Billy and Danny are fighting again, just what I don't need today. They think I can't hear them, soaking up the air conditioning and screaming at each other about the Xbox while I break my back weeding the garden. I took the day off at the bank to do chores on the farm; it's a precarious balance I have between getting fired and making my grandpa's farm turn a profit. Most days, I go to bed at night not knowing which side is going to kill me first.
I wipe the sweat from my eyes and go on, taking special care of my asparagus. The asparagus makes decent money. People from St. Louis drive all the way here to buy it. During the Christmas season, when I make the majority of my income, SUV's with Missouri plates line the drive with my trees strapped to their roofs. They make the long drive to buy certified organic produce at Eden Farms. The rest of the year, little crops help me hang on, pumpkins, strawberries, blueberries, and watermelons.
Now, I might be swimming in cash if I didn't have a mortgage on the farm. When Grandpa died, he left the farm to me and my two other cousins. As kids they all said they'd never give up the farm, but as debt ridden adults, they jumped at the chance to make $100,000 each on their share. They left me high and dry and sitting with my property in the middle of what could be developed into a subdivision of twelve houses or more. I had no choice, so here I am with a $200,000 mortgage until I'm sixty years old.
As the roof leaks, the tax bills come, and the kids fight, I am wondering why I didn't just take my $100,000 and run too.
"That's my Katie, my princess, she loves to dig in the dirt. She can make anything grow," my grandpa would say proudly. In another time, he bought and paid for this farm with only his labor and managed to find time to go fight the Japanese in the Pacific too. Certainly I could manage somehow.
A car door slams, but I barely notice, caught up in my own misery. My dog is barking. Max is a ferocious black lab who hides behind me when the guy comes to check the water meter.
"Ms. Sawyer?" a male voice asks from behind me. I whirl around hoping it's not the Jehovah's Witnesses again. I told them I felt like Job and they had no sympathy for me. Fuck them.
It's not the Jehovah's Witnesses, unless they're sending hot looking tall guys to trick me. The guy is cute, with pretty green eyes and longish black hair. I know right away when I see his red Saab in the driveway, he's one of those hippie kids from the private college up the hill. You just know, they all have money, they're all save-the-earth types. My aunt works in the kitchen there and says the students' eyes are all too close together and their ponytails too tight. I don't know about that, but this guy looks fine.
"I'm Katie Sawyer," I say, standing to wipe the dirt off on my cut-offs. I realize that my shorts are way too short and that I'm wearing a tight blue tank top and no bra. My curly red hair is messily pulled into a ponytail. I planned on being alone. I'm not the size of a girl that can really get away with not wearing a bra. Oh well, too late now.
He extends a hand to shake my dirty one.
"I'm Lars Dettmer, I read that you have summer work."
Oh, damn. There goes my dream of a burly loner cowboy riding to my rescue for the summer then leaving when the leaves turn. No one answered the ad so far and it ran the whole week. I guess I'll have to take a svelte hippie with a Saab instead.
"It's just a lot of weeding the gardens, watering them, and then picking what's ripe. Can you handle that?" I ask. He smiles and I notice the dimple in his chin.
"I think so, are you going to teach me?" Still, with the grinning. He has an accent and I can't really place it, not German, Swiss maybe. At least he isn't staring at my boobs, I think. Even at the bank, I get that a lot. I want to tell them "Stop drooling or you're not getting a loan to build your new deer stand."
"Follow me," I say and unlatch the fence.
I have visions of Lars fumbling around and complaining all afternoon. Usually, my younger half brother helps me on the weekends, but he has the flu and isn't able. All my other help seems to evaporate when something is going on the weekend. This week, it's the county fair. A place where I should be entering my vegetables in the contest, but I am too busy.
Lars goes to work weeding the herb patches. I hope he knows basil from weeds. I cross my fingers and run back to the house to get the kids ready to go with their dad for the weekend.
Danny is eleven and Billy is nine. They have those sparkly Ken doll blue eyes like their daddy, the bastard. Jimmy was a decent hardworking husband for about two years after we got married. I was eighteen and dumb as a post when I married him. He was in the army and stationed in Germany when the boys were born. When we came home, he couldn't ever seem to find work, which was odd because I found plenty. After I put myself through junior college, the boys and I moved in with my grandpa on Eden Farm.
