Authors: Arden Aoide
Sometimes I hated
her. I hated her because she manipulated me in wanting things I had no control
over.
I
kept her pregnant and I kept my expectations low, but every night when I got
home, the boys were docile, the house was clean, and dinner was warm.
It
was exactly how it was meant to be, the way my mother kept house.
But
she behaved like a whore.
She
opened her legs far too eagerly and begged me with her body.
I
told Father once, soon after I got married, that I was surprised how easy Grace
was to bed. I was a man now, and felt proud to discuss such manly things. I was
the first among my friends to wed, so bragging to them didn't satisfy me after
the first few times.
Father
wasn't impressed and it took the wind out of my sails, so I admitted that she enjoyed
it. That sometimes she begged for it.
I
shouldn't have said it. It was the single most defining moment in my life. When
my father lost all respect for me.
He
became verbally dismissive at work. He would ask if I needed to call Grace to
ask permission to stay late. He told me to hurry home before she became
pregnant by any one of the farmhands.
I
made sure she was filled with my seed every night. There would never be a doubt
who the father of our children was.
I
used to enjoy her eagerness, but soon started to see how improprietous it was.
I needed her to hate it and to hate me. I needed her to fight me.
But
she never did.
She
worked dutifully, raised our boys to be proper men, and fell to her knees
eagerly if I desired it.
The
crueler I was, the more accommodating she would be, and I loved her for it. I
found myself growing sentimental when I thought of her. Nothing good could come
of that.
I
couldn't encourage her behavior. I would ignore it, and when I needed her so
badly that I was afraid of telling her how much, I made sure she was
unconscious beforehand.
I
could take everything then. I could tell her how I desired her, how I loved and
hated her, how my father was wrong, and I could taste and touch all the places
I wouldn't if she were lucid.
She
was the reason I disbelieved in God. Her interpretations of her pleasure, and
what my father had taught me were completely contradictory. I believed her when
she told me that God wouldn't give her the capacity for pleasure if she weren't
meant to take it, and I realized my father was a liar.
That
was the second thing that changed everything. He used religion often to tell
people what to do. To defend his opinion on the role of women in our society.
I
saw how he controlled everyone around him based on a lie.
I
marveled at it.
On
his deathbed, I confronted him with it. I recalled my childhood when I saw
clearly how he trained me up because that was what the Bible said. How I must
honor my father.
Brilliant
subterfuge.
How
I'd been brainwashed from a young age, and still in my thirties, trying to
please the man as the boy I once was.
He
played the winning hand. “I wondered when you would figure it out. There is
hope for your boys, yet.” He smiled proudly at me. He was a master manipulator.
It
was the validation I always craved. I didn't care about the grief on my
mother's face, mistaking it for my father's sickness. It wasn't until she
hugged Grace at the funeral that I realized the grief was for me.
I'd
made him proud. Finally.
Grace
would know. I would make her understand her role. I would make her understand
mine.
I
would not be manipulated by her any longer. I would only take my pleasure from
her if she truly subjugated.
She
needed to know it was her god that put me in charge.
Her
tears were sweet, and stifling her screams became my favorite pastime. But she
never looked at me as if I betrayed her, and I would have to try harder.
I
wanted our sons to see her meekness, to see what they should expect in a bride,
and to see how easy it would be to control the world.
With
a fifth on the way, my children could rule all of Texas.
They
would be leaders of men, and the Agnesson name would be immortal.
“...take
arms against a sea of troubles
And
by opposing end them.”
–William
Shakespeare, Hamlet
“Your new bride
will be here within the hour. You can take care of the detritus after.”
Jude
didn't turn, but his father didn't hesitate in leaving. He couldn't move.
Martin was heavy on his back, and when Jude shifted, Martin's cock slipped out.
Wetly. He felt a hysterical laugh work its way out. “Glad that was good for
you.” He choked back a sob. “Oh Jesus, Martin.”
He
tried to be respectful, but it would be impossible without looking at his
mangled face, and Jude couldn't do that right now. He did his best to heft
Martin upward and turned quickly as he fell to the ground. He couldn't see for
the sheen of sweat and tears, but he managed to get his jeans pulled up. The
drop in adrenaline made him acutely aware of his battered hole, sticky with
what was left of Martin, and he needed to get it off, off, off, or he'd go
crazy.
The
barn was stifling hot. The smell of sex and blood was something Jude normally
relished, but the rusty gash of violence covered even the scent of the animals.
It
smelled like a slaughterhouse. Jude left the barn without a glance back. He
didn't know what he would do. There was so much blood. He could only see one
way to get rid of it all.
He
didn't know how he would sit at supper tonight and pretend his lover had not
just been murdered by his father.
If
he weren't so horrified, he might actually embrace his shame more fully, but it
seemed such a small thing now. His biggest fear was getting caught by his
father, and apparently, it was a reasonable fear.
