Chapter 5

Baling hay was invented by the Devil to punish man for his sins.

To be more precise, the baling part isn’t so bad. It’s the moving bales from the field to the barn that should be made illegal. I fully understand why somebody invented big bales that have to be moved with a tractor.

But Uncle Bob didn’t have a big baler. The hay he put up was just for his horses and cattle. He had six horses, and maybe fifty cows. His baler was the kind that produced a rectangular mass of hay, held together with two wires that went around it longways. The machine actually folded loose hay together in sheets and then wrapped each bale. If you’re baling prairie hay, which is different than clover or brome or fescue, then the bales weigh about thirty-five pounds each, give or take a few pounds. I won’t go into what other types of hay weigh because it doesn’t matter to the story.

Thirty-five pounds doesn’t sound like much. and it isn’t, in the grand scheme of things. A tub of cat litter weighs about thirty-five pounds. No big deal, right?

Now think about picking up a hundred pails of cat litter and putting them on a flatbed trailer that’s four feet off the ground. If you’d rather, then think about being the person on the trailer, receiving each pail of litter and stacking it up until you have a hundred pails on the trailer.

Now you drive to the barn and take it off the trailer and stack it in the barn. On the second story of the barn, by the way.

We baled three hundred bales Saturday morning, between seven in the morning and one P.M. Lunch was sandwiches from the cooler and at one-thirty a high school kid named Travis showed up in what looked like a brand new Dodge Ram pickup. The three of us traded off driving the tractor, standing on the trailer, and bucking the bales up onto the trailer. Women’s libbers would have been proud, because nobody suggested I drive the tractor all the time, and let the men do the heavy work.

I probably only had to buck fifty bales, because it became obvious pretty quickly that bucking bales was not one of my strengths. I did have to stand on the trailer and stack them, though. With that in mind, do the math. 300 bales times 35 pounds is five and a half tons of hay.

I’ll just cut to the chase. By seven that night, when we finally stopped, I wanted to just die and go on to whatever reward my mother insisted was waiting for me. And we hadn’t even gotten all of them out of the field, yet! I could barely walk. Travis wasn’t even breathing hard. He grinned as Uncle Bob paid him and said the rest of the bales could stay where they were for a while. Travis said, “It was fun. Call me anytime.” If I’d had a gun I’d have shot him.

If I’d been able to lift the gun, that is, which is unlikely.

I wasn’t much happier with Uncle Bob. I didn’t say anything, because I was too proud, but I knew he’d done this to me on purpose, for jumping up on him and kissing him and trying to have my way with him. That’s how things got twisted in my mind as I picked up yet another bale of fucking hay and moved it somewhere I knew was unlikely to be its final resting place.

I groaned as we went inside and sat down at the first place I could. That happened to be at the kitchen table. I moaned, even though I was trying to be quiet.

“You okay?” he asked, as he stretched like he had just done some track and field event.

“No,” I said, through gritted teeth.

“I tried to give you a break,” he said. He handed me a glass of water but I didn’t pick it up. He’d made me drink water all day. I wasn’t usually thirsty, but if I was drinking water I wasn’t lifting a bale of hay, so I drank. He’d taken a big water thingy with us, like football players dump over their coach after they win the game. It must have held five gallons, and the three of us emptied it. The strange part was I hadn’t had to pee all day.

“You mean you tried to break me,” I said, finally venting a little. I was too tired to actually get mad.

“Don’t be silly,” he said. “If you were being asked to do too much, you should have said something.”

“And be laughed at as a girl?”

“Nobody would have laughed at you. I was impressed, actually. Travis was, too.”

“Whoopee,” I said, tiredly. “I think I’ll sleep right here.”

“No you won’t,” he said. “You need to do some things to make sure you can function tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is Sunday. I’m going to sleep all day,” I muttered.

“You won’t be able to sleep if your muscles are cramping,” he said.

“I’m not moving,” I insisted.

“Yes you are. A hot soak, and a massage, and you’ll feel much better,” he said.

“I’m not moving,” I growled. “I may even stay here when I have to pee.”

He laughed, and then picked me up, bodily. I weighed as much as three bales, but he lifted me like I was a puppy. I was too tired to resist.

It got interesting, then.

He laid me on my bed, and started the bath going. While the tub filled, he came back and started undressing me. I just watched, wondering what was going to happen. He did my boots first, and then my socks. He undid my jeans and pulled. I didn’t help. You know how you’re mad at your parents for something, and then your mom cooks your favorite meal. And you want to be truculent and resist, even though you know you shouldn’t be an ass about it. She’s trying to make it up to you, you know? Anyway, I was truculent and didn’t help, even though I wanted to.

My utilitarian white cotton panties stayed on as he tugged my jeans down. Then he did my shirt, which was a long-sleeved checkered one he’d bought me just for haying, to protect my arms from the sharp ends that stuck out all over each bale. He unbuttoned it all the way before he flicked the halves aside, baring my breasts.

