“Give Me The Remote” Pt. 02 – {A son loses all respect for a cuckold.}

*Author’s Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-Check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.


The recruiting offices in Oldenburg, Arkansas housed all five branches of the military. Each desk or branch was separated from the next desk by movable walls of gray cloth covered foam.

The U.S. Marine looked up from a stack of paperwork when Hunter Davis entered the office. With a dismissive shrug, the Marine returned his attention to the paperwork.

The Army officer and the Navy officer vied for Hunter’s attention; he was a tall, muscular youth. The Coast Guard officer was on another coffee break, and the Air Force officer was MIA, again.

“Sir?” Hunter asked the Marine.

“Don’t call me ‘sir,’ I work for a living, boy,” the Marine snapped.

“Don’t call me boy; I’m eighteen,” Hunter replied. “Mm, Sergeant, I’m interested in becoming a Marine.”

“You?” the sergeant sneered. “And what makes you think you got what it takes be a Marine? Boy, shouldn’t you be at home, sucking your mommy’s tit?”

“I wouldn’t put my lips on that skank’s tits,” Hunter snapped, green eyes blazing angrily. “God only knows what diseases she’s got.”

<<.<<.<< Donna Adams smiled a coquettish smile at Donald Davis. Donald's face was flushed and he looked around the trailer nervously. Normally, Donna would whisper sweet promises into the ear of a boy like Donald Davis. She would promise him access to her 34DD breasts, promise him access to her sweet little honey pot with the sassy little strip of brown curls barely covering her sweet slit. Normally, Donna would promise to use her hot, wet mouth on Donald's rampant manhood, use her small hands, use her soft, wet tongue on his large, throbbing cock. She would talk dirty to him, getting him more and more excited. She wouldn't actually do any of those things. But the promise of those things was usually enough to persuade the hapless victim to give Donna whatever she wanted. But Donna was on a mission. The nineteen year old girl had plans for the twenty seven year old Donald Davis. Today, Donna wouldn't just promise, she'd deliver. She would actually allow the gullible fool access to her pussy. She wouldn't bother with the endless touching and brushing and teasing of his pathetic four inch penis. Donna had perfected the art of touching and brushing and 'innocent' gropes that had boys embarrassing themselves, filling their tidy whiteys with involuntary ejaculations. Today, though, Donna couldn't risk Donald having such an accident. "Donald!" Donna giggled, kissing him. "What? You acting like you don't even want be here. Donald, don't you like me?" "I uh yeah, I, of course I like you, I mean, hell, Donna, I love you," Donald stammered, swallowing nervously. "But uh, I mean, what if your aunt gets home?" "Silly! She's at work, remember?" Donna smiled, coming her fingers through Donald's rapidly receding hairline. "Now, come on, show me how much you like me." Donald almost didn't fulfill Donna's plans; he barely had the tip of his penis to the mouth of Donna's pre-lubricated pussy before he blasted his load. "Oh! I knew you'd be wonderful," Donna gushed as Donald apologized profusely. Donna then instructed the buffoon on pleasing her with his tongue. After he'd managed to lick her to orgasm, Donna urged him to stick his renewed erection into her again. He did manage to last for seven strokes before ejaculating. "I love you," Donald told the brunette beauty. "Aw, you're so sweet," Donna smiled and kissed him. "But you're right; you better go before my aunt gets home." After Donald hurriedly dressed and left, Donna lighted a joint and smoked it. She washed down the phlegm in her throat with sips from the fifth of Julough's Strawberry Vodka she'd made Donald buy for her. "Linda don't know shit," Donna declared. "Nulough's ain't no new lows. Stuff is great you ask me." Aunt Vickie came home and informed Donna that Milton, their supervisor was none too happy about Donna's 'sick' day. Donna shrugged and turned off the burner underneath the stovetop Alfredo she was making. 1. Linda came in a few minutes later, her six month pregnant belly preceding her. Right behind her, Larry Walsh, Aunt Linda's on again off again boyfriend entered the trailer. His oafish grin creased his face as he pretended to straighten out his clothes; as if he and Linda had just had quick and dirty sex out in the car. The quartet sat to enjoy the stovetop Alfredo and several cans of Gratchley's Beer. At eight dollars and ninety four cents per case, Gratchley's was the beer of choice for Larry Walsh and Vickie and Linda and Donna Adams. "Bad thing 'bout beer?" Larry said and let loose with a tremendous belch. "Can't buy it; can only rent it." "Wow, Larry, that just gets funnier and funnier every time you say it," Linda said, rolling her eyes. "And turn that fan on," Aunt Vickie called out as Larry closed the door of the bathroom. After a few hours of television, Linda and