I'm changing the title from Farmers Daughter to "Wicked Games."
This is really starting to get dirty. Love to hear detailed thoughts and feedback.
Chapter 8:
My mom and I can spend hours shopping, so this afternoon, that’s exactly what we did. We got home kind of late, since we decided to stop and eat at our favorite Mexican restaurant, so to avoid mom having to make dinner for dad once we returned, we brought him home a to-go order. He has already eaten it and passed out in his favorite chair, while watching the news. I found a super cute, new outfit that I plan to wear tomorrow night, so I grab the store bag from the dining room table — our go-to “drop zone” to throw things when we first come in the door — and I head to my room to try it on again. I quickly pull off my shorts and tank top from today and slip on the new short, denim skirt, followed by a fitted black top. It fits like a glove against my body, the neckline a wide cut that sits below the tops of my shoulders on both sides, exposing my collarbone, and while it’s not technically a crop top, the waist of it falls about an inch above the top of the skirt, just giving a little peek-a-boo of skin. It feels flirty and sexy. I slip on a pair of black high heels to complete the outfit and spin around in the mirror. I think Tyler’s going to like this. Maybe it’s mean, since I know there’s nothing serious going on with him, but I’d like to wield my newfound power a little and make him drool over me. This short skirt that just barely hides my ass cheeks is super intentional, too. I could say I’ve become somewhat obsessed with accentuating that spot below my ass ever since I paid it more attention in the bathroom mirror yesterday. It’s such a tease and I know it. I drop my panties to the floor, from under the skirt. Ohh, that feels even better. I do another couple of spins, pleased with what I see and feeling giddy with excitement, when I hear what sounds like a car pulling up in our driveway. It’s so quiet here at night, since even our closest neighbors are at least a half-mile away, that you can hear a car coming from a mile down the road, let alone one pulling up our long gravel drive. Someone must be stopping by to talk to dad, but it’s nighttime, so I’m assuming it can’t be good news. Maybe a cow got out or something. Although, when that happens, it’s usually just a late night phone call instead of a house visit. I walk over to my window and peek out of the curtain. The car didn’t stop in front of the house. It’s parked over at the hay barn. And it’s not a car — it’s a truck. I can make out the shape of it in the dim glow of the barn’s single light bulb, which hangs inside, near the peak of the roof. What is someone doing at the barn this late? I say “someone” but my gut already knows that what I’m seeing is Frank’s truck parked at the barn. I just can’t tell for sure since it’s so dark out, even with the barn light. I walk over to my room door and glance out towards the living room, which I can only partially see from down the hall. It’s quiet out there. Neither my mom nor dad seem to have noticed the sound and no one seems to be moving around, so I walk a few steps down the hallway to get a better view. My dad is still asleep in his chair, and my mom has fallen asleep on the couch. Old people fun on a Thursday night. I consider waking my dad up, so he can go see what the visitor wants or needs, but before that, I go back to my room, to the window, to make sure they’re still there. I don’t want to wake him up for nothing. I pull back the curtain again, just a little, and the truck is still there. Only this time, a man is standing in the doorway to the barn, unmoving and backlit. He’s just a shadow. Hello, Frank. What on Earth is he doing here at night? Did dad give him some kind of night chore to come back for tonight? I try to think of all the possibilities. It’s not planting or harvest season right now, which does usually entail longer work days, sometimes into after-dark hours. It’s not calving season, which requires middle-of-the-night checks on cows that are about to give birth, just in case they need help or have a high-risk pregnancy going on. Usually, those cows are kept on one side of that barn for observation, so that would be a plausible explanation, except we’re nowhere near the right time of year for that right now. The shadowy man makes a small movement with his arm, then suddenly, the barn light goes out. I can’t see anything anymore. Not the truck, not the man, not the huge barn itself. Where the hell is the damn moon when you need it? I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen that barn light off. It’s one of those that just gets left on twenty-four seven, I assume to offer some light or point of reference to go by when they’re out working late in the dark. A lighthouse for land. I stand stone still in the window, staring out into the darkness, waiting to hear the truck start up and leave. But I hear nothing. I see nothing. Not a flashlight or even the cab light from inside the truck. If it’s still there. If that is indeed Frank out there, I guess he’s not needing the light. Or rather…he doesn’t want it. My mind is whirring, trying to figure out what to do. I can’t ignore it and just go to bed, because then we just have someone creepily hanging out outside, in the dark, not far from the house. Who could sleep through that? Besides my parents, obviously. I think back to the stories my mom told me about Frank earlier. Is he trying to pull one over on my dad somehow? But if that’s the case, what could that possibly be? And why tonight? I’m so close to just waking my dad up so he can go check it out, but then I think back further and remember my and Frank’s encounter through the window this morning. The way he stood watching me give him a strip show while he filled the water tank. It was eerily similar to how he was standing just now, under the barn light. It was hard to tell which way he was facing, but from his posture, it looked like he had been facing my window again. Is he still there? Standing in the dark? Watching my window? My heart accelerates, in that same way it did this morning, as I come to the realization that he might be here, standing out in that barn alone, for me. I’m now torn between fear and curiosity. If he is here for me, what does he expect? A continuation of my little show this morning? He’s the one who left that time, though, so if he wanted more, he would have stayed and watched longer. Right? It strikes me that I’m still irritated about that. About him walking away while I was standing there so vulnerable and excited, like it didn’t hold his interest. Suddenly, a devious idea illuminates my brain. Let's see if I can be more “interesting” tonight. The thought sends butterflies through my stomach and simultaneously, a wave of heat radiates over my body. I slowly pull the curtains all the way open, exposing my softly lit room out into the immense darkness in front of it. I feel like an actor on a bright stage, staring out over a faceless audience sitting in a dark auditorium. My audience is out there tonight and I guarantee his eyes are on me. I can feel them. I turn away from the window, walk over to my room door, and turn the lock. Moving slowly and quietly back towards my stage, I peel the little black shirt up and over my head, then unfasten the tiny skirt, letting it drop to the floor. I step out of it, leaving my high heels on. I pick both pieces up and toss them onto the bed as I walk over to my closet, open the doors, and pull out Frank’s oversized flannel shirt. I look at it and take a deep breath. Here goes nothing. A quick peek in the mirror’s reflection of the window shows me that nothing has changed outside. It’s still dark. It’s still quiet. So I slip on Frank’s shirt, leaving it unbuttoned, and I can feel the bottom hem of his shirt caressing the lower edge of my ass. That spot. My new favorite sneaky spot. I feel myself getting wet and the entire area between my legs starting to swell. I turn around to face the window. My heart is pounding so hard that I freeze for a moment, staring out into the abyss, trying to settle my nerves. I wonder what he’s doing right now. My imagination is going crazy. Maybe he’s jerking off out there, with his giant cock in his hand, watching his shirt drape over my naked body. The idea is starting to drive me wild. I can feel the wetness spread down to my inner thighs now, unable to be contained. Frank’s flannel is brushing softly over the tips of my nipples and they react with enthusiasm to the sensation. I walk with delicate, deliberate steps over to my desk, stage left, grab my Discman which has my headphones already attached, and flip to a specific CD in my CD case (a playlist I made myself) and pop it into the player. This will help. Next to my Discman, there is a hairbrush sitting on the desk. I stare at it for a moment, then pick it up as well. I hook the back of the desk chair with my remaining free fingers and pull it over towards the window, placing it front and center. Take your time, Fiona. Move slowly. I need to keep a steady pace, because I’m so keyed up right now that I feel like if I move any faster, all of the molecules in my body will shatter into a billion pieces. My instincts, my humanity, my nerves, my sexuality — they’re all operating at max capacity at this very moment. If they had a visible meter, the needles would be on the verge of breaking off. I am in control. I take a seat in the chair, facing the window. What I’m about to do, I’ve never done before. Not like this. But right now, I really, really want to. I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I am in control. With shaking fingers, I carefully place an earbud into each ear, press the forward button on the cd player to track four, hit play and set it to repeat. The opening music to Britney Spears’ Touch of My Hand begins to play. I am in control. With my ass positioned at the edge of the chair, I place my Discman on the open part of the seat right behind me, then return my hands to my lap. I take another deep breath and I recline my body back against the chair’s backrest as I stare straight out the window into the darkness. Britney starts to croon in my ears: I'm not ashamed of the things that I dream I find myself flirting with the verge of obscene Into the unknown, I will be bold I'm going to places I can be out of control I close my eyes and I begin to slowly caress my hands up along my thighs, towards my belly, and slip them under Frank’s shirt, letting it fall open. I focus on my touch, as I continue up to my breasts, squeezing them together, before stroking my fingers around my nipples, then higher, up to my neck as I let my head fall to the side, taking care not to snag my earbuds out of my ears. I spread my fingers as they slide up into my long hair, tousling it as I massage my head, causing wisps and strands to fall over my face. The music is drawing me further in: The small of my back, the arch of my feet Lately I’ve been noticing the beautiful me I'm all in my skin and I'm not gonna wait I'm into myself in the most precious way I open my eyes as I lower my arms back to my thighs, my gaze following my fingers. I feel like I’m watching someone else’s hands touch me, instead of my own. My heart is beating out of my chest and my breathing is slow and heavy, as I slide my hands down to between my knees and spread them open, wide. I dare to lift my eyes back to the window. It’s strange to me how the infinite darkness before me feels like a spotlight. I’m caught in the tractor beam of a black hole. I still feel you out there watching, Frank. My fingers glide along my inner thighs, reaching to where my slickness has spread all over my skin between them. With my right hand, I split my middle and ring fingers into a “V” and slide them down the sides of my pussy. It’s soaking wet, swollen and warm. It’s pulsing, yearning to be fully touched, and I can’t take it anymore. I slip a finger into its folds, and my body reactively arches in the chair. I stroke that finger in and out a few times, swirling around my clit with each pass, before sliding in a second finger. God, that feels good. I want more. My left hand has made its way up to my breasts and is taking turns rolling each nipple between my fingers. My head is swirling and I’m still stroking myself, harder now, with my right hand and I’m about to slip yet another finger in, craving more, when I remember the hairbrush I brought over with me. I forgot I had dropped it onto the floor when I first sat down. I lean over a little and fumble around with my left hand to find it under the chair. My other hand doesn’t stop stroking. It can’t stop. I stare at the brush once again, contemplating its round, rubber sheathed handle. Should I do this? I want more. I need more. I look back up at the window, out into the abyss where I envision the grown man that’s watching me in the shadows, groping his erection. Then my focus shifts to notice my own reflection in the glass. Hello, again Fiona. Through lustfully heavy eyes, I study the mirrored version of me, fully on display, fucking her own fingers. This is what Frank is seeing. It’s so fucking hot. Decision made. I turn the brush in my hand so that I’m holding it by the soft, bristled end. The Britney song starts to repeat, and I bring the handle up to my lips, opening my mouth and sliding it in and out to get it wet. I know I don’t need to, since I’m wet enough as it is, but I want Frank to watch me suck it. I tease my tongue around the tip a few times, and then bring it down to my entrance, removing my fingers. I spread my lips with those fingers, and slowly push the handle into myself. Oh God. I inhale sharply at the pleasant intrusion, and while it’s not a particularly large brush — it glides in easily — it’s foreign to me and hitting a spot my fingers couldn’t reach. The sensation makes me clench around the handle, making it fit tighter and feel larger. Yes, right there. I plunge it in and out as I start rubbing my clit with my free hand. I watch it penetrating me and I can slightly see each thrust moving within me through my belly, and this observation sends me into a tailspin. I pick up the pace — thrusting, squeezing, rubbing — and my climax is building rapidly. It reaches a peak, and I’m just at the tipping point, when I see the barn light suddenly turn on again. Oh my God. I see that ominous silhouette in the doorway once more and the sight causes me to panic. Oh no….no, Fiona! Pull it back! Oh my God! I want to stop, but I’m too far gone at this point and I just can’t. My toes are curling, my legs are tensed up, I grasp the side of the chair seat with my left hand to steady myself, but my other hand keeps automatically thrusting the brush handle, and despite my attempt at resistance, the visual confirmation that he is indeed still there watching, pushes me into my release. How did he know I was about to come? I try to hold my breath as I submit to my climax. My body jerks as pleasure ripples through me, and I come hard on the brush handle, trying with everything in me to not moan or scream. I don’t know what I would do if my parents heard me. Then, as my orgasm dissipates, I drop the brush and yank the earbuds from my ears with one pull of the wire. The sound of my own gasping breath within the sudden silence of my room is surprisingly intense. I stand up before I’m fully ready and walk to the window on shaky legs. Frank’s shirt is draping off of my shoulders, my skin is glistening with sweat and my hair is still disheveled from playing with it. I must be quite a sight. The shadow man remains in the barn doorway, but it’s only been a few seconds, and I don’t want to lose my moment. I’M ending this one, Frank. Without further delay, I pull the curtains closed and take a few steps back to sit in the chair, catch my breath and wait. The seconds tick by like minutes, but finally, I hear the truck start up and slowly creep down the driveway to leave. Once I feel like it’s been long enough, I peek through the curtain. The truck is gone. The barn light remains on. I stare out at the barn, immobile. What did I just do? What was HE doing? I try to process what I understand about what just happened: An old man snuck out to my house and watched me masturbate through my room window. I orgasmed — with a brush handle — right in front of him. A smile starts to play on my lips. I almost feel proud of myself. Oh, Frank….what a risky, wicked game we’re playing.
