Date: Wed, 2 Jul 2014 10:39:38 -0700
From: Macout Mann <macoutmann@yahoo.com>
Subject: In the Great Depression 6
This story is designed to show what life was like in the rural Southeastern
United States in the 1930s. It covers several weeks during the summer of
1934. I have researched as carefully as I could to make the dialogue and
events as authentic as possible. It does contain examples of homosexual
sex, so please be warned! The events depicted are totally fictional, and
any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental. Actual
places and products are referred to for the sole purpose of adding
authenticity to the story.
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Copyright 2014 by Macout Mann. All rights reserved.
IN THE GREAT DEPRESSION
by Macout Mann
Part 6
Church
During breakfast Sunday morning, Aunt Mary brings up church.
"Christopher," she says, "the nearest Catholic Church is in Vicksburg, so
we can't take you to your church. But you're certainly welcome to come
with us. And you can certainly feel free to stay here, if you'd like.
We'll be going to the Baptist Church. We're Presbyterians, but the nearest
Presbyterian Church is in Port Gibson. We go up there sometimes, but more
often we just go locally."
"I'd like to go with you, Aunt Mary, if you don't mind that I just sit and
don't participate in the service. Our pastor says that we can go to
another church, but if we take part in the service we have to confess."
"That's fine, Chris," Uncle Luke interjects. "I think your sister and one
of your brothers that visited us before did that. The other one..."
"Had to be Harold," Christopher interrupts. "He would want to stay behind.
He was going to become a priest, but then his piousness wore off. Now he's
a registered representative at Merrill Lynch, Pierce, Fenner and Beane.
That means he tries to sell stocks and bonds to people like my dad."
Everyone laughs.
The Sunday Service begins at eleven o'clock, the hour ordained by God as
the week's most holy. Everyone in their "Sunday Best." The ladies' finery
is restricted to their newest cotton dresses and glass necklaces or fake
pearls. None of the men are in overalls, but their dress does denote their
status in the community. Everyone wears a tie, but some are in freshly
starched work shirts and pressed jeans, Blue Bell Wranglers or Lee Riders
like the rodeo cowboys wear. Most of the gentry, like Uncle Luke, wear
suits. Most often seersucker. Uncle Luke and a couple of others wear
linen, but others just wear dress shirts and pants. Christopher, in the
Palm Beach suit he wore on the train, is probably best dressed of all.
Jason, like other kids his age, wears khakis.
There is fellowship out front before the service. Christopher, all the way
from New York and in his fancy duds, is treated like some exotic species or
a prize calf.
When the small church is comfortably filled, Mrs. Willis takes her place at
the little pump organ. The preacher, Reverend Baxter, steps into the
pulpit and announces a hymn number, and the service begins.
Sitting, while the others all stand, Christopher feels that he's the object
of everyone's attention; but that is the price of being Catholic in a
Protestant community.
He watches the goings on around him with fascination. He is surprised that
there is no communion. The whole thing seems so informal. Like the
preacher is making it up as he goes along. Which he is. He reads the
passage from the Gospels about committing adultery in your heart if you
lust after someone not your wife. Christopher's glad he doesn't have a
wife, because he lusts after almost every guy he sees, including most of
the teens now in the church. Then the preacher prays a rambling, almost
interminable prayer, covering every conceivable eventuality.
The collection is taken. Christopher puts in a quarter, which he notices
is one of the larger contributions in the plate; but he has been taught
never to let an alms basin go by without adding your mite.
In a community without electricity, there are no radios. Of course,
broadcast news is still in its infancy anyway, but more important in 1934
there is no local newspaper. There is a weekly published in Port Gibson,
featuring comings and goings around the county. Next week there will be an
article about Christopher's visit. But news, if there is any, comes in
mailed copies of the Vicksburg or Jackson papers, which arrive a day or two
after publication. Luke is one of the few who subscribe to the Jackson
"Clarion-Ledger." So the congregation is not aware of the incident
yesterday in far off Los Angeles that has led the preacher to the subject
of his sermon. The same incident caused him to choose the passage of
scripture that he read.
The preacher begins his sermon by describing the heinous infidelity of a
matinee idol, which led to his wife suing for divorce only last Friday.
It's even worse because movie stars should set good examples for their
fans. Jason looks around the church and figures he can count on one hand
all the folks that have ever even seen a movie, and he figures the only
married men in the county that need to hear what the preacher's going to
say are those that are not here, like maybe Mr. Osborne. And he also
remembers a sermon from last summer about how evil movies are.
The preacher warms to his subject, intimating all sorts of things that are
alleged to have happened. Of course, he can't say what they are in mixed
company. In fact he can't even say what they are in an all-male group.
But there's no doubt they are vile things and good Christians must not only
avoid them but avoid thinking about them "lest ye lust after your
neighbor's wife."
Jason notices that Christopher is passing the time by playing with his
dick, concealing what he's doing by covering his lap with his fedora.
Jason wishes he could have a hat.
After a half hour the sermon reaches a fearsome conclusion. The fires of
hell are lapping at the heels of all fornicators. Both boys simultaneously
think that the image would be more apt if the fires were lapping at the
fornicators' dicks, and they almost break out in laughter.
The congregation sings "Just as I am without one plea." The preacher
provides an impromptu benediction. And it's over.
Next is Sunday Dinner. Today is Luke and Mary's turn to have Reverend and
Mrs. Baxter. Ezra and Nanny always come on Sunday, and today the Ramsays,
distant Cromwell cousins, have been invited. Mary thinks it would be nice,
if they met Christopher. They have two grammar school aged children, who
will also be coming. The dining room table at the plantation will only
seat eight comfortably, so a card table has been set up in a corner for the
two children.
