Uncle Frank, Pauline, Sex, and Me
Copyright© 2024 by Fatbastard
Chapter 31
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 31 - Coming of Age in 1960s New Zealand. My father's much younger brother guided and mentored me from early adolescence through my teenage years and a series of girlfriends. While each story can stand alone, readers will get most out of this series if they read chronologically starting with Andrea, and progressing through Bronwyn and Robyn to my adventures with Pauline
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft Teenagers Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Farming School Vignettes First Oral Sex Petting
October – November 1962
The Morrows were all pleased to see me. They had already eaten, since I had written to Sandra, telling her not to expect me much before nine. Della offered cheese toasties, but I had stopped for fish ‘n chips on the way down, and I was quite keen to explore bareback sex with Sandra.
We were not so easily able to decline Johnny’s challenge to ‘just one game’ of Five Hundred. It didn’t take long, because Sandra made a couple of silly bids, and we were very quickly ‘out the back door’. Della made a slightly snarky comment which we ignored as we withdrew to Sandra’s bedroom, where I was surprised to find that her single bed had been replaced by a double. There was another flower on the pillow.
“It used to be Mum ‘n Dad’s, but she talked him into getting a new one.” She grinned. “I was conceived in this bed!”
“No more conceptions in it!” I grabbed her. “Not yet anyway!” At the time, I didn’t appreciate the significance of that comment.
The room was warm, and we undressed each other and lay together smooching on top of the covers with spermicide tablets to hand. I wanted to explore what I had discovered in my ‘research’, but Sandra was apparently in no mood to wait.
“I’ve been thinking about having you bareback since Mum made the appointments with Dr Dove.”
“Appointments plural?”
“Yup. Dad hates condoms and Mum doesn’t like her diaphragm much.”
“Wow! So both of you needed to regulate your periods!”
“Dunno. Mum went in separately and we didn’t do details. But the Doctor is really busy. We had to wait more than two weeks for our appointments, and he took us at the end of the day because I was back at school the next week. It was nearly seven o’clock before we got away from there. But never mind all that. Let’s do it!”
I slipped in a tablet and we did. Each of us not so secretly hoping for an electric connection, and with me slightly detached because no matter how much I tried to stay in the moment, I kept trying to feel the chi in my chakras. Not that our coupling wasn’t really really nice. It was – our skin to slippery skin, her heat, her vaginal muscles gripping, and Sandra’s obvious pleasure and responsiveness to my thrusting and grinding were heavenly.
One difference from our previous rubber clad connection, was that I could now feel Sandra’s erect and prominent clitoris stroking along the upper side of my penis as I thrust into her and withdrew. That was nice for me, but I suspected that it was still actually my shaft stirring the inside of her honeypot that was helping Sandra climb to her peak.
I remembered the last time we had managed an electric connection. I had slowed and hung on the edge of my own pleasure as Sandra climaxed and our breathing had synched. I considered trying that again. Briefly!
I hadn’t been with Pauline for four days, and although Mrs Palmer had visited, happy memories and a vivid imagination are no substitute for a real live girl writhing under you and hard up against your groins while she spasms around your shaft buried deep in her cunt. I had never heard Sandra use the word, but it came into my head and that was enough to rule out any chance of my holding back.
I went for it, pounding and pumping until there was no more spunk in me, and not too long after that, no more desire to move in either of us. Sadra had kept wriggling and squeezing, for little while, but then lay still as our breathing gradually slowed and I slipped out of her. I lay with my full weight on top of her, with her gradually softening nipples against my chest and her very wet and slippery thighs cradling my balls.
I was expecting to get hard again fairly quickly and enjoy some more of Sandra, but in the event, that was it for the night, and the next thing I was aware of was Della calling us for breakfast. We both needed a shower, and I briefly considered a water saving joint ablution in the shearer’s quarters, but time was pressing and we showered quickly and singly in the house before demolishing a substantial meal.
“So I’ve got you for the rest of the day, and the night and for the morning tomorrow?”
“I’ve told Grandma June that I’d like to have a meal with them. That’ll be tonight. How about you come over with me?”
Della cut in. “We’re way ahead of you kids. June and me have already arranged for all four of us to go over for dinner!” She smiled “And Five Hundred!” The smile became a grin. If we’re all there together, there’ll be no incentive for anyone to throw a game just so they can rush off to bed.” The grin became a laugh. “Not looking at anyone in particular!”
Sandra had the grace to blush, but made a valiant attempt to recover. “So you have some extra labor for the day. What shall we do?”
Johnny was thoughtful. “The fence on the West side at the top could use some attention. A couple of wires have finally gone. We could get gear up most of the way with the tractor, but then it gets steep and we’ll just hump it the last bit.”
Della and Sandra were unanimous. “No way! Your ankle won’t cope with carrying a load up there.”
