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This is my first submission to Literotica. I have a thing for the American South, so I decided to set my story in Boone, Mississippi. It’s a purely fictitious, small southern town. Thanks for reading, and I hope you all enjoy!
Boone, Mississippi. 1976.
Ginny woke in the middle of the night to the restless song of crickets outside. She shifted lazily on Coralee’s springy old mattress and rolled onto her back, wiggling her toes beneath the soft, threadbare sheets. Her small feet throbbed with a fierce, burning itch, and she rose up in a daze, rubbing at her big eyes in the hot darkness. The air was thick with humidity, and she groaned quietly, her body still damp and heavy with sleep. After she had roused herself a bit, Ginny swung her coltish legs out from under the striped sheets and pulled her knees up tight to her chest. When she finally looked down sleepily, she was shocked to find both ankles littered with sore red welts. The sight turned her stomach. It worsened the dull, steady ache that already lingered in her belly, and she swallowed hard, pressing a palm against her damp forehead.
Earlier that night, Coralee Cooper and Annabelle Lane had gotten Ginny drunk for the first time. The three of them had trekked out back into a thick of old trees and wild brush near the Indigo River, their backpacks filled with stolen beer. They had plopped down Indian-style in a patch of cool, damp grass beside the rushing water, and Cora had pulled out her daddy’s old bottle opener. ‘Budweiser’ had been written in faded blue letters across the red handle, and they had pried open the smooth, cold longnecks with eager hands, giggling all the while. The three of them had sat gossiping near the river’s edge for hours, downing swig after swig of liquid gold. When all the beer had finally been drunk, they had flopped back on the grassy bank and smoked cigarettes, watching the late summer stars tilt and spin. It had been loads of fun, but from the looks of her swollen feet, Ginny had left the woods with more than just a good beer buzz.
She poked gingerly at one tender red bump and sucked in her breath. It stung and ached with the beat of her heart, and she knew straight off it was poison oak. She’d had it before as a little girl, and it had been downright terrible. The stubborn, scarlet colored rash had gone on and on, no matter how many times her mama had rubbed it with salve and wrapped it in clean cloth bandages. For weeks, it had throbbed with her every step, and Ginny still remembered her mama’s soft voice, sweet and soothing against her messy dark hair, how her skin had smelled of honeysuckle as she had gathered her up and hugged her close. “It’s all right, sweet girl. That calamine’ll work its magic on ya soon enough.”
“Coralee?” Ginny sent out a quiet whisper to her friend, but Cora was deep in dreams, her eyelids fluttering like moth wings in the silver moonlight.
Ginny sat for a moment, then pulled herself off Cora’s bed with a long, lazy sigh. Outside, in the hot damp of midnight, the steady, musical lull of insects droned on through the open screened window. In the hazy shadows, Ginny found her glasses among a throng of glitter nail polish bottles and Seventeen magazines on Cora’s cluttered white dresser. She wiped the lenses clean with the bottom hem of her nightdress and slipped the round, tortoise shell frames up onto her freckled little nose.
In the quiet heat of Coralee’s bedroom, Ginny suddenly grew homesick. The Coopers had no air conditioning, and all she heard then was the eerie, drifting whir of steel blade fans running in every room of their dark house. Down the hall, restless with sweat and bad dreams, Cora’s little brother, Travis, tossed and turned in his small twin bed.
It was wicked hot for late September, and Ginny longed for autumn. She loved when the nights grew windy and brisk after the purple fall of dusk. She would often linger out in the backyard until late, her small body strewn across an old tire swing. Up and down the streets, people burned piles of leaves, and she would close her eyes and breathe in the pungent scent of their fires. Each year, she savored the slow turn of trees in their neighborhood from deep green to crimson and gold, but she hadn’t seen a wisp of color so far, though. It made her wonder if summer would ever give up the fight.
Ginny looked on at her two friends as they slumbered in the darkness. She listened to the soft sound of Annabelle’s breath moving in and out. It was tranquil and even, like the rise and fall of waves. In the far corner, Coralee sighed and shifted onto her belly. Ginny didn’t have the heart to wake them, so she stepped over Belle’s long, sleeping body and tried her best to be silent. A rush of searing pain swept through her feet and ankles then, and she stopped dead in her tracks, wincing.
