So I'm a female trying my hand at some erotic stories. This one will be posted in about 5 or 6 parts. First one will have the least "erotic" material to get things going.
Chapter 1 "The Beginning"
The year was 1878 and life in Nebraska was hard. After the war, Billy’s dad, Wilbur Johnson, had returned only a shell of his former self. He said it was time to start over. So, he sold everything he had and put himself, his wife, and his 3 kids on train to Independence, Missouri. There in Independence, Mr. Johnson purchased a wagon and a few horses and joined a group heading west. Billy wasn’t exactly sure where his dad was taking him, his mother, and his two sisters. All he knew was that when his father took ill near Fort Kearney, Nebraska, that’s where they stopped. Wilbur did recover and there near the banks of the Platte River, he began his homestead, scraping by through the long, cold winters on the Great Plains. The work was constant during the growing season, and during the winter, it was just a chore just to stay alive. Billy and his father would hunt game and at an early age he became a crack shot with the old percussion rifle that hung over the family fireplace. Every so often, Billy would surreptitiously sneak a glance at his father’s cap and ball Colt Navy, which was kept wrapped in a cloth in the desk drawer. Billy had heard that his father was in a Calvary unit during the War but his dad never spoke of it.
Things changed quickly in Billy’s life after his mother died unexpectedly of a fever in the fall. Billy’s father Wilbur, knowing that the consumption he was suffering from would soon give way to death, made a difficult decision. Wilbur, wrote to his sister back in Virginia and put his two daughters in the care of a friend who was traveling back to Independence, Missouri. The girls would be put on a train in Independence and sent back East to be raised by their aunt. Billy and his father did everything they could to maintain the farm until the morning Billy woke up to milk the cows and found his father’s pale, lifeless body. He’d noticed his father’s cough had been growing worse and worse over the last few days so it shouldn’t have been a shock. Nevertheless, Billy was so grieved he no longer felt like getting out of bed. Billy was 18 years old, left without a father or mother, deprived of his sisters, and all alone in a desolate place without any kindred or friends, except for the few neighbors he saw each Sabbath day at the little white frame church. But he had to keep the 40-acre homestead going. So, in the spring, he took the wagon to town to buy wheat seed for planting. He knew he didn’t have enough to cover the bill with Mr. Campbell, but put it on credit with the hope of paying his bill at the store after harvest. As Billy leaned on the counter in the store, he tried to make sense of his father’s chicken scratch on the piece of paper from the year before. He wasn’t very good at math but figured he’d order the same amount of seed his father had ordered the prior year. As he squinted at the faded ink, he coughed in his sleeve. A voice behind him said, “Son, you better get that cough checked out.” “Excuse me?” Billy replied, looking over his shoulder. It was Earl Whitson, the local, stocky built, balding doctor. Dr. Whitson said, “With your father’s recent death with tuberculosis, you better be sure you haven’t caught it.” Billy said, “Doctor, I can’t afford this wheat seed, much less a doctor’s bill.” Dr. Whitson smiled, “Why don’t you come by and see me before heading back to your farm? I’ll look you over.” Billy loaded the wheat seed into the wagon and walked up the muddy street to Dr. Whitson’s house. Knocking on the front door, he was greeted by Mrs. Whitson, the middle-aged doctor’s wife. She kindly greeted Billy and said, “Earl said I should expect you.” She then left him to a room immediately to the left of the front door. Within just a few minutes, Dr. Whitson entered the room, closed the doors behind him, and took a seat on a stool beside a wooden exam table. “When’s the last time you’ve seen a doctor, Billy?” “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a doctor.” Dr. Whitson said, “I won’t charge you a thing for this visit but if there is a problem, you’ll have to pay for medicine, though we can work out a pay schedule. Now, first things first, go ahead and remove your clothing down to your long underwear.” Billy felt kind of funny about this but he did as the doctor told him. Dr. Whitson invited Billy to sit on the table where he began his thorough