The Private Journals of Isaiah Watts

By: Nicholas Hall
(© 2020 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

nhall@tickiestories.us

Chapter 1
The Early Years

“Drop your britches boy, and turn around. I’ve a mind to fuck that pretty ass of your’n.
“Nope, never again,” Daddy declared angrily. “You’ve fucked me for the last time Pa.”

(The Private Journals of Isaiah Watts) 

David Watts, son of Neville and Dorothea (Turner) Watts was born in 1905, oldest of five sons of the couple. Along with brothers Benjamin (1907), Darius (1909), Joseph (1911), and Zachary (1912), lived with their parents on a one hundred and twenty acre farm near Decker’s Corner along the Mississippi River. The farm consisted of mature lowland and highland timber, eighty acres plus of crop and hay ground, a house, barn, pig house and pen, chicken yard and pen, machine shed, several corn cribs, and a large garden. Property lines didn’t hinder the Watt’s Family from using the adjoining federal river bottom lands or highland timber areas as their own as well.

Dorothea and Neville moved onto the farm, owned by her father, when they married, and it was bequeathed to her on his death. The terms of the will further instructed should she predecease her father or for any reason be unable to inherit, the property would go to her oldest child and not to Neville Watts. Dorothea’s father thought Neville was a ne’re-do-well, a wastrel, prone to violent behavior, drank too much, and was a fortune hunter with a wandering cock living off of the largess of others.

When sober, Neville worked the farm, not hard, but well enough to bring in crops on the poor soil, raise a few hogs to sell and enough to feed the family, maintain a couple of milk cows, one or two steers for meat, chickens to eat and eggs to sell, and a large garden. Most people agreed the family would‘ve starved to death if it hadn’t been for the hard work of Dorothea and the boys as they grew. When drinking, Neville wasn’t a nice man! Dorothea was often the source of his displeasure, probably because of her ownership position, and his often sexual releases. If he was refused his conjugal pleasures from her, he found them elsewhere.

Shortly after Zachary was born, David became that outlet, usually several times a month. Neville would come home drunk, grab David and head for the barn. Dorothea had refused Neville sexual intercourse after Zachary’s birth deciding enough was enough. If David tried to refuse or balked at baring his ass for a “proper fuckin’” Neville would threaten to kill his mother or take a belt or strap to him until he submitted.

Even using David as his sexual toy and satisfaction wasn’t enough for Neville. Drunk or sober he began including Benjamin and Darius, generally around age seven or eight, in his perversions. Dorothea’s boys were beautiful boys; too beautiful some thought to be boys at all. Their light copper tempered skin, dark hair, hazel eyes with long eyelashes, slim, narrow-hipped, almost delicate-appearing bodies, turned heads from both girls and boys, especially some men.

Neville saw them as available, unable to get pregnant, and a tight, fun fuck! If he hadn’t been fearful of his wife’s vengeance, he would’ve hired them out and quit what little farming he did, believing “those boys’ assholes are gold mines.” He could get by with only so much and even in a drunken state was very conscious where the line was. Why Dorothea never objected to him fucking her sons was unknown at the time. Perhaps she saw them as a way he’d leave her alone. Neville wasn’t an ill-equipped man in the penis department, not gargantuan but somewhat larger than normal, yet intercourse with him could be painful, even for the most experienced if he was in one of his “moods,” since he became aggressive, forceful, and unrelenting until he found his release at least once.

In 1919 everything came to a screeching halt! David had endured his father’s sexual assaults for seven years and witnessed his younger brothers’ deflowering and subsequent submissions. He finished eighth grade, completing his education, and was expected to live at home. Shortly after the first week of June, David returned to the barn after cultivating twenty acres of field corn, led the team of horses to the barn, unhitched and unharnessed them, put them in their stalls after a brisk rubdown, put hay in the feed bunks and a ration of oats, and was preparing to head to the house for supper when his father, about three sheets to the wind, standing with his stiff cock poking out the front of his pants, approached David, demanding he submit.

“Drop your britches boy, and turn around. I’ve a mind to fuck that pretty ass of your’n.”

In seven years, David had matured, not only sexually, but physically, growing into a stronger, just as handsome, teenager; a teenager fully capable of saying no and defending his answer, especially with a drunken dick-head such as his father. He shook his head slowly, defiantly, announcing his refusal.

“Nope, never again,” David declared. “You’ve fucked me for the last time Pa!” 

Neville doubled up his fists, his cock seeming to swell even more in response to his aggressive attitude fueled by rising testosterone, bobbing up and down, dripping sticky strings of cock sap as he approached his oldest son.

“You’re gonna get fucked or have the shit beat out of you and still get fucked!”

David still refused, but smiled, a sly, knowing smile, as he father approached. As Neville pulled back his fist to deliver the first blow, David spun quickly, grabbed a three-tined pitchfork and drove it viciously and hard through Neville’s right foot, pinning it to the wooden barn floor.

Neville screamed in pain, cursing David, and grabbed the fork with both hands in an attempt to dislodge it from the floor and pull it from his foot. David was quicker, stepped forward and shoved Neville over backwards. Neville howled some more, flopping on his back, trying to right himself, but again David took charge and put a foot on his father’s chest, holding him to the floor. Neville whimpered for David to let him up, but David refused and pushed harder.

David looked at the rapidly deflating cock, previously erect ready to fuck him, and noticed the foreskin was recovering the piss slit as Neville pissed himself, dribbling his urine over his clothing and the barn floor.

“Pa, I’m leaving and if I hear of you sticking your cock in any one of my brothers again, especially young Joseph and Zack, I’ll come back and it won’t be your foot pinned to the barn floor. Understand, you piece of shit?”

Without waiting for an answer, David headed toward the door.

“You can go to hell!” screeched Neville. “You’re no better than that fucking grandfather of yours was.”

“Maybe, but if I do go to hell, I’ll still have my cock and balls with me,” David smirked, wagging a finger threateningly as he stepped out the barn door.

To be continued...

Posted: 12/03/2021