Tighter than a Tater

[EddieDavidson]

I've been writing some variation of this story for about six months - a girl's without modesty story set in the south where people out in the country have a lot of privacy and it's hot.

Some elements include

-Girls skinny dip in the above-ground pool, no sense in hiding it.

-Mom wants the girls shaved because she wants them to stay "girls" for as long as possible and not look ripe for the plucking.

A well-adjusted younger male lives in the house - grew up with sisters so he is used to bathing with them and not wasting a lot of water. Gender roles are well-defined and differentiated between males and women growing up in the same house - "women's work" is seen as house work and some yard work, etc.

Girls treated "equally" in that all girls are treated the same, but not the same as men - "that's like treating dogs the same as people".

A fish out of water situation -where the main character(s) are visiting from somewhere else and I can play around with their sense of "normal" - minimal privacy in a small manufactured home.

I'll share with you this iteration, I think this is enjoyable. I wrote a vignette/self-portrait at the start with my alter-ego in the story.

[EddieDavidson]

"What's a pretty girl like you doing on a bus like this?" the old man sitting next to me on the bus leaned in, elbow on the armrest like we were sharing a booth at a diner and knew one another. He had traded seats with the person next to me after the last stop to be able to sit this close to me.

I wasn’t sure if I should be flattered, he was fixated on me, or insulted that he thought he had a shot with me – I was less than half his age. I had never had an older man show interest in me. It definitely made me uncomfortable and I think he liked that – perhaps he thought I was nervous and excited by his attention, and on some level, I probably was.

He looked eccentric, with old-style black rimmed glasses and a grey handlebar mustache. His black shirt had grease on it from the Big Buford he had been eating with his mouth open. I could smell the onions and cheese every time he tried to hit on me.

I’d been able to ignore him for the most part. I had been raised to be considerate and polite to my elders, but there were limits. I shifted in my seat, rolled my eyes, sighed, and tried to avoid his gaze whenever possible to send him subtle hints that I wasn’t interested but nothing worked.

“Where are ya’ headed? I am going to Whispering Pines, just outside of Wilmington,” he said confidently – like it was any of his business. “It’s a nudist resort! They are having the biggest dick contest, and I am going to enter. Do you want to see the winning member?”

He raised his eyebrows a few times suggestively, and I groaned.

“She’s not interested, dude,” my little brother Ben spoke up to defend me. He and I were heading to my Aunt’s place out in Florence for the summer because my parents needed a couples-only vacation to work on their marriage.

I only knew that because I heard them arguing about it before I was told I’d be going to Aunt Becky and Uncle Mike’s farm out in the country. I was told they were old-fashioned and strict, and to mind them when I got there – it didn’t sound like a fun vacation at all.

“You look a little young to be the lady’s boyfriend,” the old man smiled with confidence. He wasn’t afraid of my little brother. I wasn’t afraid of him. He was as scrawny as I was thin and neither of us were very intimidating.

“She’s no lady, she’s my sister,” Ben’s squeaky voice cracked nervously. He was trying to defend me but I think he was just as intimidated by dealing with an adult as I was.

“Bad-dump-bum,” the old man pantomimed an old-style rimshot. “We are in South Carolina, Son. You can be brother and sister AND boyfriend and girlfriend,” he grinned.

We frowned at him, but he smiled like we were laughing at his jokes. “My name is Eddie, Eddie Davidson,” he offered his hand for either of us to shake. We didn’t take it.

“Leaving me hanging, eh?” I guess a hand job later is out of the question?” he snickered at his own joke. “Lighten up, we have several more hours until the next stop, and I just ripped a huge, silent fart,” he teased crudely.

We tried to ignore Eddie, but he continued to regale us about the many women he knew in Wilmington. “I’ve got one woman who is missing a foot and another who is missing an arm, I am going to put them together, and see if I can get them to sixty nine.”

I shook my head quietly. He seemed overly entertained by his own perverted sense of humor, and far more certain that I’d like it than he should have been.

“I promise you that I am going to make one of you laugh before we get off this bus, and if I don’t then you can sit on my face and I’ll guess your weight,” He made another disgusting joke. It was difficult for me not to picture sitting on his crooked nose and hairy mustache after he opened his mouth and pretended to eat my pussy.

The whole vision gave me the heebie-jeebies and made me blush.

“You fascinate me,” he assured me.

“You don’t even know my name, or anything about me, I am not fascinating, I am boring,” I insisted.

“She speaks!” he held up a finger excitedly. He obviously saw getting me to angrily brush him off as progress.

I imagined grabbing his finger and shoving it up his butt – that would shut him up. I had a fairly elaborate imagination, but no will to act upon it.

“You are a cute blonde with a tight little butt and cute little boobs. You wear glasses, and that makes you seem interesting and bookish, like a Librarian. It’s always the quiet types that are the true freaks in bed.”

“You are exhausting, please leave me alone,” I groaned.

“I’ll give you twenty bucks to tell me a story,” he said as he held up his notebook filled with chicken scratch, and drawings of tits – some that looked like mine. “I am a people watcher…and a boob watcher…” he added with some consideration that he was also an ass and pussy watcher before continuing to tell me that everyone has a story to tell and he wanted to hear mine.

“I write stories for a living, and I base a lot of my characters on real people and their experiences, but I change the names and details to protect the wicked. They say to find the most interesting time in someone’s life and just write about that,” he said.

“I am not interesting, and I’ve never done anything worth writing down,” I assured him.

“Have you done anal? If not, we can do that and cross it off your list so you can qualify as interesting,” he half-joked.

I scrunched my nose in disgust – the thought of having someone stick something in my most secret and intimate place held no intrigue or fascination to me. I got up to use the bathroom – just to get away from him.

“Good idea, clean out that backdoor, first. I don’t mind a little brown eye, but I am thinking of your modesty,” he grinned as I passed by – brushing my butt over my jeans with his hands as I squeezed past.

When I returned, he was sleeping, and I wasn’t sure if the sound of his snoring was more annoying than his constant dirty jokes and dirty pick-up lines.

His notebook was open, and I was bored out of my mind with nothing left to read. I’d finished the magazine I picked up and hadn’t brought any new books with me on vacation. My mom said I wouldn’t have time to read any because my Aunt promised I’d be busy helping with the farm.

He had scrawled a picture of me naked, wearing only a ballerina’s tutu and slippers that looked a lot like my face, blue eyes, upturned nose, tiny waist, small bare tits, Question Bens around my head and the caption “What is this bitch’s story? Who is she? What is her name?” along with “Possible anal? Tight ass?” written near my butt.

He had drawn me dancing carefree, while holding my ass cheeks apart – the oversized circle in the middle of my butt featured a happy face and what looked like jizz dripping out of my butt, or possibly even shooting out in all directions.

I don’t know why I studied the crude drawing. It wasn’t something I wanted to do or was turned on by – but I had a morbid fascination with the idea that he could imagine me into some situation in which I was naked and dancing for him – exposing myself.

It made me feel powerless and vulnerable to be captured on the inside of his notebook for all eternity so that he could ogle me at will. It was my face, my image, but he had created it and owned it- owned me.

I was revolted, but secretly curious what story he would tell me about – what scenario would he create in his head that plausibly placed me in that predicament wearing the ballerina costume and dancing obscenely?

I glanced at the title of his first story – Female Body Inspector. I couldn’t read much of his handwriting, but I got the gist that it involved pretty girls, humiliation, and lots of nudity. The female body inspector had some hold over the girls and could require them to show him their bodies.

I wondered what appealed to him about controlling and dictating the nudity. The girls didn’t want to be naked, and they were often in embarrassing scenarios in front of total strangers or even friends and family. I wondered why he would prefer that to stories about willing and slutty girls that liked to show off their bodies.

There was no shortage of those kinds of women. I’d seen two Hispanic girls and their mother at the bus station wearing short mini-skirts, and it was like a competition for them to see who could dare to show the most skin and obtain the most attention.

The next story that I glanced at involved women dressed up in leather bondage, required to pull carts with carrots sticking out of their asses. I shivered just imagining having a big carrot packed up my butt and imagined how disgusting it would be to see the brown poo on the tip when it finally came out.

In this story, the women marched together in pairs and high-stepped while being judged in a competition. He clearly wrote a version of himself into the story that could steer the cart that they pulled while whipping their asses.

I wondered what appeal that truly had – why not just have sex? Why hurt them and smack their bottoms? A spanking was no fun, and the few that I’d had were enough to tell me that I never wanted them. Yet, this story was all about being dominated and spanked while being dehumanized and treated like a human pet.

I assumed that no one would actually engage in this kind of debauchery, but I couldn’t help imagining the kind of women who would willingly take their clothes off, allow someone like Eddie to handcuff their wrists behind their backs, and march them through high grass like pony girls.

“Do you like my stories?” Eddie caught me by surprise. I shivered and blushed when he caught me reading his naughty notebook. “Don’t stop now! The next one is about a human toilet. It’s called ‘Another Shitty Lesson’. I am still trying to think of an ending.”

I snapped the notebook shut and handed it back to him – I wasn’t interested at all. I wasn’t sure why I had indulged him by looking at it, other than I was too polite to refuse. I assumed he thought he might excite me and entice me into some sexual scenarios, but he was having the opposite effect on me.

“I think the story I’ll write about you will be called Sweet Cheeks, what do you think? You have sweet little butt cheeks. What should it be about?” he asked.

“I don’t want to be in your dirty book,” I insisted sourly.

“Too late for that,” he grinned like he had just caught a butterfly and was about to pin my wings back. “What’s your fantasy? Maybe I can tell a story that would get your panties all twisted and soaked? Or maybe you don’t wear any? I didn’t notice any panty lines on those tight fitting jeans.”

I regretted having worn tight-fitting jeans after that, but I assumed if I had worn sweaty gym pants, the creepy pervert probably would have been turned on by it.

I shifted away, pulling my knees up into the seat and curling toward the window. I could feel his eyes crawling across my back.

Ben stood up across the aisle. I hadn’t even noticed him watching. He tugged his hoodie down and pushed his hair out of his eyes.

“You want to trade seats?” my little brother asked. His voice was low and direct.

“With a proper wig and a few shots of bourbon, I could probably write a good story about you,” he promised my brother.

“Thank you, Ben, but I don’t want to subject you to his onion breath,” I said.

“Sir Gal-I-Had, with his dick in his hand,” Eddie began to pen a story inspired by my brother’s attempt at gallantry. Interestingly, Eddie got so engrossed in crafting his own story that he forgot about the two of us, and the rest of the ride was largely uneventful.

I leaned against the cool glass, staring at the rolling hills of South Carolina - green grass, magnolia trees, highway, and not much else.

At one point, we were passing through a small town – the kind of place where everyone who grows up there probably can’t wait to get out. I saw an attractive, full-figured redhead wearing just a white tank top and what appeared to be striped bikini bottoms, but they were actually panties.

“How long do you think she’s been wearing those? Three days, I’d guess,” Eddie noticed as well and leaned in to ogle her out our window. I’d grown up in Philadelphia and recognized a street walker when I saw one – I just didn’t think they were out there in small towns.

“My guess is she peaked in high school, she was Miss Popular-thang, the homecoming queen that got pregnant before she could graduate and go to college. She’s fucked just about every guy that grew up with her for money. She lives in that old motel over there,” Eddie pointed to a sad little broken-down motel and theorized she had three kids that depended on her like baby birds do their momma.

“She swallows worms and cum and regurgitates it,” he said before writing that thought down on paper to include it in his next story. “That’s a dumb metaphor but I’ll work on it. How much do you think she charges to take it up the poop chute? I bet the same as she does for BJs on slow nights.”

