Sometimes the most cliche things are the truest. They have to start somewhere, and repeat enough, to enough people, to stick, right? At least, this happened to me.
One summer, to help pay my way through school, I went to work for a man named Irv in the Clarno Basin. He was a widow with a teenage daughter. She was pretty cute, but I kept my distance. Irv was a nice man, but I didn't want to cross him. He always seemed to have a bottle of vodka. He was stoic, like most ranchers, but I think the death of his wife pushed him into himself. He drowned his grief. I don't blame him, but the result was his ranch was slipping (that's why I got hired on), and his daughter was growing up practically totally isolated.
I could tell she was starved for attention, especially form someone practically her age. I wasn't really sure if she even went to school during the school year. My guess was that she'd stopped with the death of her mom and maybe never went back. It's not uncommon in these parts for kids to drop out of high school to help on the ranch. Some go back and finish up. Some get their GED. Some get pregnant and start up families. A generation ago, 8th grade was the highest level of school.
Anyhow, Samantha, who went by Sammy, had taken on all the household chores of keeping her dad--all the cooking, dishes, cleaning, laundry. I felt sort of sorry for her. When I'd wrangle the horses at dawn, I'd see her inside the kitchen window fixing up breakfast. When I rode back to the ranch in the evening, she'd be hanging out a load of wash on the line.
She'd look at me and smile. I'd smile back. It was pretty clear she wanted me to come over and talk. I had work to do, and you never knew when Irv would roll back from town. He'd go to town nearly every day to get a "part" for the tractor or baler. The part could usually be found in the bar.
A month passed, then another, and Sammy and I had remained practical strangers. Then one day my horse threw a shoe. I turned back and rode to the barn, where I had shoes, nails and the anvil. As I rode back, I saw Sammy fetching eggs in the coop. She might have seen me in the distance coming up. For whatever reason, she disappeared into the barn.
When I rode up, dismounted, and stepped into the barn, I had to blink a few times to let my eyes adjust. Coming from outside on an August day to the inside of a barn is blinding.
When my eyes could see, I noticed Sammy standing not more than 15 feet from me, wearing nothing but her smile. I stood, shocked, taking notice of every auburn fleck and mole of her pale skin, all the way down her belly and between her legs, where goosebumps raised across the smooth landscape of between her thighs. She'd shaved herself bare. I didn't know if she was far more sexually experienced than I'd assumed, or if she'd done it in anticipation of her surprise.
I took a step nearer in an error of judgement. My curiosity was little excuse for trespassing into a situation I'd promised myself I wouldn't dare. I was breaking a societal rule, I knew. It wasn't right for me to take advantage of my employer's daughter. But my moral quandry was soon broken when she stepped forward and kissed me on the lips.
She locked me in a hug, and laid kisses on me and tore at my clothes. Now, being a hired hand, I'd say I was in top physical shape. But one thing is true: farm girls are strong as anything. She soon had me in the hay, on my back, straddling me, her soft, small breasts hanging down and grazing my sweaty chest. And it took my brain a while to sort this out.
By the time I could really get a handle on what was happening, she was already on top of me, and my pants were at my ankles, bound by my boots and spurs. Her soft, shaved skin was rubbing up and down the length of my rock-hard erection. She was slippery wet and with a shift in her pelvis, my tip was positioned at her enerence. I looked into her eyes--they were blazing and said yes, take her, now.
With a thrust, I was inside her, gripped tightly. She rode me fast and hard. I managed to finally buck her off before I came and rolled on top of her. I could control my pace. She spread her legs wider as I pumped into her. The barn smelled of hay, dust, and mouse droppings. But it was very erotic. She clawed my back as I pumped. I knew I was going to cum and I pulled out just in time to shoot a thick wad over her stomach and breasts.
She giggled, and looked at me with dreamy eyes. Just then we heard the sound of gravel under truck tires and knew her dad was returning from town. We leaped up, brushing off hay from sticky skin. I yanked up my pants and snapped my shirt as she whipped on her cotton dress, just as her dad pulled up, and stumbled to the barn.
As he stepped in, he blinked, letting his eyes adjust. "I threw a shoe," I managed to blurt out.
He looked at me, then at his daughter, then at me.
I could tell he was drunk--you could smell it wafting from him. But could he see our faces, flush from making love? Could he see the hay still in her hair, or that I'd missed a snap in my hurry? Could he smell our sex as surly as I could smell his booze? I hoped it was too dark for him to see the droplets of my cum in the cleft of her cleavage. I tried not to think of my cum, dribbling down her stomach, slipping down her shaven mons pubis, and with no hair to catch, dripping form her pussy lips, rosy and swollen from our fucking. She was standing there, literally dripping my semen in the hay. I knew her dad had a 30-30 on the gunrack of his truck. Loaded.
"Threw a shoe," he repeated. Then he grunted and swayed out of the barn and up to the house.
Sammy and I both exhaled a sigh of relief. Even drunk, he had to have gotten the picture. But for whatever reason, he'd given his unspoken blessing.
After that, for the rest of the summer, Irv would head of into town to fetch a "part" for the tractor, and I'd head to the barn because my horse threw a "shoe."
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