examination. The doctor looked at his pupils, into his ears, down his throat, and listened to his lungs with his stethoscope. “You look healthy as a horse; exactly what I’d expect for an 18-year-old boy,” Dr. Whitson said. Then, he said, “Son, now I have to get a little up close and personal—so I need you to open your trap door and bend over the table.” Billy did as he was asked; he thought it was strange how the country doctor examined his asshole while asking him about his chickens and cows. Billy was very relieved when that part of the exam was over. “Can I put my clothes back on?” he asked. “Not yet,” said Dr. Whitson, “I better have a look at your privates to check for venereal disease.” Billy felt himself turning bright red. Billy didn’t even know what the word ‘venereal’ meant but he didn’t want to appear stupid. “Do I have to take my underwear off?” “No, just unbutton the front of your long johns,” the Doc said. Billy unbuttoned the three buttons closest to his groin but he was too nervous to pull out his penis. Doctor Whitson was causally talking about the expected rainfall in the Farmer’s Almanac as he sat on his stool in front of Billy. Billy tried to stand up straight but his legs were quivering from nervousness. Dr. Whitson causally reached into Billy long underwear and pulled out the young man’s flaccid penis and testicles out for examination. “My, oh my,” said the old doctor with surprise. “What?” Billy asked inquisitively—“Is everything okay?” Dr. Whitson just laughed. “Yes, I think everything is okay…it’s just that your privates are quite large. In fact, last time I saw a penis and testicles this large I was treating Clyde Wilbanks horse.” Billy asked again, “Does that mean something is wrong with me?” Billy had never seen another man’s penis before since he just had sisters and lived around very few people. Dr. Whitson said, “Son, you’ve got nothing to worry about but I would advise that if you take a sweet, young girl as a wife, you’d better be careful. You could really hurt a woman with a penis of this size. I’m a doctor and not in the business of helping a man find a wife but it wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to seek out a widower with children as a wife. I think a woman with several children would find it easier to accommodate your member. If you insist on marrying a virgin, she may need to see a doctor prior to copulation. A minor surgical procedure might help reduce her pain and bleeding on the night of your nuptial intercourse.” Billy was very upset by this word. He had never even thought of marrying a woman who’d been married before. Dr. Whitson was the most learned man he knew—but Billy was hoping he wasn’t right about this. Billy was ready to leave but Dr. Whitson was sitting on his tool holding Billy’s massive testicles, one in each hand. “Young man,” said the doctor, “at least you shouldn’t have any difficulty siring children with these big boys.” With that, Dr. Whitson dropped young Billy’s testicles and they swung back to their resting place where they hung low between his legs Dr. Whitson smiled and said, “You are a picture of health and youth; I’m thankful your lungs are clear and there’s no evidence of tuberculosis.”
The next Sabbath at the Meeting House, Billy kept reflecting on the conversation with Dr. Whitson. While the Reverend droned on and on, Billy began to daydream about Margaret Jenkins, the daughter of a local banker. Margaret was sitting to the left, just two pews in front of him, along with her 3 sisters and her parents. She was about Billy’s age and had green eyes and long brown hair pulled up into a bun. She always wore a stylish hat and the pretty dresses that bell out on the bottom and fit tightly around the waist and torso. Billy couldn’t help but stare at Margaret’s fair, freckled face underneath the brim of her Sunday hat. Margaret could feel Billy’s eyes on her. She turned to look over her shoulder and he flashed her a shy, sheepish smile before quickly looking down. Margaret thought Billy was very handsome. He had thick black hair and big brown eyes. He kept a close-cut beard and had a slim, muscular build. She noticed that he filled out his trousers in a way that other men didn’t though she didn’t know anything about male anatomy. Billy looked strong and was tanned by hours spent working in the sun. However, she knew her father would not approve of her fraternizing with an unschooled, homesteader. Billy knew Margaret was socially out of his league but it didn’t stop him from having thoughts about her that weren’t exactly