Raising the Colors Pt. 01

In the small, very rural community where my parents grew up and where I now live, there is an interesting custom that locals have come to call "Raising the Colors." It's a custom for signaling when you're in need. Let me explain.

The easiest way to do that comes from my great-grandfather's explanation, given to me when I was 18. He was about 85, but still had full possession of his faculties. He told me the story while I was staying 6 weeks with him and my 83-year old great-grandmother. I was there to help out on their farm. My great-grandmother confirmed that what he told me was, indeed, true.

A few times during that stay, as we drove to town or around the community, my great-grandmother ("Mama T") would point and exclaim, "Oh, look, Lloyd, (this or that woman's name) has raised her colors!" They'd laugh and look at each other funny and smirk, obviously sharing some insider knowledge or private joke that I had no way to decipher. Once, my great-grandfather ("Papa L") said, "Well, Thelma, Johnny HAS been gone for a couple of months." His remark mystified me even more.

That evening before supper, I spoke up about it: "Several times, I've heard you both talking about some woman 'raising her colors.' What are you talking about?"

Mama T looked sharply at me, then asked, "How old are you now, Bobby?"

"Eighteen," I reminded her.

"Well, OK. You're old enough, I guess." She hesitated, then resumed, "Did you notice the clotheslines at the houses we were passing when we mentioned the lady there raising her colors?" Mama T asked.

"No, but everybody has clotheslines out here," I replied, even more mystified.

"Did you notice that some had a lot of clothes, like for the whole family, and some only had one or two items?" she queried.

"I guess so," I tried to recall; I hadn't really looked all that closely.

"Now I'd be a little surprised if a young man your age would have missed those sexy, lacy, red panties all alone on that line at that house we commented on tonight," she grinned. Flushing and embarrassed, I nodded. "Well, have you noticed what was on the clothesline at the other houses where we mentioned it before?"

I frowned, trying to remember, then my "Eureka!" moment, "Yes! The only thing on those lines were women's panties or panties and bras!" I exclaimed, still baffled nonetheless.

Mama T got serious, then asked, "I suspect that a young man your age knows the word 'fucking' and what it means, right?"

WOW! Now THERE was one word I definitely never expected to hear coming out of the mouth of any woman her age, and certainly not my

great-grandmother's! My mouth dropped open and I was sincerely speechless. Finally, without looking up, I nodded and mumbled, "Uh huh."

Mama T said, "Well, I've got to fix some supper, but Papa will explain."

She went into the kitchen and Papa L started talking. Here is what he told me:

(Papa L's story--no quotation marks for his words, only for conversations of others that he related in telling the story):

I wasn't raised in this community, so I was late to understanding this thing. Mama was raised here, but she didn't bring me up to speed about this for years after we were married.

We married at 18 for her and 20 for me. We were lusty kids and growing older and being married didn't change that part of us much. With the war and the need to get work, periodically I--and most other men in the community--had to be away from home for long periods sometimes. I guess it's always kind of been that way out here--a way to hold onto the land while earning a living or trying to get ahead.

Anyway, one evening as she was fixing supper, Mama looked out the window and exclaimed, "Glory be! Hannah's raised her colors!"

I'd never heard the expression before in a non-military context, and had no idea what she was talking about, so I got up to see what Mama had seen. I didn't see Hannah and couldn't determine what Mama was talking about. I'd been in the Marines, and raising the colors usually involves a flag and a flagpole, but there was neither a flag nor a flagpole in sight.

I went back to sit down, and asked Mama what in the world she was talking about. She turned and looked at me as if I was simple-minded and asked, "Did you not see that red, lacy, frilly number on the clothesline?!" I had been scanning the sky and had not, but I got up again and looked at Hannah's clothesline. Sure enough there on the clothesline in her porch, kind of in the shade, was a very sexy looking female garment that would definitely create images in any man's mind. Pretty racy for that time.

