Rural Adventures -- The Dairy
by Simon Galen
I.
The downside of a May birthday is that nobody cares. Sure, people complain about their December birthdays getting lumped into Christmas, but that's nothing compared to having a May birthday.
Where I lived in Maine, May was too early for friends to look forward to an awesome pool party, and if it not an 18th birthday on the Sunday before finals begin--like this one was--everybody's too busy studying to party.
I woke up on the day of my birthday and groaned. Welcome to adulthood, population: lame! From my bed, I could hear the crunch of newspaper as my dad laid a morning fire to shake the early spring chill from the house. From my window, I could see the steel colored clouds through the budding branches of the oak tree. Perfect weather for a perfect fucking day.
As much as I wanted to stay under the covers counting my miseries, a pressing need had begun to exert itself on my bladder. I threw off the blankets and got up. By the bed I found an old pair of jeans that passed the smell test. I shook them out and slipped them on.
I love freeballing in old jeans. As I ran down the hall to the bathroom, the denim grabbed and rubbed my cock. By the time I reached the bathroom and popped the first few buttons on my fly, my dick was standing straight up and begging for attention.
I needed to piss, but I really needed to rub out a load. Since waking up I'd been so focused on shit beyond my control, I had failed to take this pressing matter in to my own hands. I undid the remaining button and pulled my balls out. Despite the cool morning air, they hung down loose and heavy. I cupped my hand around them and let my pants drop to my ankles.
I stroked my cock lightly, and electricity shot from the tip of my dick to my toes. My knees shook as I continued this near tickle of a caress. On the way back up, I tightened my grip, squeezing out a single drop of precum. Before I could catch it, it dripped from my dick's head and created a long strand as it dropped down to my pants.
Two more strokes and another drop appeared. This one dripped onto my knuckles. I caught a glimpse of myself in the medicine cabinet mirror as I raised my hand to my lips. The dark brown bedhead hair looked cooler than I could ever make it look when I tried combing it. Cross country skiing all winter had tightened my chest and I could even see the start of some biceps. I also had that alabaster glow that came from living through Maine's six months of winter.
I watched the reflection as my tongue darted forward, tasting the sticky-sweet droplet I had caught. I can't remember the first time I had started tasting my precum, but I loved it.
I started stroking in earnest. I fell into the familiar rhythm. Two gentle strokes teased my dick until it quivered. A strong squeeze on the return of the third caused more precum to leak from the piss slit. My left hand kept a gentle downward pressure on my balls.
More precum trickled between my hand and my cock. No longer stoking, my palm glided along the underside of my shaft. I could feel my balls tightening. I gripped them harder to keep them from pulling up. A churning feeling had started--
Bang! Bang!
"Come on, Joey," my dad shouted through the door. "Some of us got stuff to get done today."
My dick instantly deflated. Shit, I thought. The moment was dead. I pissed, buttoned back up, washed my hands, and stepped into the day.
By the time I had found a relatively clean shirt and made it to the table, dad had already finished his coffee and was ready to head out.
"Jim called this morning," he said. "Got some cars in yesterday he needs me to see to."
"But dad!" I said.
He cut me off. "I know I said I'd take more time off, but Jim pays time and a half on Sundays." He tousled my hair like I was a kid and walked off. Just as he reached the door, he stopped and turned. For a moment, I thought he had remembered what day it was. "We're out of milk," he said. "Go down to the Pelletier's and buy a gallon."
He was in his truck before the screen door slammed and had reached the end of the driveway before I whispered, "but it's my birthday."
II.
We had been buying our milk from the Pelletier's farm as long as I can remember. The senior Pelletier had run a full-scale dairy operation back in his day. Now, he was retired and had passed everything but the deed itself to his son Daniel.
I always liked Daniel. He always took the time to show me how things on the farm worked. I'll never forget the time he showed me how to milk a cow when I was 13 and he was 16. It was a cold rainy day, but the barn was warm. A big old tom cat was sitting outside the stall watching us closely. Daniel used a clean rag to wipe some excess salve off a cow's udder.
"What's that?" I asked.
He held the green tin the salve came in under my nose. It smelled liked chamomile and aluminum. "It's bag balm." he said. "It prevents chapping and chaffing. You can rub it on anything, but don't get any near your mouth."
"Is it poisonous?" I asked.
Daniel laughed. "Of course not," he said, "but it tastes like shit. Hey, watch this!" He aimed one of the teats and gave it a squeeze. A stream of milk shot out seven feet and landed right in that big old tom cat's mouth.
"Your turn," he said as he gave the teat another squeeze. A jet of warm milk splashed across my lips and nose. "It works better when your mouth is open," Daniel said. I burst out laughing. "Shh," Daniel gasped through his own laughter, "Dad hates wasting milk. He'll tan my hide if he catches us."
The milk cooled as we held our breath. Daniel stood up and reached down toward me. I thought he was going to help me stand. Instead, his finger brushed some of the milk off my cheek and onto my lips. For a moment we just stared at each other: me on my knees unsure what was going to happen next, him standing with a finger resting on my lips unsure where it was going to go next.
