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  first edition numbered chapbook

  YOU ARE MY EVERYTHING "You Are My Everything" © 2009 by Edward Lee

  cover art © 2009 by Erik Wilson

  this edition September 2009 © Necro Publications

  YOU ARE MY EVERYTHING is offered as a 500-copy signed and numbered limited edition softcover chapbook as well as a 52-copy signed and lettered limited edition hardcover.

  First Edition Chapbook

  ISBN: 978-1-889186-86-3

  book design & typesetting:

  David G. Barnett

  Fat Cat Design

  www.fatcatgraphicdesign.com

  a Necro Publication

  5139 Maxon Terrace

  Sanford, FL 32771

  www.necropublications.com

  Printed by

  Publishers' Graphics

  Carol Stream, IL

  Your name is Easter Cutler. You are fifty years old and you've lived in the hills your entire life. You've lived right, you've lived honest, and you've always treated others as you'd want them to treat you. You live off the land and make your own clothes, you cook for your family on a wood stove, and you've always had a smile. A smile of gratitude. Ever dang day we'se still walkin' and talkin', Easter...now THAT'S a day ta be grateful fer, Grandpop Orne had always said, and you believed him.

  Until now.

  Until you looked through that crack in your own bedroom door.

  You have a unique way of re-issuing your rage and your heartbreak via rationalization and, you suppose, Grandpop Orne's very edict; and though there's a tear in your eye when you look through that crack, you think, All men're the same when you git right down to it. All silly'n ever-lovin' HORNY. Cain't control their urges fer the life of 'em...

  What you see is this: your forty-two-year-old husband, Noot, engaged in aggressive intercourse with your twenty-year-old daughter, Linette, but, quite uncannily, you find something positive to observe. Well at least he ain't low-down enough ta fuck her in our own bed. Instead, he's standing at the end of the hand-made dresser while the twenty-year-old lay back trim, sweating, and nude on the dresser-top. Her ankles are locked behind Noot's back, and for a full minute, you watch his brute, rhythmic strokes. What bothers you more than the blaring incest are the greedy grins on their faces—that and the cyclic wet slapping, the sound of his balls slapping the bottom of your daughter's vagina.

  Oh, Noot, you think, again re-issuing your despair into something like a scold. You are my everything, honey. Don't'cha know that? And now lookit what'cher doin'. Fuckin' yer own daughter just 'cos you always been so dag-blasted HOT fer a nut. See? See what the evil world's got you doin'?

  "Gawd, Daddy," Linette seethes through her gritted teeth as the over-large penis bangs in and out. "I just love you, like, so much..."

  "Yeah, baby, yeah," the sweating man grunts.

  slap-slap-slap

  "That dang cooter on you feels a hunnert times better'n yer Mama's..."

  Another tear wells.

  "How'se many fellas you blow at the 'Waller today?" Noot asks amidst the rhythm.

  "Twenny-six."

  "Good, that's enough fer two hits—

  slap-slap-slap

  —you swaller it all?"

  A lewd grin as her eyes close and her back arches. "Uh-huh..."

  "Why you li'l fuck-face, you," and then he chuckles. "That's my girl. Like I'se always teached ya, if'n yer gonna do something? Ya do it right. And I'se like the idea, ya know?"

  "The idea? What'cha mean?"

  "The idea'a all them fellas' cum in yer gut, and all'a my cum in yer pussy..."

  "Oh, Daddy! Yer so silly!"

  More slapping, more grunts. Noot's rhythm picks up.

  "But ya better hurry, Daddy," Linette advises, concentrating more deeply upon the sensations. "Mama could walk in any minute."

  slap-slap-slap

  "Naw, won't be home fer a few more hours, she tolt me so. We'se'll have time ta do a hit and problee even fuck again. Yer Mama's up at Dory Ann Slate's makin' doilies or some shit, she say."

  Linette chirps out a laugh. "Doilies?"

  "Yeah, like I believe that," Noot chuckles. "What they'se really doin' problee is lickin' each other's big ole wored out pussies, and I hope they'se got clothespins on their nose while they'se doin' it."

