My Memoirs

This is an old thing from the eighties and early nineties originally titled The Life and times of Mad Dog McCracken and there was another title before that.  Obviously I never finished it.  It's as I left it many years ago.  It's just things that I've done and things that happened that I wanted to put down in a direct way.  I make no excuse for the writing.  I was just starting to scribble.  Maybe some day I'll rewrite it.  (Yea, I'm a scoundrel who likes freedom too much!!!)

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The Life and Times of Mad Dog McCracken

I am Mad Dog

Mad Dog is Crazy

Poor, poor Mad Dog

I was always foaming at the Mind

Mad (adj) Affected with a high degree of intellectual independence; not conforming to standards of thought, speech and action derived by the conformants from study of themselves; at odds with the majority; in short, unusual.

 Ambroce Bierce ~ The Devils Dictionary 1906   

Tell the truth and run. ~ Yugoslavian Proverb

 CHAPTER 1

 Adopted into the Glutz family, my adopted father died when I was two from lung cancer.  He was an excessive smoker.  My mother remarried when I was eight bringing me three sisters, two older, one younger.  We lived in the little peasant village of Viederville.  It was a small, one stop light town.  The town nestled where three country roads met, surrounded by fields of thick rich muck, never ending rows of orange trees, palmetto scrub, forests and swamps. 

The town began in the 1800's with settlers coming down the river looking for good farm and hunting land.  They had cleared the land by the river with mules, horses, wagons and dynamite.  The woods provided a good supply of game, the river and the lake that it fed, a good supply of fish.  Other settlers came on the paddle wheel boats and moved further inland and established the farming community of Viederville.

The town grew slowly. Laborers brought in to work the fields formed their own small communities in the woods around the town.  A time of not much money but plenty of work. 

I read of few things about the city a while back.  Quite a few years before our time when the main street was still dirt a white boss had made one of his workers who had missed some time dance by firing a pistol into the street.  And somebody blew up the bank but they never found out who.    

Bigdaddy Glutz left his home in the hills of Georgia and moved to Viederville with his family and started to work in the bank.  He used to tell us he had almost nothing when he came but he neglected to mention his college degree.  The first one of his family to go to college.  He worked hard and eventually became the president of the bank.  He started farming, good years, bad years, and eventually made a go of it.  Two sons came, one married and raised several children, the other, said to be unable to have children, married and adopted.  I have no memory of him.

My earliest memory is of my mother, she was the only person I had.  They are the usual memories, playing in the house and yard with friends. I remember the switch bush that grew by the edge of the carport.  It is not my earliest memory but it is one of the most pronounced.  It was a bush with flexible branches that, when stripped of its leaves, would sing when whipped through the air.  When applied to the bare skin of the legs it would  produce a great deal of wailing, apologies and promises.  Promises that the offence would never be repeated.  Promises rarely kept.  At times I was told to behave as the switch bush needed time to grow thicker branches.

The switchings started out with me dropping my pants but I later convinced my mother to let me roll up my pants legs.  This gave me much greater mobility and at times I escaped her grasp and begin negotiations, a fair portion of which I won.  When escape and negotiation failed a sort of dance ensued, my mother holding me by the arm, me moving in a circle.  I provided the music, the switch bush the locomotion.

After one particularly nasty attack on my freedom of expression I stated I was going to get the ax and do away with the offending bush though the ax was almost bigger than I.  She nabbed me within ten feet of my statement.

It was a glorious day when a yard man pulled the switch bush up to make way for a less cruel plant.

  Playing in the yard and the fields behind the house, my dogs were my best friends.  I had three dalmatians at one time or another, all killed by distemper or cars.  I was inconsolable.  I wanted no part of their explanations, no part of their promises that we would get another dog, I only wanted the one that left a hole in my life.

Cousins I had like sand, there were five separate groups with four names within three blocks of my house and more distant cousins around.   Some of us played cowboys and Indians in the fields and woods with some black kids that lived in the Quarters, a group of wooden shacks about a hundred yards back in the woods from my family's house used to house field workers.  We had toy guns.  They had sticks to use as spears.  They got to be the Indians.  We traded with them occasionally and were chided for letting them use our toys.