I didn’t answer, and the bus started to pull away. Eddie stood up and made the bus driver wait while he grabbed his luggage. “I am going to go find out what her story is,” he whispered as he pushed the side of his nose like Jolly Saint Nick and exited the bus in the shitty part of Nowhere South Carolina.

I hoped that I would never, ever see the likes of Eddie Davidson again, and that is where my story begins.

My parents had warned me that my Aunt and Uncle were very old-fashioned, and that I needed to mind them before putting me on the bus. I hadn’t seen them in years, but my Uncle Mike hadn’t changed very much from how I remembered him.

He had a deep voice and spoke in a Southern Accent, which was tempered with his native New Zealand accent. It was a shame that he didn’t speak very often because his accent made him sound different than most.

His eyes were expressive, and he could say a lot with a look or a glance. Right now, his eyes said “Get your ass in the truck and hurry up, I want to get home.”

It was dark when we arrived in Florence, South Carolina. It was a far cry from the storied streets of Philadelphia. There was an Irish pub on almost every corner downtown in Philly, but here it looked like they stopped progressing after 1962.

Mike started up his old pick-up truck when he saw us exit the bus, flashed his high beams twice, and waited for us like we were bags of fertilizer he was picking up from the nearby feed store.

My Uncle was as mundane and boring as they come – denim overalls, big scruffy beard, tall with glasses.

“Uncle Mike?” I asked as I approached his dirty old truck.

“If I were Jessie the Ripper, don’t you think I’d tell you I am your Uncle Mike?” he sounded annoyed to have to speak. “You are Ben and Victoria. I’m your damned Uncle Mike, and your Aunt Becky and cousins Justin, Barbara and Cheyenne are waiting for you at the farm. Get your asses in gear. It’s late and I have to work early tomorrow.”

It was only about 8 pm, but the town looked like it was about to shut down and roll up the sidewalks for the night. I was annoyed that he didn’t offer to help us load our stuff into the back of his dusty pickup. It seemed like it would be the polite thing for him to offer to do.

I didn’t want to put my bags in the back because it was dirty, but he told me that I could either leave it behind or stow it in the truck “It don’t make no never mind to me, leave it or throw one of those cases in the shitter. You ain’t moving in, you are just here for a few months. My girls don’t have half as much shit as you have and they live there year round. We only have a single-wide trailer. Hopefully, your bags fit in your rooms.”

He didn’t say much for most of the rest of the trip, after we jumped in. The truck was cramped, and I had to sit between my brother and him on the uncomfortable “hump seat.”

The old radio was playing country music – which is not my favorite thing.

Well, this life that I live, took me everywhere
There ain't no place I ain't never gone
Well, it's kind of like the sayin'
That you heard so many times
Well, there just ain't no place like home
Did you ever see a she-gator protect her youngin'
Or fish in a river, swimmin' free?
Did you ever see the beauty of the hills of Carolina
Or the sweetness of the grass in Tennessee?
And Lord, I can't make any changes
All I can do is write 'em in a song

When I interrupted the song to tell my Uncle Mike about the trip, he grew immediately annoyed and impatient with me. I told him about the weird guy on the bus who flirted with me, but I left out the details about nude drawings and stories.

“He sounds like a real perverted asshole,” Mike shrugged, only half-listening to me. “I’d assume since you are from the big city would have smacked the shit out of him or something.”

The thought had never occurred to me.

“Haven’t you ever heard about the Fresh Prince, Uncle Mike? He got in one little fight and his mom and his mom got scared and told him that he was movin' in with his auntie and uncle in Bel-Air!”

Mike laughed pretty hard. “You are alright,” he smiled. I decided to let the story drop since it seemed my Uncle thought that wasn’t a big deal anyway. He told me that girls just had to get used to guys being perverted around them. “Old men have been hitting on pretty young girls since I was a lad. Just smile and wait, one day you’ll be an old hag and they won’t have anything to do with you,” he chuckled.

Small consolation.

“You can piss in the wind about everything that is wrong in the world, but all you will get is a face full of piss and the realization that some things are just how the world works. He won’t be the last dirty old man to try to goose you on the way to the bathroom.”

“Goose?” I had never heard that term.

My Uncle held up two fingers, and stabbed the air as if it was my pussy to show me that men might try to grab me like that when I passed by them. Eddie hadn’t been that disgustingly bold, but to see my Uncle’s expression – he wouldn’t have been surprised if he had goosed me.

Once we finally drove out of town, we headed east along the state road. There was nothing for miles and miles, and Mike said that was why he liked living in Florence. “I used to be a city boy like you, but I prefer the solitude and quiet of the country – no one bothers me or judges me, and I can run around bare ass naked on my land if I want too,” he assured us.

I shivered, imagining my Uncle’s Johnson flapping free on his farm. It seemed like the kind of uncomfortable predicament Eddie the pervert would have dreamed up.

“Jeans ain’t gonna cut it with your Aunt,” he said as we pulled off the highway and turned down some gravel roads.

“Why not? We are going to be working on the farm, aren’t we?” Ben asked.

“We’ll figure out what you are good at, and what you can be trusted to do, before we discuss what you’ll be doing on my farm, but everybody pulls their weight and does as they are told – that’s how we keep order,” Mike explained before adding that my brother was fine to wear jeans to work outside. “Girls around here tend to wear skirts, it’s seen as butch,” he shrugged, while keeping a close eye on the road.

The bumps in the road made my whole body jiggle and bounce, occasionally my Uncle hit a pot hole and I flew up in the air slightly and landed on my butt in the hump seat.

Mike noticed how I gasped when I hit the bump, and the middle of the seat caused me to gasp and cringe. “The farm will toughen you up a little, my girls love riding on dirt roads and going mudding,” he informed me.

There was a fence running around my Uncle’s farm, and at night, I really couldn’t see much other than trees and lots of fields. I didn’t know what he grew or produced on his farm but I could smell horse shit the moment the truck stopped and assumed he had a stables.

Mike didn’t seem to care, but Ben and I were both disgusted by the foul, cheesy odor. He made us carry our own bags up to a wooden deck and bring them up a set of steps, before finally lugging them inside his trailer.

The crickets were so loud it felt like they were inside my ears—chirping in waves, rising and falling like the buzz of a power line that wouldn’t quit. I had never heard anything like it back in Philly – the silence of the farm was louder than the Schuylkill Expressway during rush hour. It wasn’t background noise—it was the soundscape. Constant. Alive. Like the whole field was vibrating.

I could make out the outline of an above-ground pool half-sunken into the dirt beside the trailer, the tarp stretched over it and sagging with dirty water in the center. A lawn chair was tipped over next to it, rusted white metal legs tangled in the tall grass. There was what appeared to be a trampoline as well, but it was too dark to make out any details. There were white buckets out in front by the door – filled with mud and and dirt. I assumed they were planters or some kind.

It was too dark to see very well, and despite being very well lived in – the yard seemed trashy to me.

Their single-wide trailer looked seemed plucked out of the 1970s. Flat wood paneling inside was the color of weak tea, and the green shag carpet squished under my sneakers, still damp from the humidity. It smelled like old linoleum and mildew.
I wasn’t sure if the horse shit smell had gone away, followed me in or somehow permeated from the trailer. I tried not to make a sour face and put on a lemony smile to greet the rest of my relatives.

The door we came in opened into the kitchen, which seemed odd to me. . Every appliance had a matching sickly green tint, like avocado gone wrong. The linoleum was worn smooth in front of the stove, but the counters were clean—spotless, actually. It was obvious that my Aunt took pride in her kitchen, and it was decorated very sparsely in a utilitarian fashion.

A wooden sign hung next to an old clock with a bible verse, “1 Corinthians 11:3 states that Christ is the head of every man, a man is the head of a woman, and God is the head of Christ.”

There was also a tin watering can hanging in the kitchen right by the door. I assumed it was a DIY home-made planter. It looked incredibly trashy, like a redneck chandelier.

My brother marveled at the corded white phone on the wall. “Rotary dial?” he picked it up to examine it like an archaeologist might marvel over archaic cuneiform tablets.

“You have someone you want to call, or are you going to hug your old Aunt Becky?”

Aunt Becky was already standing there in the kitchen, hands on her hips. She was short, maybe five feet, with red hair tied up in a clip and wild little wisps curling down over her temples. Her grin stretched wide across her face, and her accent hit like sweet tea laced with fire. She looked bony in her cut-off jeans and tank top, but there was energy under her skin—like she might snap her fingers and make a broom start sweeping on its own.

She flashed him a mischievous wink and wrapped my little brother in a tight bear hug, and despite being about as tall as he was, she picked him up off the ground and said, “Goodness, you are skinnier than a bean pole! We have got to get some meat on your bones and hair on your chest, Sugar!”

My little brother didn’t know how to react, so he remained quiet.

“Don’t worry, I ain’t got the cooties, we like to hug and kiss in this house, so you go on and meet your cousins, while I see about your sister!”

When she set him down, she looked me up and down with an excited expression. “Look what a woman you are turning out to be! You had red hair when I saw you last, and now it’s the color of corn silk! Do you dye it?” she smiled as she plunged forward and hugged me warmly.

“You are all knobby knees and elbows,” she observed after releasing me much faster than she did my brother. “Sprouting up like a weed, but no boobies at all!” she laughed – causing me to blush. I didn’t’ expect my Aunt to reach up and honk my tits through my shirt but she didn’t hesitate at all.

She laughed with a sassy southern accent that quickly faded after she let go of my tits. “A bra?” she asked with surprise. “What does a girl your age, with those little piddly-puffins, need with lingerie?”

I blushed and frowned, unsure of what to say. How could I answer that?

“It’s not lingerie, it’s just a bra,” I assured her.

“Vanity, for a girl your age with your body type, there ain’t nobody that is intended to see that bra except for some boy who wants to get you out of it anyway,” she assured me pragmatically before regarding the four bags of luggage we brought in with us. “Did you leave anything you own back at your house in the big city?” she teased playfully before telling me to leave it for now. “We’ll go through it all later and put it away, come and meet your cousins!”

Lloyd was the first one she introduced me to. He was my height and athletic, with a crew cut and handsome face. I knew he was about my brother’s age, but he had definitely hit a growth spurt and looked far older.

“Howdy,” he waved.

I waved back.

“Do you remember Barbara Ann?” my Aunt introduced her eldest daughter. “She used to give you piggyback rides,” she said while laughing. “I bet you couldn’t do that now!”

Barbara was thick and curvy, blonde hair, enormous chest in a simple polyester blouse, and a skirt that came down just above the knees, no shoes, and bare feet. She wore cheap dollar store makeup that gave her a trashy appearance, blue eyeshadow, bubble gum pink lipstick, which was kind of the wrong shade for her pale skin.

“Hey!!” she waved at me, and I waved back. Barbara gave off a happy-go-lucky, bimbo vibe, like she was having a great time all the time, and giggled.

“This here is Cheyenne, she’s your age,” my Aunt announced – probably because my cousin looked so much mature than me. Cheyenne had straight long hair and a pretty face, very long, natural tits that hung down like two sacks, stuffed into her blouse – the outline of her thick nipples were visible through the material, and she didn’t seem to care or act like that was unusual. She wore the same kind of short skirt and remained barefoot.

“Can’t wait to play Barbies and swap secrets,” she assured me we’d be the best of friends soon enough. She looked like the kind of fast girl who was going to be homecoming queen, not the kind of girl who played with dolls. I assumed she was joking or something. I hadn’t played with dolls in years.

“Can I use the bathroom?” I asked politely after the introductions. We’d been on the road for hours, and I really needed to pee.

“Nope, bath time is in an hour,” Barbara Ann joked – or at least I thought she was, until my Aunt asked my Uncle if they could make an exception for me.

“She’s been on the road for a long time, would it be okay, honey?” my Aunt asked him for permission for me to use the bathroom.

