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*Author’s Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.
Also, if male or female bisexuality offends you, kindly hit your backspace key now.
“Eighteen years long time killing someone what had it coming,” Melvin Decker declared.
“Mr. Decker, we’ve been through this before,” Jerry Chopin, his lawyer sighed. “Just try act contrite, huh?”
“Married man, fuck my innocent little baby girl, telling her he going get a divorce,” Melvin spat bitterly.
“Again, Mr. Decker, we’ve been through this,” Jerry said and got to his feet as the three members of the Parole Board entered the small room.
Melvin also got to his feet and glared hatefully at the two men and one woman. These three had been here two years earlier, in their ill-fitting suits and legal jargon and throat clearing and nervous coughs. Then after all the ceremonies, they still denied him parole.
“Fell for his shit, hook line and sinker,” Melvin muttered.
“Uh huh, try to get that look off your face, huh?” Jerry hissed.
“And she wasn’t innocent,” he thought to himself. “Everybody in Stepping Stone had a piece of Melba Decker.”
Nearly all of the boys in John F. Kennedy High School lost their virginity to Melba Pam Decker. Most of the male teachers had screwed the attractive nineteen year old girl as well. There wasn’t a truck driver passing through Stepping Stone that didn’t know the name of Melba Decker. The girl was a slut.
The only one that didn’t seem to know this fact was Melvin Decker.
The hearing was called to order. Once again, the charges were read, the transcripts of the trial were read and Melvin was finally addressed.
“Mr. Decker, Melvin Lloyd Decker?” Ms. Goldblum asked.
“Yes ma’am,” Melvin said.
Jerry gave a sigh of relief. The last time they’d met, Melvin had addressed the woman as ‘wrinkled up old cunt’ instead of ‘ma’am.’
“No, no, you can remain seated,” the woman said.
Jerry again sighed in relief as Melvin respectfully addressed the three members.
“At the time, I honestly, truthfully was not sorry,” Melvin then said and Jerry’s sphincter clenched. “I felt that what I had done was the right thing, protecting my baby girl.”
He looked down at the concrete floor, then back up again. Melvin then looked at Jerry and almost smirked at the attorney.
“But, today? I realize, ain’t nothing good come out of killing that man. My baby girl’s reputation was still ruint, she was still knocked up, and her baby, whatever she done had? That baby ain’t never had him or her no daddy. Even if that man was married, he still don’t get be a part of his baby’s life ’cause I done kilt him in a blind rage,” Melvin concluded.
“Thank you, Mr. Decker,” one of the men said. “Mr. Chopin?”
Jerry spoke of the positions within Mumphrey Maximum that Melvin had held. He spoke of Melvin’s work in the prison laundry, the prison cafeteria, and most recently, in ground keeping.
“In short, Mr. Decker has been a model prisoner. And he has acquired skills within these walls that will enable him to secure employment once he is out of here,” Jerry intoned.
“Damn, almost makes me sound good there, Mr. Chopin,” Melvin said.
The three members laughed. Jerry, however, wanted to strangle Melvin Decker.
There was more paper shuffling, more legal jargon thrown about, then Melvin was escorted from the room.
“What you say there, Rat Baby?” a prisoner called out, calling the weasel faced man by his prison nickname.
“Same shit, different day,” Melvin yelled back. “Ain’t no way them mother fuckers ever letting me out.”
The crew was already out, picking up the random scraps of paper, the random cigarette butts off of the ground. Tobacco was prohibited within the prison. But somehow, most of the prisoners managed to have cigarettes and lighters, also a contraband item.
Melvin grabbed Slim by his shoulder and nodded to the corner of the building. Slim nodded his head in agreement. The two men walked toward the corner, picking up scraps of nothing should any guard be watching.
Ducking around the corner, Melvin checked that no one was around. Then he unzipped his uniform trousers. Slim was already on his knees, mouth open. Slim’s own cock was in his hand. He stroked himself while Melvin fucked his mouth.
With a grunt, Melvin filled Slim’s hungry mouth with spunk while Slim spurted his own spunk onto the ground.
“Thanks, pussy, fucking needed that,” Melvin grunted.
“Mm-hmm,” Slim agreed, tucking his still dribbling cock into his denims. “Got it, Rat Baby.”
It was nearly a month later that Melvin received word; he’d been approved for parole. The board had been somewhat impressed that Melvin Lloyd Decker was finally able to admit fault. What had really done it for him, though, was when he had jokingly said his lawyer casino oyna was making him look good.
(It hadn’t been a joke; Melvin did not have a sense of humor.)