Donna told Aunt Vickie and Larry good night. Alone in their bedroom, Donna told Linda about Donald Davis coming over. Linda pulled on Chuck Cole's Conway High School football jersey and lay down as the two nineteen year old girls giggled over Donald's gullibility. "He actually said he loved you?" Linda chortled. "Shit, told me he loved me before he even saw the goodies," Donna bragged, cupping her large breasts. "So, what you thinking 'bout naming your baby?" Linda asked as Donna pulled on her own sleep shirt. "Quincy if it's a boy," Donna said, smoothing out the pillow before laying her head down. "Remember? Mr. Quincy? Our science teacher?" "Oh my God yes!" Linda enthused. "God! He was just so fucking hot." "Uh huh, God, you believe he married that stupid bitch Corrine?" Donna agreed. "Gee, Mither Q@uinthy, you're tho thmoart, tee-hee," Linda imitated the little girl voice Corrine Taylor used to affect. "God, she was so stupid!" Donna hooted. Neither girl would admit, the 'stupid' girl had not been so stupid. After all, the slender, small breasted blonde had managed to ensnare the young teacher they'd all lusted over. "Yeah, Quincy; that's a pretty cool name," Linda agreed. "But if it's a girl?" "Lacy," Donna said, after a moment's deliberation. "I don't know why; I just like that name. I mean, you remember Lacy Turner? Jeez, what a bitch! But it's a totally cool name, huh?" "Yeah," Linda agreed. "What about you? What you thinking?" Donna asked and put her small hand on Linda's swollen belly. "Clinton. If it's a boy, Clinton. God, I would so fuck Bill Clinton until his eyes popped," Linda confessed. "And if it's a girl, I guess Juliette. You know, like Romeo and Juliette?" "That's pretty," Donna agreed. At the Lowen Bag Factory, Donna smiled encouragingly at Donald. She smiled again when he bought her a can of Diet Pepsi at their coffee break. Aunt Vickie and Linda both smirked at Donald's gullibility but neither woman said anything to the man. Chuck Cole dutifully ignored both Donna and Linda as the forty employees sat to eat lunch. He did raise an eyebrow as Donald Davis sat next to Donna and offered Donna one of his cookies. "What? You fucking him?" Chuck asked Donna as they waited to clock in after their lunch break was over. "Hey, you don't worry 'bout it," Donna snapped at the good looking blond man. "Think you need worry 'bout Linda, huh?" "Aw whatever. Telling y'all, that ain't my puppy," Chuck protested. "Then whose is it, huh, Chuck? Whose is it?" Linda yelled angrily. A week later, Donna admitted to Donald that she was pregnant, then reminded Donald that he'd been the only one to ever fuck her. Donald wasted no time in asking Donna if she would marry him. It was a simple civil ceremony held at Saw Mill Park, under the large pavilion. The pavilion hosted both wedding ceremony and reception. Donna spent more time dancing with their guests than with her groom. But Aunt Vickie and Linda brought Donald on the dance floor a few times. After a long drunken evening, the couple honeymooned for a four day weekend in Memphis, Tennessee. After their one time of actually copulating, Donna reverted to her tactics of rubbing, touching, squeezing Donald's member through his jeans and briefs, whispering sweet promises in his ear, and not delivering on those promises. By the time they were wed, Donald was sure his balls would explode before he ever got to fuck his bride. On their honeymoon, Donald did get to sink his erection into Donna's pussy when they were alone in their motel room. Four strokes finished their consummation of their wedding vows and Donna berated him for his poor performance. Relenting somewhat, Donna again allowed Donald access to her pussy the morning of their last day in Memphis. Again, his performance was frenzied and over far too quickly for Donna's liking. Upon arriving home to Donald's trailer, Donna kicked Donald out of his own bedroom, relegating him to his couch. Two months after their wedding, Donna and Donald were told that Linda was in Barrister's Medical Center, having her baby. Chuck Cole again denied parentage of Linda's baby to anyone who would listen. Throughout the work day, Aunt Linda kept everyone informed of the progress. "She named him what?" Donna screamed, incensed when Aunt Vickie said that Linda had given birth to Quincy Charles Adams. "See?" Chuck smirked as Aunt Vickie showed off the picture of the biracial baby. "Told all y'all, ain't mine." "God damn bitch! Took my name?" Donna screamed at Linda. "What?" Linda said. "You going name your baby Donald, right? After his daddy?" "As if," Donna snarled. "You knew that was my name, God damned bitch. You knew that was mine." "Five months after Linda gave birth to Quincy, Donna kicked Donald awake to let him know she was in labor; they needed to get to Barrister's Medical Center. He sleepily dressed and drove a loudly complaining and whining Donna to the charity hospital. Linda saw Hunter Donald Davis's small tuft of blond hair and green eyes and hated the infant