I was fourteen when I arrived on the farm. I was a ward of the state, a child borne of a woman who wanted money to work her way through college but was not in the least interested in being a single mother. I had been shunted around to one foster family after another, by no fault of my own. I will admit I was a strong willed boy, And though at first I was hopeful that some nice family would come along and take me as their own that dream was crushed within the first five years of my life by a procession of well meaning people who should never have been put in charge of children. The Marstons were alright people, but were concerned mostly with raising new infants until they were old enough for schooling and soon passed me into the care of the Sisters of the Blessed Rose at a school that was run on charity and populated by other castoffs like myself. I was often reprimanded for fighting with groups of bullies who saw me as an easy target. I disabused them of this view on several occasions, The Sister in charge of the school was sympathetic, and decided that it would be best if I was passed along to a family that would let me attend public school. It was kind of her to think of it, but very naive. The Worthings had three other children of their own, all of whom were sociopaths. Their beatings were written off as “horseplay” and any attempt to fight back was seen as acting out. Public school in an inner city was also disastrous. I won’t go into the details, but I now know that a permanent record is a fast ticket to even worse foster families. But then, something incredible happened.
During my middle school years I was assigned a new case worker named Melody. She was, I recall thinking, a very strange person. She was an older lady with a neat curl of graying hair, mocha skin, and the deepest brown eyes I had ever seen. During my first meeting with her, she just looked at me for about a minute shuffled through my file, and gave a grunt. “Hmph. Troublemaker my black ass! Son, what you need is a decent set of folks to take care of you and an assload of fresh air and sunshine.” This was not typical for a meeting with a social worker, at least in my experience. But before the week was up I was on a bus headed towards a farm that the papers I was given called Applestream Orchards. The trip took days, and every time I would transfer to a new bus the highways gave way to back roads, which gave way to black top tarmac strips, which, at a dusty old gas station that still had a Vote for Carter sign hanging in the window, branched off to a pair of dirt car tracks lined by ancient elm trees. I stepped down from the final bus feeling sticky and grimy the way only three days worth of Greyhound buses can make you feel. As I pulled my lone suitcase from the storage area a sudden shadow loomed over me. Looking up I saw a man in his early forties clothed in a flannel shirt, dirt caked work boots, and a pair of faded overalls. He towered over my by at least a head and looked down at me with piercing dark blue eyes. “You’ll be John then.” ,he rumbled in a deep baritone. “Yes sir.” ,I managed despite being intimidated as hell, “John Smith sir.” He raised an eyebrow in question. “That’s what they put on my birth certificate when they registered me. My parents didn’t bother naming me I guess.” “Well John Smith, I’m Lester Murphy” he said slapping me on the shoulder and scooping up my suitcase, “Lets get back to the farm before my missus starts to wonder where we’ve got to.” We climbed into his old, beat up farm truck and drove off down the dirt road that stretched off into the distance. As the miles passed, I couldn’t help a growing feeling of remoteness as we went by green meadows and, after a while, rows and rows of apple trees stretching as far as I could see. Finally, we passed out of the orchards and crossed an old wooden bridge that stretched over a lazy stream with willows growing on the banks. Surrounding a hard packed farmyard was a large red barn, several animal pens, and an immense old farmhouse where a plump lady in a floury apron was walking down the steps to meet the truck. After we had parked I climbed out as she walked up and held out my hand to make an introduction. “Hello Ma’am, I’m-” Was all I managed before she threw her arms around me and hugged me tight, an experience that was altogether new to me. As I stared at her in startled amazement she looked up at me with kind blue eyes several shades brighter than her husbands and said, “I know hon, you’re Johnny. I’m Janice. Welcome home.” The thing I remember most as I look back on that moment was the kind smiles that they both beamed at me, not ingratiating, or condescending ones, just genuine. I’m amazed I can remember it so well, because I was quite hard to see them through the blur.
