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Bobbi Jo cheated the first time, because living in Appalachia is boring, and her husband was gone to the oilfields. She cheated the second time because she realized that plenty of men enjoy the company of a big breasted BBW- and the third time, because she discovered a love for Black cock. Now she is addicted- what happens when her son discovers this? Excerpt “Who I fuck should have nothin’ to do with us,” I said, “I am your momma, not some girl, and if I want to fuck Black men, that is my business!” “Okay, fine, that’s the way you want it,” Hank said, “Yeah, ain’t nobody can stop you from being a slut, if that’s what you want. Let’s see what dad has to say about it- matter fact, fuck that, let’s see what granma and granpa will say about it!” You wouldn’t dare do that! Fear shook through my half naked, sweaty, cum filled body- was my son bluffing, or was he really going to call my parents? Hank had his cell phone out of his pocket, and before I could stop him, he started taking flash pictures with the touch of a button. He must have snapped a dozen of them. I didn’t have to see the screen, that he was gettin’ proof of what I done did. “Stop that,” I said, “You can’t take those!” “I can, and I am,” Hank said, “Now, let’s see- time to send a group message. There’s dad, granpa, Uncle Roy- oh, and Aunt Diane, too, she will get kick out of this!” Diane was my husband’s younger sister. She was more religious than a hardshell Baptist on meeting Sunday, and she had always hated me for marrying her brother. “I can, and I will,” Hank said. Why was he still looking me over like a piece of meat? I got it- he had never seen a half naked woman before, and so he was not used to seeing pussy at all. That was pure male curiosity, something that came from being a male and had nothing to do with any morals that society had put into it. We all have some natural interest in seeing what a member of the sex we like looks like, no matter who that person is to us. Now that he had been staring at me for a few minutes, he should be bored with looking at it. Besides, while he may have looked once, I am his mother- not some random female- so you would think that he would be too embarrassed to keep staring at my snatch! “Then do it,” I said- calling his bluff, “Quit running your mouth, then- do it Hank, or shut the fuck up!” Put up or shut up. Hank pressed a button on the screen of his phone, and I fell back onto the bed- had he really done it? “Oh god,” I said, “I can’t believe you actually did it- oh no, my life is over!” Hank looked at me for a long minute, and then he laughed. It was the deep, cruel laughter of a mad man, loud and more threatening than a tornado that was across the road from a trailer park. “Ha ha,” Hank said, “Fucking scared you, didn’t I?” What the fuck is wrong with my son? I started crying. Crying from shame, from relief, or from being scared- not just for myself, but for how he was turning out. What was my son going to do- what was he going to be like? “Cry all you want,” Hank laughed. “What do you want?” I didn’t say, so much as begged, “Please, anything, just tell me. You have me Hank, and you know it.” “You will do anything I say?” Hank asked me, “Anything?”
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CHAPTER ONE Applying The BBC
CHAPTER TWO Conversations On The Road
CHAPTER THREE Getting Whitey Back
CHAPTER FOUR Helping Henry Out
CHAPTER FIVE Homeboys Ho
CHAPTER SIX Interests Of Hank
CHAPTER SEVEN Last Barrier
CHAPTER EIGHT Other Books
Applying The BBC
I don’t hate where I live, or the life that I lead.
Eastern Kentucky is still one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. Now, I haven’t really traveled much- there aren’t a lot of options for a girl who gets married before she finished high school- but where I have been, I haven’t been too impressed. Cincinnati is like here, people wise, except there are a lot more assholes, and when I went to Florida once- I wanted to see the ocean- I discovered that they are a bunch of rude older Yankees down there who think that they are all high and mighty. No Sir, I will take my little neck of the woods any day of the week.
Things don’t change much here- the place where I live was built back before the Depression, and except for the fact that a water line was put in twenty years ago, it might as well be right out of the twenties. I work in a gas station, for fifty cents above minimum wage- again, not a lot of money- but I can say that living here is really cheap. It ain’t never been too pricey, and ever since they shut the mine down, rents have gone down to three hundred a month. That ain’t bad for a four bedroom house with a bathroom and a big yard, and I ain’t rich, but I am still able to pay the rent by myself.
I have been married twice- the first time, I was sixteen and he was thirty six. That lasted until a mining accident took him from me. The second time, which is still legal in the eyes of the commonwealth, I married a man that was only ten years older than me. He, too, was a coal miner. No matter what them people out there on the coasts like to say about pollution, we need coal. Yes, the mines are struggling, but it is still the one thing that keeps most of us alive in Appalachia.
My husband was given a chance to move up to a mine in Ohio, but instead, he decided to do something else. He wasn’t sick yet, but with a dad and a granddaddy who died from black lung, my second husband didn’t need a college education to know that the same thing that had kept us alive would kill him eventually. When he started hacking up the dust, and chunks of his lungs with it, he knew that switching to another mine was not the right thing. So he went back to school, got his CDL, and he ended up in North Dakota, where they pay him what I pay in rent every day.
I wasn’t angry that he decided to work up there, and yes, he did ask me to move with him, but I don’t want to leave Kentucky. I don’t like snow, I sure don’t like people that think they are better than us, and I ain’t one to want to be away from these hills. You get used to what’s around you here, and these mountains may not be like pictures I seen of the Rockies, but they are alive with the lives that have been given to them over time.