with all of her heart. Chuck saw the picture of the infant and paled; the child had his blond hair and his green eyes. He quietly packed his bags and left Arkansas, spewing oil smoke from his 1969 Chevy pickup truck as he headed southwest to Oakleaf, Texas. Milton Evans grumbled but approved Donald's paternity leave; Donald was a good employee. Donna was a mediocre employee on her best day, but the girl was always willing to suck dick, much like her cousin Linda and their Aunt Vickie, so Milton grumbled and complained but approved Donna's maternity leave. Donald found himself changing his son's diapers, bathing his son, rocking his son to sleep. In other words, anything the baby needed, other than Mommy's titty, was Donald's responsibility. Upon their return to work, one of the men that worked in packaging with Donald did ask how two people with brown hair and brown eyes could have a baby with blond hair and green eyes. Donald had no answer, just a mumbled 'don't know' and a shrug. Seeing how hard Donald worked to care for her and her baby, Donna's attitude did soften somewhat toward the cuckold. So when Dr. Williams cleared her for sex, Donna had Donald roll a condom onto his little erection. Just putting the condom on caused a premature ejaculation and Donna slapped Donald repeatedly. Then she flopped on her back, spread her legs and demanded he use his mouth on her. "Now," Donna hissed angrily after her climax, "Let's try that again and God help you if you fuck it up again." Donald did manage to get his cock fully into her before he again blasted a thin load into his second condom. Donna just shoved Donald away and told him to sleep on the couch. Later that night, when she used the bathroom, Donna discovered that Donald had left his condom inside of her. It must have happened when she shoved him off of her. "Aw, you no good little mother fucker," Donna snarled hatefully when she discovered that she was again with child. Linda was three months pregnant when Donna discovered her own pregnancy. Aunt Vickie was five months pregnant; Larry finally divorced his wife and married the bleached blonde in a civil ceremony at Sawmill Park. Donald found himself at Aunt Vickie's trailer, caring for Hunter while Larry, Aunt Vickie, Linda and Donna sat at the kitchen table, swilling numerous cans of Gratchley's Beer. Donald's place was on the couch; there were only four chairs at the table, after all. Donald was to sit out of sight of the kitchen, excluded from the raucous laughter and lively conversations. In time, Donald found himself excluded from Aunt Vickie's trailer altogether; after all, as Donna explained, he was just sitting there. So Donald found himself at home with the baby while Donna stayed out all night. Sometimes, Donald wouldn't see his wife until they were clocking in for the next morning's shift. Aunt Vickie had a son which she named Lawrence Joseph Walsh. Linda gave birth to a red headed girl that she named Lacy Angel Adams. Milton was pale and sweating when Aunt Vickie proudly showed off the pictures of her great-niece. Milton's red hair and freckles really stood out against his pale skin. Donna was furious with her cousin; she'd found out she was carrying a little girl. She had planned to name her daughter Lacy Victoria Davis. "Oh, oh yeah! That's where I heard it from," Linda remembered when Donna shrilly declared that Linda had once again stolen Donna's baby name. "Oh yeah. Oh yeah. Sat right there, right there at the table talking about baby names," Donna screamed hatefully. "And now want to act like you had no idea? Bitch, we ain't cousins no more, hear?" When Donna delivered Chantilly Victoria Davis, there was no doubt of parentage. Chantilly's baby picture mirrored Donald's own baby pictures. "Lord hope she outgrows that," Aunt Vickie did mumble to Donna. "Hopefully won't get his stupid looking mustache," Larry had giggled, looking at the unattractive baby. Donna was truly incensed at her cousin Linda. Not once, but twice, Linda had stolen the names Donna had hoped to christen her children. The rift was so deep that Donna no longer went to Aunt Vickie's trailer; Linda still lived with Aunt Vickie. If Donald thought he would enjoy having his wife home every night, he was soon dissuaded of that notion. At least when she was over at Aunt Vickie's, she was drinking Larry's beer. When she was home, she was drinking Donald's Rye Terlings Beer, sixteen ounce bottle after sixteen ounce bottle. Her litany of complaints did not cease from the moment she entered the trailer after doing whatever it was that she did while Donald went to the day care center and picked up Hunter and Chantilly until she passed out from seven or eight beers. "God damned beer tastes like shit; why you get this shit anyway?" Donna grumbled, even while twisting the cap off another Rye Terlings. "I like it; it's made with rye. God only knows what they make Gratchley's out of," Donald retorted. "Yeah, you right about that," Donna giggled. "Oh, my, Gawd! Jesus, you