Country Boy (Thank God I'm a)

##### Copyright © 2023. This is a copyrighted work. Unauthorized use is prohibited. All rights reserved by the author.

My contribution to "Karaoke 2023" Author Challenge.

Warning. Often my stories have a slow pace like the hillbilly in the countryside, and the sex scenes take a while to arrive. If you are looking for fast-triggering steaming hot sex, there are many more steamy-erotic tales on the Lit site, much better than this one of mine.

This is a narrative of pure fiction without any reference to real people.

English is not my mother tongue, please forgive my mistakes. #####

Prologo. Take me home, country road.

.

"Fuck me harder, hubby! Push, don't stop! I want to feel your warm cum flooding my womb!" The memory of his wife's orgasmic moans was like music to Edgar as he drove the tractor through the snow.

It was night now, but the tractor knew the ascent home by heart, so Edgar could think back to the long fucks he used to have with Daisy.

For ten days he had been away from his wife. They had married a few months ago and had always been together, making love five or six times a day in the log cabin at the top of the mountain. These days he had had to help the Duke cousins build a distillery.

Now it had been ten days since he had cum together with Daisy (he did not masturbate when he was alone: he saved all his sperm for her!). On his tractor, he was just waiting to get home, to fill Daisy's pussy five or six more times with his cream.

When he thought about happiness, Edgar always visualized Daisy: always bare feet, wearing only a polka-dot peasant blouse and cropped short skirt. The log cabin was warmed by the logs burning in the fireplace: and Daisy had such beautiful feet, that it would have been a crime to lock them in any kind of shoe, or the grass or the snow. Daisy never wore a bra or panties of course: she had heard of them, but no one in the village bought those devilish things.

When Edgar thought of Daisy, his ears reminded him of melodious sounds: never an argument, never a scolding, always sweet words or orgasmic moans. Life seems so good when you're just a country boy.

###

On the opposite side of the mountain, a large German-made SUV raced downhill after crossing the mountain pass.

Phyllis Salieri, half-British and half-Italian, would be nicknamed 'Cruella' by her friends because of her driving style behind the wheel: if she had friends. But she has none: she is 29 years and 11 months old, she does not have a single friend in the world, and she only has her career as a successful junk dealer. The biological clock ticks incessantly, but Miss Phyllis tends to ignore it: "For this year I still prefer to invest in my career, Love is for losers".

Phyllis was no virgin: dozens of dudes (old or young) had passed between her slim thighs, never on the first date, always on the second, and unable to book a third.

She could not remember the name of any of them. Sometimes she had sex with clients and suppliers but forgot the name as soon as the deal was done.

If she closed her eyes to remember moments of sex, she only remembered herself: how dilated her asshole was, how sore her crop-whipped nipples were, how she dislocated her jaw trying to contain two cocks and their testicles all at once. Even the girls who knew her thought she was a total slut. She only thought about making a career and having fun.

The lights of the city at night might impress some peasants from the countryside, but she felt safe inside the giant SUV she drove: a huge German-made vehicle with manual gears that only a real driver would know how to drive.

Phyllis had not been drinking (that night) or taking hallucinogenic drugs (that night). She knew how to separate the typical ingredients of an urban party from the demands of driving a vehicle at night on country lanes. The destination of the trip was a remote town in the middle of the Appalachian Mountains, almost even, north of West Virginia, amid the Blue Ridge Mountains.

It had snowed in the high mountains, even though we were still far from New Year's Eve. The landscape showed only huge forests with tall snow-covered trees, high in the sky like the spires of a Gothic cathedral. The white of the snow glowed ghostly in the darkness. Phyllis thought the landscape looked boringly like a Hallmark production of Xmas movies. You know, no, those movies where there's a rural village where everyone loves each other, and a spinster manager gets into an accident with her car and is forced to spend Christmas Eve with the villagers, and then she gets self-critical and realizes that the selfishness that motivated her career at the top of management was just a trap, that it robbed her of the love of a good husband and the warmth of a family with lots of kids...

A lot of bullshits...

"A bull! Shit!"

Suddenly, the headlights of the SUV car had framed the silhouette of a giant bull. To avoid the collision, Phyllis had swerved to the left, but the tires had slid on the fresh snow with a waterplaning effect. Having lost control of the vehicle, she had slammed on the brakes, but this had made the situation worse: the brakes held the wheels still, which slid like steel splinters on the thin snow.

