I grew up on a farm. Everyone should grow up on a farm! By the time my
Dad got around to mentioning the birds and the bees, I figured I could
tell HIM a thing or two about the goats and the cows (and the horses, and
the dogs...), but then, my Dad grew up on a farm, too.
Any budding youngster with a smidgeon of curiosity and his eyes open will
know quite a lot about sex even before he's ready to really enjoy it
himself. Unless he has an over-protective Mom who shoos him away from
"the action" out in the paddocks, he can't help but learn a thing or two.
And if there happen to be brothers, cousins or hired-hands around the
place, he's likely to have learned a lot MORE than "a thing or two".
And don't forget the wonderful influence of the one-room rural school,
where kids of all ages get thoroughly mixed: a guy with his ears open can
learn a lot on the playground, loitering around near the clots of older
fellows joshing each other and daring each other to "show it" then and
there...
My curiosity was first aroused when a couple of the dogs on our place got
"locked" together. Hearing it, I thought is was just another fight over a
bone. But when I got to the scene, there seemed to be a bonER involved!
That the dog had one was clear enough: that I GOT one would also have
been clear if there'd been anyone there to see it. It wasn't many days
later that I decided I should know more about "dog anatomy", so I took
the old, gentle fella that we inherited with the farm out behind the barn
and began a thorough exploration between his hind legs. He got a hard-on
immediately, and vigorously humped my knee: at that point in time, his
pecker was larger than mine, albeit a rather different shape. When I got
all of it out of its hairy den, and the base swelled up to roughly thrice
the diameter of the rest of it, the reason for the "lockup" I'd observed
earlier became quite obvious. By this time, I, too, was hard, and I
slipped my jeans down and Bouncer gave me a good licking. It was very
exciting, and with the dog shooting his juice all over my pants, I soon
shot my wad as well. While I soon returned to my normal insignificant
size, poor Bouncer had a hard-on dangling between his legs for half an
hour, and I thought I'd surely catch heck if anyone saw him that way and
thought I had anything to do with it. But there was no one else around,
so I got away with it.
One day at school, as I hung around a group of eighth-grade guys, the
conversation turned to how far each could shoot his load, and there was a
lot of bragging, of course. Carl, a tallish chap who (unlike some of the
others) tolerated me (a lowly 6th-grader) told everybody he could shoot
fifteen feet - and after the laughter died down, someone "dared him" to
show us. He said he'd demonstrate for anyone that showed up at his place
the next Saturday morning. So I rode my bicycle over there, consumed by
curiosity, and found quite a crowd. Carl had long since found his Dad's
collection of grimy porno pictures (accumulated during WW II,
apparently), and although dog-eared and faded they were highly
stimulating to everyone. When Carl was ready to demonstrate, after taking
a few bets, he casually climbed up on the water tower, whipped out his
meat -- and sure enough, he shot fifteen feet, down to the ground below.
Naturally, he was accused of not "playing fair", but it was fairly good
natured. And of course, everyone was feeling horny by this time, and
ready for just about anything!
At this point Carl sprang his surprise: did anyone want to watch him jack
off his horse? Well of course EVERYone did, so we all traipsed out to the
paddock where this rather decrepit horse languished, swishing flies off
his flanks with his tail. It was soon clear enough that Carl got this
horse off regularly, because he offered no objection when Carl brazenly
walked up, reached under his belly and began stroking him. Everyone watch
in amazement as this incredibly large dong emerged, dangling flaccid at
first, then stiffening into a log about a foot long, near a couple inches
in diameter, and quite blunt on the end. Without a mare to mount, the
horse seemed a bit awkward, but he did reach a climax of sorts,
exercising the muscles of his flanks and expelling a cup or so of stringy
fluid.
I was so fascinated by this I'd pretty much forgotten the other guys, and
was vigorously working my own dick through the pocket of my pants - the
pocket I'd purposely cut the bottom out of just so I could do this un-
detected. But I was hardly startled when I found most of the other guys
were already beating off - strictly solo. When one of the guys reached
out a grabbed another's dick, someone suggested I ought not to be there,
but Carl just reached over and unzipped my pants, revealing my flying
fist inside, and pretty soon everyone was groping everyone else. One by
one, each of us dropped a load, after which Carl declared the "show over"
- he said he had chores to do, and we all went home.