  "Daddy!"

  slap-slap-slap

  Linette giggles. "What'cha...what'cha think she'd do if...ya know... If she found out?"

  "Aw, I'se wouldn't worry 'bout it none. Yer Mama's a very understandin' gal, and she so fuckin' up'n love with me, she'd likely not say a word. Shit, I been fuckin' her over twenny years now. She know full well a fella's gotta have some new pussy on occasion, 'specially now that she's gittin'old'n startin' ta sag. It's just the way things is..."

  slap-slap-slap

  Now the tears begin rolling down your face, but even as you watch, you know that it's true, and you even smile. I love him more'n life itself. He's my everything...

  The rhythm turns frenetic. Noot's trim, well-muscled body shines with sweat. "I'se gittin' ready ta git it, baby! Come on, sit up now like ya do..."

  "No," she says haughtily. "Not till you say it."

  Noot's lust-twisted face frowns. "Say what?"

  "Say ya love me."

  "Aw, shee-it, Linette, you know I love you..."

  "Say ya love me more'n ya love my Mama!"

  Noot heaves an exerted sigh. "Well, fuck, girl, okay! I up'n love ya more'n I love yer Mama!"

  "That's better!" and then she sits up.

  "Yeah, yeah, baby... Now reach 'round like ya do'n git yer finger up my butt so's I'se can come real good..."

  Linette giggles, spits on her finger, reaches around—

  "Yeah, yeah... Like that... Git it up'n there deep— shee-it, I'se gonna fill yer li'l pussy up, I am..."

  slap-slap-slap

  And that's when you walk in, raise the pistol, and—

  "I-I...yeah! There it goes!"

  BAM!

  The room thuds. Linette shrieks high and loud at the same moment half of Noot's cranial volume blows out the right side of his head and hits the wall like a handful of Sloppy Joe. The nude man collapses to the floor, eyes staring, lips still moving. His incestuous erection ejects strings of sperm even as more blood-marbled brains pour out of his head. Then his eyes slowly close.

  Linette's screams switch off and on like a motor revving, as your well-toned muscles easily drag her slender body off the dresser to the bed. She fights with all her might, but all her might is all for nothing. In only a matter of moments, you've sufficiently wrestled her down and hog-tied her.

  "Mama, please! Don't shoot me!"

  In spite of everything, you still smile. "Honey, I'll admit, I ain't the happiest woman around right now, but—gracious! Shoot you? Linette, I love you. Fer land's sake, girl! I ain't gonna shoot you."

  The girl bawled outright. "I'se sorry, Mama! I'se sorry, but-but, see? He made me do it!"

  You smirk gently, and walk around the bed. She's your flesh and blood, and, yes, you do love her. But you also know that in all of life's convolutions... Sometimes love ain't enough. You root through Linette's trampy cut-off shorts and find precisely what you already know is there. "So this is it here? This li'l thing?" A small glass pipe.

  Linette's eyes go frightfully wide.

  "This what'choo use ta smoke that evil stuff you got Noot 'dicted to?"

  "No, no, Mama! It's him who got me hooked on it, I'se swear!"

  From the shorts you've also withdrawn a wad of crumpled bills which you flip through now. You can't read, but you can definitely count. "Fifty-six dollars, hmm. So that's what'cha get fer suckin' off all them boys?"

  "No, Mama!"

  "You're doin' it ever da
ng day's what I hear. Blowin' whole room-fulls'a fellas—"

  "I do it only 'cuz Noot makes me! That's what he use ta buy the crystal!"

  You don't hear her. "So that's what'cher whole life's come to. This—" you wag the bills at her. "Whorin' yerself."

  "It was Noot! It was Noot!"

