THE SUMMER I GREW UP

The next summer, I also worked on Seth's horse ranch, which he ran with his virtual wife, my Aunt Maggie. She was much like her sister, my mom: very close in age and very similar physically. Both of them curvy women out of a Marilyn Monroe/Bettie Page mold.
I had been hoping that Larry would be back, since I'd turned him into a pretty comfortable fuck, and I'd become ever so much sluttier in my behavior and attitudes during the intervening months. This was the year leading up to my high school graduation where, if you'll remember from a previous story, I'd let a nerdy guy I liked redeem his masculinity by letting him fuck my ass in front of a number of our classmates on Prom Night. That made him famous and respected by our peers, which was just as I had intended.
Anyway, when I arrived I was told that Larry, who had started at an Ivy League college, would be interning in a Washington, D.C., law office over the summer. To my disappointment, it was going to be another girl my age who was the niece of another rancher. An L.A. girl, I was told.
Leslie turned out to be a short little gal, a bit on the chubby side. Like a lot of girls in that age group, she had decided that she wasn't terribly pretty, so she would be interesting. (And I'm using the word "interesting" in a special way to mean fascinating in the sense that a piece of roadkill or a giant purple turd might be, not fascinating like super string theory or an elaborate and gorgeous Navajo rug.)
She had the obligatory dyed-black hair of the goth chick and really outdid herself in the makeup department, looking for all the world like Rocky Raccoon. She wore the tightest, shortest denim skirt I've ever seen. While punk and goth are style cousins (goth being an outgrowth from punk), she was poised in between somewhere as though she couldn't decide to hate The Man or worship Beautiful Death.
Her attitude was worse than Larry's had been when he started the prior summer. Worse because instead of simply holding back from helping, she acted like everything you asked her to do bothered her. I overheard Seth and Maggie talking and he, usually quite emotionless and nonplused, said something I could barely hear about taking her out back and putting her out of her misery. Maggie laughed, knowing, no doubt, that he wasn't really serious and that what was really funny was that he had displayed his attitude toward Leslie with such intensity. For her part, Maggie was pissed at Leslie enough to even complain to me about her, but all I could do was shrug. I had no defense for Leslie and was just about as frustrated, because most of the work Leslie managed to leave for others to do fell to me.
One morning while Leslie was watching me clean out the stalls, I heard Maggie yelling. Well, actually, it was more like screaming. Seth had been thrown by a horse (which, believe me, would have to have been one vigorous horse: Seth had been a good rodeo rider a decade or so earlier). Anyway, as luck would have it, he wasn't thrown to the ground, which might have made him sore or at worst might've knocked the wind out of him. Rather, he was propelled toward a water trough and had landed on his side, breaking at least one rib, as I could tell when we got him back to the ranch house and helped him get his shirt off. I could tell he had broken a rib because a rib bone was protruding from his side. And his side was a very distressing color as well.
Maggie is not someone who panics easily, and so it was a shock when she got nearly hysterical and yelled at me to get on the phone and get a helicopter out here, so I called the State Police and they said a chopper would be out as soon as they could get one there, which took the longest half hour of my life, because Seth was showing every sign of getting worse. Nobody said it, but I am sure that Maggie was worried that she was about to lose her lovely and gentle non-smoking Marlboro Man.
When the helicopter landed, sending the horses into a tizzy, a pair of paramedics and two troopers came into the house. By then, Seth was no longer speaking. "He's gone into shock," said one of the parameds. "Let's get him out of here NOW!!!" said the other one. In a flash, he was on a stretcher and headed for the helicopter where, they said, they could better treat him, and that it was best not to waste any time getting him to the hospital.
Maggie asked if she could come along, and they said she could. She quickly grabbed her purse and a jacket and really didn't have time to grab anything else. As she left, she quickly turned and, bless her, she apologized for yelling at me. I told her never to mind: I completely understood why she had. Looking at both Leslie and me, she said, "You girls are running the ranch for a while. Maybe a day, maybe longer." Then she left. I looked at Leslie, who was white as a sheet and, covering her mouth, went to the kitchen sink where there was an explosion of multicolored vomit.
Now, if I had had to run the ranch on my own it would have been bad enough, but to have to run it and babysit Leslie, too, made it unspeakably worse.
I thought what still had to be done in a typical day on the ranch and made a list. I then put it on the table and underlined some of the simpler tasks and told Leslie, "I'm sorry, but farting around time is over. This is a ranch and there are things we need to do to keep the horses healthy and alive, and I can't do them all myself."
She nodded which I guess meant she knew things had changed.
"I'll make dinner for us when the chores are done," I told her, just to punctuate that she had to do them. I tried to sound cordial, since I realized things were unpleasant enough without any more personal antagonism.