I woke up this morning earlier than expected and super-refreshed, so I decided to go for a run. Apparently, I had a good night’s sleep for once, as I didn’t seem to have any crazy dreams. I don’t think I dreamt at all, actually, which speaks to how damn tired I’ve been from NOT sleeping well these past couple of weeks. I’ve been slacking with my fitness since I’ve been home, and to be honest, I really want to look good for this weekend, so it felt great to finally get my ass in gear. I’ve just gotten back to my room, post-run, and I take some time to stretch out on the floor. When I stand back up, planning to head to the bathroom next to take a shower, I notice through my north window that Frank is out at the barn. He’s standing at the fence in front of a water tank that the cows drink from and I assume he’s filling it. There’s a spigot with a hose at the front corner of the barn that’s always used to fill that tank, and with a closer look, I see that the hose is in the tank. He must have just gotten there and turned it on, because I didn’t see anyone out there when I first returned. I walk over to the window to shut the curtains again, but I stop. I don’t know why, but I just stand there watching Frank, and I become very curious to know more about him. Even though he’s been on this farm for decades, I realize that I don’t know much, other than that he lives a few miles away in an old house, by himself. Where is his family? Did he ever have one? I’m completely zoned out while watching him, silently pondering his life story, when he looks up and directly over at my window. At me. Can he see me behind the glass? I assume, since it’s daylight, that the reflection from the outside would make it difficult to see in, but when I reach up to pull the curtains, something makes me pause again. He’s wearing a John Deere hat and I see him lift his hand up to the brim and give what looks like a little nod. Just like that same nod I envisioned in my daydream. Did he just nod at me? Like a hello? I look around and there doesn’t seem to be anyone else out there with him that he could be nodding to. I take a step back from the window, to see if I lose his attention, but he actually squares up even more in my direction. I keep staring back at him and the intimacy of the moment makes my heart start beating faster. My adrenaline is picking up and it’s bringing out that girl in the mirror from yesterday. I can’t fight it. I turn my back to the window, breaking eye contact with Frank, and it’s the first time I’m noticing how the full-length mirror on my wall is opposite the window and I can still see Frank in the reflection, albeit from a more distant perspective. It’s becoming a thing to watch Frank in mirrors, it seems. He’s also still watching me. My whole body feels like it’s buzzing now and without thinking too much about it, I slip my fingers under the band of my sports bra and pull it up over my head. I watch myself in the mirror as I do it and, in the reflection, I see Frank take a couple of steps away from the water tank towards the direction of the house, staying along the fenceline that separates the yard from the neighboring pasture. I pretend I don’t notice, since I don’t think he can tell that I can see him in the mirror, and I continue. I kick my running shoes off by the heels, using my toes, and slide my thumbs behind the waistband of my spandex shorts. Slowly and deliberately, I slide the stretchy material down my hips and over my ass. I bend over as I push the shorts all the way to my ankles, stalling in that position while I use my hands to free my feet from them. I’m trying my best to be graceful. I glance up into the mirror and I know Frank is getting a full view of my ass in my thong, because he’s taken yet another couple of steps along the fence towards the house. Feeling empowered by having caught his attention to this level, I stand back up and reach for the waistband of my thong next. I peel it down, feeling the moment that my pussy bares itself to the open air, and I inhale sharply at the rush it gives me. There it is, that bend. That simple movement that just took this from rated R to X rated in the blink of an eye. Although, I don’t think Frank is blinking right now. I stand back up and turn sideways to the window, keeping my attention on the mirror, and simulate checking myself out, giving all the girly poses we do when we try on an outfit. I run my fingertips from my shoulders, down over my breasts, my waist and finally, back to my ass. I see Frank's reflection start walking backwards, back to where the water tank is, and I feel so discouraged that he’s retreating, that I instinctively turn straight to the window and start walking back up to it. It’s as if I’m “following” him. Like there’s a string he’s pulling backward with him and I’m attached to the other end. I’m now standing in the window, totally naked, just as he stops at the tank. Both of us are perfectly still for a moment, staring in each other’s direction. Then all of a sudden, Frank lifts his hand back up to the bill of his hat and nods, turns around, shuts the water spigot off to the hose, and walks away, totally out of view. What was that? And where did he go? I’m not sure what I expected to happen next, but for some reason I’m annoyed that it ended like that. He walked away. Did he not like what he saw? Is he fucking with me? I feel like I should’ve been the one to walk away first, to shut the curtains on him, or to cover up and leave the room. What was with the head nods? Maybe I should be creeped out by it, but honestly, the mysteriousness of it has me more curious than creeped. I flip the curtains shut more aggressively than I expected to, knocking one side of the curtain rod off of its anchor. Damn it, now I’m all flustered. With a big sigh, I grab my desk chair, slide it over to the window, pick up the curtain rod and step up to rehang it. It’s right then that I realize I am now stark naked on a chair in front of my window, and I feel so exposed. A little late for that, Fiona. I quickly finish hanging it, pull the curtains closed (more gently this time) and leave to go take my shower. When I finish and head back to my room to get dressed, my mom is in my room putting away my laundry. “Mom, you don’t have to do that. I can do my own laundry now,” I remind her before adding, “but I do appreciate it. Thank you.” “Honey, I don’t get to have you home very often, so believe it or not, I want to do this for you. It’s funny what you don’t think you’ll miss, until it’s actually gone.” The way she said it was so full of sadness to me. I can feel her loneliness in it. We used to do everything together, but with me being away the majority of these past couple of years, I can tell my absence has taken a toll on her somewhat. She seems like she’s aging faster or something, but that could just be from me not seeing her every day. Instead of a slow, steady progression that seems unnoticeable day by day, I’m only seeing new snapshots of her every few months. It makes a big difference. “Oh, by the way,” she starts again. Her back is to me while she hangs something up in the closet. “I didn’t see that white shirt you had on the other day in the load.” Oh, shit. Why is she so observant about that damn shirt? My face flushes as I scramble for an explanation. “Oh…yeah…I noticed that it had a hole in it from my fall, so I threw it away.” I feel pleased with my quick thinking. “Hun, I probably could’ve fixed it for you. You should’ve given it to me.” Crap. She is pretty handy with a needle and thread, which slipped my mind. Lie better, Fiona. “I thought about that, but it wasn’t on a seam. Must’ve snagged it on a stick or something. The hole was right in the middle of the fabric. It’s fine mom, it was a cheap shirt.” I think I hit it out of the park this time. I make a mental note that if I ever find that shirt, I have to throw it away immediately. She lets the issue go, thank God, then picks another shirt out of the basket, and I see that it’s Frank’s, which causes my face to grow even hotter, especially after what just happened in the window. “I can give this to your father to give back to Frank,” she offers. Can she please just be done with laundry now. “No, it’s ok mom, I can do it. Dad didn’t seem to like that he gave it to me to begin with, so maybe we don’t make him do that.” “Yeah, true. You’re probably right. I just didn’t want you to have to do it.” “Why not? It’s no big deal.” But as I say the words, butterflies take flight in my stomach and I realize that it’s actually a bigger deal to me than I first thought. Either way, she has me curious. “I don’t know, hun, I just get a weird feeling about that man. I always have.” Ok, now I’m extra curious. “Weird feeling? Like how? Why?” I try not to look too interested, but I doubt I’m succeeding. She gives a small laugh in response. I don’t think she expected me to ask so many questions, so it’s more of a laugh she’s using to stall giving an explanation, than it is that she thinks it’s funny. “I guess it’s a lot of things.” She backs up two steps and sits on my bed, looking up to the ceiling like she’s seeing an invisible list up there and trying to figure out which “thing” to start with. I follow her gaze, trying to see that list too, wondering how long it could be. She lets out a sigh as she starts, “Well, when your dad first hired him, I was like thirty…..six, I think. And I looked a lot like you, believe it or not,” she says with a shy smile. “I looked more like I was twenty-something still and I was thin. I hadn’t had you yet. Anyway, Frank was about the same age at the time and I know this will sound conceited, but I always felt like he was checking me out. He’d walk into the house to grab a pop out of the fridge to take back out with him and he’d just linger a little too long. He’d compliment me often — my hair, my clothes, things like that. You’d think I’d enjoy the attention, since you know, your father isn’t exactly the over-complimentary type, but it was the way he did it that grossed me out. He didn’t come off as just friendly when he’d say it. It was more….leering? If that makes sense? I don't know…it just wasn’t comfortable.” “Is that all he did? Give you some compliments in a kinda-creepy way?” I don’t want to sound like I’m downplaying her experience, but it doesn’t seem like a big deal, so I continue, “It just seems pretty typical of a guy that’s the same age as you, when he sees a really pretty girl. I mean, I’m not saying you shouldn’t have been creeped out, but he’s like almost 60 now, so I guess I don’t see how what he did back then has to do with now. Did he do something else?” She looks back up at that list. Damn, I wish I could see it for myself. “He did that a lot, so yeah, that was a big part of it. I guess you had to be there.” I might already be, Mom. I take a seat next to her on the bed, realizing I’m still in my towel, then she proceeds, “Have you noticed his fingers?” She surprises me with the odd change of direction. “What? His fingers? No, what about them?” “He’s missing two of them, on his right hand,” she explains. “A few years ago, he somehow got his hand caught on some baling wire as it was feeding into the baler and the wire sliced two of his fingers clean off. I think it had jammed or something and he was trying to fix it.” I gasp in shock. Holy shit! Frank’s words from yesterday replay in my head, when he was giving me his gloves: You’ll need’em to grip the wire. It can cut through yer hand pretty easy. How did I not notice that? Why did his gloves have all 5 fingers? Wouldn’t the empty two get in the way? I have so many questions. “Oh my God, that’s awful! What happened next? Was his family upset? What did Dad do?” So. Many. Questions. “Oh, he doesn’t have family,” she answers. “You’ve never learned any of this? I thought I'd told you before.” “Uh, nope. Unless I was a kid and forgot.” “No, I wouldn’t have told you all that when you were little.” Right. Why would she? “His wife, Lilly, passed away from cancer not long before he started working for your dad, and they hadn’t had any kids yet. They had just started their own farm, but as soon as she got sick, he couldn’t keep up with it since he was taking care of her, so he sold most of the land, but kept the house he’s still in. I guess he just never bothered remarrying or dating or whatever.” Suddenly, a wave of sadness fell over me for Frank. I can’t imagine getting married and maybe wanting to start a family, and then your other half gets sick and dies before you two even get to really start your lives together. “That’s horrible, Mom. Jeez, maybe that’s why he liked hitting on you. He was still grieving and lonely and just mentally messed up.” “That’s why I didn’t say anything or put up a fuss to your dad about him. I just let it go, even though it still gave me the heebie jeebies. But that’s not the part that bothers me about him anymore.” As if my interest isn’t already piqued, she just keeps throwing perfect pitches. I look at her with raised eyebrows, urging her to continue the story. “After the finger accident,” I hold back a giggle when she says the phrase finger accident because I feel like I’ve had one or two of those happen myself, “he filed a workmans comp claim, which we expected, and he did get a payout, but apparently it wasn’t enough to him and he had a big falling out with your dad after that since your dad wouldn’t pay him extra. He quit working here for a while, and then he tried to sue, but he wasn’t successful.” “Jesus. How much did he get?” “I don’t remember exactly, it was a while ago and your dad was handling it. I was just happy he was gone. I don't think any amount would’ve been enough for him, though.” I can see why she didn’t care if he got paid out enough. As long as he didn’t, he and my dad wouldn’t get along and he’d stay away from the farm. “Ok, so why the hell is he back working here then?” That seems like the next logical question. Although, I still have ten thousand more. “Language, hun,” she scolds. Oh, shit, I forgot she hates when I curse in front of her. Whoops. I apologize and she finally answers, “I think he realized after a year or so that he was being greedy and he just needed the work.” “Why didn’t he go work for someone else, then?” “No one else would take him. A lot of the farmers around here are friends with your dad, as you know, and of course everyone was aware about everything going