I observed that it was very pretty and asked if Mama wanted me to buy her one, and she said, "No, silly! By putting that out on her clotheline, Hannah is signaling for some--uh--assistance. And since our house is the only place from which you can really see it, her signal must be intended for us--for YOU, to be specific." I'm sure I looked blank because I still had no idea what she was talking about.

Then Mama exclaimed, "Oh, Lloyd, for Pete's sake, she wants you to go over and FUCK her! Her Jacob has been gone about 10 weeks and she's very lonely and needs some loving." Then while I sat there, still dumbfounded, Mama said, in a gentler tone, "Oh! I tend to forget that you weren't raised here because you've always fit in so well, and have been accepted so easily. Let me help you understand. Long ago, in maybe the 1840s, when this area was first settled, some of the women from the old country decided to resume and maybe modify an interesting custom from the old country." I sat listening with rapt attention, but no understanding.

Mama continued, "Their men were going off to war, to work, to sea, to look for new ventures and such, and were often gone for weeks or months or even years. Women, intuitive creatures that they are, realized that their men would need to satisfy their sexual desires as best they could on the road, in distant places, with other women. Being practical creatures, these women--as many women the world over have done--just told their husbands to take their pleasures as they needed to, but to be very careful and not bring any diseases, wives, girlfriends, or children home, and to not leave any unwanted children behind. You remember me telling you much the same when you went to war or to work away?" I did remember, and I was mighty surprised the first time she did. (Mama T turned from the sink and looked over her shoulder and winked at him, just then, and they both smiled).

Then, Mama told me that those original women recalled their grandmothers' tales of women seeing to their own sexual needs and desires while their men were gone. Of course, masturbation was an option, but it lacked intimacy and another's desire and touch, something women tend to need. So the best solution was for those lonely, temporarily husbandless women to let their need be known by a signal. The other women, knowing their time of loneliness would most likely come, agreed that their husbands who were still here could respond and take care of satisfying the lonely women's sexual needs.

Of course, the husbands had to be let in on the plan, and soon every adult knew about the practice, and soon most couples engaged in the custom. And it has continued to this day. The clothesline "flags" you've seen recently are abundant evidence that the practice is alive and well. Those women are signaling to men that they need to be fucked.

(Papa L paused. I was almost as surprised to hear Papa L use the vernacular as I had been to hear Mama T do it. I asked if he was serious)

"Oh, yes he is! Entirely serious--and 100% truthful," Mama T called from the kitchen, then urged, "Papa tell him the rest."

This is what he disclosed:

(Papa L's story, continued):

Anyway, Mama told me all about the custom. Of course I knew I had been away to war and for work and other things. So the question was obvious, and I asked it.

I asked her if she had ever raised her colors. She laughed heartily and said, "Oh my YES! I've raised the colors dozens of times!" she exclaimed, then told me, "You married a lusty lass and you went to war, took distant jobs, and traveled to find your fortune, leaving me at home alone for weeks on end. I knew you would fuck other women while you were gone, and I had needs myself."

Tentatively, I asked her who, not really sure I wanted to know. She told me, "The first was Mr. Jarvis, when you shipped out to war. He was 60 then, but still in great shape, and he was one of the few men still here capable of giving a young wife what she needed. He had a great cock, a big, thick one like yours, and he really knew how to use it!"

She continued, "His wife often came with him and knitted at this table while we rode each other upstairs for hours. He was capable of not finishing himself until he gave me 2 or 3 or 4 orgasms. And a couple of hours later, he could fuck me just as well, just as hard, just as long, and with similar results. I was usually a rag doll when he finished, but it was just what I needed."

Continuing, she told me, "The first time, I was extremely embarrassed to raise my colors, announcing my intimate need. I was even more embarrassed to have another man come to the house for such a purpose-- specifically to fuck me. But I was mortified that his wife was going to be here while we did it! But she was great! As he and I lay in bed naked, recovering between rounds that first time, lightly fondling each other, she brought up some tea and snacks and looked at me and smiled, saying, "He can really fuck can't he?" We laughed when I agreed emphatically, and she said, "I think he's going to fuck himself to death if some of our boys don't get home, though. He's fucked 6 different women this week already, and it's just Thursday. But he really likes fucking, and he clearly loves fucking YOU, I can tell! He would have already been done with the others, but he's happy to spend more time with you!" And I told her I really liked fucking him, too! She laughed and then pointed at him so I'd look.