That night, as he lay in his bunk, cuddled with Slim, Melvin talked about what he planned to do when he got out.
“Get me a hot little koochie momma,” Melvin chortled. “Got me eighteen years of baby juice fill that cunt up good.”
“What, what about me?” Slim tearfully asked.
“Aw come on, Pussy, shit, huh? Ain’t nothing but a punk ass bitch,” Melvin sneered and slapped the crying man.
He then spit on his hand, greased his cock and fucked Slim’s wiggling anus.
That night, as Melvin slept, dreaming of blonde haired sluts with large breasts that would beg him to fuck their hairy pussies, fill them with his baby juice, Slim placed his tightly rolled blanket over Melvin’s face. Then he knelt on Melvin’s struggling arms, sitting on Melvin’s heaving chest. When Melvin ceased struggling, Slim sobbed a tearful declaration of love.
“Looks like a heart attack to me,” the Medical Examiner coughed when he looked at the corpse of Melvin Lloyd Decker.
Shortly after her father’s murder of Horace Whittens, her married lover, Melba accepted a ride from a trucker heading west, to the Baggett Mattress Factory in Bender, Louisiana. Her baby bump was just starting to show; the trucker thought the baby bump was sexy. He also thought it was sexy, how Melba could deep throat all eight inches of his fat cock.
He did not reach the drop off in time, so they parked in the yard and she climbed over into the rear of his cab. There, the man found out Melba liked anal sex more than she liked oral sex. And she liked oral sex a lot.
In the morning, someone slapped the side of the cab and the trucker woke up. He started the engine, then pulled around to the rear. With practiced ease, he backed his trailer into the dock.
“How long we going be here?” Melba sleepily asked, struggling into her bra.
“Be about twenty, thirty minutes unload,” the trucker confirmed.
“Okay, I got to go potty,” Melba said and crawled out of the truck.
An employee of the Baggett Mattress Factory showed Melba where the bathroom was. She did her business, cleaned up as best she could, then walked out.
And when she reached the loading dock, her trucker was gone.
“Said he was already fourteen hours behind,” the manager of the dock explained to the crying girl.
He handed Melba a twenty dollar bill.
“Said give you this,” the manager said, embarrassed. “I can get you to the Greyhound station if you want.”
“And where twenty bucks going get me?” Melba asked, bitterly.
A collection was quickly taken and Melba tearfully pocketed the seventy three dollars the employees of the Baggett Mattress Factory collected. Then she hitched a ride with another trucker heading west. He dumped her out in Houston, Texas. Another trucker took her east to Charlotte, North Carolina. Another trucker picked her up and ferried her to Holly Bridge, Mississippi. There, he tried to rob her, beating her brutally. Another trucker stopped the savage attack and took the girl to Jackson’s Medical Center.
Upon being released, Melba remembered the kindness of the strangers of Bender, Louisiana and bought a Greyhound ticket for DeGarde, Louisiana, the closest Greyhound stop to Bender.
The St. Elizabeth Parish office helped put the nineteen year old transient into Section 8 housing, and started training the girl to be a postal employee. The attractive brunette also began studying for her GED. She didn’t want her child to have a high school drop out for a mom.
Melba’s deceased mother’s name was Jennifer Hope Jordinaire. So when her baby girl was born in the University medical Center in Lafayette, Louisiana, Melba named the six pound, one ounce infant Jennifer Hope Decker.
It would be a surprise to any that knew the flighty girl, but Melba bloomed in motherhood. As she’d breast fed the tiny bundle, Melba would sing to the girl. When she was at work, Melba’s heart actually ached, being away from her baby.
On Melba’s days off, she’d take Jenny to the St. Elizabeth Public Library. In her stroller, Jenny would stare up at her mother, big blue eyes wide as her mother read to her. Melba read books on Science, on Mathematics, on History.
“You really think that child understand any that?” Ms. Wagner, the librarian asked Melba.
“Hell, I don’t understand any of it,” Melba admitted. “But I’m hoping she will.”
Yes, many would have been surprised at the level of devotion and love Melba displayed. But the truth was, in the tiny child, Melba finally received what she’d always craved. Unconditional love and undivided attention. Her father had loved her, but Melba was a distraction to his endless football, baseball, basketball and wrestling. Or his hunting and fishing and beer drinking. Her grandmother was always too busy running the Stepping Stone Diner. And when Gran-Gran wasn’t working, she was complaining about working. canlı casino She was ordering more things for the diner, she was thinking of new recipes for the diner. Gran-Gran didn’t have time for a granddaughter.