on. I don’t think anyone wanted to get on your dad’s bad side, even though he really wouldn’t have cared. He’s not catty like that. I guess it just didn’t feel right to them, plus, I don’t know, maybe they were worried Frank would try to pull the same thing if he had an accident with them?” Yeah, I guess that makes sense. But then I wonder, “what about all the money he got from workers comp?” “I don’t know. He managed his money terribly — he still might, for all I know. I guess, right after his wife died, he fell into alcoholism for a while, and I think he racked up some debt in the process. But by the time he started working for your dad, he had sobered up. I think he’d just been playing catch-up for years and the money he got disappeared quickly. Or maybe he fell off the wagon after the accident, who knows. I didn’t keep up with any of it after he left.” Oh shit, this guy has been through the ringer. “But, he came back to your dad, hat in hand, and made amends. Your dad hired him back and he’s been here ever since, but something about how that all went down still doesn’t sit right with me.” “Why not? It sounds like they buried the hatchet to me.” “Well, they don’t really talk much to each other, for one. You know how much your dad likes to chat when he’s out and about. He can’t pass another human being without stopping and having an hour conversation. Right?” Yep, that’s accurate. He’s either not a man of many words, or he’s all of the words. It just depends on the topic at hand. Farming stuff is one of those topics where he will have all of the words. “How often do you see your dad standing around chatting with Frank?” She raises an eyebrow as she looks at me, and I don’t know if that’s a rhetorical question or if she’s waiting for me to answer. “Yeah, you’re right,” I decide to answer. It’s true though, even in my short time at home, I don’t ever see my dad near Frank. That explains why he’s always working alone when I’ve come across him. You’d think that if my dad didn’t fully trust him again, he would want someone there to watch him, in case he purposely tries to have another “accident” in order to try for more money again or something. “Do you think they’re still fighting? I mean, what else is weird besides that they don’t talk or work around each other?” I’ve lost count of my questions, but I’m pretty sure there are at least nine thousand, nine-hundred, ninety-two left. “Well, it’s not just that your dad doesn’t talk to him much. It’s also that your dad doesn’t talk about him much either. If I didn’t know the whole story, I’d think that Frank doesn’t really work here and he’s just a ghost I see around the farm.” Whoa, that’s weird. “Like, dad just pretends he’s not here?” “Something like that. I mean, I’m sure he gives him instructions on what needs to be done for the day I suppose, but then they just go off to work and usually it’s doing separate things. Frank finishes for the day and heads home, then comes back the next and it’s the same thing all over again. Even during dinner yesterday, when your dad made that comment about this shirt,” she holds it up as she addresses it, “was the first time in a while that I’ve heard him speak of Frank. And even then, I did notice he called him ‘that man’ instead of by name.” I nod silently at her statement. I noticed that too, but I thought it was just because he got ruffled at the thought of me changing around him. I know now, there was so much more behind his few words. So much more. “So, anyway, I just don’t want you around ‘that man’ Fiona,” she echoes my dad’s words. “There’s something — unstable about him. I’ll figure out how to get the shirt back to him.” “No mom,” I stop her, “it’s fine. You know, he actually didn’t seem to care if he ever got it back, so let’s just forget about it. That way no one has to do it. Not you, not dad, not me.” “I suppose.” She raises her eyebrows. “I don’t know though, he might try to sue us for stealing his shirt.” We look at each other at the same time and start laughing hysterically. I love my mom’s sense of humor. It’s a bit morbid, so her way of coping with uneasy situations is to make jokes about it. I’m totally the same way. I take the shirt from her and nonchalantly tell her I’ll just rip it up and use it as dust rags when I clean my room, and toss it onto my bed. She seems to accept that, and proceeds to finish putting away the rest of the laundry while I finally pick out something to wear. Earlier, she mentioned making a run to the grocery store, so I find something casual — jean shorts and a tank top — and we make a plan to leave in twenty minutes or so. A trip to the store from here is a whole event, since it takes thirty minutes to even get to town, where the closest big grocery stores are, which means we’ll do more than just grocery shop. Much to my dad’s disdain, we’ll also hit up a bunch of clothing stores while we’re at it. He hates my mom’s spending habits, but as she always tells me, “we can afford it, and it’s not like I can take it with me when I’m dead.” Maybe I’ll look for a new outfit for tomorrow night. ;)
Lunch — I mean, dinner — was excellent today. After all, it was one of my favorites, and it was nice to sit and talk with my parents for a while. It was a pleasant distraction. They mostly asked about school. You know, the same old questions about my classes, how my friends are, what do I do outside of classes and practice. My answers were filled with sunshine and rainbows, all the things parents like to hear…and sometimes partial truths. They don’t need to know everything, after all. Then my mom told my dad about how I fell in the creek this morning and came back looking like a swamp monster. I wasn’t pleased with this change in subject, but I could tell that her analogy made her feel clever, so I gave her a giggle in support. My dad, however, raised his eyebrows in curiosity, so I explained how I was sort of playing the game mom and I used to play over the bridge, about how my stick got stuck, and then pretty much stuck to the story I told mom when I first got home. When I mentioned the part about Frank giving me a shirt, my dad’s eyebrows dropped into a frown. “You shouldn’t change clothes in front of that man.” He surprised me with his tone, but I knew he was just being protective of me. “Well, jeez, Dad, I didn’t change in front of him!” I was trying not to break into a sweat as I was lying the entire sentence coming out of my mouth. “Oh, come on, Jonathan, she’s smarter than that.” My mom always defended me to my dad, even over things she may have already chewed me out for. She maintained being the sole disciplinarian, but only because when it came time for my dad to learn of my mistakes, she made it sound like it wasn’t a big deal. Like the first time I ever got a speeding ticket, 4 years ago. According to the officer, I was going almost thirty over the speed limit (which I still believe was false, but I won’t get into that), so they took my license and gave me a court date. She ripped me a new one over the phone, after I called her crying to tell her what happened, swearing up and down that I was going to be grounded and not be allowed to drive for two weeks. Of course that punishment never came to fruition. She wasn’t that cruel. After all, a new teenage driver getting a ticket wasn’t unusual or particularly devastating in the scheme of things. Although, during that phone call, she made me feel like I just mowed down 10 puppies intentionally with my Pontiac Grand Am. But when it came time to face the music with my dad, she was at the ready with a snappy “Johnathan, calm down, it’s not a big deal. It’s just a ticket.” God bless that woman. My mom sticking up for me about taking Frank’s shirt shut my dad up. I think most of the time he just doesn’t care enough to get into it further. He’s a good problem solver, but not a good “problem” solver, if you know what I mean. Give him anything physical to repair, from a leaky faucet to a busted belt in a half-million dollar combine, and he’s got it covered. But come to him with a broken heart, or drama with kids at school, and he’s out. Which is totally fine with me. The downside is that my mom takes the brunt of everyone’s stress and wears it as her own. Which is why I chose to lie to her, and that’s led her to defend the lie for me — a lie she doesn’t know is a lie, and I feel kinda shitty about that. The woman who has always known me better than I know myself, doesn’t fully anymore. It would break her heart to know that, because it breaks mine a little, too. I helped my mom clean up after lunch, threw my dirty laundry in the wash, including the clothes from my adventures this morning, and decided to cut the grass again. I wanted the alone time and it was due to be done again, anyway. That walk up to the machine shed again gave me so much anxiety, but no one was there this time and I was able to finish without any…distractions. Now, I’m standing in the bathroom again, after taking a shower for the second time today. I know what you’re thinking and no, I didn’t perform an encore of my daydream from earlier. Not this time. Once today was about all I could take. Block it out of your brain, Fiona. I stare at myself in the mirror again and give myself a good look top-to-bottom. I watch how the warm white light from the fixtures above, mixed with the orange glow that’s permeating through the sheer bathroom window curtains from the setting sun outside, illuminates my skin, accentuating all of its peaks and valleys. I slowly turn in a circle, keeping my eyes on the mirror. My skin looks so soft in this light, so feminine. I mean, I know I’m a female, and a girly-girl at that, who loves to wear tiny clothes and high heels, but typically when I see myself, I see the athlete in me. I focus on how toned my arms are, the plumpness of my ass, the firmness of my abs and the muscular definition that runs down my thighs. But right now, I’m only paying attention to how full my breasts actually are (albeit on the smaller side), the way they subtly jiggle with each soft step, the arch of my spine as I pop my ass out a little further, and then down to where the bottom of my cheeks tuck under. The way their slope irresistibly compels attention to the warm, moist place that hides in the shadow below. The place where just a slight bend forward can reveal all of its secrets, its vulnerabilities. Something so sensitive and desirable, concealed by such a simple camouflage. It makes me feel kind of powerful. With a smirk to myself, I wrap my towel around me and head to my bedroom. I must have been in the bathroom awhile, because it’s already almost dark now and when I grab my phone off of my desk and flip it open, there’s a missed text message from Brad: Will b home this wknd. Rdy to tlk? Luv u Ugh, no. I’m not ready to talk. I told him we’d talk at the end of summer. He’s the last thing I want to worry about right now. I send back: We’ll see. Might be busy. Let u know. I throw my phone back down on the desk. Today is a Wednesday, so I’m guessing he’s coming back either Friday night or Saturday morning. I’ve got a couple of days before I have to give him a straight answer. I head to my closet to grab some clothes and a bright light suddenly floods across the closet doors. What the hell? I turn around and notice it’s coming from my north-facing window. The curtains are still open. Whoops. I walk over to shut them, and freeze. It’s the headlights of a truck that’s backed up to the hay barn, which is in the direct sightline of my room. The headlights shut off and I see Frank stepping out of the truck. He pauses with the door still open and turns in my direction. It looks like he’s staring right at my window. I snap out of my trance and quickly pull the curtains shut. That was close. I’m sure I’m just being paranoid, but it did look like he was looking at me, and here I am, still standing in my towel. Girl, get dressed already. I’m staying in for the night, so I just throw on some comfy Abercrombie & Fitch booty shorts and a fitted tank top, before plopping down in my desk chair and flipping open my laptop. I need to plan something fun to do this weekend in order to avoid me eting up with Brad, so I open up my AOL Instant Messenger to see who’s online. But before I even start scrolling through the screen names to see who’s tagged as online, a message pops up from my life-long best friend, Emily, and I am SO freaking excited to see it:
Hanson4Eva: Heeeey slut! U back home yet?? Foxxygirl32: LOL…yeah, I’ve been back for almost a couple weeks! Hanson4Eva: WHAT! And u didn’t TELL ME?? WTH is wrong w/ u! Foxxygirl32: I know, sry! Just been super busy! Hanson4Eva: It’s cool, I get it. Gotta catch up with the fam. It’s not like I’m ur sister or anything.
Emily and I call each other sisters, since we’ve been friends long enough that we might as well be. She’s attending college at a nearby university, about thirty minutes away, while mine is over two and a half hours away, so we don’t get to see each other often. She’s studying business and is an excellent photographer, so I think she’s hoping to start her own photography studio one day. Oh wait— photography — that gives me an idea.
Foxxygirl32: What r u doing this weekend? Hanson4Eva: I’m free as a nudist’s balls in July. Foxxygirl32: LOL…U still do photography? Hanson4Eva: Of course. Foxxygirl32: Could I maybe do a photoshoot this weekend with u? Hanson4Eva: Like…of u?? Foxxygirl32: Uhh, yeah, of me. Hanson4Eva: Sweet! U want like a boudoir kinda thing? Maybe something to give Brad for his bday? *winky face emoji* Foxxygirl32: Um, no. We’re not 2gether right now. Hanson4Eva: I know. Foxxygirl32: WTH, then why did u say that?? Hanson4Eva: Cuz it’s easy to screw w/ u and it’s funny! LOL! Foxxygirl32: *tongue sticking out emoji*
Ok, here goes nothing. I type and hit send before I change my mind:
Foxxygirl32: I wanna do a really sexy farm girl photoshoot. Hanson4Eva: Like for real?? How sexy are we talking? Foxxygirl32: Can u do it? Hanson4Eva: Hell yeah! We can do it all artistic and shit. Can I use it in my portfolio? Foxxygirl32: That’s fine, I guess. I don’t care. Hanson4Eva: Do U want to use any props? Foxxygirl32: I don’t know what that means. Hanson4Eva: U don’t know what a prop is? Foxxygirl32: Lol, I know what a prop is. I mean like what kind? Hanson4Eva: Don’t worry. I got ideas. Ooh, I love this! Let’s do it this Saturday. Wanna use ur farm for it?
