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Southern Hospitality: The Beginning

by countrygentdom 11/26/12

Author's note: This is my first attempt at writing an incest/taboo story. I would appreciate feedback. Although it is told from the first-person narrative, and the title has "True" ("True" as in genuine, not as in fact) in it, it is complete fiction, and just the product of my kinky imagination. I do not directly mention the actual ages of the characters in my story, however, here is a break-down: Mrs. McKenna ("mama") is 40, Tad (the narrator) is 30, Bobby-George (Tad's love interest) is 23, Junior (the older brother) is 21, Tommy (the younger) is 19, and the twins (Sarah & Sammie) are 18. Thanks for reading!


Where do I begin?

I have never told this story to anyone, and most people would call me a liar if I tried. You know the saying about how truth is stranger than fiction? Well, this little tale I am about to unfold takes the cake in fucking weirdness! I even thought about buying one of those mega-ba-jillion-dollar lottery tickets, because I was really running the long odds on this one.

My story starts about four days before Mardi Gras, in Portland, Oregon, when I got a wild-hair up my ass to hop in my car, and go to New Orleans. I had always wanted to go, and never had -hell, I never even been east of the Mississippi River! I wasted no time packing, and loaded up my little toaster-car for my long journey. Within an hour, I was on I-84, and heading east.

By the time I reached Arkansas, I realized that I did not plan my trip all that well. The freeway came to an end, in a city called Pine Bluff, and I ended up on state highways and county roads, as I passed through the rural farmlands. Although lost, I knew I was making progress.

It was on a county road, somewhere south of another no-name town, that I blew a radiator hose, and I was suddenly stuck out in the middle of bum-fuck, Arkansas. As I sat along the roadside, with no cell-signal and a bottle of pop, that song from Deliverance suddenly started playing in my head. It wasn't long, however, that an old pick-up rounded the bend, and saw me -stranded. The old, beat-up jalopy pulled in behind me, and I started to worry about what kind of hillbilly hell I was going to wind up in. But instead of some coverall-clad, toothless redneck with a shotgun, the driver was a gorgeous young woman! She had dishwater-blonde hair, and wearing a short, floral summer-dress that showed off her long, shapely legs. My eyes widened, as they drank in her stunning beauty, and graceful walk.

"Looks like y'all 'er in a peck o' trouble." she stated, with her delightful southern drawl.

I paused to remember my manners, as I knew how southerners don't like familiarity from strangers, then answered, "I think I blew a radiator hose, miss. Is there a garage somewhere near?"

"We got everything you need to fix that little, ol' car back on the farm." she said, with a flirty twinkle in her eye. "Daddy's outa' town, but my brothers 'll fix 'er right up for ya." she concluded with a smile.

"Oh, thank you, miss," I blurted out, "I would be happy to pay them, of course!" then I remembered my manners, again. "Uh," I stumbled, "my name's Tad -Tad Webster."

"Of course, where are my manners?" she exclaimed, as she rolled her eyes. "I'm Roberta McKenna -but folks just call me Bobby-George, on account 'a my middle name's Georgina."

The next thing I knew, I was in her truck, and headed down a dirt road. The house, at the end of the the road, was rustic, bet very large. It was a two-story farmhouse, that looked like it hadn't been painted in fifty years. There were several other building on the property, what I guessed to be a small workshop, a huge barn, and a ramshackle garage. And just like out of a " might be a redneck" joke, there were quite a few cars and trucks, in various states of disrepair, littered about the numerous fruit and nut trees in the front yard. I immediately felt a little guilty for entertaining these stereotypes. After all, the pretty, young lady was offering her help out of the kindness of her heart -or, so, I thought.

We walked in the house, and were spotted by a tall boy (who looked to be in his late-teens, or early twenties), that promptly heralded our arrival, "Ma, Bobby-George brought comp'ny!" he bellowed, at his unseen mother. This was followed by the thunder, of several pairs of feet, scurrying to the living room. The whole fam-damnly -sans the father, of course- piled in to see who "comp'ny" was, but the mother remained in the kitchen.

The was another tall boy that looked a little younger than the other, and twin girls -that were also teenagers.. The boys were similar, in appearance, as the both were a little over six-feet in height, lean, and muscular, with light-brown hair. The twin girls were petite in frame, with big, green eyes, and wavy locks of golden-blond tresses that fell down below their shoulders. They were the cutest little book-ends, and both had a very bubbly demeanor, as they just stood their with coquettish smiles -swaying nervously, to-and-fro.

