AH SHIT (futa, humor)

Story by misfit446

ANother one off but might go with other chaps if you all want. Let me know.

AH SHIT

“Ah shit,” Vera Mae growled out, stepping out onto the crooked porch and bending to pick up the blanket-lined box holding a baby. Immediately, she fished a finger into the leg opening of the diaper to feel for it. “Yep, mine,” she sighed.

Turning to reenter the structure she called out. “Dammit paw, we need another room.” Vera Mae navigated through the virtual sea of humanity as she carried the box into the kitchen, setting it down on the long wooden table.

Her two eldest, Sarah and Tammy Beth were sitting at the table with wide grins on their mugs. Their mother bent over and looked under the heavy table to see the next eldest Flora and Georgia Ann sucking at the large ten inchers with pleasure.

“You be sure to make no mess now, you youngin’s,” Vera Mae said and tickled the chin of the cherub lying in the box. “PAW!”

“What in tarnashion is a goin’ on here?” the old, bearded man asked in a falsetto voice as he clomped into the kitchen with his shit stained boots.

“Paw, we got t’another one,” Vera Mae stated and pointed at the cooing baby on the table.

“Yer sure?”

“Yep. Mine.”

“Dag nammit Vera Mae. You gotta keep your wick outta them wimmen folk,” he shouted loudly. “Them gover’ment papers are a witch to write up.”

“Then whatta am I to stick it in then?” the dutiful daughter asked, setting a hand on her shapely hip.

“What? Oh, I don’ know. Anythin’ daughter. ANYTHIN’ but a fertile woman. Just use yer head.”

The eighteen year old thought for a few seconds. “Well, I’ll try paw but it won’t really be the same.”

“Daughter, if it weren’t for the state and ole George Washington, D.C. givin’ us a whole bunch of money for yer twenty two . . . “

“Twenty three, paw,” Very Mae interrupted and pointed at the now erect baby dick sticking out of the loose fitting diaper.

“Dang it, that kid’s gonna blow,” Paw exclaimed. And sure enough, that little baby worm shivered and a stream of pee shot out, wetting the baby all over.

“Aww, yer right paw. I missed that one,” Vera Mae said, stepping over to clean up the child.

Paw stomped out of the kitchen, swatting an ocean of kids out of the way to his old wooden rocking chair and sat with a heavy sigh. ‘I had twelve kids, six with Emma, my wife, two with her sister Hedda and four with Nora, the mayor’s wife. It was Nora who’d given me this devil of a child,’ he thought of Vera Mae. “Damn her soul,” he muttered.

“Connie, Lori Jane and Wendy Edith, you get this baby cleaned up and diapered,” Vera Mae called out as the kids ran up and stood in line. Handing the box over to the three, she turned to stir the huge pot of oatmeal with what looked like a wooden oar. Just thinking of who that baby belonged to made hot blood to flow about her body, causing goose pimples to pop up in unexpected areas. With all the work trying to make a life off the scrub land about their crooked, added on shack made her and the kiddies all fit and tanned.

As she stirred the thick mash about, she started to daydream about the last time she wet her wick. It was young Erin O’Shannon, the young sprite of a girl that came to photograph the area for some college schoolin’.

Short, thin and painfully cute, she came to the farm, being mobbed by the kiddies. Surprised and awed at all the kids asking questions and pulling her this way and that as her three cameras about her neck swung about.

Vera Mae had come out onto the falling down porch, witnessed the kids all talking and shouting about the young girl. “Say, who are you? Whatcha want?”

“Um excuse me. My name is Erin and I’m doing a photo study of rural life in this area for a class I’m taking at State.”

“Uh huh. Well, there ain’t much to shoot about here, except kids.”

Erin wormed her way through the mob to the bottom of the steps. “Can I have permission to do some shots anyway?”

“Don’t care no ways. You just be careful among them kids.”

“Thanks,” Erin offered, beaming a toothy smile. Vera Mae turned and entered the wooden structure, letting the loose screen door slam loudly.

The large galvanized farmer’s sink was filled with three younger children, splashing about in the soapy water. Vera Mae absentmindedly scrubbed the babes as she watched the attractive girl move about, snapping pictures as a long tail of children followed, shooting questions, begging to be photographed, or just following. With a smirk, Vera noticed her fifth oldest, Gertie Fran pulling on her pud as she sucked her thumb.

‘That one’s a gonna get going pretty young,’ she thought, a knowing smirk slithering about her lips.

With the kids cleaned and dried, she shooed them to put on some clothing, with company here and all. Padding feet thundered across the well worn, uneven planking.

Looking out again from the large sink window, she absentmindedly pulled the stopper to drain it as sh

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