While she hadn't done much work in prior days, she must have been observing, because everything I'd asked her to do, she did fairly well. I did have to tell her how to do this or that a bit better, but she got most everything basically right to my total and utter surprise. She even turned out to be a strong little thing, and some of the tasks I thought she might need some additional muscle to accomplish, she did entirely on her own.
Because of being short-handed, the chores weren't done until 7:30 p.m. instead of 6 p.m. and so I got a late start on dinner. I was pretty bushed myself, so I slapped together a meal of canned corned beef hash with fried eggs on top, canned lima beans, and garlic toast. Totally impromptu and totally unhealthy for anyone who hadn't done a hard day's work, which we had. We followed it with with some warmed-up apple pie a la mode.
"You've been a big help, today," I told Leslie as she scarfed down her food. I added, "Thanks."
"I guess I've been an asshole," she said.
"Not to put too fine a point on it," I replied with no small hint of sarcasm, followed by a sympathetic laugh, for I was coming to like this girl.
She looked at me and laughed back. I took the opportunity to ask, "So what's your problem, anyway?"
"Where to begin: My mom and I hate each other. My dad left years ago, probably chased away by my mother's sour attitude. He has had a series of girlfriends, each worse than the one before. I'm ugly and everyone laughs at me. I don't like the music most of the kids like or the things they do to entertain themselves. I just never feel I belong."
I stopped her and said, "You're not really ugly, but you're not doing much to make yourself attractive. How many guys sit around wishing they could meet a girl who looks like a raccoon?"
"Now, I've seen some fabulously beautiful goth chicks, but they are the ones who really know how to use cosmetics. How about after dinner let's go and play with makeup?" "Sure," she replied gamely. I suddenly realized what her problem was: nobody was taking an interest in her, so she had adopted an approach to life that explained that situation while getting her attention. Even if it was negative attention.
She helped with the dishes and with generally tidying the place up and then we went back toward the bathroom. "Get that stuff off your face and meet me back at the kitchen table," I said.
I got my own cosmetics out and a mirror from Maggie's room.
The first thing I realized when I got a good look at her face was how naturally pretty she was. In fact, I was stunned that she was hiding this gorgeous face behind some of the silliest makeup I'd ever seen.
"You're beautiful!" I declared, and I'm sure my sincerity came through, because when she said "Really?" it was with more than a hint of surprise.
Then she went (as teen girls often do) into a lament about her faults. She was short (about 5'2"), her boobs were small, her hair had to be worn straight because it couldn't hold a curl, and besides it's just mousy brown anyway which is why she dyes it black...
"Hold on," I said. "Don't kid yourself that every guy is looking for a six footer who needs DD cups. Stop looking like you hate the world and everything in it. Your problem, I think, is that you look unapproachable. You don't look like you're available at all. Let's see your boobs."
She took off her top and her bra. I laughed when I saw them. At first she seemed hurt, but then I said, "No, here's why I'm laughing." I took off my own shirt and showed her that my boobs were smaller than hers. "Oh," she said with a big smile. I added, "I've been having lots of sex this last year and believe me, my 'A' cup size hasn't been a problem. And yours...my God, what gorgeous puffies you have!" She didn't even know that there were names for different kinds of nipples, and that puffy nipples were regarded by many as especially sexy, so I told her.
I said, "Show me the rest. Take the rest of your clothes off. It's just you and me, don't worry." She took off her clothes and I had to level with her. "You are a bit soft. You could stand to lose about 10 or 15 lbs. But there's good news, too." "What's that?" "A few weeks of hard work will probably take them off, and without any unhealthy and risky dieting. You're just a few weeks away from a brand new you." "Think so?" she asked. "No doubt," said I, adding, "But you're cute as is. Still, I assume you'd rather not be mainly of interest to 'chubby chasers.'" "No, I wouldn't," she admitted. "I've met those guys. Mainly middle-aged men who've come on to me. It's embarrassing. I want to tell them 'What the fuck, you ignorant shit. Can't you see I'm a goth...not to mention underage? Get outta here before I call a cop!'"
We both laughed hard, she because she was having fun and I because when she came out of her shell, she was actually a lot of fun to be with.
And I'm not kidding you or exaggerating for the story. Aside from being short, which only kept her from being a fashion or runway model, she had lots of potential for being hot. And as for her size, sure, some guys want leggy six-footers, but a little woman can be hot in her own way. And I've never understood the obsession with tallness when it comes to women, anyway. Aren't we the smaller sex? So being extra small would be a super-feminine characteristic just as being large and muscular might make a man a super-male.
So, I went to work on her face showing her several different looks she could have, from one that looked natural but was anything but, to one she could use when out clubbing. I showed her how to build up makeup in a way that keeps you from overshooting the mark. The best way to reduce makeup, frequently, is to take it all off and start over. I showed her what to do with zits and other blemishes. She made a list of stuff she needed to buy.