smell that? Which one you brats got a shitty diaper?" "I don't know, Donna, Jesus, I'm trying to fix our dinner here," Donald snapped. "Hey, here's a crazy idea; why don't you check and see? Huh? You are their mother, you know." Donald drove himself to Barrister's Medical Center. It took four stitches to close the wound to the back of Donald's head where the Terlings beer bottle had struck him. The police officer and the attending doctor both looked at Donald with contempt when he refused to press charges against Donna. "Baby, I'm sorry," Donna drunkenly sobbed when Donald returned home. "Uh huh," Donald muttered. The pain medication did do one thing for Donald; it slowed his reaction time. When Donna pulled him on top of her, to give him an apology fuck, Donald managed to fuck her to one weak orgasm before blowing his load into a condom. "Hang onto them pills," Donna giggled. Hunter was in Pre-Kindergarten and Chantilly was almost fully potty-trained when Willow Brown moved into the trailer directly across from the Davis's trailer. Donna was thrilled to have a new friend; she still had not completely forgiven Linda, even if she and Larry and Aunt Vickie and Linda all shared the same table at lunch and Donna sometimes went to Aunt Vickie's trailer to drink after work. But with a new friend right across the gravel drive, Donna now had reason to come home after work. Donald still had to stop and pick up Chantilly and Hunter; Donna was far too busy to do that. Neither Chance nor Willow worked; they rarely left Willow's trailer. The only time Donald saw the brother and sister, and his own wife was when Willow ran out of beer and weed. When that happened, the trio would scurry across the gravel drive and invade the Davis trailer. In front of Donald, Chance would flirt outrageously with Donna, even grabbing a handful of Donna's breasts and buttocks. Donna and Willow both found this quite funny and Chance smirked at Donald's heavy frown. Aunt Vickie again found herself with child, but was not faring very well with this pregnancy. Her doctor ordered bed rest for the forty six year old woman, and also ordered the woman to quit drinking alcohol. "What? It's Gratchley's; it's just beer," Aunt Vickie said. "One or two ain't going hurt nothing." "One or two?" Linda hooted. More like one or two six packs, maybe. One or two, huh?" Three days into Aunt Vickie's sobriety, Larry packed his bags and moved back in with his previous wife. Linda even broached the idea of moving into Donna's trailer; her and her two babies. Donna did not budge; her resentment toward Linda was still quite strong. Donald was grateful for this; he had feared he would actually have to put his foot down and tell Donna 'No.' The few times Linda and her brood had been to the house, she had been quite ugly to Hunter and to Chantilly. And Quincy was a bully. The child would take Hunter's toys and Chantilly's toys and tell his mother that Hunter or Chantilly gave him the toys. Lacy was a fussy baby; Linda claimed the child had allergies, but couldn't name what the child was allergic to. While Linda and Donna entertained Willow and Chance, it fell to Donald to care for four children, two of which would not listen to him at all. "God help me," Donald thought when Donna excitedly told him that she was again expecting. The news that Willow Brown was also expecting did make Donald more than just a little curious. He had never seen any male visitors, other than Willow's brother at Willow's trailer. He had never seen Willow in anything but her halter tops or tube tops that barely contained her large breasts and Daisy Duke shorts that were so short that Donald knew the strawberry blonde hair on Willow's head was her natural color; he'd never seen her dressed to go out on a date. Aunt Vickie delivered Marcus Stephen Walsh stillborn. Donald was dry-eyed when he extended his sympathies to the grieving woman. Donna asked him how he could be so heartless. Donald did think that Marcus was fortunate; he wouldn't have the irrational and bitter woman as his mother. He wouldn't have the drunken and neglectful woman raising him. Donald did feel sorry for Lawrence. He would have a drunken, neglectful and bitter woman raising him. When Willow went into labor, it was her brother that drove Willow to Barrister's Medical Center. After nearly eight hours of labor, Willow gave birth to Soleil Julianne Brown. Three days after Willow and Chance brought Soleil home, Donald drove Donna to Barrister's Medical Center where she delivered Swan Juliette Davis. Donald took one look at Swan and knew there was absolutely no way he could possibly be the girl's father. She had a few strands of pink hair, and almond shaped gray blue eyes. Right across the gravel drive from their trailer was Swan's twin. Soleil had a few strands of pink hair and almond shaped blue gray eyes. Donna calmly sat, nursing Swan, daring Donald to say anything. She smirked when the defeated man simply turned and fixed supper for Hunter and Chantilly. >>.>>.>>