"Might give them ideas," joked a relative.  Later the families decided that it was time for us to stay with our own kind.  Telling the black kids was not something some of us enjoyed.

During my youth I had several maids and baby sitters that supervised me.  The maids who helped my mother one or two days a week were all black.  Of the baby sitters, some were black, some white, some were tyrants, some not.  Some were victims.  I have fond memories of most of them, or memories of memories; I always wanted to ride with my mother to pick up Reena, a little old black lady who lived in a wood frame house behind the colored grocery store, she was my favorite.

There is one memory that stands out in particular.  Mother had gone out with my Uncle and his wife.  They had left their son at the house to save on baby sitters.  He was later to carry several nicknames; Gizz, Gizmo, or Gizzard and these are how I will refer to him.  The baby sitter was a black girl in 11th or 12th grade hoping to go to college when she graduated.  Toward the end of the evening we amused ourselves by sliding across the hardwood floor on a blanket behind the couch she was on.  She told us we would get splinters.  We offered to show her there were none.  Our pajamas partially dropped. 

"You keep your pajamas on.  You hear me," she chided.

  We had found the means of terrorizing the baby sitter.  We pressed the attack.  Pull them down, pull them up, pull them lower and lower.

"Stop!  Yawl are going to get me in trouble!"

We threatened to take off our bottoms and slide on the blanket.  She threatened to tell our parents.  We threatened to cry out for help.  She started looking out of the window. 

Gizzard pulled his pants off and slid across the floor on the blanket.  This was a bit too much for my conservative nature.

"Stop this!  You are going to get me put in jail."

When she pleaded, our joy knew no bounds.

Viederville had a few people who joined the Ku Klux Klan and some who sympathized.  Cousin Gizzard later claimed to have been a member for a short time during the time he bragged about running several carloads of moonshine. 

We finally heeded the baby sitter and went to bed, when our parents returned we were faking angelic sleep.  The baby sitter didn't talk.  She told an older sitter of the event.  She talked.  Swats of corporal punishment and lectures were administered.    The older sitter said she would have tanned our bottoms and told our parents before they got in the house.  She said she wasn't afraid of any Klan.  We found out later that the young girl had gone about for several days haunted by visions of the Ku Klux Klan paying her a visit in the middle of the night.  In her mind she could see them coming out of the trees.  ("Nigra, jus what wuz you a doin with them two little naked white boys, anyway.")  

Our street had three old, two‑story wood frame houses with verandas, five block houses, three orange groves and a small wood frame house that Bigdaddy Glutz had lived in when he first moved there.  There were five two‑acre lots on our side of the street.  Three were owned by members of the Glutz family, the corner grove was owned in part by a relative.   The other corner lot was owned by a Viederville Biddie, of whom I shall write about later.  Some people referred to the area as Snob Hill as members of one of the Big Three families lived across the street and members of the other two lived within two blocks.  It wasn't much of a hill but then they weren't really snobs.  The Big Three owned the major business in Viederville and had large land holdings in the area.  The Glutz family was on good terms with them.

There were cats and dogs in abundance, my mother at one time had almost a dozen cats that came up for dinner.  Big Daddy Glutz, the patriarch of the Glutz family once had too many kittens running around his yard, he didn't like cats, so he took a croaker sack, put them in it and into the river they went.  His wife almost left him over that.  My mother warned him not to touch her cats and watched over them quite closely after that.

We played army, cowboys and indians and civil war over four of the lots.  We cut rubber bands and massacred red ants, had orange fights, dug tunnels and trenches and roamed the village on our bikes.  %GMK%Once Gizmo and I invited Cousin Chew to go across town with us to Grandad's and Dayu's, our grandparents.  One of the grandchildren had called her this as he couldn't say her name and the nickname had taken.