I asked her if she had any more practical clothes to wear than the gothic getup she'd been wearing at all times. She said her mom, typically, had packed her some clothes she thought would be useful here at the ranch. I said let's take a look. Sure enough, she had jeans, shirts, socks, and even a pair of leather hiking shoes. She even had another denim skirt of a more modest length and a much better fit that still showed plenty of leg without threatening to her ass cheeks peek out. I said, "You know, these are a lot more practical than your miniskirt and fishnet stockings, though I always had to marvel at how you were able to get around with those red patent leather boots of yours, with their 3-inch heels." "Years of practice," she said with a smile.
The phone rang and it was Maggie calling to say that Seth was in pretty bad shape, but would probably recover completely, though the next few days were going to be rough. They had had to open him up, repair some tears and ruptures and all that while dealing with several broken ribs and a broken arm no one had even noticed at the time. He would not be 100% for quite a while.
Then the subject turned to horses. She asked about each and every chore and seemed to grow less worried as I assured her that all had been done as usual. "Then I can stay here with Seth for now?" "Yes, of course. By now, I know what needs to be done, and I think I can recognize a sick horse. If one gets sick, I'll give you a call and if I can't reach you, Doc Marshall's card is taped to the fridge." "Great, then just take down this number and call me if you need me, but I'd really like to be here with Seth for now. He hasn't been awake since we left the ranch in the helicopter and I want to be with him when he wakes up, because he'll be in a strange place. It'd be nice if a familiar face is there to meet him."
"We'll be okay," I said. I was about to bid her good-bye when Leslie indicated she wanted he phone. "Hi, Maggie," she said. "I hope Seth gets better. Jill and I have everything under control." Maggie said something, Leslie smiled and handed the phone back to me. "Was that really Leslie?" she asked. I affirmed that it was. "Wow," she said with a chuckle (the first sign of good humor since the accident), "First you rehabilitated Larry last summer and now Leslie. You need to open a clinic for kids needing an attitude adjustment." I laughed and said I'd think about it.
There's a very refreshing ethic in rural and backwoods places that neighbors support one another, even if they are otherwise competitors. And this is how Maggie and Seth ended up with Leslie. Their neighbors to the North are also horse ranchers. The owner, a lovely 30-ish redhead named Cherish, asked if Maggie and Seth could use a cheap summer hand. She was already fully staffed and couldn't really take Leslie.
Because people out there can't survive without the help of their neighbors, who still chip in to help their neighbors build a barn or harvest a crop before it spoils, you can expect a number of calls asking if they can help in an emergency, and we got several, but the first was from Leslie's Aunt Cherish. Leslie got on the phone for a while and handed it to me. Cherish said, "Leslie says you're okay. Now, I know from Maggie that you're good and reliable. Is Leslie a help or a hindrance, and is there anything I can do to help you? I'll come right over if you like." I said no help was needed and that Leslie was pitching right in. "Really?" she said. I could see that Leslie was rolling her eyes.
It was getting dark and we had earned some relaxation time. As I have probably made clear, the ranch is rather austere, the kitchen is the living, dining, and family room all rolled into one. It's heated by a wood stove, which I stoked. The stove has a mica window in the door providing a nice orange-amber light when you turn the lights out. I stoked up the stove, for the evenings get cold even in the summer when you're at a goodly elevation.
Leslie and I turned out the electrical lights and lighted up a couple kerosene lanterns. Between the stove and the lanterns the room was bathed in an pleasant and warm orange glow. I suggested we change into nightwear, and so we were soon both in flannel nightgowns and slippers.
For evening entertainment, the ranch had a TV which is neither large nor small, a satellite dish, and a collection of VHS tapes (by now, they have DVD's, I'm sure, but then it was tapes). I've always liked thrillers and I saw Dressed To Kill in their collection. Leslie didn't really care what we watched, so I popped that tape into the VCR and pressed PLAY.
There is a love seat in the main room and we sat there at first trying to stay awake as we watched the movie, but soon we were all scrunched up, hugging our knees, pressed against each other, for it quickly becomes a creepy, surprising, and scary movie. And I couldn't help thinking how great Nancy Allen looked in heels and hose.
Leslie's skin felt great against mine. As the end credits of the movie started rolling, I looked at her to find she was looking back. Her eyes closed as I moved in for the kiss. As our tongues touched, I became aware that my panties had become a tropical rain forest.
"I'm not gay," she said. Even so, she kissed me back. "Neither am I," I replied, kissing her furiously as I reached under her nightie to find her clit. She was just shockingly wet. The lubrication allowed me to give her plenty of pleasure with very little pain. I just loved the sounds she was making. They excited me all the more!
I was aware that she admired me, and I didn't really want to take advantage of this, assuming it was a vulnerability. One thing I figured I could do was not to become the leader, so I gradually stopped taking the initiative. Before long, she was the one savaging me. Believe it or not, she gave me some of the best head I've ever had.
