Date: Tue, 12 Jul 2016 16:01:19 -0400 From: Robert Costic <robertcostic@gmail.com> Subject: Piss Snow Piss Snow Adapted from an Ozark folktale collected by Vance Rudolph By Robert S. Costic Robert Costic has written a collection of fairy tales, "Flamethrower Fairy Tales," a novella, "Kepler's Revenge," and a collection of aphorisms, "Lightning Words," and has translated fairy tales by Theodor Storm and Friedrich Hebbel from German. All are available as ebooks everywhere. ----- On a remote dirt road in the plains of Missouri two farming families, the McClamrocks and the Fraziers, lived across from each other, their magnificent homesteads evidencing the wealth they derived from their vast corn crops. They were good friends, and on Sundays, when they did not let themselves work, they would idle together, fish at the nearby river, drink whiskey, and let their children play with the dogs. The two boys, Derek McClamrock and Lance Frazier, grew up together in this trouble-free, idyllic corner of the world, worrying themselves for years with nothing other than the health of the crops and the approval of their parents. But once the hair grew on their legs, and their voices deepened, and their pricks lengthened they found themselves burdened with additional concerns. On one particularly hot Sunday in the middle of July Derek and Lance ditched their drunk fathers, who sat dumbly on a log with their fishing poles between their legs, and went swimming in the river. They striped off their clothes, plunged into the refreshingly cool water, and swam down where they could be alone. They splashed each other and wrestled in the water, and once they romped about to exhaustion they took a break, standing in the shallow, breathing deeply as they looked at each other's wet bodies. "Look at your tallywhacker," Lance said. "Doesn't look like it's been growing like mine." "Not true," Derek said. "The water's cold. It's been growing." "Not as big as mine," Lance said, and he took Derek's pecker and held it next to his own, which indeed seem to hang about much farther from his crotch. "If you really want to see which is bigger," Derek said, "you need to see them stiff. That's when you know how big they really are." "Let's see, then," Lance said. "Here, I'll warm you up," and he crotched down and put Derek's diddler in his mouth and blew on it. The diddler grew, and Lance sucked and sucked on it until it couldn't grow any more. Lance stood back up and looked at it. "Not bad!" Lance's own dick had in the meantime grown stiff all on its own, so now they could properly compare. Lance's was still longer and thicker, but Derek's fared admirably. "Not bad, not bad," Lance repeated. From then on the two friends felt a new bond that they had not previously experienced. They never diddled in front of their family but their fathers sensed to their chagrin that matters were not to their liking. Perhaps they noticed that the two boys seemed to look at each other a little too much when they were together, or the way Derek once helped peel Lance's skin right there in front of all of them after Lance had gotten sunburned. Over breakfast one day Derek's father said to Derek, "Did you see Joana Frazier yesterday? She looked awfully pretty in that dress." Derek barely knew that Joana existed. "She's about your age," Derek's father continued, "and I don't know if you noticed, but I see she's been making eyes at you all summer. You should consider asking her out." "Who?" Derek asked between bites of food. His father just sighed. And the sad thing was that Joana had actually been making eyes at Derek. She was a couple years older, and as soon as she saw Derek develop into something like a man she began to feel her own passion for him. On days that she knew he would be around she would doll herself up and present herself conspicuously within view of him, but he never once bothered to look at her. But whenever Lance stepped out of the house to do some work Derek would light up and look at him from time to time to see how he was doing, and if Lance looked back and their eyes met they would silently wave at each other. And then there were those nights when Lance lit his candles in his bedroom, and Derek could see from his house through Lance's bedroom window the fire illuminate Lance's body with a ruddy glow. Autumn approached. The families harvested their corn and transported their cargo to the city. Then winter fell. The temperature dropped. The sun hid behind gray clouds. Leaves withered. And the snow fell and covered the Earth. The families did not work so much then. They had stockpiled chopped wood and spent the months tending to their livestock and homes, but more often they stayed inside staying warm by their fireplaces. One morning Derek's father looked outside the front window of his house and frowned at what he saw. He marched outside and went across to the Frazier house and rapped on their door. Lance's father opened and asked what the matter was. "I'll tell you what the matter is," Derek's father said. "Your boy Lance pissed in the snow in front of his bedroom window." "Oh, is that all?" Lance's father asked. "No, that's not all," Derek's father said. "He pissed so it spelled Derek's name there in the snow!" "Well that's funny," Lance's father said, "but still, I don't see a big deal in it." "I do!" Derek's father said. "I'd recognize Derek's handwriting anywhere!"