I look over at the window I just closed the curtains to. I wonder if Frank is still out there.
Foxxygirl32: No, I’d rather not. Hanson4Eva: Ok, I get that. Then come to my house. I’ve got a great spot!
I love that she isn’t asking too many questions about my request, but I know she will, once I see her in person. She’s saving it for when she has me trapped and I can’t just log out of the chat and pretend my internet connection dropped. I wish we could do that in real life, sometimes. We set up a time for Saturday evening, at seven p.m., because she wants to get set up in plenty of time to catch the “magic hour” or whatever. We’re chatting about nonsense for a little longer and off to the side of our chat, in the main AIM user list, I see a user pop online: Ty2002. I stare at the screen name for a while, remembering back to when I had a crush on Tyler in high school and I’d spend hours chatting with him. He had a crush on me too, and was actually in my car with me when I got that speeding ticket I mentioned. I was freaking out and he tried to calm me down, swearing the officer would just give me a warning since I was a pretty girl and a new driver with nothing on my record. Boy was he wrong, and ironically, he’s now studying criminal justice in school with the hope of becoming a police officer. Anyway, back then, he went to a different high school than me, which complicated how often we could see each other, plus he was going to eventually go to the same nearby college Emily is and I was going to be moving away. But even before that could happen, Brad entered the picture, so things with Tyler just dissipated. I wonder if he’s still single. What the hell. I click his username to open a chat window and send the first message: Hey stranger, long time no chat. Then I return to chatting with Emily. Not even 30 seconds later, I hear the ping of a new message: Holy shit, hey Fiona! What’s up? Well, I’ll be damned. I make small talk with him about school and family and whatnot, and then he actually asks me first if I’d want to catch up in person. I think about it for a minute. I don’t want to respond too quickly or seem too eager, but it would be kind of nice to go on a date with another guy and what better way to do that than with a guy I already know and used to like. I decide to take him up on his offer.
Foxxy32: Sure, that sounds great. Ty2002: Sweet! At our old spot on Friday? Around six? Foxxy32: That’s perfect. Ty2002: Can’t wait. *winky face emoji*
He winky faced me. Maybe he’s the more eager one. The thought makes me smile, as I close out both of my chats, grab my copy of P.S. I Love You by Cecilia Ahern from the desk, and sprawl out on my bed. A little reading before bed sounds great right now. I flip the book open to my bookmark. Holly has just received the package of letters from her deceased husband Gerry, in which he’s giving her a new adventure to do every month for the rest of the year following his death, to help her cope with losing him. Wow, how freaking thoughtful. The dude was dying and still showed so much concern for his wife’s well-being after his passing. I know for a fact that’s not something Brad would do. He’s only upset about our “break” because he doesn’t like the thought of being alone. It doesn’t matter that it’s me he’s losing. In the past, when we’d take a break and get back together, and he felt confident that I was sticking around, he’d go back to his old shit of ditching me for his buddies because he didn’t want to get made fun of for being “whipped”. That’s such a lame, juvenile thing for friends to pull, too, and I resent them for it. They just do it because they can’t keep a girl and they’re jealous, but he falls for it and I hate it. He changed his whole style, how he speaks and how he treated me, just to fit in with them. He’d say it’s no big deal, but all I could see was a manchild more concerned with fitting in than nurturing his relationship with supposedly the person he wants to end up with forever. I’d tell him that he’s changed and isn’t the guy I started dating 5 years ago and that I don’t want this “new’ version. We’d end up in a fight, some things would get broken, and I’d call for the break. Then he’d get all upset and start begging me back — and the cycle has continued, over and over. I don’t know why I’ve kept getting back with him in the past. I know a big part of it is that I haven’t really found anything better. We have a ton of history up to this point and it just becomes easier to stick with the person I know than to start over with someone new. Plus, I guess I’ve always held on to the hope that this is all a phase and I’ll get the old Brad back at some point. They do say boys mature slower than girls, so it makes me feel like some patience, on my part, is due. But it’s been three years of this, so how long is long enough? It started when he left for college a year before I did. I was still a high schooler while he went off to be the big college guy. I can admit that I had a lot of insecurity with that. It was tough being two and a half hours away in a rinky-dink town while he was off on a big college campus talking to college girls. That’s when things started changing. He started calling me less, lying to me about where he was or who he was with and it started p*ssing me off. We somehow made it through that year still together, but then once it was my turn to join him there, he flipped and got super-clingy. At first I was excited, because I felt like he must have missed me so much that he was happy to finally have me on campus with him and the fact that he wanted to spend all of his time with me made me feel secure in the thought that he hadn’t found someone better to leave me for. But then, it got stifling. I was trying to make friends with my teammates and get into my own routine, and he didn’t like that. I realized then, that his being clingy wasn’t necessarily because he loved me and just wanted my company. He was the one worried I’d find someone else. So, there we were again, fighting. We just couldn’t get it together and we’d spend most of our time taking turns trying to get back at the other person for their insecurities. So I called it off again, and here we are. I know he’s going to be pissed if he finds out I’m going on a date with Tyler. Good. Let him be. I mean, it’s not like an official “date” I guess, but to me, getting together with a guy who sent you a winky face sure sounds like a date. I’m really looking forward to it, too. I could use the distraction from Brad, the farm (whatever the fuck that stuff is all about) and just let myself be free for a little bit. Tyler’s really cute too. I need a pretty face to look at, especially after this morning’s…uh…run-in with Frank. Don’t even go there again, Fiona. Oh! Then Saturday — the photoshoot! I know Emily is going to grill me about why I want to do it, since this is a first for me, so I need to be prepared with answers. That is, if i don’t chicken out on it. It’s just…these past couple of days, I’ve discovered a side to me that I hadn’t explored yet. Something about expressing my sexual appeal is exhilarating and I want to capture it. This gives me a chance to explore that in a controlled environment, and I think it’ll be awesome. If I follow through with it. I can’t tell her everything that led me to being curious about this all of a sudden, so I don’t know…I’ll think of something. It looks like reading just isn’t in the cards for me tonight. My brain can’t focus on it, so I put the book down and run out to say goodnight to my mom, as I always do, before snuggling in under my covers and turning off the bedside lamp. As I let myself settle into sleepiness, I stare out the east bedroom window which is next to my bed. It overlooks the pasture behind the house — the one that leads down the hill to the creek and continues on the other side of it. It’s a view that’s always given me comfort as I fall asleep. I’m not so sure it has the same effect now. Or if it ever will again.
Things are getting spicy in my story....see what I did.....
Chapter 5
I get back to the house and as soon as I walk in, the smell of pork chops with onions and green peppers floods my nose. Ooh, my favorite! I realize I’m starving, on top of being filthy, embarrassed and still damp. I need to shower, for many reasons. I cross through the kitchen on my way back to the first floor bathroom, which is closest to my room, and my mom is standing over the stove, working her magic. “Hey hun! You’re back! How was your walk?” She looks over at me and her expression changes from happy to confused. “What the heck happened to you? Where did you get that ugly shirt?” I mentally flash through where I’ve just been and decide that partial truths are a good way to go. “Oh, I went down by the creek, but I accidentally fell in. No big deal, I’m fine,” I reassure her immediately. “The shirt—uh — I came across Frank over at the livestock barn across the road over there and he had an extra shirt in his truck that he gave me. It was already dirty from being in the truck,” I add, before that becomes her next question. “Oh jeez honey, you gotta be careful down there.” She returns to flipping pork chops. “That was nice of Frank. Where’s the shirt you had on?” Shit! My shirt! I left it on the rearview mirror! “I…have it tucked into the back of my waistband. This shirt’s just big so you can’t see it.” Don’t over explain, Fiona, she’ll tell you’re lying. I don’t know why I’m lying. It wouldn’t hurt anything to say I forgot it in the barn. But for some reason, right now the truth feels more wrong than the lie. “Oh, ok. Well, go get showered. Lunch is almost ready.” “Sounds good, Mom.” I continue to head towards the bathroom. “Did you save the onions and peppers for me?” “You know I always do, sweetie.” I’m smiling as I grab a towel from the hallway linen closet, enter the bathroom and shut the door, locking it behind me. It’s nice to be home. My mom’s always been my best friend and while we talk every day when I’m off at school, there’s something so comfortable being in this house with her. I guess because this place is her. I don’t mean that she loves it here — quite the opposite — she hates the farm. She was a city girl that married a farmer and the farm won. But there isn’t an inch of this house that doesn’t have “mom” all over it. The furniture and decor, the smell of cookies baking, or fried chicken on the stove, the paint on the walls that hasn’t been changed since I last helped her paint it when I was probably 12. Maybe we should paint while I’m home this summer. That would be fun. The bathrooms still even have those cheesy peel-and-stick wallpaper borders that were all the rage in the mid-nineties. She maintains this house, therefore she is the house. No, she is home. My dad, on the other hand, has little to do with this house besides eating and sleeping in it, and the occasional times during calving season when he hauls an almost-frozen baby calf in and puts it under heat lamps on the kitchen floor. Cows are idiots and will have their calves in the dumbest places, in the middle of winter. It’s up to my dad to find them and make sure they’re not dead, and if they’re not, try his best to keep them alive. And sometimes that means decorating the room we eat in with a baby version of the thing we’ll eventually eat. The irony of it all. I always loved it though. I never understood why he didn’t do it in one of the barns instead, but I suppose when it’s that cold out, neither he nor the calf want to struggle for heat out there. Plus, I think he knew I’d like to be a part of helping bring that calf back. My dad isn’t one to show emotion very well, so little gestures like bringing in a brand new baby kitten he found for me to hold, or putting me in charge of rubbing warm towels on a baby calf to help bring its body temperature up, were his way of showing love and affection towards me. The farmland outside is dad, and the house is mom. And I can’t help but feel like I’m on the verge of shitting on both of them just a little. I look into the mirror and my smile, full of nostalgia, fades. I’m a mess. My hair is disheveled and dull, with bits of hay dust in it, my damp leggings are starting to make my skin feel rashy and my shirt — Frank’s shirt — is filthy, and the realization hits me that I can almost see the man himself in this shirt, even with it on my body. There’s so much space under it that it’s unavoidable to feel what a beastly man he really is. It’s like I can feel him wrapped around me again. Ew. I start unbuttoning it as quickly as I can and when it falls open, exposing my breasts, my memory flashes back to standing by that truck. I see myself, standing just like this, only in the reflection of the truck window instead…with Frank’s reflection in the mirror…with him watching me…with the cows and the birds, all watching me. I feel a tightening, deep and low in my belly. My nipples start to clench into points and my face suddenly feels flush. Oh no. I need to get in the shower and cool off. I turn on the tub’s faucet and after it warms up a little (I said ‘cool off,’ not freeze my ass off) I pull the little knob that switches the water from the faucet to the shower, whatever that thing is called and step in. I instantly feel the grime of the morning start to rinse down my body. It feels wonderful. I comb my fingers into my hair, and see the tiny pieces of hay making their way to the puddle at my feet and floating effortlessly down the drain. A few get stuck to my skin on the way down, so I grab the body wash and squirt a little into my hands before gliding them up and down my arms, across my belly and then up to my breasts. I cup them in each hand as I watch the water cascade over them. My nipples are still erect and I don’t know if it’s from the water pouring over me or from the intrusive thoughts I can’t seem to shake. I close my eyes and instantly images of being under a waterfall in that creek, which doesn’t really exist, flood my brain. I’m naked under it, relishing in the feeling of freedom and eroticism it gives me. I toss my head back to let the water rinse through my hair and there above me, at the top of the waterfall, I see someone — a man — watching me. He doesn’t move. I can’t see his face clearly, but he’s built exactly like Frank. My eyes dart open in the shower; my breath quickens. Why? Why is this happening to me? I’m disturbed, yet I’m so fucking horny, I can’t stand it. Fuck it, let’s take care of this and get it over with. I sit down in the tub, but leave the shower running. I close my eyes again. Now I’m sitting under the waterfall, off to the side, against the creek bank, just under the lighter trickles of water coming from above. The man is still standing up there. His face comes into focus and I see that I was right — it is Frank. He’s in his work clothes and he’s staring right at me, with his hand holding his cock over his jeans. He’s almost squeezing it, even, and I can see how much of a handful he’s got. My breathing gets faster and I glide my hand down to my pussy. I slide my fingers between my swollen folds and feel how slick I am. God, that feels good. I take my other hand and gently squeeze one of my breasts. I’m looking right back at Frank as I do it. I already feel my muscles contracting, deep inside, my climax starting to build. I slide the hand from my breast down to my clit and start rubbing it as I slide two fingers of my other hand into myself. I watch Frank, still gripping his cock, pulsing his hand on it like he wants to jerk off so badly. But he doesn’t. His hand is the only thing about him that’s moving. Everything else is stone still, but then his eyes — his eyes are growing darker — wanting. I stroke myself faster, both inside and out. My body flexes in response, my back tries to arch and I feel myself clenching around my fingers. Frank doesn’t take his eyes off of me, and I can’t look away. Even if I try, I can’t. I feel like I’m on a runaway train. Not like this. I don’t want to stare at him as I come. Just open your eyes, Fiona, and it all goes away. But something about him watching me is fueling this animal in me that’s ready to explode. I rub myself faster, harder and suddenly, Frank — still locked into my gaze —gives me a slight smile and a nod. My body climaxes in response, crashing like a lightning bolt strike. My vision fades out. The waterfall and Frank fade away, as my muscles spasm over and over until the intensity dissipates like distant rolling thunder. I slowly open my eyes and the shower is still spraying down on me. My lungs are somehow tired and I’m trying my best to steady my breathing when a loud knock on the door jolts me upright. “Fiona, lunch is ready!” Jesus, Mom! Could you knock louder? I clear my throat. “Ok! Be right out!” I lay back down in the tub. I just need a moment to regroup myself. Well that was a first. What was that? I don’t think I’ve come that hard in a long time, and I don’t understand why Frank was in my daydream. That’s what that was, right? A daydream? Did I just daydream about Frank? No, I daydreamed about being watched. He just happened to be the one watching me. Yes, that was it. I pull myself up to my feet and my legs are so wobbly, I worry that I’m going to slip. I’m too youthful to need a Life Alert, but damn, this is dicey. I quickly wash my hair, rinse, turn off the water and grab my towel. When I step out of the tub, my reflection is staring back at me in the mirror. Hello, again. You look…different, Fiona. It’s true. The dirty, hay-ridden girl in the big flannel shirt that just stood here isn’t here anymore, not completely. The woman staring back at me now is flush all over, glowing. Her breasts look a little fuller somehow, and her eyes — there’s a gleam of something new in her eyes. The brown of her irises look lighter than before, almost golden, yet the look in them also asserts something a bit…darker…than before. I think I look forward to getting to know her a bit better.
