Half a World Away

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

"So, what you do?" Ida asked.

"What do you mean?" Bill asked her.

"I mean, you don't go to work, but you got money, right?" Ida asked. "So, what you do?"

"I'm a Vietnam vet," he said. "Good old Uncle Sam gives me a disability check every month."

"No shit?" Ida asked.

"Yep, eighteen hundred," Bill said. "Two tours of duty, Reconnaissance division."

"Did you kill anybody?" she asked, eyes wide with interest.

"Yeah," Bill admitted.

They sat for a few minutes, and then Bill sighed.

"Yeah, I killed some people," he said. "Those bad ass rappers you kids listen to, if they're so interested in gangs, and guns, and killing, then why aren't they in the military? Why aren't they doing their part to help out their country? Instead of sitting around bitching about how bad they got it, why don't they do something about it?"

"I don't know," Ida said after a long moment. "But I don't really like rap; I like country."

"Oh really?" Bill asked. "Loretta Lynn? Conway Twitty?"

"Who?" Ida asked. "No, I like country, you know, like Shania Twain, Faith Hill, Alan Jackson."

"Who?" It was Bill's turn to ask.

----

"Ah you so big!" She was crying out as he plunged his cock into her sass hard and fast.

He wanted to laugh; it was obvious that she'd had lots of anal sex before. He was battering her fast and furious and she was not protesting at all.

"You so good, you good lover," she called out again.

There was something odd; Bill couldn't put his finger on it. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He paused his frenzied thrusting and reached for his service pistol.

The creaking of the door was drowned out by the prostitute's staged cries of orgasms.

Bill put three bullets into the man's head and the prostitute started screaming in her native tongue.

And she had the audacity to demand payment. This after conspiring with a North Vietnamese agent to have him killed.

He woke up with an erection, a rare occurrence, and took matters into his own hands. He wondered if Ida Jo could be coerced or cajoled into showing him what she'd done for Scottie.

----

Sheriff Don Davis came out to see him about the incidence; Bill listened to Don describe the extent of the injuries to Scottie, and the damage done to Scottie's car.

"So?" Bill asked and popped the top on a can of beer. "What's that got to do whit me?"

"Well, Bill, you ain't exactly a real big fan of Scottie and that stereo of his," Sheriff Davis reminded him.

"Oh, Come on, Donnie, I ain't the only mother fucker around ever called you to complain about that little prick driving around booming the shit out of us!" Bill protested.

"No, no you ain't," Sheriff Davis agreed.

He declined Bill's offer of a beer and waved to Ida as she came walking up.

"What'd the cops want with you?" she asked.

"He was just asking if I knew anything about Scottie's getting himself beat up," Bill answered.

She shrugged her shoulders and went inside the small house and came back out a minute later with a can of beer.

"Um, hey, um, think you could like ask and stuff?" Bill said and nudged her with his toe,

She giggled and took a deep gulp of the beer.

"Hey Bill, can I have a beer?" she asked and took another big gulp.

"No!" he barked and she erupted in gales of laughter.

"Too late!" she laughed and stuck her tongue out at him.

"Don't stick that out unless you're going to use it," he warned, half playfully, half hoping.

She laughed again and took another sip of the beer, then sat down in the plastic chair.

After a few comfortable moments of silence Ida let out a large belch and they both laughed.

"That was a pretty good one," Bill said.

"Yeah, my momma don't like it when I do that, but I can't help it," Ida said.

He looked at the shorts the girl was wearing; they were a little more reasonable, almost modest for shorts.

"So, where'd you get the tattoo?" he asked.

"The butterfly tattoo?" she asked and looked at her left hip.

"Yes, what other tattoos do you have?" he asked her.

"Just that one," she said.

"Then why'd you ask if I was asking about the butterfly tattoo?" he asked in mild irritation.

"I don't know," she admitted.

"Okay, tell me about the butterfly tattoo," he asked her again.

"I got it for my eighteenth birthday," she said happily and pulled her shorts down over her hip to show him the entire tattoo. "And man it hurt! I thought he was never going to get done with it!"

In pulling her shorts down over her left hip, she exposed a good deal of her brown pubic hair to his gaze. She didn't notice this as she was intently looking at the tattoo.

"So how'd you do it?" Bill asked. "Pull your shorts down like that, or what?"

"No, I hat to take my pants all the way off," Ida said. I was laying there on this table and he was sitting there, looking right at my hoo-hoo!"

