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eBook Category: Erotica/Humor
eBook Description: Wilbur and Homer are life long best friends. Then Wilbur caught Homer having wild sec with Emily, Wilbur's wife. That is when Wilbur learns the truth about Emily, sex is her main interest in life. Well, sex and singing. Wilbur learns his friendship with Homer deepens as they both share Emily and learn the ups and down of sex, country music and impending fatherhood. Emily is pregnant and nobody has any idea who the father even might be, especially Emily. But since she sings like a mountain nightingale, Wilbur sings like Pat Boon and Homer can make a guitar do everything but make coffee there's hope for the future. Connie, Homer's ex wife learns to enjoy "back door" sex and oral sex with Emily. Wilbur loves back door with Connie and Homer, with a tool that hits his knee when soft just enjoys sex. What else do these people need to live the good life?

eBook Publisher: Chippewa Publishing LLC/Lady Aibell Press
Fictionwise Release Date: August 2006

8 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [691 KB], eReader (PDB) [142 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [110 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [106 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [193 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [158 KB], hiebook (KML) [321 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [227 KB], iSilo (PDB) [93 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [166 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [212 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [153 KB]
Words: 36730
Reading time: 104-146 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
ISBN: 1-933400-58-7

Emily and me was married for fifteen wonderfully whole, thought-provoking, and blissful years when the unthinkable got thought. And believe you me, I was not the one doing any of the thinking. I never would let myself get caught thinking the unthinkable because that could leave a body in deep doo-doo. But there it was, before my very own eyes and no one else's, and I seen it first hand.

I caught her trading spit and doing tongue maneuvers with none other than Homer C. Carville, who up until that fateful day was my very best friend. In fact, they were as carnal as all get out. At first, I was real pissed at her for putting a big strain on Homer's and my great friendship. Then I turned my righteous wrath on him for betraying my openhearted trust in him. I mean, my heart stopped and the world kept on going around, just like it says in all the country western songs America loves, plays and listens to, well, except for some New York City and California perverts. I figure they don't count for anything anyhow.

All they want to do is belly up against each other, one he with another he, which I don't even like to contemplate on. Now a he and a she is a whole different road race, as they say. Because there, in search of permanent true romance or at least a one-night stand, anything goes and is legal if neither party is left unconscious, maimed or herniated. Although I do admit how when I saw some pictures of a she going with another she, I got some excited. Not that I would ever want to see my simple and innocent Emily doing that shit with another woman. Well, if she really wanted to and let me join in some, I guess it might be all right. You have to pardon me because right now I have so many thoughts wiggling around in my head I am digressing here.

The way I found out about my sweet and innocent Emily and one rotten son of a bitch Homer, was I had the unhappenable happen to me out on the road. I ran out of bullets for my nine shot .22 caliber Colt revolver. Shoving a garbage truck around the county all day can be right boring and a hell of a strain on the brain without mental diversions. I mean, unless you got a way to plink the little reflectors out of road signs and pop various parts of the anatomy of the people on the bill boards as you drive by, well, your mind just gets sort of drifty. You see, when a man is driving a garbage truck, he is doing a thinking man's job. Just imagine if you had some ignorant and semiliterate Arkansas redneck hillbilly, zoned out of his mind on uppers and corn whiskey, picking up your trash. It would be downright scary.

One or the other is okay, if you're man enough to handle the overload on your nervous system, but never both at the same time. Or at least not too often. Too much of two good things is just courting trouble, that's my motto. You got to have at least one functioning cell in each side of your brain to keep you from being lopsided in your thoughts. And let me tell you for sure, I do qualify there. My brain is a finely tuned instrument and is never ever lopsided. My erection is always erect and my mind is always focused somewhere or other, usually.

