Melancholy Jeannie

Melancholy Jeannie was a fine, young thing strutting her long smooth legs in a tiny, tight jeans cutoff. That bright red painted mouth of hers pouted upset. Behind the deeply black makeup of her eyes was deep despair. Her black high heels tick-tocked on the wooden porch. Caged like a pretty bird, the expanse of muddy fields and partially plowed over wheat stubbles kept her on that little porch.

"Daddy, I ain't gonna have it no more."

The farmer man, a red faced man with an overflowing belly, diddled his suspenders in angry impatience. His blue eyes glanced down her body fitting white shirt that ended much too short above her pants. A rebellion of wild feelings and thunder that had been quelled by the hands-on farm work for years. A glimpse of his own lust after his wife, when she was young and silly tried to rip open inside of him. He saw that same lust in every single man in the county staring at his sacred daughter.

"God damn. If you don't put on clothes right now, I'm gonna get the paddle out. And I'm gonna drive the wicked out of you!"

A little shiver of the past stole into the white of her eye. The jeans shorts grabbed hard around her bottom like a hand. The evening breeze played through her long, plain brunette hair. She fidgeted with a stray strand that got stuck in the moistness of her mouth. Her body was so bare with nothing to hide behind. Her daddy was tucked in farmer jeans with thick fabric, a shirt, and a heavy tool belt. She had to stand on her own, half his size.

"No daddy, you lay a finger on me, and you go to prison."

The fingers of his prawn grabbed the railing of the porch. His hand was twice the size of a city person. Each finger was thick like a sausage. The skin was thick and insensitive. A two hundred fifty pound grain sack was like an air balloon to him, when he tossed it onto a truck. Silently, she strutted forward. Her ankles were shaking with the little silver anklet and heart. When she pressed past him, she could smell the soil and sweat on him. And there was also the very dear personal breath of her daddy, that smell that she had remembered ever since a child, when he was holding her.

"If you go to that damn bar, you are grounded and eating only oats for two weeks. I don't care that you are twenty-two. You are still my little daughter!" He hollered behind her. She stepped into the dawn down the dirt path to their house. The sun was setting the opposite site. So, she was going into the darkness. Dark, foreboding clouds of thunderstorm were brewing her way. Her ankles were shaking from the uneven pebbles on the ground.

When she stepped into the bar, the sky was unleashing a torrent in one second. As if someone had pulled the bottom out of a pool, the water fell down. The thunder cracked and rattled the windows. The electric end of days terror was in the hearts of men and beasts. The gray, curly haired church ladies tried to talk over the drumming rain in their booth with their no-sugar, low salt burgers, fried chicken, and mashed potatoes.

"Wow, Jeannie, you look hot today," called the owner of the bar over to her. His was a skinny tall man with an oversized handlebar mustache and serious book keeper eyes. "Here, your first drink is on the house, because you look so fine. That's absinthe. They say the green fairy will visit you if you drink it."

"Oh, my, is that from Europe? What will the green fairy do if it visits me?"

"Well, the green fairy while whisper lots of bad ideas into your head. She is a great seductress into the darkness."

"Wholly gosh, it's about time that I grew up. It sounds so tempting. I wonder what she'll whisper me!"

A mischievous smirk rushed over the bartenders lips before his cheery smile returned. He poured the bottle from high up to let the absinthe drizzle down in a long string. Biffs mouth dropped open watching Jeannie and watching the absinthe. His hands were over Collin's jeans butt cheeks. She was sitting on his lap in close embrace. Her stretched out fingers pressed into his cheeks to focus his eyes back on her.

"Maybe, I'll get me some of that absinthe," mumbled Biff, speaking and breathing through his open mouth.

Another mischievous smirk rushed over the bartenders lips. "Biff, I'll give you a 2 for 1 deal, because you are both absinthe virgins. You both can share the experience."

The green liquid tasted flowery like a meadow of wild flowers and distinct like all the herbs and grandmother's garden taken together. And then there was the burn down her throat. The warmth spread out in her itsy bitsy girl belly. She was slender. Her abdominals were a smooth line between the hip bones. She flipped the shot glass over and banged it on the counter like she had seen the big boys do it. "Did Herbert arrive," yelled someone at the pool table.