holy for church on Sunday. As they stood to sing the closing hymn, Billy stared at Margaret’s back. He wondered what she looked like under her dress. Suddenly, he felt his penis hardening in his Sunday slacks. There he was, singing hymns with a massive erection. Billy didn’t want anyone to see so he pushed his erection into the back of the pew. He tried to think about purer things but his desires for Margaret were overwhelming. Thankfully, an old lady’s lengthy prayer provided enough time for Billy’s big erection to settle down and his cock eventually came to rest limply against his thigh. After a few moments of conversation with his neighbors in the churchyard, Billy rode his wagon back to his homestead where he warmed a pot of stew over the hearth. He laid on his bed to take his Sabbath rest but the thoughts of Margaret kept coming into his mind. He wanted to mount her the way the way’d he seen bulls mount cows in the breeding pens. Billy felt his cock stiffening again against his trousers. He began to touch himself and play with himself as he thought about Margaret’s freckled face. He imagined her wearing a wedding dress with hoop bunched up and leaning across his humble kitchen table. He imagined what it would be like to have a life with her on the farm and to make love to her in his single bed. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed with shame as he felt the ropes of cum release from his cockhead and soil his trousers. He laid in bed, feeling the cum run down to his knee. He asked for forgiveness and determined to put such thoughts and actions away from him.
Monday morning came early. There was so much to do—so little time and so little help. Feeding and watering the animals, milking the cows, cleaning the stalls, repairing fences and implements, preparing his meager food to eat, plus planting his wheat crop. It was more than Billy could handle. As the summer grew hotter and drier, Billy knew he was in trouble. He knew that if the wheat didn’t produce, he wouldn’t be able to pay back his creditors. He might even lose the farm. He was ashamed of himself. And he also wished Margaret didn’t think of him as just a homesteader. To make matters worse, when he’d gone to the store to buy flour, Mr. Campbell, the proprietor, told him that he was close to reaching his limit on what he could forward him on credit. Billy replied in his usual quiet and kind fashion but inwardly, Billy was enraged by the lack of control he felt over his life. He felt trapped by his thoughts and overcome with anger and frustration. He needed to find an outlet. When he returned home, he opened the top left desk drawer where his father had kept that cap and ball Colt Navy. Billy checked and it was still loaded. He went outside and put a metal coffee can on the fence post. He took fifteen paces and turned again the face the can. He held the gun up and took aim. Although Billy was good with a rifle, he’d never shot a pistol more than once. However, he knew the fundamentals had to be the same. Billy fired the first shot. The can stood still. He fired again. And again. And again. The fifth round grazed the stop of the can. The next round, however, was just as far off as the first four. Billy went into the house and dug through the drawer until he found another box of .36 caliber lead balls, some patches, primers, and a flask of powder. For the next hour, Billy stood there shooting at the coffee can on the post. He seemed to be getting a little better. The next day, a neighbor down the way, Mr. Appleman, stopped by on his horse. “What’s all the shooting about up here?” he asked. Billy said, “I wanted to shoot my Pa’s pistol.” “Let me see it,” replied Mr. Appleman. He took a look at the gun and said, “I used to have one of these. I carried it when I was in the Union Army with the 19th Illinois.” Mr. Appleman said, “Let’s see what you’ve got.” Billy walked across the yard and set the can back on the fence post. He took about three shots when Mr. Appleman stopped him. “Kid, I can give you a few pointers right now. Watch your grip and the pressure you’re putting on the trigger. Hold it like this.” Mr. Appleman fired the pistol to demonstrate and knocked the can right off the fence. Billy took another shot, mimicking what he’d just seen—this time with better results. Mr. Appleman smiled and got on his horse to return to his farm. He said, “Billy, I upgraded to an 1860 Army that’s been modified to shoot cartridges. I still have a lot of powder and lead for my old Navy, even though I traded it. I’ll bring it by