His cock was growing, and she said, "OK. I'm going back downstairs so you two can get to it and not be inhibited. But G. W., you better make this the last round, OK? Keep in mind you DO still have your own wife who needs some loving, too!" She winked at me and left the room.

"I fucked him every night for a month, then 3 times a week, then twice a week, and finally once a week. He last fucked me 3 times the night before you wrote to tell me you would be home in a week."

That's what Mama told me. (She hollered in, "And every word was true!")

Then she told me that when I had the good job in Louisiana for a couple of years, a rotation of my friends: Jack, Doug, Robert, and Pete kept her pretty well fucked while I was gone for months at a time. She especially liked Doug because she said he was so thick he stretched her and filled her up. She said she came immediately when he finally got his cock all the way in the first time. She said she enjoyed Pete because he could go so long.

Jeff, Billy, and George filled in nicely when I was recalled to military duty. She called Billy "a fucking machine," and said he once fucked her 10 times in 8 hours! George had a very long cock that he sometimes hurt her with, but which she enjoyed. Other friends and neighbors occasionally scratched her itches for her. But she always had plenty for me.

Not long before she spotted Hannahs "colors" that day, I had come home for good after being in Alaska most of the time for four years, making a lot of money. Now she told me about the custom and told me that, almost exclusively, Jacob, Hannah's Jacob, had fucked her often and well when I was gone to Alaska for such long periods.

I have to tell you, I was not very happy about any of this at first. She'd been fucked by my friends and neighbors--regularly and often--for years without me being any the wiser. When I expressed my anger, she quietly asked me if I had fucked any other women while I was gone from home--as she had given me clearance to do.

I had never told her what I did in that regard with women, but now I confessed that I had, pretty often: in Alaska, female co-workers, one boss, one immediate supervisor, cooks, waitresses, librarians, women in shops and stores, nurses, one doctor, one dentist, one hippie chick, several techs, one news reporter covering the project, lonely women living where I was; during the war, lonely nurses, a few USO workers, some local women at dances, one woman who was about 50, but who was clear about wanting me and what she wanted me for; in Louisiana, a few wild bayou women, a lady who ran a bar, and the lady who handled our insurance and benefits, who once joked that not everybody got that benefit package. I worked in remote areas and everyone there was from somewhere else, and everyone was lonely, so we fucked--a lot.

As I disclosed what she'd never asked about before, I first realized that I had enjoyed mercenary fucks, one-night stands, meaningless shared loneliness, while the men who fucked Mama loved her and me. Then I knew I had no right to be upset, and to tell the truth, I did not really feel hurt or offended or betrayed, merely surprised. And that was the end of the angst and secrets.

But there was still the matter of Hannah's need. Mama told me, "Hannah's been without a man for well over 2 months, and to hear her tell it, she and Jacob fuck like rabbits. I know from experience that he can fuck long and hard, so I know that's what she's used to. She'll be as randy as a horny billy goat, and will be wanting a lot of sex. Take that big box of condoms up there. Go to her, and fuck the loneliness out of her until she goes to sleep. It may be daylight before she's done! Then come home, and if you have any energy left, I'll fuck you unconscious!"

So, I did. I went up and Hannah let me in. She thanked me for coming and quietly led me to the bedroom. She undressed me, fondled my cock and abruptly said, "That looks like fun! Please fuck me; I need it bad!" And she proceeded to show me how bad. She was a sex machine. I pushed her legs back and hammered her hard. She started cumming soon and kept on cumming for a long time. When I couldn't take any more, she wrapped her legs around me and we fucked like animals. By the time the night was over and she was sleeping, she had ridden me backward and forward, I had ridden her, I had fucked her from behind, and we finished with a long, slow missionary style that got her going off in a minutes-long orgasm. She was soon asleep, and I dragged home, thoroughly beat. Mama was understanding and let me go to sleep, but the next day she got her marathon.