Jeannie meandered over to the pool table. She kept her knees straight and swung her legs from the hips. Her torso had to counter twist. She lifted her chest high. Her slender fingers with the red nails caressed along the wood paneling on her way. The green felt of the pool was lit by a yellow lamp low across the pool table. Everyone else was in the shadow against the wall. Thick smoke clouds spread out with the lethargy of the Mississippi. Big glasses of beer were held next to rough jeans and flannel shirts. A t-shirt had the sleeves cut off to show the fatty shoulder muscles with the elementary-school-stick-figure-tattoo of a pig. Heavy boots banged on the hollow wood floor.

"Does any of you gentlemen want to engage in a real game with real stakes?" she asked pointedly. The eyes fastened on Jeannie. The silence was evidently due to the air having left.

"You don't have a job. Are you daddy ain't giving you an allowance. So how are you going to pay if you lose?" Wanted Bronston to know.

"If I were to lose, I would give that gentleman one dance," replied Jeannie.

"I'm going to take that action for $10," said Bronston. He showed a ten dollar bill to everyone with a big winning smile.

"Were a gentleman to touch your ass during said dance," inquired Ray with restrained and unusual refinement.

"If such an unlikely outcome were to arrive, like a camel worming its way through a needle, a gentleman would be allowed to touch me anywhere for the duration of the dance," replied Jeannie. The conversation had become as Shakespearian as any conversation in New Munich had ever been.

"Twenty and I'll make that the best four minutes of my life," called Ray.

"That slut, I'll give you a respectful dance if you go show that bitch and run her game in the ground," screeched Gloria.

"Woman, you make no sense. If Ray wins, he'll get two dances. That hardly punishes anyone," yelled Bronston.

"Fine, I'm a gonna give you a respectful dance if you don't play with Jeannie," demanded Gloria.

"Gloria, you are a fine woman. But, upon objective facts, Jeannie is hotter. I mean look at those shorts and that lean muscle. Plus, I'm gonna squeeze her ass. And you let me only hold your hands. I'm a still going to take that action. Make it fifty, so nobody here gets an idea of outbidding me," settled Ray.

Gloria ruffled her white dress to distract herself. Ray put the fifty on the ledge of the table and pinned it with his glass. The ice water off the side of the glass wetted the bill. The balls were rolled inside the triangle. Bronston lit another cigarette in anticipation. Holding the queue in both hands, Jeannie's hips swung side to side in anticipation. It really made that hour glass figure stand out.

Ray waved to signal her the honor of breaking up the balls. Her left hand spread out on the green like a tripod. Her butt stretched out far, so that a martini glass could have been placed on her small back. The short jeans rode so high that the bottom of her butt cheeks were exposed. She pensively rocked the queue back and force. She only pretended to aim the shot. On the inside, she was breathing hard to take in her first time in the back of the bar. This was the domain of the boys. No women were allowed to play here unless it was an early afternoon. And one of the boys was showing off on a date.

So often had she watched over the shoulders of a big farm back to see the shots lined up and balls smoothly rolling into the pockets. Now, she was in the center. They all observed her keenly. Now she could see in the light of the lamp over the pool table. Everything was so much more vivid and so much bigger right up front. The memorized images of postures on the pool table, the distinct leaning forward, spreading legs wide, or sitting on the table ledge, flooded back into her memory. Only now, it was her inside of one of those proud, elegant poses.

She hit hard with her right hand. A loud clack-sound pierced the focused silence. Three balls rolled a little to the side. The triangle remained unbroken.

"Not bad for a rookie," laughed Ray friendly. He pulled his pants up at the big steer belt buckle.

Ray sunk the green one, walked the length of the table, and shot the yellow one straight into the middle pocket. The white ball rolled back to line up to sink the blue ball. "Pure luck, I swear," said Ray with rosy cheeks and a Christmas smile.

Even Denis, the travelling drug dealer, had come closer to watch. Denis was clad in a leather jacket and leather pants. He'd travel to a different village every day of the week. And on Sundays, he'd go back to the big city to resupply. He had a devil ring on his finger. It was a big ring. He loved placing his hand on the backs of chairs or anything to draw attention to it. And then the red gems, the devil's eyes, would stare right at you. Quite a few village citizens were queasy in his presence.