  You sit down on the bed next to her. "Honey, relax. Ever-one got problems in this world. Now Noot, I know full well he had some misgivin's, and that big dick'a his been gettin' him inta mischief fer even longer'n we'se been married. But that's just their natures, Linette. That's just how fellas're made. And deep down in his heart, 'fore he got 'dicted ta that stuff, Noot was a good person." You look right at your trussed and straining daughter. "You, on the other hand, ain't never been a good person, and that's just how it is sometimes. Ain't no reason fer it. Don't got nothin' ta do with how you was raised or where ya lived or who ya been exposed to, you's're just a bad person. It's how you was born—

  "No, Mama!"

  "I loved Noot more'n all else on this earth, dear. He was my everything..." You continue to smile warmly at her. "And now you go'n muss it all up—

  "Aw, Mama, please! I'se sorry!"

  You pat her cheek. "Don't worry, baby. I ain't blamin' you—like I said, the way people is ain't always their fault..."

  The bed jerks from Linette's hitching sobs.

  You turn to the door. "Blubber? Why'n'choo come on in now?"

  Slow steady thuds thunk into the room, and with those thuds come a pungent stench, like armpits, unwashed crotches, urine, feces-smeared underpants, the clefts of dirty butt-cracks—all those odors distilled down to one.

  Blubber Smitts stands in the doorway, mouth open as if waiting for something. He's barefoot, cockeyed, and bald. He's possessed of numerous congenital defects, while some glandular disorder has made him obese, with a mammoth belly pushing out beneath the overalls he has likely never changed. Satchels of fat on his chest look like a slovenly woman's breasts; more satchels dangle under his arms, and there's even a staircase of fat rolls climbing up his neck. One iris is red, the other brown. He has no body hair at all, and his lower lip sags fat as a piece of kielbasa.

  "Hi, there, Blubber," you say. "Thanks fer doin' that work fer me."

  Blubber stares at Linette, and utters something like, "Gug-gug-gurrrrwwwwww'l come..."

  Linette wails, "Mama! What you bring that big dirty retart in here for? He stinks ta high Heaven! He ain't warshed ever in his life!"

  "Now don't'cha go bad-mouthin'," you say. "Blubber's just diffurnt, honey, 'cos what nature deal him were a tad less than it deal ta most'a us. See, his mama were a alkee and drunk all the time she were pregnant with the boy, so it buggered him all up. But he's a nice boy—

  Linette rocks in her bonds. "He's a big dirty fat cracker, Mama! He's a white-trash retart who lives in a old out-house! He eats skunks'n bullfrogs raw—I seen him! I even seen him eat possum shit! And he walk 'round in the woods all day'n night playin' with hisself! He eats his own nut, Mama! Why you bring him here?"

  You keep smiling in spite of her rancor. Yes, Linette is such an awful person to harbor all this ill-will against someone so unfortunate. "I hired Blubber ta do some work fer me, is all."

  "Work!" your daughter bellows. "That don't make no sense! What work? He's too retarded to do work!"

  You tisk. It's so sad. "You're just so full up with hate, Linette. I cain't imagine where I went so wrong bringin' ya up. All that hate is just smolderin' off yer face..." You pat Blubber's shoulder. "Linette, I don't imagine you 'member Grandpop Orne 'cos he die when you was just a tiddler. But Grandpop, he were as full'a wisdom'n goodness as you's full'a hatred'n lies. One time he say ta me, he say, 'Easter, sometimes a bad person can redeem theirself by doin' somethin' generous fer a good person in need. Tis a way of turnin' a curse inta a blessing.."'

  Tendons in Linette's neck stand out like wires as she glares. "What'choo talkin' 'bout!"

  "And it's true Blubber have ta beat hisself off a lot but that's only 'cos he got the natural urges like any fella but on account'a the way nature made him, gals won't be with him in the sexual way." You turn to Blubber who remains standing there automaton-like, staring at Linette's straining, naked body. "Blubber, you ain't never got on with a gal before—you know—in this way? By puttin' yer peter in here?" and then you pat Linette's furred sex. "Never, right?"

  Blubber's bald head is popping beads of sweat. "Nuh-nuh-nuh-nuguh-ngnnnnnoooo," comes the twisted grunt.

