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Mirabelle was a slip of a gal. She wore her hair tied back in a loose pony-tail. In her plain yellow linen dress three inches above the knee, and her white pinafore; it looked like a uniform. The house was painted white with brown boarders, and they had a little garden cutoff from the rest of the open scrub-land rimmed with a light blue picket fence. There was a tree too.
Jack worked all day, and Mirabelle looked out of the kitchen window for him at 5 O’ clock sometimes. She never saw any animals, or wild ones.
They were the only house up there on the hill. At 5 O’ clock she could see above the weather when it was there, and looked through the rain falling down on the houses of the town far below. She liked cleaning the house, but was afraid of the spark in the weather.
“Could windows stop it?” she wondered.
But the raging heat never came up, and the hot flint always went down. Mirabelle liked when it went down, and she cried for the people she imagined hiding from it: Her nails were sharp on his head. There were never any dirty clothes in the house. Mirabelle washed them all: But not when the lightening hunted the people in the town below, then, she hid under the table scratching between her legs with trimmed nails.
Jack would come back and they would eat. He always beat her at Monopoly, and she sulked. They didn’t have a television set. They were too far away. She beat Jack at pinochle. So he always wanted to play Monopoly. They went to bed early.
Mirabelle would always dry the clothes too much, and have to throw a wetted towel in the dryer and run them around again for a while. They both frowned at wrinkles, but Mirabelle was only mimicking jack’s grimace to get out of it.
Mirabelle was just five foot six and a quarter and loved to chew-the-cud on one of her triangular shaped pubic hairs – she was rather coarse down there. Jack would leave off the quarter when he spoke to his friend about her. Her breasts were larger than one would expect for a mere slip of a gal – let alone being already a woman: Her turds ranging from nine and fourteen inches in length, but more importantly, two-and-a-half to more than four inches in girth. Yes! She was a woman alright. Why, she had taken it in the stink-hole from someone in her past! But, not from Jack… His stork couldn’t open her up to four…but, she had visited the delight with someone, and he had to have worn big shoes – and she loved it so.
Her rear was big enough to balance her out well, and it smelled of things she ate…when it made a noise in her knickers. She made jack build a laundry room far off in the side of the garden; apart from the afternoon sun. She would scratch the shaved area of her when it sweated. Jack wondered at the redness of her vent and caccy-hole following hot wash days. Mirabelle liked scratching her holes. She hated Jack’s questions. She cut off her two nails short, so she could scratch her rings longer – with less abrasion. Laundry rooms away from the sun, along with a couple of short nails meant extended scratching and less questions from Jack in bed. She spent lots of time in there – the hot laundry room, I mean – as opposed to the bed.
Mirabelle wanted shelves put up for her soap-powder boxes. She wanted them high up so she had to stand on a couple of foot stools to reach them. Jack wanted them lower. Mirabelle let Jack beat her at pinochle, and the high shelves went in the way she liked. Mirabelle loved the smell of Jacks leather brief case, and would empty it out and push her face inside to breath. Jack was taking a bath or something.
Mirabelle made Jack push the washer and dryer as far over to the left in the laundry room so that there was as much of a gap on the right side to the wall that there bahis firmaları could be. She wanted more room, but she could manage with a little bit of effort. Her arm and leg scraped on the wall. Jack mowed the lawn.
When Mirabelle was 14 she read something scribbled on the toilet door at school.
For almost a month she went to bed early after that.
She bought a packet of darning needles. There went from very thin to big. In all it took her over a month to do it, and longer to heal. She put her father’s duct tape over her mouth, and learned to put Vaseline on her lips first-incase she cried out, but it was worth the pain in the end. She had rubbing alcohol from her mother’s bathroom medicine cabinet in a washed-out old ink bottle. For years after the smell of alcohol brought back memories of hours of agony. Jack didn’t drink anymore. Mirabelle would cry if he did. She could smell it on his breath.
When he parents thought she was asleep, she would get the stuff out; the tape, the Vaseline, the ink bottle and the packet of needles.
Starting with the smallest it took more than a week to get the thinnest one through on the left one. She couldn’t believe that nipples could hurt so much.
She couldn’t run around for a while, it was too painful for her.
Working non-stop for over a month she had gotten the largest needle through both of them. She couldn’t touch them for weeks.