“She’s wearing lingerie, and jeans too, why not let her smoke a joint and take a shot of whiskey?” Mike said, but before he could finish answering the question, his daughters both eagerly asked if they could also use the bathroom.
“If she gets to go, we should get to go early too!”

“See? This is why we had to put the damned rule in the first place; they’d bicker and hog the bathroom from each other. I told you bringing a city girl would cause chaos,” he said before looking at me and saying he would make an exception. “You only get a chance to make a first impression one time, and you’ve made yours – but let’s see if you can prove me wrong tomorrow. The girls’ bathroom is down the hall and next to their room. You have about five minutes in the bathroom to take care of business and anymore than that we assume you are just playing with yourself.”

I assumed that they were kidding about that, and it was some dark joke.

“I’ll show her, Daddy!” Barbara Ann offered enthusiastically but was joined by a giggling Cheyenne as they grabbed my hand and led me down the hall to the end.

The girls’ bathroom was clean, neat, and very spartan, with a single toilet, sink, cabinet, and bathtub, and no shower. I noticed there wasn’t anything left out on the sink, and the cabinets looked bare. There was only one towel hanging on the wall, and minimal 1-ply toilet paper.

I didn’t know anyone who bought 1-ply. I wrapped so much around my hand that I am sure I used much more toilet paper than I would have if it were at least three-ply.

When finished, I returned to the living room where the family was laughing and catching up with Ben. I wasn’t sure what they said to regale them, but they seemed amused and excited to hear more of his story. They got instantly quiet when I walked out.

“Jeans down, around your ankles,” my aunt spun her fingers, for me to turn around and show her my butt.

“As if,” I grinned and moved to sit down on the couch with my cousins, but they didn’t move. Instead, they looked up at me sheepishly, like they expected me to take down my pants in front of them.

“It’s a bottom check,” Cheyenne explained to me. “You don’t have to hold it for long – it’s just to make sure it's wiped well,” she assured me that that was expected and she wasn’t kidding – but I still didn’t believe her.

I smirked and assumed this was some twisted joke.

Mike flashed a single look that communicated some secret message to my Aunt, because Aunt Becky stood up and intervened immediately. “We are going to take baths in a few minutes anyway, so if you have a crusty-butt, it’s not the end of the world. We have plenty of time to catch up and chit-chat, and I am sure you girls will try to talk your heads off after it’s lights out, anyway.”

I still wasn’t sure if they were serious about that rule, but I smiled politely since they let the matter drop.

“Barbara Ann, bring Ben’s luggage into the boy’s room, and Cheyenne, help your cousin carry her bag into the girl’s room,” Aunt Becky instructed.

“Wait, I have to share my room?” Jessie was incensed and surprised that he’d be doubling up with my brother.

“We don’t have an ostentatious palace, Jessie,” his father said, sounding more New Zealand than he did South Carolina. “You’ve got to learn to make do and not be so high-strung. Where did you expect your cousin to sleep? In the girl’s room?”

“SURE!” Jessie quipped back excitedly.

“Your sister’s room will be tighter than a tater’s butthole with the three girls sharing it,” his mother explained patiently before reminding him he had a bunk bed and that my brother could share that.

“I’ve got my Manga novels up there,” Jessie sounded frustrated.

“Are those the dirty drawings I caught you whacking off to?” Aunt Becky sounded angry, like she had been betrayed.

Jessie blushed, but maintained that they were innocent books.

“I am sure they’ve got feminism, demons, drugs, and all sorts of sinful nonsense in them, but take them down and the girls will find a shelf for them tomorrow,” Becky decided before turning to me in particular to tell me there were house rules.

“We don’t take life too seriously, or too hard, but we expect a few things while you are here, so I might as well go over them first thing,” she said as she held up a finger to count them out. “First and most importantly, everyone contributes to the overall house in their way, and must strive to give it their best shot.”

I had no problem with that and fully intended to work on the farm, even though this was to be my vacation.

“Second, we say grace, respect our elders, and value our heritage and traditions,” she said in the kind of deep southern accent that made me think heritage was code for ‘racism,’ but she never said that it was.

“Third, and this goes for all of y’all,” she addressed everyone and then pantomimed masturbation with her hand hovering over her dress. “No baiting!”

I really believed that she was talking about baiting hooks and fishing, but that made little sense.

“No fingering your cookie, or pulling your sauce maker. This is not a brothel, where you come to get your rocks off, and you will learn to control any nasty habits – the hard way or the easy way, but one way or another.”

I didn’t intend to masturbate, although I was a little perturbed that my Aunt felt that was up to her.

“Next rule is that you eat what is provided, and it should go without saying that you don’t complain, but I am saying it – you show gratitude for what you are given as your daily bread.”

I genuinely thought they were going to expect me to eat only bread until I gave it some thought.

“You want something from the fridge, write what you want down on a little slip of paper and then shred it up and throw it in the trash. We value order over fairness, which means that we don’t want an endless stream of bathroom requests. We used to have bickering when the girls get bored, they get catty and argumentative– we put an end to that with a set bathroom and bedtime.”

I didn’t understand that, and my face showed that I didn’t.

“When dogs are kept in a crate all day, they learn to hold it. You’ll learn to have it, and go once in the morning, and once at night, during the day you’ll be told you can take a break if you need one, but if you ask, the answer is almost always no.”

“I see,” I frowned – no need to argue. I didn’t like being talked to so harshly but I could see that my Aunt could be stern about things like this, and she wasn’t being unreasonable. She was making it clear this wasn’t up for debate.

“Drugs, booze, cigarettes, are completely forbidden – you bring that shit around here, I’ll put it in the blender and squeeze it up your butt – so don’t even think about it. Got it? Get it? Good.”

I didn’t do any of those things and had no interest in even trying them. I didn’t have a problem with the harsh threats because it was her house and she was laying down the law.

“Girls don’t drink coffee or tea – stimulants, nicotine, heavy sugar, that’s out completely – so if you have any of that in your bag, you may as well get it out and show me now.”

I almost missed the point about tea and coffee.

“We can’t have tea or coffee, but boys can?” I scrunched up my nose and gave my Aunt a confused look.

“You aren’t one of those feminists are you?” My aunt grew annoyed with me, and talked to me like I was too wet behind the ears to understand. “Girls don’t need sugar, it puts fat in all the wrong places. Why do dogs go around without pants, and people do? It’s because girls and guys are wired differently.” My Aunt explained it as if it should be obvious.

I still didn’t get it.

“Look, we ain’t going to buy filet mignon for a dog when dog food will do ya, so if you want some fancy tea or Starbucks coffee then get a job and earn it,” my Uncle looked up from his chair. He seemed to be barely listening to the conversation. My aunt nodded her agreement, and I let the matter drop since it wasn’t a battle I wanted to fight after such a long trip, and I wouldn’t have won anyway.

[EddieDavidson]

“One other rule,” my Aunt Becky seemed intent on covering all of her rules with me in one sitting. She was addressing me directly and not my little brother, so I wasn’t sure how much of this applied to him. I didn’t like annoying rules, but I could understand people having them – what bothered me was that they seemed inconsistently applied to only the girls.

“We say fuck, shit and god-damned,” Aunt Becky said that cussing was fine around the house. “We like to let our hair down around the house and relax, but don’t you dare call me or your Uncle Mike a vulgar name. I also don’t want to be embarrassed by you in public, especially at church. I expect you to be respectful to your best, and that means polite, contrite, and don’t start no fight when you are in public. Do you know what those words mean?” she asked me.

I wanted to say something sarcastic about needing a dictionary, but I was too nervous and intimidated. I nodded my head.

“You better learn, or your butt will burn,” my Aunt seemed to have expected me to say that I didn’t know what they meant. “I don’t care if we are in Walmart, either. I’ll bend you over and give you a spanking on the bare ass or put a bar of soap in your mouth to teach you a lesson in manners if that is what it takes. I won’t treat you any differently than any of my girls.”

“Does this rule apply to the boys?” I asked sharply. My brother was already unpacking in the room he was going to share with Jack.

“Why? Are you a boy? How about you worry about how you run your own mouth and let me worry about everything else?” She seemed perturbed that I had dared to ask a question.

“Honey, they had a long trip, she got goosed by some old pervert, and I am tired of hearing you two argue,” Mike told his wife, and she instantly lightened up. I didn’t feel I had argued or bickered, but I didn’t push my luck.

“You are right,” she acknowledged her husband, adding, “and I am sorry,” she apologized to me, before explaining more patiently that the rules ARE applied consistently and even apply to her. “I set the example I want for the girls in the family. You just walk, talk, and act like me when in public, and you won’t have a problem, Sugar.”

“Okay, that’s it?” I asked.
“For now,” she sighed as if she was exasperated. She directed Cheyenne to carry my bag into her room so that I could unpack. My cousins Barbara Ann and Cheyenne shared what seemed like the smallest room in the house. The bathroom right outside the door was about the same size. I wanted to joke that I had a walk-in closet this size at home, but I decided against it because I didn’t want to seem like a snob.

The walls were that flat, fake wood paneling you only ever see in trailers or basement pressed board pretending to be walnut. A single poster was taped to the wall: Poison’s Look What the Cat Dragged In. The corners had curled up, and the tape was yellowing. The poster must have been there for forty years.

The carpet was threadbare and stained, but there was hardly anything lying out – just a few Barbie Dolls with no hair, and a red egg crate from Piggly Wiggly. The crate contained two children’s books that looked like they hadn’t been read in ages. The girls were clearly too old for them.

A single bed sat against the far wall with cartoon cat sheets and a pillow that looked like it had been punched into shape. No comforter. Just the bare minimum. There was a dusty ceiling light with no fan, just a plastic dome overhead with grime fogged around the edges. I couldn’t believe that the girls shared that bed and that I might be expecting to get in it with them.

“It’s going to be tighter than a tater’s asshole in here, but it’s home sweet home for the Summer, and by the end I hope you’ll learn that not everybody needs big ostentatious mansions and fancy vittles to feel good about themselves. You’ll learn some clean living and come to value hard work and a job well done by the time this summer is all said and done,” my Aunt promised as she started rifling through my luggage.

“Let’s see what you thought was so important that you needed two bags,” she guffawed as if I were incredibly vain for daring to pack that much stuff. “It’s mostly jeans. You won’t be wearing any of these around here.”

“What about when I go outside?”

“Girls wear skirts, and boys wear jeans,” my Aunt informed me as if she were telling me the sky was blue and the ground was beneath my feet. “Next, you’ll want me to put blue jeans on the horse? Dress like a lady and be treated like one,” she assured me as she removed my jeans from my bags. She wasn’t entirely surprised or unhappy about my jeans – just a little annoyed. However, she acted like she found illegal contraband when it came to my panties and bras.

“What in the name of Barnaby Jones do you have bras for?” she asked me in a tone that suggested I was a complete moron for having brought them. “I could understand if you had big jugs like Barbara Ann, the girl has more boobs than she does brains, but I am not going to allow Cheyenne to wear lingerie, and she actually has tits – I am definitely not going to have you parading around with this,” she tossed my very utilitarian, ordinary white bras on a pile with my jeans.

“Thongs?” she held up a skimpy pair of panties. They were admittedly a little dainty and revealing but hardly a G-string. “Who are you planning on wearing these things for around here?” she asked rhetorically.
I quietly seethed and looked down as she tossed my panties onto the pile.

“No panties at all?” I asked.

“If I find a pair of GIRL’S panties then you can wear them, because you are a GIRL, Victoria. You aren’t a woman, yet and you shouldn’t be in any hurry to grow up or pretend to be one before your time,” she advised before telling Cheyenne to share her panties and skirts with me and see that I dress proper.
“Yes Ma’am,” Cheyenne said with a pleasant grin. My cousin didn’t seem like she was laughing at my predicament or judging me, but she also didn’t step in and ask her mother to be a little more lenient and understanding.

