Author's note: This is my first attempt at writing an incest/taboo story. I would appreciate feedback. Although it is told from the first-person narrative, and the title has "True" ("True" as in genuine, not as in fact) in it, it is complete fiction, and just the product of my kinky imagination. I do not directly mention the actual ages of the characters in my story, however, here is a break-down: Mrs. McKenna ("mama") is 40, Tad (the narrator) is 30, Bobby-George (Tad's love interest) is 23, Junior (the older brother) is 21, Tommy (the younger) is 19, and the twins (Sarah & Sammie) are 18. Thanks for reading!
1
Where do I begin?
I have never told this story to anyone, and most people would call me a liar if I tried. You know the saying about how truth is stranger than fiction? Well, this little tale I am about to unfold takes the cake in fucking weirdness! I even thought about buying one of those mega-ba-jillion-dollar lottery tickets, because I was really running the long odds on this one.
My story starts about four days before Mardi Gras, in Portland, Oregon, when I got a wild-hair up my ass to hop in my car, and go to New Orleans. I had always wanted to go, and never had -hell, I never even been east of the Mississippi River! I wasted no time packing, and loaded up my little toaster-car for my long journey. Within an hour, I was on I-84, and heading east.
By the time I reached Arkansas, I realized that I did not plan my trip all that well. The freeway came to an end, in a city called Pine Bluff, and I ended up on state highways and county roads, as I passed through the rural farmlands. Although lost, I knew I was making progress.
It was on a county road, somewhere south of another no-name town, that I blew a radiator hose, and I was suddenly stuck out in the middle of bum-fuck, Arkansas. As I sat along the roadside, with no cell-signal and a bottle of pop, that song from Deliverance suddenly started playing in my head. It wasn't long, however, that an old pick-up rounded the bend, and saw me -stranded. The old, beat-up jalopy pulled in behind me, and I started to worry about what kind of hillbilly hell I was going to wind up in. But instead of some coverall-clad, toothless redneck with a shotgun, the driver was a gorgeous young woman! She had dishwater-blonde hair, and wearing a short, floral summer-dress that showed off her long, shapely legs. My eyes widened, as they drank in her stunning beauty, and graceful walk.
"Looks like y'all 'er in a peck o' trouble." she stated, with her delightful southern drawl.
I paused to remember my manners, as I knew how southerners don't like familiarity from strangers, then answered, "I think I blew a radiator hose, miss. Is there a garage somewhere near?"
"We got everything you need to fix that little, ol' car back on the farm." she said, with a flirty twinkle in her eye. "Daddy's outa' town, but my brothers 'll fix 'er right up for ya." she concluded with a smile.
"Oh, thank you, miss," I blurted out, "I would be happy to pay them, of course!" then I remembered my manners, again. "Uh," I stumbled, "my name's Tad -Tad Webster."
"Of course, where are my manners?" she exclaimed, as she rolled her eyes. "I'm Roberta McKenna -but folks just call me Bobby-George, on account 'a my middle name's Georgina."
The next thing I knew, I was in her truck, and headed down a dirt road. The house, at the end of the the road, was rustic, bet very large. It was a two-story farmhouse, that looked like it hadn't been painted in fifty years. There were several other building on the property, what I guessed to be a small workshop, a huge barn, and a ramshackle garage. And just like out of a "...you might be a redneck" joke, there were quite a few cars and trucks, in various states of disrepair, littered about the numerous fruit and nut trees in the front yard. I immediately felt a little guilty for entertaining these stereotypes. After all, the pretty, young lady was offering her help out of the kindness of her heart -or, so, I thought.
We walked in the house, and were spotted by a tall boy (who looked to be in his late-teens, or early twenties), that promptly heralded our arrival, "Ma, Bobby-George brought comp'ny!" he bellowed, at his unseen mother. This was followed by the thunder, of several pairs of feet, scurrying to the living room. The whole fam-damnly -sans the father, of course- piled in to see who "comp'ny" was, but the mother remained in the kitchen.
The was another tall boy that looked a little younger than the other, and twin girls -that were also teenagers.. The boys were similar, in appearance, as the both were a little over six-feet in height, lean, and muscular, with light-brown hair. The twin girls were petite in frame, with big, green eyes, and wavy locks of golden-blond tresses that fell down below their shoulders. They were the cutest little book-ends, and both had a very bubbly demeanor, as they just stood their with coquettish smiles -swaying nervously, to-and-fro.
"Well, who in tar-nartion is it?" an irritated, matronly voice asked.
"Stranger, ma, looks like a city-boy!" the young man called back.
"Well, hell, Junior, offer the man some ice tea!"
We all sat at the dinner-table: Me, Bobby-George, Mrs. McKenna (her name was Roberta May, but I was all about minding my manners around this southern family), Jimmy-Junior (the older boy), Tommy (the younger one), and the twins (Sammie and Sarah).
"Ma," Junior began, "took a look at that-there radiator-hose, an' he's gonna need a new one."
"Well, son," his mother replied, "yer' jus' gonna hafta go inta town tommorah' mornin', an' pick another up." Roberta-May finished, and then turned to me, "An', you, are jus' gonna hafta stay the night here."
"I'll make up a room for him, mama!" Sammie volunteered, eagerly.
"Me, too!" Sarah chimed in.
"That's fine girls," she confirmed, "jus' you finish yer supper first."
"Thank you, Mrs. McKenna," I graciously said, "I hate to impose, and you all have been far too hospitable, already, but I don't see how I got much of a choice."
"Oh, now, son," the matronly woman responded, in a playfully admonishing tone, "you jus' stop with all that 'Mrs. Mckenna' nonsense. While yer a guest in my home, you call me mama -ya here?"
I smiled, slightly embarrassed by her offer, but just replied:
"Well, thank you, mama."
She was in her forties, but much like her daughter, she was quite stunning. Roberta-May had long, chestnut hair she kept in a neat bun at the back her head, and steel-blue eyes that seemed to sparkle with life, and vigor. And I was surprised, after having five children, that she had such a trim frame, yet she had all the proper curves. Her breasts were large, and she showed them off with her low-cut sun-dress, and her hips were round, and full. To be honest, even though she had to have -at least- fifteen years on me, I would have no problem with hopping into bed with her! However, at the moment, my interests were focused on her eldest daughter.
Bobby-George was tall (and judging from the height of her mother, compared to her and her brothers, the tall stature must have come from the father), and was a bit more petite, in build, than her mom. She was smaller in the chest, and a bit trimmer in the hips. For dinner, she had pulled her dark-blond hair back into a ponytail, and this only served to draw attention to her luminous, green eyes -they were captivating! She had a delicate, and refined, aire about her, yet one could tell that she was a hearty, young woman that could get down-and-dirty with the best of 'em.
After dinner, which was a delectable fare of fried-foods, we all 'retired to the parlor', as mama would say.
We all sat around, laughing and joking, over iced-tea, and short-bread cookies. It was, really, quite relaxed, family environment, and it kind of gave me a 'down-home' feeling. I was, very much, enjoying myself in this atmosphere. It was quite different from the stale, cold family I was used to. That was until Mrs. McKenna put me on the spot.
"I've seen the way y'all been lookin' at my Bobby-George," she said to me, skeptically, with an uncomfortable interrogative close at hand, "an' I was wond'rin': have y'all been thinkin' about what my little-girl looks like nekkid?"