Then she crawled up and we kissed some more. Kisses full of the taste of my own pussy! As we did so, and after grabbing some of the wetness of her pussy, I pressed my "fuck you" finger into her asshole, which greeted it by momentarily tightening. She stopped and looked into my eyes. "It's all right," I said. "It's an interesting feeling. Give it a chance."
She kissed me with renewed vigor and slowly my finger slid in until the first two segments were in. I maneuvered her onto her back and pushed her knees up until they almost touched her shoulders. Now, I am built to contort, but her tiny little body was not, but even so we got her knees back far enough that I could get by then two fingers in her ass while I licked and sucked and kissed all around her pussy. She liked it. She liked it a lot. And the more fingers I got into her ass, the more she liked it, too! She came hard. Very hard. And I mean that in the best way. I could tell she'd never had an orgasm like that before.
While this was early in my sexual life, by that summer I'd already had sex with several female classmates, and I'd gotten past the "am I gay?" question by remembering how much I loved playing around with boys. The previous summer at the ranch had been my sexual awakening, and boy had I become awake!
Leslie talked excessively (or maybe a better word is "obsessively" is a better word) the next day as we went about the chores, which included feeding the horses, making sure they had fresh water, cleaning their stalls, and seeing that they got grooming and exercise. I guess talking was a way for her to relieve her tension over wondering if she was gay.
While we were back in the ranch house having lunch, the phone rang and it was Maggie. "Seth finally woke up, but he's not out of the woods yet, the doctors say. He suffered a lot of damage to internal organs which will take some time to heal. He faces dangers from blood clots causing a stroke or embolism, and while there are drugs to reduce clotting they can promote bleeding, so they are just letting Mother Nature handle it. We all have our fingers crossed. How's it going with you guys? Is Leslie really chipping in, or are you covering for her."
Leslie was right there, and I didn't want to embarrass her by swearing on a stack of Bibles that she was pulling her share (which she most certainly was). So I told Maggie simply that everything's fine and that Leslie and I had everything under control. She knew it was more than a one person job, so that told her in a subtle way that Leslie was indeed helping.
I reiterated that I would most certainly not hesitate to call with any questions and I reminded her that I'd already been through one entire summer there and that she knew I knew how to do almost everything. I also reminded her that the veterinarian's number was handy in case of a veterinary emergency. None of the mares were due to foal anytime soon and short of a cougar or bear attack (very unlikely), she had little to worry about.
"Oh, there is one more thing," she said. "Today we're supposed to do some breeding. I know you've handled it before as far as the mechanics. Today, you'll have to handle the business side as well." She told me where to find a contract, which I looked for while she waited. After I found that and several other pieces of documentation, she told me basically how handle the transaction. When I heard how much money I was collecting, I just about crapped my pants, but it explained how they could afford to run the ranch.
When she was satisfied I understood, she said, "I don't know anyone else I'd trust with this. You're our #1 ranch hand." I laughed, being their only real ranch hand. Leslie was a help, but still basically a visitor.
"What was all that about?" asked Leslie. When I told her about the breeding, she just about flipped. "Don't worry," I told her, "I've been involved in dozens of them. You can watch or I'll find something else for you to do."
"I'll watch," she said.
The man we were expecting was a guy who'd been to the ranch a few times before. He was known to one and all as Sven. A big late middle-aged Danish blond with bulging biceps and what couldn't have been more than a 32" waist (which, for you gals who don't know, is a very small waist for a large man to have). Despite his being as old as my dad give or take a few years, I regarded him as a hunk and could easily have worked up some interest in finding out what his pecker looked like and what he could do with it.
It was about 2 p.m. when his familiar yellow pickup rolled in, white horse van in tow. I was going over to greet Sven when something else stepped out of the van. What do I mean by "something else"? I mean, "Is this a man or a young god?" That's what I mean.
"Hello, I'm Lars" he said. "Is Seth here...or Maggie? My dad couldn't make it..." "I'm Jill," I said interrupting him. "Seth had an accident and he and Maggie are in town at the hospital, but I can take care of things for you. We're ready."
Now, how to describe Lars... I can't think of a movie star he resembled. A little like a taller version of Seth. A hunky young Marlboro man, only taller, and with perfectly white hair. Not yellow blond...pure white. As white as the snow atop the nearby mountain peaks.
Now, I was pretty scruffy from the work I'd done that day and Lars had pretty much stepped out of a gay Gentleman's Quarterly. I say "gay" because he was so far beyond being merely handsome and was well into the beautiful category, but without losing any masculinity. (If you think being a gay male is all about limp wrists and effeminate ways of behaving and talking, you need to check out gay porn, which frequently is about beautiful and very masculine-looking men. Sure, there's the sissy side of gay, but there's also the hyper-male side of gay as well.)
