Disclaimer, The characters hereby depicted are entirely fictional and any resemblance to people living or dead is inevitable owing to the ordinariness of the folks described.
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It was high school senior prom night, I lay in my bed watching dark clouds scudding across the moon as I listened to the sounds of the night, crickets clicking and bugs buzzing mainly with the distant sounds of rock music from the prom and of course the drone of the traffic on the freeway was always there in the background.

I thought of the guys and girls at the prom, probably all drunk and screwing around, girls in party dresses and no knickers and I thought of what my mom said, “You be a monk boy, you take it up the ass, I don’t want no grand kids shitting the place up.”

She told everybody I was going to be a monk ever since I started kindergarten so no girls ever came on to me or nothing and there was no way they would let me go to the prom or anything where alcohol was drunk.

I lay there nursing a woody as I thought of all those half naked girls and then quite suddenly I heard a pick up truck approaching, the big V8 motor throbbing down the street until it turned into next doors yard sending the beam of its headlights slashing across my bedroom.

The Truck motor died and the lights clicked off, the sounds of night began to return as my ears became attuned once more but then suddenly, “Hey Henderson your get down here right now,” A drunkenly loud deep male voice demanded from next door’s porch.

I guess I could have done a runner, though I couldn’t for the life of me think of what any guy in a truck would want with so I kept my head down when I saw the guy was on Mrs Brazier’s porch and shouting for Henderson!

“What’s all the hollering!” my dad shouted angrily from his bedroom window.

“You Henderson,” the guy asked. My dad must have recognised him.

“Yes Mr Rigsby,” dad replied a lot more reasonably, I didn’t understand, Rigsby owned half of Maidstone, he owned both saw mills half the god damned town worked for him including my dad.

“Where’s your bastard son then?” Rigsby asked drunkenly, “And why ain’t you in your house?”

Dad knew better than to argue, “Steve’s right here sir,” Dad replied.

“He been screwing my Sheila?” Rigsby asked.

“No sir, least I don’t think so.” Dad replied.

“Why not, every other buck’s fucked her, he too good for her or something?” he asked.

“Steve!” dad shouted, “You been going with Sheila?”

“No sir,” I said firmly.

“You too good for her boy?” Rigsby asked me.

“No sir, I’m fixing to be a Monk sir, serve god you know?” I explained.

“Sit on your ass all day and bum off of working folk?” he asked, “Like some lichen or parasite?

“Sir?” I asked, “I want to serve the lord sir.”

“Bull shit, you’re a lazy bastard that’s afraid of hard work,” he told me right out.

“Sir?” I replied.

“You screwed my Sheila boy?” he asked again.

“No sir!” I said.

“He did daddy, last fall,” I heard Sheila herself say.

“Bull shit,” Rigsby said, “Is that right Henderson?” he asked me.

“No sir,” I replied.

“You saying my daughter is a liar?” he asked.

“I guess,” I said, “Only I never screwed anybody sir.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured, Faggot, triple A grade faggot.” he insisted.

“No, I made a vow of chastity,” I said.

“Moron,” Rigsby snapped, “Anyhow that don’t matter because Sheila here has balled the entire senior ball team and every guy in her class except you Henderson.”

“So, so what’s your point sir?” I asked.

“It ain’t good enough Henderson,” he told me, “She balled everyone in your class except you, why you so special?”

“Like I said sir.” I replied.

“No, now lookee here,” he said, “You ain’t special, ok, no body don’t defy me, I say fuck my daughter, you fuck her ok?”

“No sir!” I said.

“Now lookee here, you wanna fuck or you wanna pick your balls out that wall behind you?” he asked.

“You’re drunk sir,” I said.

“Yeah and come morning I’ll be sober,” he said, “But you’re stupid and come morning you’ll still be stupid.”

“Steve for god’s sake,” Dad shouted.

“Don’t do it son,” my Mom piped up, “The Lord will provide!”

“Shut up Martha!” Dad told her, “Get downstairs Steve, you talk it over ok?”

“Sure Dad,” I agreed, I pulled some Levis and yesterday’s Tee shirt on and went downstairs.

“Mr Rigsby,” I said as I opened the front door.

He just levelled his shot gun at me, “In the car boy, now!”

Well I wasn’t arguing was I? I climbed in the back door of the crew cab pickup truck.

“He’s flipped,” Sheila said. I saw her in the faint light of the ceiling rose, her red party dress, that what there was of it, her tits busting out of it and the skirt so short you could have seen her knickers if she’d had any, “Dad’s flipped.”

“I come to my senses,” Rigsby said, “You wanna fuck every guy around that’s fine by me.”

He gunned the motor, hit the gear selector, gunned the motor again and took out the side of Mrs Braziers porch as we lurched forwards.

“God damn!” he swore and then we were heading backwards to the highway.

Sheila’s hair glinted gold in the moonlight, her soft tit flesh white, she was scared, “It’s ok,” I said, and I reached out and took her hand.

“See what you got to learn is not every guy want’s to screw you,” Rigsby continued.

“No Daddy,” she said, “Steve don’t, it’s cool.”

“That’s right Mr Rigsby,” I agreed.

“Is that right?” he asked, “So why you got a woody?”

“I don’t sir.” I said, she touched the front of my pants, her little warm fingers on my tool.

“That’s right Daddy he’s.” she said but it was too late he was already uncurling.

“He’s what?” Rigsby demanded.

“He’s getting hard Daddy,” she admitted.

“So give him a handfull of tit meat or whatever it is you usually do,” Rigsby said.

“Ah, there’s no need Daddy, gee he’s hung like a donkey,” Sheila admitted.

“Sir!” I pleaded, “I must protest, your daughter is raping me!”

They laughed together, “So you’re going to file a complaint at city hall?” he asked.

“Pleasures of the flesh hold no appeal for me,” I said as I wondered how it would feel if slid my meat deep inside inside her hot sticky hole.

“That’s what I thought,” he agreed.

We turned off the highway and headed down the dirt track to the Rigsby place, a big white palace of a house set in acres of grassland that had once been forest, and as we rolled to a stop by the horse barn Sheila’s moron brothers Jake and Andy appeared.

“You was right, Jake,” Rigsby says, as he climbs out of the truck, “Almost, every guy in the baseball team and every guy in her class except Henderson here.”

“I telled you Daddy!” Jake says, as Sheila and me slipped out the truck as well.

“Nearly I said,” Rigsby said.