Old Farmhouse - La Vielle Maison de Ferme Pt. 01

Françoise liked, very much, what she saw. A young handsome man, his nut brown face with clear blue eyes under beautifully curly, blue-black hair; a strong body no stranger to manual work, she could see the strength in his arms and in the size of his hands; perhaps his legs could have been longer but his thighs were massive, not flabby with fat, rather hard muscle. His hands, arms and ankles were as brown as his face but the rest of his body as white as a sheet. A young man who worked in the open air but, of course, clothed. Naked the contrast looked rather silly but there was nothing 'silly' about his manhood. Not the way it was rising, just as she saw the bull in the field or the proud stallion rise. No different at all. She was a girl of the country. She saw such things. The young man was erecting right in front of her, seemingly as excited by the sight of that window as she felt moments before when there. He was not at all looking at the door to Françoise's hiding place, which was a relief; not sparing it a glance. Surely he did not come to the farmhouse for the self-same reason she did? What a thought!

What a sight, what a thing to see. A fine young man, hirsute, strong, handsome even and so upstanding, so long, so strong. What she had been imagining as she had played at her window was right there. What a fine looking young man. Françoise looked with longing.

The young man took couple of steps as Françoise continued to admire. What fine limbs - all five of them! The thought of his erect pénis as a fifth limb amusing, almost making her laugh out loud. But she dared not be heard. She had to remain hidden and as quiet as a mouse. Just watch.

It answered a question she had had in her mind; a question from seeing the bulls, rams and stallions: just how large was a man's 'queue'? Now she knew - quite large!

The young man stepped into the main bedroom beyond the doorway, towards what had been Françoise's window. Françoise now had a view of his naked buttocks. Tight and muscular - the thought of stroking them in her mind. Like she had done before he settled himself not in the chair but on the window sill. Buttocks planted, knees drawn up, he sat there looking out. Françoise thought, if she was really, quiet she could have left her hiding place and walked to him, perhaps reached him before he detected her. The shock if she had touched him. Not just finding himself not alone but with a naked Françoise. Her only movement, though, was to raise a hand and stroke a nipple as she watched. What was he thinking? What was he contemplating? It seemed to be the view. One knee dropped, his foot coming to rest on the floor and giving Françoise again a good view of his male organ. It had lost some of its stiffness but not, of course, its interest to her. It was just the pose she sometimes adopted though her body was very different.

A long sigh from the young man. To Françoise it sounded heartfelt, a sigh of loss or longing rather than mere physical tiredness. She did not think at all that he was a young man easily tired. Certainly not by walking. It further aroused her interest. Françoise was caught between indignation that someone had come into her secret place and excitement at what she was seeing. Her excitement rose as she watched a smile play across the young man's face and his pénis thicken once more. She felt her own wetness coming; the more so when she saw his hand drop, touch and encircle his organ; was he about to show her what men did - the equivalent to her own stirring of her 'pot'? The slow movement of his rounded forefinger and thumb was so clearly analogous to what she did that she knew the answer. With her own fingers she made a facsimile of a pénis, as he with his fingers made the facsimile of a vagina. Two young people pretending mere metres from each other. It might be asked why pretend when the real thing was there but he did not know that and Françoise was most certainly not planning to enlighten him. She would stay secret if she could. Certainly, she could hardly make her exit without being seen; she could not make a surreptitious exit down the stairs; was not going to reveal herself naked as she was, nor dress and calmly walk out and down the stairs with a 'Bonjour Monsieur, très bien jour, n'est-ce pas?'

Françoise watched and learnt. He was unhurried but, there again, she was in no hurry; was more than happy to watch from the safety of her room, watch with fingers slowly moving in and out of her body. She marvelled at how long his pénis stood all hard. Never had she seen that with bull, sheep or horse. Sometimes he stroked slowly, sometimes fast and sometimes he left the thing alone for a time. He did not just sit in the chair but sat on the windowsill as she did, his profile exciting; other times he stood staring from the window; sometimes he walked slowly around the room.

At one point she became quite frightened she was to be discovered, but even as he walked past her with his pénis up in he air, swinging slightly as he walked, she could not take her eyes from his body, could not bring herself to retreat from looking through the crack of the doorway. When he returned he was again dripping from the pump. Clearly, he had become overheated from the sunshine at the window. Françoise herself was dripping from the heat but she could hardly go and douse herself with cold water.

What a delight to see his naked male body shining and dripping with the water. How strong he looked. She could imagine the wet coolness of his so male skin against her own heated body. The cold water seemed to have little affected his manhood as almost immediately he returned it jerked itself back up into the air. To feel that hard against her - against many places on her body, indeed. Françoise stared with longing as once again the young man began to stroke as he stared out of the window.

The climax, the ending, le point culminant, when it came, was dramatic. Not at all what Françoise had been expecting, even if she was not quite sure what she had expected. She had an idea, of course, but it - the climax - was not what one saw with the animals: nor would it be visible if it was a couple engaged. Would she feel it happen if, and the idea so pleased her, the young man's pénis was inside her?

Françoise thought 'something' was about to happen by the increased movement of his hand on his pénis. All at once there was a spurt of white, out and across the room for a good 300 millimetres or so. Was that it? But no! A second much stronger spurt flying, indeed flying, all of a metre across the room catching the slanting light and flashing before falling to the floorboards.

'...trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit' Françoise counted in her head as she stared at the sight, her fingers busy.

He did not long tarry after his ejaculation. He did not spare a glance at the back bedroom door as he made his way downstairs again and Françoise heard the pump once more.

Françoise stood at the back-bedroom window watching the young man disappearing across a field. Her eyes followed him as her hand played. What a nice young man. He really was very good to look at. She wondered about him; she had not wanted him in her house, it was hers, but he had certainly been a sight. She was puzzled about how he had found her tunnel until she found a completely different way made to a different window through the brambles. He had had just the same idea as her but via another route; a bit like his orgasm. Same idea: different route. And, of course, her orgasm followed, taken in the front bedroom with her eyes looking at the splash marks on the floor.