“Am I going to pull out some dildos and sex toys from this mess? Tell me now,” Aunt Becky grew increasingly disgusted with my clothes. I assured her that I hadn’t brought anything like that. She found my makeup and didn’t toss it out – so that was encouraging but when she discovered my laptop it was like a record needle had been yanked from the stereo. “What do you need with this contraption?”
“It’s my laptop,” I explained.

“I know what it is,” My Aunt examined the stickers on my laptop with suspicion before adding “I asked WHY you lugged this all the way out here?”

“I use it for homework,” I said.

“The only home WORK you will be doing this summer is cooking and cleaning,” she assured me that I’d be taught how to make delicious down-home food and that I wouldn’t need the computer before adding that she knew what computers could be used for. “They are to look at porn. You know how many times I have caught Jessie with his pants around his ankles and his pud in his hands?”

I didn’t, and I didn’t want to know. “How come you let him keep his computer?”

“Who said that I did? And you keep wanting to compare yourself to boys. That’s an equation that's like comparing apples to oranges. Boys are naturally good with computers and such, and Jessie helps me with the budget and grocery shopping. If I catch him pulling his pud, he gets punished – are you okay with that, or do I need to run ALL of my parenting decisions by you first?”

I apologized and looked down.

“You and I have gotten off on the wrong foot, Sugar Booger. I want you to feel at home here, but not YOUR home. I am not going to run this house like my sister runs yours. You aren’t going to disrupt this house by interrupting the order of things and insisting that boys dress like girls and girls dress like boys,” she declared in a honey-laced southern accent that sounded much more understanding. I wanted to tell her that I never expected boys to dress like girls, but she wasn’t finished speaking, and she hushed me. “There you go. You think you can talk over adults. The sooner you realize that you are in OUR house, and that means OUR Rules, not yours, the easier this goes. I am going to teach you how to cook Southern food and clean things the proper way. I am going to teach you to tend house and act like a good girl. It’s about time you learned these things. Your mom has clearly spoiled you, and I can see that. This can be a hard summer for you if you pitch a bitch every time you don’t get your way, or it can be a Summer where you learn some things. If you are so all-fired intent on growing into a woman, why don’t you learn to be a proper one?”

I nodded.

“Good, now get your clothes off and let’s take a bath and get to bed. It’s late, and we have to be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow.” My Aunt insisted that I go to the bathroom with her and Cheyenne, and she called for Barbara Ann to join us as well. My eldest cousin came bouncing down the hallway, giggling and laughing as she did.

The bathroom was sparse. It contained a single bathtub with a broken shower head, and a toilet with the ring of well water around the basin. The sink had the same ring, and I noticed tiny little bugs crawling up from the sink. My Aunt called those “earwigs” and dismissively told me not to worry about them, but they freaked me out. Her daughters were both eager to pull off their clothes, and unsurprisingly, neither of them wore a bra or panties under their clothes. I was reluctant to undress, and I looked up at the moon shining through the window above the tub – noticing there was not even a curtain.

“The closest neighbor is about three miles in any direction, are you worried about Peeping Toms?” my Aunt said as she stripped naked as well. Even though she had smaller boobs than her daughters she wore a simple polyester bra – the kind of old school bullet shaped bra. “It feels good to get this off,” she said as she proudly shook her smaller boobs. They weren’t firm, but her nipples were the longest I’d ever seen – stretched about an inch and a half.

“You looking at something that you like?” she asked gruffly, before taking off her skirt, to reveal she had on a pair of white panties. She insisted I “Stop the grinning and drop the linen.”

I took off my shirt, and jeans before taking off my bra.

“Jeez, all that build up, and you have titties smaller than mine,” my Aunt smiled playfully as she and my cousins judged my tits and found them lacking. I was so humiliated. I didn’t want to undress in front of them, but they didn’t give me much choice. My Aunt placed her thumbs in the side of her panties and rolled them down to her ankles, revealing a very hairy, thick 70’s bush. Her daughters were both completely hairless below the neck -completely bald pussies.

“Do you like eating girls’ peaches or are you just staring at mine because you are thinking about it?” my Aunt implied that I was sexually attracted to women, as she hurried me to strip. When she saw that I had pubic hair, she let out a sharp sigh. Her daughters giggled and pointed. I trimmed my pussy hair, but admittedly it was a little unkempt. I hadn’t anticipated having my pubic hair judged – my face turned beet red.

“Stay a girl as long as you can, because women have to make babies and take on responsibility,” my Aunt advised and told me that would be shaved off tonight. She directed Cheyenne to run the bath water and explained that girls don’t need pubic hair. “That’s for women – builds up a little mystery,” she explained.

I had never shaved off all of my pubic hair, and I was kind of proud when it grew in but that was several years earlier. I felt like it would be embarrassing to have a bald pussy, but I didn’t argue. My Aunt wasn’t going to entertain any negotiations, whining or refusals of her instructions.

“Don’t worry, it’ll grow back when you get back to the big city and you can show all the dirty old men your pussy hair sticking out the sides of your bikini, but here in Florence South Carolina, you’ll keep it clean, and hairless,” she assured me. I didn’t argue. I was more concerned that it looked like Barbara Ann and Cheyenne were going to bathe together in the tiny tub. The two of them stepped into the water, giggling, and sat down and started washing each other with soap – rubbing suds on their tits and chins.

My Aunt had already begun squatting down in front of me – nude and at eye level with my bush. She began snipping the hair from my pussy with a pair of scissors like she was giving me an ordinary haircut. “Don’t wiggle or I’ll cut your little fiddly diddler clean off,” she warned.

It was increasingly embarrassing realizing that Barbara Ann and her cousin were watching me get my pussy hair clipped, and washing each other in the nude, while their mom cut off all of my “thick and curlies” as she called them. My cousins were facing each other with their knees touching while they played Patty Cake. I realized that for them it was normal to bathe together, but it seemed really strange to me and slightly incestuous.

My Aunt slathered shaving cream on my pussy, roughly. She didn’t seem to care that she got some inside of me, and including all around my clit. “Cheyenne, shave your cousins' hairy mambo and Barbara Ann, get out and brush your hair – I want you to do it two hundred times.”
“Yes, Mamma,” Barbara Jean obliged, dripping wet as the full-figured girl stepped out of the water and, without drying off, began to brush her hair while counting to herself. She accidentally lost count several times and started over in frustration.

“It’s good to get into positive habits - I see them almost like a ritual,” my Aunt explained as she sat down on the toilet. I heard her pee stream as she continued explaining to me the importance of a routine like shaving our pussies or brushing our hair 200 times a night. My Aunt didn’t seem embarrassed at all that she was pissing while she looked right at me and spoke. I experienced ‘contact humiliation’ just imagining how it would feel to pee in front of three other girls.

The door swung open, and my cousin walked through the door like he owned the bathroom. The girls squealed because he surprised them, and my Aunt nearly jumped off of the toilet seat. They quickly adjusted to his presence and didn’t keep freaking out. He caught me naked, pussy hair half-shaved off by his mother and the other half covered by shaving cream.

I yelped because I was not only naked, but my half-shaven pussy was pink from the sensation of the razor when my cousin shaved me. I brought one hand down to cover my pussy and ran an arm around my boobs. I was shocked that no one else seemed very alarmed. The initial shock subsided for Cheyenne and Barbara Ann and neither of them tried to covered their nudity. Jessie’s mother put her hands on her hips and gave him a stern look but didn’t try to cover her nudity either.

All four of them regarded me as if I were over-reacting because I was covering my tits with one arm while I slid my hand over my half-shaved pussy. “What are you worried about Jessie seeing? Your tiny little boobies, or that half-shaven hairy beast you had between your thighs?”

Jessie laughed at his mother’s questions and gave me a quick once-over with his eyes. I didn’t move my hands from where they were, and I didn’t respond to her question – I simply eyed him in an expression that was somewhere between mortified and angry.

“Don’t you think you should knock?” I asked him.

“Why should he?” my Aunt asked me what I thought was a rhetorical question. “If he warns you that he’s coming in, the only thing you can do is hide something you shouldn’t be doing. It wouldn’t change the fact that you are taking a bath.”

“I could say that I am in here,” I replied sternly.

“I knew you were all in here, that’s why I came in,” Jessie sounded sympathetic with my concern but confused that I was upset. “Until recently, I was bathing with my sisters. You don’t have anything that I haven’t seen before.”

“She’s got a special heart-shaped bottom hole, and a diamond where her pussy is – that’s why she has to hide it away,“ my Aunt laughed and asked if I would freak out this way if the Doctor saw me naked.

“Jessie isn’t a doctor,” I countered.
“Au Contraire,” Jessie held up a finger and explained that he was an honorary proctologist because of all the assholes he sees around him all the time. His sisters and mother laughed at the joke, even though it seemed to be directed at them.

“Jessie started getting erections in the bathtub, and that’s why we had him use his own bathroom. It just has a shower, so he can’t even take a bath now,” my Aunt explained as if that were a big sacrifice on his part. She was still sitting on the toilet, and didn’t even close her legs tightly before asking him what he came in there for.

“Are you taking a dump?” he asked with a snicker, ignoring his mother without answering her question.

“Jessie, you are free to come in here if you need something, but you can’t just walk in here to ask us if we are taking a poop,” she said.

“I plum forgot why I came in here,” Jessie said. The girls made a sound that suggested they didn’t buy it and believed he had come in to humiliate or, at the very least, to irritate us. “Oh yeah,” he suddenly remembered. “Ben wants waffles, but no eggs. He doesn’t drink coffee, and he wants a lot of bacon!”

“There will be bacon on the table, so whichever of you wants it, can have it,” she decided as she stood up without wiping her pussy dry. She directed Cheyenne to get out of the tub and join Barbara Ann and stepped in with me.

Cheyenne dutifully stood up and asked what they would be having for breakfast. I found that a little odd, but Jessie was being consulted at all. “Buttered toast, cottage cheese, one egg each, scrambled and runny like your birdbrain,” he joked.

His older sister smiled, still dripping wet and asked if she could have my brother’s eggs since Ben wasn’t going to have them.

“You need to learn to appreciate what you get, and not covet what someone else gets,” Jessie booped his older sister’s pretty button nose with his finger, then he poked both of her nipples playfully with the tips of his fingers, before touching her belly and saying “Pillsbury dough-slut!”

Cheyenne giggled like the iconic Pillsbury Doughboy did when someone tickled his tummy.

“I’ll think about it, but your butt keeps getting bigger and you don’t want to get fat, do ya?” Jessie asked rhetorically before poking his eldest sister Barbara Ann’s butt cheeks with the tips of his fingers and saying he loved her ‘dimples’ – implying her ass cheeks were dimples. “You two, chubby! Butt so big, it looks like two bull dogs in a sack trying to bite their way out when you walk.”
“Jessie!” Barbara Ann feigned outrage and let her mouth drop open, but she clearly wasn’t really offended.

My cousin regarded me, and I think he genuinely thought he might poke me with his fingers but thought better of it. “I could see giving you some extra egg tomorrow, because you are a little skinny, but fair, everyone is equal.”

We were hardly equal – Jessie clearly got to PICK what I had for breakfast!

“That’s right,” my Aunt agreed and clarified that all girls were equal. “A few months ago, Jessie was looking for some extra responsibility around the house, and my girls and I were gaining a little pudge around the hips and tummy. I hate having to make decisions on what to make for dinner, so Jessie started planning the meals.”

“That’s not what happened at all,” Jessie smiled and gave his version of the story. “You made pot roast three times in a row and dad got tired of the same thing, and so he told me to start planning the meals because you weren’t doing a good job of providing variety!”