We had left our bikes there and gone through the grove, down the tracks and into another grove that had been neglected.  In some places the weeds were over our heads.  We moved through to a swampy area that Gizz and I had explored before.  We had once thrown oranges at an old woman that lived on the other side of the swamp when she had yelled at us to get off of her property.    We knew her property ended at the swamp.

Someone had told us she had a shotgun but we didn't believe it. She had even yelled  at us once saying she was going to get her shotgun.  Of course we passed along part of that to younger cousin Chew. It being Chew's first time in the grove he asked us several times not to leave him.  Chew shouldn't have done that. 

Suddenly, Gizz and I saw the old woman with her shotgun, Chew couldn't see her.  At first he didn't believe us but we were finally able to convince him.  Suddenly, we saw her again, off we went, Chew close behind begging not to be left in that lonely old grove.  Left, right, we crashed through the weeds, sometimes going in circles.  We finally stopped and said we were lost.  Chew pointed in the direction of the tracks and said that was the way out.  No, Chew, the tracks aren't in that direction, there're over in this direction, no, in that direction.  Suddenly we thought we saw the old woman.  Off we went again.  Gizz and I split up.  Chew followed me but I ducked into a tall patch of weeds and he passed me by, tears streaming down his face. 

He wandered in the grove for a while crying.  We followed at a safe distance with our laughter.  Chew finally found the tracks.  We followed along the tree line as he walked down  the railroad tracks.  We  could hear him crying that he would never see his mama and papa again, he'd never see his brother or Shorty, his dog.

At the house they told us he had come in and said he was going home to his family and Shorty.  We rolled on the ground with laughter.  Dayu tried scolding us but it did no good, Grandad lectured us mightily and had a bit more luck.  But not much.

Surprisingly, it wasn't that long before Chew started playing with us again, with a little urging from his parents.  Cousin Chew later settled within a block of his parents house and raised a family.

****

We roamed over Viederville looking for excitement.  At night we would lay one of Gizmo's mother's purses by the side of the road with a string attached, when someone would stop, off went the purse into the bushes.  Tiring of this we rolled oranges under the tires, aimed high a time or two (or more) and a stop was put to it when word filtered back to his parents.  The boys from the next village, the place of the Slovaks, applied a foghorn to solitary cars where the railroad crossed a road just before the highway.  They took great delight if the tires of the car sqealed.  They even tried rigging up a light at one time to increase believability. 

By day we played sports, rode our bikes and roamed through the woods.  Things came and went.  We shot blackbirds and occasionally each other with BB guns, Gizz once shot me after he told me to jump and I did, his reasoning being he hadn't told me to come down.  I applied the same reasoning to Chew when I told him to stand still. He ran and got shot in the leg. 

Bluewater Creek  ran by a park that we played in.  Steep banks covered by a canopy of trees and lush foliage, it was one of our favorite places to go.  It came upon us one day that the creek obviously needed to be damned.  It was not one days work.  We scoured the surrounding woods for logs, dropping any size into the water to see if the current would take it away.  We used old concrete blocks, boards, anything we could find, first standing along the trail we had cut through the bushes figuring the best way to throw it in so it would be most effective.  We even attacked the bridge for material. 

The mayor, a distant relative of mine if I remember correctly, got wind or our endeavor before we were anywhere near finished.  No doubt he was informed by some of the nearby residents.  That was the end of the dam.  There was just no end to the perfidity of adults.

At night we sometimes got a little wild.  There was a building on a parcel of land at the back of Big Daddy Glutz's that some of the black residents used as a church on Sundays.  Many of us made the pilgrimage  down the tree covered lane behind our house to listen to them sing.  And they could rock the place.  One of my older cousins and a friend of his who was later to be a member of the city council once pounded the roof with oranges.  Bigdaddy Glutz heard about it from his maid and promises were exacted that it would not be repeated.  They didn't find out until later that the two perpatrators  had once assulted the Quarters with a barrage of oranges.  The Quarters were a small group of old wooden shacks that field hands lived in, about a hundred yards from the house.