At first, I dealt with him being gone. He came home every other weekend, usually with a fat paycheck and a hard dick. He filled up the old frame house we were living in with everything he could buy, from a big screen to four wheelers for the kids. He bought me a brand new pickup truck, a model that cost more than what we had paid for our home, and he shared his wealth even with my family. My second husband is the one who finally got my granny to accept having electric in her place. No, he did a lot with his oil money.
Money only can do so much, and while I enjoyed all the new and fancy things that we suddenly had, I was not happy with only seeing him two days out of fourteen. My sex drive was really starting to kick in at thirty, and I needed more than just a telephone or a vibrator to hold at night. I don’t think he was fucking around on me up there- no, we spent the entire weekend fucking every chance we got when he got back each time- but I was barely able to deal with the fact that he wasn’t around to drill my pussy when I needed it.
The first time I cheated- with my husband’s cousin, whose wife had just left him- it had just kind of happened. Tom was over my house, eating dinner and visiting, and once the kids went to bed, we got to drinking moonshine and talkin’ about relationships. They are cousins, but they were more like brothers, and I didn’t feel the same way I would have felt about letting another man hang around the house when my husband is gone. He helped me out with some of the things that I needed a man to do, such as cut the grass, and he never asked for nothing in return. When he was too drunk to drive the winding roads back to his trailer, I told him to stay over.
Then, later that night, as I was trying not to pleasure myself knowing he was in the livingroom, I went to the kitchen to get another shot. Maybe a little more corn would put me under till daylight. I walked through the living room, and that man had the biggest tent I had ever seen before in his britches. Needless to say, I was the one who could not resist- he opened his eyes to find my dick in his mouth, and he did not stop us from doing what always gets done when a woman decides she has to blow a man’s candle out.
I could have left it as a one time mistake- after that, Tom made sure he wasn’t around at night, as if he felt as guilty as I did. When Brian came back, he had no clue, and we fucked like rabbits like we always did. Tom not only knew how to use that cock between his legs, he also knew how to keep his mouth from running- so no, I could have just let it go.
My husband don’t have much in the way of a dick- he is about four inches, and while that shouldn’t matter, it does. I had lost my virginity to my first husband, who was nearly twice as nig, and getting used to having half of what I wanted was difficult. I had done it, though, until I was reminded about the joys of feeling a big hard cock drilling it’s way inside of me. I’ll tell you what, if you are married to a man that is on the small side, you best not cheat on him once with the idea that you can just forget about it- if your lover is better hung, then you won’t simply be able to go back to having a smaller portion of man meat.
I tried to go after Tom again, even spiking his drink with an Oxy to make him hot and horny, but he was adamant. I had to respect the fact that he didn’t want to ruin his family ties, even if my body still needed some cock. So, I gave up on Tom, and then I discovered the internet on my phone.
Brian had just bought me a fancy new phone, one of these models that is basically a small computer, and I spent the first few weeks learning all about how I could waste all my free time on it. I didn’t have to worry about the television going out, or if I was stuck behind a train, I could watch a short video on YouTube even. I had known about the internet, it ain’t like I live under a rock somewhere, but I had no idea about apps until my sister was talking about it.
In these apps, as I was messing around one night, I found there was a dating app designed for married people who wanted affairs. It promised to be discreet, and set up for people who were serious about getting some strange but didn’t want to leave their spouse. To see who was on there, you had to spend about fifty dollars to join. I had the money, and while I wasn’t really sure about fucking some strange man, I could at least enjoy flirting and looking at pictures of hot men.
Well, one of the men whose profile caught my eye was located in the next county over. To make a long story short, we ended meeting, and he ended up fucking me like I had never been fucked before. This wasn’t middle of the night drunken sex with an in-law, this was preplanned, and damn, if that man could work my pussy like it ain’t been worked ever before. Our little hook up resulted in another, and a third, and then disaster struck.
Usually, when Brian returned, he came in on a late night plane. Getting from Minot to Lexington or Louisville required some wranglin’. One time, they sent him all the way west to Salt Lake City, then east to Atlanta, and finally up to Lexington because of storms. I should have known that he was coming in, as it was the second weekend of the month, but somehow, I was in a motel room by the interstate when he just happened to drive by it in a rented vehicle. Not too many trucks with plates from our county were as new as mine, and when he saw what was going on, he knocked on the door.
Brian didn’t get violent, and the other man didn’t either, but I had been discovered. I felt terrible- I had done him wrong- but my husband didn’t even want to argue with me. He simply got in the Volkswagen they had rented him, and he drove back to the airport.
He left it all up to me, to explain why he was no longer making trips home. My kids bought the story that he was working too much to even get time off for awhile, but eventually, questions were asked, and he simply told them to ask me. I finally had to explain on Christmas Eve that daddy was not coming to visit, because momma had done bad.
Well, that was three years ago, and since then, he has come back twice. He don’t talk to me on the phone, but he has sold everything that he had bought for us, except the truck that was in my name. We don’t live together anymore- he has been trying to sell the house, and I am fighting him on it, but since he knows the sheriff, it was best that I moved out with the kids.
I had to still make money, and with no education, I took the job at this pump and dump. Ringing up cigarettes for drunks, dealing with lonely truckers, and cleaning showers is not as fun as mudding was, or watching a big screen. But there ain’t no going back, and I only have myself to blame.
So, I kept on keeping on what I had done. I met more men, and while I never went so far as to bring anyone home, I must have tried a half dozen or so of these illicit dates. Most of the men were not really what I wanted. One said he was fifty, and looked ninety- another claimed to have a ten inch dick, but I swear he must have his centimeters confused with inches. I did have some rules.
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