Seeds

By John Chapman

We all come from seed, sperm and egg. And then there are seedy people of which no one admits to being, scattering their seeds to the four winds with impunity. Procreation seems to be a human imperative, as if spreading your seed secures a measure of immortality. Only people are so arrogant, and any assumption concerning such immortality is thoughtless speculation. With seven billion people in the world, where/how could we be so wrong? Where is the necessary respect and consideration for life if not with ones propensity to scatter seed? Go figure!

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Chapman
• Release date: Aug 4, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301009466

John Chapman

We started the 'A Vested Interest' series in 2007 and it took over a year before I came up with an ending we were happy with. At 170,000 words A Vested Interest was too long though for a printed book. We cut it heavily but still ended with a 140,000 word book. There was no alternative, we had to split it into a two book series. Doing that, we thought, would allow us to put back some of the content we had cut and expand the second book (Dark Secrets) a little.Well that was the plan. We ended up splitting the second book and making a trilogy by adding 'No Secrets'. The original ending didn't quite fit now so we moved it into a fourth book - Stones, Stars and Solutions.And so it goes on. We are now writing book 10 and 11 of the series. Shelia has written a spin-off 'Blood of the Rainbow' trilogy. Altogether it's 2 million words so far! In terms of time, we've only covered a few months. There is an end in sight but not for another 5,000 years. Maybe I'll get to use my original ending then?About the AuthorsJohn and Shelia Chapman are a husband and wife team who met on Internet and crossed the Atlantic to be together. John, an English ex-science and computer teacher contributed the technology and 'nasty' bits while Shelia drew on her medical experience in the USA and produced the romance. The humour? That came from real life.

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SEEDS

By

John Chapman

Cover art by John Chapman

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2012 by John E. Chapman

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

For Mark who reads me

Foreword

We all come from seed, sperm and egg. And then there are seedy people of which no one admits to being, scattering their seeds to the four winds with impunity. Procreation seems to be a human imperative, as if spreading your seed secures a measure of immortality. Only people are so arrogant, and any assumption concerning such immortality is thoughtless speculation. With seven billion people in the world, where/how could we be so wrong? Where is the necessary respect and consideration for life if not with ones propensity to scatter seed? Go figure!

Little Bo-Peep has lost her sheep,

And can't tell where to find them;

Leave them alone, and they'll come home,

Wagging their tails behind them

Chapter 1

In the small Southern town of Langston Tennessee there is a neighborhood, a section of that town, known by the name Beaver. Where you goin’? Oh I’m headed back to Beaver. No one knows exactly how it came to have that name. Some say that many years ago beaver thrived along the creek that ambles through it, which is the most plausible theory. But among the young people there, and others, it is rumored that the name owes its origin to the large number of girls of questionable repute who have emerged from that shabby section of town: country pie, darling jelly roll, white whores, and prostitutes: Show me that beaver sweetie pie!

There had been talk among the members of Langston’s City Council about changing the name Beaver to something less encumbered with unwholesome rumor. But it would mean changing the names on many city documents. And many businesses in that section of Langston have the word Beaver in the name of their business, and of course in their advertising and on many business brochures. The problems changing the name are seen as huge so the idea is invariably shelved. Beaver it is, and Beaver it probably always shall be.

It was Halloween time, and the fall air was cool and getting more-so daily. All the trees in the valley town of Langston were changing color fast, and the change would rapidly catch up with trees peaking with color in the higher elevations.

The town of Langston would soon have its Halloween block party, they called it, on the Saturday before Halloween which would befall the following Monday. It would be held in the center, business block of downtown Langston.

The Block party in Langston has always been orderly and conducted in a manner in keeping with Langston tradition, which means many policemen patrolling the streets and celebratory premises. There should be no (observable alcohol), and fights or riotous behavior was not allowed. There should be organized activities including paid for, locally and well-known, musical groups playing popular music. Conscientiously organized spook houses would encircle the downtown square, and available good food would be sold in booths operated by downtown businesses. And the Halloween attire worn by the majority of people attending has always been considered to be stylish and apropos: scary yes, but in a manner reasoned as tasteful and civilized.

The community of Beaver was having a party of their own that Saturday also. Beaver’s Halloween parties were not so well organized and maintained. Beaver was considered the low-brow section of Langston and it often lived up to that consideration. Their Halloween party would take place in the old park, Beaver Park, along Beaver Creek that meandered through the southern section of Langston.