Cora’s bedroom door stood ajar, and Ginny looked out into the dark, narrow hallway, hesitant. It felt like trespassing, her roaming casino oyna around in someone else’s house at night. All the unfamiliar scents on blankets and sheets and pillowcases, they were the Coopers’ blood, sweat and tears. The jumbled pile of shoes near the front door, the creak of a wooden floorboard, the groan of a warped stair, the shadowed corners and locked closets were all parts of a foreign land, one where natives slept, unknowing.
Ginny stood for a moment, smoothing her white cotton frock over her slim, pretty legs. She tucked her wavy hair back behind both ears and thought of morning, how it was just a few hours off. She could wait. The last thing she wanted was to disturb the peace, but as she slowly took another step, that deep, aching heat sprang to life again. She looked back at Cora with hopeful eyes, but her friend still lay sleeping in a harbor of clean cotton sheets. Ginny let out a quiet sigh. She stayed put for a while longer, contemplating, until finally, she lifted anchor and drifted out into the hot, silent house.
“Mr. Cooper?” Ginny’s voice was quiet and unsure as she looked down at him, at a good daddy sleeping peacefully on his brown plaid couch.
She had never known her own daddy. He had left her mama high and dry when Ginny was just three years old. At home, she never walked into their yellow tiled bathroom and found a straight razor sitting on the sink. There were no bottles of stiff, woodsy smelling aftershave tucked into their medicine cabinet, no dirty brown work boots lying idle near the front door.
Emmett Cooper had the same color hair as his daughter, Cora. It was the shade of burning embers, not red and not brown, but a beautiful, unique mix of both. His big, weathered hand lay across his lean belly, and it moved up and down gently as he took in a long breath and let it out with a quiet, lazy sigh. His sleeping face was turned away from her, and the warm, dancing light from a muted TV screen cast rippling shadows all over him.
Ginny stood a few feet from him, keeping still and silent. She had always been painfully shy, and more often than not, filled to the brim with a quiet uncertainty. Even as a small girl, she had been soft-spoken and sweetly awkward. She felt like a pest saying his name again, so she waited a bit, hoping he might stir.
She looked on at the frayed bottom hem of his gray t-shirt. It had come up an inch or two on his belly, and her cheeks burned at the little glimpse of his bare skin. A straight line of auburn hair trailed down from his navel and disappeared into the waist of his blue work pants. They were stained with grease and motor oil, and she saw how the dark cotton had worn thin at his knees.
Ginny only knew a handful of things about Coralee’s daddy. She had heard that he smoked a pack of Luckies a day, that he fixed up cars down at Lipman’s Garage, and he had a soft spot for horses. Cora had once said that her daddy loved to ride his old motorcycle, and on Friday nights he would put his feet up, listen to blues, and drink Wild Turkey out of a tiny red shot glass. She had also said that her mama, Lucy, downright hated his motorcycle and the whisky drinking too.
For months, Cora’s mama and daddy had been fighting like cats and dogs. Lucy had been staying out nights, spending more and more time working late shifts down at Ruby’s Diner. She was there that night, in fact, waiting tables and slinging hash to all the night owls and drunkards. Cora had said that her mama had been acting like a selfish bitch, and that her daddy deserved his bit of fun, especially after he had worked his hands to the bone all week. She had told Ginny that she missed her daddy’s goofy laugh and his stupid jokes. All of his silliness and playful teasing had gone absent since he and Cora’s mama had begun living separate lives. It all seemed so complicated and sad to Ginny.
“Mr. Cooper?” Ginny drew a bit closer, intent on asking him if they had any calamine lotion to soothe the itch on her tender bare feet. She jumped in her skin when he sat up quick, startled from a deep sleep.
“What? What’s wrong? Shit, I fell asleep. What time is it?”
Still bleary-eyed, he reached up and rustled his red-brown hair with both big hands. It stood up every which way, until he smoothed it back down again with a heavy sigh. He seemed disoriented and plain exhausted, and Ginny felt remorse for waking him up so suddenly.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Cooper. It’s ’bout two o’clock, I think.”
He sat at the edge of their plaid couch, and almost at once, his big hands reached for a pack of Lucky Strikes that lay out on the coffee table. They had been tossed there beside an empty bottle of Budweiser and a green plastic ashtray that cradled three spent butts. He smacked the half pack of smokes up against his big palm and pulled one out, taking it between his teeth.
“You one of Coralee’s friends? Lucy warned me ’bout you girls stayin’ over tonight. Said I might not canlı casino get much sleep on account of all the gigglin’ and carryin’ on.”