Three months later it was the beginning of summer. I had adapted to my new life with a vigor I hadn’t known was in me. Lester showed me how to take care of the animals and maintain the machinery that the migrant workers would use to pick the fruit during harvest. There was no school to speak of around, but Janice had a bunch of old readers and books that she left laying around for me, and since there was no TV and the nearest town was twenty miles away I would read through them and picked up more than I think I would have if I had a teacher. And time flew by in a quite pleasant way. Then, one day at dinner, Lester said we would be getting company in the next few days. “My cousin in Austin says that he wants to send his daughter out to the farm for the summer. Thinks it’ll do her some good.” “That’s wonderful,” piped in Janice, “John could use some company around his age, must be pretty boring with just us fogies for company.” she said with a wink at me. “I s’pose so,” grunted Lester, “But she better be ready to work, I ain’t running a goddamn summer camp.” Lester was a prime source of rural color, but I knew he meant well. I was a little nervous the next few days, and more so when Lester went off in his truck to pick up our guest from the station. I wasn’t sure weather I would get along with her, having had mostly bad experiences with kids my age. And then the truck came bumping back down the road. As it pulled up I caught a glimpse of reddish hair through the back window, but I was in the middle of feeding the milk cow, not a euphemism, and wasn’t in a hurry to meet someone who was so potentially dangerous to my new found peace of mind. After I finished I walked up the steps of the house feeling rather trepidations about dinner. I took a deep breath, listening to the sound of voices from inside, and pushed the screen door open. I stopped cold in my tracks. Standing in the kitchen was a girl who looked about my age, but what a girl. A pale, heart shaped face, nestled under a shower of medium length golden red curls, a pair of sparkling green eyes looked at me from beneath long, dark, lashes and were underlined by a line of faded freckles. Her lips were pink and full, and a row of perfect, white teeth peeked out as she bit her lower lip. Her slender neck led down to a tight, firm looking body, with smaller breasts but with a promising hint of cleavage peeking out of the top of her white tank top and a flat stomach barely showing at the bottom. Her short jean shorts were tight over her hips and long, pale legs led down to her sandled feet that were painted the same pale pink as her short nails. She flashed a grin at me and held out her hand, “Howdy, I’m Jenna Mae, but y’all can call me Jenna.” I shook her hand and managed to get out my name. Her hands were soft, but there were the faint hint of calluses here and there. We sat down to eat, and she talked all through the meal. I just sat there listening to her soft drawl, and really regretted when the meal was over and Lester told me to get to bed. As I settled in to my now familiar room I couldn’t help but lay awake thinking about Jenna. I found myself getting hard as my mind wandered down to her tight little body until I couldn’t take it. I layed there until the sounds of Lester and Janice snoring made me feel like it was safe to do a stealth jerk and pulled out my hard on. I bust my nut as quietly as I could but even just fantasizing about her I couldn’t help a grunt as I came. After I cleaned up I felt a little less obsessed but not much as my raging hormones were going crazy with Jenna’s mental image. The next morning after breakfast Lester pulled me aside, “I’m gonna be working on the lifts down in the west orchard most of today. You show Jenna how to take care of the critters and then show her around the farm a bit. Be nice to her Johnny, her Papa says she’s been going through some tough times back home. Make sure you’re back in time for dinner.” I said that I would make sure, and then took Jenna out to the pens to show her the ropes, again, not a euphemism. When Jenna came down she had added a blue flannel shirt tied off under her bust, long , tight jeans, and a pair of cowboy boots to replace her previous night’s wear. She said she had done some rodeo back in Texas, but only had experience taking care of horses and asked if she could watch me and pick up how it was done. I was having trouble just thinking straight next to her, so I just nodded and went about the chores. It was already pretty hot, and felt like the day might get hotter, so as I toted the buckets and bales of feed I started to sweat. Feeling stuffy, I took off my shirt and went to tie it around my waist. Jenna interrupted me, “I can hold on to that for you if’n you want hon.” She said from the other side of the fence. I shrugged and tossed it to her with a mumbled thanks. After the feeding I started to pitch some fresh straw down in the chicken yard when I heard something. I wasn’t positive, but it sounded a lot like Jenna had said “Ooh Lordy.” under her breath. I glanced over in her direction where she was leaning on the fence and saw her looking at my stomach. Not sure what she was looking at I looked down and paused. The long days of hard work had had an effect on me that I had hitherto been unaware of, or at least taken for granted. My sweat covered muscles were thick and corded and a definite six pack was standing out every time I pitched a fork of straw. Blushing, I finished spreading the flooring around and went to reclaim my shirt. When I drew near