Apple Brown Betty

Apple Brown Betty

"Girl, go fetch me some apples, from Bruchard's orchard!"

But Momma! That's stealin'! He'll whup me if I do that!""

"Do it quiet girl! And it's not wrong, if I leave him a nice pie after. He likes pie. I know! He's had my special pie before...."

Momma didn't say no more so I took the basket and went. Even though it's washday tomorrow and I got no proper dress to wear. Just my sundress and two sizes too small!

Momma says I'm two sizes too big is all. My parts did grow some since last year. A lot. I hope we earn enough at the stall to make a trip to JCPenney so's I can get another dress! Or maybe I'll make one from feed sacks, but they're scratchy.

Chilly at first, early mornin' isn't yet warm since Summer is really past, fall starin' us in the face.

Bruchard's is last house in town out Orchard Lane, not really a house, the first farm outside town but the house built right on this end.

The gate squeaked and I startled; did somebody hear? Real quiet. Trees keep the wind real low, and the birds come and gone this mornin', off to the lakeshore for grubs. Only sound is me.

Nobody in the yard, and the curtains all drawed close. Somebody home, the chimney leaking a little blue smoke, hick'ry, he burns that, cuts it back behind the barn, got a stand there.

Best apples for pie are behind the garden shed, long and low, used to be a farrowin' house for sows, so's I creep, still as a mouse, that far and nobody see me. After that, it'll be safe, nobody can see back there.

Apples ever'where! Fallin' unregarded, wasted. On the ground they get worms, bruise't, no good. And half on the ground already!

He's gettin' old, ol' Mr. Bruchard. Where's that lazy nephew of his, work needin' done!

"I'm right here."

Oh! I must have said that last bit aloud.

Dropped my basket, whirled around and there he was, sittin' in the doorway of the shed. Smokin' a pipe, rockin' like nowhere to go and nuthin' to do.

"You's oughta be somewhere else! Workin'! Not out here scarin' the sauce out of decent folk!"

He considered. "I oughta be here pickin' apples? Or somewhere else? Make up your mind!

"And what are you doin' here, exacly? Not workin', not rightly."

I blushed, though he can't see it through my pretty complexion. Brown, brown from
workin' outdoor all the day.

He did smile, and I saw, he saw my bare skin peekin' out the dress, where the sun waren't yet roasted me, pinkin' up.

"I'm workin'! Gettin' apples for my ma!"

"Not workin' rightly. Those are my apples!"

"Not your'en! Your Uncle owns those apples!"

"Well, sure'n I'm sittin' here smokin' they ain't yours."

"What's it to you! Anyway, I'm a bring a pie later, fair trade."

He lit up, like he's got a thought. All he's good for, apparently, thinkin' and talkin'. Momma says he's always gettin' some girl in trouble, with his tongue and his smart words.

"That's my name for you! Apple Brown Betty! Sweet, common, tasty. It fits, perfect."

I colored some more, mad now.

"My name ain't Betty! It's Bettina! Not common!"

He raised an eyebrow, gave an appeasing nod.

"So's you gonna?"

That got me. What's he on about.

"Gonna what?"

He took his time answerin', takin' a draw from that pipe, holdin' on to it, lettin' it fly.

"Gonna ask nice. For the apples. Like a not-common person would."

"Like I'm gonna ask you! For your uncle's apples!

"Anyway, I'm just gonna take the ground-fall, the ones no use for anythin' else but ..."

I was gonna say, Apple Brown Betty. That was Momma's special pie.

I took my basket, turned my back to him, started scroungin'. Pickin' up apples, lookin' for the worm, throwin' em over my shoulder if too soft or too much et by worms.

Not choosy about where I flung em! He complained.

"Hey! Wachit! Your gonna hit me with them squishy rotten apples."

I smiled to myself, kept at it.

Got half a basket, not enough, and I was gettin' tired. And hot, the sun was proper up now.

Set the basket down. One hand on my achin' back, I stood, looked back at him, lookin' at me.

"Whatcha so interested in?" He was staring.

"That dress. Your backside."

"Makes no sense. This dress? Old, too small. Was pretty once. Now, it's gonna be tore up for washrags.

"And who looks at backsides? Butts ain't pretty."

He looked to disagree. Which for some reason made me hotter. Sweat on my neck, drippin' down between my titties.

"You got a point. I warn't so much lookin' at the dress, as what's in it.

"Your frontside is almost as nice! Maybe more! If'n I could see more, I'd know for sure."

Not sure what he meant. Anyway, apples to pick. I picked up my basket.

"Tell you what."

He pulled on his pipe again, made me wait.

Made me mad! He's sittin' pretty, makin' me wait on him, an' work to do!

"You take that dress off, work like that, so's I got a better view."

My eyes widened, like two googly eyes, and my mouth dropped open.

"Whuffor I do that! Nekkid! Out in the open!"

"Whuffor? So's I don't holler for my uncle, tell him there's thievin' goin' on! In his orchard!"

