The 2nd chapter of the Farmers Daughter :) Chapter 2 My fi..
🕑 Added 2023-04-28 13:53:01 +0000 UTC
The 2nd chapter of the Farmers Daughter :) Chapter 2 My first night home was great. My mom cooked dinner for me and my Dad and we made chocolate chip cookies together, like the old days. It was all super chill and I slept like a log in my old bed. My mom hasn't changed my room at all, although I’ve clearly outgrown it. Still, there’s something comforting about that. Before I fell asleep though, I couldn’t stop thinking about that weird exchange I had with Frank when I first got here. He seemed…off. It kinds of gives me the creeps. The Frank I remember was always friendly to me and was more like an old family friend by now rather than just a hired farm hand. He’s always been kind of a keep-to-himself guy, but if you spoke to him, he’d chat with you for as long as the conversation naturally lasted. However, yesterday, he seemed different. The way he stood there staring at me. It wasn’t ominous, necessarily, but he’s just never done that before. And how quickly he turned and left once I noticed him was unusual. No wave, no holler of hello. He actually froze like maybe he’d seen a ghost. That’s the best comparison I can come up with. But instead of fear, there was a little darkness there within his eyes. I mean, I know I only looked at him for a few seconds, and when I waved and he snapped out of it, that darkness left and was then quickly replaced with fear before he disappeared. I might be totally off, but he almost looked lustful, which is the last thing I would expect out of a 59 year old man, but I do remember what I was wearing when I got out of the car and lately I have been extra tuned-in to my….womanliness. Could that really be it? Do I have that kind of power over an old man that saw me for just a few seconds from afar? Or am I just being totally full of myself? This could be a fun sneaky game to play this summer, to find out. I’ve decided I’m going to mow the lawn today, as it desperately needs it, so I decide to dress in a “cute” casual outfit. In the past, I would’ve thrown on some athletic shorts and an old track t-shirt, but this updated version of me doesn’t wear t-shirts unless they're cropped or with no pants. I did bring home some short frayed-edge, denim shorts that I don’t mind getting grass stained, and they barely cover my ass cheeks. Perfect. It’s early June, sunny and probably around eighty-five degrees out, but the humidity has already set in making it feel more like ninety-five, so I opt for a loose yellow tank that I cropped myself, since I love showing off my belly button ring, and I don’t wear a bra under it. I rarely wear bras anymore unless I’m working out. The air flowing through it will feel glorious on my skin. I pull my hair into a bouncy high ponytail, and slip into my white converse tennis shoes (yes, I know, I’m mowing in white shoes, but bleach and the washing machine will take care of the stains no prob, so calm down) and grab my Discman that’s already loaded up with a mix CD I made just for mowing. I run the cord of my earbuds through my shirt so I don’t get tangled while steering and it brushes over one of my nipples, bringing it to attention. I don’t hate it. I’m sure that won’t be the last time that happens during the bumpy mower ride, and the thought makes me smirk to myself. I clip the Discman to my shorts, leave the house and start walking up to the machine shed where my dad keeps the mower parked. The machine shed doors are already open, which is typical, as my dad is a man of routine and that’s the first thing he does every morning around six-thirty a.m. He finishes his breakfast, throws his overalls on, laces up his work boots and marches up to the machine shed, unlocking the pins and shoving each giant sliding door open, and that’s where they stay until sundown. I haven’t attempted to open one of those doors in ages, and despite my training, I still don’t think I could. I walk across the dirt floor, which makes up three quarters of the shed’s floor, with one quarter in the front right being concrete, where all of my dad’s tool benches are. The familiar smell of metal and motor oil permeate my nose, and I head straight for the old blue tarp that covers the White brand riding mower. Without that tarp, this thing would be covered in a quarter inch of dirt after 2 days of sitting here. I flip it off, simultaneously stepping back to let the flying dirt settle, when I hear the clang of something metal hitting the concrete floor on the other side