Do not read if sexually explicit material offends you, or if you are under the legal age or if laws prohibit reading explicit material where you live.
Jean Engels was of normal intelligence. Her mother, Agatha, had her tested at the grade school and was happy to announce to anyone who cared to listen that her little girl had scored an even one hundred on the standard IQ test. Her mother's problem was she had no one to listen.
Devout Christians who recognized no church, they believed them all to be corrupt and primarily concerned with their voracious appetite for raising money. They had no use for schools where things were taught that contradicted the Bible. Their only child was home-schooled and rigorously protected from any and every aspect of life, pleasant or unpleasant.
Jean was raised isolated on a farm with essentially no contact with anyone outside her parents, she lived a stark and barren existence and opportunities for social relations were as rare as rain in Phoenix.
If there was a worldwide contest based on beauty alone, Jean would win without a whimper of protest. The mothers of the other contestants would vote for her if they could vote. She had thick, luxurious, tawny colored hair that reached to her waist, its fibrous body and abundance created layers upon layers of cascading, bronzed curls with sun-bleached highlights accenting her magnificent mane.
Her face could have launched a million starships. With a high forehead, slightly squared, her eyebrows were a darker natural hue than her hair. They arched high and heavy over her dark, thick, long eyelashes. Her bronze-colored eyes had tiny flecks of gold. Her nose was thin, slightly curved upward into a tiny tilt. Her cheekbones, jaw line and chin formed a perfectly contoured face. Her most striking feature was her mouth with full, rich lips that dipped a tiny bit on each side, lending the appearance of a perpetual pout.
Some Mediterranean confluence of genes made her body naturally pigmented to give her a perfect tan unless exposed to the sun where it would turn quite dark. She avoided too much sun by covering herself when working outside and wearing a huge bonnet. Her breasts were large and round with generous, golden tan aureoles and nipples that cast visible shadow in her top even when not erect. Her waist was narrow, her tummy very muscular from carrying baled hay. Her gorgeous hips were beautifully rounded. Her legs were long and very shapely, the muscles sinewy and well toned.
If a girl of such perfect beauty had been raised in less isolation, she would have gleaned all sorts of concepts about herself from those around her. If extensively protected, she would have been enormously conceited, convinced that she was so superior and special that a normal person would have no right to be around her. With less protection, she would have been so cruelly exploited for her beauty that her soul would have retreated into any number of dark and serious aberrations.
Jean Engels was of normal intelligence but she had such a simple, unsuspecting nature that, when her rosy little world crumbled, she was prime prey for every predator; she was a bird with a broken wing in an alley full of ravenous, feral cats.
Her existence was shattered by a series of bad decisions by her father. He had been plowing in the bottomland and on his way back, he decided to pull a stump remaining from a tree he had cut down the previous year. Now every farmer knows to pull a stump with the tractor in reverse but it was a small stump that had rotted for over a year and it was so much trouble to tie on to it from the front of the tractor.
How could he know the tap root reached ten yards under the earth? He tied on with a trace chain and set the tractor in motion. When the slack was taken from the chain, the powerful pulling wheels, unable to budge the stubborn stump, lifted the front end of the tractor high into the air and then rotated completely to land upside down. The steering wheel plunged through the farmer's chest, killing him instantly.
His wife and daughter tried vainly to keep the farm. They had nowhere to go. But even with the prodigious labor of the father, the farm had barely survived. Without him, the bills began to mount and Agatha soon realized it was hopeless. With no relatives of her own to turn to, Agatha remembered her husband's sister, Frieda.
When Jean was just a baby, Frieda came to visit and talked them into keeping her daughter born out of wedlock eight years before. Because of her reputation, she could not find work in the community and was moving to a big city to make a new start. She planned to send for her daughter as soon as she was settled.
Agatha remembered that they had been pretty hard on the eight-year-old as though to punish her for her mother's awful sin. On a farm everyone has to pull their own weight. The only way they could feed her was if she contributed enough labor to cover the expense. Agatha felt with a twinge of conscience that they had extracted more than enough labor from the little girl named Mona. Her husband had no qualms about it since she was illegitimate and born of sin.
As things turned out, Frieda married a nerdy guy who knew a lot about computers and built them in his basement. She came and got Mona immediately. Agatha remembered a letter from Frieda later that explained her husband conceived some wiring improvements that he sold to a gut named Gates for enough money that he was set for life. Her husband ranted about the injustice that a loose woman like Frieda would be so unjustly rewarded while honest, God-fearing people had to sweat blood to claw a living from the blackland soil with weather so hot and dry that nothing would grow but the cracks in the ground.
Agatha searched through several boxes of papers, her husband never threw away anything and she found the letter that was signed 'Frieda Bates'. She called Information in the city and finally located several listings with the last name of 'Bates' but no 'Frieda' or 'Mona'. Knowing that she could not pay the phone bill anyway, she dialed each number. After several attempts, Agatha's desperation grew with each failure as she became convinced she would not be able to locate her only relative. Nervously, she dialed the next number, her anxiety rose with each ring as she realized there were only a few numbers left and if she failed to find Frieda, she had no idea what she would do. She listened to the irritating dial tone for several minutes and then a loud click as the phone was picked up. "Hello?"
"Is this Frieda Finch, er, I mean, Bates?"
"No, this is Mona. Frieda's my mother and she is traveling abroad. Who am I talking to?"
"This is Agatha Engels; you stayed with us at our farm when you were eight years old. My husband was killed and...we lost the farm and need a place to stay. Just me and my daughter, you remember Jean as a baby?"
"Quite well, I remember being the one who had to get up and hold her to your titty so that you could get a few more minutes of sleep."
"You didn't seem to mind when you took some of the milk for yourself while my tit was bared." Mona was a little embarrassed by that, she never thought the woman noticed when she sucked her titty after the baby was finished.
Still very reluctant to have country bumpkins in her house, Mona searched for ways to end the conversation. Agatha realized she was losing her only chance. "We are certainly willing to work for our keep, we'll do anything and you really should meet Jean, she has grown into a very beautiful girl."
