Summer Surprise

When he felt the touch of a woman's hand he thought it was Jill and if he hadn't felt the unfamiliar barrier of clothing between him and his "dream" he wouldn't have woken up, but he had felt it. He opened his eyes and saw the prettiest green ones staring up at him in shock. He immediately apologized and released her, offered to quit and then was told to ignore it, that it was no big deal. When she left, he looked down at his swollen cock and thought, "Damn. No big deal? How big had her husband been?" Then he cursed himself for thinking she was talking about his hard on.

She coughed and pushed the coffee pot his way. "Stop Trent," she said suddenly.

"Huh?"

"Stop thinking about it. I'll just wake you up in a different way next time. Perhaps tug on your ankle or something."

He laughed and poured another cup of coffee. "Thanks, Pam. I am sorry though. I didn't mean to sleep in and I sure didn't mean to attack you." He shook his head and sighed.

"You didn't attack me. As far as sleeping in goes, you were up late I assume. I'm sure this first night was hard. You aren't used to going to bed so early. You'll be fine tonight. I'll work you so hard, you'll be begging for the comfort of that bed."

She stood up and placed their plates and her empty mug in the sink. The biscuits would tie them over while they brought the cows in and she'd help him with the first weeks milking, by the weekend he should be okay on his own and she could deal with other things around the farm.

"Thanks, again for not taking me up on my offer to leave."

"You're very welcome," she answered back. "All set?" she asked.

"I do believe so." He stood up and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. It was an old one that went with a pair of sweats he wore on his morning jogs, back on campus. It would serve to keep the morning chill off and he pulled it on over the long-sleeve flannel shirt he'd put on that morning. His jeans hugged his frame and a pair of boots kept his feet protected from the evidence of "farming" that he was sure was going to be there by the end of the morning.

They walked outside. The stars starting to disappear and the sun was a couple of hours away from shining. "Here," she told him, handing him a flashlight. "You probably will need it the first couple of trips to the barn, but eventually you'll know the paths by heart and follow them with your eyes closed.

"You have a lot of faith in this city slicker," he laughed and aimed the beam toward the barn. They made their way there and she flicked on the lights to the parlor and the holding pen. She showed him the bulk tank and ran through the reason for having it, as well as what temperature it needed to maintain in order for the milk to remain safe for storage. She then explained that Evan Turner was the local dairy man that would come by and haul the milk away, a check would be in the following week for what they supplied him with, or what the herd did.

"Well let's get started," he said. He felt like a kid again, learning something for the first time. They walked back outside and the morning light was threatening to fill the day. The sun still was not up, but the dawn was awakening. The sounds of low mews filled the air and he looked toward them.

"Cool."

"What?" Pamela asked, stepping up to his side.

"They're coming in already."

"Yea, they do that. They know what time it is. Their sore and tender, so they are more than ready to come in, but we still have to make a count of them and if we have any missing we have to find them."

They walked between the herd shouting and swatting at the more stubborn ones. Eventually they had them pinned in the holding area and she stepped up on the fencing, counted the heads and then recounted twice. Trent counted too and when they agreed on the number, they headed back inside. By now the first peek of the sun was showing its brightness and it would be a couple of hours before they walked back into its rays.

Trent had managed to not get kicked and had quickly picked up on the rhythm of washing, milking, rinsing and dipping of the teat. By the time they had sprayed the concrete flooring of both the milk stalls as well as the holding pen, Pamela's doubts were set aside. She knew he'd do well on his own. They washed up in the small sink and sprayed off their boots before heading back to the house.

"Need help?" he asked her, when she pulled out eggs and meat for breakfast.

"Sure," she said, handed him a carton of eggs and then pulled milk from the refrigerator. They again found themselves working together like a well-oiled machine. He cooked up two omelettes while she pulled more biscuits from the oven and cut up fruit for them to enjoy. Before long they sat in her kitchen eating and ignoring the odor of anything but breakfast.

"So?" she asked.

He grinned. "I love it," he told her.

She laughed. "Wait till you've done it for as many years as I have."

"How long has that been?" Trent asked her.