tomorrow and you can keep practicing.” This shooting became Billy’s way of mental escape in the dry, dusty Nebraska summer. He’d try to shoot cans off fence posts as he walked along the fence line. He got to be a crack shot and often imagined what it’d be like to be one of the outlaws he heard people talking about in town. However, he was too moral of a young man to take money from honest, hard-working people or to make sport of shooting other men. The worst thing Billy did was fantasize about fornicating with Margaret Jenkins—though Billy reasoned his thoughts weren’t so depraved if he were to marry Margaret. Tired of feeling guilty, Billy decided he would ask Margaret if he could at least go for a walk with her after church on Sunday. So, he hitched up his horses to the wagon and went to town. He tied his horses in front of the bank where Margaret kept the books for her father and walked in. As he spoke to Margaret through the teller bars, her father approached and said, “Billy, do you ACTUALLY have something to deposit here?” “No sir,” answered Billy. “Then, I suggest you quit speaking with my daughter,” said Mr. Jenkins. Billy answered, “Mr. Jenkins, I was just wondering if I could walk Margaret home after church this Sunday?” Mr. Jenkins gave him a look of disgust and disdain—“Absolutely not! No daughter of mine will be seen talking with an unsuccessful hayseed who can’t even pay his debts at the general store.” Billy looked around as several of his neighbors and the people from church looking at him. Billy was humiliated and with his head hung low, walked across the street, got in his wagon, and returned to his busted 40 acres. That night Billy laid awake in bed; this time it wasn’t cum that ran down his leg from his thoughts of Margaret—it was tears that ran down his face. He didn’t want to ever show his face in town again—especially now that he knew that Mr. Campbell had told everyone that Billy couldn’t pay his bills.
As Billy laid alone in his sod dugout he called home, he heard the sound of hoof beats rapidly approaching. He sat up in alarm. It sounded like several horses. He quickly grabbed the rifle over the mantle and cracked a window. “Who’s there?” Billy cried out in the dark. “Just some fellows looking for a place to rest and water our horses” came the reply from the night. Billy lit a lamp and stepped outside. In front of his cabin were five men on horseback. “Can we put these horses in the barn, out of sight?” asked the one to whom Billy had spoken earlier. “Yes,” Billy agreed. Billy went inside and nervously put the Colt Navy in his waistband and covered it with a shirt as the men led their horses to the barn. As the five men came inside and gathered around the lamplit table, they asked for food. Billy only had a few morsels of bread to offer them. Billy couldn’t help but notice that each of them was fairly well dressed, seemed to be fell fed, and most notably, each carried an up-to-date cartridge firing revolver in his gun belt. Billy was afraid to ask them their line of work but he suspected they were outlaws or part of some kind of gang. The spokesman, introduced himself as ‘Big Jim’ Roberts. ‘Big Jim’ looked to be about 6’2’’ with thick mustache, a cocky smile, and a double rig holster with two nickel plated Smith and Wesson Revolvers. Big Jim gnawed on one of the pieces of bread and said, “Is this all you’ve got to eat, kid?” “Yes sir,” answered Billy. “What’s your name?” Big Jim inquired. “Billy” came the reply. “Pleased to meet your acquaintance and much obliged for your hospitality,” said Big Jim. “Are you farming this homestead all by yourself? When Billy answered in the affirmative Big Jim said, “There are better ways to make a living—you might be breathing here but this ain’t living. Are you any good with that pistol you’ve got tucked away in your belt?” Billy was alarmed and felt threatened that Big Jim had noticed his gun. “Um, I’m okay.” Jim stared at the wall for a moment and said, “Okay is not the response I was hoping for but we are down a rider and if you’d like to make some real money instead of looking at a mule’s ass and a plow all day, you are welcome to join us.” Billy knew that to say “Yes” to this offer would be to sell his soul to the devil. Nevertheless, it seemed like the big break he’d been waiting for. A chance to leave town without having to face his problems. A chance to have his revenge by getting back at bankers like Mr. Jenkins. A chance to earn some money for once in his life. “I’d be honored to ride with you, Big Jim,” Billy answered.