0From her mother, Jenny inherited thick brown hair, which Melba allowed to grow long. Jenny inherited Melba’s short stature; Melba was only four foot eleven and it did look as if Jenny would struggle to reach that height.
From Horace Whittens, her father, Jenny inherited clear blue eyes, a pale complexion, small nose, and shy smile.
She did not inherit her mother’s vivacious, outgoing, friendly nature. Jenny was a shy child and struggled to make a single friend when she entered kindergarten.
This was still the case when Jenny entered high school. The thirteen year old beauty suffered from terminal shyness that bordered on pathological. Always being the shortest girl in her class didn’t help matters much.
By her junior year at Cabrini High School, Jenny had no one she could point to and say, “That’s my friend.”
She knew everyone. Everyone knew her, but no one really knew her. No one knew Jennifer loved art and poetry, loved to sit and watch clouds lazily drift across a blue sky. No one knew Jennifer loved rainstorms, especially thunderstorms. Lightning and thunder both terrified and excited her.
None of her teachers or students knew that Jennifer enjoyed cooking, making meals for her and her momma. No one knew that seeing her momma smile filled Jennifer’s heart to bursting.
A few of the teachers at the Catholic high school did try to draw Jenny out of her shell. Some of them did try to force her to participate. But they all found, there were twenty six to thirty one other students in their classroom that needed their attention. It was easier to help those students, than to struggle with one introverted, resisting child.
On an October morning, Melba Decker was working, wheeling a bin toward pick up. Inside the bin of mail destined for foreign offices was a small box intended for Sheik Al-Jabi Mohammed Faljier of Yemen. Melba felt nothing when the box exploded. The employee that was waiting to begin separating the contents of the bin was not so lucky. He would linger in excruciating pain for three days before finally dying from the third and fourth degree burns that affected over eighty percent of his body.
So, there was no friend to console the inconsolable Jennifer Hope as her mother was laid to rest. There was no one, other than a St. Elizabeth Parish Children’s’ Protective Services case worker to help Jenny sort out the few keepsakes she and her mother had amassed for the years they’d lived in the Baylor Lake home. There was no one to replace the one anchor in Jenny’s life, her loving, devoted mother.
“The Falgouts good people yeah,” Mrs. Anderson, the Parish employee assured Jenny. “And they go to St. Richard’s; bet you know them.”
David and Norma Falgout were good, Christian people. They’d never been able to have children of their own, so they opened their home to foster children. The three girls and one boy that they were guardians for ranged in age from eight years old to fourteen years old. At seventeen, Jenny would be the oldest.
Jenny did her chores. She ate her meals. She went to bed when told. She rose when told. But she rarely smiled and rarely spoke. David and Norma tried to reach Jennifer, tried to pull her out of her shell. Then they decided they had four other children that needed their attention.
“Someone’s got her an eighteenth birthday coming up,” Norma said at breakfast one morning.
The other children looked at Jenny. She didn’t respond, just kept eating.
“And what would you like for your birthday, sweetheart?” Norma asked.
“See my mom again,” Jenny quietly said.
“Sweetie, your mom’s in Heaven,” Norma said gently.
Jenny looked up, clear blue eyes unreadable. The stare grew uncomfortable for Norma.
“That’s fine,” Jenny said, then finished eating.
“Think she’s suicidal?” David asked his wife after the children had left for their individual schools.
“Think she just don’t care no more,” Norma said, feeling a tear form in her eye.
That evening, Jenny smiled a false smile as the cake was brought out. She blew out the candles, but refused to tell them what she’d wished for. She thanked the three girls and one boy for the wonderful birthday card and then helped Norma serve the cake and ice cream.
“Thank you very much, Miss Norma,” Jenny said quietly as she helped clean up after her small party.
“Oh, you welcome, Sweetie,” Norma tried to smile.
“Jenny, what you wish for?” Audrey, the youngest foster child asked as they prepared for bed.
“To die,” Jenny thought. “To just die and never ever have to feel alone ever again.”
“I wished for a brand new car,” Jenny lied.
“And you can take me to school?” Audrey asked, little eyes wide with delight.
“Yeah,” Jenny said.
“Ooh, then I hope you get it,” Audrey said.
For kaçak casino a brief moment, Jenny wished she could be like Audrey. The nine year old girl had never met a stranger. She had never met a situation that was so bad she couldn’t smile. The girl had been removed from her drug addicted mother’s custody, but Audrey had numerous stories about a happy childhood.
