Grampy Taught Me Everything I Know!

She bought the gummy bear kinds the next day. The label read 'specifically designed for women' and contained a multi-vitamin with zinc and many other long-name-sounding ingredients. On the other hand, my mind had gone all in on vegetables, not vitamins! I could pronounce their names: cucumber, crookneck squash, zucchini, carrots, celery, cherries, strawberries [the last two for flavor], and a few more.

Seeing the new bottle, I thought, 'How many of these do I need to insert, and do I need some lubricant to help get off using them?' It took two minutes of thought before I realized that you eat them! 'Ah ha!' I thought, 'Not as good as the energy levels provided from Grandpa's garden and certainly not going to produce a dopamine-high orgasm like a cuke!' But I consumed one vitamin a day just to make Mom happy. I don't know for sure whether it improved my stamina or made me less tired each morning when I awoke. I was still jilling more often than not on various vegetables, though, with some great sexual releases!

That whole spring and all through the early fall, I frequently searched for different-sized cukes and eventually found that one about eight inches long and shaved down to about an inch in diameter worked pretty well--just enough unpeeled room on the end for a finger grip. I got really good at culinary prep work! Like Grampy said, if I left a couple of inches of skin on the cukes, I could grip them without losing my rhythm as I 'fucked myself' undercover of some rock music. I found that helps drown out the groans getting to Mom's ears. That was constantly worrisome during my releases as they increased in intensity, duration, and frequency as the summer waned.

Spending every day in Grandpa's garden meant I had to bring some regular vegetables to Mom to throw off suspicion on why I made so many forays to Grampy's garden produce. Mom began to feel better about that. I was getting exercise--pulling weeds and picking veggies--fresh air and a fabulous tan. I got more training in bed and experimented with many new calisthenics not seen in gym class. It took significant practice and timing to master some of those moves. As summer rolled along, I became a connoisseur. I tested every vegetable imaginable in season for duration, hardness, silkiness, length, and even lumpiness.

You can get creative carving in some lumpy ridges and drive yourself crazy with more pleasure than with those silky ones. Long neck squash, Grampa pointed out, looked a lot like a hefty-sized penis with large balls. I was up for those in a heartbeat. I could tell you, for instance, that they are wonderfully shaped and reach perfectly inside to trigger that thing Grandpa calls a G-spot. He pointed out that aspect one day as we first harvested the curved-shaped yellow squash. Peeled, though, they are a bit dry. So, I recommend dipping the neck in a bit of lubricant, for instance, peach nectar. Jill one off with some peach juice, and you have a mouthful of ecstasy at your fingertips to enjoy after a great cum.

With fall in the air, Grandpa introduced me to carrots. I had to bug Mom to buy a replacement vegetable peeler every month. 'They don't make them like they used to,' I complained to her as I found out trying to peel a crookneck squash for dinner. "Kiddo, that's too many carrots, and what's up with the squash? You never liked those this much! Are you growing new tastebuds or something?" she asked, with a bit of exasperation, as she quizzically examined my specially carved crooknecks, the ones for nighttime use.

'...Or something!' I thought but answered, "S'okay, I'll take Grampy some for dinner." Through experimentation, I found that if you alternate your vegetables and get your strokes right, you can get one in each hole. It kind of doubles your pleasure, just like the chewing gum jingle, you know? I think it would work better if a person were ambidextrous or maybe had a partner. Grandpa suggested that partner idea one day as I walked out of the garden with a handful of carrots and a couple of cukes. I'd never thought of stuffing something in the orifice where mostly stuff just comes out!

Holy moly! Talk about tossing a girl's salad! That was a fantastic suggestion, but handling one in each location took some skilled movements. Especially when he said Grammie used to love it when he treated her to a 'double date' evening.

Damn, Grandpa was so fucking brilliant and so fucking knowledgeable! God bless fucking Grandpa! [And I mean that in the most respectful way possible!]

One afternoon, at the end of a month of summer fun in the sun, I found myself alone in the garden. Mom had taken Grampy to the paint store. It was time, he said, to repaint the exteriors of both houses. She took him to pick out new colors and trim. The place reminded her too much of the past, she remarked. She wanted to breathe new life into our home. On Grandpa's part, though, I think he just said that he wanted to repaint because the garden was on the wane, and he needed something to occupy his days.