"I taught school first. Elementary Education, until I met Will. That was," she thought a moment, "twenty-five years ago. I was twenty-eight. I'd taught school since college, completed the training in a couple of years, because I doubled up and sometimes tripled up my classes. Once I met Will though I was determined to be a wife and mother." She shrugged her shoulders. "I quit teaching and tried to do just that, but no kids came from our union."

"Sorry about that. I have a feeling you'd have liked to have had one or two little William boys running around and I'm sure he'd have enjoyed a lovely daughter or two."

She smiled and added, "Yes, we would have, but it didn't happen. William passed away five years ago. I could have sold the farm and the animals, gone back to teaching, but I decided that I was too in love with it and so I had to keep working on that bank payment. It felt nice to hand that loan officer the final one."

"I'm sure it did."

She grinned back. "Now you're here and I find myself enjoying the company."

"My pleasure. What's next on the agenda?" he asked, rising and gathering their dishes. She walked with him to the sink and together they washed, dried and put away the plates, cups, and utensils

"Many, many things," she said and looped her arm through his.

She looked up at him and promised not to run him into the ground his first day. He grinned, but felt something stirring inside as she walked beside him. When they separated to move through the door, he felt a loss that surprised him. It quickly dissolved when she took his arm again. Trent denied the meaning of what he felt, but enjoyed the rush of electricity that moved through him.

Pamela showed him many things that morning, even instructing him on how to operate some of the farm equipment. By the time she left him to wander about the farm on his own, she was feeling an attraction to the young man and hoped she hadn't forced her feelings on him by accident.

Afternoon came and went, they met briefly for lunch, light sandwiches and lemonade. Then they worked together in her garden. They picked what needed to be picked and he learned a bit more about plants and the things one did to store them for winter. When evening milking came around he impressed her greatly with his what he'd managed to retain over the course of their day. That night at supper, the meal was a repeat of the night before, but this time the leftovers were finished and nothing was put away for later. Trent ate like a farmer, thus delighting his employer.

"Wine and pie?" Trent asked when he looked up at the patio door and saw his boss. He had cut them two pieces of pie and just like the night before, waited for her on the patio.

"To celebrate your first day, just one glass though, I wouldn't want to have to wake you up from a drunken stupor," she said and poured them each a glass.

"We wouldn't want that. I attacked you once in a sleepy haze, a drunken stupor could get me fired" He rolled his eyes, then sipped at his wine.

She laughed and took a drink of her beverage. The night breeze caressed them both and she closed her eyes. The scent of his cologne filled the air. The aroma musky and erotic. She liked it, a lot, probably more than she should have. It was woodsy and smelled like Trent should smell. She wondered if Jill liked it. That thought made her think of Trent and his girlfriend. Jill would be coming up on Friday. She bit her lip, hoping they were quiet lovers and not loud ones.

Trent watched her face relax and then shift as whatever thoughts she had crossed her mind. His muscles were sore, but they were a good sore, the "I worked my ass off today and damn, it feels good" kinda sore. He couldn't imagine the woman beside him doing this for the last five years by herself.

She'd shared with him the circumstances that led up to her husband's death. He was much older than she and his heart had grown weak. She found him one morning in the barn, collapsed, he never woke from his coma and died two weeks later. Pamela also shared with him a bit more of herself. She and William married when she was twenty-three and William had been fifty-eight.

When she noticed his shock in their ages she only smiled and shrugged, telling him she loved her husband and that was all that mattered. He had quickly agreed, but inside he just couldn't imagine loving someone thirty-five years older than him.

He'd now spent a night and a day with Pamela. He now knew why someone would toss age and convention to the wind and love the woman he was working for. For a brief moment he wondered what it would be like to love her. He was twenty-three and she was fifty-three, thirty years. "Yea," he thought to himself, "I can see it . . . Will was a lucky man."

He wasn't sure when he fell asleep, but he had. When he awoke, it was to the sight of Pamela tucking a throw blanket around him. He stared at her as she worked, not noticing he was awake. When she turned to leave, he stopped her. His hand wrapped around her wrist and he held her for a moment. He said nothing, just watched her turn to face him and stare down into his blue eyes. They both felt it. He'd stake his life on it. His cock started to rise and his lips parted. His tongue snaked out and moistened the twin petals of flesh.