Ida giggled at the memory of that. She pulled her shorts back up and sat back down.

"I want to get another one," Ida said. "Maybe a rose or something."

"Where?" Bill asked. The other hip?"

Ida looked at the other hip, even pulled her shorts down on the right side, and then shook her head.

"No, I was thinking on one of my boobies," she said and giggled at the naughtiness of that idea.

"Wow, I'd definitely want to see that," Bill agreed and realized he was quite drunk.

"Really?" Ida asked. "You think Scottie's want to see it?"

"Fuck Scottie," Bill groused.

"Yeah, he's a big old ass hole," Ida agreed and finished her beer.

"So, how much does a tattoo cost?" Bill asked.

"I don't know, my aunt paid for it," Ida said. "It was a birthday present."

----

They passed the joint around, but Bill had passed out from the combination of alcohol and hashish. Onstage, the two girls danced very poorly to the Jimi Hendrix song. They were both nude but the soldiers paid them very little mind.

The 'hump' and then whistling sound was heard, and then all sound ceased. The table protected Bill who was lying on the floor half underneath it. His three buddies were not so lucky.

The next sound was one of the girls screaming. Her arm lay a few feet away from her, her blood sprayed from her stump. Bill felt the warm stickiness of her blood as it sprayed on his face.

He woke up, sticky in his sweat. He didn't remember coming inside, didn't remember getting undressed and climbing into bed.

The last thing he'd remembered was telling Ida he'd take her to get her boobie tattoo for a graduation present.

"You just want to see my boobies," she laughed, but agreed to the deal; if she graduated, he'd get her a tattoo.

----

"So, when did the dreams start?" the doctor intoned, not doing a very good job of concealing his boredom.

"Gee, cock sucker, I think when I started realizing that there were some mother fuckers out there that wanted to kill me," Bill said.

"There's no need for profanity or name calling," Dr. Branson said.

"Look, dick wad, do you think you could act like you even remotely give a flying fuck about me?" Bill snapped.

In response, Dr. Branson scribbled something on the paper in front of him.

Bill realized something; the dreams had started when he'd come across the four girls on his property. Yes, he'd had the dreams before, but they always went away when he increased his drinking and prescription medication. Up until that day a few months ago, he'd been able to disassociate from the world.

"SO, how old is this girl?" Dr. Branson asked, now very much interested.

"Legal age, fruit loop," Bill spat.

"But you say she's mildly retarded?" Dr. Branson asked.

"Yeah, well, I think she is, I mean, she seems a little slow, you know?" Bill admitted.

----

Evans Pharmacy filled the prescription and Evans himself came out and talked quietly with Bill about the potential side effects of the strong medication.

"I would take it easy on the alcohol, at least until your body has had sufficient time to adjust," Evans told him.

"Thanks Evans," Bill said and headed home.

----

Bright sunlight poured into the bedroom and Bill groggily dragged himself from the bed. He felt sluggish as he staggered into the kitchen and fixed himself a pot of coffee.

"Fuck, that is some strong shit!" he finally said aloud as he came to, the coffee cold in his cup.

----

"So, the majority of your relationships have been with prostitutes?" Dr. Branson asked.

"Yeah, you know what? That's right," Bill said and cocked his head, trying to think.

Finally he had to nod his head in agreement.

"Other than my ex-wife, yeah, they've all been with fucking whores," Bill said. "And Stacy was nothing but a fucking whore too."

"And why do you say that?" Dr. Branson asked.

"Uh, 'cause she was fucking damned near everybody in Mumphrey," Bill said scornfully.

"And where is she now?" Dr. Branson asked.

"Remarried, Donnie, real nice guy," Bill said.

"Are you being sarcastic?" Dr. Branson asked.

"Huh? NO, no, Donnie is a real nice guy," Bill said. "He's a cop, but you know, when he's got to come out to talk to you, he don't send none of his little piss ants to do it; he comes out himself and talks with you, gets your side of the story."

"Does Donnie have to come talk to you often?" Dr. Branson asked.

"No, no, I don't start no shit," Bill said.

The prostitute was at her usual post and actually smiled a little when she recognized Bill's car.

One of the side effects of the medication was difficulty in achieving erection and he finally told the woman to stop.

"Um, hey listen, about the fifty bucks..." she started to say.

"No, don't worry about that," Bill tiredly said. "It ain't your fault my weenie won't work."

"Um, thanks," she said and got out of the car.

----

He cut the pill in half and washed it down with a beer.