She starred the devil right in the eyes. And she could feel that it was giving her strength. Tonight, she had the green fairy and the devil on her side. Ain't no earthy power was going to hold her back tonight. She was going to drink from the dark said that her daddy had warned her about -- deeply. With that, she sat on the ledge of the table. She left one foot on the ground according to the rules. She let her head fall back. Those long, smooth hairs were falling down behind her. Her boobs were strutting out for all to see and stare at. And she shot the next ball into the far corner hole. Everyone hollered: "Jeannie, Jeannie, Jeannie." She was a queen tonight and breathing power.

When it was his turn, Ray followed up without mercy. He ran one ball after the next with all the practice of a growing up in a place with only a pool table as entertainment for a boy. His forehead was furrowed. He was sweating like a pig under his arm pits and down the center of his back from all the tension. And the balls kept rolling into one hole after the next with deadly precision.

The crowd kept booing at each shot, when they were on Jeannie's side. The others kept chanting "ass, ass, ass." During a miss, Ray near damn broke the queue out of anger at himself. And then she was rocking her queue back and force again shaking a curl out of her face in a smooth motion like a brow. She had envisioned all the looks of her leaning over the table like that.

Denis pointed. Denis pointed at the orange ball. He had taken interest in her. He was helping her. Yes, that ball was a lot easier to think. Jeannie smiled smitten. Denis kissed the devil ring and blew her a kiss with it. She snatched the air kiss and smacked it into her pussy. The flat hand against the jeans gave a thud. The girls screamed half in panic and half in disbelief. "Is she possessed by a demon?" whispered Gloria. Ray glanced at his fifty on the ledge worriedly. His eyes grew real small.

She sunk the orange one and sent the white one right after it. With the white ball in hand to place anywhere, Ray paced around the table. He used the cue to calculate trajectories. He glanced at Jeannie's groin and at the devil's ring that smiled at him from the back of a bar stool. He shook his head to get those thoughts away from him. He finally set down the white ball. Dennis stood up from his chair, and everyone looked at him.

Dennis slowly walked to the pool table. Ray waited with the cue at his side. Dennis spread his hand out over the black eight ball. "By golem, whoever sinks this ball next shall be wicked for a night, run around naked like a pig, not be able to speak human language, and dance in mud." Dennis snapped his hand back, so that it made a sharp sound. Jeannie's eyes lit up. It was unclear if she relished Dennis taking her side or yearned for the opportunity to taste such a wickedness herself by sinking the ball, should Ray be scared away.

Ray was frozen in place. He licked his lips, otherwise being unable to move. "Don't do it," whispered Gloria. "It's not worth it." "The table is cursed," lectured one of the church ladies in the booth the others. Even they were coming close to see what was going on. The owner had stopped swiveling the bar towel through a glass.

"Fuck it. It's all superstitious bull. That dance is real."

Ray leaned in and slammed it. Game over. Game one. Fifty dollars back in his wallet. Raised arms in cheers all around. Hands patted him on the back and on the head. The spell was forgotten -- for now.

Jeannie made big steps. She let each foot behind for a while until her torso had moved way ahead. It was her happy walk to show of her body. The eyes in the bar were running from those feet pointed by the high heels to those perky boobs stretching out under her white t-shirt. Playful like a school girl, she poised her index finger on her rounded mouth. Her eyes ran through the pages of the juke box. Her fingers pushed the buttons for A69. The machine rumbled.

The guitar riffs appeared in the bar. Mick Jagger's voice came on: "Don't play with me, because you play with fire." Jeannie stepped her high heel feet wide. She let her hands glide down her bare legs until they reached the floor. Then she pressed her chest against the floor. Her hips lowered seductively as if she was making love to a man lying on the floor. Her hands caressed the floor in a wide circle.

Ray pulled her of the ground. He pulled her close. She smashed her body against his -- full body contact from groin to boobs. Both his hands instantly wrapped around her tight as like a chase for immortal glory and the squeezed deeply as if to reach through all the layers of her ass an not miss the tiniest bit. He pulled her groin onto his. She grinded her hips to the music against his growing erection. Her eyes fed on that feeling against her belly to light up with the lyrics "play with fire!"

"I can touch you anywhere?" asked Ray to make sure again.

"Oh touch me!" crooned Jeannie.

A hand left her ass. The hand moved up in between their bodies. It crawled under her shirt and under her bra. The young farm hand squeezed her boob. Jeannie bit her lips and stared intensely into his eyes. His eyes were two inches away from hers. He was driven by the lust ignited by feeling her nubile body against hers. The penis she was grinding against was now a hard stick.

