She’s back in her hometown caring for her mother and so far she hasn’t had time for herself. He changes all that with a bit of sex under the clothesline.
Mom’s not doing to well. She’s declining in health and she can’t be left alone but for short periods of time. I should be away at school but I’m taking a semester off to be there for her, to get her medical care and living situation ironed out so that I can return to finish my degree. It’s not too bad returning to my hometown. I’ve still got some friends here, those who haven’t moved off. Some have started families or careers. Some are still living life like they’re in high school, so far refusing to grow up.
Not that we’re old. I’m not even halfway through my twenties. Life should be about living, about fun, and finding yourself. But not for me.
I’m home. I live every day with the knowledge in the back of my head that I’m going to lose my Mom sooner rather than later. It breaks my heart.
The only thing, the only person, that makes it bearable is Wallace. I call him Wally. A year behind me when we attended school together, he works maintenance for the city and checks on my Mom every day. Even with me here he still does it.
I bend over, grabbing another handful of wet clothes. Mom is sleeping, something she does every afternoon. The sun is high and it’s a beautiful day. I’m using this time to get some chores done. I’ve got a stew on the stove simmering for dinner. There is just enough time before I need to come back in and start on some legal paperwork for me to get these wet clothes hung up. I shake out one shirt as I pull it from the washer then do the same to another, dropping each of them into the basket at my feet. A pair of shorts. Another shirt. Then another. Once I’ve got the washer empty I heft the basket onto my hip and head outside, slipping on my flip flops just before I get to the door.
The basket is heavy. I tend to pack the loads a bit fuller than recommended. Dropping it at one end of the clothesline I grab a couple clothespins and clip them to my shirt, making them readily available. It’s hot and even after just one shirt I’ve got a sheen of perspiration beading both on my forehead and on the back of my neck. I’m not a fan of the weather. I hate the heat. Once I get my degree I’ll be heading north. That’s a given.
“Hey you,” says someone on the other side of the shirt I’ve just hung up. Startled I smack the shirt. It’s not exactly a punch but close enough.
“Shit! You don’t have to hit me. I was under the impression you liked me.” Wally peeks around the shirt and I shake my head, chuckling.
“You deserve it. Don’t sneak up on me. Next time I might actually make you bleed.”
“I believe it,” he says, coming around. We’ve talked many times while I’m doing this chore so we’ve got a routine. He hands me the clothes and I pin them up. The chore moves far quicker with two of us and soon we’re chatting, sitting on the ground below the clothes hanging in the hot stagnant air. There’s not even a hint of a breeze.
I slip off my shoes and lie down, wiggling my toes in the grass, knees bent. He sits beside me and while we talk his fingers trace patterns on my stomach. My shirt is riding up just enough to reveal flesh and it’s that flesh he’s playing with. I like the feel of it and soon I’ve closed my eyes, focusing on the simple movement of his hand and nothing else.
There’s silence between us for awhile and I’m near to falling asleep when he speaks. Startled, my eyes shoot open.
“How’s your Mom today?” He asks.
I shake my head, staring up at the sky. I’m resting my head on my arms, content to stay right where I am for the moment. “She’s hurting.”
His fingers lift away and I hear him shifting position.
He lies down next to me, stretching his body out along mine. Turning my head I look at him with a quizzical expression. He’s resting his head on his fist, elbow bent. His free hand moves back to my stomach where he lays it flat, palm down, over my belly button.
“You’re hurting, too,” he says. “I can see it in your eyes, in the way you move. You’re worrying, stressed, and focused just on her.” He pauses and I go to speak but he quickly goes on, “No explanations or excuses. I understand why but you need something for you. You need to be taken care of, too.”
His eyes sparkle dark blue and this close I can see they’ve got a couple golden flecks. I’ve never noticed that before. There’s a day’s worth of stubble on his chin and he smells like the farm he lives and works on. Animals. Hay. Dirt. Vegetables. He’s a hard worker, a busy man, and he takes time every day to come check on my Mom.
Tears well in the corners of my eyes.
“Don’t cry, Laney. Please. I didn’t say it to make you cry.” His hand moves up, wiping at the tear that escapes. I move my head, attempting to turn away from him but his hand grabs my chin and turns me back to him. “Don’t turn away. I’m the one person you don’t have to hide anything from. Ever.”
My heart starts to pound and my breathing quickens. I know what he’s going to do just before he does it.
He kisses me. It’s soft, sweet, and gentle. It’s kind.
It also strikes a nerve.
Life has thrown me to the wolves and he’s right. I haven’t spent any time on me in months. I need him. I want him. This man who’s been beside me and my only living relative has shown me true compassion. I’m not sure if it’s love. I wouldn’t go that far. Not yet. Though neither of us are in relationships we are going separate directions.
What I do know is that I’m feeling pure, undiluted lust.
I kiss him back, pulling my arms from behind my head and wrapping them around his neck. He leans into me and I can hear him groan. “I’ve wanted you forever,” he mumbles against my lips between kisses.
“Mmhmm,” is all I can muster as my tongue fights with his for control. They’re wrestling even as we’re lying there, our bodies pressing together as if we’re rolling out dough. I bite his bottom lip and tug. He chuckles, reaching out to pull my hair free from its clip. Once loose he runs his fingers through it, tugging at the tangles. I’m impatient so I pull one arm from around his neck to slide my hand underneath his shirt. He’s got abs. A six pack from constant hard work. I run my nails along the firm skin and he inhales sharply. I like that response so I do it again.