A few weeks later, I begged Carl to let ME do the horse, so again I
pedaled to his place Saturday morning (guess his folks did their
marketing then) and we repaired to the corral. Carl said I was the first
he'd ever allowed to do this, and maybe the horse would not like it, so
he began the process as before, then let me take over. What an amazing
sensation that was, my smallish hand barely able to get around all that
meat that throbbed mightily as it grew to full size. Carl was, though, an
inventive chap, if nothing else, and he'd brought along a metal
porcelainized cup from the kitchen, which he used to catch the horse's
load. For a moment I thought he was going to drink it, as we studied it,
standing beside the heaving horse. But instead, he used it as a lube on
his own pecker - and on mine - thus giving me the first hand job I'd ever
had. I was in ecstasy! Young and super-sensitive, it took about ten
strokes of Carl's hand and I was shooting my wad: he took a little
longer, but at the critical moment pulled me near and unloaded into my
shorts! (I wonder what Mom thought when THOSE shorts hit the laundry)!
Our farm wasn't all that big, and we had just one hired hand - even he
split his time between ourselves and the neighboring spread. Mostly he
did the things my brothers and I hated, like taking out the chicken-shit,
and helping with the milking. But even at my tender age, I had MY chores,
and one was milking the calf I'd raised, when she came fresh. She was my
pet, but became a good producer. Milking her never failed to give me a
hard-on! Toby, the hired hand, would often be feeding the chickens,
goats, or cows when I was milking "Camelia" ("Mealy", for short). So I
never paid much attention when he was around, but I always tried to hide
my hard-on 'cause I thought he might "tell on me" or something. One balmy
summer evening, nearing the end and stripping Mealy down, I stopped to
re-arrange my pecker before getting up from the milking stool. But I
almost dropped the pail of fresh milk when I glanced through the
stanchion to discover Toby standing with his jeans around his knees and
Mealy calmly munching on his cock! Toby was a man of few words, and he
made no move to stop what he was doing: he just said, "Here, let her suck
on YOUR hard-on", and stepped back with his dripping tool swinging. Guess
he knew I had a hard-on, and if I hadn't already, the sight of his wang
would certainly have done it! But I obeyed his command, and Mealy obliged
with gentle but VERY wet tonguing on my swollen member. It felt mighty
good, though truth to tell I had jacked-off that afternoon anyway, so it
didn't seem like this was going to make me come. I grabbed Mealy's ears
and tried to work things up, but I guess I just wasn't in the mood (no
pun intended). Toby watched, then suddenly sank to his knees, grabbed my
hips, and thrust my cock into HIS mouth, a location I found far more
stimulating. Within a short time I shot my second wad of the day into his
throat, and felt his own explosion of jizz land on my calf (no, not on
THE calf, MY calf, silly...) When we'd calmed down, Toby wordlessly
zipped up his jeans, gave me a big smile and a wink, and left the barn,
leaving me to get back to the chores, which I found difficult to
concentrate on.
So my first blow-job in life came from a cow, and my second from Toby: it
was the first of many - from both of them. When I was horny enough, Mealy
could bring me to orgasm (hell, the dog could, too!), but Toby was more
expert than either of them, seemed to enjoy it more, and I always got a
kick out of the way HE came: he was a real "shooter", spewing long
strings of cum that closely resembled the squirts of milk from the cows.
Milking, I discovered, made me hornier than ever. But it turned out to be
Billy (doesn't every farm have a goat named "Billy")? that REALLY knew
what a blow-job was (or so it seemed at this stage of my experience). It
struck me one afternoon that he was just the right height, and when he
took my pecker AND my balls, and butted my fuzzy pubes with his nose and
lips, he could bring me to orgasm in minutes. Toby caught us "at it" one
afternoon after school, and of course he had to try it: I thought he
would bring the neighbors running with his whoops and hollers as he
blasted that poor goat's throat with a fresh wad. The expression, "he's
horny as a goat" took on new meaning for me about this time.
The neighbors up the road had a son a trifle older than I named Jim. We
seemed to have some interests in common. We *talked* about sex a lot, and
I noticed he liked to grab my arms when we were "horsing around", but we
never DID anything, until one day when he told me he liked to use the
milking-machine his Dad had for their little dairy. The idea appealed to
me, so a couple of days later found us in their barn, where we shucked
our pants and each took a teat-cup in hand. I'd never seen Jim's dick
before, but it seemed HUGE next to mine. He switched on the pump, and his
cup swallowed his soft dick is seconds. My dick had to swell up a bit
before the suction took hold, but when it did, I thought it was going to
suck ALL of me into it, the vacuum was so strong. Jim showed me how to
kink the hose to regulate the pulsation and reduce the awesome suction,
though I noticed he used his without any constriction. If he'd been using
this gadget as long as he said he had, I guessed the size of his pecker
might have been enlarged by it. It must have been quite a sight, the two
of us standing there with our dicks buried in the cups which alternately
sucked - hard! - and relaxed. For me, the feeling was remarkably similar
to Billy, but I was not sure whether Jim had ever had that experience.
