It's the nature of kids that they often learn by getting their fingers burnt or their butts warmed or their psyches embarrassed. If you're relatively new to parenting, you may not yet have learned that when you ask your child why he or she did something amazingly stupid and they say "I don't know", they may be telling you the truth. Until they're somewhere in their mid-teens, the brain connections are still being developed; in particular, the connection between that area called the limbic system where reactions to perceptions are generated and the prefrontal cortex where those same reactions are considered for possible consequences. It's your job as a parent to point out inappropriate reactions and to mete out appropriate consequences until the developmental processes are complete, or nearly so. The little darlings may not appreciate your sagacity at the moment but it'll help to get them on a much smoother path through life.
OK, these comments on neural anatomy and child development are my way of getting my excuses out early and in the best light. From time to time I recall something from my youth that makes me blush all over again. Right now, I'm recalling a time when I was just short of fifteen and spending the summer with my Aunt Willie, Uncle Gene and cousins Arnold and Sarah on their farm in eastern Colorado. My parents had assured me that it wasn't their intention to unload me (wink, wink) for nearly three months; rather, it was a chance for me to get out of the big city and experience another way of life.
My name is Jeremy Prescott, Jerry for short, and back in those days ten years ago, I suppose I was often perceived by grownups as being a precocious little shit. Referring to the first paragraph, I didn't go out of my way to annoy people. It's just that I knew I was smarter than most and tried to employ it to my advantage whenever I could. What possessed my aunt and uncle to take me in for a summer is beyond me; perhaps they hoped to score karma points toward the next life. By the way, Uncle Gene and my father are brothers so their last name is the same as mine.
I don't mean to say that I went out of my way to be a pain in the ass. I got along with nearly everyone pretty well but I found it impossible to refrain from pressing for an advantage if an opportunity arose and since I wasn't particularly adept physically, I stuck to whatever intellectual advantage I could muster since that was my strength.
Arnold and I are the exact same age to the day and Sarah is about a year and a half older. At the time, her social life had no room for two creepy boy relatives and that was just fine with us. From the day I arrived on the farm, between daily chores every morning and freedom to explore literally miles of territory in the afternoons, we had more than enough to keep us occupied.
We kids all worked four hours a day, five days a week for which we were paid five bucks an hour. As far as Uncle Gene was concerned, on a farm, there was always something that needed to be done and nobody got a free ride and that included Sarah. Allowances were not in the picture so you either worked for your money or did without. If Aunt Willie didn't have Sarah busy doing something in the house, she'd be out working with Arnold and me on something or other. She could be really nice and really funny when she wanted to be and her rapier wit left me without a comeback more than once. I didn't resent her for it, though; in fact, I was in awe of that kind of mental facility. I was also in awe of the well-developed sixteen-year old body she took pains to display in tight jeans and tighter T-shirts.
Uncle Gene worked too hard to allow his body to go to fat. He had one of those movie star bodies and the looks to go with it. I'm sure he was an object of lust for many of the ladies in town. Aunt Willie was no slouch, either. In today's parlance, she might be thought of as a MILF. If Sarah looked that good at the age of forty-four, she could thank her mom for the genes.
I looked forward to every meal at their house. Aunt Willie was a fantastic cook and dinner in particular was a special treat. If I hadn't still been growing and burning calories at a phenomenal rate, I'm sure I'd have grown fat from the sheer volume of food I stuffed down my gullet. Processed foods simply didn't find their way into the household. Every thing was fresh and cooked in a way that brought out the most flavor. It only took me about two meals to decide my mother didn't know the first thing about cooking. As far as she was concerned, if it wasn't microwavable, it was useless.
So on with the story.
One afternoon about three weeks into my stay, Aunt Willie told Arnold and I that she'd cook up a nice rabbit stew if we'd go out and shoot three or four cottontails. The idea of actually eating a cute little rodent that never did me any harm and that I'd have to murder to boot didn't excite me but Arnold assured me I'd love it. We took two .22 rifles out of the gun cabinet and headed across the fields toward the river on ATVs. I say river because that's what they called it but it really wasn't much more that a very small stream that meandered around the prairie like it was going absolutely nowhere in particular.
Arnold set up some targets in a stand of cottonwoods near the stream. As a city kid, I'd had very little experience with guns of any sort and suggested he'd need to give me a couple of lessons before we went on safari. Turns out he was a very good instructor and had me shooting inside the circle within one box of shells. When he thought I was ready, we headed upstream to a place that was supposed to be thick with rabbits.
During our trek along the stream, we talked about stuff fourteen-going-on-fifteen-year-old boys talk about; namely, girls and their attendant tits and asses. Of course, each of us wanted to know what the other had accomplished by way of physical contact with the opposite sex. I believe we were being surprisingly honest with each other considering a teenager's natural penchant for erotic fantasy. He told me he got a boner once when he was dancing with a girl at school and she let him rub it up against her leg. She wouldn't let him grope her boobs, though.
I was envious. The closest I'd gotten to anything even vaguely erotic was seeing my mom naked once and I thought that hardly counted as a sexual experience. He looked at me as if he were considering something and said, "If you can promise to keep a secret, I'll show you something real hot when we get home."
"I can keep a secret." I promised. "What is it?"
"Just wait and see." He snickered with the knowledge I'd be impressed.
We got back to the house that afternoon with four dead cottontails, all of which had been shot by Arnold. I just couldn't bring myself to do the deed. I didn't get off scot-free though because I had to help cut off their heads and clean them before we handed the corpses over to Aunt Willie.
"Come on!" Arnold said and we went out the back door and headed toward the barn. Inside, we climbed a ladder to the loft and scrambled over bales of hay to the farthest corner. There were several bales stacked high making a kind of wall. On the other side of the wall, Arnold had created a separate little room where he kept private stuff he didn't want his mom to find as she snooped through his room. He knew she snooped because he intentionally took note of where he left things in his bureau drawers and often saw that they had been moved when he checked again.
He took a key out of his pocket and opened a small, brass trunk that looked like it had been through two wars. Inside, he kept an amazing collection of pornography. There were little green books of dirty stories, magazines, even videotapes. I didn't know where to begin. I picked up a glossy mag with a picture of a woman with huge tits sucking on a dick the size of my forearm. The guy must have damn near passed out every time he got a hard on from the blood draining from his brain. Arnold took it out of my hands and said, "That's not what I wanted to show you."
At the bottom of the trunk underneath everything else was a large manila envelope. Arnold reached into it and pulled out a stack of photographs printed out on regular printer paper. They weren't super high quality but they were certainly good enough that I didn't have any problem recognizing that they were of Sarah in various stages of undress.
"Holy crap! Jeez, man, how did you get these? They're awesome!"
"It wasn't easy. I'll show you how when we go back to the house. So, what do you think?"
There were twenty-five or thirty pictures in all. Down near the bottom of the stack were three showing her lying on her bed playing with herself, clearly enjoying what her fingers were up to buried in her thick, black bush. Sarah didn't have big tits like those in the porn mags but she had nothing to be ashamed of. "I'll tell you what I think," I said, shaking my head. "I think if she ever finds out about these, your life is going to suddenly take a turn for the worse. When she gets done with you, there won't be enough left for your dad to beat senseless."
"Oh, she'll find out about them alright. I'm going to show them to her."
I looked at Arnold wondering why I hadn't picked up on his obvious insanity before this. "So, you have a death wish, right?"
"No, listen! Wouldn't you like to get your dick into that? I figure she'll agree to have sex with us if I promise not to show them to Mom and Dad. I should be able to talk her into a blow job at least, don't you? I bet she'll do both of us."
.... There is more of this story ...