Jude
discovered he wouldn't have felt any less shame had Martin been a woman. At
this point in time, he just didn't care. He was certain if Martin were a woman,
he'd be alive.
His
father knew now, and he would have a bride soon. Jude knew this. He always knew
this. His father chose brides for all his brothers, and even his proclivities
wouldn't save him from such a union. He would pay a high price for wanting the
farm.
He
didn't mind a partner, even a female one. He resented the expectations. He just
wanted the farm and maybe a friendly farmhand or two. He didn't care for
children and he was sure his brothers would provide an heir in his place.
But,
he could tolerate it if it meant he'd get the farm. A nice girl to have supper
made for him and he could fuck her. So long as he could find a lover or two
through the years, and his wife was as docile as women tended to be, he could
manage.
He
knew it wasn't fair. He knew she would deserve a more faithful husband, but he
just wasn't wired that way. When Jude became aware of his sexuality, he thought
it was a grand cosmic joke. He'd heard sermon after sermon about how the Lord
tests his creations and Jude thought it was a cruel thing. Entirely too
disturbing for a benevolent god.
So,
while Jude believed in God, he refused to worship Him. And if this was his
punishment, then so be it.
God
had chosen to allow Anna and his mother to rot in the ground while allowing his
father to terrorize his family, so God was useless anyhow.
And
how he prayed. When he was fourteen, he would come home and jump in the shower
after lessons at old lady Lionel's house and he would be done all over the
shower wall within a minute just while thinking about the way Seth would
crinkle his eyes when he smiled at him. God never eased it.
He
remembered camping out by the river with him. They didn't bother with a tent,
and Seth would never kiss him. The only place he would let Jude's mouth touch
him was on his cock, but Jude didn't have a problem with that. Well, not at
first.
Of
course, he grew infatuated, and continued to want more and more. But his
passion was never fully reciprocated. Not by Seth and not by Martin. Martin
only ever sucked him off or let Jude fuck him because it was fair, and because
Jude's father was his boss.
God,
but Jude loved it. He loved sucking cock. He loved being the sole reason
someone felt pleasure. He loved being fucked. He loved the wickedness of it,
the perfection of it, and in those moments Jude believed no one would want to
be inside you like this unless they really loved you. But he knew it was a
delusion. Martin had never kissed him, and Jude wondered if there was something
even more taboo about it.
The
meeting of eyes must be an intimacy that was so well guarded. He'd never seen
his father and Anna kiss, and he watched the brief kiss between his brother and
that mess of a girl, but her eyes were tightly shut. Jude didn't bother looking
at his brother's face to see his expression while kissing her.
He
would soon know. Maybe he could look up Seth. Last he heard, he was in Austin,
married with a baby on the way. Jude was fairly certain he would not be pleased
to see him. Shame was strong and he imagined Seth would be reminded of it.
He
felt bad for the girl. His bride. The girl he would never be completely happy
with all because she didn't have the right equipment. He would try not to abuse
her with resentment. He would have to remind himself she was just as much a
victim of this as he was, but even more so. Jude was blessed with a cock and
that made the hierarchy quite clear.
Jude
made it back to his little home behind the main house. Even if his father was
dead and gone, he didn't want to live in it. He was not sure what he would do
with it. His brothers may want to sell it, but he would be lost without this
farm. It was smaller than it used to be as his father sold acres to families
over the county. It wasn't a huge money maker anymore, but it turned enough
profit to maintain his simple lifestyle without any help from his father. His
type of cattle was unlike any around the state, and was served at some of the
finest restaurants in Texas, and when his father died, it would be sold in the
States as well. His orchard fruits did well at the market and folks had to come
early if they wanted eggs.
Maybe
he should do what Jared did and find a little place for him and his bride to
hide away, but Jude lived and breathed for the land and the river, and the
livestock. He couldn't imagine looking at the sky from any other place.
Maybe
he could just gut the main house. Maybe he would have a large family. If he
fathered a ton of kids, surely his wife would be too busy to see his
shortcomings. They could be content.
Finding
Anna cold and still in her bed changed him in ways that he couldn't describe.
He'd never been close to his father, but it was profound that she'd rather take
her life than spend another moment with them. He had made a point to watch him
after. He looked for the difference between his false smiles and his real ones.
It wasn't easy, because the false smiles were when everyone else was pleased.
His real smiles were rare. Jude hardly ever saw them. He would catch a glimpse
of his father unnoticed with a content smile.
Jude
wasn't sure if he wanted to know what really made his father happy. Whatever it
was made Anna want to kill herself.
But
Jude never expected tonight, and the ease of ending a life. It made him wonder
what other cruelty his father was capable of. It also made him realize that it
wasn't meant for him to see, and that would explain Anna's departure.
Jude
still couldn't fathom it.
