J Long: Motel peeper

It was so funny, in an unnatural way, that Sheriff Colby bust a gut – with vomit and other wretched stuff that mixed quite well with the hog shit and goat turds.

So that was the first inclination that there was something funny, in an unnatural way, about Hiram Shingles.

The second inclination was when his daughter was not a widow but a wife. That was five years ago.

In fact, everything was very odd about five years ago. Odd in a funny way. Because five years ago, Rebecca Shingles was first a bride then a widow – all in one day. Ripley should have been there – because it was very hard to believe.

Some people say Rebecca had been made a bride-widow because she had married Rufus Collins, a magazine salesman selling subscriptions to Jet and Ebony.

Later on, of course, it was proved that Rufus was a nigger who had been trying to pass for white.

The coroner had proved that Rufus was a nigger because he had been amazed at one part of the corpse that literally took his breath away – the coroner's, not the corpses. And that something, which will not be named here lest it perpetuate the myth that all male niggers are well hung, was put into a old pickle jar and used as evidence that Hiram Shingles had a legal right to shotgun a nigger for marrying his daughter.

Now, of course, Rebecca's only remembrance of Rufus Collins was something in an old pickle jar.

Thus it was those two strange but utterly funny incidents that led people to believe that Hiram Shingles was an asshole.

Hiram did not think he was an asshole.

He, like his daughter Rebecca, did not take kindly to such pseudonyms.

To Hiram, he was just like everybody else. He had two eyes, a nose, a mouth, a cock and two balls.

What made him unlike everybody else was that his eyes were so piercingly cold that he would have made Helen Keller shiver with fear. And his nose was more like a weasel's snout, the kind of nose that could ferret out the truth from famous liars like Billy Graham and Pat Boone. And his mouth was more like a grim line.

His cock was like everybody else's. It was a foot long.

His balls were different. They were much larger than the typical homosapien's. People used to say, quite innocently, that Hiram had lots of balls for a chickenshit asshole. Oh – had they only known how huge and monstrous his balls really were!

Whereas normal balls hang one lower than the other, Hiram's balls did the same. But because they were so huge, they looked more like oranges stuffed in a hairy gunny sack. His balls were more than enough to pacify cock-hungry girls who didn't intend to go down that far.

There were only two people who really knew how big Hiram's balls were. Mrs. Shingles, who was now dead, and who probably didn't give a shit any more. And Rebecca Shingles, who was very much alive and who did care about how big her daddy's balls were.

She cared about his balls because, since she had not gotten the chance to suck her nigger husband's testicles, the only balls she had ever seen on a man were her daddy's.

Rebecca naturally thought that balls the size of oranges were quite normal. Little did she know.

Hiram knew better. But he figured that he wouldn't stop his daughter from not knowing better because he really liked it when Rebecca sucked and licked his hairy gunny sack.

Any normal man with a cock and two balls would have appreciated Rebecca Shingles' sucking lips. Because she was the kind of girl who was made for cocksucking.

First of all, she had lips made for cocksucking. When smiling, her lips looked very sensuous. When talking, her lips could move a mile a minute. When yawning, her lips could open very wide.

Put them all together and they spell cocksucker – a woman who was blessed with a set of sensuous, fast-moving lips that could open very wide. These, to say the least, are the ingredients that make most women natural-born cocksuckers.

So, Rebecca Shingles, because she had sensuous, fast-moving, wide-open lips, was a natural cocksucker.

Shit, her old man could have told her that the first time she sucked his prick.

Which took place in the summer of '63. In late summer, when the alfalfa fields just north of Tweedy smell like aged hog shit and a romantic moon's overhead and the sounds of mules farting and cows pissing could be heard as plain as day.

Only it was plain as night now, or at least it was like that back in the summer of '63. When Rebecca first sucked her daddy's prick.

Rebecca was in a cock-sucking position – on her knees, in the barn, without any clothes on. The reason she was an her knees was because her father had caught her kissing Fallon Harper, the hired hand, and for punishment he had told her to go to the barn and get undressed and get on her knees.

Rebecca was very fearful. She was vulnerable to many things. The cold norther that blew from the south, capturing the essence of home-grown cow shit made her tremble. And she was very vulnerable because she knew her father was doing something behind her.

Then she was shocked and twice as fearful when Hiram put a blindfold over her eyes.

"Now, Rebecca," Hiram said menacingly, yet with just a twinge of paternal affection, "I'm goin' to show you what men do when you just kiss 'em. Men are animals, and ya got to learn that."

Rebecca nodded, tears dripping beneath the blindfold and zigzagging down her cheeks. "Yes, pa."

She could hear Hiram's boats pacing back and forth in front of her. Then they stopped, and she imagined him pointing right as her with a gnarly, accusing finger.

"Men are animals, Becky!"

Rebecca was almost bowled over from the blast of her father's stern voice. God! Fear made her regain her balance quickly. But fear also did strange things to her body. Like fear made her want to piss and shit at, the same time. Fear also affected her tits – it made her nipples tense.

"You SLUT! Rebecca – look at your fucking tits!"

Becky looked down, tried to see what her tits looked like. But she was blind to everything.

Hiram stepped close to her, very close, because she could smell the hog shit that clung to his boots.

"Do you wanta know what those animal men do to pretty young naked girls like you, Rebecca?" There was a tremor in Hiram's voice, and Rebecca imagined that his finger was just inches from her nose.

Rebecca nodded.

Thwack!

Rebecca was sprawled flat from the openhanded blow. She scrabbled around on the hog shit ground. God! She had never seen her father so mad before – well, that wasn't really true because she was blindfolded. Amend that to: God! She had never heard her father so mad before.

Hiram watched his daughter crawl like a worm away from him. "Stop! Kneel there again, Becky!"

What could she do? She felt like a fucking dog. Which was still better than feeling like a worm. Of course, if people were given a choice of being a worm or a fucking dog, naturally they'd rather be a fucking dog… wouldn't they?

Rebecca got back into her kneeling position again.

Hiram soothed his daughter, stroked her cheek where his handprint had reddened the flesh. "Oh, Rebecca. Don't you know that men like to hurt little girls? That they do filthy things to them?"

Rebecca was fearful of nodding her head. After all, wasn't that what brought on that loud THWACK several paragraphs ago? That her nod had been misinterpreted as saying that she did want to know what men did to filthy girls like herself.

Hiram paced back and forth again. "Your silence tells me only one thing, child. That you have no faith in your pa. That you don't believe the filthy and vile things that a man can do to little girls. Isn't that so?"

Rebecca nodded. Oh, no! Why did she nod again? Why?

God, she could almost see the raised hand ready to descend on the other side of her face.