That chilled me to the bone. Mr. Bruchard was famous for his shotgun, and for firin' it at anybody who's even trespassin'. Never mind stealin'!

"And nobody gone see you but me, back here. So, no problem, nekkid."

He had a point. I often worked in the back yard nekkid, like on washin' day, everythin' in the tub anyways.

And he had me cold. Even if'n I refuse, too far to the gate to get out before that shotgun came out. Double barrel!

I put the basket down slow. Put my hands to the bottom hem, raggedy, no wonder he call me common.

Pull it up real slow, makin' him wait!

Too small, had to tug it over my hips, then agin my boobies, they flopped comin through. Over my head, and I bunch it up, throw it at him.

"There! Happy?"

He nods, sure. And don't seem put out, havin' to wait.

I got my basket agin, went to under the next tree, started scrumpin'.

Hear him get up, saw him pick up his chair, move it down the way, closer. Sit again.

Do what he want, I got work to do.

Apples were worse here, an' not the right kind. Green, fell already an' not ripe. That wind last night, knocking down bad fruit.

I stood, looked up at the branches. Plenty ripe up there.

"Go ahead."

"You won't tell your uncle?"

He shook his head No.

Ok, Momma said get enuf, so I had to do this. An' it wasn' stealin' since he'd get his pie too.

I reached up, the good stuff was just outta my hand. Up on tippy toe, I could just grab one, pull it off.

Red, and hard and sweet! This was gonna be a good pie.

I went roun' the tree, findin' what I could, jumpin' sometime for a good one just outta reach. Annoyin', how my boobies bounced, didn' do that las' year.

He seemed to be satisfied, not talkin' any more, just watchin'. Doin' somethin' in his lap, his pipe on the ground, still lit, wasted.

Basket was almos' full, but I took a rest. Set the basket down, sat myself, cross-legged. Found a good apple in the grass, half-good, took a bite.

"Mmmmmm. Your uncle got the best apples."

"You got the best pie! So's only fair."

He was right! Momma made the best pie, ev'rybody says so at the church suppers. Award at the fair! A red ribbon!

But he wasn' lookin' at the apples, he was lookin' in my lap. At somethin'. And his hands was workin' to beat the band in his lap.

"Wacha got there?"

"You want to see?"

I nodded, not sure what was goin' on.

He stood, pulled at the knot on his britches, let them fall.

Lordy! Wazzat! A big ol' rod stickin' out where my peaches was! Boys was so diffrn't! Momma never tol' me about that!

"How you hide that in them britches?" It made no sense, way too long and stiff to fit.

"It only come out to play when I'm seein' a pretty girl."

More fool talk, he was full of it. I stared, jus' like a common girl I'm afraid.

"What for? What for you got that?"

He considered. "For puttin' cream in them pies."

Was he a milk-cow now? With creamy milk? The cows did have long teats on their udders. Long like his...thing.

"Howcum you get big, lookin' at a girl?"

"Lookin' at your pretty little boobies. Wachin' em bounce. "

"Not little. Not since last winter! Grew and grew!"

He wasn' gonna let me brag.

"Pretty little. Smallr'n Briony Wells."

That smarted. Briony had milkers like a Holstein. Not fair.

"My milkers are biggr'n some! An, an, your little stick there, it ain't no beauty neither, all bent an' lumpy. Not worth nuthin'.

"An' my milkers are good for sumthin'! Momma says I should be a wet-nurse! I get a certificate, I can feed rich folks' babies! Make a livin'!"

He admitted that could work, I had a solid plan there.

Anyways I had more apples to snatch.

"Hey."

I turned, saw him lookin' at me agin. One hand on his nether teat, just holdin' it.

"What you want? You need some pie for yourself? Or you gonna tell?"

He nodded, that seemed to agree with what he had in mind.

"You can have some of your uncle's pie."

"He won' share. He's got me livin' out here as punishment. Bread an' water!"

"For whut?"

"For, um gettin' a girl in trouble?"

"Like you mean to be gettin' me?" He was a mean one, if he was threatnin' girls all over the place.

"Sumthin' like that. C'mere."

"I got work to do!"

That stopped him. He seemed to think watchin' me work was worth more'n pie? Nodded, let me be.

The last half dozen took quite a bit of leapin' and strugglin', boobies bobbin' this way 'n that. My head back til my neck ached, lookin' up, grabbin' at branches, pullin' em down, gettin' at them apples.

I must'a been quite a sight, all strong and fit from work, jumpin' and carryin' on. Boobies and butt jigglin' and jumpin'. Tan in places, pale in others. Like a Guernsey cow! He sure was gettin' an eyeful anyways.

Finally, finally, I had the basket full.

"Ok I got to go. I got all I come for."

He had his mouf open, his tongue out.

"I can take that pie now?"

"What you mean? Fool. I got no pie to give."

"You got that." He pointed, down, at my peaches?

I knew they was wet, from the sweat. And from sumthin' else. Ever since he flopped out that stick, they was wet and gettin' wetter.