His lips were tipping forward a couple times tentatively. "Anywhere," she moaned into his face. And his lips reached forward hungrily. His lips and tongue milked her all over -- wetness and passion. She wrapped both her legs around his body, so that he had to hold her up. He was standing with the strength of a farm hand despite the added 100 lbs. on his legs. He let go of her boob to hold both ass cheeks. He slammed her into the wall, while hungrily devouring her.

The music died. The juke box sounded the scratches of the disk moving back into its storage place. The song was a sexy lyrics. However, it was only two minutes short.

"Hey, you wanna go out to my truck," asked Ray.

"Let's go. The party just died here," replied Jeannie excitedly.

It was still raining hard. Ray unlocked the cab to his truck. He threw her across the front seats. He took of her black high heels and put them next to the gas pedal. She wiggled out of the jeans shorts. He unzipped his pants and pulled them down his butt. He jumped on top of her. His legs were half outside of the cab in the rain. She wedged her legs against the windshield corner and the hand hold behind the door.

His cock rushed into her. He was breathing hard on her. Her pleasure hole was slick. She felt that humming good feeling. Her eyes glanced around the inside of the cab. So, that's it was like to be inside of Ray's truck. A Hawaiian bobblehead girl with a lay of pink flowers kept shaking her head with thick black hair left and right. The five foot, black shot gun was hanging across the back window. It was shaking with the thrusting of Ray inside of her.

The cabin light was on, because the door was ajar. The bright inside light and darkness on the outside made the windshield reflective. Some dweeb had showed up with a cell phone at the windshield. The flash for the video cut through the reflective effect and was irritatingly blinding. Jeannie did her best sexy smile -- lips relaxed in surrender to pleasure, the eyes partly closed like her mind was going out. Ray paid no attention and kept ramming into her. The video left. The windshield fogged up from the steam that they were building up. His seed rushed into her. He groaned for a moment. Then, he pulled his pants over his butt.

"You were real good. Let's go back in. I'm thirsty," said Ray. His seed was pouring out of her vagina and onto the seat. He handed her the high heels back. She wiped her sweaty face to collect her thoughts. The movie title "Gone in Sixty Seconds" flashed through her mind. She pulled her jeans shorts back on. She strapped her heels back on like a little good girl and didn't say a thing. She struggled her heels through the rain-softened ground and let heaven's tears drizzle on her white t-shirt.

She pulled open the heavy handle to the bar. The fire in her pussy was lit. She needed to quench it. Those first thrusts of thick meat felt so good. She needed more of that. She had to find another hard, throbbing cock. Perhaps, it took another two or three. It's like they say about conversations with doctors: You might need multiple conversations to finish one topic, because they always kick you out after five minutes and a $200 bill for that.

The bar was warm and loud. Her eyes scanned the room. The church ladies had left when the clock struck 11 PM. A new game had started at the pool table. So, she couldn't bid there. Lenny had showed up, her large boobs barely restraint by the strapless top. The top hung around her boobs to avoid falling down. Then, she bent forward on the dance floor to touch the ground. The breasts hung down like those of a cow, lazy and stretched. A guy with a skinny tie and cowboy hat was grinding her from behind and swinging a bottle of beer from the neck. Some dude was pinned against the wall high. The red-faced pinner yelled at him "nigger!"

Roxanne, the village prostitute, had arrived. She was sitting at the bar with her long slender legs delicately crossed. The black mini was tight and showed the outline of her thong if you looked right. She had high heel boots that clad her up to her knees in black sleek leather. And of course, there was a stain choker with a pink emerald. She fuck the boys for $200. On pay day, they stood in a line. She had rules. You were a condom. You only fuck her from behind. There is no eye-to-eye contact or any tantric gazing. Some guys complained that she cheated by using her hand between her legs instead of her pussy. Most guys probably couldn't tell the difference.

Roxanne had the nicest clothing and makeup, not simply to attract customers. She was the richest woman in town as well. She had a mansion down at the lake. Two pretty girls were her daughters. And she had accomplished all that being black in a town of whites. The racist backcountry whites had refused to employ a black person as long as there was at least one unemployed person. And so she was driven to take up the village's most lucrative profession. She now drunk mimosas for Sunday breakfast, while the white women were breaking their backs in the field since dawn.