"Dear, how can I put this nicely? You're worse than trailer-park trash! " Maggie told her daughter as they went about the task of setting the large chuckwagon dinner tables. "You are nothing more than a back-alley slut--the Good Book is very clear on this: it is an abomination to use your mouth when performing your wifely duties except to praise the Lord...such as exclaiming in the heat of the moment "Oh God" or "Thank You, Jesus"...everything else is blasphemy."
"I don't recall reading that anywhere in the bible, mother," the pretty blonde replied; tired of having the same conversation with her mother for the umpteenth time.
"Of course you don't dear, harlots like you forget all about the teachings of Christ when your loins are on fire," said Maggie.
"Mother, I saw you spying on me and Joe today---you watched the whole time...I knew you were there---I positioned Joe so when I was on my knees, I could watch you out of the corner of my eyes...you loved what you saw...I saw your hand underneath your dress, mother---dare I say 'your loins were on fire'?!"
The soft, pale flesh of Maggie's face burned bright red.
"It was appalling , dear," Maggie shot back. "There in God's beautiful and pristine forest was my only child on her knees praying at the altar of her husband's appendage---with her breasts exposed for all-the-world to see, no less...shocking---downright sacrilegious!"
"Joe likes to watch my titties swaying when I suck him," said Judy with a slight smile, knowing her choice of words would shock her mother. "I am duty bound to 'obey my husband,' aren't I? Didn't daddy ever have you go to your knees, mother?"
Maggie sputtered and choked on her daughter's words. She walked-off in a huff.
"MOTH-ERRRR..." Judy heard the familiar whine of her eighteen-year old daughter, Jenny. "They're going to be late...Jeffy called and said they were still a half-hour away---the bugs are starting to come out, mother, we're going to be eaten alive out here!"
"Put some more repellent on, dear," sighed Judy.
Judy went to the huge grill where Joe was preparing the steaks and potatoes for cooking.
"Sweetie, they'll be here in a half-hour...all the corn has been shucked and we'll keep the potato salad cold...let me know when you want us to bring you the corn...we'll start buttering the Texas toast so that'll be ready."
"Okay, hon," replied her husband.
As Judy walked away, out of the corner of her eye, she watched her husband take a large drink from his 'water bottle.' One day, by accident, she'd taken a drink from his bottle only to choke and spit-out the liquid. She searched and found a bottle of 100-proof vodka in his hiding place. He drank it down like it really was water.
He didn't seem too bad, she thought. His eyes are still clear---an extra half-hour shouldn't matter.
Judy re-filled her opaque 'water bottle' with red wine and sat on a bench and waited. She watched her mother and daughter in conversation. She couldn't hear what they were saying but somehow knew what they were talking about.
She sighed and let her mind wander.
She was the only one who knew that today was their one month anniversary working this job.
"One down—two-to-go," she whispered out loud. They had a three-month contract to fulfill.
Two months ago, Joe had been released from the Air Force due to his seizures and what the doctor's called, "psychotic tendencies." He was six-months short of twenty-years, and his early release cost him half his pension.
Doctor's at the VA hospital brought his seizures under control with meds, and he was cleared to work again. A friend-of-a-friend recommended Joe for a job in the mountains in western Montana, near the Idaho border.
It was a 'dude ranch' where wealthy people could dress-up and play cowboy and cowgirl for a week at outrageously expensive prices.
Joe had been a career cook in the Air Force so this job was a natural fit. Besides, we were nearly broke. We didn't have much of a choice.
Even though the twins hated the idea and didn't want to come with us, Jeffy and Jenny had no money or prospect's either. So along with my mother, who was forced to move in with us when daddy died, the owners hired us as a "team," and onto Montana we came.
Everything was fine for a week until one night I noticed Joe pouring the vodka into his water bottle. I had smelled alcohol on his breath before that, but now he made no effort to try and hide his drinking. And he drinks a lot.
Then his blackouts began. The meds and alcohol combine to make him a walking zombie every night. There is no nice way to put it: my dear husband turns into a walking-and-talking zombie every night.
He has no idea it happens to him. The only way I know it takes place is by the look in his eyes. As the alcohol and meds slowly mix together, his eyes begin to water, then the pupils turn to narrow slits, then he suddenly looks as though he's in a mindless trance.
He's still awake and in-charge, but he has no recollection of it the next day. My mother and daughter have spoken with him while he's in his trance, and he thinks he's talking to me. It's kind of spooky.
"What's wrong with daddy?" my daughter asked one night. "He keeps calling me by your name!"
"Oh, he knows it's you, sweetie---his meds are just confusing him," I reassured her.
Truth be told, I'm worried about him, but there isn't a VA Hospital anywhere near us. We're going to have to wait until we finish our contract before he can go to the VA again. I only pray that he doesn't get worse in the meantime.
The strangest side-affect to his alcohol/meds combo is that his libido has suddenly grown stronger than it ever has been. We have sex every night now, and every early morning. Maybe the steroids have something to do with it, but the problem is he doesn't remember having sex at all.
One afternoon he was after me again for sex and I said, "My God, Joe---twice last night, once in the morning and you want it again?"
He looked at me like I was crazy; he had no memory of our previous night together.
"What are you talking about? We did it yesterday afternoon not last night...a man has needs, you know---you're my wife and I expect you to obey me!"
Yes, he's an old-fashioned, chauvinist, sexist pig but I was raised to love, honor and especially--obey my husband, and I do.
Don't get me wrong---I love sex with my husband---he's very, very good at it. His penis is magnificent! Whenever he's inside me I turn to quivering jelly and never fail to have an orgasm. That is no exaggeration. And his tongue---oh my goodness!
Judy shivered at the thought of Joe's long and thick, serpentine-like tongue that transforms her into a helpless, lewd and lascivious wanton whore whenever he presses his face between her open-thighs.
Like always, Judy felt the heat and moisture begin to build in her pussy when she thought about his tongue. She forced herself to think about something else.
He does have a dark side, though, that rears its ugly head from time-to-time.
Last week, for instance, I was helping him brown the Texas toast on the grill. I got distracted and burnt two pieces.
I quickly said: "Sorry, I burned the toast, honey."
When I saw the look in his eyes I knew I was in trouble.
