Read Online The Bighead by Edward Lee - Free Book Online

off. Hour later they was back ’cross the line and
she still ain’t
woked up, so drunk she was! Dicky parked the ’Mino up one’a the
byroads off the Route and they’se hauled her out. Balls didn’t
waste no time gettin’ the stinky clothes off her, and she were a
sight, she were. All skinny and may-sher-ated on account’a bein’ a
corn junkie, ribs an’ hipbones stickin’ out, ratty dirty head’a
hair on her, titties all little an’ shriveled. Had long
stretchmaarks, too, on her skinny belly, which meaned she’d had
kids, an’ they was probably retarts ’cos she no doubt dranked like
a fish whiles she were preggered, but who know fer shore? Had big
long dirty toenails, too, an’ a yap full’a rotten teeth that was
almost black and caked with crap in ’tween ’em. Weren’t no prize,
this gal. Nevertheless, Balls dropped trow, hocked a spitter inner
dirty mufff, and gots right ta work. “Chrast, she a bony bitch, Dicky,” Tritt
Balls observed once he got ta humpin’ her passed out girlmeat.
“Fuckin’ hipbones like ta stab me in the belly!”
    Dicky had his dick out, givin’ hisself
a wank, but he just weren’t into it. Wouldn’t git hard, it
wouldn’t. “Shee-it, Balls, let’s just leave and git outa here. This
rummy ain’t worth havin’ a nut in.”
    Balls, still humpin’ away,
looked up a might disapprovin’ly. “Lets me tell ya somethin’ Dicky.
Hail,” he berated. “If it’s a hole, it’s worth havin’ a nut in,
’cos that’s what holes’re fer… Shee-it! She a stinky bitch, too! Ripe!”
    Tritt’s ass rose an’ fell a
country mile a minute, whiles Dicky just up’n shook his head,
puttin’ his pecker back. Weren’t a whole hell of a lot’a fun
roustin’ a bitch when she were all passed out and smellin’ worse’n
a pig’s butt. But Balls, he knew, were different. Shee-it, he
humped fellas on
occasion, when there weren’t no gals around, and a coupla times
he’d even humped hisself some sheep. “Hail, Dicky,” he’d excused.
“‘S’all pink on the inside, ain’t it?”
    Just then, though, this rummy creeker
gal perked up and started screamin’, she did, once she were
conscious enough ta realize what were bein’ done ta her. “Hold ’er
down, Dicky! Hold ’er down,” Balls had then started exclaimin’.
“She’s fightin’ a might fierce!”
    Dicky feebly attempted ta do so,
pinnin’ her arms ta the dirt, but it weren’t ta much use. “You
dirty crackers!” she wailed, and then—ya know what she did then?
She hocked a stinky spitter right in Tritt Balls’ face.
    Well, anyone who knowed Tritt Balls
Conner could tell ya. One thing ya never do is call him a cracker,
and another thing you never do is hock in his face. “Dicky!” he
fairly yelled. “Git the ballpeen out the truck.”
    Aw, shee-it, Dickey complained in his thoughts. Balls were
havin’ another swivet, he were. That rummy gal got him all fired up mad. Problee be outs here all night, so’s he kin fuck
with her… Dicky retrieved the
aforementioned hammer an’ gave it ta Balls, who ’mediately brought
it down hard—SMACK-SMACK!—on her skinny, stickin’-out collarbones
ands then—SMACK-SMACK!—on her hips, so’s she couldn’t move withouts
causin’ a greeverous ’mount’a pain. Naw, she couldn’t move much now
at all—Balls’ job with th ballpeen had taken the fight outa her a
right fast, it did—but she could still scream ta holy heck, so’s
Balls, then, he stucks the hammer handle inner yap and pulled it
back, stretchin’ her mouth open wide, and puttin’ a end ta her
noise. Then he leaned down real close like, coughin’ up a good many
chest oysters and took ta hockin’ ’em right inner open yap.
Shee-it, Balls about filled her mouth up with his spit’n phlegm, and it were a
might gross ta watch. Then he pulled out that hammer handle and
palmed up on her chin, shuttin’ her yap ’fore she’s could hock it
out. “Swaller, bitch,” Balls commanded,