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"His mom poured more whiskey into the other woman's glass. As Mrs. Carter lifted the glass, he saw the firm movement of her tits, and thought maybe for the hundredth time that she was a foxy-looking chick. He had often sweated out the gleam of her legs when she took sunbaths next door, and always sneaked a look at the way her big breasts wobbled when she walked. She was built a lot different from his mother; where Angela was long and slim, Debbie Carter was round and shorter. His mother was a shining blonde, and the other woman had deep black hair that went well with her olive complexion. She was about his mom's age, Jerry thought, give or take a year one way or the other, and plenty sexy looking. If he hadn't been so wrapped up in dreams of his mother, maybe he would have thought a lot more about screwing the neighbor wife. But back then, both ideas had seemed impossible. Now, he didn't know. It was an idea.Debbie said then, "You told me about a couple of guys, and that was okay. I. Then, much to my surprise, the girl jumped on my back and clawed at my face, and the man beneath me took the opportunity to get both hands on my right wrist and twist himself free. I shook the girl off and was up on one knee when a loud voice yelled, "Hold it, don't move!"The inn-keeper stood facing me, spraddled legged, a big-bore shotgun in his hands that was aimed at my head."Drop it," he said calmly as the young woman stepped away from me, pulling her dress up over her high boobs, and the bearded man stood grumbling behind me.I put my big knife on the table beside me, right next to the hatchet head."What d'ya want us t'do wif him, Dora," the inn-keeper asked."Kill him," she said clearly, "but not in here. Take him down to the creek."I looked up at her, and she smiled at me. It was not a very nice smile.The man behind me put one hand on my shoulder and the other on my right wrist. He pulled me around and toward him, and I relaxed and moved easily until I was facing him and then I.
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