Prohibition has been repealed but the whole state of Mississippi will
remain dry for decades to come. So there is no cocktail hour and no wine
with dinner. As soon as all the guests have arrived—they were all at
the church service—dinner is served. The servants are also anxious to
get away for their Sunday activities. The services at the negro church are
at three.
Rev. Baxter is asked to say grace, and he obliges with an excessively
extensive one.
Sunday dinner always features fried chicken, and Dedra's is something to
write home about. In addition there is rice and chicken gravy, tender
corn-on-the-cob—which Aunt Mary calls "roast neers"—sliced cucumber
which has been soaked in a solution of cider vinegar, salt and black pepper
since yesterday, black-eyed peas cooked with minced onion and fat back,
corn bread and biscuits, iced tea, and for desert, homemade vanilla ice
cream with sugar cookies. Quite a feast.
Christopher is kept busy answering questions from the Baxters and the
Ramsays about New York. The reverend also comments that he noticed
Christopher didn't join in our worship.
"No, sir," Christopher replies. "My church doesn't permit me to."
"Oh? How so?"
Luke comes to Christopher's aid. "My Brother Matthew married a Roman
Catholic," he tells Rev. Baxter. "So Chris has been raised a Catholic."
Christopher thought the reverend's expression was priceless. Like he'd
been forced to share his table with the devil.
After dinner, the Baxters, as they usually did, immediately took their
leave, thanking their hosts profusely. The children went outside to play.
Everyone else retired to the parlor for chit chat, and after a respectable
interval, the Ramsays also gather up their charges and return home.
Christopher is asked to play the piano. He finds an old hymnal in the
piano bench and sight reads some hymns, while the others sing along. It is
almost four o'clock before the boys' grandparents go. No naps today.
Jason tells Christopher that Uncle Luke has a stereopticon. Asks if
Christopher has ever seen one. He hasn't, so Uncle Luke is inveigled to
bring it out with his small collection of slides. They pass the device
around and wonder at such sights as the Eifel Tower, the Houses of
Parliament, and the ruins of the Roman Coliseum in amazing three
dimensional splendor. There are equally stunning scenes of a humming bird
sipping nectar, beavers constructing a dam, and a riverboat on the
Mississippi. Christopher is duly impressed.
A scattered late afternoon thunder shower caps the day's festivities.
At supper Christopher does choose to try a bowl of clabber. He decides
it's not all that bad, if you add enough sugar.
Later, the boys lie in bed fondling each other.
"No offense," says Christopher, "but that church service today was really
strange."
"I can see how you'd think so," Jason responded. "I went to a Catholic
Mass one time. Invited by a friend of mine. I thought it was strange."
"Your church like the Baptist?"
"Yes and no. Like the Baptists, Presbyterians don't have communion every
Sunday, but we are a little more formal than they are. Like you all, we
follow a Calendar. We have a more structured organization than they do.
It's called a Presbytery. We have open communion. They have closed
communion, like you do. So I can't take communion in their churches
either. But the structure of our Sunday worship is pretty much like
theirs: Hymns, prayers, Bible reading, sermon, benediction. "We're more
likely to sing `O god our help in ages past...' than `Just as I am...' In
churches that have a choir, there are a couple of anthems."
"That Mr. Baxter mentioned "Southern Baptists" a couple of times. What
does that mean?"
"Well, during the War Between the States, all of the protestant
denominations, except for the Episcopalians, split apart. And after the
war they never got back together. So in our case, the Southern Church is
The Presbyterian Church (U.S.). In the North it's The Presbyterian Church
(U.S.A). Two entirely different churches. I guess the difference is that
black folks can be members of the U.S.A. church. Funny."
"Well, that's enough religion for me," Christopher concludes. "I need to
taste some of your Kool-Aid."
"Yours too."
They position themselves to taste each of their prongs. They have become
totally relaxed with each other. No "love" here. Just satisfaction. They
suck the nectar from each others' dicks. Two different packets of Kool
Aid. Then sleep.
Christopher wakes up early with a hard-on. He is spooned against Jason's
ass, and his dick tells him it wants in. He wonders if he can stick his
cousin without waking him up. He spits a big glob on his fingers and
thoroughly wets Jason's hole. Then he slobbers on his dick and takes hold
of Jason's hips. He carefully plants his pole at his cousin's anus and
very slowly presses in.
Gaining entry, Christopher slowly slides his manly symbol further up
Jason's ass, until he feels his pubic hair against his partner's cheeks.
Then he pauses to enjoy the super feeling that Jason's warm, moist envelope
provides for his hot dick. His hands encircle his cousin's tube and feel
it grow to size. He lies still for maybe ten minutes.
Then a groggy voice mumbles, "So, aint you goanna fuck me, Chris?"
"I thought you were asleep, Jase."
`I woke just before you were all the way in, and I've been waiting to get
humped ever since then."
"I sure won't make you wait any longer."
Christopher pulls back until just his bulb remains inside Jason, then
thrusts, raking Jason's prostate as his dick plunges back in.
"Oh, fuck yes," Jason almost silently cries.
Christopher repeats his thrusts, slowly and deliberately, getting the same
reaction from Jason each time.
"I hope you love this as much as I do," Christopher rhythmically chants.
"Oh, fuck yes," Jason repeats.
As Christopher's thrusts pick up speed, Jason's dick autonomously spurts
its gift into Christopher's palm, and a few seconds later Christopher gifts
Jason's asshole. The two of them share Jason's cum, and then they fall
asleep again, Christopher still inside his cousin.
They are still so, when Jason's alarm clock goes off.