Anyway, I walked in the back door of our trailer house (cause the front door was broke and nailed shut) and stumbled over Homer and Em both naked as jaybirds, hugging and kissing and just moaning to beat the band. Let me tell you that old boy had his tongue so far down my little gal's throat if he would of sneezed, she'd of farted. And I don't say it to be indelicate. I respect my sweet and darling Emily too much to be indelicate about her. But believe me, I seen it with my own eyes and nobody else's.

Well, after I saw what was going on right there under my nose, I said, "Homer, just what in the hell do you think you are doing with my sweet and innocent wife?"

I am a fair-minded man and wanted him to have a chance to explain before I let my right hand grab him by the nuts and I try to lift him off the floor by them. But like I said, I did want to give him a chance to weasel out of it if he could. A friendship like ours is not something what you would ever wish to destroy by being too sudden in your actions. It ain't good to jump to conclusions too fast. If you jump to conclusions, you should do so with all due deliberation. Then you kill the son of a bitch.

Me and Homer went way back together. I even stayed and took the fourth grade over for the second time so I wouldn't leave him behind. This is how deep my side of the friendship goes. I probably could have had already passed the fourth grade on my first try at it but I waited for old Homer. Some people just have no sense of gratitude.

I got to admit it, though. I surely did like lording it over the dumb little kids who was taking it for the first time and I already knew all the answers. Well, some of 'em, anyways. It felt good to know something the other guy doesn't, even if they was just little kids. Ever little bit helps, as they say in one of those country western songs which all America sings with a joyous heart. (Have you ever thought where this old world would be without country and western music?)

Of course, our teacher was some pissed at me when I started to make my moves on that sweet and pretty little Francine Miller. But she didn't have no worries. Francine told me she was saving it for her Uncle Leroy. I understand family obligations. In fact, it was kind of sweet, her saving it for Leroy and all. He had a whole year left on his sentence before they was going to let him out of prison for beating the shit out of that deputy that busted up his still. And there she was being loyal and true mostly, just waiting for Leroy. (That's where I got the idea for our hit song later on, "Waitin' For Leroy.") But I am now getting ahead of myself.

I walked in and decided to give Homer a chance to explain. And here he looked up at me standing there with my empty revolver in my hand and he screamed, "Oh shit!" He then jumped up and dove out through a closed mobile home window in the front room and was running bare ass naked down middle of the road. I didn't really realize what a long old Johnson he had on him till then. I mean, it was way too big to be legal on a white man. He sure was a sight; skinny bare butt showing, knobby knees pumping high enough to almost hit him in the chin and his big, long dammed old pecker flapping from side to side and bouncing against his knees. I was going to have to tell him as how my little .22 revolver was empty as my cousin Archibald's head. He ought to see the humor in something like that. If he didn't, he should have.

Then I looked at my sweet darling bride Emily, laying there all spraddle-legged and looking some delicious. So I stopped and pulled my jeans down and crawled on and had me some of what she was showing. I got done after a couple of minutes, belched and farted my appreciation, and stood up and started to pull my pants back up.

"You are a disgusting pig, Wilbur Smith. You know something? You really are just some disgusting." She was laying there looking real mad at me.

"You done said that before, Honey. What's the matter with you now?" After fifteen years and I still find my wife good looking enough for a little spur of the moment screwing like I just did, what in hell could be the matter?

"Well, I'll tell you what the matter is. You come waltzing in here with your truck pistol in your hand and catch me bare ass naked with another man and you don't shoot him? I mean, even if he is your best friend, you should of shot him, at least once, somewhere. What kind of disrespect is it to show your wife and the mother of your child?"

"Well, I would have, but it ain't loaded so I couldn't have, honey pie. It's as empty as your daddy's head. I ran out of bullets and come back for more. Shit, honey, I'd do just about anything for you. You know that without me having to tell you." When I have to be, I am one smooth and silver-tongued old fox.

"Honey," I asked her, sort of perplexed, "what's this about a kid? Yore not knocked up, are you?" I mean, it ain't like we been taking cautions and all. But she ain't never been knocked up and she says something about me being the father of her child?

