Misbegotten Larke Jones
Misbegotten Larke Jones Larke Jones looked at his reflection in the hall mirror of his 1968 Marlette mobile home and smiled. He liked what he saw—thick blonde hair falling in a sexy wave over his left eye, pork chop sideburns trimmed to a sharp point, yellow shirt open, exposing his golden chest hair. He turned up his collar. He liked it better that way. It gave him an air of authority, of independence and
sexiness that no turned-down collar could match. He rolled up his shirt sleeves and adjusted his Wranglers that hung low on his thin hips. The jeans were threatening to drift too low and expose his bulge. He shifted it to the right, but the damn thing had a mind of its own and shifted back again.
He laughed as he thought of the two beauties waiting for him a