Chapter 1 "The Beginning"
The year was 1878 and life in Nebraska was hard. After the war, Billy’s dad, Wilbur Johnson, had returned only a shell of his former self. He said it was time to start over. So, he sold everything he had and put himself, his wife, and his 3 kids on train to Independence, Missouri. There in Independence, Mr. Johnson purchased a wagon and a few horses and joined a group heading west. Billy wasn’t exactly sure where his dad was taking him, his mother, and his two sisters. All he knew was that when his father took ill near Fort Kearney, Nebraska, that’s where they stopped. Wilbur did recover and there near the banks of the Platte River, he began his homestead, scraping by through the long, cold winters on the Great Plains. The work was constant during the growing season, and during the winter, it was just a chore just to stay alive. Billy and his father would hunt game and at an early age he became a crack shot with the old percussion rifle that hung over the family fireplace. Every so often, Billy would surreptitiously sneak a glance at his father’s cap and ball Colt Navy, which was kept wrapped in a cloth in the desk drawer. Billy had heard that his father was in a Calvary unit during the War but his dad never spoke of it.
Things changed quickly in Billy’s life after his mother died unexpectedly of a fever in the fall. Billy’s father Wilbur, knowing that the consumption he was suffering from would soon give way to death, made a difficult decision. Wilbur, wrote to his sister back in Virginia and put his two daughters in the care of a friend who was traveling back to Independence, Missouri. The girls would be put on a train in Independence and sent back East to be raised by their aunt. Billy and his father did everything they could to maintain the farm until the morning Billy woke up to milk the cows and found his father’s pale, lifeless body. He’d noticed his father’s cough had been growing worse and worse over the last few days so it shouldn’t have been a shock. Nevertheless, Billy was so grieved he no longer felt like getting out of bed. Billy was 18 years old, left without a father or mother, deprived of his sisters, and all alone in a desolate place without any kindred or friends, except for the few neighbors he saw each Sabbath day at the little white frame church. But he had to keep the 40-acre homestead going. So, in the spring, he took the wagon to town to buy wheat seed for planting. He knew he didn’t have enough to cover the bill with Mr. Campbell, but put it on credit with the hope of paying his bill at the store after harvest. As Billy leaned on the counter in the store, he tried to make sense of his father’s chicken scratch on the piece of paper from the year before. He wasn’t very good at math but figured he’d order the same amount of seed his father had ordered the prior year. As he squinted at the faded ink, he coughed in his sleeve. A voice behind him said, “Son, you better get that cough checked out.” “Excuse me?” Billy replied, looking over his shoulder. It was Earl Whitson, the local, stocky built, balding doctor. Dr. Whitson said, “With your father’s recent death with tuberculosis, you better be sure you haven’t caught it.” Billy said, “Doctor, I can’t afford this wheat seed, much less a doctor’s bill.” Dr. Whitson smiled, “Why don’t you come by and see me before heading back to your farm? I’ll look you over.” Billy loaded the wheat seed into the wagon and walked up the muddy street to Dr. Whitson’s house. Knocking on the front door, he was greeted by Mrs. Whitson, the middle-aged doctor’s wife. She kindly greeted Billy and said, “Earl said I should expect you.” She then left him to a room immediately to the left of the front door. Within just a few minutes, Dr. Whitson entered the room, closed the doors behind him, and took a seat on a stool beside a wooden exam table. “When’s the last time you’ve seen a doctor, Billy?” “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a doctor.” Dr. Whitson said, “I won’t charge you a thing for this visit but if there is a problem, you’ll have to pay for medicine, though we can work out a pay schedule. Now, first things first, go ahead and remove your clothing down to your long underwear.” Billy felt kind of funny about this but he did as the doctor told him. Dr. Whitson invited Billy to sit on the table where he began his thorough examination. The doctor looked at his pupils, into his ears, down his throat, and listened to his lungs with his stethoscope. “You look