She dismissed my question with, "I was talking in one of them there metaphors, Wilbur." Then she looked up at me, still flat on her back and still looking all real delicious and innocent, "Would you really of shot him for me?" she asked, not so pissed off looking any more now since she knowed I wasn't disrespecting her none.

She shifted her position some and grinned and said, "You come back down here and let's do it again right, with you naked and all." She had this polecat biting grin what left me no doubt what she wanted once I was back down on the old carpet with her.

I hesitated until I saw the mean look she was starting to get again on her face. Well, there is times when a man just has to rise above himself and this was one of them. I figured once oughta be plenty for a woman when her man puts his all into it. But no, a woman has to get all emotional and notional, and a man has to do the best he can. (By God, there could be a great title for a new country western song, "Emotional and Notional.") So I got buck-naked and started to crawl on top and she said, "Wait."

So I waited and she opened her mouth and slid down in bed and started to chew on it. Let me tell you I was really surprised some when she done it to me. I had heard of it being done, but I never had it done to me. But then it started to feel real good and she started to moan with her mouth full and growl in her throat, and I got excited and my dick started to jump and she spit it out and slapped it a hard one and I went soft, all at once.

"Owww," I yelled at her, "Why did you bite me? You sure as hell derailed my passion train just as I was about to go off."

"That is part of the problem with you, Wilbur." She gave me a painful squeeze. "I been married to you since I was fourteen years old. We been married for fifteen years and you count 'em; I am now twenty-five years old and I only got off with you maybe a half dozen times in that whole fifteen years. You just crawl on, stick it in and shoot it off. And there I am still laying there, always hungry for a little more." She looked at me like I was a retarded child. (I finally did write a song, "Hungry For A Little More" that all America loved from New Mexico to Mississippi, including Oklahoma, of course.)

"Wilbur, you made me go out cheating to get some satisfaction." She shook her head. "Can't you see? It is all your fault. You made me a cheating wife." (Now there is a fine theme for a soul racking and heart drenching kind of guilt-ridden song. "You Made Me A Cheatin' Wife" is a great title. I'll just have to throw some words to it when I get the chance.)

"Well, hell, you didn't have to wait fifteen years to tell me what you wanted. I mean, all you had to do was say something. Did you have him over here just to teach me some kind of a lesson?

"Wilbur, you blank-headed moron, this is not the first time Homer has been over here and Homer is not the first I cheated on you with. I am a growed woman and I have a growed woman's needs and desires, just like in the song, 'Lies and Sighs', which I sing so much and so well. It's all because I mean it from the bottom of my womanly heart. Except I quit sighing the first week we was married and I never bothered lying cause I just never said anything."

I figured she owed me something for putting me through all this emotional stress and strain so I asked, "Would you sorta nibble on it a little more, hon?" She shook her head as if she had been trying to reason with a rock, took a deep breath and took care of my needs. I was torn between a whole bunch of emotions, let me tell you, and I didn't really know of a country western song what expressed what I was feeling right then. I was angry, horny and hopeful, all at the same time. (I'll just have to write one sometime.)

"Em, if you like, I'd be maybe willing to do the same for you."

She smiled and said, "I don't know if you really want to do it or not, Wilbur. After all, you just went off in me and your close friend Homer did, too, just before you." She sure could stick the needle in.

"Well, I could probably work around mine without too much a problem, but there is no way in hell old Homer is or has ever been good enough a friend of mine that I'd go around with him on my breath especially after today." A man has to draw the line somewhere and there was no way I was going to have Homer on my breath. I mean, not even second-hand dick. No way at all. (Which was where we got the title to our clever country western song, "Second Hand Richard.")

So I got dressed and got a fresh box of ammo and recommenced back to going my self-appointed rounds, just like a postman. I did hurry through the rest of the day and was finished a whole hour early, instead of the hour late like I usually was. I got back in my old Chevy pickup truck with the 350 small block engine I stole out of a stalled GMC pickup I spotted beside the road and headed toward home. But then I saw Homer's old Dodge van in the parking lot of the Buck Horn Bar and Grill roadhouse. He must of snuck back and got it after I left to finish hauling trash. Hell, I couldn't help myself; I just had to pull in.