Perhaps it was the exploits of the older boys or just high spirits that caused the great raid on the Quarters.  There were four of us involved, no ringleader, it just happened.  There was a security discussion, silence promised.  Twice.  Tactics were decided, we would stuff our shirts full, spread in a semicircle, fire high to maximize oranges in the air and minimize stay time and run like hell.  After all, they might try and catch us.  We loaded from the trees and moved through the woods to a small rise.  With the sound of repeated contact with the tin roofs we broke and ran.       There were, of course, leaks.  Cousin Stuts trusted his brother, made him promise not to tell.  His brother, the aforementioned person involved with the church, made points with his parents with the information.  Stuts was devastated, his brother had promised.    We all went on restriction, something many of us were to be no stranger to.  There was talk in the Grapevine that if black roofs were to be a constant source of amusement white roofs would be too, and maybe even a window.  Assurances were given that this was not to be the case.

We were threatened with making a personal apology to our targets causing some to consider running away from home.  There were no more attacks on the Quarters.  We later dispelled the idea of racism by noting that we had bombarded old man Wright's roof to get him to come out and cuss at us, as well as a few others.  Old man Wright had been misguided as a young man and had a tin roof put on his house and the sound of oranges on tin was music to our ears.  Many residents were thankful that they didn't have a tin roof on their house.

We may have even have assailed his house the night of the Chivaree.  Uncle Booster, though he wasn't really our uncle, was a widower who remarried in his later years.   Several families had silently surrounded his house the night of the wedding and suddenly started pounding on pots and pans to celebrate the newly weds.  When the welcoming was over everyone went inside for punch and cookies.  Afterwards, when everyone had gone home, the Viederville Villains were still on the street.  That was the night Chew and I got in a fight and I wrestled him into the dirt.   When our irresitible attraction to roofs came to light, on several occasions, we out grew our love of roofs in general and tin roofs in particular.  But it did take a little bit of time.

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The things that you find in attics.  I remember when Gizz and I were rummaging through the attic one day and came upon a chest that cried out to be opened.  We finally got it opened and discovered some old confederate money and a ledger.

On the ledger was the record of slave sales. 

When it was discovered what we had found we quickly lost possession of our new found possessions  I never saw it again.  We were told to keep our mouths shut.  We of course, didn't.  We were descended from slavers and the news quickly got around.  Gizzard was quite proud of it. 

FIRST LOVE

She was my first love.  I had been held back a grade in sixth and had started wearing glasses.  She was tall, beautiful, blonde and popular.  I was short, skinny, and shy. I worshiped the ground she walked on, if she sharpened her pencil I sharpened mine.  I followed her around like a puppy and she started calling me her little "Pepita".  I hated it but her interest was music to my ears.  Her boyfriends thought it funny and I went through a great deal of teasing because of my infatuation.  It took me a while to get over her.  A psychotherapist later told me that she was the reason that I had an aversion to blondes.

She grew up a wild, rich girl who once rode a horse into a new house so it could vacate itself in the living room.  She got caught.  Years later I saw her at the White Springs Folk Festival in north Florida, she had her latest boyfriend in tow.  The first word out of her mouth was "Pepita",

We joked about it and talked for a few minutes then she left, a blue jeaned 60's girl drifting through the crowd. "Pepita", I could have strangled the bitch. 

                             ****

Big Daddy Glutz lived in a large two-story white frame house set among oak trees.  Behind it there was a one car garage, washroom with extra freezer, long shed with garage, large dog pen and shed for hunting dogs, and at a right angle to these a split level shed for storing lumber and machinery.  The lower part had three walls, the back part was open.  It was in the lower part that we decided to build the Hut. 

Some called them clubhouses, their were several around Viederville.  We put up a wall of roofing tin to close it in and added doors, windows and shelves. It was our meeting place after school. 

We soon started to camp out on Friday nights and would crisscross the village looking for things to do.  One night along a wooded stretch of highway near the Hammock we aimed a roman candle to fire down the side of the road.  A car approached, we fired, flashing lights came on. 