But I could tell Jim was really getting off with the machine, and before
long the familiar sounds of orgasmic ecstasy told me he had shot his wad:
he shut the machine off before I had climaxed, and I was grateful,
because it hadn't really "gotten to me" the way it seemed to "get to
him".
But that experience was the beginning of a long and close association
between us. I introduced Jim to all my simple pleasures (except Toby),
and Jim introduced me to a few of his. It seems he liked to *penetrate*
things, and there was a brief period when we experimented with all sorts
of things - melons, large potatoes, various fruits. Jim was a "tinkerer",
and was always trying to build a jack-off machine. I thought it amusing
that the nearest he came to success was built with an erector set!
Whatever mischief he and I got into, we almost always wound up jacking
off together. We used my dog, his dog, our goat, my calf, Carl's horse
and one of Jim's horses as well, not to mention the vegetables, to get
ourselves worked up, and then bring each other to orgasm by hand. I'll
never know why, with his penchant for penetration, Jim never suggested
penetrating me, but I would have resisted at this stage of my life. The
fact is, I had yet to discover the joys of rear entry.
THAT discovery came about through the intervention of a new hired hand,
Toby having decided to move on to bigger and better things. Burt was much
older than Toby, about 38 I suppose, which seemed very mature to little
me. And he made it clear he had "been around". True, he was very good
with the animals and chores, but he wasn't very bright and we didn't have
a lot in common - or so I thought, until I went into the empty barn one
afternoon bent on a quick pull of my pud. I was flailing away when an
unfamiliar sound caught my ear: it seemed I was not alone! Zipped up, I
quietly snuck down to the milking stalls, and there was one of our cows
stanchioned as if for milking, except it was too early for that. Burt was
standing on a milking-stool, buck-nekkid but for a sweaty hat far back on
his head, the cow's tail clamped in his teeth, and his dick plunging in
and out of the cow's behind! I suppressed an inclination to holler out
"Ride 'em, cowBOY!", and instead just watched the performance, stroking
myself the while through my carefully prepared pocket. Here was something
new! Burt humped that poor cow, shit flying in all directions, until the
unmistakable signs told me he'd got his rocks off. Standing in shadows, I
watched as he took the hose and FIRST washed the cow's behind, then hosed
himself down to remove the dung that clung to his dick, thighs and legs.
The cold water had a remarkable effect on his pecker, which, when he was
clean, had retreated into his hairy thicket and seemed even smaller than
my puny thing, but watching all this had really got my juices flowing, so
after he pulled his jeans on and left the barn, it was only moments
before I let a copious wad fly across a sack of chicken-feed.
Now, I can't say the idea of being that cluttered with cow-shit as Burt
had been appealed to me much. But then, the experiments with melons and
things with Jim had not appealed to me much either - or at least I had
not found them particularly exciting. But as I thought more about the
matter, the idea of plugging *something* warm and sloppy began to grow on
me. I thought maybe Billy might be a better target - goat-shit is dry and
hard - but Billy wouldn't cooperate, insisting on turning around no
matter how hard I tried to hold him, and trying to suck me off as he'd
done so often. Jim's horse would have required I stand on something quite
high, and to tell the truth, I'd seen that horse kick a time or two, and
I didn't much want to be on the receiving end of a hoof. In the end (so
to speak), I decided it could only be my calf, Mealy, now no longer a
calf, but still smaller than the other cows in our herd. So the next time
Burt took a day off, I let Mealy follow me (as she liked to do) into the
milking barn; I gave her some hay to munch on, and was about to put down
the milking stool when - sure enough! - up went her tail, and she dropped
a copious pie with the usual "splat" on the concrete. This I shoveled
aside, figuring that she'd be pretty clean now, and I put the stool in
place, stood upon it and dropped my pants. Hard now with anticipation, I
twisted Mealy's tail aside and began to probe her backside: but in my
enthusiasm, the stool skidded on the still-slippery spot where I'd put it
and I fell off, unable to control my fall because my pants were coiled
around my ankles. And of COURSE, I landed in the fresh pie I had moments
before shoveled aside. What a MESS I was - and how was I going to explain
this up at the house?