I wised up, educated myself and got a good job at the local bank. Jimmy continues to drink, hunt, and smoke weed. Sometimes he works out at the American Legion tending bar but mostly he collects disability with a smile.
"Don't forget to brush your teeth and no dirty movies on HBO when your dad's passed out, okay?" I tell them as they ready their Spongebob backpacks. They don't dread it like I do, to them it's a big party. Likely, their dad will leave them with one of his teenage girlfriends and go out to the bars. Jimmy comes to the door instead of honking the horn and I let him in. The kids kiss me then run out to the truck, leaving us alone. He still attracts me, after everything he's done. I hate him, but he can make my panties wet with one glance.
"New carpet?" he asks, motioning to the tan berber in the dining room.
"Yep, I got it cheap and installed it myself," I say proudly. I want him to know that I'm no longer the girl who burned up a dinner of Hot Pockets in the microwave so long ago.
"You're one hell of a woman, Katie," he says, smiling. I hate him for looking at me the way he does. I know that he knows how to make me come; how to make me scream and that he would do it in an instant if I asked.
"I know," I say, handing him a glass of sweet tea.
"You know, we can fuck and it doesn't have to mean nothin'." He whispers, backing me into the big oak table with his hips.
"You act all prim and proper at your snobby bank job, but I bet in bed you're the same little whore you always was."
Why does this still work on me? I see him in his camouflage bait shop hat and his Rustler jeans; it doesn't register. I know how he gets drunk and mean, but all I can think about is how well he eats my pussy.
Jimmy grabs my breast and whispers dirty somethings in my ear. My pussy clenches with his smallest touch. He smells of alcohol and cigarettes, which is the only thing that snaps me out of my horny trance.
I gently shove him away. "I'll pick them up at 5:00 Sunday night."
"Damn, woman, shut down again," he sighs and takes one last swig of the tea. I shrug and smile. He'll keep at it like always. It's the game he loves to play the most. Jimmy's only not a quitter when it comes to getting a piece of ass.
"And no, you can't hunt here this winter either," I add while shoving him out the door onto the wraparound porch.
The kids wave to me as their father peels out of the driveway in his broken-ass blue Chevy truck. Good riddance. I trot back down to the gardens to check on Lars' progress. Expecting the worst, I brace myself but everything looks good and he's already started on the tomato patch. Breathing a sigh of much needed relief, I pitch in to help.
"These are the most beautiful tomatoes I've ever seen," Lars remarks.
"There's no secret, just an ancient pile of cow shit and lots of watering," I say.
Lars is wearing a baseball cap and no shirt, which gives him a strange euro trash supermodel look. He laughs and as I look up at him, he smiles at me again. Yes, I'm checking him out. With a chest like that in front of me, I can't help but gawk. Besides the ex's advances, the closest male companionship I've had lately is an eight-inch dildo that I affectionately call Johan. Ordered from the internet, Johan is the best $75 investment I've made in a long time.
It's not that I'm not pretty or eligible. I'm just too busy to date. In the small town in which I live, I could be the best looking girl in the bar any night of the week. My selection of men is limited to divorced guys I went to high school with or married guys I went to high school with.
"So, where are you from?" I ask.
"Near Geneva, in Switzerland," he replies.
"I used to live in Germany, I knew you weren't German. I thought Swiss."
"I speak it though, do you?" he asks.
"Some. Enough to take a person's dinner order and bring them drinks. Enough to tell a guy I don't wanna dance," I laugh.
"Remind me not to ask you to dance," Lars jokes, in German.
"Well, that's a phrase I never used much anyway."
We keep at it, weeding until we can weed no more. I tell Lars to hop in the truck with me. We'll ride down to the lower garden near the creek to pick some sweet corn and green beans.
I get into my red Ford F150 and turn the key. I have to turn down the radio; the new Gretchen Wilson CD is blaring fit to scare all wildlife. Lars shakes his head and laughs at me.
"This is such a pretty place you have here. My parents have a dairy farm and I find I miss it so much," he comments. Lars is sipping from a bottle of Evian and staring out the window. I make the mistake of glancing down at his thighs, they are thick and tan and amazing.
"It's hard work, but I've always felt like it's what I have to do."
"Do you feel connected to the earth?" he asks. It's an odd question, but I suppose that's really the core of the matter with me.