We had made the acquaintance of Mr. George Wellsly the one man police force.  Off we went into the woods.  I hit a tree and lost my glasses but kept going.  George Wellsly was yelling that he knew who we were and he would catch us.  We lost each other in the woods but the four of us regrouped at the Hut.  One guy rode me back to the woods on a scooter and I finally found my glasses, life's a blur without them. 

I once just missed George Wellsly in action.  He had pulled a blue Corvette over by the police station and there had been some sort of disagreement between him and the young driver.  I came into the small crowd just in time to see Mr. Wellsly, night stick in hand, picking the lad up off of the pavement.  George Wellsly didn't take a lot of gruff off of anyone, he had cracked a few heads and shot a couple of men in his career.  A black girl standing next to me expressed certainty that he would beat him again inside the jail.  It took the guy a minute to get up and stagger into the station.

Chief Wellsly put the word out that there would be no more roman candles on the highway.  One of my compatriots wanted to do it again just to spite him but we talked him out of it. 

Another avenue of entertainment had been closed.

****

My uncle had an old WWII jeep that he kept in the shed for use during hunting season.  From time to time my cousin and I and an few others would take it out joy riding and a night of orange throwing.  We took it out on a daylight run or two sticking mostly to road signs and mailboxes with the occasional roof (tin preferred) thrown in; dogs missed on purpose, one hit and regretted by most.  Then the night of the last run came, there were four of us: Cousin Stuts and I, Po Boy, from a poor family that lived near the school, and the Football Player, son of a prominent civil servant.  The Football Player wasn't camping with us, he never did.  He was probably worried that he might be forced to do something that he often did of his own accord on an individual basis.  But the time to speak of these things has not yet come.

Cousin Stuts's father had moved the jeep to the house to stop the joy riding but we were not deterred.  We push started our transportation and soon it was loaded with oranges, rotten grapefruit and a brick or two.  We roared out of town hitting signs and headed for the Hammock where we bricked the mailbox of a watercress farmer.  Nothing Personal.  We continued the run to Slow Hill road then to a subdivision where the hunting was good. 

We had a variety of shots, overhand, hook, underhand dead on, which took a quick hand to avoid injury.  Sometimes the driver would help with one hand.  We raced the five miles back to town hitting everything along the way.  Satiated, we slipped back home.  The next day we were called before our respective families and informed that the watercress farmer had been outside the preceding night and indeed did take the condition of his mailbox personally.  Fix the mailbox!  Cease the activity!  Restrictions!

We doubted their story.  The watercress farmer was not know to be a nocturnal creature.  We decided it was mere detective work, twigs and leaves left in the jeep, expended ammo, jeep used before, known proclivity for throwing things.

Cousin Stuts and I showed up for repairs.  The other two didn't.

THE CHICKEN HAWK, THE AGE OF EXPERIMENTING, THE BAPTIST AND THE BEAST

I said I was going to tell the truth so I must tell you about the Chicken Hawk and the things that went on in the village of Viederville.  I was around the age of 11 or 12, Cousin Chicken Hawk was several years older, when it began.  The Chicken Hawk liked boys, period.

In a bathroom he once persuaded me to put my mouth on his dick, he pissed in my mouth.  That was the only time that I ever had a dick in my mouth.  It didn't do a thing for me.

"If you tell anybody, I'll tell them you wanted to." he said.

He would always try and get you alone, rub your crotch and try and get you to rub his.  When our families went to the beach together and we were sleeping in the same room he crept over to the bed and tried to get me to play with him as he grabbed for me.  I had to threatened to call out if he didn't go away.

The third time he came after me we were in a garage.  He got me to drop my pants and fondled me into an erection, he dropped his pants and tried to get me to stick it in his ass.  I pulled up my pants and left. 

"If you tell anybody I'll tell them we did everything and you enjoyed it.  I will!" he said as I left.  I told him if he came at me again I'd tell no matted what.  That was the last of the Chicken Hawk. 