"Well, who in tar-nartion is it?" an irritated, matronly voice asked.

"Stranger, ma, looks like a city-boy!" the young man called back.

"Well, hell, Junior, offer the man some ice tea!"

We all sat at the dinner-table: Me, Bobby-George, Mrs. McKenna (her name was Roberta May, but I was all about minding my manners around this southern family), Jimmy-Junior (the older boy), Tommy (the younger one), and the twins (Sammie and Sarah).

"Ma," Junior began, "took a look at that-there radiator-hose, an' he's gonna need a new one."

"Well, son," his mother replied, "yer' jus' gonna hafta go inta town tommorah' mornin', an' pick another up." Roberta-May finished, and then turned to me, "An', you, are jus' gonna hafta stay the night here."

"I'll make up a room for him, mama!" Sammie volunteered, eagerly.

"Me, too!" Sarah chimed in.

"That's fine girls," she confirmed, "jus' you finish yer supper first."

"Thank you, Mrs. McKenna," I graciously said, "I hate to impose, and you all have been far too hospitable, already, but I don't see how I got much of a choice."

"Oh, now, son," the matronly woman responded, in a playfully admonishing tone, "you jus' stop with all that 'Mrs. Mckenna' nonsense. While yer a guest in my home, you call me mama -ya here?"

I smiled, slightly embarrassed by her offer, but just replied:

"Well, thank you, mama."

She was in her forties, but much like her daughter, she was quite stunning. Roberta-May had long, chestnut hair she kept in a neat bun at the back her head, and steel-blue eyes that seemed to sparkle with life, and vigor. And I was surprised, after having five children, that she had such a trim frame, yet she had all the proper curves. Her breasts were large, and she showed them off with her low-cut sun-dress, and her hips were round, and full. To be honest, even though she had to have -at least- fifteen years on me, I would have no problem with hopping into bed with her! However, at the moment, my interests were focused on her eldest daughter.

Bobby-George was tall (and judging from the height of her mother, compared to her and her brothers, the tall stature must have come from the father), and was a bit more petite, in build, than her mom. She was smaller in the chest, and a bit trimmer in the hips. For dinner, she had pulled her dark-blond hair back into a ponytail, and this only served to draw attention to her luminous, green eyes -they were captivating! She had a delicate, and refined, aire about her, yet one could tell that she was a hearty, young woman that could get down-and-dirty with the best of 'em.

After dinner, which was a delectable fare of fried-foods, we all 'retired to the parlor', as mama would say.

We all sat around, laughing and joking, over iced-tea, and short-bread cookies. It was, really, quite relaxed, family environment, and it kind of gave me a 'down-home' feeling. I was, very much, enjoying myself in this atmosphere. It was quite different from the stale, cold family I was used to. That was until Mrs. McKenna put me on the spot.

"I've seen the way y'all been lookin' at my Bobby-George," she said to me, skeptically, with an uncomfortable interrogative close at hand, "an' I was wond'rin': have y'all been thinkin' about what my little-girl looks like nekkid?"

My heart, suddenly, lodged in my throat, and I just sat there -speechless. I felt a cold sweat begin to bead on my forehead, as I -greatly- feared that I had offended this nice family with my wandering eye.

It was then, that the entire room erupted into a boisterous laughter. Although the sudden mirth let me know that I had not upset these kind people, it did little to alleviate the tension I felt.

"Ah, hell, son," she said, when her cackling had died-down enough for her to form words, "don't you worry 'bout one little thing. Mama's gonna make sure you are taken care of, tonight!"


"Bobby-George," Mrs. McKenna said to her daughter, after she realized that I could not seem to respond to her, "take off all yer' clothes, and show our guest from out west all about 'southern-hospitality'."

Without a word, the beautiful, southern girl -that I had been lusting after- rose from the love-seat next to me, and pulled the light, cotton summer-dress from over her head.

Her body was taut, and tan, and I could see the tan-line -from a teeny, immodest bikini- wrapped around her waist -as she wore no panties. Her milky-white mound was clean-shaven, and I could also see the first signs of her sweet nectar glistening in lamp light.

My God, how I wanted her! Yet, I was so scared, and uncomfortable, with what was going on around me. After all, her mother just told her to strip -right in from of me! And worse yet, she did it without hesitation, or question.

What was going on, here?

My question was answered when she knelt down in front of me, and reached for my belt.

I admit, I jumped. I was no unnerved, but mama's soothing voice calmed me:

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