She would put ice on them as often as she could. They stopped hurting in the end.
She would think about all of this when she did the washing. She always dried the clothes too much. She couldn’t help it.
When the pain went Mirabelle got the cotton thread and spent a long time picking out the perfect hair brush to fit her; to buy.
She went to bed earlier that night with the tape, Vaseline, hairbrush, cotton thread and the needles. They had healed. She didn’t need the ink bottle anymore. She threw it out.
One day before the Jack built the laundry shed, Mirabelle was drying the clothes. Jack wasn’t the most he could have been in the bedroom. He was tired. Mirabelle would bend over in front of him pretending to pick up a bit of lint from the floor. Some times it worked for her. She had a big rear for her size, and it was very firm, and had none of those purple stains from old pimples on it. She made sure she scrubbed it everyday with the loofah in the tub. It was a very clean one every day it was clean, but the loofah was worn out in the end. She was very hairy, and it tickled Jack’s nose. Sometime he frightened her by letting out a great big sneeze. They would roll around and laugh, and laugh, but Mirabelle always made Jack finish it; even if he complained about his sore neck. She would slap him on the head, and dig her nails in his scalp. Jack didn’t know, but she got mad! Then all was calm after and she would sleep like a baby. Usually Jack would be left awake rubbing the back of his neck. He had to get up early tomorrow.
She forgot the time standing in front of the washer and dryer. She was thinking about the needles.
When the spin cycle turned on she found herself pressing he pelvic region hard against the washer.
Jack scared her. She forgot the time. When she turned around Jack looked puzzled, but then a laugh broke across his face.
Mirabelle had been drooling all down her chin, and her eyes were glazed over. Jack pointed, and Mirabelle made some joke and grabbed a cloth to wipe. She was inwardly mad. She had almost finished. Jack asked her if she was wearing a new perfume. He liked it. Mirabelle was not.
Paint was peeling at the far edge of the garden fence. Jack said it was a bubble in the paint that a bird had picked at. He had some spare in an upside down can. kaçak iddaa He saw the tip on television at his friend’s house down in the rainy town far below when he dropped by on his way home. He wished he had a television to look at the tips himself.
Mirabelle wanted a shed in the garden to put her washer and dryer in with a window to see Jack coming and high shelves so that she would have to get two foot stools to get the soap, and she wanted space on the right. Mirabelle wanted all of this. Jack could have his television with its twenty five foot high antenna and his tips, they were so far away, but Mirabelle needed this, and Jack was just going to have to get it for her anyway he could. She wanted it and that was that. Mirabelle had to have it soon, or, or…Ooo! She was furious! She slammed the pillow on the bed and bent over twice to pick up lint. Jack was asleep. She scrubbed it very hard the next day and threw the loofah away. It fell to pieces in the tub.
The washer was 36 inches off the floor. Mirabelle had longish legs for her body, but a short midriff. Her inseam was 28 inches, she knew this, and she wore her suit trouser bottoms half inch above her ankle. Her ankle was two inches off the floor. She wore white sneakers around the house with a three quarter inch sole. Mirabelle was five foot seven with her sneakers on. From her crotch to the floor her inseam was thirty one and a quarter inches off the floor with her sneakers on.
She was mad, mad, mad—Oooph! And practiced picking lint off the floor in the mirror for hours when Jack wasn’t there. It had to look natural. If she opened the legs too much then it fell out of the side of her gusset, and looked funny. Not enough and it was hidden. But if she got it just right, then it would bulge and fill the gusset almost to breaking point. He couldn’t possibly miss that, could he; could he…?
Mirabelle had a reach of barely six foot with the washer and dryer in front of her.
She practiced and practiced until her back hurt, in the mirror, but she found a clever way of surreptitiously pushing everything she had there out toward the back with her right hand just as she bent over with her legs about 20 degrees apart at the business end. The gusset filled out like an unfurled spinnakers full to the brim. She was astonished at the sight in the mirror, and thought that maybe it was too much for Jack? It was almost too much for Mirabelle. It was enormous! She busted several gussets clean apart practicing. They blew out with a muffled kind of zanggg sound as the elastic recoiled. Sometimes it was as though a bearded carp opened its gaping mouth to swallow its pray, and in an instant the entire hammock was swallowed and the carp shut its lips again. This wouldn’t do. What would he thing? The sight even frightened her.