The sun was bright that breezy afternoon. The breeze lightly caressed my cheeks, teasing me, and blew wispy locks of auburn hair around my ears to tickle my nose. I was tickled enough to cause it to itch. My hands were dusty, so I lifted my tee shirt to scratch my nose, using the bottom portion of the tee. A slow sensual breeze came down the row of beans that I knelt in and swirled up into the space between my tummy and the tee shirt. Wow! The tingle delivered against my nipples was strong enough to pucker my pink buds to a point! Now, I was glad I escaped the house without Mom 'suggesting' that I put on a bra. That felt fantastic!

Instantly, I felt a follow-on twitch through my thighs as they jerked from the stirring sensation. I shuddered in response to the sensations rolling around my thighs. The sensual flow it generated permeated my mons and seeped between my labia, deliciously prodding my clit. It was a primordial feeling. The air seemed to spiral around my jutting breasts, stirring an electrical charge, almost like static around each pear-shaped sphere. One day, Gramps had said my breasts were comparable to two large Georgia peaches, weighing down the long extended limbs; firm and juicy-ripe for the harvest.

Not that he wanted to harvest them! That was just metaphorically announced one day when he watched me lifting some canning jars onto an empty overhead shelf. Though he did blush a bit as I cocked my head with a 'What did you just say?' look in his direction. His smile quickly turned into a pucker as he busily swept out some imaginary dust on the floor, avoiding my bemused smirk at his unusual bit of flattery directing my way.

I laughed out loud just thinking about that remembrance. I giggled, looking into the heavens, "You're playing with me, Grammie? Really!" I smiled a damn good one as my legs clenched together again but held the shirt out, hoping for another light gust to tickle me again. Not so much tickle, I guess, more like stirring those nighttime feelings--right out in the open field--in full sunlight; for Nature and Grammie to watch.

Whether it was Grammie or Nature, it was a sensory image I'd never felt nor thought about. It was so quiet kneeling in the soft earth; here amidst the bush beans, peppers, and okra plants. Just the occasional wind, a light rustling of corn stalks danced with the wind briefly before it died again. I closed my eyes and dropped back to rest upon my hunches, driving my bare toes into the soft earth.

'Empty your mind, try to think of nothing,' were the words swirling through my thoughts. I was just letting the spirit move me. Suspended in time, I felt the weight of the atmosphere pressing against me, pinning me to the recently tilled garden soil. Motionless, I knelt and felt the earth turn slightly beneath me. I felt the world rotate beneath me in all its power, drawing upon the energy flowing from it up through the loose soil wedged between my toes and pouring into my heated groin.

That electrical flow was building, generating more heat within that muscle structure. Still, I held my tee shirt by the hem, pulling it outward to allow the airflow to return, hoping for a more sustained breeze. Eventually, the rush of the breeze rattled through the oak and pecan trees. It came, gliding under my tee again. Its softness felt like a cupping hand palming my breasts and seemed to grasp my nipples simultaneously, hardening them again into eraser-tip firmness; in its caressing and playful hands. Were those the hands of Indian spirits stopping by on their way to the fall hunting grounds? Stopping to caress and play with my nipples, sucking them so lovingly, as their tongues washed over my goosebumps with such fevered delight?

I felt that the last breeze was an affirmative 'yes' being whispered by the Indian winds. As though calling me to join them, saying, "Strip away those foreign garments, daughter of the Shawnee, the Pawnee, the Iroquois, the Sioux nations, Arapaho daughters, Cheyanne, Chickasaw, and all daughters longing to join the hunt. Disrobe, daughter! Make yourself free to dance with the wind and be touched by the lips of spirits past. Come with us!"

I swear I could hear the beckoning cries and drums beating in sync with the blood flowing through my temples. As long as my eyes remained closed, the spirits beckoned and taunted me to join them. My breathing ramped up as my imagination began to take on strange images of Indian maidens running through tall grasses, naked, in pursuit of young braves as they chased down game for a riotous feast for the evening.

"Sure, why not!" I whispered to no one in particular. No one was around to watch except the spirits, the cukes, the crookneck squash, and a couple of doves conversing in the cottonwood tree at the edge of the forest, adjacent to Grampy's four-acre lot.

"Yes, I will join you!" I fervently whispered, and the words were carried to those ancient ones racing with the winds and mixed with my deep, racing breath. I sensed their spirits swelling with pride as my breathing grew more excited. The wind strengthened in delight at my answer.