Jenna, however, I found that it had landed in the mud near the pig ben and was soaked through. “Oh, shoot, I’m sorry John!” said Jenna, covering her mouth with a hand, “Here, you can use my flannel.” She reached up and shucked off the shirt, leaving only her tank top clinging to her body with sweat. I blushed and moved a little to the side to hide a sudden tightness against my jeans and said that it wasn’t necessary. She giggled and said that it was gonna be hot anyways so she might as well dress cooler and left the shirt on top of a nearby hay bale. “So,” she said,” I know you’re supposed to show me around the farm but right now what I really want is a swim. Y’all know where a decent swimmin’ hole is round here?” “Sure,” I said, “There’s one just down the stream a ways where it gets deep enough to jump in.” “Well,c’mon then!” she giggled and went running down towards the stream. I ran after her and after a brief run we found the hollowed out spot near a big boulder on the stream side. I was about to ask if we should go back to the house and get swimming suits when she kicked off her boots, emptied her pockets into them, and jumped into the stream feet first with a whoop. Laughing she broke the surface and shouted for me to come in, her wet hair slicked back against her head and gleaming in the noon sunlight. I followed suit with her and jumped in, yelling at how cold it felt compared to the hot breeze. We splashed around for about an hour and then pulled ourselves out on the bank to dry off. I froze as I went to lay down. Jenna had lain back on the grass and was sprawling with her legs apart. The water had soaked through her tank top and the curves of her tits were really visible as were the buds of her nipples, stiff from the cold water. Her jeans clung tightly to her legs and in between there was just a hint of the shape of her pussy. I stood there as if I had been hit over the head, my cock throbbing in my jeans and my heart in my chest like they were both going to burst out. She looked up and me from where she was laying and then her eyes lowered slowly to my jeans. “Johnnie,” She said, “Do I look straight to you?” “What?!” I asked, my eyes jumping to her face. She sat up and looked at me with a curious expression on her face, “Do I look like I’m straight? My daddy caught me and one of my friends making out in my room a couple weeks ago and he and momma are super religious. So he sent me here for the summer hoping that “Hard work and clean living.” would fix me, whatever that means. So I’m wondering if I look straight to you.” “I-, I guess so.” I stuttered, “I mean, I’m not really very experienced in that kind of thing.” She leaned back and seemed to stare off into space for a moment and then sat forward. “Can I try something Johnnie?” “Uh, sure, I mean- what do you want to try?” “Just lean back.” She said, pushing me down until I was lying against one of the willows on the bank. Her hands reached down and undid my belt and then unzipped my jeans. My dick lept forward, held back only by my underwear. Her hands moved down my bare sides and pulled the boxers down. My nine inches spring out like it was spring loaded, standing hard in the soft summer breeze. She blushed slightly and let out a little “Mmm” while she rubbed her hands across her chest and then reached down and pulled her wet tank top over her head. Her tits were small, but perfectly shaped, her cute, pink nipples perking up and a light dusting of freckles on her shoulders. Her belly was as taught and firm as had been promised by what peeked out last night. “That looks like it hurts,” she said, as she looked down on my penis, “I’ve heard that if you stroke it, it’ll quiet down a bit. You mind if I give it a whirl? Y’know, just to see if it does anything for me?” I couldn’t believe what she was saying, but some primal part of my mind took over and nodded my head as fiercely as it could. Blushing, she reached out and took the base with one hand, her fingers felt unbelievably soft. She started to slide the hand up my shaft making me groan with anticipation. Whenever I jerked off I always went pretty fast and ended up coming really quick, but Jenna just slid her hand up and down slowly and gently. Hesitantly she reached her other hand out and guided my hand to her breast. It was firm and yet pliant. I squeezed carefully, and heard her let out a sigh. I brought my other hand up and continued to explore while she moved her other hand onto my rod and started moving her hands up and down faster. I groaned, and let my hands slide across her tits, brushing my fingers against her nipples. She let out a gasp, “Mmm-ooOOH! Whatever you just did hon, keep doing it!” I moved my fingers over her nipples again and got another groan, I started running my fingers over and around them and she started moaning. She had begun increasing the speed of her hands as I played with her nipples and began gripping a little tighter, I don’t know if she hit a pressure point of what but all of a sudden my dick leapt in her hands and sprayed cum all over her lower breasts and stomach. I moaned and laid back against the tree as the last dribbles washed out over her hands. “Oh, man.” I