Continuing my "Farmers Daughter" series....love to hear your thoughts.
Chapter 4
What the hell am I doing? Shit. I have no plan. I haven’t interacted with Frank since the day I was mowing, and my brain’s unsure now if what happened that day even happened. I’m only a few feet away from him now. Say something, Fiona. Say ANYTHING. “That was quite the spill you took down there,” Frank spoke first. Thank God. “Yeah, not one of my finest moments,” I reply with an embarrassed giggle. He looks me up and down and I can feel his eyes focusing on my nipples showing through my wet, white, cropped tee before moving down to my soaked leggings and I wonder if he can tell I’m not wearing panties under them. “Are ya cold? I might have an extra shirt or something in the truck over there.” He gestures over to his truck, parked backwards where the dirt road ends at the barnlot. He must have unloaded something when he got here, to have chosen to back it in. His offer makes me suddenly wonder if my appearance offends him. Or is he just being polite? As if on autopilot, my eyes wander down and catch a glimpse of his package forming a mountain under the fabric as if two tectonic plates just collided in full force. Only, it’s me who feels the shudder. So, I didn’t imagine it. With that, an idea just came to me. I quickly look back up at him. “Um, sure. Are you sure? I mean, if you have one. That’d be great,” I say through a shy smile. He looks surprised that I took him up on his offer, followed by what seemed like a flash of disappointment. I don't think he wants me to change out of my wet shirt. But I have a test for him, which may help prove to myself that I’m not going insane. He walks over to his truck and I follow a few steps behind. He opens the passenger door and reaches into the cab, shuffling around whatever’s in there, and comes back out holding an old flannel shirt with dirt and hay stuck to it. He whips it against the side of the truck a couple of times, but maybe only 2 pieces of hay shake off. At least he tried. “I’m sorry, all I got’s this one. It ain’t been worn, but it’s been tossed around in the truck for a while, so it don’t look the greatest.” He holds it out for me and I step up and take it from him, trying not to look disgusted. “That’s totally fine, thank you.” I give him a smile of appreciation and look around for a place to change. There’s the livestock barn that the cows aren’t currently in, since they’re all out in the pasture. I could go in there, but that’s not really ideal for my little test here. “You can change in my truck, if you’d like,” he said, as if reading my mind. “Ok, perfect. Thanks.” I walk over to the driver’s side, so that the truck is now between me and him and place my fingers on the door handle. I could just change in the cab, like he said. I’m starting to doubt the idea that I was so bold about two seconds ago. I look around at my surroundings again. Besides the two of us standing here in the barnlot, there’s nothing or no one else around but cows in the distance, random birds flying in and out of the barn and the sound of the wind blowing through the short cornfield bordering the dirt road. Fuck it. I’m gonna do it here. While staying on the driver’s side, I turn my back to the barn, hang his shirt on the side rearview mirror and start removing my wet t-shirt. I feel the sun hit my breasts, instantly warming them which relaxes my nipples for a second, but then the breeze grazes across them, and that, combined with the residual moisture on my skin from my shirt, feels cool and they’re suddenly back at attention. What a rush! I take a deep breath to calm my nerves and soak in the heady feeling of being topless outside. I go to reach for the flannel shirt, replacing it on the mirror with my wet one, and I pause for a split second as I let out a small gasp. In the rearview mirror, I can see Frank standing back at the barn, but he’s turned right toward me, watching me change. Gotcha! I knew it! He’s totally perving on me! I grab the shirt and lower my head as I work through opening the buttons. Why is an unworn shirt already buttoned? Keeping my head down, I peer up into the mirror, as slyly as I can, and watch him watching me. He’s got the thumb of one hand tucked into his waistband and the other hand — the other hand, looks like it’s playing with his zipper. It reminds me of the dream I had when he looked like he was about to pull his cock out, while watching me almost fuck another guy. Holy shit. He either can’t tell that I see him looking…or he doesn’t care. The latter thought sends a small chill down my spine. But I keep my resolve. I open the shirt and as I swoop it behind me like I’m putting on a jacket, the motion heaves my breasts a little higher and I turn a little to my right, towards the truck door to use the window as a larger mirror. He probably caught some side-boob view there. It’s not my fault he moved to stand back there. Or that he’s turned towards me. Or that he’s watching. My whole body is reeling with adrenaline. I finish buttoning the shirt, which is quite large on me, but this isn’t exactly a fashion show situation, so I don't care. But it is something of a situation. I turn to walk back towards the barn and Frank quickly turns also, seemingly pretending like he wasn’t just watching me the whole time. “Thanks again.” I say to him as I walk to where he had been standing and quickly steal a glance back to where I had been, just to see what he could see. Yep, it’s a pretty good view from here. I look a little to the left and spot two hay bales on the ground, laying by the hay trough in the middle of the dirt corral in front of the barn. Ah, he must have brought that hay. That’s why the truck is backed in. “So…what are you working on, up here?” He looks at me like I have two heads. I don't think he expected any further conversation with me. “Oh, I was just about to throw a couple of them hay bales in the feed trough for the cows before goin’ home for lunch.” “Oh yeah, it IS about that time. Can I help? Since I’ve distracted you from your work? I’m sure you’re hungry and want to get going. It’s the least I could do, for the shirt.” He looks uncomfortable with my offer. Either that or the fact that the python from last time is fully back, trying to pop the zipper out from his work pants and that’s making him uncomfortable. The zipper he was just playing with. I feel like I may be poking a bear, but I can’t seem to stop myself right now. I’m extremely intrigued by the effect I seem to have on this old man. Besides, he seems harmless enough. What’s the worst that could happen? He gets a little turned on and I get a little thrill out of it? Sounds like a win-win for both of us. “Alright, yeah. I could use the help. You’re right,” — then in a deeper voice — “I am pretty hungry.” His eyes flash something quickly as he says it and it sends a tingle all throughout my body, like the kind you get when something jumpscares you and your limbs go numb for a second. Only, I didn’t visibly jump. Instead, I felt frozen. I saw the hunger he’s talking about in that flash. A darker need that I don’t think I truly saw before. I take a deep breath. Proceed with caution, Fiona. “Ok, great.” I flash him a look back, not too dissimilar from the one he just gave me. Another prod at the bear. “What can I do?” “Ya ever picked up one of these square bales?” he asks. He turns and points at where the bales are, and his thick bulge also points with him. I can’t stop looking at it. I wonder if it’s all him, or if he stuffs something down there. It’s a dumb thought, but I really can’t believe what I think I’m seeing. “Ummm…I think I’ve tried before, when dad was stacking some in the other barn, but that was a long time ago and I wasn’t strong enough to lift it. I’m probably still not. Don’t you take the baling wire off to put it in the trough? So the cows don’t eat it?” “Yeah, but not ‘till after you toss it in, so it doesn’t fall apart before ya get it in there. Here…take my work gloves…you’ll need’em to grip the wire. It can cut through yer hand pretty easy.” He takes his gloves off and approaches me to hand them over, and his trouser snake looks extra excited to be within striking distance. I slip my hands into each glove. They’re warm from his hands and for some reason it strikes me how personal it feels to put a man’s gloves on that he was just wearing. It’s like I can feel his hands on mine. My face flushes at the thought. “Ok, all set. Which bale first?” It’s obvious which bales are going in the trough, since they’re sitting right beside it, but I still want him to lead the way. He walks over to the first bale and silently gestures for me to come grab it. I walk over and get both sets of my fingers around the wire, which fit pretty tight against the bale, and try to lift it. To my surprise, I can get it off the ground but I don’t know if I’ll be able to get it high enough to toss it in the trough. It’s about 3-4 feet high and 8 feet in diameter, and these suckers are heavy. The trough looks like a ring-shaped cage, of sorts, and the cows eat the hay through the wide-spaced bars that make up the sides of the ring. That’s probably the size of cock-ring Frank would need. STOP IT FIONA. I need to get it over the top of the ring and Frank can tell I’m going to need help, so he moves in behind me, once again, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hope he would. Some teeny-tiny part of me wants to feel his massive cock against my ass again. What the hell is wrong with me? That’s so twisted, Fiona. He reaches around me like he’s giving me a backwards bear-hug (oh, there’s that bear I’m poking) and grabs the baling wire on either side of my hands to help me lift it up. I can only assume his hands are used to the wire, so he’s not worried about not having his gloves. I instinctively squat a little bit to get better leverage and to try to get my left thigh under it to help hoist it, and when I do, I practically sit my ass right into his lap. Holy fuck. If we weren’t wearing pants, he would’ve impaled me from behind, right there. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry!” I can’t help but apologize for totally ass-ramming his dick, and suddenly I’m super embarrassed that I just acknowledged what happened out loud. “Naw, it’s alright – don’t stop or you’ll drop it,” he responds, as if nothing even happened. That’s weird. Maybe it IS fake and he didn’t feel that. He props his left foot up onto the bottom bar of the trough cage, for balance – or maybe leverage – and the movement makes me stumble back into him again, causing the weight of the hay bale to fall against my chest and now my whole back and ass is pressed up against his front. I feel his heat down my whole backside and I swear it seems as if he’s grinding against me. His rigid cock, through his pants, is sliding up and down my ass crack and the material of my leggings is so thin, plus they’re still damp, that I can feel his bulge against me clearly, as if I were naked from the waist down. Oh my fuck. It’s definitely all him down there. Rock solid, old man boner. Eww, old man boner. Why did I think I wanted this touching me? We’re both breathing heavily from the exertion and I’m losing my grip on the bale, because I’m losing my focus at the same time. I attempt to reset my grip with the bale in mid-air, which only rocks me against him even more. “Almost there!” he grunts. “Don’t stop, Fiona!” I can’t do this. I’m freaking out inside. I need this to stop. NOW. I open my fingers to drop the bale, but he’s still hanging onto it, keeping me trapped between it and him. I panic. “I’m out! I’m done! LET GO!” I shout. He immediately lets go and the hay drops to the ground in front of me with a heavy thud and I try to move away from him so quickly that I trip and tumble right over the bale. “Oh shit, are you ok?” he asks, as he takes a step towards me, hand outreached to help me up. “Yeah, I’m fine.” I try to get to my feet as fast as possible, by myself. “I got it.” My shirt is covered in more hay, my right arm hurts from landing on it and my pride is all but shattered. His shirt. His shirt is covered in hay. I forgot I’m wearing Frank’s shirt and suddenly the events of the last 15 minutes sink in and I feel disoriented. “Sorry, I gotta go. I forgot mom wanted my help with lunch,” I lie. I start walking away, but I also feel bad for leaving so abruptly that all I can do is turn around and say “thanks for the dry shirt.” “Yer welcome.” He doesn’t say anything more, as he stands there looking at me. He doesn’t even move. I turn back around and keep walking down the dirt road that leads back to the house.