“I made pot roast three times because I thought your daddy liked it, and because I needed to stretch the grocery budget,” she offered defensively, squatting down into the water at my feet and continuing to shave my pussy with a razor like I was an art project.

“That’s why he put me in charge of making sure the pantry and fridge is stocked, and putting together the grocery list,” Jessie added proudly.

“That’s a bigger help than you realize and I appreciate it. I’ve always loved making meals but hated planning meals. This alleviates the uncertainty for me. I don’t have to think or plan – I can just execute and make the food,” she smiled up at him with gratitude.

Jessie acknowledged his mother’s gratitude and then excused himself to get ready for bed. “Remember, no coffee, no eggs, just waffles and lots of bacon,” Jessie reiterated my brother’s order, clarifying that he and his father wanted their usual. “I’ve written it out and left it on the counter.”
“Okay, Jessie,” my Aunt waved goodbye and then want back to roughly shaving my pussy. The girls giggled to one another, while they brushed their hair in the nude – neither one keeping very good count. It wasn’t’ that they were complete airheads, but they seemed like really simple and uncomplicated girls. That’s why they didn’t seem angry that Jessie got to pick the groceries, and they didn’t.

My Aunt washed the shaving cream off my nearly bald pussy – there was no turning back now. Then she re-applied it and shaved me again before directing me to bathe in the dirty, cold water. “You were so embarrassing when Jessie came in here,” she said. “Didn’t you ever bathe with your brother?”

“Maybe when I was little,” I frowned. My aunt poured water over my head out of a plastic Big Gulp cup they used to wash their hair.

“You ARE still little,” she reminded me that in her eyes, I was still not mature. “Jessie bathed with us until just a few months ago when he started to get too many hard-ons and grabby-handsy with us,” she said. “He doesn’t mean nothing by it, we all touch each other in the tub,” my Aunt reached up and honked my tits lightly to demonstrate. “Now, wash me back, or we’ll be here all night.”

It was quite an adjustment, washing a woman as old as my mother, and then brushing my hair two hundred times while drip-drying in the nude. I didn’t have to recount, and my Aunt stood right next to me and did the same thing. “I don’t believe in asking you to do anything that I wouldn’t do. That doesn’t mean you are an adult, but I hold myself to the same standards. I have a bath in my bedroom that I could use privately. I have always bathed with my kids, and I don’t see any reason to stop until they move away and get married.”

I nodded and kept counting. We brushed our teeth, and the girls shaved each other’s pussies and even the peach fuzz on their butts. They didn’t have much to do since they kept it up every night. They shaved my butt cheeks for me while bending me over the sink – I felt so vulnerable and exposed. I could imagine the girls could see my butt hole and that was particularly intimidating. It was one thing to shave my pussy – but seeing where I poop from and even shaving in my ass crack, was enough to make butterflies slam dance in my tummy until my spine tingled like it was going to shatter due to the humiliation.

I wasn’t shocked that we had to leave the bathroom completely nude, because we hadn’t brought anything to change into. The door opened right next to their room, and it was at the end of the hall – so it wasn’t that big of a deal to any of them. “Have you never gone skinny dipping?” Barbara Ann asked when she noticed that I instinctively held my arm over my tits and placed my other hand over my ass creek while dashing to their room.

“Not really,” I admitted – the truth was that had never come up.

The girls laughed as if I were the most inexperienced weirdo on the planet. Cheyenne pulled out a nightgown for me to wear from a pile of clothes in her closet. It came down to mid-thigh and was white – semi-transparent like a t-shirt. The caption “ I hate Mondays” was on the front. The girls wore similar nightgowns with captions like “Don’t talk to me until I had my coffee” and a cat hanging from a hang glider that read “Hang in there”.

My Aunt kissed them on the lips to say goodnight and remained nude. She leaned in to kiss me and asked if she was salty. “I am strict, but fair and loving. I know you don’t think so because you think you are a boy and are entitled to the same things but when I was growing up women couldn’t get a credit card or open a bank account unless their husband signed for it. That’s just the way of things,” she assured me and insisted on tucking me in to the bed. We were shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip, with the three of us sleeping in a bed meant for one person.

“I know it’s not a big bed, but you’ll learn to appreciate what you have and make do with what you don’t,” my Aunt assured me before asking her daughters if they wanted her to read a story before bed. They cheered and she gave them a choice between the two books. One was about a Grasshopper that played all Summer while the Ant worked and stored away food for the winter. The moral of the story was apparently to work hard and not listen to a dumb Grasshopper. I was surprised my Aunt hadn’t said the Grasshopper was a woman, and that’s why it was so dumb.

Despite her daughters being too old for a children’s book, they listened intently as their mother stood in the room and read the story by the moonlight drifting through their open window. They asked her to do it again after she finished but my Aunt warned them that they had chores tomorrow and had to get up early.

“We’ll have Victoria, that’s extra help,” Barbara Ann countered.

“It takes me all day to find you, inform you what you are supposed to do, show you how to do it, come check on you to figure out what you are doing wrong, inspect what you did, and make you do it over because you half-assed it,” Aunt Becky teased the girls playfully. “Now, we’re gonna have another air headed bimbo that I’ve got to teach how to do everything the right way, and unlearn how to do everything the wrong way, and that’s supposed to make things faster?” she asked before adding “Thank goodness, your little brother has stepped up to help me more.”

The girls didn’t argue or tease back, they simply blew kisses to their mother. She caught both – one with each hand. She placed one sweetly on her lip and then in a sassy move, placed the other on her butt. She flipped off the lights while shutting the door behind her. I was shocked that Aunt Becky had left the room completely nude. She opened it immediately and said “If I catch you with your fingers in your little bowling balls, I will do more than spank your bottoms! Don’t gab all night, and don’t be up and down from the bed.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” the girls said sweetly. They waited excitedly for their mother to return. Once Cheyenne thought it was safe, she whispered “Do you want to play Barbies?” as she got out of bed.

“What? No!” I frowned.

“Don’t get us in trouble, Cheyenne,” Barbara Ann sat up and warned her sister to get back in bed.

“Big babies,” she harumphed that we didn’t seem interested and picked up one of the Barbies from the floor – one with no hair. It looked like it had been played with pretty hard over the years. Hand-drawn blue eye shadow was on the doll’s eyes. Cheyenne climbed back into the middle of the bed and wriggled under the covers. All of a sudden, I felt the sheet moving and heard her grunting softly – she was playing with herself.

“Are you humping yourself with that Barbie?” I whispered in the dark - both girls found the question amusing.

“Just need a little relief, I can’t get to an orgasm, shit!!! but I am so horny!” Cheyenne pouted insistently as she moved one arm more rapidly, poking me in the ribs as she did. “Don’t tell Mamma!”
“Mom knows you play with yourself,” her older sister warned before adding that the two of us could get in trouble for NOT telling on her when she was eventually caught.

“Don’t talk unless you are going to talk dirty,” Cheyenne’s breathing became rapid, her eyes fluttered and she stammered that she didn’t want to think about anything – “I just need to cum!”

I wasn’t sure what to do or say – I’d never seen anyone, a girl or a guy, actually masturbate before. The sheer audacity Cheyenne had to do it while right next to me in bed galled me. She was an all-American beauty – the girl-next-door type. Why she was reverting to such a base and degrading way to get herself off puzzled me.

“It doesn’t embarrass you to play with yourself, even though we can hear you?” I asked.

Cheyenne bit her lip and stopped for a moment, as if lost in thought, before continuing slowly. “Don’t you play with yourself? Everybody does it, I am so fucking horny, please don’t tell Mom – I’ll do anything you tell me,” she begged as she plunged the Barbie Doll’s head in and out of her pussy. “Eat that pussy, Barbie!”

“Stick it up your butt and let her eat out your ass,” Barbara Ann teased with a big smirk.

“Gross, no way!” Cheyenne made a face like she smelled something foul, but didn’t stop playing with herself. She even began to use her hand to pinch and pull her nipples, with the sheet down, so they were out of the covers and visible.

“You said you’d do anything we said, so we wouldn’t tell Mom!”

“No, I said I’d do whatever Victoria said – I knew your perverted ass would come up with some gross stuff about putting the Barbie up my butt – besides, that would defeat the point.”

“You don’t like taking it up the ass, Cheyenne?” Barbara Ann teased her sister with a coy expression.

“Fuck you, Barbara Ann,” Cheyenne dropped the sweet bimbo persona and continued working the doll in and out of her pussy – fap, fap, fap.

“What about nigger cock? You’d grip one of those with that buffalo butt of yours wouldn’t ya?” Barbara Ann asked sweetly – I was shocked that she’d use the word ‘nigger’ – it just wasn’t done where I came from.

“I’ve never fucked a nigger, not like you – you fucked two at one time,” Cheyenne grunted angrily, shifted, her hips bumping into mine as she began to rock -shuka-shuka-shuka. The sound of her drilling herself was loud and wet.

“I’d let one fuck me in the ass, if you would,” Barbara Ann dared – smiling with a lusty expression I could tell she was picturing sharing the same black guy with her sister. “It’d be a lot better than getting pregnant by one.”

“Butt holes weren’t made for fucking, Barbara Ann – they uhm…uh,….I am so close…” she begged Barbara Ann to stop talking and let her cum. “Eat my pussy, Barbie! Mmm…..oh, oh, oh!” she pounded her head on the pillow in frustration – clearly close to orgasm but unable to achieve it. “I want a real cock inside me, so badly! I’d fuck almost anyone right now!” She assured us both before adding that he had to be white and able to get it up. “Big dick, little dick, skinny dick – any dick!

“Would you fuck a horse?” Barbara Ann giggled with delight as she watched her younger sister writhe with sexual desire.

Disgusting!” Cheyenne scrunched her face in disgust and rolled between the two of us, alternating one hand between her nipples and thrusting the Barbie deeper and deeper inside of herself.

“You said ANY dick and it doesn’t get bigger than a horse’s pecker,” Barbara Ann teased – clearly amused by the idea.

“Ugh, I am so fucking close,” Cheyenne groaned as if constrained by the very bed we were crammed into from the orgasm she wanted so badly.

“What about Buford’s pickle? It looks like a red lipstick,” Barbara Ann suggested jokingly.

“I am not a dog fucker, nigger fucker or horse fucker, Barbara Ann, oh, oh, oh, fuuuu-uhhhhhck,” my cousin pursed her mouth slightly apart and breathed out a tiny sigh. “Dammit, I am so horny, and this isn’t getting me off,” she withdrew the Barbie from under the cover. I could see her pussy juices dripping from the bald head.

“Sounded like you were stirring up macaroni,” Barbara Ann quipped before insisting that her little sister clean the Barbie before throwing it back on the carpet.

“The two of y’all got me stuck here in the middle of the bed, and I’d have to climb out of over one of you,” Cheyenne lamented her predicament before adding that it felt like being stuck in the hump seat in her daddy’s truck.

“That was not fun,” I joked.

“Shit, I love it,” Barbara Ann bounced up and down and said that when he takes her mudding, she rides it up and down and pretends it’s a cock.

“A horse’s cock?” Cheyenne snarled.

“Sure, it doesn’t matter what you put in there, bigger is better – I’d fuck a paint brush handle if it got me off.”

“Even a nigger’s dick?” Cheyenne asked incredulously.

“I wouldn’t advertise it, but I am sure they got some nice, big cocks, and I’ve heard so much about it that I’d like to fuck a black just to see if it was worth all the taboo.”

“I’d rather fuck my brother than be caught fucking a nigger, mom and daddy would disown you,” Cheyenne warned. Interracial sex wasn’t a taboo where I came from, so I didn’t see the problem at all. I suspected the reason Barbara Ann wanted to try it was mostly because she was told she couldn’t or shouldn’t, and she definitely had a naughty streak that wasn’t obvious when I first met her.