As always the same people vending food, playing music and conducting spook trails and spook shacks, arrived at the park a week before Halloween to strategize and plan their parts in the festivities. We’ll be over here and y’all over there, was very nearly the extent and range of planning. We’ll fly by the seat of our pants like we always do. Everything will work out just fine, if the cops’ll just leave us alone, so no big bonfires.

And unless total mayhem ensued connected with the party, or party goers, the police would drive on by but leave the Beaver goblins alone because at many Beaver Creek Halloween parties past, police cars were targets for kids with BB guns, and maybe a few grownup goblins with BB guns. One policeman had been hit in the ear with a BB. There’s a million of them little bastards out there. We’ll never find the one that did it.

Luke Strong and Burl Greenfield were friends, each eighteen years of age, and had been friends since they were small boys. In the past they had together attended the Beaver Halloween parties at Beaver Park many times. They had always dressed up with old fashioned, homemade costumes. Ragged clothing, Vaseline and black soot from their stovepipes and chimneys were used sometimes for blackening their faces. White flour and food coloring was used to decorate other parts. Old wigs, hats, pantyhose, duct tape and Magic Markers were also often employed. It had been fun, but this year they both felt too grownup to participate in such childish manner. Tricker treatin’ was over for them. We’ll just go as ourselves, Burl said. That’ll be scary enough. Luke laughed.

Will Nina be there? Luke asked.

She is supposed to be with Jessie, I reckon, Burl said.

I know Jessie is going. I asked her, Luke said.

Jessie Davis was Luke’s girlfriend, and Nina Craigmire was Burl’s. The girls were each seventeen years old and still forced by law to attend school. But their plans were, as soon as they turned eighteen, to quit school like Luke and Burl had. Both girls had highly dysfunctional parents who could care less what their daughters did. The girls never studied, and were still sophomores in high school just waiting until their eighteenth birthdays, both in December. They would then be done with "schoo", and just in time for Christmas.

This’ll be the best Christmas ever, Nina had said.

On Sunday, the day before Halloween, Gwendolyn Patterson was dress rehearsing for the Beaver creek party. She was going as Cleopatra this year. She was pretty and had been told on several occasions that she looked a lot like Elizabeth Taylor, and she sort of did. So to her, looking the part of Cleopatra mostly involved basically facial makeup. Her costume was crudely fashioned with articles and clothing she attained there at her house. Though the temperature would be very cool she would wear a short, see-through, green chiffon skirt her mother wore once to a masquerade party when she was a teenager. Gwen’s bikini bathing suit would be worn underneath, her scant bikini top displaying bare shoulders and arms, and sumptuous breasts. She made a sword by taping a one foot ruler across a yardstick just above the handle part, and would tie it to her waist with crochet cord. In a criss-crossing fashion, she would wrap her bare calves with black electrician’s tape to simulate knee length sandals. But to her, period accuracy of the costume mattered little because it was her Elizabeth Taylor likeness, and her sexy body, she was most interested in bringing attention to.

Gwen was very pretty, and thought, by many of her young associates, and others, to be the sexiest looking girl in Langston. She knew this, and though she rarely brushed her teeth, or washed thoroughly other important body parts, she took every opportunity to display her more obvious, curvaceous, physical assets to anyone interested, and there were many men in Langston, and a few women, interested. Gwendolyn had been called a slut by several people around town, and that disparaging description was, in a single word, accurate. And she was only nineteen years of age.

Her brother Leonard, two years older than her, was called a half-wit by most people who knew of him. But he was not a half-wit, only withdrawn and possibly a little slow. He did not work and stayed at home. Masturbation was his favorite muse, that and peeping in on Gwendolyn when hopefully she was undressing. Leonard was not very careful when he did this, and many times Gwen knew he was watching. She always acted as though she was unaware that he was looking and would give him the show he had come to expect. She would come near the door where he was peeping in, and with only her panties covering her behind, and sometimes nothing at all, she would bend over with her ass facing him and fiddle with some imagined object on the floor. Leonard would get an erection and hustle down the hallway to his room and close the door. Gwen could hear him leaving in a hurry and would smile.