My first night home was great. My mom cooked dinner for me and my Dad and we made chocolate chip cookies together, like the old days. It was all super chill and I slept like a log in my old bed. My mom hasn't changed my room at all, although I’ve clearly outgrown it. Still, there’s something comforting about that. Before I fell asleep though, I couldn’t stop thinking about that weird exchange I had with Frank when I first got here. He seemed…off. It kinds of gives me the creeps. The Frank I remember was always friendly to me and was more like an old family friend by now rather than just a hired farm hand. He’s always been kind of a keep-to-himself guy, but if you spoke to him, he’d chat with you for as long as the conversation naturally lasted. However, yesterday, he seemed different. The way he stood there staring at me. It wasn’t ominous, necessarily, but he’s just never done that before. And how quickly he turned and left once I noticed him was unusual. No wave, no holler of hello. He actually froze like maybe he’d seen a ghost. That’s the best comparison I can come up with. But instead of fear, there was a little darkness there within his eyes. I mean, I know I only looked at him for a few seconds, and when I waved and he snapped out of it, that darkness left and was then quickly replaced with fear before he disappeared. I might be totally off, but he almost looked lustful, which is the last thing I would expect out of a 59 year old man, but I do remember what I was wearing when I got out of the car and lately I have been extra tuned-in to my….womanliness. Could that really be it? Do I have that kind of power over an old man that saw me for just a few seconds from afar? Or am I just being totally full of myself? This could be a fun sneaky game to play this summer, to find out. I’ve decided I’m going to mow the lawn today, as it desperately needs it, so I decide to dress in a “cute” casual outfit. In the past, I would’ve thrown on some athletic shorts and an old track t-shirt, but this updated version of me doesn’t wear t-shirts unless they're cropped or with no pants. I did bring home some short frayed-edge, denim shorts that I don’t mind getting grass stained, and they barely cover my ass cheeks. Perfect. It’s early June, sunny and probably around eighty-five degrees out, but the humidity has already set in making it feel more like ninety-five, so I opt for a loose yellow tank that I cropped myself, since I love showing off my belly button ring, and I don’t wear a bra under it. I rarely wear bras anymore unless I’m working out. The air flowing through it will feel glorious on my skin. I pull my hair into a bouncy high ponytail, and slip into my white converse tennis shoes (yes, I know, I’m mowing in white shoes, but bleach and the washing machine will take care of the stains no prob, so calm down) and grab my Discman that’s already loaded up with a mix CD I made just for mowing. I run the cord of my earbuds through my shirt so I don’t get tangled while steering and it brushes over one of my nipples, bringing it to attention. I don’t hate it. I’m sure that won’t be the last time that happens during the bumpy mower ride, and the thought makes me smirk to myself. I clip the Discman to my shorts, leave the house and start walking up to the machine shed where my dad keeps the mower parked. The machine shed doors are already open, which is typical, as my dad is a man of routine and that’s the first thing he does every morning around six-thirty a.m. He finishes his breakfast, throws his overalls on, laces up his work boots and marches up to the machine shed, unlocking the pins and shoving each giant sliding door open, and that’s where they stay until sundown. I haven’t attempted to open one of those doors in ages, and despite my training, I still don’t think I could. I walk across the dirt floor, which makes up three quarters of the shed’s floor, with one quarter in the front right being concrete, where all of my dad’s tool benches are. The familiar smell of metal and motor oil permeate my nose, and I head straight for the old blue tarp that covers the White brand riding mower. Without that tarp, this thing would be covered in a quarter inch of dirt after 2 days of sitting here. I flip it off, simultaneously stepping back to let the flying dirt settle, when I hear the clang of something metal hitting the concrete floor on the other side of the shed. I shriek in surprise and turn around to see Frank walking out from behind the combine that’s between me and him. “Hey there, Fiona. Sorry, I just dropped a wrench.” “Oh, God, hey Frank! That scared the shit out of me. Glad it was just you…no worries! I thought an animal was in here, like a feral racoon or something.” “Yeah, that does happen, as you know. Just a month ago, yer dad found a dead one in the combine. Must’ve climbed in and gotten trapped. This thing hasn’t moved since last fall, so they like to try to nest in there over the winter.” “Yeah, he told me about that one over the phone a couple weeks ago. God, that had to smell horrible. I don’t even wanna think about it.” I shudder and turn back towards the mower to check the fuel tank. I’m not sure where this is going, but conversation about smelly, dead raccoons isn’t exactly my favorite. The fuel gauge is busted on the mower, as it’s been for years, so I have to flip the seat up to open the gas cap and visually check to see how full it is. I lean over to peek in, and I can feel my loose tank droop very far forward. I look down and see that the gap between my breasts and shirt is now so big that I can see all the way through and out the other end of my short shirt. And also through that gap, I see work boots approach from behind me. I stand up quickly and Frank is so close, I can feel his heat. “You might need this to see better,” he says as he hands me a flashlight. “Yeah, that will help. Thanks,” I answer. I need to lean forward again to shine the flashlight in to see the gas level, but Frank isn’t moving. He’s still directly behind me and I realize now that he’s been checking me out. He’s either looking at my ass back there, which I know is hanging out, round and plump, from the bottom of my shorts, or he caught an angle where he can see up my shirt when I’m bent over, getting an eyeful of the underside of my small, perky breasts. The thought excites me, for some reason, so I decide to give him both, while playing innocent to it all. I lean forward, with my ass to him, and shine the flashlight in. Only, instead of looking in, I peek back through my shirt gap and I now not only see his boots, but a thick bulge that’s formed in his pants. Oh my God, he looks huge. What the fuck is an almost 60 year old man doing with a dick that big? I can’t even see the whole thing because he’s rather tall and too close to me to get a full view, but I know what pants look like when they’re pitching a tent and he’s erecting a 12 person pop-up right now. I carry on with my plan, and I shift my feet around in a half-circle while staying bent over, kind of like when you spin around a bat before pinning the tail on the donkey, and pretend like I’m trying to get a better view into the tank, when in reality, I know I’m giving him a straight front view down my shirt and to my dangling tits. “Hmmm, yeah, it looks like I should fill it,” I determine out loud. I’m so curious that I sneak a quick peek, with just my eyes, at Frank’s pants now that I’m somewhat facing him, and I try to make it so fast that he can’t tell what I’m looking at. My eyes catch the massive boner straining against his work jeans. And he knows it. He starts moving towards me to get behind me again, and I’m just wondering how he can even walk with that thing like that. “Let me check it out,” he says, and he comes up behind me and leans over my back, like the cliche move of a man showing a woman how to hold a pool cue, and I feel it. He is absolutely bulging up against my ass, and his large, tall body is hovering over my whole backside, enveloping me like a big heated blanket and all I can smell is a mixture of pasture and machine oil on him. My body freezes in place and he wraps his large hand around mine that’s holding the flashlight, aims it into the tank and peeks into it right next to my face. “Yep, that much ain’t gonna make it the whole time. I can fill it for ya if you’d like,” he offers. He still hasn’t moved back and I can still feel his fucking python pressing against my ass and it’s now throbbing. I wonder if he’s making it do that on purpose. Like how I’ve seen that dudes can flex it, you know? I’m still frozen, finding myself both a little intimidated at the situation, but somehow, surprisingly, also very turned on. Can he tell? Is he just fucking with me? I’ve never been this close to a man over 22. It’s kind of exciting. “That’s ok, I know how to do it,” my breath hitches a little as I reply. He stands up and backs away from me, and I can breathe again. “Naw, really. It’s no trouble. Just drive it down to the tank over there and I’ll fill ya up — fill it up — for ya,” he offers again. I caught that slip, too, which he covered with a little clear of his throat. This man is unbelievably horny right now, and I did that to him. I should feel bad, but I don’t. Maybe because it made me horny too, and it proved me right….this sneaky summer game is going to be a lot of fun, I think. And here I thought I was going to get bored being here for like 3 months — ha! Frank takes off towards the gas tanks and I hop on the mower and start it. As I pull out of the machine shed and travel down the gravel driveway towards the tanks, the whole machine is vibrating between my legs, sending a ripple through my entire body and I can feel my nipples pull in tight as my loose shirt gently shimmies over their peaks. The uneven surface of rocks and small divots in the driveway is bouncing my breasts in an arrhythmic way and they feel heavier than usual when they rise and fall on the larger bumps. I look up ahead and Frank is waiting there for me, staring like a deer in the headlights. I wonder what he’s thinking. I park the mower, and hop down so Frank can lift the seat to fill it. This time I keep my distance from him, but while he’s looking away from me and into the tank, I can’t stop myself from eyeing his bulge. My heart is racing so fast right now, and I don’t know why. It’s very unsettling. My nipples are still as hard as diamonds. Breathe, Fiona. Frank finishes filling the tank, leaning over so he can hear when it sounds full, and the minutes passing feel like hours. When he stands back up I can’t help but notice his hand quickly adjusting his crotch and I try my best to hold my composure, unsure if he can tell that he’s making me nervous…or horny….I don’t even know what I am. He screws the gas cap back on and flips the seat back into position and I thank him, hop on, start it back up and drive away, raising my hand in a “see-ya-later” gesture, without turning back to look at him. I need to get out of this moment like RIGHT NOW. I start in the large front yard since it’s one big square and I really just need a simple space to zone out in for a while as I collect my thoughts. What WAS that? As my heart settles back down and I let it sink in, what I just witnessed, I don’t know how I feel about it. I mean, I love feeling sexy and I love giving a good tease, which is why I dress the way I do sometimes, but I didn’t even know I was going to run into anybody this morning. I just planned on being on a lawn mower for the next 2 hours, so, my affect on Frank just now wasn’t my fault, right? He’s just a dirty old man that got a little peep show by accident. Or is he? I did encourage it a little bit by allowing the extra peeps, after all. He’s always been very kind to me, and not in a creepy way, but this felt a little bit creepy. And what I can’t understand is how my damn body reacted to it. Traitor! Frank’s definitely NOT my type of guy. Aside from the fact that he’s old as fuck, he’s not anywhere near what I would call a Silver Fox either. He’s a bit overweight, but he’s also quite tall, maybe 6’4”, which makes him look overall large and beefy, rather than just fat. He’s kind of a beast. He’s balding at the top and the blonde hair he used to have is now mostly gray. He has a constant 5 o’clock shadow covering his pudgy face and chin. Ew. A far cry from the fit college athlete guys I’ve been with or interested in. He smells like old dirt and is always breathing heavily. But for some reason, when I saw that thick bulge in his pants, it sent a strange heat through me instantly. I couldn’t stop it. I guess maybe it's because I’ve never thought about old-man boners before, and by default I’d assume they look half-staff and wrinkly, but Frank’s….his was not what I expected. I mean, wow. Oh my God, STOP PICTURING IT FIONA! I’m completely disgusted with myself. You fucking slut, you know you don’t want it! He’s gross! He’s old! There’s not a chance in Hell I desire that man. Sure, I had a weird “human” moment, which I’m sure was just because I’d never seen a dick that big, plus, let’s face it, it was flattering and kinda hot that I caused his arousal. Something about it made me truly feel not like a kid anymore. That’s IT. Ok, case closed. Get over it. I sigh and while keeping the wheel straight, I roll my head around in a circle to ease the tension in my neck, but I stop when my chin is at my chest and notice the darker wet spot in the denim between my legs. Fuck.