They both did.

Cheyenne apologized, and rolled over on top of me, her big bare tits pressed against my nightgown and she got up and went to the bathroom in the nude.

“Do you think I could get away with taking a pee?” she asked her older sister as she carried the slick Barbie Doll to the door.

“You wanna find out? Be my guest,” Barbara Ann snickered as her little sister snuck into the bathroom to wash her scent off the doll.

“Don’t you get angry that you can’t use the bathroom anytime you want?” I asked Barbara Ann after her sister was gone. The bed felt so much more luxurious now that there were just two of us, even though it was made for one person.

“There is a lot of things I can’t do anytime I want that piss me off,” Barbara Ann explained with stoic, back-woodsy chagrin. “I can’t fuck anytime I want, I can’t have a beer, or smoke a joint, or go on a date, or play hooky from church or school, I can’t strip off and jump in the pool anytime there is work to be done. I never really think about the little stuff like bathroom breaks. You can go to the bathroom anytime you want where you come from?”

“Yeah,” I shrugged as I lay on my back and wondered why that surprised her.

“You don’t even have to ask permission?” Barbara Ann seemed skeptical.

“If I am in school, I would, but not at home,” I shrugged.

“That is crazy,” Barbara Ann seemed envious until she asked if it was just because my parents don’t care what I do.

“Sure, they care,” I assured her. I couldn’t believe she would accuse me of having apathetic parents. I couldn’t understand why Barbara Ann and her sister put up with her parents’ rules, and she explained it to me like this;
“Momma disciplines us to keep us from acting crazy and being selfish or naughty – if I didn’t have any restrictions on what I could do, when I could do it, I probably would hump a horse or a black guy…” she said before clarifying that she was joking about both scenarios.
It became clear to me that she considered them equally taboo. “I know some girls who are really lazy, sass their parents and they are the ones that no guys want to date or marry. Florence is a small town, and everybody knows everybody’s business here. I wouldn’t want to get a reputation for being a brat.”

[EddieDavidson]

“You don’t have to live here all your life after you get out of high school,” I assured her.

Barbara Ann regarded me as if I were nuts and asked where she would go that was better than the green grass and rolling hills of Florence. “All of my friends are here.”

I didn’t get a chance to answer because Cheyenne crept back into the room like a ninja and slid over me, still completely naked. She apologized for disrupting my sleep and climbing on top of me to get out of the bed while she slid her nightgown back on. “Don’t tell Momma that I was playing with myself, okay?”

I felt like the question might be a test. The girls looked at me expectantly to see if I’d insist on telling on them.

“I am not going to say anything,” I assured my cousins, and they both breathed a sigh of relief.

A few minutes later, Cheyenne still couldn’t sleep. “I am still fucking horny, and we are crammed in here tighter than a tater’s pussy,” she used her mother’s expression but added her own crass variation. “Do you want to do a little kissing?” she asked me.

I was shocked by the audacity and gasped.

“Haven’t you ever played kissing games with other girls?” Cheyenne seemed surprised by my reaction. “It’s just fun practice, not sexual,” she said.

“I’ll kiss and hug you if you want,” Barbara Ann rolled over and faced her younger sister. The bed was so small that Barbara’s ass hung over the side.

“We always kiss when we get bored. I was hoping to play the game with Victoria,” Cheyenne replied apologetically. She stroked her sister’s hair longingly and smiled politely before asking me if I was sure. “It doesn’t mean anything–not like we are going steady or something. I’d love to know how city girls kiss,” she said.

I was not interested in the least, and she shrugged and told me to suit myself. She leaned into her sister, and the two of them began to kiss playfully. Their mouths rarely opened; it was more like teasing while they stroked each other’s hair and giggled.

I was aghast that the two of them didn’t see it as taboo to kiss one another, but it was obvious that they didn’t. I got the distinct impression that they spent enough time together in bed that they found ways to amuse themselves, and to them, kissing games were perfectly normal.

It was hard to fall asleep, but eventually the tittering laughter and playful smooches stopped, and I shut my eyes. I dreamed of sexual fantasies, mostly inspired by the perverted old man that had drawn pictures of my tits. I imagined my cousins kissing a black girl out of boredom when she spent the night and laughing over how wicked it was.

I imagined a horse’s erect penis, majestic and proud. I’d seen cops riding them during a Saint Paddy’s parade in Boston. Their dicks were brown but when they became fully extended half of their exposed cocks were pink – I couldn’t stop picturing Barbara Ann chuckling hysterically while she jerked it off.

“Get your lazy asses up,” was the next thing that I heard as I wiped the sleep from my eyes and groaned. My Aunt stood over us, wearing a thin gossamer white nightgown like ours. It clung to her body, and I could easily make out her ribs through the material.

She wore her red hair in a tight bun, and her muscles were just as tightly wound, making her appear very athletic. She was tan, and her hands were rough with calluses from years of scrubbing floors and hard work. Her pretty eyes sparkled but her facial expression read “I am not going to put up with any shit from any of you this morning”.

My cousins groaned and stretched out their morning yawns.

“You’d get a better night's sleep if you weren’t in here gabbing, and doing god knows what all night. I heard the bathroom door open and close. Which one of you was that?” she looked right at me.

I didn’t reply, and the other girls acted like they had no clue what their mother was talking about.

“Right, it must be the Ghost of General Robert E. Lee opening and shutting the bathroom door. Sound travels in this old trailer, and you may think you are sneaky but there ain’t no trick you can try on your momma that I didn’t try on mine,” she assured her daughters before letting the matter drop.

She led us into the kitchen, where I smelled bacon in the oven and brewed coffee. “Today is a new day, girls. It’s a gift like the one before it and the one before that. What you do with it today is up to me and the good lord, but how you approach your tasks is completely within your control. You can piss and moan about it, or you can just get up and get to doing what needs to be doing,” she assured us.

I was NOT a morning person by any stretch of the imagination, and the sun hadn’t even begun to rise.

“Can I take a shower first?” I asked as I wiped my eyes again and tried to get my bearings. I was used to having a morning shower to get organized and ready for my day.

The girls laughed like I was telling a joke to my new warden about being allowed out of prison on the weekends.

“No, you most certainly cannot. You will use the bathroom after the cooking is done and the table is set, like the rest of us. I don’t know how much you know about cooking and cleaning, but I want you to forget every last thing you thought you knew. I am going to teach you MY way – the right way,” she said.

“Momma only knows how to do things ONE way,” Barbara Ann interjected and added, “and that is ALL the way.”

“Damn skippy, let’s have a little music and get to working, these pans aren’t going to magically start filling themselves,” my Aunt flipped on the radio. Country music came warbling out of the speakers.

The singer’s raspy voice was accompanied only by an acoustic guitar.

Her day starts with a coffee
And ends with a wine
Takes forever to get ready
So she's never on time for anything
When she gets that come-get-me look in her eyes
Well, it kinda scares me
The way that she drives me wild
And she drives me wild

“I don’t particularly like Luke Bryan, but that’s not a bad song,” Aunt Becky said as she directed us to get the flour and milk out and start sifting them.

“That’s Luke Combs, Momma,” Cheynne corrected.

“All that new country is Luke Bryan to me, Luke somebody,” she joked that the real country music was Randy Travis, Joe Diffie, and Charlie Pride.

“Ain’t Charlie Pride a nigger, momma?” Barbara Ann asked with a trace of a smirk, like she caught her mother in hypocrisy.

“Charlie Pride is one of the good ones, he isn’t lazy or shifty,” my Aunt assured the girls that some black people were good people. “And besides, he didn’t do all that booty-shaking rap music. He sang like a white person,” she added.

The girls playfully shook their hips and danced around like they were dancing to rap music to tease their mother. Barbara Ann planted her feet on the worn linoleum of the kitchen, bent her knees, and looked over her shoulder impishly. Our nightgowns were fairly sheer, but I could only make out the outline of her ass crack as she clapped her butt cheeks together.

“I will clap those cheeks together with a wooden paddle if you don’t stop messing around,” her mother half-teased and pointed to the corner. I noticed a wooden broom and several small wooden paddles, which I initially assumed were cutting boards. They were hung with care on the wall.

“That’s the naughty corner,” she informed me that I’d probably become familiar with it before the summer was over. There were two sheets of paper with bible verses and country wisdom printed on them. “If you have to be sent to the corner, you’ll have to memorize every word on one of those pages and recite them to be allowed to sit back down.”

My cousins’ playful expressions faded and they grew serious – clearly they didn’t like the naughty corner.

“I assume that boys don’t have to go in the naughty corner?” I asked as I struggled with a tin flour sifter.

“If you spent half as much time learning not to make a mess as you do worrying about whether boys are treated the same as girls, you’d be god damned Julia Childs,” she frowned before asking me if I thought that she was an idiot.

“No,” I said.

“No, Ma’am is the right answer when you are in the kitchen,” she clarified before asking why I believed that they would allow boys to do anything they like. “Do you really think in your heart of hearts and with all that schooling and book learning you have had that we’d allow the boys to be disobedient, disrespectful and lazy?”

I found it hard to answer, and I was hoping the question was rhetorical, but my Aunt’s expression was clearly insistent that I respond.

“No,” I frowned.

“Then don’t presume to know what and how things are here. You haven’t been here for a full day, and you are already judging and finding fault. Why don’t you see how we live and learn why? There is a reason some ideas are old-fashioned and get passed down from generation to generation, Victoria – they work. You may not like it, but the mouse doesn’t like running the maze and rooster doesn’t want to get up and crow his ass off at dawn – but they do it because that’s how they were born. I am not going to put the rooster in the maze and make the mouse go up on top of the barn to crow – different rules for different things.”

I wasn’t sure what to make of that answer, but I didn’t argue. Instead, I asked what the goal of sifting flour was because I didn’t know what I was doing.

“What you are doing is making a mess,” she assured me that there was a lesson in hard work. “I could just as easily have bought a pancake mix like your mom might do but I make everything from scratch the old fashioned way for the same reason I raise my girls the old fashioned way – it comes out better.”

I didn’t believe it, and the steps we had to take just to make biscuits seemed overly complicated. She made me sift the flour by hand into a wide wooden bowl, then cut in lard with two butter knives like it was a sacred ritual. I had to use my fingers—not a spoon—to gently mix in the buttermilk until the dough “felt right,” whatever that meant. Then we folded it, not rolled, and pressed out the biscuits with an upturned mason jar.

She had jars all over the kitchen, some contained room temperature melted butter or brown sugar, one was bacon grease she saved – I’d come to find out later that she considered an all-purpose oil in the kitchen to use for almost everything.

At first, I really found the work to be absurdly archaic and beneath me. However, I began to see the results of our breakfast that first morning as the dough rose, and buttery smells filled the kitchen. The eggs and country ham came out perfect, and I felt the inklings of a sense of satisfaction that I had made these things.

It seemed so elaborate, and I couldn’t imagine that my Aunt went through this ritual every morning to feed her family. I was used to making myself a bowl of cereal or just grabbing a glass of milk on my way out the door for school back home.

The only thing that I’d ever made for myself were microwaveable dinners and heated up chicken soup on the stove. My Aunt didn’t even OWN a microwave. At first, I didn’t see why she was so proud of that and thought that my Aunt Becky just didn’t know any better.

It didn’t take long for me to realize that the results of the old-fashioned, time-tested effort she put into food preparation paid off in higher quality. Aunt Becky didn’t waste anything, either. Bones and scraps were saved for various purposes to be rendered into stock.

My cousins didn’t seem fascinated or particularly interested in cooking. This was just a chore for them that they repeated every morning and took for granted. I had flour under my eyes, and I was tired but quickly realizing there was so much that I didn’t know about baking and frying food.