of the shed. I shriek in surprise and turn around to see Frank walking out from behind the combine that’s between me and him. “Hey there, Fiona. Sorry, I just dropped a wrench.” “Oh, God, hey Frank! That scared the shit out of me. Glad it was just you…no worries! I thought an animal was in here, like a feral racoon or something.” “Yeah, that does happen, as you know. Just a month ago, yer dad found a dead one in the combine. Must’ve climbed in and gotten trapped. This thing hasn’t moved since last fall, so they like to try to nest in there over the winter.” “Yeah, he told me about that one over the phone a couple weeks ago. God, that had to smell horrible. I don’t even wanna think about it.” I shudder and turn back towards the mower to check the fuel tank. I’m not sure where this is going, but conversation about smelly, dead raccoons isn’t exactly my favorite. The fuel gauge is busted on the mower, as it’s been for years, so I have to flip the seat up to open the gas cap and visually check to see how full it is. I lean over to peek in, and I can feel my loose tank droop very far forward. I look down and see that the gap between my breasts and shirt is now so big that I can see all the way through and out the other end of my short shirt. And also through that gap, I see work boots approach from behind me. I stand up quickly and Frank is so close, I can feel his heat. “You might need this to see better,” he says as he hands me a flashlight. “Yeah, that will help. Thanks,” I answer. I need to lean forward again to shine the flashlight in to see the gas level, but Frank isn’t moving. He’s still directly behind me and I realize now that he’s been checking me out. He’s either looking at my ass back there, which I know is hanging out, round and plump, from the bottom of my shorts, or he caught an angle where he can see up my shirt when I’m bent over, getting an eyeful of the underside of my small, perky breasts. The thought excites me, for some reason, so I decide to give him both, while playing innocent to it all. I lean forward, with my ass to him, and shine the flashlight in. Only, instead of looking in, I peek back through my shirt gap and I now not only see his boots, but a thick bulge that’s formed in his pants. Oh my God, he looks huge. What the fuck is an almost 60 year old man doing with a dick that big? I can’t even see the whole thing because he’s rather tall and too close to me to get a full view, but I know what pants look like when they’re pitching a tent and he’s erecting a 12 person pop-up right now. I carry on with my plan, and I shift my feet around in a half-circle while staying bent over, kind of like when you spin around a bat before pinning the tail on the donkey, and pretend like I’m trying to get a better view into the tank, when in reality, I know I’m giving him a straight front view down my shirt and to my dangling tits. “Hmmm, yeah, it looks like I should fill it,” I determine out loud. I’m so curious that I sneak a quick peek, with just my eyes, at Frank’s pants now that I’m somewhat facing him, and I try to make it so fast that he can’t tell what I’m looking at. My eyes catch the massive boner straining against his work jeans. And he knows it. He starts moving towards me to get behind me again, and I’m just wondering how he can even walk with that thing like that. “Let me check it out,” he says, and he comes up behind me and leans over my back, like the cliche move of a man showing a woman how to hold a pool cue, and I feel it. He is absolutely bulging up against my ass, and his large, tall body is hovering over my whole backside, enveloping me like a big heated blanket and all I can smell is a mixture of pasture and machine oil on him. My body freezes in place and he wraps his large hand around mine that’s holding the flashlight, aims it into the tank and peeks into it right next to my face. “Yep, that much ain’t gonna make it the whole time. I can fill it for ya if you’d like,” he offers. He still hasn’t moved back and I can still feel his fucking python pressing against my ass and it’s now throbbing. I wonder if he’s making it do that on purpose. Like how I’ve seen that dudes can flex it, you know? I’m still frozen, finding myself both a little intimidated at the situation, but somehow, surprisingly, also very turned on. Can he tell? Is he just fucking with me? I’ve never been this close to a man over 22. It’s kind of exciting. “That’s ok, I know how to do it,” my breath hitches a little as I reply. He stands up and backs away from me, and I can breathe