Pamela stood there. An ember had been burning in her all day and as his fingers gripped her wrist she could feel the bead of heat growing brighter. She chewed her lower lip and took a deep breath, before pulling herself free of his grip.

She swallowed nervously and whispered, "Goodnight."

Pam headed to her bedroom, the dirty dishes forgotten as she made her way up the steps. She needed to reach her sanctuary before she turned around and offered herself to the man downstairs. Once she was safely locked inside her bedroom, she went to the bathroom and hid in a steaming pile of bubbles and hot water. Her hands skimmed over her breasts and stomach.

She teased herself until the water was sloshing over the rim of the tub and her sex was throbbing against her seeking fingers. The primal grunt that left her throat echoed through the room and she shuddered in relief from the pent up passion of the day. It had been a long time since she'd toyed with herself. She'd done it a few times after her husband passed, but then it was no longer fulfilling, his memory had faded somewhat and the fantasy of making love to him had diminished. Now as she climaxed a second time, it was the face of Trent that she saw between her slick thighs. She went to bed that night hungry for more of him.

A sound reached her and she stopped breathing for a moment. She heard footsteps on the stairs. They came half way up and then stopped. She knew whose they were. She waited. Would he come to her? Would she let him in? Would she stop him from taking what only one man had ever taken? She didn't have answers and when she heard the receding sounds of his footsteps she burrowed into her blankets, unsure if she was thankful or extremely disappointed. Extremely disappointed was what she was afraid her answer would be if she explored the feeling deeper.

Trent lay in bed; she was gone before he could pull her back and tell her he wanted to sleep with her. Was that a good thing? Right now with his swollen cock in his hand he was shouting "No" in his mind. He came all over his hand and stomach. The white pearls coated his balls and he groaned as the seeds flowed over him. He was in trouble and knew it. Three more nights and Jill would be there. That was what he needed a nice weekend fuck and then he'd be okay. He was just missing his girl. He was sure of it, or so he thought.

The following morning he was up as soon as his alarm rang. He washed off the dry come and met his employer in the kitchen. Their day started, each lost in thoughts, when lunch arrived she met him in the barn with a list in her hand. "I need a few things for canning. I thought I had it all, but I was wrong. Care to tag along?" she asked.

Trent wiped the sweat from his brow and then pushed his ball cap back on his head. "Sure," he said. "I need to pick up a few things too. I'm running low on paper."

"Paper?" she asked.

"Yea, I thought I'd dabble a bit tonight instead of filling up on pie and wine." He immediately regretted what he'd said, the look on her face was enough to tell him she thought he'd regretted the electric shock that had run through them. He chose to let her think that. It was better that way he decided, though inside he only wanted to fill up on her and her scent. "I haven't drawn since I got here and there are things around here that I'd like to capture."

"Here?" she asked. "Like what? How much shit you get on your boots?" She laughed and tossed him the keys to his truck. I figured you being "the man" you'd want to drive.

He laughed. "You thought right, let me wash up a bit and I'll meet you by the truck. By the way, did you know you have a couple cats in here?"

"Oh, did you see them?" she asked.

"Yea, two. There was a black one and a yellow one."

Pamela smiled. "That's them, don't worry, they don't bite . . . unless you try to catch them. They are the resident mousers and showed up a few months ago. Maybe they'll bring me some kittens and eventually I'll find them and pluck one up for a pet."

Trent walked with her toward the house and continued conversing with her. "I meant to ask why no pets? I see a farm and think, dog, cats, goats?"

"Goats?"

"Well, something. Something you just bend down and love on a little."

"I don't know. I never thought of it really. Will didn't care for dogs. The cats come and go, but never did I think to bring one into the house. We had a dog once, but we had to get rid of it. It killed some calves and we never got around to getting another." She shrugged her shoulders and followed him into the house.

"No farm is complete without a dog, Pamela. I don't even know if I'd consider this a farm." He felt the sting of her slap on his arm and laughed his way to his bedroom.