Hunter took the sheets of paper home to the trailer he and Chantilly and Swan and Forrest and Fawn shared with Donald and Donna. He carefully secreted the papers underneath his mattress; he wasn’t afraid of his mother or Donald finding out he planned to join the US Marines the moment he had his high school diploma in his hand. He just didn’t want the conversation that was sure to follow should his mother or sisters or brother find out.

Hunter left the bedroom he and Forrest shared and entered the kitchen. He got out the eight leg quarters and cleaned them, then decided he’d do a quick and simple oven barbeque for them. There were two potatoes on the verge of going bad if he didn’t do something with them, so he diced them and boiled them for a potato salad.

“Potato salad? Yuck, I hate potato salad,” Forrest claimed as he barged into the kitchen.

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m making it,” Hunter said.

“String beans? Hunter, string beans are gross,” Fawn said.

“Yeah, I know. Why I’m making them,” Hunter said.

“Hey, I uh, I don’t see none of y’all cooking,” Swan said, hugging Hunter from behind.

Hunter smiled. No matter what he cooked, Forrest and Chantilly and Fawn would complain. And Swan would come to Hunter’s defense.

“How come you wasn’t at school today?” Chantilly complained, sticking her head in the kitchen.

“Uh, seniors finished their exams yesterday?” Hunter reminded her. “I’m off until next week’s graduation.”

“What?” Chantilly screeched. “How is that fair?”

“I just don’t know how to tell you this, so I’m just going to say it,” Hunter said, slipping the cookie sheet of drop biscuits into the oven. “Life isn’t fair.”

“Ha ha,” Chantilly groused.

“Thanks for cooking,” Donald said as he came into the trailer.

“Welcome,” Hunter said, fighting to keep the animosity out of his voice.

“There any…Hunter, you drink the last beer?” Donna demanded, swinging the door of the refrigerator open.

“No,” Hunter said, looking over his mother’s shoulder as Chantilly beat a hasty retreat.

“Been home all day and going tell me you ain’t drank up…” Donna accused, slamming the door of the appliance shut.

“Look around, Mother,” Hunter snapped. “Place is clean. I got dinner going. I even done the dishes y’all just left in the sink. When’d I have time drink your nasty ass beer, huh?”

“Donald,” Donna shrilly ordered.

“Tell her no, tell her no, tell her no, come on, grow a pair,” Hunter muttered to himself. “Tell her get off her fat ass and get it herself.”

Hunter sighed and shook his head as the door of the trailer slammed shut. He continued to prepare their dinner, even brewing a large pitcher of tea to go with the meal.

“You going to Violet’s graduation party?” Chantilly asked Hunter as the family sat to eat.

Before Hunter could reply to the negative, Chantilly informed Donna and Donald that Violet said she’d bought five hundred dollars’ worth of weed for the party. Donna looked sharply at Hunter. Donald slammed his fork down and stared hard at Hunter.

“Well, then, mister; you’re not going to Violet Meynard’s party,” Donald ordered.

Hunter stared hard at the smirking face of his sister. He would not bring his eyes to Donald’s face; he was afraid he’d punch the scrawny man’s face in. Hunter was afraid, if he punched Donald, he would not stop until Donald lay lifeless on the floor.

“You hear me?” Donald shrilled.

“Yeah, I heard you,” Hunter forced himself to say slowly and evenly. “And I wasn’t going anyway.”

“You hear me? You’re not going,” Donald repeated himself.

“I said I’m not,” Hunter snapped staring harder at his smirking sister. “But uh, ever think to ask Chantilly how she knows about the party? Or the weed? And, ever think of checking under the lamp in Chantilly’s bedroom? There’s no bottom to it; that’s where she’s been hiding her weed.”

“You ass hole!” Chantilly screamed at her brother.

Donna leapt to her feet. Donald and Chantilly also leapt to their feet and the trio raced to the bedroom that Chantilly, Swan and Fawn shared.

Hunter kept stoically eating his dinner. Forrest, Fawn and Swan paid attention to the screaming coming from the girls’ bedroom.

“Eat, before it gets cold,” Hunter gently told Forrest, Fawn and Swan.

Forrest certainly could have been Donald’s child; he had the same mousy brown hair and mud brown eyes as Donald, and Donna. But Fawn had bright red hair, a dark orange hair and light green eyes, the same hair and eyes as their cousin Lacy. Knowing the contempt Cousin Linda felt for Donald, Hunter very seriously doubted that Donald Davis was the father of Lacy Adams. And, mapping genetic traits, Donald Davis could not be the father of Fawn Davis.

