town as it is elsewhere.

At the same time there was also a distance so pronounced 
it could not have become more detached had the nearest 
neighbor been an alien from outer space. It is something 
that is glaringly missing in city life; it is certainly 
more sinister than anything experienced in the city.

Everyone thought they knew everyone else's business, and 
no-one cared a fart that it was so, because everyone 
claimed that they had nothing to hide. We didn't even 
have to lock our doors at night! Yet when it came to the 
crunch, we discovered that we didn't know a piss-drip of 
what was going on, even in our own small exclusive corner 
of town life. Even in our own family!

There were skeletons in every household cupboard. A case 
or two in point? Well, you would have difficulty in 
finding two families so completely different as the Webbs 
and the Vernes. And yet they were so typical. When 
Theodore Webb died, the whole town rallied around the 
family and could not have been more passionately helpful 
if the death had been one of their own; there was even a 
community chest to help pay the expenses of the funeral. 
Try that one for size in New York city! Yet no-one 
realized the Webbs were members of a weird religious 
group that, among other things, worshipped in the nude 
and practiced partner swapping and encouraged sexual 
activity - even incest - among their young teenagers. 

It was the same with the Vernes; the overwhelming 
majority of the folks in the town were alive to the 
problems involved in bringing up their idiot daughter 
Shirley, and were much more into it than being merely 
sympathetic and supportive. But it came as a shock to 
everyone in the town to learn that they also had a son 
who was a big-time hoodlum in California, who had 
cornered the market in teenaged illegal immigrant 
prostitutes, and who was facing a murder one rap in San 
Diego. That is small town America; it always has a split 
personality, one side shallow and manifest and the flip 
side latent and frightening.

There is an old English proverb: Trouble never walks 
alone! I can vouch for that. About a week after Shirley 
Verne moved into our house while her parents were in 
California, just about twelve days after Theodore Webb 
died of some horrible infection of the blood, we received 
another severe jolt to the system.  

Judy Isherwood, from one of the outlying farms, was 
murdered, and Jed became a prime suspect for no better 
reason than that she came to the filling station in our 
town at least once a week and he chatted her up with 
suggestive small-talk as he did with all the female 
customers.

Judy was an exceptionally attractive woman. She was also 
much younger than her husband. They had failed in the 
attempt to produce a family after six years together and 
the strain was showing. He had beaten her up quite 
seriously a couple of times, and she sought consolation 
and comfort elsewhere. And easily found it!

Possibly, this was because of the similarity of the 
names, she had become known locally as Judith Iscariot 
(small town America is still male-dominated and utterly 
chauvinistic) and was also notorious as an easy lay. Jed 
told me he had laid her a couple of times shortly after 
he came back from Vietnam, and once again shortly after 
she was married. He used to make jokes about it; he 
placed her around 6.5 on his Richter scale because of her 
hip movement.

Police pin-pointed the time and place of death, and since 
Jed could not provide an alibi for his movements at that 
particular time and could not prove that he was not at 
the scene of the crime, he was taken away in handcuffs 
for interrogation. There were witnesses from among the 
townsfolk who were willing to swear that they had seen 
Jed speaking to the victim and flirting with her, and one 
who said he had heard them making plans to meet at the 
place she was murdered. And the immediate effect was that 
the town dropped Jed like a venomous snake. He lost his 
job at the filling station.

Mrs. Chessip found an old-timer to clean up the diner, 
and, oddly, the lawns ceased needing trimmed weeks 
earlier that year. My parents still 'took him in' when 
his dad threw him out of the house, but there was a 
distinct coldness and an unmistakable embarrassment in 
the air when he was around our place, so he stopped 
coming. I had already seen the kind of damage Jed could 
inflict on a human face when some smart guy from Illinois 
tried to get gas without paying for it; consequently, I 
had my doubts about his guilt or innocence.

Only my ten-year-old kid sister remained loyal. Deri 
ridiculed me for my doubts and harangued mom and dad for 
their shallow hypocrisy. She used to slip out late at 
night to meet him and express her faith in him and her 
confidence in his innocence in any way she could! I was 
absolutely convinced that they were having sex together - 
somewhere out there! As I said, that is small town 
America; we think we know it all, when, in fact, the all 
we know is damn all.

The breakthrough came when genetic fingerprinting was 
brought over from England. Judy had scratched her 
attacker and slivers of skin and blood samples were taken 
from under her long, talon-like fingernails. A similar 
spot of blood was found on the lapel of her jacket. It 
was only when these samples failed to match either Jed's 
DNA pattern or his blood group that the police started to 
look around.

The absence of any evidence of rape had puzzled them from 
the start. Judy's clothes had been disarranged, but it 
had been a half-hearted attempt to make it look like a 
sexually motivated attack. Then, in rapid succession, 
they discovered a footprint that had been previously 
ignored, and tire marks by the roadside not far from 
where the body had been found. The footprint was found to 
have been made by boots worn by Judy's husband and the 
tire marks had been left by his pick-up.