Emmett Cooper gave Ginny a tired, weary smile, showing just a glimpse of his straight white teeth. He looked at her bare, freckled shoulders and her tiny frame. She was a good bit smaller than his daughter, and she looked as young as a chickadee. The only thing that gave away her true age was the shadow of two little points hidden beneath her thin cotton frock. She stood at just the right angle, where the smooth white moonlight drifted in through the big picture window. Its soft glow made her little gown go completely sheer, and he looked away. She might as well have been standing there naked in front of him, but she didn’t have a clue, and he wasn’t about to let on. He had learned quickly, just by living with Coralee, that teenage girls were nothing but over-sensitive, erratic creatures. He kept quiet and took a long drag off his cigarette. All the while, his eyes fought the urge to look at her taut little nipples through her pretty cotton sheath, and he cleared his throat as he exhaled.
“I’m Ginny Goodman. I work with Coralee at the Dairy Queen…makin’ ice cream cones and such. We just met this summer. This is my first time stayin’ over.”
She had a honey-drip little voice that he could barely make out, and like a bloodhound, Emmett caught scent of her shy, hesitant nature. She had a quiet innocence about her, and none of the giddy drama that was common in most girls her age. She was different, more sweet and trusting. It was in the downward tilt of her big doe eyes behind her glasses. It was in the high color of her baby soft cheeks, and he felt the tug of an erection come on him then. It took him completely off guard. It disturbed him, even, because she still looked like a little fawn.
He had never been one to desire knock-kneed, skinny young girls. He favored curves, and his wife, Lucy, had plenty of those. Since the night they’d first met, Emmett had been crazy for Lucy’s firm, rounded breasts. The way she filled out a snug t-shirt had always driven him wild. She was near forty, but her ass still looked delicious in a tight pair of old Levi’s, and her legs had remained shapely and strong. After twenty years of marriage, he still had trouble keeping his hands off her. He even loved the little paunch of her belly because she had carried his three children there.
Emmett had always fancied solid women, women he could grab onto and drive himself deep inside of. He had never once, as a grown man, felt himself stiffen up so quick and eager for a girl so young. It just hadn’t been in his nature. In fact, he had always found it unsettling when the guys down at Lipman’s would catcall at passing teenagers.
In the summertime, a slow stream of wayward girls often trickled into the shop. Dressed in snug cut-off jeans and thin halter tops tied above the navel, they would prance around and put their flat, tanned-up bellies and firm, sun-kissed legs on display. They would snap their bubble gum and flip their hair and give the middle-aged men like Emmett a knowing smile as they dropped their keys onto the grubby front counter. It was always a smashed-in bumper or a busted-up taillight that needed repair, the ruins of loud music, homegrown weed, and a lead foot. On the hottest days, they would wiggle their firm little asses out the door and leave the sweet scent of coconut oil in their wakes. While most of his buddies would whistle through their teeth as the girls shimmied across the parking lot and into their boyfriends’ trucks, he would only shake his head and let out a quiet belly laugh.
Emmett thought on Lucy then. It had been nearly three months since she had let him touch her, and the last time had been rushed. It had been a quick, silent fuck in the still darkness of their messy bedroom, before the house had woken up, or the sun had sneaked its way through their drawn curtains. After they had finished, she had slipped her warm body out from under his and whispered, “I need to make coffee…and I gotta pack a lunch for Travis.”
It had seemed to Emmett that she hadn’t been able to get away from their bed fast enough.
By instinct, his body had grown hungry in Lucy’s absence. He knew it was possible that his wife no longer loved him. They had been growing apart for some time, years it seemed, but Emmett still had hopes that the two of them could put aside their problems and salvage the family they had made together. As of late, Lucy didn’t seem too keen on that notion, and the whole thing broke his heart in two.
“Well, Ginny Goodman…” He took another long drag off his cigarette and slowly exhaled into the close, humid air. “It’s good to meet you. I’m Coralee’s daddy.”
“What in hell you girls doin’ out in them woods, anyhow? Drinkin’ down my beer and smokin’ up my cigarettes, I reckon.” Emmett looked on at Ginny’s big chocolate eyes, waiting for her to deny kaçak casino it, but she just pressed her bee-stung lips together and let out a soft giggle.