Poor little Leslie, with her low self-esteem. I could almost feel her pain. Many things might have been rolling through her mind. For one thing, having just established me as a sex partner, in rolls this god-like vision of young manhood. For another, she didn't feel very physically attractive, and by that time I had established in my own mind that I was very physically attractive. I'd never met a man who gave off any other kind of vibe who wasn't, in fact, quite gay...and even a couple gays said they found me tempting! (But they might have been pulling my leg.)
I gave her the friendliest smile I knew how to give, devoid as possible of any hint of pity. She managed a wan smile in return, but the general impression was of the deer in the headlights. I would have to tread lightly or she might be crushed.
After the paperwork and payment, we got the mare out and led her into what we lovingly called "The Bachelor Pad," because it was where a lot of the breeding took place. The mare's nickname was Ginger (we give horse's nicknames because their legal names are generally a mouthful). She was one of the most beautiful palomino mares I've ever seen. She was to be paired up with one of our palomino stallions, Little John, so nicknamed after the giant in the Robin Hood story. He was about as large as a good palomino Arabian can get.
More important to me than Little John's size, was his demeanor. To say he could be a handful was an understatement. He could be quite mean, in fact. I explained this to Lars, who said "Let me come along, just in case." Without objecting to this excellent suggestion, we took off for the stables with Leslie in tow.
Well, true to his reputation, once he was all prepared to be led out of his stall, he decided he didn't want to go and got as obstinate as a mule. Now, what's a horse weigh? A ton? Little old me at about 100 lb (back then) didn't stand much chance of muscling him out of his stall. I wasted a good 10 or 15 minutes seemingly just trying to get him to notice me. He wasn't even actively resisting. He didn't need to: simply ignoring me was enough.
At last Lars said, "Let me try. Sometimes it's better when you're a stranger to a horse: someone he hasn't pigeonholed or figured out. Step back out of sight." So, Leslie and I went around a corner where Little John couldn't see us. About a minute later, Lars was leading the horse out of his stall and so on we went to The Bachelor Pad with Lars in control of Little John.
Now, I hate to spoil anyone's fantasies about horses, but they are not very smart. In fact, I'm told the smartest barnyard animal is the pig, followed very closely by a good herding dog like a Border Collie and a goat. But horses have good memories, so they can learn tricks. They also recognize places, so as soon as Little John saw we were taking him to The Bachelor Pad and not the glue factory, he perked right up.
Nature took it's course and Little John's cock was fully extended by the time we got there. I noticed that Leslie's eyes were on it. I guessed she was suffering from Horse Cock Fever, the way I had the first summer when I really got to see one close up. I tried not to smile, but I was smiling on the inside. I was past Horse Cock Fever by then and my thoughts were all about how to get Lars's cock out where I could do something with it.
We put Little John in a pen next to Ginger to see how they reacted to each other. Sometimes a mare will take an instant dislike to a stallion and one has to go the artificial insemination route. At first she didn't even seem to notice him, but after a little while they were making very friendly gestures to each other. We put them together and to make a short story much shorter, Little John was "in like Flynn." It was just after 5 p.m. when we were done.
I knew that Maggie and Seth often let customers spend the night rather than have them risk driving a precious animal a long distance in the dark with the possibility of falling asleep at the wheel at 2 a.m. out in the middle of nowhere. "It's kind of late for heading back," I said. "We'll put you up for the night."
"Thanks," he said. "How can I repay you?" "Well, we're a bit shorthanded with Maggie and Seth away, and what with losing about three hours with the breeding, we're way behind in the chores. Why don't you and Leslie exercise the horses which still need it. Leslie knows which ones." I didn't want Leslie to feel so left out. Even so, Leslie said with dismay, "But I don't ride!" (True: she had led horses around, but hadn't gotten around to learning to handle a horse from the saddle yet.) Lars looked at her with a kindly smile and said, "We'll fix that."
While I did other things, they exercised the horses. I'd stick my head around a corner from time to time and quite soon, I saw Leslie on one of our friendlier palomino mares, Lars on the back of our most valuable black stallion, a feisty critter that was behaving like an old mare in his hands. Lars was a natural horseman. He was also refreshingly ego-free for such a handsome guy, and really seemed to take teaching Leslie pretty seriously.
At about 7, I was totally done with what I had to do. I had gone back to the ranch house and was watching a Miami Vice rerun when Lars and Leslie walked in a bit later. "All done!" she announced with a huge smile.
Before I could say anything about dinner, Lars asked, "It's about 45 minutes into town, if I remember right? The last town you pass through before taking the cutoff to your ranch." "Yeah, maybe a bit less," I replied. "How's about I buy you gals some dinner?" he suggested.
I thought for a bit: That would leave the ranch unattended. The little Devil on my left shoulder said, "Do it! What could possibly happen?" The little angel on my right shoulder said, "Maggie and Seth never leave the ranch unattended. Don't do it!" Unfortunately, the little Devil won by suggesting that perhaps we might end up doing some dancing to the jukebox after dinner. Like all teen girls, I lived to dance back then.