Caught up in the moment, it was easy to cross my arms and grasp the hem of my tee shirt, lifting it over my head in one motion. It did come with some unease as I quickly looked about. Too late for that, I thought in an instant. My Georgia peach-sized boobies were already on full display, distinctly marked by tan lines made by my modest two-piece swimsuit. It defined the declinations between societally-acceptable, bare skin and the sexually-arousing skin set off by a lighter-pink hue. Still, the pulse in my temple kept a continued beat with the drums I had heard. I closed my wide-eyed stare again. I sucked in my lower lip with a tinge of guilt. So...topless and daring!

A decision was needed. Stand and strip, sit on my butt, wiggle the rest of the foreign clothing off, and free my soul? Why hide? It was safe. This was Grampy's fortress, untraveled, secured by a privacy fence. Let it all go! Still, the bravado wasn't that advanced.

I stood. Unbuttoned the jean shorts. And shimmied while hooking both thumbs into the empty belt loops on either side of my hips. The jean shorts came down reticently as the curves of my hips contained them, up to the point they were below the curves and then gravity, or the spirits, snatched them to the ground. My panties glided down more easily, nestling on top of the shorts. I stepped out of both. Immediately, the spirits rejoiced as the wind came to kiss all of me, electrifying me with erotic caresses and warm air kisses between my thighs.

Never, ever have I been outside naked! The sensation was incredible. I felt like a small living dot on the planet, zoomed in on for all the sky to see. The spirit world surrounded my body, touched me, suckled my bosom, and ran its ghostly fingers between my legs and into my slit. They approved my willingness to join the ancient hunting migration and lapped me with tongues of pleasure. They deepened the sensations coursing through me and turned those sensations into lust.

My first movements were timid. I moved down the row of beans and let the stems sweep across my legs. That was easy. I could have done that in my shorts! But the absolute joy came in waltzing down the corn rows and feeling the touch of those long leaves brushing across my thighs and sweeping against my breasts in long broad strokes. Those sensations were delirious titillations heightening my senses! The best strokes of libido were those when straddling a short corn stalk on the end of the row and letting its leaves and tips glide against my slit. Twirling over those and finding a neighboring stalk, it brushed across my nipples. It was serendipitous and had my body on sensory overload! I nearly fainted with the pleasures it induced. Naked in Grandpa's garden--what a rush!

My slit became a confluence of internal lubricant, firing neurons, and the sun's radiant warmth melting all the sensations into an infusion of summer lust. My fingers were drawn to my core to dally there, swirling, teasing my clit, strumming my slit, delving within the confluence drooling from the molten cavern inside of me.

'Finish yourself!' the wind spirits seemed to call out.

'Use me!' the cukes cried out, begging to participate.

My mind was ablaze with desire when I dropped to my knees and splayed my legs. 'The long fat one,' I thought. Snatching it up, I pushed and groaned and marveled as it slid inside to fill me.

'Fast and furious,' the winds chanted, and my voice joined them with its version crying out for more; until I collapsed as an intense warmth flooded my core. I fell on my butt and then sprawled on my back. The spirits were giggling around me as I gasped, soaked in perspiration. I looked a bit strange with a giant cucumber stuck half inside my cunt and covered with grime from the soil and body lubricants from my own making. With my hair in total disarray, I lay exhausted, open for anyone to pillage--had anyone come along at the moment--though that didn't happen.

Regaining my strength, I rose with a smile. Standing with a sodden cuke in my cunt, I ambled toward the gate between Grampy's house and my yard, glowing with a radiant smile. And yes, I remembered to drop the spent cuke in the recycle bin--just as Grandpa had instructed. A warm bath was certainly in order!

Returning home from the paint store, Mom peeked in and found me napping; she said later, out like a light--smiling in my sleep.

Good thing I pulled up the covers, or she would be chastising me for crawling between the sheets, naked and wickedly satiated. 'What the hell were you thinking?' I imagine it would have been her scream if she knew. My languid answer would have been, 'I dreamed of dancing with cornstalks and having crookneck squashes reaching up from their vines to stuff my cunt with their pleasures.' My restless, fertile mind dreamed of the spirits calling out to me. "Pleasure yourself again! Cum for us, again! Join us in the garden tonight by the light of the silvery moon!"

