CHAPTER SIX
Every town has its village idiot, and Weedville was no exception. The townspeople of Weedville were happy with the idiot that lived amongst them after all, they could always point to the village of Pattonsville, which was about an hour's ride on a hobbling mule down the road from them, and scoff at their village idiot.
Pattonsville's chosen sloth was a man named Tom 'Thumb' Rentzler, a reformed sex pervert. Just three years ago he would go ambling down the streets of Pattonsville with his prick hanging obscenely from his fly on Sunday no less. Now, after constant talks with Pastor Luis, he had agreed to a compromise.
On Sundays, he would go ambling down the streets of Pattonsville with his fly down and his thumb sticking out from where his prick should have been. Now, all the ladies of Pattonsville were relieved; although some of them secretly wished that old Tom 'Thumb' Rentzler would pull out his fourteen-incher to show their husbands what a Man's cock should look like.
Yes, Weedville was lucky, or at least they thought they were lucky. Their village idiot was a man named Boris Jerkovich, the town photographer.
Boris' studio lay sandwiched between Martin Seaman's Buckeroo Bar and Jason Moresby's grocery/hardware store.
On this Monday evening, Boris was inside, in the back, developing his latest photos.
The red light was on. And his frail old hands dipped into the cleanser, deftly lifting up a photo of Connie Ryan sucking on somebody's prick. Boris was naked, except for the moth-eaten socks that no longer had the elasticity to hold them up higher than his ankles. Moving as fast as his seventy-two-year-old bones would allow, he rummaged through his frayed shirt that hung from a peg.
Boris found his wire-rimmed glasses. Put them on.
Glanced at the recently developed photograph. Holy slit!
Connie Ryan was sucking some young kid's prick. Jesus, the kid had a good-sized cock on him, and it was oozing cum he knew it was cum because it didn't froth like spit and it was oozing out of the corner's of Connie's cock-filled mouth.
Quickly Boris developed another print. God in Heaven! Connie was on top of the young kid's cock, her cunt poised right on the taut prick-head ready to slide down, or had she just raised up? Boris didn't know, but he moved faster now because he knew the answer would be shown in the next developed photo.
Aha! Connie's cunt was moving down on the boy's prick. The kid was grimacing, as if he were in pain. Connie was her usual self hair cascading over sweating shoulders, tits at rigid attention, thighs taut as they squatted over the boy's loins, cunt dribbling hot juice.
Boris didn't know the boy, but he knew that as soon as the kid turned eighteen and came in for his senior pictures, he would learn his name.
That was how he had first met Connie.
It had started exactly seventeen years ago when Connie was a hot cunted senior at Weedville High.
She had come to him for her senior picture; all the seniors came to Boris Jerkovich for their senior pictures because he was the only person in Weedville who knew the first fucking thing about a camera.
Boris remembered that day fondly. It had changed his whole life. It was an autumn day, and Connie had entered his studio wearing her sweater on backwards, black and white bobby soxers, three layers of petticoats beneath a very frilly dress, white cotton panties and a stiff Junior Miss bra. Now how did Boris know what she was wearing beneath all her 1955 apparel?
Well, he knew because he had cut a hole through the dressing-room wall. He had gotten the idea that year because the senior class had decided to have their pictures taken in formal looking graduation caps and commencement gowns. So naturally Boris had ordered appropriate graduation attire for everybody to pose in.
His first senior girl had been Elvira Schellenberg, a pony-tailed, acne-faced, young-looking scarecrow who insisted on putting on the cap and gown instead of just slipping it over her clothes and having her blouse collar show through.
So Boris had her dress in storage room that happened to have termite-eaten hole through which he saw his first piece of ass Elvira Schellenberg's scrawny ass and his first set of tits since the winter of '35.
Thereafter, Boris spied upon every senior girl that had used his storage room for a dressing room. In one month he had seen ten young, and some hairless, pussies that pranced about in front of his bulging eyes.
The month of October proved to be one helluva hard-on month for Boris Jerkovich, and he couldn't wait to see the pussy of the eleventh girl Connie Ryan.
And that was how Boris knew what Connie Ryan was wearing beneath that frilly yellow dress. He had watched from his spy hole as she unbuttoned the dress, letting it slither to the floor and form a chiffon cloud around her ankles. Then came the three layers of white petticoats, one after another billowing downwards.
Connie stepped out of the mountain of frilly chiffon and billowy petticoats, completely unaware of the one brown eye that gazed at her trim, firm thighs. She reached behind her and unbuttoned her sweater, peeling the woolen garment from her lithe-looking arms. She looked around, then decided to hang it from a nail that was three inches to the right of the eye that stand at her.
Gad! Boris could smell her cheap perfume, could see right down into the heaving cleavage of her tit-filled bra. His palsied hand found the zipper of his fly.
Zzzzzziiiipppp!
God! Had she heard him? Did she know that he was on the other side of the wall, unzipping his pants and pulling out the lanky piece of meat that was his cock?
Christ, his hand stunk with the odor of jizz. He hadn't played with his prick since he was a Russian teen-ager on the steppes of his former motherland.
The cleavage moved away from him. Connie was looking around for the cap and gown. She looked all around the storage room. Then hands on hips, her toe tapping against the hardwood floor, she called out 'Oh, Mr. Jerkovich, where's the cap and gown that I'm supposed to wear?'
Boris was in seventh heaven. This was the moment he had been waiting for. Quickly he positioned his camera where his eye had been. He set it on automatic timer so that it would snap pictures of Connie Ryan's lithe teen-age body in white cotton panties and stiff Junior Miss bra every ten seconds.
Click. 'What did you say, Miss Ryan?' Click.
Connie raised her arms as if imploring heaven for help. 'Where the hell is that cap and gown I'm supposed to wear?'
Click. 'Oh, I have it over here. I'll bring it right in.' Click.
'Just hand it through the door, Mr. Jerkovich. I don't want to see you looking at me now and gettin' funny ideas.'
Click.
Boris smiled as he carefully thrust the gown through the crack in the door entrance.
Click.
Later, Boris Jerkovich developed six photos of Connie clad only in her white underwear. Then he started jacking off, his erection slowly rising to full hardness, Of course, he never did come; the last time he had shot any juice out of his prick was in the winter of '47 when he was in Siberia happed in a logger's cabin with a lonely Cossack wife.
Still later, he had made over a hundred prints from those original six, and he had pasted them up all over his dark room, where under the eerie red light he could pull on his old prick and hope that someday he-could come again.
Then came the day three years after those senior pictures, when he was admiring Connie Ryan's body and his hand was jacking like lightning on his cock that a brainstorm appeared out of nowhere. If he could take pictures of Connie like that, what if he sneaked around and photographed her completely naked in the bathroom or in her bedroom?
That very same night, he lumbered out into the darkness, camera in hand. He found out that Connie had moved out of her parents' house and was living in one of the most expensive apartments in Weedville, shelling out almost eighty bucks a month for a three-bedroom rental.
He scouted around for an hour. Then he finally figured out how he could do it. There was a sturdy oak tree that grew past Connie's bedroom window. The light was on in the bedroom, and her window was opened slightly.