This is the first part of my new series "Farmers Daughter." This is a spicy one ;) This pic is me at 20 back on the farm, with a girlfriend of mine taking the pics....more on that later... Hope you enjoy!
PART 1
Prologue:
This summer, I learned 3 things: The farm will never look the same to me again….ever. I didn’t know you could use a fork lift for that. “Fuck around and find out” is my new favorite phrase.
Chapter 1:
“Why the hell do you care?! I told you I was going home for the summer and I don’t care what YOU do! We. Are. On. A. Break!”
“I don’t get why it has to be a break! What are you gonna do? Like, are we broken up?”
“No! I mean, yeah, I guess so! You’re gonna do whatever you wanna do anyway, and now you’re 100% FREE to do so. I’m going to do the same!”
“What does that mean?!”
“I don’t know, exactly. I just mean that it doesn’t matter. You do you, and I’ll do me. Then we can sit and talk about everything again at the end of summer and see where we’re at OK?”
Why do I always feel like I’m talking to an idiot?
“Ok. I’ll probably come home a few times too and alternate between staying with my dad and my mom. Maybe we can talk sometime then.”
“Ughhhh…..ok, maybe. I gotta go, I’m almost home. Please stop calling me all the time about the same shit. I’m sick of it.”
“Fine.”
“Great. Bye.”
I flip my phone shut and throw it on the seat next to me. I take a deep breath to calm my frustration. That was my boyfr— I mean, ex-boyfriend, Brad. We’ve dated since early high school and now go to the same college together, but I swear to God he’s gone backwards in the “growing up” department. Or more likely, maybe I’ve just outgrown him. Long story short, we’ve been a shitshow for the last couple of years and keep doing this “break” thing, like it ever makes things better. It’s me who instigated this break (or rather, ALL the breaks), and I know it’s just because I wanna be a little naughty this summer, and I haven’t found the balls to call the whole thing off for good, but I also can’t stand him 90% of the time anymore. I’m hoping this summer helps me clear my head and commit one way or the other. I’ve been “spoken for” for most of 5 years now and I’ve tried to use our breaks as experimentation times, and boy did I during this past year! But those are stories for another time. Now…now it’s time to get away from campus and enjoy the countryside I grew up in. Maybe briefly reconnect with a few old crushes from high school, just to taunt them with how much I’ve changed. Show them what they missed out on. Not that I want them now. Hell no. As former high school star athletes, they’re all washed-up, starting to get fat and are seemingly stuck in that godforsaken town. But I wanted them to want me, once upon a time. You see, living out in the country makes you a bit of an outsider in my small town. I wasn’t in the “cool club” since I wasn’t a “townie” and to be honest, they weren’t actually cool AT ALL. I wanted nothing to do with their drinking, shoplifting, mean-girl ways. I was too much of a goody-two-shoes to even remotely desire that. I wouldn’t have joined their ridiculous circle, even if I lived in town and they begged me to. But as it went for some of my crushes, their friends wouldn’t have allowed them to date me. The circle must stay within the circle. That’s how I started dating Brad. He wasn’t one of my original crushes, but I was his, and he left the circle in order to pursue me, which earned him some serious brownie points, only to jump into another ridiculous circle in college that I can’t stand. (Ok, don’t go down that road now, Fiona.) Back to these old crushes. Sure they may have seen me as athletic and hot or whatever back then….but now….now I’m a D1 college athlete and I’ve got the body to show for it. All the running and workouts have made me leaner than ever and the weight training has toned up my abs and legs, filled out my ass and kept my tits extra-perky. And now I have a bit more swagger. Can a girl have swagger? Maybe sass? Ever since spring break and my trip to Padre Island, I’ve stepped out of my goody-two-shoes self a little and have been exploring a riskier, freer side. I’m still not a law-breaker, of course, but rules are a bit more bendable now, in my opinion. I can see my parents house up on the hill about a mile ahead. There’s nothing but pastures and cornfields out here, so you can see and hear a car coming from at least 2 miles down the road. I cross the small creek bridge and climb the steep hill that leads right up to our driveway. Everything looks the same as I remember. Our 1970’s two-story farmhouse still has its beige siding and brown roof. The front porch is a bit worse-for-wear, nothing a little paint couldn’t fix, but it’s still solid. Our giant front yard looks like it needs to be mowed and I bet my parents saved that for me. They know I love using the riding mower. I put my headphones on, pop a cd into my Sony Discman and just zone out for 2 hours and nobody bothers me since I’m doing something useful. Maybe I’ll tackle that this week. The driveway is long, and up ahead, past the house which sits on the right, the driveway splits. The right fork leads straight to an old, tall, hay barn, and I can see a rack wagon backed into it with “square” hay bales stacked high on it and a few barn cats chasing each other around. Although they’re actually rectangular, they still call those square bales as opposed to those huge round bales you see either scattered around giant fields like big forgotten Easter eggs, or wrapped in white plastic and lined up to look like giant marshmallows. Those are fun to jump around on and I always enjoyed it as a kid when I had to tag along to the hayfields with my mom to deliver lunches to my dad and his “hired men”. That’s what they’re called around here. Not employees, but hired men. The left fork in the driveway leads up a slight hill and ends at the big machine shed where my dad keeps some of his tractors, machine parts, tools and stacks of grain and feed. The trash burn barrel sits several yards in front of it. Growing up, for a little while I thought everyone burned their trash. But then I learned that I just had mainly country friends, and that wasn’t something “townies” did. There is also an island of grass between the forks in the driveway where a small shed sits with what looks like attached carports that mainly store some old broken cars and a wagon full of firewood we use in the fireplace in the winter. And finally, there’s a hog house off to the side of the left fork, before the machine shed, that used to house pigs when I was a kid, but my dad sold those years ago and now it’s another storage shed. It's a shed city around here. I pull onto the extra concrete pad my dad put in next to the house, so as to keep the area in front of the garage clear for my parents car to get in and out and put the car in park. I’m sure my mom saw me coming down the road 3 miles ago, so I’m surprised she’s not already standing at the front door waiting for me. Oh wait, yes she is. She’s waving through the sidelight beaming like a kid on Christmas. I step out of the car, stretch my legs and deeply inhale the scent of dirt, hay and lilacs from the nearby bushes. As excited as I was to get out of this place, it sure does feel good to be back for a little while. I start to round the car to open the trunk and get my things out, nostalgically scanning across the property along the way, when my eye catches someone in the hay barn, standing by the corner of that hay wagon, watching me. It’s Frank, my dad’s longest-employed hired man. He’s probably been helping at this farm for 20 years or so. Long enough that I don’t remember a time he wasn’t working here. Since he’s looking right at me, unmoving, I lift my arm and give a country wave to him. You know, where you don’t actually wave, but just hold a couple of fingers up loosely and do a little head-nod at the same time. He responds with a quick but slight head-nod himself, turns on his heels and disappears deeper into the hay barn. Was that a greeting? Or did he not expect me to see him staring at me and I caught him off-guard? He looked uncomfortable at my noticing him, which is strange since he’s known me my whole life. I hear the front door open and although it’s only been like 10 seconds, I can tell my mom can’t wait any longer for me to come in, so I grab one of my bags and head in. I’ll come get the rest later. I keep my eyes on the barn as I climb the steps and cross the front porch to the door, and I swear I can still see him standing there staring, but this time he’s back in the shadows.
I glance back to where we left Vivan and Clint and they're nowhere to be seen. I ask my husband about them.
"They left. They were going to go walk around and check out some other places. They invited us to go with them, but I knew we'd want to stay here. I feel bad they left, but oh well," he says.
"Aww, that stinks. I feel bad for them too. They really wanted to get naked. Haha...we could've helped them. Oh well." I reply.
He agrees, "Yeah, I know...that sucks."
As we exit the Garden of Eden and head down the stairs, I glance back at my man, who's walking down behind me. We exchange looks, and I can tell we're both a little weirded out at the situation but excited at the same time. We've never been led by another couple back to their room before, at least not for this reason, and the unknown of what was to come was a strange feeling. A flurry of questions fly through my head. *How does this work? How do we start? How does this go down without being awkward? I've never fully been with another woman before. Well, except for Amy, but she was more of the active one (that’s a story for another day). Wait...another Amy? What is it with Amy's? Weird. I guess we'll see what happens. She can help lead me. And how will that be with Dave? I haven't done anything with another guy since I met my husband. At least I'll know what to do with it. I know what my man likes, so I can work with that I guess.*
The cab ride to their hotel is a bit hazy. I have no idea what direction we're going or how long we're in the car. Amy is beside me and she leans over and whispers, "When we get to the room, let's really give the guys a show. They'll love it!"
I repeat what I said before, "Absolutely...but you lead the way!"
The cab drops us off on Who-Gives-A-Fuck-Street, Key West, FL, and I'm only left to assume someone paid the driver. We walk from the sidewalk through a breezeway and into a courtyard. There's a swimming pool shimmering to the left. It definitely looks closed for the night. My husband and I hold hands as we follow Amy and Dave through a corridor and up to a hotel room door. Their hotel room door. The anticipation waiting for the key card to be swiped and the door to open is a bit unnerving. The door opens and we follow them in.
It's a small room, and I take a moment to glance around without being nosy. I'm not sure if I'm looking for anything in particular, but part of me wants to get a quick feel for how these people are. It's not bad. A bit cluttered, with clothes scattered about, mixed in with shoes, and what looks like shampoo or lotion bottles laying around on the floor. *Maybe lube?* But then again, clutter happens easily in a hotel room on vacation. It's not easy living out of a suitcase, and the last thing anyone wants to worry about on vacation is repacking everything every single day just for tidiness. I see no signs of drug usage (other than pot, which we already knew about and were offered) or hard-core prescription medication bottles, so we're good.
Amy goes and grabs their stash so we can take a hit before getting started, and Dave checks the bathroom for a lighter. Nada. No problem. I kinda want to remember what goes down tonight anyway. The alcohol in my system is going to have to ride solo tonight. I just pray I don’t totally sober up before we get started.
Meanwhile, my man and I make our way to the bed. I climb up on it and kneel, facing him. He glides his hands up my waist, to my breasts, catching my bandeau with his thumbs and pulling it off over my head. I pull his shirt off as well, followed by my jeans, and proceed to undo his pants, which are straining against his already hard cock, waiting to be set free. Meanwhile, out of the corner of my eye, Amy has made her way over to the bed and is following suit. The lights go out. Dave joins Amy in undressing and I have my man out of his pants and my hand wrapped around his throbbing cock, caressing it while we kiss. I feel a soft touch come up behind me, as Amy runs her hands down my back and over my ass.
"I want to taste you." she whispers. *Oh my God.*
I respond simply by turning and laying down on my back. She spreads my legs and immediately starts to kiss me, dipping her tongue into me little by little, over and over. I have my head slightly hanging off the side of the bed, with my mouth doing its work along the underside of my husband’s cock, licking up and down his shaft, while my hands cradle his balls. He has huge balls. I can't fit them into my mouth, but I love licking the shit out of them when they're smooth. They're so soft and delicate, and his reaction to my tongue drives me wild. I'm enjoying this part so much that I almost don't fully notice that Amy is sucking on my lips down below. Until she starts nipping at them. *OW.* Ok, I could do without the biting. Other than that, this whole thing is sexy as hell.
I can only assume that Dave has been working on Amy's ass in some way during all of this, but then I hear Dave ask Matt if he can get in on what his wife's doing to me. "Sure, man, but just for a minute."
Dave climbs up onto the bed beside where Amy is laying and joins in on the pussy licking party I'm hosting. Two warm, wet mouths lick and kiss on me, and it's very surreal. One set of lips is soft, full, and delicate and the other is thinner, with scruff from his facial hair. A totally new combo to me. I only wish Amy would stop biting me. It's distracting. As they carry on, I continue with my fun with my husband’s cock. It's so fucking huge, I can't get it into my mouth at the angle I'm at, so I wrap my hand around it and pump it while I keep sucking his warm, soft balls. I get lost in the moment for a while, only hearing the sounds of quiet sucking and moaning floating through the room.