Her father, named Buster Patterson, was forty-four years of age and a mechanic at a local service station. He was not a really good mechanic, just the only one the owner had found that would come to work every day, and he had done so for five years. Buster seemed to never wash his hands or face. He did but never thoroughly. So under his fingernails and in the creases of the skin of his aging hands and face there was always black, dirty grease from the cars he worked on at Zeek’s Service Station and Garage. Buster had only an eighth grade education and except for drinking beer, watching TV, and screwing his wife Mildred, he had no entertainment interest at all. He wanted no others.

Mildred was thirty-something, she would never divulge her actual age. She too was very pretty, and also filthy, and at that time was enjoying a sexual affair on the side with a skinny, teenage boy nicknamed Goober, who delivered their newspaper. Buster was totally unaware of it.

One afternoon right after lunch and Buster had come home to eat bologna sandwiches, he went upstairs to get a clean shirt and noticed Leonard down the hall peeping into Gwen’s bedroom. He went down there silently, but Leonard heard and saw him, and quickly left for his room.

Buster crept up quietly and peeped through the crack of the slightly open doorway and saw his daughter naked, saw her naked ass. She was bending over, and when she stood up she spun around to give Leonard a full frontal view. Buster was awestruck. He watched for a moment, until Gwen went into her bathroom, and then he went downstairs to find Mildred. When he found her in the kitchen he took her hand and led her to their bedroom where he tore at her clothes until she removed them, and then he screwed her for twenty minutes. She was thrilled. He would be late returning to work, but he figured what the hell.

***

Halloween evening, just before dark, Luke and Burl met at the corner of their block and started walking down to the park.

I can hear ‘em now, Burl said. They’ve already started.

I should have brought my guitar, Luke said, I always plan to, but then I chicken out.

If you ever got started pickin’ with ‘em you’d never get stopped.

At’s probably right, Luke said. I’ll get it goin’ one day. You talked to Nina?"

Yeah, they said they would be at the bridge and we can meet ‘em there.

You’re fuckin’ ‘er aint ye?

Hell yeah, Burl said. I’m going to tonight. I figured we’d slip off to the garage behind Winston’s and hang out there. You an’ Jessie wanna go along with us?

Jessie ‘ll freak out, but yeah, that’s a good idea. Winston won’t care, will ‘e?

E’won’t even know about it. He’s in Kentucky.

Super-duper, Luke said, as they neared the bridge. I see ‘em standin’ down air. That Nina is a real looker.

Keep ye mind on Jessie. Nina’s mine.

Beaver Park, as a park, was neglected for three hundred and sixty days each year. The swings sets were in shambles, the concrete picnic tables were breaking down, some had crumbled completely. The tennis court hadn’t been used in ten years. The asphalt court was bulging in places with sprouting weeds, grass and saplings. The concrete block bathrooms had no doors, and the toilet fixtures had been inoperative for longer than ten years. But Beaver creek ran beside the park, and many people drove their cars and pickup trucks and parked them along the edge of the creek and picnicked, and fished in the creek. It was useful for that, and for parking with your lover at night to drink beer and screw. Beer cans, food wrappers, and discarded condoms littered the premises plentifully.

The Halloween party each year was alive and active. Spook shacks were cobbled together, electric lights strung up all around, a hundred or more picnic tables were brought and set up, and a wooden stage was thrown together with two by fours and plywood. Gasoline generators hummed providing energy for lights, amplifiers, coffee pots, popcorn poppers, griddles and crock pots. The low-brow people of Beaver knew how to fly by the seat of their pants when they needed to, and they needed to when organizing and holding the Halloween party at Beaver Park each year.

The smell of hot popcorn, chili-dogs, hamburger, and beer permeated the cool fall air along the creek as Jessie, Nina, Burl and Luke walked into the middle of the growing crowd. Immediately they met with young people they knew and began conversing. As is typical of most people, the girls gravitated together, and the boys pulled away and began talking about the things they usually like to discuss; Damn, Rick Brown said, Have y’all see Gwen Patterson?

No, Luke said. Why?

She is dressed like Cleopatra…kinda. She’s wearin’ a dress you can see through and I don’t know what she’s got on under that but it is skimpy, a bikini I guess because that is what it looks like she’s wearin’ coverin up them big’o titties of hers. Damn I’d like to fuck her!

Hell, you’d like to fuck a dog, Jerry said. But I reckon I know what’s ye mean.

Where is she? Burl asked.

She’s over by that barbeque hut with some of her friends.

Let’s go look ‘er over, Burl whispered to Luke.

Luke followed Burl as he walked up just past the Barbeque hut and to where Gwen