Lars unhitched the horse carrier and soon we were scooting along the road to the highway. Leslie sat in the middle and I rode shotgun. I was glad to find that Leslie no longer felt like the odd person out, and in fact, although she didn't realize it, I'm sure, I could tell by Lars's amused glances that he, like me, felt she was being just a bit too Chatty Cathy. But she was such a lovable little gal and was riding a bit of a high that I couldn't hold it against her. As for Lars, he seemed a very tolerant, hard to ruffle guy. I think he didn't want to burst her bubble, either.
As soon as we got into the cafe, I knew it had been a mistake to come into town. The owner, a very skinny and haggard old gal who probably should have been dead of lung cancer a decade ago asked in a rasp, "How's Seth, honey?" Realizing now that our little sojourn into town would almost certainly get back to Maggie, I explained the medical situation.
We got a bucket of chicken and Seth got a pitcher of Bud or Miller or PBR...some cheap "by the bucketload" beer (no Pilsner Urquell out in these small boonie towns), and we holed up in a booth in the back where he could share it with us. We had ordered some ginger beer, made right there in the cafe (and quite delicious it is, I might ad), but we dumped it and grabbed a pair of clean glasses while nobody was looking.
So, we had a fine old time there in that booth for about an hour, with Lars mostly telling us about his various adventures with horses. Leslie and I listened, and I'm sure her little pussy was just as moist as mine.
We had gotten a bit tipsy (speaking for Leslie and me) when someone yelled "Fire!" With that, the cafe cleared out as people ran out to see where it might be. By the time we were out front, people were already coming back in, knowing that the fire wasn't anywhere in their direction.
When we got there, however, the owner saw me and said, "I think it's coming from the direction of Seth's ranch. Is anyone there?" My non-reply was her answer. I fairly screamed at Lars that we had to get back to the ranch right away. We made a mad dash back to the truck and I'm sure we hit 80 mph a good deal of the way, at least to our turn-off. The drive up to the ranch isn't perfectly smooth, but he did a creditable 50 mph, I'm sure, which is probably about 20 mph over any reasonably sane speed for that stretch.
All along the way I was thinking how bad it would be on so many levels if the stable or ranch house were on fire. I couldn't imagine what could start a fire. Had I left anything electrical running? The wood stove was already cold by morning. Still, the glow in the sky was of smoke well-illuminated by a fire at its base, leaving no doubt of a big active fire going on in the general direction of the ranch.
Unfortunately, the way the drive winds around, the last part of it is out of sight of the ranch. I was totally hysterical, and so was Leslie. I'm sure we were both thinking primarily of the animals being roasted alive and secondarily of having to face Seth and Maggie to explain how it had happened and why no one was there at the time to save the animals.
We rounded the last turn and the ranch came into view. It was not on fire. The fire (which I later learned was a bonfire to celebrate a wedding), was over the ridge in the next valley. I got out of the car and dropped to my knees in tears. I don't think I've ever felt so guilty in my life.
Bless him, Lars said, "It's my fault. I shouldn't have suggested we go into town. That was real stupid of me."
"No," I said, wiping tears from my eyes, "I'm in charge here. There was no real need to go into town. I can see now that I risked everything for no good reason. But thanks for the offer to take the blame."
This time it was Leslie who was comforting me. "Come on into the ranch house," she said. "Let's have some coffee." "Yeah," said Lars. "I could use some coffee myself."
I was amazed: Leslie went in and actually knew how to make a pot of coffee. Lars stood around looking sheepish. I knew what I had to do: I called Maggie and confessed everything. After a long silence, Maggie said, "Thanks for telling me. I'm a little bit pissed at you, but you've obviously learned a lesson here."
"I have," I said tearfully. "I will never ever risk the horses and ranch again."
"I'm sure you won't." Another long pause. "...But Lars is pretty incredible, isn't he?"
That changed the mood and we had a good laugh.
"I trust you," she said. Relieved, I asked about Seth again, and she said he was becoming talkative and seemed unconcerned at leaving me in charge. She added that she would have to tell him what happened someday, but not while he was in recovery. I told her that I was glad for that.
Off the phone, I found the other two already working on their mugs of coffee. I had a full mug waiting for me as well. They were apparently waiting to see how I felt, and were relieved at my own apparent sense of relief. We turned on the TV and watched it on and off for a while until I switched it off so we could play some poker.
Lars is a super poker player and I'm still not sure Leslie understands the hierarchy of hands, but even so we had a lot of fun.
Lars had some Jim Beam in his truck, which he brought in. To his credit, he told us we could have one shot each and no more, which at our age was just fine. It was something we needed that day, which had turned into a very rough day indeed.