I told my mother about the incident years later but she didn't believe me until word spread of the Chicken Hawks further escapades.  He would later say he had lost track of the number of males he'd seduced.  Anyone who says gays aren't evangelical never met the Chicken Hawk.  The Chicken Hawk gained quite a reputation for his deeds and not just the sexual ones.  Gizzard and I were sent with him to burn trash at the edge of a woods one day.  When we arrived there was a brisk wind blowing and we told the Chicken Hawk not to set the fire.

He did.  The resulting blaze, which we tried to extinguish and couldn't, burned about 20 acres before the Forest Service arrived.  He had stopped us from putting out the fire when it was small and this was revealed when we were questioned by parents as to the fires origin.  This never went further than the family, at least not for a while. 

This is not to say that I didn't do some experimenting.  Cousin Gizzard and I had kept a close watch on our pubic area to track the first sign of hair.  This led to some fondling and some mutual masturbation but Gizz didn't want to stop there.  He offered 69 on an occasion or two as well as an exchange of anal favors.  I declined.  In an attic he once offered to let me nail him in the ass but I passed on this and Gizmo went elsewhere.  It was said that Cousin Gizz found happiness. 

He was later to marry and divorce, remarry and produced several children by both marriages.  I could sure tell them some stories about their daddy.  I wonder if Cousin Giz remembers the car he sold me after he got religion real bad, the one with the bent frame that kept having flat tires.  I remember he looked at me real serious and said,

"I'm a Christian, would I sell you a car that had something wrong with it".

Cousin Gizz, do you remember the time you dressed up in high heels and a skirt?

                             ****

It must have been through Gizzard that I met the Football Player, they both played on the team.  The Football Player was a bit different.  He had named his dick Herbert and was oversexed by most standards, taking after girls and boys with equal vigor.  He once went after the wife of a local contractor and was later said to have had one or two married women.  No one, girl or boy, wanted to be seen walking into a party with him as rumors would start.

He and some others kept a can in the woods filled with Playboy, Hustler and several very explicit magazines.  Anyone going to look, he would make a try for.  He wanted mutual masturbation but the thing about him was that if you refused, he would handle himself and you at the same time. 

We did some experimenting but he was always wanted to go further, massages, showers, anal, camp out together, he once offered me five dollars to give him a blow job and said he wasn't going to do me anymore unless I paid him back, but he did.  He had a compulsion  for sex.  He would perform oral sex without any payback on your part. He had been with quite a few others and when it was discovered he would give head without you doing anything in return he was ridiculed and his name written on the bathroom walls of school.  Later, when most of us started drinking and doing drugs he would decline anything more than one beer saying he had enough problems as it was.   

The Football Player was in at least two fights over his predilections, he beat Chew with one punch in my front yard and lost one that I saw from a distance to an older boy, I heard there were more.  Taught by his father to box to toughen him up, he was fast with his hands.  I sparred once with him wearing protective headgear, it was over quickly.   

Gizz and some others had built a clubhouse in a wooded area next to the gymnasium where some of these acts took place.  One afternoon a cousin I shall call the Pitcher conspired with Cousin Gizz to play a little trick on the Football Player.  The Pitcher got him to go into the clubhouse and give head as he sat on an old Army cot.  Gizzard tried to get me to slip up on them with him but I wouldn't and watched from a distance.  He peeked through the door and watched for a moment and then rattled the door and took off laughing.  The Football Player came out with tears in his eyes.  This didn't stop the two of them from getting together again later on.

These were not everyday occurrences or even every week or month for most.  People would engage in the acts for a while then decide against it and sometimes change their mind.  Everyone had stopped these activities eventually, the  Chicken Hawk, the Football Player and the notorious Tank Commander Flapper of whom you shall read later, excepted.

There was a lot of experimenting that went on.  Chew went with Gizzard, Cousin Stuts went with the Football Player and offered to go with me but I declined.   One day, outside the hut, we tried to get Cousin Stuts to tell us what he and the Football Player did but he said that if they put him under oath in court he would deny that he ever did anything and get a good nights sleep. 

The Church Pounder kept his friendship with his partner in religion, those two went together so long some thought they would get married.  Both are married, upright members of different communities now and have several children apiece.  