healthy as a horse; exactly what I’d expect for an 18-year-old boy,” Dr. Whitson said. Then, he said, “Son, now I have to get a little up close and personal—so I need you to open your trap door and bend over the table.” Billy did as he was asked; he thought it was strange how the country doctor examined his asshole while asking him about his chickens and cows. Billy was very relieved when that part of the exam was over. “Can I put my clothes back on?” he asked. “Not yet,” said Dr. Whitson, “I better have a look at your privates to check for venereal disease.” Billy felt himself turning bright red. Billy didn’t even know what the word ‘venereal’ meant but he didn’t want to appear stupid. “Do I have to take my underwear off?” “No, just unbutton the front of your long johns,” the Doc said. Billy unbuttoned the three buttons closest to his groin but he was too nervous to pull out his penis. Doctor Whitson was causally talking about the expected rainfall in the Farmer’s Almanac as he sat on his stool in front of Billy. Billy tried to stand up straight but his legs were quivering from nervousness. Dr. Whitson causally reached into Billy long underwear and pulled out the young man’s flaccid penis and testicles out for examination. “My, oh my,” said the old doctor with surprise. “What?” Billy asked inquisitively—“Is everything okay?” Dr. Whitson just laughed. “Yes, I think everything is okay…it’s just that your privates are quite large. In fact, last time I saw a penis and testicles this large I was treating Clyde Wilbanks horse.” Billy asked again, “Does that mean something is wrong with me?” Billy had never seen another man’s penis before since he just had sisters and lived around very few people. Dr. Whitson said, “Son, you’ve got nothing to worry about but I would advise that if you take a sweet, young girl as a wife, you’d better be careful. You could really hurt a woman with a penis of this size. I’m a doctor and not in the business of helping a man find a wife but it wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to seek out a widower with children as a wife. I think a woman with several children would find it easier to accommodate your member. If you insist on marrying a virgin, she may need to see a doctor prior to copulation. A minor surgical procedure might help reduce her pain and bleeding on the night of your nuptial intercourse.” Billy was very upset by this word. He had never even thought of marrying a woman who’d been married before. Dr. Whitson was the most learned man he knew—but Billy was hoping he wasn’t right about this. Billy was ready to leave but Dr. Whitson was sitting on his tool holding Billy’s massive testicles, one in each hand. “Young man,” said the doctor, “at least you shouldn’t have any difficulty siring children with these big boys.” With that, Dr. Whitson dropped young Billy’s testicles and they swung back to their resting place where they hung low between his legs Dr. Whitson smiled and said, “You are a picture of health and youth; I’m thankful your lungs are clear and there’s no evidence of tuberculosis.”
The next Sabbath at the Meeting House, Billy kept reflecting on the conversation with Dr. Whitson. While the Reverend droned on and on, Billy began to daydream about Margaret Jenkins, the daughter of a local banker. Margaret was sitting to the left, just two pews in front of him, along with her 3 sisters and her parents. She was about Billy’s age and had green eyes and long brown hair pulled up into a bun. She always wore a stylish hat and the pretty dresses that bell out on the bottom and fit tightly around the waist and torso. Billy couldn’t help but stare at Margaret’s fair, freckled face underneath the brim of her Sunday hat. Margaret could feel Billy’s eyes on her. She turned to look over her shoulder and he flashed her a shy, sheepish smile before quickly looking down. Margaret thought Billy was very handsome. He had thick black hair and big brown eyes. He kept a close-cut beard and had a slim, muscular build. She noticed that he filled out his trousers in a way that other men didn’t though she didn’t know anything about male anatomy. Billy looked strong and was tanned by hours spent working in the sun. However, she knew her father would not approve of her fraternizing with an unschooled, homesteader. Billy knew Margaret was socially out of his league but it didn’t stop him from having thoughts about her that weren’t exactly holy for church on Sunday. As they stood to sing the closing hymn, Billy stared at