The next thing I know, everyone is moving, except me. As I remain on the bed where I lay, Amy gestures for Matt to come up onto the bed, and I watch as he kneels in front of her and she grabs his cock in her hand and places her mouth on the tip before taking him all the way in. *Holy shit, that's fucking hot! Take it. Shove it down your throat, Amy.* Watching another woman deep throat my husband is now one of the sexiest things for me to witness. It's extremely erotic. I know what his cock feels like in my mouth. I know how it fits, how the shape of it feels, all of its ridges, how soft and velvety the skin is, how it feels as it throbs and grows from hard to rock-solid and back again, in response to the pleasure it's feeling. Now, in this moment, I can imagine all of that in her mouth. What she's feeling; Only, knowing that it's totally foreign to her. Knowing that his cock is full of wonderful surprises for her; And that I get that all to myself every other day of the year for the rest of my life. It's like letting someone come spend a wild night in your beach-side mansion that you get to live in every day.
While she probably feels very womanly and powerful right now, as she sucks up and down my husband's shaft. I actually feel like the powerful one in this moment. I own that cock, and I'm giving her permission for the joy-ride. I can take that away from her at any moment. But I don't want to. Not yet. It's just too fucking sexy to watch. I can imagine my husband felt the same way when both of them were going down on me.
My viewing pleasure is interrupted as Dave comes over to my side of the bed...
The rest will be sent out via PM check your inbox....
Hey there, neighbor. View-Master. You greeted me in front of the house earlier today. It’s the first time we’ve spoken and I wondered if you speaking to me was a test. You wonder if I know that you watch me and you’re trying to see if I’ll give anything away. Is it because you want to know if your cover is blown? Should you be more careful in your voyeurism? Or does that heighten the experience for you to know that I know? Does that turn you on? You have no idea you live next to TheDareMilf and that I’ll accept your challenge. The thrill of it turns me on.
I’m now standing in my swimsuit at the back patio door, gazing out at the pool. Let’s play our little game, shall we? My heart is racing and my nipples are hard. I step outside onto the lanai and the sun hits my skin like a warm blanket. It feels so nice. I glance around and don’t see anyone else outside…but I see your back patio slider open. Was that open a few minutes ago when I looked over? I don’t think so, but I probably didn’t hear it over my own beating heart. I have to force myself not to look over at the gap in the fence. To acknowledge you there directly changes the moment and I’ll probably run back in the house like a groundhog that sees his shadow and you won’t see me out here for 6 weeks.
I take a breath and step further out, looking over the landscape beyond my lanai screens, working up the nerve to slide my swimsuit down. I start with one strap, then the other. I let them fall down my arms, as my breasts expose themselves to the sun. My nipples react to the heat upon them, softening a little, and a heat inside me starts to ignite low in my belly. I place my thumbs along the sides of my suit and slowly start pulling it down, pausing just when it gets low enough that I’m about to expose my most intimate parts to the nature that surrounds me. Another breath, and I slide it all the way down so that it drops to the floor. The breeze blowing between my legs sends a thrill through me and I can feel the delicate parts swell in response. I pick up the swimsuit and hold it in my hands. There’s something exciting about holding the tiny article of clothing that made all the difference between safe and daring.
I hear a rustle in the bushes in the corner, and my heart skips a beat. I expect for you, or another neighbor, or a landscaper to come walking around between our houses and my mind flutters through possibilities of how an interaction might go at this exact moment. What will I say? What will THEY say? Will I be able to play it cool? Will I say hi, like this is normal? Or will I start trying to explain myself or maybe just run back into the house, mortified? Ahhhh, I don’t know! My body freezes and my eyes scan the perimeter of the lanai. Another rustle, and a squirrel leaps up onto the screen and starts skipping along one of the support posts. It’s a damn squirrel. I exhale a deep breath of relief. Wow, my senses are on high-alert! Once the initial fear that shot through me dissipates, it is quickly replaced with a wave of tingles and my skin responds, covering me in goosebumps and my nipples stand back at attention. Ok, what’s next? Are you over there View-Master? Are you secretly laughing, amused at my skittishness? Or maybe you're jealous that the squirrel got a full-on view, but he couldn't care less? After all, you can’t jump up and press yourself right against my lanai screen for an unobstructed viewing. That would just be inappropriate, wouldn’t it? Kind of like how it might be inappropriate for me to go splay myself out over that ½ wall on the other side of the pool…?
This was a really risky shot with landscapers looming just out of from, to the right, through the bushes....it would be a shame to not share it 😈
If you have Rebill turned on, the uncensored version will be dropping in your inbox sometime after next Wednesday3/8. Check your settings, you won't want to miss it!
Jumping ahead to being a mid-twenties newlywed. This photo was taken on a later date at the scene of the crime ;) I had no idea the night before was going to happen the way it did, so I didn’t think to capture something from it that exact night. Read on for Part 1 of “Kinky in Key West”…
"Would you like another drink?"
My husband points to my beer can, the universal signal for 'another?" when words are drowned out by blaring music and loud ambient crowd noise. I swirl the can around a little, checking for how much is left.
"Sure! But I'll just split one with you." I'm pretty good at knowing how to pace myself. I'm feeling great right now, and there's no need to push it.
"Ok, sounds good. I'll be right back." My husband turns and starts walking across the dance floor, passing by a group of 3 skinny, nerdy guys in their underwear that are dancing around a petite girl whom I've watched strip down to nothing but her skirt, piece by piece over the course of the last half-hour. They remind me of the cast of The Big Bang Theory. Sheldon, Leonard and Howard seem to be having the time of their lives, daydreaming of one day climbing out of the "friend zone" and into their very own “big bang”. Sadly, there is no hope. You can just tell. Those hipster glasses aren't exactly charming the skirt off of Penny...even though they did seem to work on the shirt.
I glance around at the strange, but interesting crowd that lines the perimeter of the rooftop bar. Some look confused, and have clearly stumbled their way up here, unbeknownst to what this place is all about, but unable to look away or leave. Regardless, most of them have a shit-eating grin on their face, and resemble a house cat staring out the window at a crowded bird feeder. Some sit silently on benches lined up between trees that block the view of the rooftop for passersby along the sidewalk below. A DJ booth looms over the dance floor on the opposite end of the roof from me, poised up on a stage, lit up like a blue Christmas tree, and doing well with its job of making sure conversation isn't easy to hold with others. Here, you either dance, or you sit and watch people dance. Get involved, or become wallpaper with eyes. Either option is insanely fun to do here. There's also one more option here; wear that pseudo-expensive new shirt you bought at the boutique down the street yesterday to go "clubbing" in on Saturday night, or free yourself and lose it. And your pants. And your bra. And your underwear. Nakedness is accepted and encouraged.
This is the way of the Garden of Eden.
I turn to my left, and our temporary new friends from Maryland, Vivian and Clint, are a couple more drinks in than the last time I checked, and their dancing is showing it. Vivian steps over to me, with a big smile on her face.
"You guys gonna go out there?" as she gestures to the debauchery going on out on the dance floor.
"Oh, definitely! We'll get there...he's just getting us another drink first!" I speak confidently, trying to hide my nerves at the thought.
Her smile widens, "Ok, good! We were just waiting for someone to lead the way!"
They seem really sweet. I can tell they're new to this kind of scene, like I kind of am, and just want someone to show them the ropes and help them break the ice. I want us to be those people for them. Why? Because that’s what I need. I need something to embolden me. Kind of like how I hate spiders, but if someone else is freaking out about one, I’ll step in to take care of it for them. The courage comes because someone else needs me to have it. Plus, it looks like fun out there….thrilling even. I guess I’ll just hang back for now, watch the show, and then meander my way in after things start getting a little crazier. I have, however, made it as far as losing my lacy see-thru top and am left in just my bandeau bra top. Not very risky, but it's a start.
I look across to the bar, and I see my husband still over there, leaning on the bar with his elbows and seemingly in conversation with some guy. I take a minute to admire my sexy husband, who stands out like a Calvin Klein model in the middle of the middle-aged, kind of rough-around-the-edges crowd that surrounds him. That ass, though. I love his ass so much, and the way his pants tighten around it when he bends over, or when he has his foot propped up on the rung of a bar stool, both of which he is doing right now. Damn. Everything happening here is making me crazy horny.
I turn to Vivian, "I'm going to go check on my husband real quick. I could use that drink. I'll be right back."
I'm not sure if she could actually hear me, but I think my bar-fly sign language of pointing for "go" and tipping an invisible cup to my mouth for "drink" did the trick, as she nodded back at me and two-stepped her way back to her boyfriend.
I saunter over to the bar and wrap my arms around my husband from behind, kissing his back between his shoulder blades. "Hey, you..." he counters, while turning and wrapping his right arm around me, pulling me in for a kiss. "Here ya go." He hands me the drink he came over for - a vodka soda. "Hey, this is Dave." He turns me to greet the guy he's been talking to. "We've been chatting for a little bit. He and his wife are from Maryland."
Hey there, neighbor. I see the way you look at me a little long, when I step out to check the mail while you’re tinkering in your garage. I always smile politely back, but what I really wonder is if you’re undressing me with your eyes the way it feels like you are. Do you already know what’s underneath? That fence in your backyard, between mine and yours…can you see through it? I bought this house for the pool, after all. The way the sun beams across the lanai deck most of the day, warming the hot brick pavers, inviting me to lay my skin across it, was just too tempting to pass up. The cage around my lanai and the privacy fence bordering our yards, gives the illusion of actual privacy, but who am I kidding? I can see your back sliding door from my sunbathing spot. If I can see you, you can see me, right? But, I don’t think you realize that. Or maybe you do, and you like the thrill of assuming I don’t notice that you always leave your back screen door slid open, even in 90 degree heat, so that you can easily sneak outside silently, undetected and find that conveniently shifted slat in the fence, giving you the perfect angle to watch me sunbathe, as if through a classic View-Master toy. That shall be your nickname, View-Master. We haven’t officially introduced ourselves since I moved in, but I think that ship has sailed. I don’t want to know your name now, and I believe you don’t want to know mine either. I wonder what you’ve nicknamed me…?
So....a bit of a DareMilf origin story and then I have an announcement to make.
In this picture I was freshly 20 years old and in Texas for a college spring break trip. This is the first time I was photographed and/or "dared" to be nude in public.
I was always the shy, goody-two-shoes girl growing up and up to that point in college, I wasn't really into drinking or partying like a lot of my peers were and instead took my school and athletics seriously. But it was spring break and I was ready to have some fun.
"Go topless!" one of the more outspoken guys yelled out with a drink in his hand as we got down to the beach. My nerves tingled at that suggestion with fear, but also curiosity. There were about 20 guys and girls in our group and I was incredibly self conscious about my smaller boobs.
No way I could do that...
Some of the girls looked at each other while the guys egged us on. Nobody was quite ready to take the plunge yet. The guys chanted "show your tits!"...but still the ladies all laughed and ignored the request...bunch of idiot college guys.
I was single at the time but there was one guy in the group, Brandon, who I had a huge crush on. He wasn't on the level with the other loud idiots, but was a bit more reserved. I was easily the most shy one of the group, and started to walk away to check out the beach and escape the peer pressure when one of the idiots yelled out "Fiona...do it!" I was mortified and turned beet red....almost in a panic over being called out. I nervously shook my head no...but just then Brandon spoke up and smirked at me with those mischievous green eyes.
"Come on...loosen up...I DARE you!"
With that request, from him, tingles washed over my body. Goosebumps formed on the surface of my skin and I could feel my little nipples stiffen underneath my bikini top. Something stirred inside me.
"Fuck it!"
I ripped off my top as the group cheered. The warm sea breeze blew across my bare breasts as the sun kissed my previously covered skin, and all the guys stared. The adrenaline surged through my body as my arousal grew. Pretty soon, some of the other ladies joined in. It was an amazing feeling, the freedom and exposure, and I was uncontrollably horny for weeks afterwards.
This day is where my journey as "TheDareMilf" began.
Since then, I have had many adventures like this. I have pictures of some and kept a journal on all of them.
Now I want to share those with you. In addition to making some really great new content I will also be sharing all of my old erotic stories, sexual escapades and pics.
I will also be adding in some hot boudoir shoots and lingerie.
Live events, interactive photo shoots and flashing workshops are in the works and will be announced on here.
My subscriptions will be turned back on...at only $6/month to keep only serious DareMilf fans around and we will be ending the month of March with a first-ever face reveal. You'll want to stick around!
Who would be interested in attending a 2-day flashing tour/workshop....hosted by me in Key West this May? The event would include a ghost tour with flashing stops along the way, a clothing optional bar, an interactive boudoir shoot and maybe a boat ride out to a nude Sandbar. Great for couples! I haven't figured out cost yet, but shoot me a message if you are interested so I can start planning.