again. “Naw, really. It’s no trouble. Just drive it down to the tank over there and I’ll fill ya up — fill it up — for ya,” he offers again. I caught that slip, too, which he covered with a little clear of his throat. This man is unbelievably horny right now, and I did that to him. I should feel bad, but I don’t. Maybe because it made me horny too, and it proved me right….this sneaky summer game is going to be a lot of fun, I think. And here I thought I was going to get bored being here for like 3 months — ha! Frank takes off towards the gas tanks and I hop on the mower and start it. As I pull out of the machine shed and travel down the gravel driveway towards the tanks, the whole machine is vibrating between my legs, sending a ripple through my entire body and I can feel my nipples pull in tight as my loose shirt gently shimmies over their peaks. The uneven surface of rocks and small divots in the driveway is bouncing my breasts in an arrhythmic way and they feel heavier than usual when they rise and fall on the larger bumps. I look up ahead and Frank is waiting there for me, staring like a deer in the headlights. I wonder what he’s thinking. I park the mower, and hop down so Frank can lift the seat to fill it. This time I keep my distance from him, but while he’s looking away from me and into the tank, I can’t stop myself from eyeing his bulge. My heart is racing so fast right now, and I don’t know why. It’s very unsettling. My nipples are still as hard as diamonds. Breathe, Fiona. Frank finishes filling the tank, leaning over so he can hear when it sounds full, and the minutes passing feel like hours. When he stands back up I can’t help but notice his hand quickly adjusting his crotch and I try my best to hold my composure, unsure if he can tell that he’s making me nervous…or horny….I don’t even know what I am. He screws the gas cap back on and flips the seat back into position and I thank him, hop on, start it back up and drive away, raising my hand in a “see-ya-later” gesture, without turning back to look at him. I need to get out of this moment like RIGHT NOW. I start in the large front yard since it’s one big square and I really just need a simple space to zone out in for a while as I collect my thoughts. What WAS that? As my heart settles back down and I let it sink in, what I just witnessed, I don’t know how I feel about it. I mean, I love feeling sexy and I love giving a good tease, which is why I dress the way I do sometimes, but I didn’t even know I was going to run into anybody this morning. I just planned on being on a lawn mower for the next 2 hours, so, my affect on Frank just now wasn’t my fault, right? He’s just a dirty old man that got a little peep show by accident. Or is he? I did encourage it a little bit by allowing the extra peeps, after all. He’s always been very kind to me, and not in a creepy way, but this felt a little bit creepy. And what I can’t understand is how my damn body reacted to it. Traitor! Frank’s definitely NOT my type of guy. Aside from the fact that he’s old as fuck, he’s not anywhere near what I would call a Silver Fox either. He’s a bit overweight, but he’s also quite tall, maybe 6’4”, which makes him look overall large and beefy, rather than just fat. He’s kind of a beast. He’s balding at the top and the blonde hair he used to have is now mostly gray. He has a constant 5 o’clock shadow covering his pudgy face and chin. Ew. A far cry from the fit college athlete guys I’ve been with or interested in. He smells like old dirt and is always breathing heavily. But for some reason, when I saw that thick bulge in his pants, it sent a strange heat through me instantly. I couldn’t stop it. I guess maybe it's because I’ve never thought about old-man boners before, and by default I’d assume they look half-staff and wrinkly, but Frank’s….his was not what I expected. I mean, wow. Oh my God, STOP PICTURING IT FIONA! I’m completely disgusted with myself. You fucking slut, you know you don’t want it! He’s gross! He’s old! There’s not a chance in Hell I desire that man. Sure, I had a weird “human” moment, which I’m sure was just because I’d never seen a dick that big, plus, let’s face it, it was flattering and kinda hot that I caused his arousal. Something about it made me truly feel not like a kid anymore. That’s IT. Ok, case closed. Get over it. I sigh and while keeping the wheel straight, I roll my head around in a circle to ease the tension in my neck, but I stop when my chin is at my chest and notice the darker wet spot in the denim between my legs. Fuck.