“You fucking ass hole,” Chantilly sobbed at Hunter.

“Hey, Chantilly, maybe in the future, you’ll keep your mouth shut about shit, huh?” Hunter shrugged as he finished his dinner

“And you, you’re not hanging out with this Violet Meynard no more, hear?” Donald demanded of Hunter.

“Uh huh,” Hunter said after a long moment of staring hard at Donald.

In the morning, Hunter helped Donald and Donna get Forrest and Fawn ready for school. He also made lunches for Chantilly and Swan and Forrest and Fawn. He made Forrest grin and Fawn laugh when he wrote ‘Snake Bite Davis’ on Forrest’s lunch bag.

“Thanks, Hunter,” Swan beamed up as she took the offered lunch bag from Hunter’s hand.

“Ass hole,” Chantilly groused, jerking the offered lunch bag from Hunter’s hand.

“Hey, Chantilly, might be hard to believe,” Hunter said, grabbing his sister in a tight embrace. “But I love you.”

“Yeah, whatever, ass hole,” Chantilly groused, stomping away.

“You love me?” Fawn asked, batting her eyes playfully at Hunter.

“You? The way you smell?” Hunter screeched, making Forrest laugh and Fawn squeal in displeasure.

“Yeah, I love you bunches,” Hunter admitted and kissed the girl on her cheek.

“Hear me? Need stay away from that Violet Meynard,” Donald again ordered as he and Donna left the trailer.

“Uh huh, what the fuck ever, pussy,” Hunter said to the closed door.

Alone in the trailer, Hunter searched for and found the documents the United States Marine Corps requested. He jogged from trailer to the high school and asked the school secretary to send his high school transcripts and diploma to the recruiting office.

Three days after his first visit to the recruiting office, Hunter walked in and asked the recruiting officer if he’d received the paperwork from the high school. The man nodded and accepted the other documentation from Hunter.

“Be here on the nineteenth, boy,” the man said. “Five thirty. Yes, that’s in the A and M.”

“Don’t call me ‘Boy,’ Sargent,” Hunter said and gave a smart salute.

Returning home, Hunter mentally flipped a coin; go over to Violet’s house for some pussy and some beer, or do a little housework. Hunter did not like weed, did not smoke the stuff, but he did like beer and he really liked pussy. Violet’s dad had a keg of Gratchley’s on tap and Violet had a shaved pussy and a hot mouth.

With a sigh, Hunter decided the trailer needed cleaning. He could go over to Violet’s tomorrow, or the next day.

“Hey,” Swan and her sister, Soleil Brown entered first. The girls were nearly identical; it was hard to differentiate one from the other from a few feet away. Until they opened their mouths. Soleil was wearing shiny metallic braces and Swan was not.

“Hi,” Hunter smiled at the two preening, giggling girls. “What’d you do today?”

“Nothing,” was the answer he expected and “Nothing” was the response he got.

“Really? Spent the whole day, from eight fifteen to two forty five and did nothing? The whole day?” Hunter teased and the two girls giggled and simpered.

“Oh, okay, whatever. Oh! Hey! Here’s an idea? Why don’t you two go to your room and do nothing?” Hunter teased. “Oh. Unless you’re already finished doing nothing.”

“Shut up,” Soleil giggled.

“Yeah, shut up,” Swan giggled.

“You believe this?” Forrest complained, slamming into the trailer. “That bitch, Ms. Holcomb? She’s wanting us do this stupid thing on those stupid Aztecs! You believe that?”

“Oh my God! The stupid Aztecs? Not the smart ones? Just the stupid ones?” Hunter asked which caused Fawn to giggle.

“Shut up, Fawn, you making him think he’s funny,” Forrest complained.

“He is funny; funnier than you,” Fawn said. “And I got do the same thing. We do it together, it’ll go a lot better.”

“Hey Forrest, know the difference between you and Fawn?” Hunter asked, digging two pounds of ground beef from the refrigerator. “She’s a pretty smart feller and you a pretty fart smeller.”

“Fuck you, ass hole,” Chantilly greeted Hunter as she stomped to her bedroom.

That night, Donna snapped a ‘thanks’ at Hunter for preparing spaghetti and meat sauce for supper. Donald echoed his wife’s thanks. Hunter just nodded.