breathed out. Looking up I saw her naked upper body covered in my sperm and something stirred in my balls, like there was a rushing of warm fluid to refill them. She held one of her sticky hands up to her face and sniffed the cum, then before my unbelieving eyes she put out her tongue and licked it. She seemed to taste it for a moment and then said, “It’s salty, but it doesn’t taste bad.” She smiled down at me, “Heck, I could even get used to it.” This elicited a strong moving in my loins and I knew without looking that I was as hard as ever. This did not escape her notice. “Hey Johnnie? You mind if I try something else?” “Please do.” I said breathlessly. She stood up and reached down to undo her jeans, the zipper making a dull buzz that seemed to echo the grasshoppers in the nearby grass. Her wet jeans came off slowly, clinging to her skin. Her panties were a clean white and wet enough that they were practically see through. She lowered them slowly and there was her pussy. A light fuzz of red gold pubic hair sat over the pink lips of her vagina. She crouched over my stiff dick and pulled the lips apart with her fingers. She looked up at me with her gorgeous emerald eyes and smiled.. “Well, here goes.” She seemed to lower her hips slowly, I could feel the heat of her vagina on the head of my cock, and then it was on top of it, sliding in easily to her wet pussy. She slid slowly down the length of my rod, holding her breath all of the way. She felt impossibly tight, the girth of my meat hitting all of the walls of her hot, quivering, snatch. She let out another one of her little humming moans as she reached the base, then breathed in again as she heaved her hips upwards. She began to bounce up and down on my pole, the wet slick noises making a beautiful song with her cooing. Suddenly she leaned forward and grasped my head in her arms holding on for leverage as her hips seemed to take on a life of their own and began pounding down over and over, shaking my balls with each impact. Finding my head between her tits I remembered how she had reacted when I touched her nipples. Not having a hand free I decided to snake my tongue out and ran it over one of the perky nubs. She gasped in delight, and flung her head back. Then, suddenly as she shifted under the probings of my tongue I felt the head of my penis hit a patch of her pussy that felt different from the rest. Her eyes shot wide open and a ragged “UUUUUUUGGGHH!” burst from her mouth. She went wild, slamming my meat into the patch as hard and fast as she could. I moved a newly freed hand up to her other nipple and began pinching and rolling it while sucking on the other. If I thought that she had gone wild before, she redoubled her movements. All of a sudden her pussy convulsed around my cock and she began shuddering and quivering, her breath coming in short gasps. I was a little scared, but since I had cum so recently I wasn’t orgasming, despite how good it felt inside her, and desperately wanted to climax. Still inside, I picked her up and braced her against the tree. Something within me took charge and I began pounding her again, seeking that spot that seemed to make her feel so good. Her shudders were subsiding and as I pounded into her again and again I heard her panting “N- *gasp* N-, No more, I can’t-” And then I found the spot again, probing it with the end of my manhood as fast as I could. I ran my fingers over her back, and without knowing what I was doing slapped her ass as she flung her head back again and panted. With reserves of strength I didn’t know I had I kept pounding for what seemed like an hour. Twice more her pussy convulsed around my pistoning cock, but I just wouldn’t cum. I began to worry, after the second time she came as her eyes began to roll back and her mouth lolled open in constant moans, coos, and cries. Finally, I felt an intense stirring in my balls and I began to pull out. All of a sudden, Jenna seemed to rouse from her extacies and clenched her legs behind my back, pulling me deeper into her with all the strength of a rodeo queen. As I felt myself gushing into her, she began to shudder and convulse for a fourth time and after a moment that seemed to stretch for infinity, we collapsed onto the grass on the bank. We lay there panting, for ten minutes. Then, when I heard her beginning to climb shakily to her feed I rolled over and got up. For the first time I could remember in a while, it felt like all of the hormones I had been drowning in had subsided to a manageable level. I looked over to Jenna and found her leaning against the tree. “That,” she said with a huge grin, “was goddamn, incredible.” I nodded, “I know, I can’t believe how amazing you felt.” She walked over to me on shivering legs and put her arms around my neck. We stood under the weeping willow, the soft, warm breeze of summer blowing the fragrance of apple blossoms and the stream flowing lazily by, and we kissed. I have learned since then how to kiss properly, and anyone would probably laugh at the awkward fumblings of my fourteen year old self. But I’ll always remember that as one of the best kisses I ever had, only to be eclipsed by what came afterwords.