Leslie can't hold her liquor very well, which Lars and I found amusing. She was slurring her words and giggled inappropriately from time to time and even she knew she was drunk and laughed right along with us.
Until, that is, she fell asleep on the floor.
I looked at her then at him. He was looking at her as well, and when he noticed I was watching him he gave me a slight grin. Turning my way, he looked into my face and apologized once again for luring me off the ranch, and one more time I told him not to worry, that it was my fault for not declining. Then, I got a wee bit bold and said something like, "I thought going into town with you sounded like fun. I just chose a bad time to do it, probably because I thought there wouldn't be another chance."
I closed my eyes and he came in for the kiss. Well...he had kissed before. I knew that right away. He was fairly expert at opening a girl's jeans with one hand, too! Before I knew it his hand was deep inside my jeans, into my panties, and on my crotch. He knew what to do down there as well, spending a good while just massaging my clit and vulva before letting a finger wander into my vagina, which was so wet I was afraid it'd spook him.
It did the opposite.
"Wooow," he said when he found the moisture. Pulling his hand out of my pants, he stood up and pulled my jeans off. I didn't wait for him to help me with my panties. I all but tore them off. He wasted no time, either, and slid out of his jeans and jockeys revealing a cock that was of the long and slender variety.
Grabbing him by the hips, I pulled him to me and took him into my mouth. The flavor of his dick betold a day of hard work and of pissing several times and of leaking precum.
It was a good taste, and I knew that once his mouth was on my pussy, his mouth would be flooded with a pungent mixture of pussy and sweat as well.
He took his blow job standing for a while, but I could tell it made him weak at the knees from time to time, so I beckoned him down onto the couch next to me, where I blew him harder still, intermittently licking on his sandpapery scrotum and sucking his balls into my mouth one at a time.
If you look at a cock on its own and forget what it's attached to, it's like almost nothing else on earth, except perhaps for some kinds of mushrooms I've seen in books. Mushrooms that are long and slender with small crowns.
After a while he tapped me on the shoulder to indicate that he wanted lick my pussy, and so the next thing I knew, his head was between my legs with his tongue doing rather amazing things.
At one point, he pushed my knees up, baring my asshole, and I could tell he was going in to lick my asshole. I rolled off to one side and stood up saying, "How about a shower?" If he was going to do that, at least I wanted to be clean for him.
"Sure," he said. We trotted back to the bathroom where I started the shower running. When I turned around, he was totally nude. His young body was virtually hairless except for the patch above his dick. He wasn't heavily muscled enough to pass as a bodybuilder, but he was very well defined, revealing not only where one muscle ended and the next began, but even some of the striations in the muscles, too.
He stepped into the stall first. I would bet Maggie and Seth made love in there many a time. It had been built more than large enough for two. When I stepped in, he pushed me against the wall under the showerhead, dropped to his knees and started in on my pussy again, while I held his head in my hands, running my fingers through his hair.
Just when I thought I might go mad with pleasure, he stopped, grabbing the nearby bar of soap, and pulled me out of the shower stream. He ran the soap all over my upper body, rubbing it in gently with his large hands, kissing me from time to time.
As he did this, I was holding his dick, kneading it in my fingers.
Then, he started again below my waist, but this time he started at my ankles and worked his way up deliberately, until he reached my pussy, which he massaged as he pulled me back into the stream from the showerhead again.
Next, he turned me around and washed me yet again, touching me with his cock as much as he could. This time, his efforts ended at my ass after washing my shoulders and back first, then the back of my legs, and finally my ass cheeks.
He spent a goodly while not just soaping and cleaning between the cheeks, but fingering my asshole. I was happy he was fingering it far enough in that I was pretty sure it was further than his tongue could go. This made me happy because even after he did what I knew he wanted to do, I wanted to kiss him without worry of a bad case of stomach cramps.
When I was well rinsed, he guided me into a position where I was leaning forward into the wall under the showerhead, the water hitting my lower back, and with my feet set in a fairly wide stance.
He started by licking my pussy again. By the time his tongue found my asshole, I was almost desperate to know what it felt like, for I'd never had analingus before, which I have since learned is also called "tossing someone's salad" for reasons I don't totally understand. Some things one simply has to accept.
Analingus is one of the weirdest feelings. It's not intense, but it's very intimate and warm. Well, I guess it is intense, but in a very special way. I like it. I don't often get it, so it's a special treat when I do, and that was my first time, so it's locked in that special place we all have in our memories that we reserve for first experiences.
While analingus feels good, it's never made me cum. Not like a good fuck in the pussy or ass, so after enjoying it for a while, I made him switch places with me so that I could suck his cock again.
I was enjoying having his cock in my mouth when he tapped me on the shoulder and pointed toward the bathroom door. Leslie was standing there. Transfixed.
"You're awake!" I said. "Get naked and come on in. Join the fun."
I looked up at Lars's face. He looked a little surprised, but not disappointed.
