{OK, so I am a bit long in the tooth here, which probably doesn't fit in too well with some of you sexy wife swappers and cheaters and all of that.

38DD titties and 8 to 12" long dicks seem to be the norm around here, mine is a tad over 6" (really) and seems to work just fine most of the time.

I did have a wife decades back that cheated, her name is Patty and I wrote about her some, although lots of that is made up.

You folks know about "made up" don't you? Easy to spot, it nearly always sounds like...well?

Made up.

Now I just write about what happens, and yea, I stick some stuff in there now and then that is extra. Some of you seem to not like that, in which case it is easy to avoid. If you see the name "Magmaman" as the author, that is me.

I have been writing some NOT "made up" stuff, AKA "boring."

Really! So all you need do is wander on to REAL made up stuff, OK?

I am an old coot (really) and married to a sort of naughty wife NOT named Debs for obvious reasons(really) and yep!

She keeps things interesting around here (really).

MY name? Yea, it really is Dan.

One reader mentioned I didn't know Debra's AGE? Hell, I didn't know what her BIRTHDAY was without looking it up, I can manage to forget my OWN danged birthday. Two heart attacks and a stroke, so I got me an excuse.

I did go look up Debra's after some anon commented, it's July 15th. She just turned 58.

(Pretty good guess, huh?)

Way it is, what you see is what you get.

This one isn't exactly erotic, either.



I was outside working on my Rose bushes one Saturday, looking for bugs that eat leaves and trying to leave the bugs that eat bugs.

Things like that take awhile since I want to leave the good ones. Thank God for Google, I can name about every bug there is in Oregon now.

I pick up each and every leaf, look for signs. Often the bad bug isn't there, but the signs are which means I have to track it down and squash it.

Some of the little bastards are on to me, but I will get them sooner or later.

"Phone call, honey!" Debra called out, so I got up and went inside. It was pretty early, my wife was just headed out the door for her half day shift at the local hospital.

"You look good enough to eat!" I said, giving her a pat on the fanny as I went by. Debs was wearing her pale green smock, same thing she wears every day to work.

She giggled and headed for her new Camaro. It's a 2013, I told her if she waited six more months until it WAS 2013, she could buy a 2014 and then she would really have a new car?

How can it be a 2103 when was still 2012?

Beats the hell out of me.

She just bought the thing a few months back, it's OK I guess but it sure is hard to see out of. Hard for me to fold my six foot frame into, also.

I did drive it once, it does handle real nice, just don't go stepping on the gas too hard, as I found out when I stepped on the gas too hard.

It's a V-6, a person would have to be crazy to buy one with the V-8.

Then I spotted the five tiny little dents in the doors. Safeway parking lot, is where those come from.

Back to my big white Dodge crew cab for me. Most doors swing underneath my truck, I have two steps that swing out and a nice hand hold to help me get in and out of it.

Folks can smack their doors again my steel steps all they like, I don't mind.

It is amazing what a man gets to see right next to them when stopped at a stop light.

I have seen more panties than you can shake a stick at, lots of bras and every once in awhile one with no bra.

Once I even saw a gal with the seat reclined, no top on at all!

OK. I like it when that happens.

Part of why my rig has such big tires.

Hee hee.


Debs and I have a land line, I don't own a cell phone, although she has one. I am probably the only person left on planet earth that has never had one.

I did try hers once, there is no way to call anyone without a toothpick and no way to see what is on the itty bitty little screen without my glasses and a magnifying glass.

Then there is the "no connection" bit? Hell with that, I pick up the one with the wire hooked to it and it's always got a connection. Besides, no way do I want to go back to college to figure out how to work the damned things.


"Hey Dan!" I recognized Bud Wilson's voice instantly. He sounds a bit like a cement mixer, his voice is deep and he has a mild southern sounding drawl.

If I spend much time with him I end up sounding just like him.

Bud livs about 8 miles from the little almost six acre hobby farm I used to own some 18-20 miles up the river. He was one of my neighbors back then, he owns about 90 acres or so.

My little place got turned into building lots, those ricky racer "modular" homes all over what used to be grass, Deer, a creek and wildlife. One of those deals, the County forced me to sell by rezoning.

Bastards didn't ask me, either.