Crash. Pouff! An airbag went off from the steering wheel, preventing the unconscious Phyllis from slamming into the windscreen.

###

The narration could have ended here, with the beautiful top city manager frozen to death and then mauled by wolves.

But.

But along the way, Lil Edgar was driving home on his tractor. Everyone still called him 'Lil Edgar' even though he was now 21, already married, had shoulders as broad as an ox, and was 6 feet 2 inches tall. He also had a six-pack of abs. The only detail that didn't fit was the income: he earned 6 figures, only if he was paid in the currency of a country with high inflation, like Lower Slobbovia, east of our valley.

Edgar was singing a song he had invented. For the moment it was only two lines, but it was promising: maybe in twenty years it would become four! "Country roads, take me home, to the place I belong! Daisy will soon be Mama, take me home, country roads!" He sang at the top of his voice because he was happy, and thought of his wife waiting for him in the warmth of their warm log cabin, where she stoked the old grey cast-iron stove with wooden logs. "All my memories gathered around her, Daisy..."

But the tractor's headlights framed an oddly shaped car, which had crashed into one of the tallest redwoods in that valley. Right in front of the statue of the blue bull.

Some decades earlier, the elders said, a professor of local history had come from an urban university. He spoke with a strange accent and said that we had to build statues to strengthen our identity... Edgar remembered the grimaces his grandmother made when he told the oddities of that wandering professor. That weirdo had demanded that they erect a statue of Johnny Appleseed: he was the object of many jokes, because from his cloak his arm jutted straight forward holding an apple, and at his wedding, everyone joked that Edgar had a penis that looked like baby arm rising an apple, like in the Statue!

Unsatisfied with that first statue, that weird professor came back asking the town assembly to build a statue dedicated to a certain Paul Bunyan and his pet, Babe the Blue Ox.

Grandma, who was even more sassy than Edgar's mum, tried to explain to the weirdo that none of us had ever eaten with that Paul, and that no one had ever bought an Ox with Blue's coat, although, she admitted, there was once a piglet in the village called Babe, but it was not an ox.

But the odd one smiled arrogantly and called us "poor hillbillies".

Grandma had replied that there were no bills to pay for the ownership of those hills, and he had burst out laughing.

Before that oddly shaped car also exploded, Edgar decided to save the person behind the wheel. Edgar also thought that that new car was very badly built, to slide like that: the old tractor was much better..

.

Chapter 2: Home again.

.

Edgar laid the rescued person on the straw of the trailer and then continued on his way to the log cabin.

"Daisy! Wifey! Come help me with the straw, I even rescued a city man who couldn't drive a car!"

Daisy stepped out into the snow on the forecourt. Inside the log cabin, it was warm, so she was dressed in the usual way: an old cream-colored peasant shirt with big black polka dots (dollar-sized they say), and a short black skirt with all the hems torn. Two items of clothing are enough, Grandma always said. Daisy wore no shoes: even on her wedding day, the itinerant priest had been amazed to see her walking down the aisle barefoot.

Her nipples stiffened in the cold. Edgar smiled and told her: 'I see that you are genuinely glad to see me! Do you want to make love again tonight?"

Daisy winked at the bulge in his ragged breeches, and giggled: "I know you don't have a rabbit in your pocket because the rabbits are all in the hutch: so I know for a fact that you are very glad to see me, my love! Of course, I want to make love: like every day, at least twice before dinner: at least! And I also have a surprise to tell you. But what man have you saved, my husband? This is not a man, you know..."

"But how not? Of course, it's a man! He has no tits, and he wears a tie and a suit ..."

Daisy was unbuttoning buttons to check for concussion bruises. "No, no, honey, this is a woman, trust me ..." She slipped a hand under Phyllis' belt. "Oh! How strange. Even though she looks to be over thirty, she has no hair on her pussy. Still, she's a woman, now I have sure proof."

"Poor thing! - commented Edgar - she is probably very poor and has been begging the parish for discarded clothes. Perhaps we could lend him some women's clothes..."

"I don't know, honey. I only own this shirt and nothing else; when I do the laundry, then I have to stay naked until it dries."

"I only have this checked shirt, but it's very loose and masculine cut, I don't know... Let's leave it as it is... maybe she's fond of those clothes because they remind her of the generosity of the parishioners."