I came walking into the bar and saw old Homer sitting up there on his bar stool, all bruised and miserable looking. I began to feel a little sorry for him about then. "Homer," I told him as I came up along side of him, "You was running from a gun with no bullets in it. That old sucker was empty as a banker's heart is of compassion."

"Well, why didn't you tell me?" He looked at me like I had betrayed him. "Don't you realize just how much you put a strain on our friendship when you did a thing like you just done, aiming a gun at me?"

"Hell, you didn't give me a chance. You pulled your tongue out of one end of her and your big old Johnson out of the other and took off running. But you sure did look some foolish, naked as the day you was born, running away the way you was when nobody was chasing you." By God, there's a country western song in there somewhere. Come to think of it, all of life is a country western song. We just have to find our own words and the music, and set the tempo in order to sing and dance to it. Now that is a very deep thought, even for someone as thoughtful as me. Anyways, I ordered a pitcher of beer and chugged about half of it and Homer helped himself to a mug full. I ordered another.

"Aw hell, Wilbur, I'm sorry you had to go and catch us. It was all right so long as you didn't know." He emptied his mug said, "Aw shit," and picked the new pitcher up and started in on it. I ordered another one.

"Now, one little old thought bothers me, Homer. Why was it okay if I didn't know and not okay if I did?" I looked him right in the eye as I said what I did because I was more than a little curious. I slurped some beer down while I waited for his reply.

"Well, if you didn't know I was humping Emily, you wasn't hurt none cause it didn't make you unhappy cause you didn't know. You with me so far?" I nodded, trying to figure just where in hell he was going with this. "Then, no matter what we did or how often we did it or who else was involved, you didn't know nothing so you weren't hurt none." He stopped talking and had a good pull down on my pitcher and emptied it. I ordered another.

"Well, Homer, I do know now and so it would hurt some if you was to continue. You with me so far?" He nodded, and looked at me sort of uneasy. "So now I do know and it would hurt me and I might feel I should hurt you some right back, with this." I pointed (it-the gun. Clarify) at the floor and let fly one. There was a sharp crack and the old bullet buried itself in the barstool Homer was sitting on, right between his legs, almost to his nuts. I guess I must have twitched when I pulled the trigger, 'cause I swear I was pointing my gun straight down at the floor.

He fell back off his barstool and landed on his ass on the floor. His face got white as a sheet as he got back to his feet. He said, "I thought you said the gun wasn't loaded." He grabbed the new pitcher and chugged the whole thing. Because of the way he was grabbing those pitchers up almost as soon as they got set down, I ordered two more just so there would be something for me to drink.

"It wasn't then, but it is now." I answered him and thought how it would make another great country western song. "You get the idea?" He nodded.

"Well, what about the others?" he asked me, "Are they hurting you now?"

"What others?" I asked him. Just when I think there's daylight ahead, the tunnel gets deeper and darker. So I finished off the other pitcher of beer and left to go piss. As I came out of the toilet, Homer went in so I staggered over to the bar and ordered two more pitchers of beer.

Homer returned and said, "Gawdammit, Wilbur, I wasn't the onliest one. My conscience would bother me if I was the only one she was cheating with. There was usually a couple of others. I was just the one who was the steadiest. Besides, when you did my old lady in her rear end last New Year's Eve, I didn't raise hell. In fact, I was understanding as could be about the whole thing." He laughed and said, "Her back end was sore for a week afterwards, you know. She told me every time she took a dump for a couple of days, she was cussing you real bad."

"It truly was an accident," I told him. "I thought she was Thelma Scruggs there in the dark in the bedroom." I thought and added, "Besides, it really don't count no more because Connie had already divorced your ugly ass."