He did not know what horrible mistake Donald had committed but Hunter saw Donald dig the blanket and pillow from the closet next to the bi-fold doors that hid the washing machine and dryer. He looked with contempt as the weak-willed man prepared to sleep on the couch.

Hunter had looked at Forrest and Fawn when Donna brought them home and looked at Donald. Even though both babies were still wrinkled looking infants, Hunter could see that Fawn and his cousin Lacy shared many similarities. At Seven years of age, Hunter did not know about genealogy, DNA, familial traits. Looking at four year old Swan, Hunter could see the child was beautiful; just like Aunt Willow. In fact, Swan looked just like Aunt Willow’s little girl, Soleil.

As Hunter grew older, as his siblings grew older, the stark differences between him and his siblings, between his siblings and Donald Davis were too glaring to ignore. One Saturday morning, stumbling sleepily from his bedroom to the kitchen to make himself breakfast, Hunter saw his father sleeping on the couch. Hunter went into the kitchen, cleaned the coffee pot which still had Friday morning’s dregs in it, and made a fresh pot of coffee.

“Thanks, son,” Donald smiled tiredly as Hunter placed a mug of coffee onto the chipped, wobbling pressboard coffee table.

“So why you put up with it?” Hunter asked as his dad wiggled into an upright position.

“I uh, what?” Donald asked, picking up the mug of coffee.

“Swan’s not yours, Forrest and Fawn ain’t yours neither; why you put up with it?” Hunter asked.

“I uh, now how you know they ain’t mine?” Donald tried to bluster.

“Come on,” Hunter scoffed.

“I uh, I love her,” Donald admitted.

“And why you let her put you on the couch?” Hunter pressed. “Ain’t this your trailer?”

“Look, maybe when you get a little older, maybe you’ll understand about love and marriage and stuff,” Donald snapped, angered that he could offer no real answers to his son’s questions.

“And you love her. She ever say she loves you?” Hunter pressed on, driving the nails deeper into his father’s soul.

“Look, I don’t have to…” Donald said hotly.

Hunter looked at the man he called ‘Dad’ and lost all respect for him. He shook his head and returned to the kitchen to dig the two cans of bargain brand cinnamon rolls out of the fridge.

Now, looking at his father as Donald prepared to sleep on the couch, Hunter just shook his head. He could not remember ever seeing his mother on the couch, even though, in Hunter’s eyes, Donna certainly committed more offenses than Donald ever could commit.

In the morning, while Donald groggily roused from the couch, Hunter again made breakfast and prepared lunches for Chantilly, Swan, Forrest and ‘Snaggle-Tooth’ Davis. Fawn squealed indignantly and Hunter crossed out ‘Snaggle-Tooth’ and wrote ‘T. Rex Davis’ instead.

“Hunter!” Fawn giggled, stamping her foot. “Be nice!”

Again, Chantilly snarled a hateful barb at Hunter, and again, he hugged her and told her he loved her. Swan didn’t wait for Hunter to hug her, she hugged him and softly kissed his cheek before following Chantilly out the door. Forrest grudgingly gave his brother a high five and Fawn accepted her hug and kiss.

After everyone left, Hunter dressed and went to Violet’s trailer. Her father was home, but had dragged himself home at three in the morning, drunk and a little wired on some illicit substances. His snores were immense, even with his bedroom door firmly shut.

Violet admitted to having ‘a few problems down there’ so Hunter accepted a noisy and sloppy blow job from the chubby girl.

“You uh, you ever think of us you know, maybe getting married?” Violet asked, causing Hunter to choke on the mouthful of beer he’d been swallowing.

“I mean, you know, we don’t got get married; shit, we could you know, just live together,” Violet hastened to amend.

Hunter drank two more beers and accepted a second blow job from Violet. He then asked her when she was planning to tell him about her and Scott Ferran, or Bobby Toombs, or Terrell Jefferson.

“I uh, what?” Violet stammered. “I ain’t, I mean, you know.”

Violet continued to stammer as Hunter pulled up his jeans and zipped them. Her words went from stammering lies and excuses to an angry and bitter snarl as Hunter walked to the door of the trailer.

“Well, maybe if you wasn’t such a shitty boyfriend I wouldn’t need to fuck around, huh?” Violet screamed, which brought an interruption to her father’s snores.

“I am not my father’s son,” was Hunter’s cryptic response before he loudly slammed the door of her trailer.

“Fucking ass hole,” Violet screamed after Hunter, now hearing her father’s heavy footsteps on the floor of his bedroom.

Despite Donald’s declarations that Hunter was not to go to Violet Meynard’s party, less than an hour after the long, tedious graduation ceremony dragged to a merciful end, Hunter was in Violet’s trailer. He smiled as Violet brazenly made out with Scott Ferran, making sure that Hunter could see them.