I began thinking something was wrong with me when I awoke late that afternoon. Then I thought more rationally, 'Better ask Grampy if he put anything special in those brownies he left on his table for me before he and mom left for the paint store!' Grandpa had gotten into that sort of thing these last few years, but he always warned me which ones were which!

Awaking just an hour before dusk, I caught the scent of Mom's delicious-smelling meatloaf wafting up the stairway. It always had a way of finding me, drawing me to the table. Tonight, I had a ravenous appetite, no doubt by all that dancing with the corn and pleasing the spirits as I used the vegetable garden's produce to cum again and again until I couldn't anymore. My body ached, yet I found my fingers beneath the table, between my legs, up my skirt, and inside my naked slit--diddling myself as I listened vaguely to mom's description of the new paint colors.

In bed that evening, my thoughts returned to the outdoor pleasuring session in the garden. So different than any feelings I had ever had. Yet, I wanted more! 'Something was missing,' I mused as my slippery fuck-finger traced the outline of my swollen pussy lips, occasionally diving down to find my pearl for a generous poking.

'Life must have more to it than garden variety stimulation and frigging climaxes,' I finally came to that conclusion just as my legs tightened along with my jaws as a draining orgasm swept up my core and squeezed a deep groan out of my throat.

'Better ask Grampy,' I whispered as I heard the wind spirits beckoning me to the garden. 'Too tired,' I sighed dreamily in response and sank, once more, into oblivion.

Today was special! It marked a milestone decision in my life. I slid my dresses back and forth, looking for the right one! I would have worn it on my twelfth birthday. Yet it stayed in the back and untouched until today. Six years later, it was snuggly and form-fitting, just long enough to cover 'down there,' as long as I didn't bend over un-ladylike. "Pretty," my Dad had said, "and as bright as the sunshine on the Fourth of July!"

Mom had said then that it made me look like a 1930s seed catalog cover. Not sure what that would have looked like, but I thought Grampy would appreciate my wearing it today. Especially after today's discussion I had planned!

I slipped through the gate, out of Mom's sight, and scurried up to Grandpa's back porch. He was in his usual yet now well-worn rocking chair. I took possession of Grammie's rocker; it had become my usual place of honor, next to him as we talked about...things.

"Hi, Grampy!"

"Hello, Kiddo! Nice...dress, or is it a skirt, or one of those...skorts?" he asked, taking in the summer dress that rode up to my crotch as I scooted back in the rocker. A slight wiggle and it rode just so my panties could be seen. The size and design of the dress weren't for an eighteen year's well-developed bosom or long legs, so my unencumbered breasts formed a deep V-shape rising out of the top of the ruffle material. It had all the sensuality of a Lolita-style dress, but with a shorter length since I had grown up in six years.

"Dress," I affirmed, ready to move on to other, more important, subjects.

"Hum, don't know that it has enough material to be a dress, darlin'," he acknowledged, thinking about it.

I smiled at that acknowledgment. His comment was in line with what I had in mind.

"Grampy, I did something yesterday. And I wanted to ask your advice about doing it again," I started my confessional session. Well, not a confessional, I guess, since I'm not religious or anything. Perhaps better to call it a 'therapy session.' I had put on my mischievous, smirky smile for him--the one he liked. My devilish horns one, as he called it.

"Not something you could discuss with your mother, then?" he chuckled as he lit his pipe.

"Would I be here if it was?" I giggled as I adjusted Grammie's rocker to sway in sync with his.

"Out with it then," he smiled as he surveyed the dress from top to bottom.

I took a deep breath and let it out. It was a cleansing breath before I started. "Yesterday, I picked some vegetables, and before you ask, I didn't take all the crookneck squash! Anyway, it was the first time I was alone in the garden. Just me, the sun, and the soft wind. Grandpa, I swear the wind talked to me; so, I did what it said..."

"Kind of cryptic, Kiddo. I'm not a mind reader, but you already know that?" he joked.

I continued, "Well, the short version told me to get naked and pleasure myself with all the vegetables. I even went dancing and...um... kind of rubbed myself on the corn leaves. It was damn erotic, and I came so many times. Indian spirits were giggling in the wind as I plunged a big cuke into my cunt--not even peeled! Grampa, by chance, you didn't put something in those brownies on your table, did you?"