“Yep. You can tell Coralee I noticed them smokes missin’ from my pack. You can tell her to cut it out too, or there’ll be hell to pay. I keep sayin’…if she’s stupid enough to take up smokin’, she best buy her own pack. I told her to stay out of them woods too. It’s ripe with poison oak.”
Ginny kept quiet and listened as he talked to her all daddy-like. She savored his playful, gentle scolding. It felt nice. She imagined what it would be like to have a daddy that loved you deep, one that teased you and made you laugh.
She was bashful as he took down a bottle of calamine lotion from the kitchen cupboard and walked over to her on quiet bare feet. He sat down beside her on the old plaid couch and shook the small pink bottle in his big hand, mixing it up lightly. He told her to shimmy her little behind around and sit with her back against the couch’s big pillowed arm, and she obliged him with dark, watchful eyes.
“Put your feet up here so I can get a look. I know that’s what you got though, and it ain’t no fun from what I remember.”
“It itches somethin’ terrible.” Ginny pulled her glasses off and wiggled her toes like a child.
“I bet. You’re covered in it.”
She set her bare feet in his lap and watched his scruffy red beard, his thick fingers and big knuckles. He had a black crescent of motor oil under each of his nails and a tender red cut on his left thumb. Her eyes lingered on his big hands as he took soft white cotton balls slathered in cool pink balm and gently dabbed them on her sore welts, just like she was his own baby girl.
He looked over at her big eyes, and Ginny shook her head no. Though she was young, and green as a sprig of mint, a warmth suddenly blossomed up between her legs. The feelings brought a whole mess of confusion, because Mr. Cooper was a grown man over twice her age. He had sturdy arms and tiny lines at the corners of his eyes. He was no spindly teenage boy.
As the fan slowly teased across their hot skin and drew away, Ginny felt a shadow of uncertainty go through her. She wasn’t sure if Coralee’s daddy had looked at her bare legs in a way he shouldn’t have, or if he’d been wrong to let his deep hazel eyes wander to the thin strap of her nightdress when it had slipped down her freckled shoulder. She wasn’t sure of anything, only that his hands were like feathers on her sore bare feet, his touch soft and tender as he healed her ache with his smooth pink salve; the one that smelled like childhood.
“Wake up, pretty girl.”
Ginny came slowly from dreams with lazy, half-open eyes. She was still sleepy as he pressed his mouth against her damp forehead and kissed gently.
“It’s all right. Wake up, now.”
His mouth was warm and searching, and he smelled faintly of cigarette smoke. The coppery scent of sweat lingered on his skin, like he needed a long, hot shower to wash away the day’s work. He smelled like those men had, the ones who had come to fix her mama’s leaky kitchen pipes. They had been dressed in dirty old work trousers and worn leather tool belts, and they had carried the same scent of musk and tobacco. It was the way a daddy should smell, and a daddy was someone who had no business nestling his rough, scratchy face into the soft hollow of her neck.
Ginny’s first instinct was to pull away. She wanted to slip off the couch and sneak back to the quiet haven of Coralee’s small, messy bedroom, but instead, she lay there like a rag doll as Emmett Cooper placed a gentle kiss on her smooth, freckled shoulder. A moment later, he cupped a big hand around her cheek and traced his thumb lightly over her jaw, kissing up along her warm, salty neck. His mouth was hot and teasing, and Ginny closed her eyes tight at the prickle of his beard on her soft skin.
“Don’t.” She didn’t want to hurt his feelings. He had been so nice to her as he had tended her wounds and made her giggle in the quiet darkness. Still, she knew it couldn’t be right, him kissing on her like that.
“You don’t gotta be afraid. I ain’t gonna hurt you, baby. I promise.” He drew one finger along her damp hairline, watching her eyes.
Ginny remembered falling asleep on the big plaid couch, and for a spell, he had too. He had dozed off sitting up, still holding her damaged feet in his lap. She had felt nothing but safe and sound with him, but right then, she was taken aback at his closeness, almost bewildered by it.
She thought on Coralee and Annabelle, sleeping sound just upstairs. She knew that any girl in her place might be afraid, or at least unsure, but more than fear, Ginny was only shy and timid as his big hands worked down the front of her thin nightdress. One by one, he pulled loose her long row of buttons, and she closed her eyes, feeling his warm mouth against her ear. He parted her gown gently, tracing his fingers across her smooth belly until Ginny lay there bare and bashful, looking up at him with wide dark eyes. For a moment, she felt a whisper soft touch on her navel, and then it was gone.
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