Breaking her gaze with a twitch, she said "Uh...I don't know."
I knew what the problem was: It was her feelings about her body. "Come on," I repeated. "Don't worry." I gave her the most reassuring look I could manage.
He spoke up: "We're just having a little fun. Come on in and get wet!"
This was what she needed. I'm not sure if she wanted to or whether it would have been too embarrassing to decline. Whichever it was, she took off her clothes and stepped into the stall.
We embraced her and took turns kissing her. While one kissed her, the other would soap her up and wash her. A little on the plump side, she really didn't look all that bad. Not as bad as she had thought.
Once while kissing her, I whispered in her ear, "Grab his dick. Go ahead." It's hard to describe the look of horror in her eyes. But I reassured her that it was okay. But a few minutes later I saw her little hand slowly reach toward his half-erect cock and just form a little cup in which she held it. Then, slowly, her thumb crossed over the top to actually grip it lightly.
"Tug on it. Jack him off," I whispered. Soon she was giving him a pretty creditable stroke job and his pecker looked like a missile about to take off.
"Let's dry off and go out to the couch," he said. It sounded good to Leslie and me, so out we went. As we dried ourselves off, I whispered to Lars to get started with Leslie and as soon as I'd stoked the woodstove, I'd join in.
I took my time with the stove and of course then I had to wash my hands. I did my best not to look at the goings on on the couch until I was actually ready to join in. I wanted him to get a good start with Leslie.
When I finally got there, I found that I had had little to worry about. Leslie was laying on her back with her butt right on the edge of the couch with Lars on his knees between her legs, pumping away. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open and her little hands gripped Lars's wrists where he was bracing himself on her legs.
I sat down next to them on one elbow and played with her cute puffy nipples, rolling them in my fingers, she opened her eyes, looked at me, and smiled. Closing her eyes again, she was soon in the throes of orgasmic ecstasy. And, frankly, I was nearly there myself just from watching.
Done with Leslie, and still not having cum himself, Lars pushed himself between my legs and, not to put too fine a point on it, proceeded to hump the shit out of me. Leslie, coming out of her post-orgasmic stupor, was watching is with a vague and appreciative smile.
Like her, I just went inside myself and went with the flow until I had one of those sneaker orgasms. I have them now and then. Very little of the build-up, or maybe just hanging on the brink, and then you feel like a bucket ice water is thrown on you and you have an explosive orgasm. Those are the real mind-blowers.
I tried to push him out of me, but he resisted and kept pumping and I had a long series of aftershocks. It was by far the best orgasm a guy had given me up till then, and in the better part of the year since the prior summer where I had lost my virginity, I had wasted no time getting fucked as well and as frequently as I could, and by as many boys as I could manage to get into my cunt.
I was grateful to this lanky blond cowboy and wanted to give him something special as a reward, so I said, "You can fuck my mouth." With that, he straddled me and I opened my mouth. In came his cock and I used every trick in the book that I had learned in my two years or so of giving blow jobs. I even let him gag me several times, and each time he looked concerned, but I told him not to worry, that I didn't mind.
You can often tell when a guy is about to cum by a subtle change in your mouth as the cock sends up a small burst of precum to lubricate the urethra. And sometimes they're nice enough to warn you in case you'd rather paint your face with the ejaculate than have it delivered into your mouth. But I wanted it in the mouth. Quite frankly I had started masturbating when he went to work on my face, but at some point Leslie had dropped to her knees between my legs, pushed my hand aside, and was licking my pussy in a very loving and, I must say, effective way.
Thus, when my mouth flooded with Lars's sperm, it set off another orgasm of epic proportions and I spasmed, just about throwing Leslie onto her ass. As Lars fell off me, I swallowed his load, and closed my eyes to just savor what had happened. As I regained my consciousness of my surroundings, I found Lars dozing and Leslie giggling. She had obviously had the time of her life.
As we collected ourselves, Lars said he needed to get an early start. We slept together in Maggie and Seth's big bed that night with Lars in the middle.
Somehow, he managed to get out of bed, load up his horse van, and take off without waking Leslie or me, and while my memories of the day he spent with us are fond, I haven't heard from him since.
I quietly got up to take a shower, for the horses needed my attention. I would let Leslie sleep as long as she could, I thought.
I was under the showerhead taking water into my mouth when I felt hands go around my chest. It was Leslie hugging me from behind. Leaning her head on my shoulder, she said in a soft voice, almost a whisper, "Thank you." "For what?" I asked.
She didn't reply. She didn't have to. As for me, it was just nice being held.

What more need I say?: Sapphic chicks!
I can't get enough of these natural-looking coed-age girls licking, sucking, finger fucking, toying fisting...wow! Their stuff is always as hot as it gets and then some. Whenever I get a new batch of their images and vids, I have to set aside some "quiet time" for playing with myself.