He shrugged. "That's all beside the point. What I'm saying is things are not always what they seem and you ought to be a little more understanding. If anything ever happens again, between Emily and me, I promise I won't do nothing on purpose to hurt you." Now there, by God, is a friend. He will make sure I don't get hurt.

"Come on home with me." I told him. "Let's go tell Emily how we got this all sorted out." All this talking had been thirsty work and we were both pretty well drunked up by then. We drained the last of the last two pitchers and left. Then we raced all the way to my house and I beat him because I jumped the bar pit and he slowed down to take the culvert and go into the driveway proper like. We went toward the trailer to tell Emily how we had everything all worked out.

There was a brand new T Bird parked out in front of our trailer house and this dude I never saw before was walking out the door, grinning as we was walking in. Well, this time, my old gun was loaded so I pointed it at him and let fly and missed him and shot out the windshield of his new T Bird. His sun-tanned face got pale as a sheet as he dove inside his pretty new convertible. I emptied all nine rounds at him and finally clipped him in the ass on the last shot.

His T Bird sure looked like a Swiss cheese as it went racing down the road toward town, wind whistling through the bullet holes I had put in it. "Emily!" I yelled, as I went into the bedroom and found her in there naked and on her back. I was beginning to think I was going to save a bundle on clothes if she just quit wearing any. She had this big, sweetly innocent grin on her face. And like at least one country western song says, 'my heart just melted into a pool of love.'

"Did you shoot him, Wilbur?" she asked me as I came in with a smoking gun in my hand.

"I only winged him," I told her. "But I sure shot the hell out of his pretty new T Bird." I did a little smiling of my own self as I thought of his shot up car.

"Oh, Wilbur. You shot someone because you really do care." She was looking at me so adoring like that I just couldn't stay mad. I mean, when your wife adores you enough to look at you like the way she looked at me, well, you just can't stay mad. Besides, I was still pretty drunk.

"Go clean yourself up and come back in here. Me and old Homer are going to do you together to seal our friendship. We have come to an understanding and he ain't going to do nothing to hurt me, never again."

Homer looked at me and said, "We are..." We have, and I sure ain't. Now this ought to be interesting as hell." I looked at him like he was demented and he shut up.

The next morning, I woke up sober and looked over and saw Homer naked, laying on his back. Emily had her butt pointed at me and her lips almost touching Homer's big old pink snake. Then I remembered what all had happened and started to get a little horny. I grabbed hold of her hips and eased my way right in. She woke up and smiled and started to chew on Homer. He opened his eyes and just lay back and smiled.

That was the start of something big. (Old Frank Sinatra already did that title, so we refrained from doing it better out of professional respect.)

You see, Homer was always picking on his guitar making up music and stuff, which I thought was pretty good. As you may have figured out by now, I not only love country music, but I also have the great talent it takes to create and sing new country songs.

The not so real surprising thing was how Emily has a real sweet voice her own self. Hell, we had been singing together for years whenever we felt like it. She can sing my songs and make grown men cry and grown women cry for more. I bet I would have written "Your Cheating Heart," if it hadn't already been done. But "You're Cheatin' On Me Again," was a pretty good success by itself. We also make good harmony together.

Life is truly a country western song, and me and Homer and Emily have done found the music. I don't mean to say Homer and me is quite the best of friends in the same way we once were. But since him and Em and me is mostly sleeping together, I guess you could say our relationship has been redefined, solidified and stabilized and took us to new heights and other places. Another thing is, we found we sure as hell make some heart and soul stirring music together. I mean, how can a man share his wife with his best friend and they not remain good friends? So, we work together and we still like each other a lot. That has to count for something in the grand scheme of things, as we say in our latest hit release.

The only thing bothering me is since Emily our wife is pregnant and all, well, I can't help but wonder if the baby is going to favor me, Homer or a kind of a blend of us two?

On the other hand, wouldn't it be a hoot if it comes out looking like the dude with the shot up T Bird?