I was like the cat, wantin' to know, knowin' it was prob'ly gonna get me in trouble.

Momma warn me about him! Always thinkin', never workin'. Words slick as snot, makin' folk want to do things they ought not.

"Show me?"

"C'mere." He went to his chair, sat. With his thingy stickin' up.

I set my apples aside, stepped over, slow-like, afraid but not, knowin' I was gonna get in trouble but not carin' much.

"Set down on me."

I went to set sideways, like sittin' in Santa's lap, a good little girl.

"Not like that. Straddlin', like ridin' a horse."

Gonna be awkward. Put my hands on the back of the chair, a dinin-room chair, all carved an' fancy, shoud'na be out in a pig-shed. Prolly stole it from uncle.

One leg on one side, the other leg on the oth'rn. Scooted for'ard. His stick bumpin' my belly now, real long!

And wet! It was leakin' somethin' fierce, from a little hole in'a end. Not cream, the liar! It was just clear jelly.

He was breathin' on my boobies, hot and damp. Made 'em sweat even more.

An' he kissed em! Right on the teat! One, then the oth'rn.

Felt real good. Like a baby sucklin', suckin', just a little in and schmuck! he'd pop off, just teasin'.

"Ooom! Momma, that feels right! Keep on!"

So he kept on. Licked em in between, aroun'. Sucked one, pinched the oth'rn between two fingers. Bit me!

"Ow! Oh! Oh!" It was good, even the bitin'.

I was wet down below, flowin' like my menses but not blood!

"Whassat?"

"That means, you ready."

"Ready for whut?"

"For this. Hike your hips up."

I did, and he shoved that stick back, between my peaches, almost to my butt!

"You gonna stick me in my butthole!"

"Nope. Bett'rn that."

It was good. He hit sumthin' on the way by, lit me up like a 'lectric light!

"Put it back there! Wher'n you bumped inta sumthin'!"

He smiled a little, tugged back, got it slickery from my peach juice, an' wham!

"Aaaah! Ooooh! You hittin' my button! You pullin' my trigger! Ima, Ima, Ahhhhh!"

I was shudderin', like I had the chills but good! Good! Oh, Momma it was good!

My juice jus' started flowin', like I was peein' but better, my hole hips shakin', wettin' his stick til it was drench't.

I froze for a bit, my stummik tight as a drum! Then let go, had to slump down on him, cain't hold myself up nomore.

An' he slipped that stick back, back, and foun' my secret place.

"Whoa! Wait! Stop! That ought'n go there! You cain't..."

But he did, he stuck that thing right in me, right up inside where I clean on bath wens'day.

He cain't get far, it only go a inch or so. Still it made me feel warm and cold at the same time!

And he kep' goin'! Pop! Ow! and sliiich! he was all the way in me.

"You, you stuck in in me! All the way inside! I'm pierc't!

"Am I gonna die?"

He shook his head No! but did say nuthin', just started wigglin'.

I want to get up but I don't. I want to say sumthin' but I don't. I just start goin' up and down, like he's doin', getting that stick movin' in there, rubbing inside where I don' know I could feel anythin'.

He's lookin' funny, eyes up in his head, mouth like a trout just caught, open an' close.

An' then, his cream come! I feel it, an' I see some cummin' out where he's stuck in, white an' thick as a Jersey.

Warm inside! I feel it, all slickery and nice. I wanna feel it more so I go up! an' down! an' up! an' down! Heavens! I like this.

He's still lookin' dopey, an' his whole body stiff, jus pumpin' me full of his cream, not a care in the world, like he never gonna stop.

It so slick, feel so good I start in with the chills again, shakin' and my belly clenchin'. Not peein' this time, just tightenin' on him like my peaches are squeezin' the juice out a tomato.

I don' remember exac'ly what come nex'. I must'a doze off.

First I know, I'm still squeezin', its work't, summa his cream come bubblin' out, run down betwixt us, warm and wet.

He all soft now, like he poleaxed, slumpin' in the chair, eyes closed. Out like a baby!

I git my legs under me, push up an' he come slippin' out, not stiff any more, an' cover in juice. Flop! like a blanched parsnip, wet on his leg.

Lookin' down I try to squeeze my peaches, an' more stuff slumps out, strings and clots like snot, runnin' down my leg, landin' in the grass.

Like cream from a pie! Now I see's it. I gotta smile a little, though I don' want him to see.

My dress is muddy, he didn' catch it, even hang it on the chair, jes' let it fall on the groun'. Who's common now?

I pull it over my head, a big mud spot over my boobies, my teats still stickin' out hard as nuts, makin' bumps in the calico, makin' two flowers stick out like they's embroidered on.

Grab my apple basket and I leave him there, still breathin' so he was fine.

I go down the lane toward home, a little sore betwixt my legs, and I cain't help wonderin'.

Can he do it agin? Or was that once-and-done, his stick all use up.

I sure hope he can do it agin.