Pamela grabbed her purse and headed to his truck, she climbed in and waited for him to appear. As she waited, she noticed the sun visor, pulled it down, hoping to find a mirror, instead a photo slipped to her lap and she picked it up, turned it over and blushed. "Oh my," she whispered, quickly shoving the photo against the visor and slamming it against the roof. Her eyes focused on a rose that was blossoming in her flower bed and she tried to not think of the naked photo she'd seen of what she assumed was Jill.

By the time Trent was in the truck she'd calmed her nerves and was able to converse with him, giving him directions to the town's local discount store and then they made a stop at the hobby store. There she watched him scan various art supplies and where he was lost on a farm, she was lost in the hobby store. She'd never had a hobby, after marrying Will, she pretty much was a farmer's wife. Occasionally she would sew, but there wasn't anything she loved doing to the point she'd spend money on it. She picked up a few things, studied them and then sat them down.

Trent, thinking she was bored, quickly made his selections and then watched her study what he had tossed haphazardly into his cart. "See something you like?" he asked.

"There are so many different colors," she told him, picking up a box of pastels. "I never thought of chalk being a way to create pictures. I mean you think of paint or oils, but not chalk."

He grinned and pulled a smaller pad of paper from the shelf. "I'll show you what you can do with this 'chalk' tonight, okay?"

"Really?" she said. She was the teacher, wasn't she? A smile spread across her face and she conceded. "Deal. Do you cook?" she suddenly asked.

"Are you looking to commit suicide?" he asked.

"Oh my, that bad, huh?"

"That bad. Jill won't even eat my cooking. She once told me that if she were wanting to have someone put to death, she would make them eat my food."

"Well, you teach me to draw and I'll teach you to cook. One weekend while she's visiting, perhaps you can cook for her. I'll even take off and let you enjoy the night without the old widow hanging around." She laughed at her own joke, but stopped when she looked at Trent. "What?" she asked.

"Don't do that," he told her.

"What?" she asked, trying to figure out what she'd done. She looked around, wondering if perhaps she'd dropped something, but she saw nothing wrong in her appearance or with the isle itself. She turned back to him and waited for his explanation. She felt chastised under his intense stare.

"Call yourself 'the old widow'," he demanded. "You are not old and you will not ever leave your home for me and my girlfriend. That is your home and I will not chase you out of it." His voice was rising and he had gripped the cart tightly.

"I'm sorry. It was a joke. I mean, me being old. I wasn't joking about you and Jill though. I would leave, but," she held her hand up at his pending tirade, "I won't though. I'll stay."

"Good," he relaxed and took the pastels from her hand. His fingers grazed her skin and he felt the spark rise up once more.

She did too. "We better go. We have time to grab a bite if you'd like or we can just grab something at the house."

The tension was gone and Trent was thankful for it. In its place though was a burning need to touch her again. He pushed the cart to the checkout and paid for his supplies. The growing aches to feel her consumed him and when they made it to the exit door he gave in. The automatic doors swished open and he pressed his hand against her back. He kept it there as they walked through the doors and to his truck. He only released the touch when he opened the truck door for her. She slid inside and he walked around the back of the truck, paused a split second to adjust his bulging cock and then climbed into the driver's seat.

"Ice cream," she said as soon as he shut the door.

"Ice cream?" he asked. "Sounds like the perfect thing for a hot day," he answered and wondered if he dropped a scoop on his slacks if it would help his hard on go down.

He shifted gears and pulled into the ice cream parlor's parking lot and helped Pamela out of the truck. A few people waved hello to her, and she introduced them to Trent.

He was surprised she didn't add, my hired hand, or my summer help, or even the temp.; he was simply introduced as Trent. His name seemed to flow from her lips and he found himself wishing to hear it fall from her lips when she was lost in the heat of the moment. "Damn," he muttered as his cock jerked again.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing," he answered.

"Thinking out loud again?" She giggled and ordered her ice cream, he did too, and then they found an empty outdoor table to sit at.

They devoured their cones, pointing out where the other needed to lick so cream didn't cover fingers. Each one watched the other's tongue slide across the cold confection. Both watched as lips pressed against sweet desserts and moved to capture falling sprinkles. Eventually when the treats were gone, both were hotter than they had been when they accepted their snacks.