The
way Anna would hide from his father made him think women didn't like being
bedded anyhow, other than for the purpose of conception. And maybe not even
then. His father didn't talk of it much except to repeat the church's stance:
Men had authority and in order to keep it, women must remain silent.
And
if they weren't? It was up to the husband to discipline his wayward wife. Jude
hoped the Peterson girl didn't challenge him, though he couldn't think of
anything she might do to irritate him. Honestly, he could think of nothing they
could talk about and nothing they might have in common. To discipline her
sounded completely foreign. A spanking? Harsh words? If someone tried to spank
him, he'd see it as an overture. To put your hands on another adult's ass
couldn't be anything but sexual in nature.
But,
what did he know? He liked them a bit mouthy, but he couldn't imagine telling
an innocent young woman how hard he wanted to fuck her. It sounded like it
would be rather horrible for everyone if he were the violent sort.
He
wasn't the violent sort, but as he placed the clothes from his body, including
his shoes, into a new garbage bag, grief and anger began to war and he wanted
to punch something.
He
washed Martin's blood and brain from his hair and face slowly, and turned the
water up as hot as he could stand it. He scrubbed until the water ran clean,
then pink again, and he scrubbed some more.
He
wondered how long his father must've been watching in order to know exactly
when to shoot. How did he know Jude would duck his head at the right time? If
he had meant to kill him, he would have used a second bullet.
Oh.
Unless James made a split
second decision to use it to exert power over him. He wouldn't have any qualms
of marrying the Peterson girl instead, but that might look a bit odd. First the
Kelley girl, then this one. Maybe James had considered it, but knew it would
reflect poorly on him.
In
a split second, James chose to hold this over Jude's head instead of kill him
and take the young woman. That said a lot. Jude would have to be unashamed and
strong in the face of his father, and his father terrified him.
He
shook as he dried off and tried to pull clean presentable clothes on. He
favored Jared in looks, only slighter, and his own blue eyes tended toward
gray.
It
was too warm for long sleeves, but it was the nicest thing he had outside of
church clothes. He would do his best to remain unruffled during dinner, and try
to catch his father off guard.
He
would get the farm. He would not accept another outcome.
James
tolerated Jude's deficiencies simply because he'd always been discreet. As
disgusting as it was, he knew firsthand sometimes your desires were difficult
to tame. Certainly Jude knew his duties.
James
was disappointed Jude had allowed himself to be caught. And he wondered if he
would have allowed Martin to live if their roles had been reversed. He found
the question interesting, and as he put away the rifle, he contemplated on it
truthfully. He would have interrupted them, and Martin would have been shamed,
never to return, but he'd still be alive.
Because
James wasn't a crack shot, and there had only been one bullet. He'd retrieved
the gun from his cabinet when he saw the barn door unlatched while he was going
to notify Jude about supper. It was dusk, and Martin was supposed to be gone,
and Jude done for the evening. James wasn't concerned, thinking it was probably
one of the boys, but it was always wise to arm yourself when you weren't sure
and you wanted to be careful.
When
he peeked inside, he knew what he needed to do, but realized he brought the
wrong gun. He would just have to make do. He was completely fine with making
do.
Jude
was supposed to be dead, and James was supposed to eviscerate Martin. Fuck all
the boys in the city, but not one of his own, or on his land. No matter how
much his stupid son was begging for it.
It
was a disgrace. Jude was on borrowed time. James would have to see if he
behaved himself for dinner and marry the girl like he was commanded to do. And
quickly. Before James changed his mind and decided to take him out after
supper. Because he was tempted, and still might do so.
He
knew Jude would have to burn the barn, and James would have to make sure it was
done right. The barn needed replacing anyway.
Martin
was disgruntled because James let him go this evening for slacking on the job.
It was such a shame he chose to go out that way, and even more of a shame he
didn't understand the unpredictable science of smoke and the effects of
inhalation.
James
would be appropriately upset. He needed the distraction anyway. Anything to get
Shula Agnesson out of his head until he could figure out what needed to be done
about her. She had taken control of him in a very disconcerting way.
A
fire and a dead body should do the trick.
James
thought quite a lot about what he would do to her. Before, when he thought she
would be his bride, it was a longer, much more drawn out, utterly delicious
courtship
.
This
new obsession was something else entirely. Something new. He knew he would only
have one opportunity; one chance. He certainly wouldn't have a chance at a
second time unless Jared was very stupid, and James had jumped the gun in his
eagerness to have her.
So,
he had one time. One time to make it
perfect.
To taste the saline and
revel in the honeyed metallic bite of her pheromones on his tongue, screaming
in terror.
He
never single-mindedly wanted someone like that. Sure, he wanted singular
experiences and even singular experiences with a particular woman. But, none
were like Shula. None would ever fight him, while speaking of his funeral right
before
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