Rolling Den of Iniquity

At work, Scott did add Jenny to his medical insurance policy, did check the box that indicated 'Married.'

Much to the relief of their neighbors, Jenny figured out that stuffing a rolled up towel over the headboard kept it from knocking too hard against the wall. And putting a pillow over her mouth when she orgasmed kept her screams from alarming them.

Abdul's Department Store in DeGarde, Louisiana was an exclusive store. Their cheapest pair of blue jeans was sixty dollars, their cheapest blouse was seventy dollars. Many of their clothing, almost all of their shoes came from designers Jenny had never heard of.

But Mr. Bertrand, the store manager took one look at Jenny's impressive chest and hired her to be the part time secretarial clerk.

It was no more than twenty four hours a week, but they paid her four thirty five an hour.

"I can pay the rent!" Jenny happily showed Scott. "That way, you could save up your money and they we'll..."

"You'll save up your money and we'll get a car for you, okay?" Scott cheerfully suggested.

Earl did not teach Jenny how to drive; the man believed that women had no need to learn.

"What God gave you men for," he snarled.

So, Saturdays and Sundays, Scott took Jenny out to unincorporated Baylor Lake, slid over and let Jenny drive the love van along the country roads.

Then he took her to unincorporated Kimble and again Jenny drove the bulky van along the country roads.

Whenever they found an area large enough, Scott made her practice parallel parking, practice doing tight turns.

Then, when Jenny could find a secluded enough spot, they'd park and make use of the bed in the rear of the van.

"Rolling den of iniquity; that's all this is," Jenny would mock in a nasally voice, imitating Reverend Hatfield.

"Sodom and Gomorrah," Scott would agree.

Scott even made Jenny drive up to Huvall's Texaco, practice getting the large vehicle close to the gas pumps.

"Yes ma'am?" the pimple faced boy asked.

"Fill 'er up," Jenny said.

"Yes ma'am," the boy said, unable to look away from Jenny's large breasts as they stretched the material of her tee shirt.

"Jenny, where's your bra?" Scott asked when the boy finally did begin pumping the gas.

"I don't know," Jenny giggled. "Probably in the bed back there."

"Damn it, put it on," Scott chuckled, retrieving the scrap of lace.

The pimple faced boy nearly ejaculated in his oil stained blue jeans when Jenny did take off the top and put her bra on.

"Jenny!" Scott barked.

"What?" Jenny asked innocently. "You said..."

"Yeah, but not while Gomer Pyle's cleaning the windshield, damn it," Scott laughed.

The boy had difficulty figuring out how much change to give Jenny and after they drove away, Jenny figured out that the poor boy had given her back too much change.

Consider it a tip," Scott chuckled.

A coworker of Scott's was selling a Datsun 240Z and Jenny fell in love with the two seater.

She passed the driving test with flying colors, barely passed the written portion, but now had a driver's license, and an adorable little car to zip to Abdul's, or the grocery store, or wherever.

Epilogue.

On Scott's one year anniversary with St. Elizabeth's Parish, Scott was given a substantial pay raise.

"Good, not a minute too soon," Jenny said when Scott came home and told her the good news.

"Yeah, get out of this crummy apartment," Scott agreed.

"Need a place with a backyard," Jenny stated.

She kissed him and hugged him tightly.

"Need a place for our little boy or girl to play, Daddy," she whispered happily in his ear.

"You, we're..." Scott stammered and Jenny bounced happily and screamed "Yes!"

Dianne Scandurro was quite miffed that the young couple declined to use her agency to look for their home. She was also quite miffed that the young couple declined to look at any Scandurro Homes.

"Crummy as our apartment was?" Scott said. "Why would their homes be any better?"

They found a charming little home in Baylor Lake. With three bedrooms and two bathrooms, it was the perfect size for a young couple with a baby on the way.

And it was built in 1946, by a crew of World War II veterans. No Scandurro hands had ever touched the structure.

Jenny had been a beautiful young girl when Scott rescued her from their father's iron-fisted rule. A pregnant Jenny was a gorgeous young woman.

"You just like it because my tits are getting huge," Jenny playfully complained.

"They're not getting smaller," Scott agreed.

Two years after their flight from Texas, four months after the birth of Bryce Aaron Collins, Scott's former roommate Christie sent an envelope to Scott's office.

Inside was an article she'd clipped out of the Sweet Oak Dispatch, the local newspaper.

Scott read the obituary of his father and sat back heavily.

Earl was dead, heart attack according to the obituary. The blurb did say that he was survived by a wife and five children.

The visitation and funeral took place on Wednesday; it was Friday when Scott received the envelope.

Again, Scott felt an odd heaviness in his heart. His father was dead. And yet he could find no sorrow, could not mourn for the man.

Jenny read the obituary, stared at it for a long moment, then put it back into the envelope and looked at Scott with her blue eyes.

"So I made a meatloaf for dinner; that Mrs. Weissbach across the street gave me the recipe. You hungry?" she asked.

"Make the little potato wedges with it?" Scott asked.

THE END

*****

**Author's Note: I write these stories for my pleasure; I post them here for your enjoyment. I thank you for reading my stories.

I especially thank those that take the time to rate my stories, and those that leave comments.

A brief word about the comments, though. This is THE END of 'Rolling Den Of Iniquity.' Don't write that you can't wait to see where Scott and Jenny go from here. They're not going anywhere from here. They might pop up in other stories, but given the time period this story is set in? They most likely will not pop up in any other stories.

Have a far out and solid day, man. Get out your platform boots, polyester slacks and too tight sweater and slap in your Bee Gees 8-track tapes man. Remember to keep it light.