Government only thinks in terms of revenue, taxes. To them giving me a farm deferral on taxes was a waste when they could be getting way more from home sites. The Bald Eagle that lived in the giant Spruce tree that used to grow down by my creek? It had wings, it could just go somewhere else.

Notice I said "used to" about that beautiful Spruce tree?

Mother fuckers cut it down.

My not wanting to sell and move fell on deaf ears.

Bud's place somehow escaped that, part of it because the road into his valley is almost straight up for the first half mile.

If you didn't have a four wheel drive, you didn't get in there when the ground was wet.

This is Oregon, the ground is nearly always wet.

Sometimes not even then, Bud keeps a little gas Ford tractor he uses to get home when the weather was bad.

Umbrella on it, on a pole. It just sits there, you might think someone would steal it since all they would need to do it push the button and go.

Folks out there know Bud, he has a gun behind every door and on dang near every shelf.

"Hi, Bud. What can I do for you?" I asked him.

"I need you to come and help me with my hay crop." He said.

"Uhhh....?" I managed. Hell, I am almost 70 years old, picking up and stacking 60 pound bales of hay is not something I want to do very badly.

Bud picked right up on that, laughed like a maniac.

"No, not pitch them, I got a kid to help. My truck broke down, damn axle. I got one coming from a scrap yard out in the valley but I have bales down, I was hoping you could come haul for me?"

Over the years, if I needed something, Bud was always right over. That is just the way things are out in the country. Everyone helps everyone, we have to or often nothing gets done.

Bud owns an old Studebaker pickup, honest, they did make those years ago. He cut the bed off with a torch, built a flat bed on it to haul stuff with. It runs like a watch but he parks it out in the weather so it is mostly rust. I think it was green once, there is a little bit of that color left right below the doors.

It is old and always starts, but if something breaks, that begins the $100 search for the $10 part.

My big old Dodge crew cab is a 1998 model and it only has 46,000 miles on it, so it always starts and runs.

I made it up Bud's driveway about an hour later.

"Thanks, Dan." Bud greeted me with a handshake and a grin.

Bud is an on the weather beaten side man perhaps 5'7" tall, he has arms with biceps like Watermelons from years of picking stuff up.

I am about 5" taller but I bet we weigh the same or darn close to it.

He looks to be well into his late sixties but he is only 54, I know because I asked. Sun and wind does that to a man, way it is.

We drove out to his upper field, that is a good field too, nice and clean. Bud goes out and cuts any weeds like Bulrush or Foxglove by hand, sprays them carefully with a mild solution of Glyphosate and laundry soap, mixed with water, about 1%. Give that stuff 3 months and it kills the Tussock, or Bulrush it is also called.

The grass doesn't even change color if the solution is around 1%, and it won't harm fish, either.

I know, I tested it on some Goldfish, they didn't mind one bit. I use a dab of it carefully myself, it knocks a thistle plant down in about 3 days and any Tansy is dead in a week or so.

Like me, Bud cares about nature and all of that, many times we sat and shared some beer and talked about different ways to farm the land.

Bud is the guy that taught me how to plant Corn in a way that the Crows and Blue Jays don't notice it.

Easy stuff, don't plow the whole field, if you do the birds show up as soon as you put the seed in the ground.

Instead, weed out a little 12" circle, plant in that and mow in between. The Crow looks down and all it sees is another Mole hill.

If you want to grow Corn around these parts, you better be smarter than a Crow is.

I know quite a few folks that aren't.

That is a bit of work but it's better than planting 3, maybe 4 times every Spring.

My tiny Corn patch at home is about four feet tall right now and I didn't lose a single plant.

That is growing where my front lawn used to be, right by the sidewalk. In fact, it sticks out into the sidewalk area some, people don't seem to mind that.

Folks look at me funny but I don't care. Got me some Carrots, those half long Danforth's, Tomatoes, and a couple of Zucchini plants, too.

I did have a Cucumber but it took off across the sidewalk, no amount of tugging it back into my yard seemed to work, it turned around and went right back.

I think it liked the extra heat, maybe?

Bud loaded and I drove, it took us about 6 hours to get it all into his barn. I even pitched in and helped stacking, plus he had one of the neighbor kids named Victor there.

The kid was only 15, he looked well fed and he managed to last 3 hours before he broke down on us. We poured some water on him and parked him under a tree in the shade, then we went and got the last two loads.

We did check on him when we got back the first trip, he wasn't dead so we poured some more water on him.