Johnny tried to protest, but Della wasn’t buying his story. “The reason the fence needs attention is that the damage from the fire has caught up with us, and it’s a part of the farm that’s now too steep for you. The three of us will do the humping, you can supervise.” She looked at Sandra and grinned broadly. “You two should have no trouble!”
I got it immediately, but Sandra looked puzzled, and as Frank would sometimes say, ‘led with her chin’. “What are you talking about?”
“Humping!” Della’s laugh was louder than Johnny’s. But only just.
We loaded some fencing materials onto the tractor tray, and Johnny drove it as far as he thought prudent. He managed to climb the much steeper last section with the aid of a shepherd’s crook used as a staff, and Della, Sandra, and me made a couple of trips each to carry the tools, wire, and battens up to the fence. We sat on the hill for a ‘spell’ while Johnny looked the situation over to determine what needed to be done. That didn’t take too long.
“We might as well do all the wires. The corner strainer and the two posts are okay, but we should replace the battens.”
Della nodded her agreement. “Neither of us are getting any younger, and the galvanising’s gone on all the wires. Better to do it ourselves now than pay a contractor in a year or two.”
I looked closely at the section of fence in question, and I could see that there had indeed been a fire some time in the past. The posts were blackened, and the strainer and the battens near it were charred. All five of the wires were rusty near the strainer, and two of them had broken and hung slack between the staples holding them to the battens.
“How come there was a fire?”
Della laughed and Johnny looked slightly uncomfortable. “Tellya later. For now, let’s run some wires.”
In those days, fencing wire was still predominantly the 8gauge galvanized steel that had been in use since the 1860s, and I had humped a couple of coils up the last fifty meters from the tractor. Unlike the hard drawn 12guage that was starting to replace it, it was soft and easy to work, and Johnny was a dab hand with fencing pliers.
He very quickly cut out the rusted sections of all five wires, and knotted new wire, before ‘hooking up a Hayes’ on the bottom one. I had seen one of the patent wire strainers hanging in the Henley’s shed, but at the time, had no idea how it was used. Johnny showed me, but it was highly technical and bloody dangerous (he said) if you got a step wrong. He didn’t, and cinched the wire tight. Rinse and repeat.
In under an hour we had five new wires strained taught, and were stapling on the new battens between the posts. All good, and we briefly admired our new fence before humping the gear, excess wire and battens, back down to the tractor (much easier down than up), and went home for a latish lunch.
I think Johnny was hoping to avoid further discussion of ‘the fire’, but there was no way Della was letting him off whatever hook he was on. After a couple of ‘pokes’, he sighed and started the story.
“Before we got into arial topdressing after the war, pasture management was much harder. Too much grazing pressure and the land slips and erodes. Too little and it ‘goes back to scrub and hard fern”
I remembered the poplar planting at the Henleys. “Bruce had the erosion problem.”
“Yeah, it’s still hard on the very steep faces. Sometimes ya just can’t win. But anyway, up until the fifties, the standard answer was to burn off the patches of hard fern each autumn.” He paused, and Della took up the tale.
“During the war, labour was short, and Johnny’s dad was well ‘past it’ by then, so the place went back. Bigtime!”
Johnny looked a little less embarrassed. “I didn’t want to take over, but when Arthur was killed I didn’t have much option. Anyway, that top west corner was the last place to get attention, and by the time I got to it a couple of seasons later, the scrub was pretty tall and the hard fern bloody thick. I lit it at the bottom as usual, but the wind got up and the fire was a lot fiercer than I expected, and it set the scrub alight, and that set the fence alight. It burned the galvanizing off the wires and as your Uncle Bruce says - ‘Rust Never Sleeps!’”
Della put a hand on his arm. “You’ve sorted it now. That repair will see us out!” She grinned at Sandra. “Might even get to be your problem. No pressure!”
Sandra looked at me, and I came to her rescue. “You’ll need somewhere to keep all the camels!” We all cracked up, and Sandra and I did the dishes, while Johnny and Della went to feed the dogs and then ‘check out the shearer’s shower’. We showered separately and then had a ‘lie down’.
It seemed like a good time to tell Sandra about my ‘research’. She found the name ‘yonilingam’ both interesting and amusing, and told me that there was a Fijiian-Indian girl at her school who had briefly popularized the word ‘yoni’. I explained that thinking of the clitoris as a little penis seemed appropriate and ‘vulva penis’ also made sense, but thinking of the clitoris as part of the vagina in terms of the electric body energy between us was most useful.
“The article in “Sexology’ said that strong stimulation of the clitoris and the front wall of the vagina underneath it helped the energy to flow through the woman’s pelvis.”
“I can rub my button for ever, but it just gets sore and I don’t turn on fully and I can’t get off without something in me.”
“We know that we can get you off with my fingers inside you, but I reckon it’ would be worth exploring whether we can give your yonilingam a boost before we go there. Are you up for that?”
Sandra reached for me and jacked me lazily a couple of times. “Seems like you are!”