"No, dear, I'll take care of changing her clothes, these she has are all wet, she will catch pneumonia. We will give him your flannel shirts, they are very long and will also cover the Shameful Parts of her body.

###

The next morning, Phyllis woke up with a severe headache.

Daisy had made coffee with her grandmother's old coffee pot, and the smell (certainly not Sunbacks!) had roused the top manager from her post-traumatic sleep.

But there was also a nice smell of cakes on the griddle.

Phyllis sat up. Everything she saw appeared poor and badly patched up. She immediately thought she had been robbed."Someone stole my clothes! They were an original Golgi and Dabbana!"

"Ha, ha, no, really, the alms clothes are hanging out to dry!" giggled Daisy, who was cleaning the kitchen cheerfully.

"Where are they?"

"This is the Yodell family's log cabin, but the parents and everyone else went to the pig fair this week for Salomey's award ceremony."

"Where is my phone?"

"The magic words are Please, and Thank you. However... Here hanging on the wall is half a phone, but it doesn't work."

"No! You stupid peasant barefoot... my phone was inside my inside jacket pocket!"

"Oh! That plastic rectangle. Sure, sure... it was soaked wet, and I put it to dry by the burning fireplace."

"No! Dammit!" Phyllis jumps to her feet and grabs her mobile phone. It still works, but in that log cabin there is no signal, and she cannot make a call.

Meanwhile, outside the window, she sees Edgar chopping wood, shirtless. He had lent his shirt to his guest, and now he was in the snow. A candy for the eyes.

"My goodness, I've never seen so many muscles in one man! If the biceps are that big, who knows how big the dick is!"

"Mm... I guess you could call it average, I don't know for sure..." said Daisy without suspecting anything.

"Ah, how I wish I could screw him! It's been months since anyone fixed me..."

"Do you need me to lend you a screwdriver?"

"A what? No, I say screw, fuck, bang, stick his penis in my vagina, girl! How you name it here?" said the urban top manager cheekily, making a very obvious gesture, sticking her index finger between her closed fingers in a circle.

"Oh! - Daisy was blushing - You mean the marital intercourse!!! But I think he can only do that with his lawful wife!"

"But girl, who cares! I want to fuck him even if he's married! I'll be gone in two hours anyway, at least I'll get my endorphins and serotonins pumped up!"

Daisy made smoke from her ears but said nothing out of duty of hospitality. She also didn't understand what dolphins had to do with it.

Phyllis asked, "Where's the bathroom?"

"What?"

"Don't you have a bathroom?"

"What is it for?"

"For pissing and shitting! What are you in this village, all goats?"

"Ah! For pissing, there's the meadow. To shit, there's the manure mountain. To the left. Thank you!"

Phyllis came out muttering.

Daisy decided she had had enough of that spinster. Through the window, she shouted to her husband that she had decided to go to the Swine Fair. Then nobody saw her again.

When she returned from both the meadow and the muck, Phyllis found that inside the log cabin was no longer Daisy, but only Edgar. He was playing a violin, turning his back to the open door.

Her eyes were fixed on the deltoid muscles of Edgar's back, until he moved his shoulder, showing the violin.

Phyllis gasped. That violin is a STRADIVARIUS! A priceless antique, made in Cremona, Italy during Mozart's time! It is an original Stradivarius! She is half-Italian (Salieri is a Venetian surname but the family lived in Cremona) and recognizes it immediately. Now it's a matter of convincing that lout to give up the violin before his wife returns.

How was it possible for an object of that value to be in the hut of an illiterate peasant?

She had to have it at all costs. Screwing the giant was already a prize, but buying a STRADIVARIUS for ten cents would have been the best deal in life!

Phyllis decided on the diplomatic route.

"Good morning! Congratulations! How good he is! Where's the scullery maid who made breakfast?"

"Oh! Good morning, madam. I thought you were a man yesterday, but my wifey found out you were a woman."

"That... one, without shoes, she was your WIFE? But aren't you two too young? And where is she now?" said Phyllis, suspicious.

"Everyone here in the Valley lives without shoes. We are not too young: the two of us are 21 and most of the boys here had already married: We paid $2 for the notorious Marryin' Sam! Do you know him, Marryin' Sam? He travels by mule, and he stinks like a mule, but the weddings officiated by him are quite regular before the law."

"Before the law, are you sayin' yeah? Maybe you two are brother and sister, or maybe so to speak cousins, I know all about you Alabama rednecks..."