"No, that's nasty!" Stacy laughed, but didn't pull away from his prying tongue.

"Do you really want to?" she asked and he nodded his head vigorously.

She grunted and groaned, but didn't ask him to stop and actually let out a little squeal when she felt his pubic hair resting firmly against her buttocks.

"Go slow, Honey," she begged as he began to pull his cock out of her raw bowels.

Bill woke up with an erection. It wilted almost immediately, but it was encouraging. Not only had he gone through the night without any nightmares, but he'd actually had a pleasant dream, a memory of his marriage with Stacy.

----

"I graduate tomorrow," Ida reminded him.

"Graduate? From what?" Bill asked, feigning ignorance.

"High School, silly!" Ida laughed and took another sip of her beer.

"Really?" Bill asked "Gee, what should I get you for graduation?"

"You know," Ida said and traced a finger along her right breast.

"Oh! That!" Bill said.

"Yeah, you ain't going to say you changed your mind and say no, are you?" Ida asked.

"No, a deal is a deal," Bill, agreed.

----

"Ida Jo Gregg," the principal intoned and there was a smattering of applause as she lumbered across the stage and took the piece of paper from the man. ----

He remembered his own high school graduation, in the same auditorium/gymnasium. Had it really been thirty-four years ago?

"Scott James Harrison," and there was a loud cheer from Scottie's family and several of the students.

There really hadn't been a whole lot of applause when Bill graduated in 1972; his father had applauded, and one or two of his buddies, the ones that hadn't decided that they were too cool to attend. Shortly after the ceremonies, he was on a bus with thirty four other pale, frightened eighteen year olds, headed to boot camp.

"Annabelle Theresa Hebert," the principal droned and Terri strode across the stage as if she could care less about the entire event.

Bill smirked; the graduation gown hid the tell tale bulge Terri had started to sprout. When he'd pointed it out to Ida, she looked at him, baffled.

----

"What you think that is?" she asked.

"My guess would be a baby," he said.

"Really?" she gasped.

"Uh, yeah," he said and smirked as Terri bossed Madeline and Kimberly around.

"So you thick Scottie fucked her?" Ida asked.

"Scottie, or somebody did," he said and put a couple of twelve packs of beer into their cart.

"Yeah, but I'm the only one that sucked his cock," she said smugly.

Bill shook his head; he was sure that Terri had sucked Scottie's cock as well, but if Ida wanted to believe that she was special in Scottie's eyes, he wasn't going to spoil that for her.

He remembered Debbie Franklin. Someone had started a rumor that she had sucked Benny's cock and Coach Sanders called all of the boys into the library. Mr. Franklin, a very angry looking man was there and proceeded to make threats against whomever it was that had started the nasty and unfounded rumors.

But Ida seemed to be proud of sucking Scottie's cock. Instead of whispering about it, she was loud enough to make Mrs. Fontenot look over and cluck her tongue in disapproval. Bill pushed the cart up the next aisle.

He also remembered Sandra King; she'd gotten pregnant in their senior year. Instead of proudly displaying it, she'd dropped out of school and left town. No one knew who the father was, but there was a lot of gossip and speculation. He'd never heard what had happened to her.

"But I like those cookies," Ida complained.

"And they're not good for you," he said back.

"I don't care," she sulked.

"Look, it's the beer, or the cookies," Bill finally countered.

----

He looked around the auditorium, the same one he'd stood in thirty-four years ago. Scottie and his family stood around and smugly accepted the congratulations and well wishes of faculty and students. Terri and her family stood only a few feet away; Terri looking arrogant, self-assured, while her mother looked haggard, tired. Her father looked slightly overwhelmed and uncomfortable.

Madeline Webber and her father stood near the door; Mayor Webber receiving more attention than his daughter.

Ida Jo and her mother, Glenda Gregg, and Ida's two brothers stood around. Very few teachers or students stopped to say anything to them. Bill walked toward them and smiled.

"Congratulations, young lady," he said and was surprised when Ida hugged him firmly.

"Hi, I'm Bill Hunter, from right down the road," he said in way of introduction to her mother.

Terri said something to her parents and they looked over at him. Her father darkened slightly and began to approach him, thought better of it and returned to stand by his wife and daughter.

----

"So, when we going?" Ida asked him.

He tried to will the nagging headache away. He'd tried to sleep without the medication; the inability to achieve erections was very troubling to him. Of course, without the medication; the nightmares started with a real frenzy.

"Okay, where' re we going?" Bill asked as he started his car.