Somehow, the thrill of this escapade had quickly worn off! I hosed myself
off, sluiced the splattered pie down the drain, shooed Mealy out to
pasture, and snuck up to the house, put my clothes in the old Bendix, and
took a long hot shower. For a while, the notion of plugging something
alive passed out of my mind...
But not for long! A few weeks later my cousin Bob came out from the city
to spend a couple of weeks. We were about the same age, I guess, and on
the first night when we shared my bedroom, he snuck into my bed because,
he said, he had some neat things to show me. Turns out he'd learned to
jack off a few months earlier: apparently he didn't think I knew anything
about it! These goddam city-slickers: what do THEY know! I told him to
stop playing with himself, and that I'd show HIM some neat things the
next day. So he pouted a bit, but obeyed; and he stayed in my bed, which
I found rather pleasant.
Bob woke me early the next day. We both had raging piss-hards, and again
he wanted to jack off together. But I told him to "hold his horses"
(inwardly amused by the double meaning)... After a hearty breakfast, we
set out to explore the farm, a place where he had spent little time. I
wasn't sure what to try with him first, and teased him by just showing
him the sights, while he kept pestering me to show him "something sexy".
Finally I decided I would really "get his goat" - or (rather) that the
goat should get HIM - and I "introduced" him to Billy. But to my
surprise, Bob was repulsed by the idea of a *goat* sucking on his pee-
pee, when I demonstrated Billy's enthusiastic response to my opened
trousers. City-slicker syndrome, I decided. But I knew he was
adventurous, just maybe not quite ready for a ravenous butting goat.
Something tamer, I thought, so I called out Bouncer, the dog, and showed
Bob what to do. Not unexpectedly, Bob responded more positively to this
action, finding Bouncer's shapely prick and vigorous humping of his leg
more exciting, and Bouncer's rough tongue a welcome caress on his turgid
"pee-pee". This gratifying response told me it would only be a matter of
a few days' acclimatization before Bob would find Billy's attention just
as welcome.
All told, it was quite a day, and one I doubt Bob soon forgot. We got
together with Jim in the afternoon, and Bob finally drained his seed into
the milking-machine with Jim, as I watched the two of them getting a
"mechanical" blow-job. I still found the teat-cups too strong for my
taste, and I knew it was just a matter of time before I would drain a wad
from Bob's dick myself into my own throat; and that time was that night
as, once again, Bob hopped into my bed, horny again like all young men
are. And I let him jack me off, as he had begged the night before, so we
both slept that wonderfully deep sleep that comes after sexual satiation.
But sexual satiation never lasts long, and as I'd predicted to myself, it
was no more than a couple of days before Bob let Billy have a load of his
jizz. And Bob got quite a charge out of watching Carl and me jack off
Carl's horse, too, though it was obvious he was afraid to touch the horse
himself. After the horse got off, the three of us fist-fucked each other
several times in the course of a lazy afternoon, lying in the shade of an
ancient oak, with the sated horse watching it all.
A couple of nights later, as we were fooling around in my bed, a thought
suddenly sprang into my head: I'd still been longing for something warm
and sloppy to "penetrate", and Bob's rear-end was right there for the
taking! Why had I not thought of this before? I asked myself. I was
pretty well lubed up with pre-cum what with all our fooling around, so I
just firmly rolled him over on his tummy, massaged his buns for a few
minutes, then began a slow and careful assault with my slippery pecker. I
had expected some resistance from Bob, but was surprised when he neither
said nor did anything to stop me. My tool found his bung-hole quick
enough, and again I was surprised at how little resistance there was to
my entering it: I was soon enough up to the hilt, and Bob raised his
backside up to meet me. In a flash, I realized what Burt had been trying
to achieve humping the cow: a nice warm butt felt mighty good indeed. And
(I thought sheepishly) perhaps a city-slicker has something to teach ME!
It seemed clear that this was not the first time Bob had been plugged,
and after I had rammed myself home a few times, he said, "Gawd, that
feels GOOD!" I agreed, and fucked him as hard as I could until I could
restrain myself no longer. I don't know why I pulled out at the critical
moment, but when I shot my wad it landed on the back of his head and all
up and down his back. He groaned with pleasure at the feel of it, then
righted himself beneath me and when I gripped his tool it spurted forth
great gobs of cum immediately. The fountain of youth! I thought he would
never stop. When at last we both relaxed and cuddled in each others'
arms, he said, "That was one of the best fucks I ever had", and
immediately drifted off to sleep. I never told him it was the FIRST real
fuck I'd ever had, but determined then and there it would not be my last.
Maybe - just *maybe* (mind you) everybody should grow up in a city...