"What, oh, no you don't. First of all, this isn't Alabama: look, it's snowing outside! Secondly, old Marryin' Sam seems like a silly person, instead, he did extensive research: none of my grandparents' grandparents were related to any of Daisy's relatives. Two completely different tribes, like the Martins and the Coys, or, the Seminoles and the Navajos. And then, at least, watch at us! She's blonde with green eyes, I have dark brown eyes and hair!"

"I don't see her. Where is your blonde wifey now? She's gone to gather eggs from the chickens and, more importantly, she'll be back in a few minutes?" asked Phyllis feigning nonchalance.

"I wish! Unfortunately, she will be absent all day. Daisy told me she had something important to tell me, but first, she must go to Springfield to see the Swine Fair for Salomey's award ceremony, you know, that pig from Yokum's farm. Now my beloved wifey is gone, and I'm left here all alone..."

Phyllis can't believe her luck! She's almost naked, together with a twenty-one-year-old dude, muscular and naive, sweaty and dirty, almost naked and handsome as a statue.

Great stuff, which she would have had a hard time finding in the city, among bald employees and beer-bellied insurers.

And that young wifey with dollar-size dots on the shirt over her firm tits, who was the only obstacle standing between her greedy hands, and that Stradivarius violin, had just left to see a country fair! This is my lucky day... let's go right on the attack, she thought.

In a lamb's voice, she starts bleating: "Oh, poor dear! Neglected by his unfaithful wife! Luckily I'm here to cuddle you! Listen to me, put this beautiful violin on the table (not that it's worth a dime, but just to keep the noise down), and let me pamper those tired, muscular arms of yours..."

"Just a minute... I need to practice finishing this solo from the song Sally Doolin."

The manager looks for an argument to break the silence, and possibly get fucked by that six-foot-tall hunk with six-pack abs. Who cares if he doesn't make six figures? My salary is enough, thought the manager.

"Maybe I know this music... I think the composer is John Denver, circa 1975..."

Edgar snorts, opens the window, and unleashes on the path: the spit travels a long parabola before splatting to the ground.

"Ah, I don't know if there's a boy called John, in the little village of Denver, Colorado. But it's a long way from our valleys, and I don't think he knows West Virginia and the Shenandoah River. Anyway, he must be a true bigmouth. This tune was already being played by my grandfather's grandfather, many years before 1975..."

"IDK"

"What, you urbanites use acronyms too? But why are you telling me now that you don't like Kentucky?"

"Sorry, what?"

"IDK: I Despise Kentucky. It's a club of enthusiasts, who gather on holidays to compete, over who despises Kentucky the most, and for what huge reason."

"Never mind. Listen:

Phyllis tries money first, but Edgar already has everything he wants.

She thinks: "He's just a poor boy: nobody loved him..., He's just a poor boy from a poor family! I may spare him his life from this monstrosity!" The spinster from the Big City relies heavily on her amatory skills: her many urban lovers have initiated her into many extreme sexual practices, from fisting to BDSM, and she is certainly willing to do positions and perversions that the villagers here in the village have never heard of! Not to mention her great specialty: popping champagne bottles with her asshole!

"Tell me, darling, do you have champagne here?"

"It's all campaign over there, they say."

"Damn! You're too poor even to be seduced!"

Edgar replies to her, simply, "Open your eyes, look up to the skies, and see: I'm just a poor boy, but I need no sympathy: I have a bunch of friends, a family who protects me, and a wife who makes love to me twice or trice a day, who can say that?"

Then Phyllis tries to seduce him, undressing provocatively, but Edgar rejects her: "First of all, I am faithful, and secondly, Daisy is much more beautiful than you, and finally, we already have sex two or three times a day, since we got married: early rise means that she gets me hard in no time, and early in the sack means either that we jump straight into the mattress, or that I stick it straight into her pussy. At first, I used to cum after a few minutes, then she kindly asked me to last a little longer, and now I only cum after thirty or forty minutes of pounding, when she tells me to."

Phyllis tries to say that Daisy is as ugly as a cow, fat and disheveled. But Edgar shushes her: "I don't take beauty advice from a sour old maid, skinny as a boy, with no tits, and her hair half dyed purple. What's the problem? Did your husband say he doesn't like to see that the blessed length of your lucky life has given you some grey hair? How old are you, madam? Fifty?"