Aunt Becky was stingy with praise, but when she finally gave me some for a job well done, it felt like I had earned it. She trusted me to bread some tomatoes and fry them up in a pan with bacon grease – only checking a few times to see if I was doing it correctly. She didn’t let Cheyenne or Barbara Ann fry anything – not that they asked to be allowed to do it.

We must have been cooking for 45 minutes before Uncle Mike appeared. He didn’t stumble groggily out of bed. He was fully dressed in denim overalls and wide awake. He came into the kitchen from the outside, and wiped his muddy boots on the mat.

He had been surveying the work that needed to be done on the farm. He sat down at the back of the table facing the sink and not the head of the table – which surprised me. My Aunt quickly poured him coffee, adding milk and sugar the way that he liked without asking him how he wanted it.

“Thank you, dear,” he said as he sipped.

“My pleasure,” my Aunt doted on her husband. She may have seemed strict and shrewful, but she actually doted on her entire family. She just didn’t accept any nonsense and while we were cooking, she was the commander in the kitchen – keeping us on task, and directing us patiently on what to do next.

“The boys up?” Mike asked.

“I can go check on them if you want,” My Aunt offered sweetly as she flitted around the kitchen.

“I’ll go wake them up,” Cheyenne offered, before sticking both of her hands up in the air, and launching herself into a cartwheel across the cramped kitchen floor. Her nightgown fell slightly as she did, revealing her bare butt crack and pussy for a split instance.

If her father noticed, he didn’t say a word about it.

“Stop showing off, and this kitchen is too small for you to act like a ballerina,” my Aunt chastised her youngest daughter. I was instantly reminded of the drawing that Eddie made of me in a tutu and ballerina shoes with my tits out. I wondered if my cousin would have been flattered that he drew her body in that humiliating position

“Let the boys sleep a little bit longer. They have a lot of work to do, we all do and with two new mouths to feed this summer, I am not sure if it’s going to be more of a hassle to teach Ben and Victoria the ropes for the rest of you or not,” he said.

“Taste these eggs,” my Aunt held up a fork full as she set the eggs on the table.

“Not bad,” Uncle Mike shrugged as he chewed but he didn’t seem impressed by them. I was a little crestfallen because I had been the one to make them.

“Victoria made those,” my Aunt informed him as she made her husband’s plate for him.

Mike swallowed and suddenly seemed impressed. “They taste like yours,” he said, suddenly far more appreciative. “Fluffy and golden, not runny and gross,” he said before adding “just like I like.”

“I know, I taught her, but that’s what she did on her first try, so I think she’ll work just fine,” my Aunt’s words sounded like she was giving me a minimal compliment, but ‘works just fine’ in the kitchen was about the highest honor she was ever going to give another woman. Aunt Becky’s standard was incredibly high and ‘just fine’ wasn’t handed out easily.

Cheyenne and Barbara Ann immediately grew jealous, but the subtle shift in their body language went right over their father’s head. They started trying to impress their mother and she immediately knew why. It was probably a calculated move on her part to give me a compliment because the girls are competitive, and it motivated them to try harder. It still felt great to hear that my Uncle liked my eggs.

Jessie waddled into the kitchen wearing blue jeans and a scruffy shirt – it was untucked. His red hair was all messed up – giving him the appearance of a strutting rooster.

“Nice to see you dressed for the occasion,” his mother observed sarcastically.

“So good of you to join us,” Mike added with the same sarcasm before launching into a litany of chores like he was reading off a shopping list from hell. “Peaches need pickin’, garbage needs burnin’ and totin’ down to the ditch, horse stables need muckin’, Chickens need feedin’, dog smells like it rolled around in horse shit, and could use a bath, and if you’re feelin’ real ambitious, them horses could stand a proper washin’ too.”

“Sure, Dad,” Jessie agreed to it all without complaint as he tucked his pants in. “Can Ben help?” he offered, referring to my brother’s services.

My brother wore dress pants and a polo shirt with sneakers. He had never been on a working farm, and clearly he wasn’t dressed to do any work. He was surprised that Jessie wanted to include him. I suppressed a snicker because I didn’t want to be the only one expected to do work of the two of us.

“You’ll need some help, goat needs milkin’—and someone’s gotta keep an eye on Bessie ‘cause she’s ornery as a kicked bucket,” he warned his son. “Everyone pulls their weight and contributes as they can on this farm and in this family, and you are blood related, Ben. You look like you dressed to do some accounting this morning – are you an accountant?”

“No, Sir,” Ben answered meekly as my cousins stifled their tittering giggles.

“Then you won’t be doing my taxes. Jessie should have some old boots you can wear, and see what he has that fits you. It’s our own land and no neighbors for miles, so you probably aren’t going to match,” he informed my little brother. “Did Jessie tell you about his job?”

“Yeah,” Ben said before adding that he would help if he could.

“The best thing you can do to help today is to stay out of the way and learn, watch Jessie and we’ll discuss it,” Mike decided.

He didn’t even ask me if I wanted to help and contribute or offer any recommendations for my first day on the job. I don’t think Mike felt he had to talk to me about it and he just assumed his wife did – or maybe he didn’t care how I felt about it.
“A few months ago, Jessie was pining to contribute more, so I gave him more work, and it’s been a big help, but I didn’t throw him to the wolves. I make the list of chores that need to be done, and go around and check on it and it took months for me to teach Jessie how to assign the work without overwhelming one person, and being too light on another -the girls will complain and whine and try to make you feel sorry for them but you have to look at your job a bit like a herding dog would their sheep. You bark and nip to keep the sheep moving where they need to be and safe,” he said.

I wasn’t sure what that meant.

“I am looking forward to helping anyway that I can,” my brother said.

“Fine, sit down here and take a pencil and work out the first draft of the schedule during breakfast. I want to take a look at it before I run into town to drop off some peaches at the grocery store.”

“It would be easier if I worked it out in Excel on my laptop,” Ben said. My Uncle’s silence was enough of a response that Ben decided not to make it again. He sat down next to Jessie and my Uncle at the table and started writing with a pen and paper.

My Aunt showed us how to set the table, and we had to actually serve the boys their pancakes and eggs like waitresses. It felt incredibly humiliating. I asked in a faux-southern accent, “Do you want juice or sweet tea, sugar?”

“Don’t mock our accent,” my Aunt chastised me and said hers was natural and she wasn’t going to allow any disrespect for her heritage in the house. I blushed and apologized – all the praise she had given earlier seemed to disappear, and I was back at square one in her estimation of me.

“Do you want orange juice, milk, or sweet tea?” my Aunt asked my brother like a sassy waitress at a diner, and she poured it for him. I started to put buttered toast on my plate, and my Aunt scolded me for that as well.

“You don’t fill your plate until you are plugged and grace is said over the food,” she fumed. My cousins were amused that I had been taken down a peg.

“Does everybody have what they need?” my Aunt asked the boys as she fiddled with the tin water can hanging by the kitchen door, removing four clear PVC tubes with stoppers on the end.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Jessie answered for the guys. My brother had his mouth full, and Mike was quiet because he knew Jessie was going to answer for them.

“Did you warn Ben about our morning ablutions?” my Aunt asked Jessie as she rubbed bacon grease around he tips of the PVC tubes and filled the water can with water before hanging it high up on the wall.

“I figured he’d find out soon enough,” Jessie gave a cocky laugh, and butterflies emerged from my tummy right on queue as I grew increasingly nervous. I hadn’t been told about this either.

“This keeps us regular, and cleans us out like whistles,” she held up the PVC pipe, and said that the boys get extra doses of fiber in their pancakes to achieve the same result. The butterflies dancing in my stomach had a confused expression on their faces, but danced nonetheless.

“Okay, ladies, bottoms up,” my Aunt said. She handed the PVC tubes to her husband and approached a chair facing the opposite side of the table where the guys were, so that she was facing them.

Cheyenne and Barbara Ann approached the table in anticipation, bent their knees, leaned forward and pulled the backs of their nightgowns up high enough to reveal their asses.

My Aunt bent forward, lifted up her nightgown in the back and revealed her bare ass. She directed me to do the same thing. “You’ll find out soon enough as well. It’s over quick,” she said.

I was reluctant, but it seemed like I had no choice in the matter, so I joined them. “We face y’all, so you aren’t put off your eggs during our morning fill-up, that’s why boys sit on that side of the table, and girls stand on this side,” she mused.

My Uncle stood up and approached her. She instinctively pulled her ass cheeks apart for him. He didn’t look down or ogle. Uncle Mike uncapped the PVC tube and inserted in slowly into his wife’s anus like it was perfectly routine.

My Aunt made an uncomfortable face that lasted for about twenty seconds while Jessie giggled with amusement over the awkward expression she was making.

“I love that face you make, Mom,” Jessie said. That she did it every time she got her “morning ablutions” – which is what they called this bizarre family ritual.

“Don’t tease your mom, Jessie,” his father frowned.

“Grandma Kellogg used to give us all enemas, even the boys, and my sisters used to tease me about the face I made,” she admitted. “I am glad you found it funny,” she said as she let go of our her butt cheeks and returned her hands in front of her – gripping the top of the chair. She ignored the teasing and stood there stoically enduring the tube in her bare ass.

At least, we were facing away from Jessie and Ben at the table. My uncle walked behind each one of us. He didn’t stare or smack our butts, he didn’t make a big deal out of it. He acted like this was a simple routine chore for him because that is how he saw it.

I was shocked and frightened, and worst of all, I was at the end -so I had to watch as Uncle Mike moved to Barbara Ann next and repeated the process. She giggled lightly and made a sound like “bloop” as he pushed it into her butthole. “It tickles, Daddy,” she laughed.

Despite her good humor, she blushed and couldn’t look at Jessie or my brother in the eye. Cheyenne didn’t remove her hands from the chair and didn’t spread her cheeks. “This is so embarrassing.”

I agreed with her there – she blushed, and looked annoyed.

“Cheyenne, I am not fighting with you this morning. “You get an enema every morning, I don’t know why this so different than any other morning,” Mike said somberly, unmoved by his daughter’s mild protest.

“Our cousins are here,” Cheyenne admitted that was the reason this was different.

“So? It’s just cleaning you out so you can start the day without running to the bathroom every five minutes. It’s not like either of them doesn’t have a back hole of their own, and Victoria is doing it too,”

I wasn’t doing it because I wanted to do it.

Cheyenne looked over at me and smiled softly as if she took solace from our shared humiliation. “It’s just kind of dirty. Why can’t we do this in the bathroom when we have company?”

“No one is watching you to get a thrill, Cheyenne. You may have a perky little backside but there is no difference between a girl’s butt and her ankles or elbows. It was once considered taboo and naughty for women to show them to men that weren’t their husbands but you three run around with yours on display because you were brought up to see elbows and ankles as just a body part meant for bending – an ass is meant for pooping.”

“I know, Daddy, I just can’t help blushing. I know enemas are just to clean out my system, but it feels naughty,” she shared.

“That’s because you sexualize the experience of getting your enema,” my Aunt chastised her daughter. “What is a girl’s bottom for, Cheyenne?”

“Sitting, Shitting and spanking when we are bad enough to warrant it,” Cheyenne repeated the phrase as if it was a saying she had memorized.

“Good girl,” Mike rubbed his daughter’s butt softly and told her to spread her cheeks so he can get this over with. “It’s only going to be uncomfortable for a few minutes, Cheyenne.”

“Sorry Daddy, I forgot,” Cheyenne obediently pulled her butt cheeks apart and made another ‘bloop’ noise with her mouth – like her butt cheeks were made of rubber as they bounced together.

“You will be glad to know I put a generous amount of bacon grease on the tips, so it slides right in,” my Aunt informed her daughters.