Victor had gone home by the time we got back with the last load, Bud and I are used to that. Not many real farm kids left in the world, still, 3 hours pitching heavy bales in 80 degree weather is pretty good for a 15 year old.

Most of the kids we see today only know how to stare at tiny cell phone screens. Tell one of today's 15-16 year olds to toss a sixty pound hay bale up on top of a six row high stack and watch what happens.

Often the kids are nice and big, but they have muscles that have no clue at all of what work is.

I could do that when I was eleven. Of course, now I am almost 70 and don't want to.

Today's kids will use their cell phones to call someone with a fork truck, I guess.


Back at the house, Bud stuck a Pizza in the oven and got out some beer.

My Debra would have a Cow at the idea of me eating Pizza, let alone drink any beer but then she doesn't like the candy I keep under the front seat of my truck, or the cigars, either.

That and we don't even OWN a salt shaker. But then I am used to that, salt burns my tongue and I don't like it either any more.

I am 185 pounds now, I was about 240 or so back when we got married. My 140/80 blood pressure is way better than the 215/105 it used to be, too.

I tried to explain the Debs that it just meant my heart was nice and strong and working real good, she didn't buy that at all. Out came the pills, and salads.

Things like that are just part of being married to a Registered Nurse Practitioner.

I kind of like salads now, to be honest.


"So how is the old lady?" Bud asked me as he sliced the pizza.

It looked like a dandy one, the crust puffed up real thick, filled with Cheese. There was sausage and olives, some of those little snappy hot peppers on it.

I guess it had been maybe 4 years since I even saw a slice of pizza, so a few bites would make a nice reward for a day's hard work, and besides, Debs was more than twenty miles away.

"Debra? Fine, she is down to 125 pounds now and looks great!" I bragged a little bit.

"Yea, I know. That is some wife you got. I saw her a few days back, you are one lucky son of a gun." He grinned at me.

"You did? Where?" I asked, taking a swig of the beer. The stuff was called "Alaskan Amber", I had never seen the brand before and it was actually pretty good.

"Oh, at the office. Didn't she tell you? I had an appointment."

"Debra doesn't talk about her work much. Ethics, it's all private stuff." I fibbed.

The truth is that Debra tells me stories all the time, she is mostly dealing in geriatrics and it's a kick in the ass down there.

"We have to do something, or all of you old farts would stay home and die!" Debs has told me many times.

So the women in her clinic make quite a production out of checking their clients out, and the waiting room is always full of old men reading last year's Newsweek.

But she didn't mention seeing Bud, of course she doesn't know him well like I do. So odds are high it never crossed her mind, she sees at least a dozen people every day, often more.

"Yea, no biggie, I was just having some of that slow stream problem." He took the last pull off his beer, picked up a fresh one.

I didn't say anything, none of my business. Way too much information.

"I tried that Saw Palmetto stuff, that don't work." He added.

"Yea, it didn't seem to work for me, either." I answered.

"You, too? I shouldn't even be drinking this dang beer, makes it worse I think." He tipped the bottle back.

"That woman of yours sure does look fine, I bet she is hell in the sack." He grinned at me. I could tell that the beer was hitting him, Bud always gets talkative when he has about three of them.

That I knew from going fishing with him in his pond. He dammed up the creek going past his place, made a little lake of about two acres.

That was neat, he ran a hose down the hill into a washtub, waters his Cows and Sheep that way.

Illegal as hell to do that with no permit but he is like me in that he doesn't care what the County thinks. Besides, no one can see it unless they go up there, and Bud keeps his gate closed.

He can see the upper gate from his porch, and he has a rifle target riddled with holes on the other side of the road across from his gate.

Folks get that when they see it.

After he built the dam he drove down the coast to Siltcoos lake, caught a bunch of Catfish. He put those in a wet gunny sack and drove back home, dumped them in there.

Some of them are close to two feet long now, plus they are spawning and he eats the little ones.

We sat and caught them quite a few times, lots of fun in the Fall. The big ones sure do fight, we always use barbless hooks and turn those loose.

Bud would get tipsy when we did that and then want to talk about women.

"Yes, Debs and I are pretty happy with each other." I told him.

"Did you know she don't wear no bra to work?" He gave me a sideways grin.

"Yea." I not only knew that but most of the time she doesn't wear panties either. She has this uniform, a smock she wears, and it gets too warm for her sometimes.