Margaret’s back. He wondered what she looked like under her dress. Suddenly, he felt his penis hardening in his Sunday slacks. There he was, singing hymns with a massive erection. Billy didn’t want anyone to see so he pushed his erection into the back of the pew. He tried to think about purer things but his desires for Margaret were overwhelming. Thankfully, an old lady’s lengthy prayer provided enough time for Billy’s big erection to settle down and his cock eventually came to rest limply against his thigh. After a few moments of conversation with his neighbors in the churchyard, Billy rode his wagon back to his homestead where he warmed a pot of stew over the hearth. He laid on his bed to take his Sabbath rest but the thoughts of Margaret kept coming into his mind. He wanted to mount her the way the way’d he seen bulls mount cows in the breeding pens. Billy felt his cock stiffening again against his trousers. He began to touch himself and play with himself as he thought about Margaret’s freckled face. He imagined her wearing a wedding dress with hoop bunched up and leaning across his humble kitchen table. He imagined what it would be like to have a life with her on the farm and to make love to her in his single bed. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed with shame as he felt the ropes of cum release from his cockhead and soil his trousers. He laid in bed, feeling the cum run down to his knee. He asked for forgiveness and determined to put such thoughts and actions away from him.
Monday morning came early. There was so much to do—so little time and so little help. Feeding and watering the animals, milking the cows, cleaning the stalls, repairing fences and implements, preparing his meager food to eat, plus planting his wheat crop. It was more than Billy could handle. As the summer grew hotter and drier, Billy knew he was in trouble. He knew that if the wheat didn’t produce, he wouldn’t be able to pay back his creditors. He might even lose the farm. He was ashamed of himself. And he also wished Margaret didn’t think of him as just a homesteader. To make matters worse, when he’d gone to the store to buy flour, Mr. Campbell, the proprietor, told him that he was close to reaching his limit on what he could forward him on credit. Billy replied in his usual quiet and kind fashion but inwardly, Billy was enraged by the lack of control he felt over his life. He felt trapped by his thoughts and overcome with anger and frustration. He needed to find an outlet. When he returned home, he opened the top left desk drawer where his father had kept that cap and ball Colt Navy. Billy checked and it was still loaded. He went outside and put a metal coffee can on the fence post. He took fifteen paces and turned again the face the can. He held the gun up and took aim. Although Billy was good with a rifle, he’d never shot a pistol more than once. However, he knew the fundamentals had to be the same. Billy fired the first shot. The can stood still. He fired again. And again. And again. The fifth round grazed the stop of the can. The next round, however, was just as far off as the first four. Billy went into the house and dug through the drawer until he found another box of .36 caliber lead balls, some patches, primers, and a flask of powder. For the next hour, Billy stood there shooting at the coffee can on the post. He seemed to be getting a little better. The next day, a neighbor down the way, Mr. Appleman, stopped by on his horse. “What’s all the shooting about up here?” he asked. Billy said, “I wanted to shoot my Pa’s pistol.” “Let me see it,” replied Mr. Appleman. He took a look at the gun and said, “I used to have one of these. I carried it when I was in the Union Army with the 19th Illinois.” Mr. Appleman said, “Let’s see what you’ve got.” Billy walked across the yard and set the can back on the fence post. He took about three shots when Mr. Appleman stopped him. “Kid, I can give you a few pointers right now. Watch your grip and the pressure you’re putting on the trigger. Hold it like this.” Mr. Appleman fired the pistol to demonstrate and knocked the can right off the fence. Billy took another shot, mimicking what he’d just seen—this time with better results. Mr. Appleman smiled and got on his horse to return to his farm. He said, “Billy, I upgraded to an 1860 Army that’s been modified to shoot cartridges. I still have a lot of powder and lead for my old Navy, even though I traded it. I’ll bring it by tomorrow and you can keep practicing.” This