"Yes, I do. When I'm digging in the dirt, I feel at one with the universe," I say. It sounds silly but it's true. One of the main reasons I didn't turn tail and sell the farm is that I always felt like an invisible force was binding me to the place. Lars and I get out of the truck and collect our plastic buckets from the back. We chat about our families and our lives. Lars is a professor, not a student. Actually, he's Dr. Dettmer of the college's anthropology department. We discuss the Native American tribes who once resided in the area. He knows quite a bit, just like me and I'm impressed.
"Why do you even want to do this? Don't they pay you enough to teach?" I ask.
Lars chuckles at that. "I'm terribly bored and I don't have any friends that stay here for the summer."
"Join the club. I have friends, but all they want to talk about is scrapbooking and those expensive collector baskets," I wince.
"What do you want to talk about?" he asks.
"Oh hell, I don't know, art, politics, baseball, anything," I say. "Anything that isn't sold by throwing a party, please."
"Damn, I was going to ask you about your Tupperware," he exclaims. I throw an ear of corn at him and he counters by smacking me in the ass with a stray stalk.
"Smart ass," I proclaim, as we pick more corn.
Carrots are next, I yank them out of the ground and Lars washes them off in a bucket of clean water. Organic carrots get big. One of them looks particularly huge and as someone who appreciates a good sex toy, I stop and marvel at it a bit. Lars catches me very obviously smiling at this vegetable.
"Isn't it odd how phallic some vegetables are? You should keep that one for yourself and not sell it at the stand," he advises. I nod. I'm not one to avoid speaking frankly on the subject of sex. Often I'm telling girlfriends about the joys of masturbation versus the inconvenience of having men in your life. "Every year there's at least one good one. Last year there was a zucchini and I swear to God, I would've married it," I snicker. Lars is grinning.
"Alas, everything withers, even a strapping zucchini," he sighs. I'm liking him. A funny good-looking man is my weakness and can have me just about any which way.
"Even Jake the zucchini didn't make it past the third date," I giggle.
"Maybe you need something with more longevity," he suggests, as I take out my pocket knife and remove the green top of the carrot after it's been cleaned. Beautiful.
"Like the anal invader? I saw it on the internet," I muse. I'm comfortable enough with Lars to release my bawdy sense of humor on him.
"Or this," he says, holding up a newly cleaned and shucked ear of corn. I spray him lightly with the hose just for my own amusement.
"You bitch!" he exclaims, and tosses the ear of corn onto the truck's open tailgate. He's trying to wrench the hose away from me and he's stronger than he looks. With the hose now in Lars' hands, I'm soon being drenched with chilly water. From a short distance, he soaks my top and I'm feeling my big nipples harden to the point of shattering. Then he has me backed into the tailgate and I can't get away. Hell, I don't even want to get away.
Lars moves the hose nozzle underneath the skimpy shorts I'm wearing and I feel the cold metal brush the lips of my pussy. He pulls the trigger gently and cool water drizzles into my hot folds.
"Apologize," he demands.
Water blasts my pussy, not hard enough to hurt, but I can definitely feel the pressure on my clit. I buckle under the pleasure, but Lars holds me in place with one big hand in the middle of my stomach. God. He's making me come and he hasn't even kissed me yet. Lars squeezes the trigger in short bursts until I'm quivering and moaning, my ass balancing on the tailgate of the truck. One last shot of water and I come, seeing glittery spots behind closed eyelids. My legs wobble and I feel my juices begin to overflow.
"Oh yeah, now she's not such a badass," he teases, yanking down the strap of my tank top and letting the hose drop to the ground. His mouth attacks mine, tongue slipping between my parted lips. Lars squeezes my left breast tight, running his thumb over the hard pink nipple, letting the coldness of his hands penetrate my hot skin.
Lars breaks the kiss to pull my top off. He holds my breasts in his hands and feasts on them with his mouth and tongue. He sucks my nipples, twisting them between full lips. Curiosity is killing me; I brush my palm across the front of his shorts, feeling the growing bulge there. Whoa, I think I've caught myself a big one. He lets go of me; I unbutton his shorts and let them fall to the ground. On my knees in the dirt, I can get a better look at Lars' very big uncut cock. It's not so much his length, but his massive width which fascinates me. Immediately, I have to know how much of it I can fit in my mouth.