"To get a tattoo," Ida impatiently reminded him.

"I know that," Bill said, trying very hard not to get irritated with her. "But where is that?"

"Oh," Ida said, recognition setting in. "Um, it's off of Cantor Street, I think, my aunt would know."

Bill drove to Cantor Street and drove up and down the street a few times, finally spotting the small sign on Abbeville Lane, off of Cantor Street.

The scrawny guy smiled and Bill fought down the urge to sneer; the guy was missing quite a few teeth. Ida looked over all of the pictures of roses and finally selected one.

"You going to pick her up when we done," Rickie asked and Bill shook his head no.

"He wants to see," Ida giggled. "He wants to look at my boobies. Don't you, Bill?"

They went into the back and Ida, after a moment of giggling and blushing, took her tee shirt off. The serviceable bra followed and Bill felt the blood began to surge to his cock.

The breasts were large, pale white, and capped with dark circles. They sagged slightly under their own weight. The nipples hardened in the cold air-conditioning of the room.

"Go ahead and lay down," Rickie said and Ida stretched out on the table.

Bill watched as he wiped the entire breast with antiseptic sponges and Ida giggled as the cold liquid caused her already tight nipple to tighten up even more. While the guy bent to his task, Ida kept up a rambling monologue, reminding him yet again that he'd done the butterfly on her hip.

"Well, would you rather have a bunch of butterflies on your breast?" he asked, and went back up to the front of the store, leaving the curtain open.

He returned with a book and showed Ida a photograph of a woman's breast, five butterflies adorning the flesh. They actually seemed to be springing from the small nipple and Ida looked at it with great interest.

"What you think?" she finally asked Bill.

"I think it'd look great on you," he admitted.

His erection was nearly painful. He tried to shift his position, but the tall stool really didn't lend itself to many positions, other than sitting.

"Mind if I take a look at the old tat?" Rickie asked Ida. "See what colors I need to use?"

He looked, almost nervously at Bill, but Bill didn't give him any cause for worry. Ida hesitated for a moment, then unzipped her cut-off shorts and worked them down to she the butterfly tattoo to him.

Bill groaned as her thick brown bush was exposed and flooded his boxers with his discharge. Both Ida and the tattoo artist looked over at him and Bill blushed in embarrassment. Rickie smiled, then looked at the old tattoo.

"Okay, got it," he said. "Need blue."

"Ow!" she cried out as Rickie began his work.

"Want me to stop?" Rickie asked and Ida hesitated for a moment, and then shook her head no.

Bill tried to will his resurging erection down as Rickie worked on Ida's large breast. The flesh was soon mottled from the needle and Rickie seemed to be going very slowly, but Bill realized that he was being as careful as he could, trying his best to minimize the pain for Ida's comfort. Finally, Rickie let out a deep breath and sat back.

"Okay, let me cover that up; remember, no getting it wet for at least twenty four to forty eight hours, you're probably going to be too sore to wear a bra for a few days," Rickie intoned and Bill shifted his erection again as Ida tearfully put her loose tee shirt back on.

She absently dangled the bra as Bill paid Rickie for the tattoo and Bill gently reminded her to stick the bra into her purse.

----

The grass huts looked abandoned but Bill used caution as he approached. He heard the buzzing of the insects and looked in the first of the huts.

The body was still warm, face mottled with blood. The blood had not hardened yet. He beat a hasty retreat out of the hut just as the four Viet Cong came out of the second and third huts, their AK-47s firing away.

Ida's breast exploded and spurted blood and the blood threatened to drown him.

He slowly sat up and walked to the kitchen. He smiled while cursing Ida; she'd drank the last beer yesterday.

----

"It itches," she complained.

"Then scratch it," he said and sipped the tea.

Evans had recommended the herbal tea; Bill had run into the pharmacist at the grocery store.

"Why you didn't get any cookies or chips?" Ida complained.

"Go look in the mirror," Bill commented. "Your skin is clearing up, and you look like you've dropped about ten pounds."

"Yeah, my jeans don't fit any more," she said. "Damn, this thing itches.

"Then scratch it, unless you want me to scratch it for you," Bill said.

"No," Ida giggled. "You just want to see my boobies again."

"Yep," Bill admitted.

He didn't particularly care for the way the tea tasted, but Evans had said it was supposed to help with sleep.

"Do you really?" Ida asked him and he looked at her, puzzled.

"What?" He finally asked.

"You really want to look at my boobies again?" Ida asked.