My Debra takes medicine, she still gets flashes and things like that. She is 58, so it isn't the change of life but her medicine regulates some hormones, I guess.

I told Bud that, not sure why.

Beer gets me talkative also, I guess.

"Hell, I didn't mind. She was checking me out, you know? Had her hand right on my pecker. She bent over to look and I could see dang near all the way down there." Bud snorted at the memory.

It flashed into my mind that if Debra bends over, her smock does gape open, and yea, it's a nice view.

"Man, Debra has way better tits than Billy does." Bud added.

Billy is a woman I know Bud sees from time to time, friends with benefits stuff there I guess.

Beats me why everyone calls her Billy, her name is Barbara. A big country type woman, her fanny is nice and wide.

"That gal is big enough to pull the plow, a man never knows when the Mule is gonna get sick!" Bud cackled to me one day when Billy was well out of earshot.

Probably a good thing, that.

Now here was Bud talking to me about my wife's tits? OK, so he was feeling the beer, no big deal.

"She doesn't mean anything by it, she just needs to be comfortable." I like Bud but he was poking into territory I would just as soon he didn't.

"They had me give them a sperm sample, plus the piss sample. I never had no Doctor ever do that." He grinned.

"Just checking for bacteria, blood, infections and things like that." I told him. I know about them taking the sperm sample part, they did that to me way back at my Medicare physical.

But Debra doesn't do that, she has the client do it themselves, or if there is a problem, the nurse on staff named Jennifer goes in to assist.

Jennifer is an expert, how she does that so fast is beyond me. Nobody ever believes me about that part, yet it's true.

But I really didn't want to talk to Bud about what goes on in the clinic.


I turned down the 3rd beer, ate another slice of the pizza to maybe help take the edge off the two beers.

My sort of nephew Hal Jordan is the County Sheriff now, thanks to 91 votes of which two were from Debs and I.

But he would throw me right in the pokey himself if he caught me driving drunk.

Hal is married to our sort of Daughter Sandi, she is the girl I found hiding under a shelf in our bathroom closet.

I wrote that story already, it's posted here somewhere. That one happened, also.

"Thanks for the help, Dan!" Bud told me as I got ready to go home.

"Any time." We waved and I headed back home.

I glanced at my watch, it was almost 6 PM so I knew Debs would be home and wondering. I hadn't planned on being so late.

Hay is a three man job, we had just two and one half, then just two after the kid folded up on us.

I was a bit tired. my arms all scratched up and sore.


"Long day, honey?" Debs smiled as I walked in the door and headed for my easy chair. I had handled maybe 150 or 200 of those bales myself at the barn, so I was feeling it.

I had to, the kid kept piling one bale right on top of the other instead of crossing them to tie the stack. Do that and at about six high the stack falls down and you get to start all over again.

"Yes, Bud and I put in 640 bales today, got it all done. We had one helper, good thing or I would still be up there."

"Oh, you poor thing." Debs came over and rubbed my shoulders, man did that feel good.

"Have you been drinking?" She asked.

"Yea, had a beer." She didn't say anything.

Later Debs asked me if I was hungry.

"Not really."

"Oh? What did you have to eat?"

"Bud made a Pizza." I admitted.

That got me a dirty look.

"You know old Bud, he drinks a bit and stuff. He was talking about getting to see your tits." I threw that in there before she could get onto me about the pizza.

"What? What are you talking about?" Debra asked.

"Bud said he was at the clinic the other day, and while you were bent over checking out his stuff he could see down your shirt!" I laughed.

"Really? he said that?"

"Yes, he said your tits are way better than Billy's."

"Billy? You mean Barbara? Is he still seeing her?" Debs asked, changing the subject right back.

"I guess. Hell, that woman can cook, Bud knows a good thing when he sees it." I laughed.

"You men, so help me. All you ever talk about is tits." Debs laughed, then she went in the kitchen to make some soup and toast.


We were sitting in the kitchen talking after having a snack, I couldn't help myself.

Hell, there were a couple of recent incidents, like down at the gym awhile back Debs was working the leg lift machine and let Tim, one of the trainers see way more of her than he was supposed to.

I happen to know she did that deliberately, curious is the word she used. Debs got curious, it seems one of her clients talked to her about how her husband liked her to flash.

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