shooting became Billy’s way of mental escape in the dry, dusty Nebraska summer. He’d try to shoot cans off fence posts as he walked along the fence line. He got to be a crack shot and often imagined what it’d be like to be one of the outlaws he heard people talking about in town. However, he was too moral of a young man to take money from honest, hard-working people or to make sport of shooting other men. The worst thing Billy did was fantasize about fornicating with Margaret Jenkins—though Billy reasoned his thoughts weren’t so depraved if he were to marry Margaret. Tired of feeling guilty, Billy decided he would ask Margaret if he could at least go for a walk with her after church on Sunday. So, he hitched up his horses to the wagon and went to town. He tied his horses in front of the bank where Margaret kept the books for her father and walked in. As he spoke to Margaret through the teller bars, her father approached and said, “Billy, do you ACTUALLY have something to deposit here?” “No sir,” answered Billy. “Then, I suggest you quit speaking with my daughter,” said Mr. Jenkins. Billy answered, “Mr. Jenkins, I was just wondering if I could walk Margaret home after church this Sunday?” Mr. Jenkins gave him a look of disgust and disdain—“Absolutely not! No daughter of mine will be seen talking with an unsuccessful hayseed who can’t even pay his debts at the general store.” Billy looked around as several of his neighbors and the people from church looking at him. Billy was humiliated and with his head hung low, walked across the street, got in his wagon, and returned to his busted 40 acres. That night Billy laid awake in bed; this time it wasn’t cum that ran down his leg from his thoughts of Margaret—it was tears that ran down his face. He didn’t want to ever show his face in town again—especially now that he knew that Mr. Campbell had told everyone that Billy couldn’t pay his bills.
As Billy laid alone in his sod dugout he called home, he heard the sound of hoof beats rapidly approaching. He sat up in alarm. It sounded like several horses. He quickly grabbed the rifle over the mantle and cracked a window. “Who’s there?” Billy cried out in the dark. “Just some fellows looking for a place to rest and water our horses” came the reply from the night. Billy lit a lamp and stepped outside. In front of his cabin were five men on horseback. “Can we put these horses in the barn, out of sight?” asked the one to whom Billy had spoken earlier. “Yes,” Billy agreed. Billy went inside and nervously put the Colt Navy in his waistband and covered it with a shirt as the men led their horses to the barn. As the five men came inside and gathered around the lamplit table, they asked for food. Billy only had a few morsels of bread to offer them. Billy couldn’t help but notice that each of them was fairly well dressed, seemed to be fell fed, and most notably, each carried an up-to-date cartridge firing revolver in his gun belt. Billy was afraid to ask them their line of work but he suspected they were outlaws or part of some kind of gang. The spokesman, introduced himself as ‘Big Jim’ Roberts. ‘Big Jim’ looked to be about 6’2’’ with thick mustache, a cocky smile, and a double rig holster with two nickel plated Smith and Wesson Revolvers. Big Jim gnawed on one of the pieces of bread and said, “Is this all you’ve got to eat, kid?” “Yes sir,” answered Billy. “What’s your name?” Big Jim inquired. “Billy” came the reply. “Pleased to meet your acquaintance and much obliged for your hospitality,” said Big Jim. “Are you farming this homestead all by yourself? When Billy answered in the affirmative Big Jim said, “There are better ways to make a living—you might be breathing here but this ain’t living. Are you any good with that pistol you’ve got tucked away in your belt?” Billy was alarmed and felt threatened that Big Jim had noticed his gun. “Um, I’m okay.” Jim stared at the wall for a moment and said, “Okay is not the response I was hoping for but we are down a rider and if you’d like to make some real money instead of looking at a mule’s ass and a plow all day, you are welcome to join us.” Billy knew that to say “Yes” to this offer would be to sell his soul to the devil. Nevertheless, it seemed like the big break he’d been waiting for. A chance to leave town without having to face his problems. A chance to have his revenge by getting back at bankers like Mr. Jenkins. A chance to earn some money for once in his life. “I’d be honored to ride with you, Big Jim,” Billy answered.