Hunter did leave after Jeff Wolcort produced some meth and people began to snort the drug. Violet and Jeff had provided the guests with some very tightly rolled joints and several of the recent graduates smoked the free weed. Hunter stuck to beer, and when the hard stuff came out, he left.

Afterward, Hunter heard from Scott Ferran, shortly after the meth came out, Violet pulled a train, fucking nearly every guy that had attended the party. Tanya Sellers, not to be outdone, had also fucked nearly every guy in attendance.

Somehow the news of the drugs and sexual hijinks reached Chantilly’s ears. With obvious glee, Chantilly waited until everyone was seated at the dinner table. As they began to eat the chicken stir-fry that Hunter had prepared, Chantilly asked Hunter if he’d done any of the drugs or fucked either Violet or Tanya at the party.

“I did not,” Hunter said calmly. “Remember? I wasn’t at that party; I was at the Cotton Bowl, bowling with Tricky Rick and Timmy.”

“Oh! You lying,” Chantilly sneered. “Scott Ferran said you was there.”

“I thought I told you…” Donald shrilled at Hunter.

“Want to call Rick? Or Timmy?” Hunter yelled at Donald. “Huh? Instead of just believing every bit of bull shit comes out of Chantilly’s face? And, uh, Chantilly, how you even know anything about Violet’s party, huh? Maybe that’s what y’all ought be asking her. How’s she always know about this shit? How’s she know about this shit long before I do?”

On the eighteenth of June, Hunter went to Violet Meynard’s trailer, drank some of her father’s beer and fucked Violet to three screaming orgasms. Pulling out, Hunter knotted the condom and tossed it into the kitchen wastebasket. Then he kissed her as he prepared to leave.

“I, I’m pregnant,” Violet admitted.

“Way you been fucking around? Not surprised,” Hunter said, walking to the door.

“You, you don’t care?” Violet shrilled. “Huh? I’m carrying your baby and you don’t fucking care?”

“Ain’t mine. We been using condoms,” Hunter said, opening the door of the trailer.

“They ain’t a hundred percent,” Violet yelled angrily.

“I’m not my father’s son,” Hunter smiled and left the trailer.

That night, Hunter lay in his bed, watching the alarm clock as the digital numerals blinked and advanced, one minute at a time. He’d been told to bring a twenty dollar bill and a toothbrush. Uncle Sam would provide everything else Hunter would need for the next four years. When the clock read 4:50, Hunter stealthily crawled from his bed. Walking to the kitchen, Hunter could see, from the light of the hood above the stove that Donald was once again on the couch. Hunter wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but he suspected that Donna might be pregnant again, and most likely was blaming Donald for her pregnancy.

“You just keep on loving her, loser,” Hunter muttered as he put the single sheet of paper onto the kitchen table.

“Dear Chantilly, Swan, Snake Bite and T. Rex:” Hunter had written at the top of the paper.

His simple note told his siblings that he loved them. Hunter wrote that he expected great things from them, he expected them to do good in school and expected them to love one another, to care for one another and watch out for one another.

Hunter wrote that college was not in the future for him; his grades had been mediocre at best, barely passing most of his classes. So, in an attempt to give himself a future, he had joined the U.S. Marines. By the time they read this note, he would be on the bus heading to boot camp.

Hunter wondered if Donald or Donna would ever notice, he’d not addressed one word of the note to them.

“Doubt it,” Hunter said as he quietly closed the trailer door.

1. Stovetop Alfredo is one or two boxes of generic macaroni & cheese, prepared according to the instructions on the box, with six to eight generic hot dogs cooked in the water and taken out just before dumping the noodles into the boiling water. After the noodles are drained, the hot dogs are cut up into the noodles right before you add the imitation cheese packets.


**Author’s Notes. I write these stories for my pleasure; I post them here for your enjoyment. I thank you sincerely for reading my stories. I especially thank those that take the time to leave comments, good and bad. I also thank those that take the time to rate my words, those that ‘Favorite’ my work.

Oddly enough, there are no characters from previous stories present in this offering. However, the location of Lowen Bag Factory was introduced in ‘Failing To Hold On’ in the loving wives category. Stovetop Alfredo was introduced in ‘Vanity’ in the Loving Wives category. Gratchley’s Beer is introduced in “Am I?” in the Lesbian Sex category, and the origins of Gratchley’s Brewery, Inc. are detailed in ‘Swill’ in the Anal category.

Have a swell day. And some of you, have a swollen day.