Suddenly we heard the elder Pelletier shouting from the house. "Danny! Phone call." Then Daniel was gone, and I walked home driven nearly half crazy by my first hard-on.
All of that had happened five years ago, and we hadn't found ourselves alone together since. We weren't avoiding each other. School, chess club, and cross-country skiing kept me busy, and I don't think Daniel got away from the farm much. Besides, nothing had happened. We were teens goofing around. He had wiped some milk off my face. Looking back, I know I wanted something to happen. I wish I knew what.
III.
It was only a mile or so to the farm, all downhill. I got there around 10 o'clock, and the dark skies were beginning to clear up a bit. I still pushed my bike into the barn in case it rained. By that time of day, the morning milking was long over, and the Pelletiers, I assumed, were at church.
With just the two of them running the farm, frequently neither of them could be found near the barn nor the farmhouse. This had necessitated the creation of the honor can. They stored the honor can on the bottom shelf of the milk cooler inside a little room accessed from the barn's side door. An open doorway connected this room to the rest of the barn. Year round one could find the usual dairy stuff in the cooler: butter, cream, and milk. Depending on the season, there would be other stuff too: bags of fresh produce, the occasional pie, and eggs. A price list was taped on the cooler door. There was usually enough money in the honor can to make change, but nobody ever walked away with just milk.
As I looked through the cooler, I heard a board creak and what sounded like somebody whispering deeper in the barn. As quietly as possible, I put the milk back into the cooler and slid the door shut. With the Pelletiers gone and all the animals pasturing, there was no reason for anybody to be there.
I crept through the doorway and into the deep shadows of one of the stalls. Outside, the sun came out from behind a cloud. Here and there, beams of light cut diagonally through the barn illuminating little patches of floor and caused the shadows to grow deeper with the contrast. At first, I could see nothing, but as my eyes adjusted I could make out a shape standing about three stalls away.
It was a guy. I could tell that much. He was leaning against one of the stall's corner posts, facing away from me. In the dusty half-light, I could make out the silhouette of his broad shoulders. Both of his arms were in front of him as if he were holding something.
Silently, I snuck from the stall I was in to the next one. Closer now, I could see one of his arms moving, the biceps flexing as his arm went back and forth like he was sawing wood but with none of the rasping sound. The heavy scent of cow and hay had nearly overwhelmed my nose, but behind it I could smell something metallic and herbal.
The man moved and I caught my breath. As he straightened up and took a step deeper into the stall, his face moved through a patch of light. It was Daniel! I was so relieved, I almost laughed. I stopped myself just in time. I still didn't know what he was doing here, but something told me he wasn't going to be impressed with getting spied on.
In the five years since Daniel had shown me how to milk a cow, he had changed a lot. At 16 farm work had made him lean and muscular. As he took on more of the heavy lifting that comes with running a farm, his body had transformed to reflect it. Now 21, a permanent five o'clock shadow turned his once boyishly smooth face rugged. The way he leaned slightly back prevented his sweat stained t-shirt from hiding how his chiseled chest gave way to broad shoulders and arms that looked like they had been carved out of fire wood.
There whoosh of fabric dropping and the clunk of a belt buckle hitting the floor. Daniel threw his head back and let out a huge sigh. His left arm resumed moving, but the stall prevented me from seeing what was going on.
I took a chance and moved into the last remaining stall between us. He was so involved in what he was doing, he never heard me. There were a couple of broken boards in the dividing wall. When I looked through everything he'd been handling came in to view.
The sound of cloth dropping had been his pants slipped down to his ankles. In front of me, two muscular thighs were tightening as he maintained shifted weight from one leg to another. A bead of sweat rolled down the one nearest me and left a glistening trail. I wanted to stick my head through the hole and catch the drop on my tongue. Just before I gave myself away, Daniel's hand left what he had been holding his attention.
Daniel's cock jutted out from his body. It bobbed up and down in time in time to his breathing, caught between its desire to stand straight up and the constant pull from its own engorged weight. Underneath it, two massive balls were hanging loose. No wonder why he was jerking off in the barn--he was built like a bull. As Daniel reached out for a familiar green tin, his shaft passed through one of the beams of light. Shiny with the bag balm he had already rubbed on it, his rod gleamed and swayed as he flexed. I heard Daniel swear and the sound of a lid hitting the ground as he fumbled with the tin. He brought his hand back to his cock, and the smell of medicinal, metallic of salve and sweet earthy hay dust grew stronger.
From somewhere else in the barn, a cat yowled and Daniel sighed. That's when it hit me: he was standing in the same place where he had shown me how to milk a cow. I ran my finger along my cheek where the jet of hot milk had landed. As Daniel's fist slid down his shaft and then back up, I knew what I wanted to happen all of those years ago. My own cock pressed painfully hard against one of the buttons of my fly. I was about to pop it open when Daniel sighed deeper than before. "Mmm, Joey," he exhaled.