Po Boy went with Football but didn't take part in the social ostracism.  Flabby and from a lower income family, he had gone home in his younger days more than once in tears after being teased for being poor and having more tits than the girls.  He later lost weight and became a black belt in Karate.  He's a broker now, living on a lake with his girl friend and her two children.

Big Boy, a member of one of the Old Viederville families, couldn't find anybody to go with him, he had even spoken around about it, this caused some to laugh but he finally found someone and they could be seen around Viederville together.  Some said there wasn't much they didn't do but he eventually gave it up.  Big Boy is on his second marriage now and has a child.

 There were rumors of brother handling brother and worse but such stories didn't circulate widely.  Years later, when conversations turned to the subject many spoke of having something to forgive a relative for, sisters, cousins, friends, perhaps someday I will write a book, "Five Families, A Psycho-sexual Analysis".  I'll just present the details and let everyone analyze it for themselves.

All this activity was not confined to the boys.  There were always stories of girls with girls, some admitted it openly.  All this caused the guys to try and mine information and a few nuggets were found.  A homecoming queen and a cheerleader, two homecoming queens together, I mined a nugget of information on one of my sisters.  At one time on the cheerleading team all but one or two of the cheerleaders were said to have enjoyed the affections of their own on a few occasions.

Po Boy once hid in the girls locker room to find out what was going on.  He was treated to a titty shaking contest but inadvertently made a noise while trying for a better view.  They chased him hard and fast but he escaped and I am proud to announce one of my cousins was said to be the winner.

It was the age of experimentation.  During the younger years there were all types of things going on.  There were rumors of various things the girls were experimenting with on their bodies, vegetables and what not.  Of course there is no law against vegality in Florida that I know of, certainly not in Viederville, it was a farming community. 

I once was in the house of a local Baptist youth when he was seized with concern for the sex life of his dog.  He was certain his dog had never experienced sex and promptly laid the small dog on his back and began to masturbate him.  I left the room.  I later found out that he often did this to see what kind of reaction he would get from the observer.  He used to really get a kick out of their reactions.

There were a couple of sisters that lived near Brackwater Park.  In the early days we would ride our bikes down there and try to get them down to the park for a little kissing and fondling.  The Football Player acquired a motorscooter  and one of them took a liking to it, sometimes she would let you ride on the back  and get in all the fondling you could and occasionally let you get a finger in.  Her driving left something to be desired though whether this was due to inexperience or arousal it was hard to tell.  I was the one to come closest to sex with her having both of us down to our underwear in her bedroom but I couldn't get her into bed.  I was booed and jeered by the guys for that failing. 

THE PEEPING PUP

I was a peeping pup.  It happened when one of my sisters left the curtains opened and I happened to stroll by one night as she was undressing.  I was hooked.  They soon became aware of my observation.  They were in the older section of the house and when they came up to dinner the curtains would be closed, when they went back they would be opened just a little.  The curtains sometimes shut with a vengeance. 

Some of the guys would trade stories about curtains that didn't shut completely.  One of my relatives was said to check her daughters curtains from time to time.  From the number of stories I heard there must be something wrong with the curtain rods in this country, perhaps its a world wide problem.

I soon noticed that the door jamb to the bathroom had been dealt the wrath of one too many female temper tantrums and the molding had come loose.  With an assist from a screwdriver a whole new world was opened up to me. 

My two older sisters were to become homecoming queens and I, before anyone else, was to know they were beautiful women, not that my younger sister didn't have her finer points.  My middle sister was my favorite, she was well liked by many guys while on the cheerleading team.  She spent the most time naked in front of the mirror by the door.  She would pose in front of the mirror and check herself out thoroughly, no doubt with an eye towards how rich of a husband this body would bring her.  It eventually brought a good price.

All good things come to an end.  My stepfather notices the screwdriver marks and me hanging around the bathroom, he took a hammer and nail and sealed my view forever.

Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4   Chapter 5   Chapter 6   Chapter 7   Chapter 8   Chapter 9   Chapter 10

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