Mirabelle burned the wreckage of her panties before he came home. What else could she do? How could Mirabelle explain that her underneath parts had destroyed several brand new panties?
Jack would never do it again no matter how much she slapped him or dug her finger-nails into his balding head if he knew.
Mirabelle spent hours reinforcing the stitching of her panty hammocks, until she could go shopping for heavy-duty ones. She didn’t care too much what they looked like, they just had to hold up to the force of a full spinnaker, that looked like it was mistakenly launched during a gale. But they needed to be somewhat skimpy. It was a very fine balance that had to be struck, strength versus style. She spent lots of time thing on the subject, and wondered if other women had similar problems. It was a real dilemma for her. She worried so, about it all. Jack knew nothing, other than he was feeling a little fatigued these days. She made kaçak bahis him soup and told him he had a cold. He went along with it, hook line and sinker, like the carp did too. That carp was a hungry beast! Jack lost weight no matter how much soup Mirabelle ladled down his gullet. He had to wear a hat not to show the Band-Aids on his bald spot.
He told his co-workers that he fell head long into a barbed wire fence. When he was questioned why he had a barbed wire fence in the first place he couldn’t think of anything to say, and blurted-out that he thought all houses should have one to keep large animals out of the garden. When his friend asked him what kind of large animals he was talking about, he sheepishly said that he didn’t know and blushed. They left it alone, and he dropped his file of papers on the floor. He had to have a word with Mirabelle on this.
She wanted the shelves to be at least six foot four high, because the first steps of the step stools were 8 inches. Everything fit now. Jack wanted them lower to do away with the stools. She wanted it this way and sulked and didn’t pick any lint off the bedroom floor for a week. Jack measured six foot four and hammered away, and the new full gusset plan worked wonders. There was not a bit of lint to be found on the bedroom floor after a bit, but Mirabelle had some set aside in a box under the bed for this.
That weekend Jack put up the barbed wire fence in case his friend came to visit.
Mirabelle said she didn’t like it.
Jack muttered large animals under his breath.
Mirabelle said what large animals?
Jack said he didn’t know again.
Mirabelle made more soup for jack, and really thought that he was coming down with a cold this time. Jack liked the soup. Mirabelle knew nothing about it all. Jack had taken off the band-Aids, and bought film for the camera incase a large animal wondered near to the fence. He had to clear his name at the office. He might hire a farmer to come with a hog and a horse. How could he explain it to Mirabelle though?
He called Nancy his mother-in-law out of the blue in the week from work.
Nancy was worried. Jack never called her. She wanted to know if everything was alright.
Jack reassured her that everything was just fine.
Nancy asked Jack why her was calling her.
He said he didn’t know again. He was sweating, and turned red.
Jacks friend asked him if he was feeling alright.
Jack nodded yes and grasped his head with his spare hand.
He opened one of the scabs on his head from Mirabelle.
Jacks co workers looked at him with blood beginning to trickling down his forehead.
Jack hurriedly said that Nancy sounded under the weather, and that perhaps Mirabelle should go visit for a few days.
Nancy said she was worried about Jack thing this.
Jack said that he has a cold, and Mirabelle was making soup for him on a daily basis.
They hung up.
Jack went home early.
He wasn’t feeling too well.
He made a note to himself to cancel the deal with the farmer tomorrow, now that Mirabelle would not be going to visit her mom.
He got home and Mirabelle put him to bed and threw lint on the floor when he wasn’t looking. She had to bend down several times to pick it up.
Jack couldn’t focus properly.
Mirabelle pushed too hard the last time and Jack had a start!
Jack asked Mirabelle what was that noise then?
Mirabelle asked Jack what noise was that?
Jack said that zanggg kind of noise.
Mirabelle changed the cold cloth on Jack’s forehead, and said she hadn’t heard a thing.
Mirabelle threw the broken panties into the pot-belly stove in the kitchen to burn.
Jack drank his soup in the bedroom.
Jack mentioned that there was a pile of lint on the bedroom carpet by the mirror.
Jacks head started bleeding again.
Mirabelle said she knew.
(continued in chpt.
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