Jenny continued her senior year of high school, still very much the outsider. She continued to get good grades, she continued to behave at the foster home. Audrey had been reunited with her mother and had even asked Mrs. Falgout if Jenny could come live with her.
“Sweetheart, let’s see how your momma does with you, huh?” Norma smiled with false cheerfulness.
Two days after Audrey’s departure, Mrs. Anderson brought Jessica St. Martin to the Falgout home. The eighteen year old girl was still bandaged from her horrific beating. She cringed when Norma moved to greet her. David’s presence made Jessica attempt to hide behind Mrs. Anderson.
“Jenny, this is Jessica; why don’t you show her to your room?” Norma said.
Jenny reached out and saw that the girl’s hands were bandaged, her fingers in splints. The only finger that was not wrapped was the little finger of her left hand. Jenny grabbed onto Jessica’s little finger and pulled Jessica to the room she and the two other girls shared.
“So what happened to you?” Jenny asked as she showed Jessica the bunk she’d be taking.
“My titties too big,” Jessica said flatly.
“What?” Jenny asked, looking at the bulky long sleeved tee shirt the girl wore.
Jessica pulled the bottom of the tee shirt up and showed Jenny that her breasts were bound in adhesive tape and gauze. Jenny could see that Jessica’s torso and belly were black and blue and purple. She looked at Jessica’s now tearful face.
“Momma belongs one of them damned fucked up churches,” Jessica said bitterly. “Reverend Richards said Satan’s one gave me big titties, tempting others into having them impure thoughts.”
“God gave you titties to nurse children; there is nothing sinful about titties,” Jenny said softly.
Jenny helped Jessica put a fresh sheet and blanket on the bunk.
“So, what school you go to?” Jenny asked as they worked.
“DeGarde,” Jessica said.
“Boo! Bull dogs!” Jenny said.
“Oh yeah? What school you go to, huh?” Jessica challenged.
“Cabrini, that’s right, that’s right, I’m a Cavalier, deal with it,” Jenny said.
“Oh, whatever,” Jessica said.
Then the two girls smiled at each other.
“And in a few more weeks? I won’t even care,” Jenny admitted.
“I know!” Jessica agreed. Can’t wait graduate!”
“And then what?” Jenny wondered aloud.
“I don’t know,” Jessica admitted.
“Come on, Jessie, we’re expected…” Jenny said, opening the door of the bedroom.
“Jessica, I hate being called Jessie,” Jessica stated firmly.
“But I’m your best friend so I can call you Jessie,” Jenny said.
“What?” Jessica laughed. “Who says you my…”
“I did,” Jenny said.
Both girls stood at just under five feet tall. Both were overly endowed, Jenny sported a 30DD and Jessica sported a 31DD chest. Both girls had slim waists, both had well-rounded backsides. Both girls had long brown hair; Jessica’s reached to the backs of her calves and Jenny’s reached to the floor. Both girls had pale complexions, only a few pimples dotting their faces.
At the dinner table, both David and Norma were baffled; Jenny was actually talking. She was talking exclusively with the new girl, but she was talking.
“Hmm, well, Jessie…” Norma said, looking at Jessica’s bandaged hands.
“Jessica,” both Jessica and Jenny said in unison.
“I uh, but, she…” Norma said, confused.
“She’s my best friend; she can call me Jessie,” Jessica said.
“Oh, okay, Jessica, normally you’re expected to help clean up, but looking at your hands, I don’t see how you can,” Norma said.
“I’ll do her chores,” Jenny said.
“Oh. Okay,” Norma smiled.
The work load of a senior at DeGarde High School was much lighter than the homework of a senior at Cabrini Catholic High School. Jessie marveled at the mountain of work Jenny had to do. She also marveled at the immense knowledge Jenny possessed.
“God, you’re so smart,” Jessie praised.
“Uh huh, and beautiful, and sexy, and…” Jenny bragged.
“And shut up, huh?” Jessie said and the two girls giggled.
“I love you,” Jenny blurted out.
“I, I love you too,” Jessie whispered.
The children from the foster home attended Jessica Ann St. Martin’s graduation from DeGarde High School. As the state had just paid for the month of June, Norma did inform Jessica she had a place to stay, a bed to sleep in until June thirtieth.
“And then what, Miss Norma?” Jenny challenged.
“Well, hopefully, the state will have found an aunt, or a cousin somewhere,” Norma faltered.
It did please Norma, Jenny’s newfound assertiveness. It seemed that having a friend, a girl that needed her and depended on her had popped Jenny out of her shell.
But it also saddened Norma, not having an answer for either Jenny or Jessica.
“But if they don’t?” Jenny pressed.
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