Peckerwood by Jedidiah Ayres Read Free Book Online

anthology with stories that featured non-traditional participants. Their piece was a first-person account of a teenaged blonde with more natural sex-drive than the men in her town seemed capable of handling. She’d taken a journey across the country from Tucson to Tallahassee, to find fulfillment in the hands and at the feet of other erotic sojourners including a family of midgets and blind co-joined twins. Ponch told him that the American prison system was full of writers like himself and that the Russians didn’t have a corner on the incarcerated author market. Terry had entertained the idea of continuing to write when he was released, but found that the discipline was beyond him.
    How had the sheriff, walking around with the broom snapped off up his butt, wound up with such wild offspring? Terry had his suspicions that he was merely playing a role in a carefully constructed ‘ get fucked ’ lifestyle that she would flaunt anytime the old man tried to have sway in her life, but far from minding, he marveled at the symmetry that their independent plans were so intertwined and reliant upon the other suddenly.
    He sat behind his dad’s old typewriter and tried to channel Estrada. He’d written down the bones without changing the truth, but found he lacked the Mexican’s knack for words and was powerfully discouraged until he decided to include his revenge angle. Then he found that the passion flowed effortlessly and that the real erotic charge had been hiding beneath the motive, and not the cold mechanics, of her degradation.
    Terry’s home-cooked connection, Earl Sutter, was out of business and probably not going to be seen for years, if ever again. Terry took that personal. Forced him to buy from Chowder Thompson, and Terry didn’t like supporting big business on principal.
    So he did his part. Wrote his heart out and defiled the sheriff’s daughter in fiction and in ways at least inspired by the last few days, if not strictly factual. Kicker was, she’d probably dig it if she read it. Mondale’s little girl. Who’d have thought?
    By morning he believed it was ready to send out.
     
     
    Terry pulled up to the house Cal Dotson shared with his great aunt Jeannette all revving engine and squealing brakes. He blared the horn instead of pulling donuts on the lawn like he wanted to. After a ten second blast, Cal’s neighbor opened his door and shouted at him to knock it off.
    “Make me,” countered Terry.
    The skinny guy with the heavy stubble and stubborn patch of black hair dug in atop his head, where all others had long ago fled, closed his door behind him and started walking toward Terry who turned up the truck’s radio. Rock ‘n roll ain’t noise pollution . He revved the engine and got ready to dance.
    The neighbor picked up an abandoned rake, leaning against his front porch and gripped it like a bat. Terry made a show of rolling up his window and slapping down the lock, but when the neighbor was within striking distance of the Chevrolet’s door, Terry whipped it open and caught the man in the kneecap.
    The neighbor dropped to the ground clutching his leg to his chest and Terry jumped out of his truck and kicked him in the kidneys.
    “Hey asshole, why don’t you make me, huh? Why don’t you fuckin make me, asshole? Make me, faggot.” The man yelled and Terry used his boot to snap his jaw shut, and the sharp click of his teeth excited him. The swallowed yell turned into a groan then into a low sob.
    Cal Dotson’s door finally opened and his friend emerged with a rolled up magazine in one hand and a chicken drumstick in the other. He had apparently been in the commode. “Hoah, lookit who it is!”
    Terry quit stomping the neighbor and turned to Cal coming outside. The neighbor groaned, tried and failed to stand. “Come on, we’ll hit Darlin’s . ”
    Cal went back for his good shirt and Terry sat in the car. The neighbor’s door opened again and a small boy wearing a t-shirt of karate turtles came