“Now your butthole will smell like ham,” Jessie laughed as he watched his sister’s sour expression as she endured the humiliation insertion of the enema tube up her ass.

“Then you should eat it, Jessie!” Cheyenne fired back sarcastically at her brother.

“Cheyenne!” her mother scolded her for making such a lewd suggestion.

“I didn’t mean he should lick my butt for real, Mamma,” Cheyenne scrunched her nose in disgust with a shamed and apologetic look on her face as she added that she was just teasing back.

Her mom didn’t scold her any further, but she also never told Jessie he couldn’t tease his sister at all. I presumed that was another example of “Boys will be boys” and different expectations for girls.

My Uncle came to me next, and he was a little more considerate and patient than he was with his own daughters.

“We do this every morning, Victoria. I presume you get an enema regularly at home as well?”

“No,” I blushed awkwardly as I stared down at the table.

“You must be constipated all the time?” Mike asked me as he placed his hand on my shoulder. I jerked awkwardly. My nipples stiffened under my night grown involuntarily – which only heightened my humiliation. I doubted he’d notice – but he certainly noticed my surprised expression. “You’ve had enemas though, right?”

“No,” I stammered nervously – blushing.

“Relax, I am not going to hurt you. I need you to hike up the back of your night gown a little bit, pull your little butt cheeks apart and then just relax your sphincter. The tip slides right in, and you’ll feel a warm sensation.”

I didn’t think my Uncle was going to get some salacious thrill from looking at my butt. According to him, girl’s butts were just a body part and nothing more. My face was still flush because Jessie and Ben were both staring right at me.

“Stop making your cousin nervous,” my Aunt ordered Jessie.

“I am not saying anything,” Jessie continued, eating his food. I noticed the other girls starting to eat as well.

I couldn’t believe I was pulling my ass cheeks apart so that my Uncle could slide a tube up my butt. I wondered if my mother knew this would happen and neglected to warn me. My Aunt had said their grandmother used to give them enemas when they were my age. The family acted like this as routine as wiping our butts after going poop.

“It’s just a moment of discomfort,” my Uncle assured me as he guided the tube into my asshole. I gasped in shock.

“Stop clenching,” Aunt Becky insisted. She was firm but she wasn’t yelling at me – just warning me that I had to relax to avoid any pain during the insertion. The problem was that I didn’t’ know how to do that.

“For a girl with almost no tits at all,” my Aunt observed looking to her right at my bottom “you have a perky little butt.”

Cheyenne and Barbara Ann giggled sweetly – good natured teasing. “I’ll trade you this buffalo butt, for your cute little dumper,” Barbara Ann laughed.

Despite the light teasing, I was so red in the face that I thought I would explode.

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” my Uncle assured me, slowly feeding the tube up my asshole. “All the girls get them, and you have a pretty little poop chute,” he said it to sound comforting, but it only made me blush harder. “It doesn’t hurt does it?”

“No,” I admitted, feeling like a stuck pig that can’t move. The warm water invaded my buttocks. It wasn’t pleasant but it wasn’t painful either.

“Just close your ass cheeks and clench a little, don’t let the tube drop out, but don’t strain either,” he warned as he let the tube hang out of my ass and returned to his seat to lead the family in prayer.

I had no idea how to tighten my asshole and clench the tube.
Uncle Mike explained to us as he walked back that the family didn’t get too formal about saying grace. “We allow nibbling before prayer, but we always give thanks for what we have,” he said as he directed us to join hands.

Cheyenne was to my immediate right, and she reached over and squeezed my hand. I had to reach around the table and join hands with Jessie, who was on the opposite side of the table facing me.

I didn’t get horny for no reason a lot, and I had sex before but I felt my pussy juice up the moment that he touched me. It was as if my brain felt a boy’s hand touch mine while my backside was exposed and sent an automatic green light to my vagina that it should start to get wet in anticipation of sex.

I couldn’t have been more humiliated. I assumed the others might smell the musky odor of my pussy juices starting to gather around my labia. No one said anything though and I breathed a silent sigh of relief as Jessie squeezed my sweaty hand.

“Father, I want to thank you for this abundance of food, and for the roof over our head, and our health, I want to thank you for a loving wife, a healthy son to carry on my name, and two lovely daughters. I want to thank you for bringing my nephew Ben and niece Victoria safely to Florence. We give glory to you for all things, Amen,” Mike gave his simple prayer.

We released hands and I almost instinctively sat down – but I realized that like all the girls at the table I was standing and felt silly for instinctively bending my knees.

I wasn’t surprised that the guys had bacon and eggs, and we had buttered toast – although I still felt like it was unfair. I usually didn’t eat much breakfast anyway, though. “Do we have to stand the entire breakfast?”

My cousins and Aunt laughed at my naïve question. I assumed at first that we’d be standing but they assured me that the longest any of them could hold the enema was ten minutes. My Aunt started an egg timer set to five minutes and said when that bell dinged, I had permission to “haul ass outside”.

“Why?”

Once again, my cousins were the ones to laugh at my question – it seemed silly to them. “Were you planning to pooh on the floor?” Barbara Ann chuckled.

I hadn’t even thought about that, and I had no intention to go poop anywhere.

“There are some white buckets right outside the door,” my Aunt explained patiently, “so I need you to run outside and use one when the timer goes off.” “The girls and I go for ten minutes, and you’ll eventually build up to hold your water that long. We’ll be out there with you. You can wait outside and we’ll all come back in together.”

I was mortified by my new instructions. The worst part was that due to the sensation of having my bare ass exposed and my cousin’s touch – I was like a dog in heat. My pussy was dripping uncontrollably and involuntarily. Cool air from the vent above the table chilled my spine and raised goosebumps on my neck.

I didn’t feel the tip of the enema tube any longer – but I was aware it was in my butt. “We have to poop on the lawn?”

“No, but you aren’t going to clog up the toilet, and we all can’t use it at the same time. There are three buckets out there; just pick one and squat over it. It’s not a big deal. There aren’t any neighbors for miles around,” my Aunt assured me. I didn’t want anyone to see me doing my business, including the others in the room, but she didn’t see the problem.

“Why are you getting all bent out of shape?” Barbara Ann asked me. “Everybody has to take a poop, but nobody wants to see a girl do that anymore than they want to watch a cow make another cow patty!”

My Aunt and Uncle were amused, and Cheyenne giggled a little, but I could tell she wasn’t completely in agreement. “I wouldn’t want to take a dump in front of a bunch of people,” she added.

“I doubt they would want you to take one in front of them,” Mike looked up from his food and commented with a wry grin, waffing his hand over his nose to pretend he smelled something foul.

“What are you talking about, Daddy? My poopy will smell like bacon,” Cheyenne replied playfully – with the same air headed bimbo tone of voice that her sister Barbara used a lot.

“Could we stop with the poopy talk at the table?” My Aunt frowned – which seemed completely hypocritical.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, why make us do this at the breakfast table?” I snapped.

“First of all, watch your tone,” My Aunt warned calmly but crisply. “Your colon may be filling with warm water but I’ll spank it when it’s empty if you keeping running your mouth to ask for an attitude adjustment. All we have to do is stand here, backsides out, while we eat, and save a little time, rather than stand around at the table after we eat. We’ve tried it both ways – and it feels like forever waiting here without anything else to do.”

“We used to have to crawl on our hands and knees with a fleet bottle between our butt cheeks when we were little, so this is a whole lot easier,” Barbara Ann smiled -ever the optimist looking at the bright side.

They seemed rather pragmatic about it – but it still didn’t really answer my question. I could concede that discussing the details of going poop were disgusting – but she set this all in motion by giving us an enema in the first place.

“I understand and I am sorry for being so snappy – this is all new to me, Aunt Becky. It’s just a lot to take in,” I said. My Aunt seemed pleased when I apologized and admitted that I didn’t understand.

I couldn’t believe I was really going along with this – but the fact that my Aunt and cousins were bent over getting the same treatment made it seem like somehow this was expected. I had a hard time saying no to things because my Aunt and Uncle came across as authority figures – so I had meekly surrendered my dignity (and my bottom) and accepted it.

I could have been a rebellious brat and insisted this was over the top, or told my Aunt and Uncle to go to hell – it just wasn’t my nature. I would never have stood up to them – even though this was the most humiliating thing I’d ever done in my life.

I didn’t feel singled out and perhaps if I had been the only one, then I may have reacted differently – but the fact that I was lined up, bent over with my cousins and Auny Becky faces and body language made it feel like some mundane routine, like lacing up tennis shoes before going outside.

It wasn’t sexual by any means- but it was extremely mortifying. I blushed deeply and kept looking down at the table instead of across at my brother and Jessie. Ben seemed shocked – at least he wasn’t laughing at my circumstances.

She told me she welcomed respectful questions. “You did a great job in the kitchen, and you won’t learn why we crack the eggs if you don’t ask – just keep it respectful like you did when I was teaching you to fix breakfast.”

“You said that guys and girls have different rules, because we are wired different. If this is to keep us from being constipated, don’t guys get constipated?” I implied there was an unfair double standard.

My Aunt was going to respond, but Mike held up a hand to indicate he had this question and he responded.

“There is fiber in our pancakes, that keeps me regular. You girls eat like a bird, so you don’t get fat. Jessie and I are good and regular,” he assured me, and sarcastically thanked me for showing concern. “We’ve been giving enemas to our girls out of old fleet bottles since they were little. Your Aunt made turned this old watering can into a butt-feeder,” he said with pride as he admired her DIY handiwork. “You think men should pull their drawers down around their ankles and pop a tube in their butt at the dinner table?” he guffawed.
I wanted to say that if it was good enough for girls to do it, then he should but I could tell that they didn’t think so just from his attitude.

“It’s not a big deal, there is also a single toilet for your Uncle to use, and Jessie has his own bathroom – but now he shares it with Ben, the four of us share one commode,” my Aunt reminded me scornfully.

“Can’t you use the bathroom in your bedroom?” Barbara Ann asked her mother sweetly.

“Not after your daddy has been in there,” my Aunt chuckled, waved her hand over her nose and laughed. She looked over at me and told me that this was a one-time-a-day thing. “You don’t have to use the bucket all day long. We keep it right outside the kitchen door. You’ve got another minute and a half and all you have to do is stand there and look pretty, eat your toast, drink your water, and go outside and take care of business – dump a little dirty brown water, and clean out your ass. If it’s the first time, there could be corn, candy and other things up there that have been packed in for years – so you are overdue,” she assured me that it was perfectly natural. “When we go grocery shopping, I’ll take you in the drug store and show you they sell Fleet enema bottles on the shelves – it’s nothing sexual or deviant, if that’s what you are thinking.”

I shook my head no to indicate that it wasn’t, and kept to myself that it still felt naughty and humiliating.

“Then how come you smell like you are ready to hump a warthog?” Jessie waved his hand over his nose as he looked down his nose at me. Cheyenne and Barbara Ann openly giggled – clearly understanding what he was alluding to was the smell of my wet pussy.

“It’s perfectly natural for girls to have sour smells wafting out of their twats – it doesn’t necessarily mean your cousin is a horny little nympho thinking perverted thoughts. She’s handling her first enema well, if this is the first time she ever had one,” my Aunt offered her idea of a compliment.

“How does the tip feel, Victoria?” My Uncle asked with a trace of empathy in his voice.

I hated to admit that if the back of my nightgown weren’t pulled up, I wouldn’t even know it was in my butt. A little warm sensation ran through my backside, but there was no pain or discomfort. “It doesn’t hurt, it’s just embarrassing,” I admitted truthfully.

It was at that moment, the tip of the water-tube sticking out of my ass fell out of my ass and clattered on the tile at my feet – water squirted my butt as it slipped out while my eyes went wide with shock.