A Most Confounding Female

Cassie Jo Beaumont Montaigne had long confounded people.

She’d confounded her kindergarten teacher when she’d used her fingerpaints to draw designs on little Bobby Lee Montgomery’s face the day he’d told her he wanted to marry her when he grew up. She’d confounded her freshman biology teacher when, at age 14, she’d given a presentation on animal husbandry that included instructions for “how to bite like a stallion while mounting your filly.” (Mr Horace had to revise his oral presentation instructions on the syllabus the following year; while Cassie Jo hadn’t done anything wrong, per se, she also hadn’t quite done the assignment right. And while he had to admit it’d been entertaining, he also admitted he was too close to retirement to risk the heart strain or the potential loss of his pension that another such ‘demonstration’ from future students might bring.)

Yes, Cassie Jo Beaumont Montaigne was a confouder.

For years she’d confounded the Jehovah Witnesses who came to her door by offering them lemonade, served with ice and a straw in lidded plastic portable cups, then sending them on their merry way without a single word of kingdoms or condemnations spoken.

She’d confounded the town — Aloicious, IL: Population 1,347 — when she’d up and married the interim Anglican preacher from Rockaway and convinced him (on their honeymoon) to take up badminton so they could play as a team in the annual Mason County Fourth of July Extravaganza Celebration & Festival. (They won, too. Every year. But nobody held it against them, seeing as they always raffled off whatever prize they’d won — dinner for two at Bubba’s Bar & Grill, an all-day trail ride for a group of 10 at Canyon Creek, a 27-lb turkey, free passes to midnight bowling at Lou’s — and donated the raffle money to the food bank.)

Yes, Cassie Jo was a most confounding female.

Today, she’s been confounding the neighbors. Because for no apparent reason she’s decided to plant petunias in her front yard…

Wearing a plaid mini skirt.

A mini skirt that shows, when she bends forward on her knees to dig with her fuchsia-handled trowel, a barely-there white strip _just_ covering…

Well. “Her hoo-ha,” is what Eunice Wilkins had exclaimed in a stunned whisper-shout when she’d telephoned Hornecia Adamson about ‘that confounding Cassie Jo’. “Them there panties jest barely cover her hoo-ha!”

The snooping septuagenarians had both hung up their respective telephones but stayed in their windows, watching from behind moth-lace curtains, when Cassie Jo’s preacher husband pulled up in his two ton pickup.

What, thought Beauregard Montaigne good-naturedly upon seeing his wife clad in one of their bedroom-only outfits outside planting petunias, is that confounded woman up to NOW?

Another man might have been confounded by the fact that his wife was showing her panties to the whole neighborhood. But Beauregard Montaigne was not that kind of man.

No.

What confounded Beau was NOT the fact that his wife was flashing her panties to all an sundry, but rather, the fact that his wife was wearing panties at all.

They looked good on her, of course. What little of them he could see.

But, he thought with a smile of satisfaction brightening his face as he exited his truck, they’ll look a lot better later once they’re OFF that tempting hoo-ha of hers…

…and stuffed in her mouth while I fuck her.