Shit! I was busted. I looked up from the hole at Daniel's face, but his eyes were closed. His right hand was under his shirt moving along his chest. His breathing was becoming ragged as he stroked faster.
I must have misheard him
"Yeah, Joey," he groaned again, "like that."
Surprised at hearing my name, I inhaled sharply and immediately sneezed.
Daniel's eyes popped open and he dropped his cock. "Who the fuck is there?" Daniel bellowed.
Knees shaking, I stood up. Daniel gaped. I couldn't tell if he was surprised or angry but unlike the last time we had been together in the barn, I knew what I wanted. I stepped slowly into his stall, trying to hide that my whole body was trembling. I knew I couldn't say anything without my voice quavering, so I didn't. I just kneeled.
His cock hadn't gone down at all. If possible it looked even harder. He brought his hand back to it. This time he thrust forward punching it through his fist until his dickhead was so close to my nose, I could feel the heat radiating off it. The smell of Bag Balm grew so strong I could taste it.
"Yeah, Joey," he said, his voice growing husky, "stay right there." My dick twitched against its denim confines each time he said my name.
Keeping his hand in place, Daniel pulled back until on the head of his dick rested in the tunnel he made with his fingers. With his free, he cupped his balls. He thrust forward again. A droplet of precum shot out and landed on my nose. He pulled back and drove forward again. I could feel my balls tightening as my own cock flexed in time to Daniel fucking his hand.
Daniel let go of his sack and put his hand on the back of my neck. His grip and my balls tightened as he continued to ramrod his fist. "Fuck, Joey" he groaned, "I've thought about doing this with you for years." Sweat darkened the trough between his pecs and glinted as the light hit his hair as he picked up speed.
I could feel electricity coursing through my erection and my face flushing in the shadowy heat of the barn. Instinct took control and as his dick came toward my face, I opened my mouth. Daniel's grip tightened and stopped me from leaning in. Using practically none of his strength, he turned my head up until I was staring into his face. Lips parted, his breath now came in ragged gasps. Moisture plastered his hair to his forehead, and his natural ruddiness was now a deep red.
He let out a groan that was almost a yell. Cum blasted across my cheek. A second jet of cum covered my nose and into my hair. The next sprayed the insides of my jeans as my body lost control. I hadn't even touched myself when the biggest orgasm of my life saturated my lap. I was so surprised that I didn't even feel Daniel's last volley hit me right in the center of my face.
Neither of us moved as we caught our breath. For the first time in my life, I had cum with another guy. For the first time, I was smelling another dude's cum as it cooled and dribbled down my face.
Daniel reached down. He collected his cum on my cheek with his finger and then traced his finger along my lips, parting them. My tongue darted out and tasted what he was offering before my brain could say no. It was salty, both sweet and bitter. He slid his finger into my mouth, feeding me all the cum he had collected. My tongue whirled around his finger.
He wiped more from my forehead and nose, and fed it me that too. "I think that's all of it," he said. "I really hate wasting cream. This struck us both as funny and we began to crack up.
The sound of a familiar truck cut our laughter short. "Shit! It's my dad," I said jumping up.
"You can't go out like that," Daniel said. I followed his stare and looked down. Even in the barn's deep twilight, the spreading cum stain along my crotch and right thigh was obvious. Even if my dad assumed it was just piss, that would still raise some tough questions.
Outside, a truck door slammed. "Danny, you around boy?" my dad yelled.
"I'll get him up to the house," Daniel said. He grasped his t-shirt by the bottom and pulled it over his head. "Here, wipe up with this." Then he slipped out of the barn to meet my dad. "You just missed Joey," I heard him yell.
I buried my face in Daniel's shirt and breathed deep. It smelled like sweat, hay, cum, and Bag Balm. I knew I should have left it there, but I didn't. I threw it and the jug of milk into the basket on my bike and then walked up to the door and looked out. Dad and Daniel were walking away from me toward the farmhouse. Dad's arm, streaked with black grease running through his course dark hair, resting on Daniel's bare shoulder.
"Jim had me work on his engine this morning. Thought you might have some time to check out my stick shift right now," my dad said.
I couldn't hear Daniel's reply.
"Looks like you got the bag balm already," my dad said and ruffled Daniel's hair. "That's a good boy," "Let's get you back in the house wearing--. Well, you're halfway looking like you should already."
I counted a slow fifty after I heard the screen door slam before I pushed my bike out of the barn. I didn't think I had done anything wrong, but I didn't think I wanted my dad catching me here right now. I swallowed hard, unsure of what I had just heard. I could still taste Daniel's cum and my stained pants was even more obvious in the sunlight. I hopped on my bike and pedaled home as fast as I could.
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About the Author: Simon Galen is a struggling writer/bartender living off tips and trying to put an English degree to bad use through erotic fiction. He's thankful for any comments from readers and tries to answer all emails he receives (it may take a week or so). He can be emailed at mclrebel@gmail.com.