Two months before the murder Teddy Isherwood had taken 
out an insurance policy on the life of his spouse, and on 
the night before the murder, according to one of the farm 
hands, husband and wife had a fierce quarrel that had 
ended with the man threatening to kill her; such 
quarrels, said the witness, had become routine. The 
murder weapon, a wrench used to screw nuts and bolts 
together on farm machinery was found in the toolbox of 
the pick-up; forensic scientists found traces of Judy's 
blood, hair and flesh on it.

Teddy was arrested and charged with first degree 
homicide, and that, to all intent and purposes, was the 
last the town heard of the affair. The shades of the mind 
were drawn against it. The farm was put up for sale as a 
going concern, but there were no buyers, and gradually it 
was run down. The buildings became ruins; bits and pieces 
of the land were absorbed by neighboring farms. And the 
Isherwood affair became a thing of the past. That's the 
way it worked in small town America.

Folks tried to pretend that everything returned to 
normal. But it was nothing more than pretence. Jed was 
not offered his old job at the filling station or at Mrs. 
Chessip's. He made plans to move out of the town. Deri 
went berserk. And I began to think that my whole world 
was falling apart. But that was only a beginning. Believe 
me, things were simply hotting up!

More and more I had noticed the family drifting apart 
with dad away from home almost every week and mom working 
late every night. At first I put the blame on Shirley, 
and there is little doubt that she became some sort of 
catalystic enzyme to speed things up a bit. But then the 
volcano erupted in no uncertain fashion.

Dad came home before lunchtime one school-day. He had his 
new eighteen year old 'secretary' with him. He had 
reckoned on having the house to himself for a few hours. 
Shirley was at a day care center at the school, and Deri 
was to bring her home with her. What Dad hadn't reckoned 
on was the weather. There was a tornado warning and the 
schools were evacuated. I got off the bus a mile or so 
from home to walk the remaining distance with Jed. When 
we reached our back lawn there was the most spine-
dislocating scream that ever was heard.

Deri had reached home minutes before us. As she went to 
her bedroom to change, as she does every day in life when 
she gets home from school, she heard the grunts and 
groans coming from dad's room. And being the curious 
animal she is, she went to investigate and was rewarded 
with the sight of dad's bare ass banging up and down 
between a pair of slender legs, that were obviously not 
mum's, flaying in the air.

She was spellbound until the message finally burst 
through to her understanding: dad was fucking the living 
hell out of some girl who seemed scarcely older than 
herself! She was outraged. And screamed! Blue bloody 
murder! And boy, when my kid sister screams!

"That's Deri!" Jed took off like a rocket from Cape 
Kennedy. And I thought to myself: he got off the Judy 
Isherwood rap - what next? And again the bleeding face of 
the smart guy in the filling station came to mind. But if 
it was some punk interfering with Deri he deserved 
everything he was about to get. 

The scene was all hell and Hailey Mills by the time I 
mounted the stairs. Shirley was sitting half-way up; she 
was playing with her fingers, drooling as usual and 
grinning like the idiot she undoubtedly was. Deri, still 
screaming was being embraced by Jed who looked like a 
really angry homicidal maniac.

Dad, still naked, was trying to shield his teenaged lover 
and hide his genitals at the same time. The stranger to 
the house was wide-eyed and open-jawed, and probably 
wondering what the hell she had let herself in for. Semen 
was dripping from her; dad had obviously shot off at the 
last moment from sheer fright at his daughter's 
hysterics. 

"She's fucking my dad!" yelled Deri. The accusation was 
leveled at Jed and me as if it were a direct command: 
"Smash his fucking face! Chuck her out of the fucking 
window!"

Dad was puffing and blowing like a pompous old fart 
demanding that Jed leave his house immediately. Jed was 
calling him a filthy old pervert who was not to be 
trusted with any female. There was no way he was leaving 
Deri in the house alone with him, so he could go and jerk 
himself off on a folded pillow!

"You ever lay a finger on Deri," Jed yelled at him, "and 
I'll tear your fucking heart out." And he called him a 
slime ball, and a piece of soft shit, and many more 
things even more descriptive but much less flattering.

Then there was a pause, one of those hiccups in a silly 
situation when everyone wonders what to say next and what 
to do next. The front door opened.

"Hi! Is anyone there?" It was mom; for once in her recent 
life, she had come home early from work. "There's a 
tornado warning!"

Continued in part 3...

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The author does not condone child abuse, this story is
meant as an erotic fantasy not "real life." Anyone acting
out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to
many unproductive years getting it up the butt by a 
fellow convict in their local prison.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 19