(End of Papa L's story)

"Bobby," Papa L said, "you know out here, a good neighbor will plow your fields or fix your roof, repair your barn, feed and water your livestock if they need it and you're gone, hurt, sick, or can't get to it. That's true of a lot of rural areas. But I think ours is unique in letting neighbors plow or "fix" your wife if she needs it and you can't, or if you need help satisfying her needs. All a wife has to do is raise her colors, and the men of the community will do their best to oblige her.

"Mama and I both have participated in, and benefitted from this custom and we both have a lot of good memories about engaging in it with our friends and neighbors. There's been a lot of sexual intimacy and very good sex, but it's affirming of our community, too, the loyalty and the friendship. It's truly performing a community service and everybody feeling good about it."

"Isn't it weird--uncomfortable," I asked them both, very uncomfortable with this sudden deluge of shocking information.

"For us, it never was," Mama T declared. "We sat next to Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis every week at church for another decade after he fucked me so often. Of course, Papa didn't know it then. But all those other men were good friends to both of us for years before Papa found out, and they were good friends afterward until they passed on; they're all gone now. And Papa tended to a lot of their wives' needs over the years." Papa L nodded, smiling.

Papa L added, "A good friend doesn't constantly remind you that he helped you out. If he uses your tractor, he doesn't start treating it like it's his. If he does you a favor and takes care of something on your property, he doesn't make a big thing about it or act like he has some special dispensation to act like it's his property or that he should be paid or something," Papa L agreed. "We don't act weird about THOSE things. So we don't see any reason to do it when the job or chore or favor we need taken care of or that we need to take care of for our neighbor is fucking his wife. You just do it the best you can and are happy to do it, enjoying the task, but not trying to make it an affair.

"We never knew anybody to run off with a neighbor's wife, or to try to get her to cheat on her husband, or a wife who tried to raise her colors when her husband was home or able to get home, nor a wife who tried to get a neighbor to cheat on his wife behind his wife's back or without her husband knowing the score. Some may have, and some probably had threeways or group sex, undoubtedly some probably got a little too attached, but I bet everybody always knew what was going on, and they got it worked out."

Mama T added, "You know, when Me. Jarvis was fucking me when my need was do great, it would have been easy to just have a tawdry affair. But with Mrs. Jarvis along and interacting with us and being open about it all, it was not tawdry or cheap or nasty. Instead, it was a sweet reminder of the close bonds we have to each other. And--I don't know if I ever told Papa this--but when Doug was fucking me pretty often, I'd sometimes dream of him stretching me out, and might even have longed for the next time with that nice cock, then I'd run into Susie, his wife, and she'd be genuinely sweet and hug me and ask if Doug was giving me what I needed, and tell me to let them know if he needed to come over to check on things, and I'd stop daydreaming about big, thick cocks and give thanks for tender, loving neighbors.

"I'm ashamed to admit that me not letting Papa know how it worked and raising my colors and getting fucked without him knowing how it worked is the worst thing we know of ever happening with the custom," Mama admitted emotionally.

"But we got past that quickly and completely, not losing any friends or neighbors or each other over that oversight," Papa put the emphatic period on it.

We talked some more, adding some insight into adulthood and adult realities and needs, and realizing that even great-grandparents are just people, just sexual beings, just doing the best they can. I asked a few questions, tried to understand, and enjoyed the rest of my time there, sometimes seeing a pair of sexy red panties on the line, masturbating that night wondering who would answer the call.

I didn't know what to think about it all, but I never talked about it again with Papa L and Mama T. All too soon, they were both gone. I was gifted the farm not long before my parents died, and moved there with my new wife.

But that is another chapter.