The fingers in my hair grab a handful and twist, pulling my head back and exposing my neck. He lowers his head to nibble the skin he finds there. Wherever he nibbles his tongue swirls after. It’s sensual, making me wet between the legs. There’s a quiver down there, my pussy wanting some attention. He continues to tease and play at my neck until he’s turned my head and made his way up to my ear. His lips pull my earlobe into his mouth and he begins to suckle.
I struggle, overwhelmed by the sensations I’m feeling. Juices squirt out of me, dampening my shorts, and filling the air with my scent. The hand on his chest slides lower. Two can play this game. There’s a large bulge in the crotch of his jeans. I scrape my nails over the harsh material and he groans again, letting go of my ear.
“Take your clothes off,” he tells me just before he lets me go. Panting, I rise up on my knees and pull my shirt over my head. I glance over to the house. Mom’s still sleeping. We have no close neighbors and no one is expected to drop by. We should be okay here. I don’t want to move into the house. I don’t want to find a different spot to do this. I need him to touch me, to make me feel good.
I reach back and unhook my bra, throwing it aside. Wally pauses, his shirt off. He’s mid-way through removing his pants, staring at me. I smile at him and arch my back, thrusting my breasts at him. They’re small but big enough for a handful and tipped with large, thick, hardened nipples. Sweat already begins to dribble between them. I like the feel of it, the freedom of my nude body exposed to the hot air. Even though we live outside of town I’ve never gone naked for the whole world to see. I tend to play it safe.
Safe right now doesn’t sound good. It sounds stifling. It sounds wrong. I pull my shorts and undies down then sit back down on my rump so I can pull them the rest of the way off. Wally, shaken from his distraction, finally resumes undressing. I’m done first so I get to watch as he gets his pants halfway down before realizing he’s got his work boots on. I chuckle as he drops to the ground, ass cheeks on the grass, and reaches for them.
“Let me,” I tell him. Crawling on all fours, giving him a show, I cross over to him and kneel. I grab a foot and work at unlacing the boot then pulling it off. I do one and then proceed to do the other. He watches, head tilted, as if his mind has gone somewhere else for a minute or two. I don’t know what he’s thinking but I can tell it’s something to be spoken of at a later time. If I remember.
“There,” I say and reach out, grabbing the bottoms of his pant legs. I tug, leaning back, and off they slide. Luckily his boxers decide to go with.
He’s sitting there and I can’t help but stare. His cock is big, its tip already moist with pre-come. There’s a tuft of hair that trails from just below his belly button down. It splits at his cock then travels down around his sack. It’s dark and slightly curly. I grin as I think about my fingers twirling through it.
Wally’s eyes glance down and then back over to me. “You like what you see?” He asks.
I nod. “I do.” On a whim I move forward, once again crawling his way. My breasts swing as I do and I can feel a fire building in my folds as I move. He watches me, his hand moving down to jerk a couple times on his cock. I bite at my lower lip, whimpering as I get closer. I crawl between his legs and when I’m close enough I lower my head and lick at his pre-come. It’s salty. He’s sweaty and earthy. He gives himself a couple more jerks and I suckle at his tip.
“Keep it up and I’ll come before I’m inside you,” he says.
I pause and look up at him. I’m not sure which I want more. I like the control of what I’m doing to him but at the same time I want the feel of him inside me. I want him to take me, to help me lose myself in the bliss of climax. My decision is easily made. I lift my head away from him and lie down, my movements quick and with purpose. I spread my legs wide for him, putting one arm under my head and the other between my legs. I run my fingers through my slick folds.
“Come here.” I say, almost overcome with emotion. “I need you.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice,” he replies.
There’s no waiting, no easing into it. He thrusts in and then nearly pulls out. My hand stays down there, playing with my clit. He lets me, his eyes riveted on my face. One arm supports him as he takes me and the other holds one of my legs up. I lift my head so our mouths can meet, so we can share a kiss. The arm I no longer have captured behind my head grasps at grass and dirt. We’re grunting and moaning as he shoves into me over and over. I speed up the circles I’m making around my clit and soon I’m flopping down, my head probably bouncing harder than it should off the ground.
It feels good, so good, to be here right now. I’ve needed this. I know that now. And with him, with this sexy farmhand, I couldn’t imagine it being any better.
“Yes! Yes… I’m going to….. Yeeeaaaahhhh,” I holler as my orgasm hits. The fire spreads from my clit and out through my limbs. I freeze as juices pour out of me, my pussy clenched around his shaft. I release my clit and suddenly I’m arching, no longer frozen. He’s holding onto me through his own orgasm. Out of nowhere a second one hits me and I really am crying. My body shakes, my arms and legs wrapped tightly around him as I ride it out.
“Two, huh?” He says through panting breath. “Guess someone really needed some satisfaction.”
I nod, unable to speak yet.
I smile up at him as I drop to the ground, spent. My body twitches and I let out a soft sigh of contentment as he pulls his flaccid self free and lies down beside me. He wraps me up in his arms and holds me close. I rest my head on his shoulder, close my eyes, and cry softly.
“That’s the good kind of cry. Go ahead. Let it all out. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.” He holds me and I feel better than I have in weeks, maybe months. I feel like life is more bearable and maybe it is.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“You never have to thank me,” he says. “Never.”