Chapter 2

Cathy sniffed and pitied herself, and winced as she left the old bed. Moving slowly, she ran water into the tub for a bath.

She sat, naked, staring into the slowly-rising hot, steamy water. Her small hands were pressed against her lower belly, kneading, and she remembered every instant of what her father had done to her.

She heard him; him and Jerry talking, out by the barn, then the coughing, reluctant start of the old pickup. A moment later they were gone, and she was alone in the house; alone on the farm.

She thought about killing herself. She could cut her wrists and bleed until the clear, soapy water around her was streaked with red, until the water turned pink, and she got so tired and weak ... and the water would get a deeper pink.

Cathy didn't really want to die. Suicide was romantic and all, but it was too final. It was stupid. A part of her said, so he fucked you? So what? You like it.

She couldn't fool herself for long.

Cathy thought about getting dressed, packing, setting fire to the house, and leaving forever. There would be a lot of satisfaction to that.

But it wouldn't be smart.

Neither would killing him be smart. She was too young to run the farm by herself. She wasn't planning on that kind of responsibility just yet.

She hated her father. That was for sure! He was crazy, and he was going to come home and make her do some awful things ... suck him? Suck that huge thing?

She made a face and scrubbed herself with a washcloth loaded with soap.

Fred Dietz was going to come home and ... maybe in a few days, if she was lucky ... he was going to snap his fingers, make her get on the bed naked, and fuck her again. He'll drill her with that huge cock and make her hot and passionate so that she'll come again. It was awful, having a climax from your father fucking you!

Cathy started to cry. She wailed aloud, I'm not a whore! I didn't like it! I HATED IT!"

She didn't want to cook and wash and keep the house clean. She was being asked to be a wife, being asked to give up her pleasurable, young womanly years. No more dances or dates. It just wasn't fair!

Seething with resentment, Cathy finished bathing, and put on a long dress to cover her lack of panties. She was too sore to wear anything tight against her crotch. She had to move carefully and walk with tentative, little steps.

There were sharp, jabbed little pains where she was torn, and a deep ache in her belly.

She made herself two egg sandwiches, drank a glass of milk, and chomped on an apple. She sullenly watched TV for a while then got bored in the quiet, empty house, and wandered outside. She heard the chickens clucking for their feed, and for a change of water and the usual pickup of their eggs. They knew the routine. But she wouldn't do it!

Her own father had fucked her! She had a right to forget all the chores she usually did. Let HIM do the chores when he got back; he owed it to her.

Cathy thought about going to live with widow Martin. Jane Martin was in her late thirties and lived alone, just a half a mile away to the north, across the fields.

Tom Martin had got rolled over by his tractor, and Jane was whispered to be strange now ... talking to herself and acting funny. Sometimes she forgot to dress right and people had seen her walking half naked in yard.

Cathy thought widow Martin would be the last resort.

There was her mother's family ... the Knebels, who were located five miles away down the Old Trestle Road. Dirt poor and proud of it. Shanty trash whites. They'd lived on that worked-out land for almost a hundred and fifty years. All they did was provide girls for the young farm boys to marry. The Knebel girls got married and their new husbands' families paid a kind of dowry to the Knebels, because the Knebel girls were known to be lovely, passionate and fertile ... and hard workers.

like Cathy's mother. And Cathy was supposed to be like them, too.

Am I? She tried again to deny the pleasure she'd known when her father had fucked her. He'd done it for so long! Any girl would have turned on! It wasn't her fault. Even if he was her father, he sure knew how to fuck!

Cathy licked her lips and stared at the lingering sunset.

What could happen if she went to live with the Knebels? Would they keep her ... turn her back to Fred Dietz? Would they use her to produce more marriageable Knebel girls?

There just didn't seem to be any way out.

Cathy wandered slowly across the scraggly yard to the old travel trailer where Jerry lived. over their faces...

Cathy stared, straining to see in the semi-darkness, at the gooey strings of semen that puddled and laced across their open-mouthed faces, at their amused eyes...

What did it taste like?

With a jerk, a shock, Cathy remembered that her father had said that he was going to make her suck him! Her mother had loved doing it. NO! Her stomach roiled. She flung the magazine on the floor and lurched from the trailer.

She stood outside in the gloom and smelled the puffing evening breeze ... warm and heavy with the crops. She clenched her small fists with frustration.

Jerry and her father would be back soon, and she didn't know what to do. She swallowed a mouthful of saliva. She looked around wildly. She shivered in the warm night, feeling the tenderness of her naked loins under her dress, feeling the nakedness of her small breasts in the dress ... remembering the way her father had touched her, the touch of his knowing fingers on her nipples, on her belly.

She whimpered and turned toward the house. She took a step and then turned toward the fields. The skin on her belly suddenly began to itch and she scratched furiously. Her entire body was abruptly a mass of itchy, prickly sensations.

She screamed with fear and anxiety and lurched into the house. She went to her room, locked herself in and threw herself on the wooden bed. She clawed the pillow to keep from clawing and raking her skin.

What's the matter with me? she thought.

In the distance, she heard the approaching growl of the pickup.