Swirling my tongue around the thick head of it, I pull down the foreskin and then lick all over the surface, relishing his salty clean flavor. Lars, looking so horny and decadent, clad only in his hiking boots and socks, is leaning against the truck. He is soaking wet and rivulets of sweat and water drizzle down his lean body, as I take his fat cock deep in my mouth. I can't ignore his sexy, meaty balls hanging right in front of my face and I suck each of them gently while jerking him off. I run my fingers through the silky black thatch of pubic hair, which spreads outward, lightly covering his thick muscular thighs.
Lars is moaning, holding me gently by the ponytail as I suck him. I go down on his balls again, which I can't resist; they're so perfect. He spreads his legs wide for me, urging me to go further. I trace the ridge between his balls and ass with my tongue, digging into it until he cries out softly. He opens to me more and I spread the cheeks of his plump ass apart with both hands. This is the fine line between kink and vanilla, I think. Taking his cock again into my mouth, I tease his asshole carefully with the tip of my finger. He's grunting, fucking my mouth with his swollen prick. I know what he wants and I have no qualms about giving it to him. A little kink has never been a problem for me.
"Come down here," I tell him. I have him move onto his hands and knees in front of me.
We're now in mud, after the water fight, but I can't seem to care. I'm too busy staring at Lars' gorgeous booty sticking out in front of me. I give him a brief lick and then spread his cheeks as far as they will go.
Lars has gone completely wanton in a matter of moments. It amuses me such a competent and intelligent man can turn into a little slut right before my eyes. I love it. I lick up and down his sexy, furry crack, slicking all his shiny hair down with saliva. Dipping my tongue into his small pink hole, I draw loud moans from him. I spread him wide and fuck his ass with my tongue, making his hips buck under me. Still, he wants more, pushing his hips toward my mouth. I have an evil idea, as I often do, and grab one of the cleaned carrots out of the bucket next to me. I smack him firmly on the ass with it, just as a warning, but he says nothing. Reaching around to stroke his cock, I find him still rock hard.
"Oh, I think he likes it," I say, toying with his asshole with the narrow tip of the carrot. "I like things organic, what can I say?" Lars says. He's quivering with desire as I slide the tip of the carrot into his tight ass. I roll it around just inside the opening to stimulate him. So hot, he fucks the hand that is jerking him off, his foreskin sliding back and forth against my palm.
"Use the other end," he moans. I let go of his cock to fulfill the request.
"What a slut," I remark, spanking his butt cheek, hard. I lick his hole a bit more, to make sure he's good and wet. When the fat end of the carrot slips inside, Lars almost growls with pleasure. There's little resistance, as he seems to just open himself to it. I'm so wet, I have to fight back the urge to turn him over and sit on his big cock. I adore using him this way almost more than gratifying myself with his body.
"Fuck my ass, baby," he purrs and I gladly oblige him, pushing our new toy in as deep as I can. My hand is slick and creamy with his juices as I jerk him off.
Lars is going wild and I pound him harder in the ass; I know he's close to coming, by the way he moans. His pretty buttocks flex, then I feel his cock twitching in my hand as he shoots load after load of hot pearly come onto the mud beneath us. Slowly, I remove the vegetable from his ass and toss it aside.
"What are you going to do to me now?" he asks, breathlessly.
"Now you're gonna fuck me," I tell him. Lars nods his agreement and grabs for the shorts he was wearing, as I stand and strip off my shorts and panties. He takes out his wallet. It turns me on even more that he's prepared. It's hard for me to believe the condom fits on his thick cock but he unrolls it skillfully.
"It's your turn to get it from behind," he announces, shaking his hard dick at me.
"Uh-oh," I giggle, while moving onto my hands and knees for him. I get the feeling he's not going to be so easygoing and submissive when he's on the other side of things, which is fine, since I'm in desperate need of a good hard banging.
Lars spreads me apart from behind to get at my pussy and I feel his tongue go deep in me. He spanks my ass, just a gentle pop on the cheek and I gasp. Lars licks me up and down, lingering on my asshole just like I did to him earlier. I moan, prompting him to explore me more with his hot tongue. Using his finger, he probes and tickles me. Again he spanks my ass, harder this time. I moan to show him I enjoy the sting of a little spanking. So very wet, I wish he'd just fill me full of hard dick. He doesn't.
"Fuck me," I say, turning my head to look at him. He's fishing around in one of the buckets with his hand. I suppose I deserve it after what I did to him.