  "Would ya like to?"

  The hulking body jiggles up and down as his filthy bare feet thud the floor. "Yuk-yuk-yuk-yuk-YES!"

  Outrage contorts Linette's face to something like a mask. "Mama! You mean...that's my punishment? You gonna let that dirty creeker thing fuck yer own daughter?"

  Your smile radiates. "All I'se gonna do, hon, is turn a curse inta a blessing" and you look again to Blubber and say, "Just you go outside now'n pull the cord on the generator like I showed ya the other day, okay, Blubber?"

  Ropes of spit wag as he vigorously nods yes.

  "Then ya come right back in."

  Mewling, Blubber thunks briskly out of the room, his fat hands pawing the air before him.

  "Mama, what is going on? Don't you dare let that stinkin' retart fuck me! And what the hail you need the generator fer?"

  But you can already hear the generator's steady chugging outside. The one electric lamp in the room fades on, and in a moment, Blubber thunks back into the room. He's rubbing at the crusty crotch of his overalls.

  "You's're gonna do something nice fer this poor unfortunate boy, Linette." You reach under the bed. "Then maybe, just maybe, you'll be redeemed," and what you remove from under the bed is a power drill whose chuck is fitted with a four-inch hole-saw blade.

  Linette screams louder than any scream you've ever heard.

  "Aw, yeah, you know what a header is, hon. We all do. Tis just something no one ever admit ta knowin' about. And there ain't no better way'a cleansin' a horrible sin... Like the sin you committed by first gettin' my Noot 'dicted ta yer body'n then 'dicted ta that stuff, all so's you can control him."

  "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

  "And, see, what every fella ever tolt me 'bout headers is...it's the best feelin' a man can 'sperience. Better'n any proper fuckin'. No one know why, just 'tis." She's shrieking as you speak, and as you tear off a length of duct tape. "One time Wynchell Conner tell me somethin'. 'Member that time that awful man who busted out'a the county prison come through here'n rape them li'l girls? Well, Wynchell'n his friends catched that guy and, a'course, they throwed a header. Must'a had ten men over his place ta fuck that scoundrel's head, but anyway, Wynchell say there just somethin' 'bout a brain that makes it good ta fuck, like maybe there's special juices in the brain that a fella's peter soak up, and that's what makes it the best nut a man can have. Better'n any cooter, they say, better'n any blowjob... Blubber, why'n'cha pick Linette up now'n put her down on the dresser...same dresser she was fuckin' my husband on..."

  Linette screams and screams and screams as the obese lummox easily picks her up and sets her back down. You jam her mouth shut by palming her chin closed, then you slap the tape across her lips. Then— "Keep her held down, okay, Blubber, while I'se drill the hole..."

  He leans over to compress Linette's lashed body down hard on the dresser-top, just as you press your left hand down on her face, and with your right hand—

  Now it's the power drill that's screaming.

  Linette convulses as you ease the hole-saw blade forward, and after a lot of flying bits of bone and scalp, you cut a perfect circle into the center of the crown of her head. The drill dies. You pick the circle of skull out and toss it to the floor.

  "There. Why, I think I did it just right..."

  Surprisingly little blood effuses from the insult. Linette is shuddering now; the white of her eyes hemorrhage with tiny red dots.

  "Blubber? Why'n'choo git ready now, okay? Drop ye
r overalls'n play with yerself til yer hard."

  The body odor trebles when Blubber does; it's so offensive but, again, you simply smile. Poor boy cain't help it. Don't know how ta warsh hisself... "My! That's quite a manly endowment, Blubber!" you tell him. You want to give him confidence but it's no lie, either. It's a stout, long penis indeed pointing out from the reeking flesh-nightmare that is his groin. A smegma-packed foreskin looks like a snout. No manual manipulation is necessary to instigate erection; the mere anticipation in Blubber's dim mind takes care of that. Lust distorts the boy's face as his crossed eyes jerk back and forth between the hole in Linette's head and her bound, shivering body.