He stood there for a few seconds, blatantly admiring my boobs. I wanted to wiggle, but was too tired.

Then he took my panties off as if he’d done it a thousand times and it was no big deal.

I was so shocked by this that I couldn’t resist. I didn’t even think about resisting. All I did was hold my breath. This was the complete unknown. It was like the starship Enterprise nosing into a dust nebula in some far away galaxy, to see what was there.

He looked at me, his eyes sliding around like I was a restored antique car and he was a judge, looking for a blemish.

“Gorgeous,” he sighed. He blinked and seemed to come back from somewhere far away. “Let’s get you in that tub.”

He carried me and I let him. I didn’t even put my arms around his neck, I was so tired.

I let out an agonized groan as he lowered me into the hot water. It felt like it was burning me, but I knew he’d tested it.

He stood up. My eyes flickered to the front of his jeans, looking for a bulge. The material was too thick to arrive at a conclusion.

“You stink,” I said. “Go take a shower.”

“Okay,” he said as he reached the door he stopped. “Don’t drown,” he ordered.

“I’ll whimper if I need help,” I said.

I dozed off within minutes. I didn’t even try to wash, or anything like that. I just let the water cradle me and closed my eyes.

I woke up when he came back, and was disoriented because I couldn’t tell now much time had passed. The water didn’t feel hot anymore, but that was all the information I had to work with. He had on sweat pants and a T shirt, and his hair was still wet from his shower.

He drained the tub, standing there staring at me as the water slowly lowered. I felt edgy, but not disturbed, if you know what I mean. The most amazing part of all this wasn’t that I was totally nude in front of a man for the first time. The most amazing part was that it felt so normal to be naked in front of this man.

I had revived a bit, and he let me struggle up. He helped me climb out of the tub and then he manhandled me with a towel. I know he was drying me off, but it felt like he was buffeting me, pushing me around, just roughing me up. I didn’t complain.

And the Enterprise nosed further into the nebula.

He laid me on my bed, face down, and his hands started doing magic things to my body. I had never had a real massage before. I’d had my shoulders rubbed a few times, but nobody had ever worked on each of my muscles until I was as limp as a wet dishrag.

I heard sounds, noises like someone was being tortured, and it took a minute for me to realize I was the one making those sounds. His hands felt huge, and like soft rocks, digging into my muscles. It felt like my skin should be tearing, but it wasn’t painful. It hurt, but it wasn’t painful, if that makes sense.

His hands reached my butt, and he mauled me there. I thought in a misty kind of way that I hadn’t done any work with my butt, but I didn’t care, because it felt fabulous.

He put my arms by my sides and closed my legs. How had my legs gotten spread? I felt like an arrow. Then he rolled me over and everything flopped loose again. My arms went out a little, and my feet somehow flopped apart.

He went to my feet, which he hadn’t touched, until this point. When he started moving all the bones around I thought I’d cry. It would have been tears of joy, though. Strength had flowed into me from somewhere, probably that nebula, and I lifted my head. He was sitting on the bed with my feet in his lap. He was also ogling me.

“Not fair,” I said, weakly.

“What now?” he asked.

“I’m naked, and you’re not.”

“Hah,” he said, squeezing my left foot until I winced. “Nice try.”

“Are you hard?” I asked. How in the world could someone rubbing your feet make you think about sex?!

“None of your business,” he said. “Be quiet. Don’t tense up,” he ordered, as I tried to use my free foot to feel for a boner.

“Not fair,” I groused, giving up. It just took too much energy to move my foot around.

He did the other foot and then abandoned them to work on my thighs. He’d done my calves while I was face down. My legs were carelessly open, and I knew he could see my pussy clearly. His hands, so near my girly part, felt different. It was an okay kind of different, which just amazed me. He gripped my hips on either side and just made them move around. Then he did my pecs and my shoulders.

“Cassie?” he said.

“Hmm?”

“I’m going to touch your breasts now, baby.”

“Promise?” Don’t ask me why I got snarky. I don’t know.

“There are muscles under them that you worked hard today,” he said.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” I said.

Then his hands covered both of my breasts and pushed firmly and I swear he did the wax on/wax off thing from that karate movie.

I’ve had breasts since I was twelve. They grew early and I hated them from that point on. First they hurt. Then they got heavy. If I encased them in the bras my mother insisted I wear, they got pinched. They bounced when I ran, and sometimes when I even walked! Boys (and men) stared at them. They weren’t good for anything!

But when Uncle Bob mauled them, and stretched the connective tissues under them, which stretched muscles there, I suddenly loved my boobs. Girls have pecs, too. They just run under the breasts. And the breasts themselves have lots of nerves in them. So not only did he make my pecs feel good, he made the breasts themselves happy, too.

Had he stopped right there, I’d have been happy as a lark. I’m sure of it. But all those good feelings in me made me do something I hadn’t planned on doing.

My hand fumbled around at the front of his sweat pants and I found something long and hard in them, and I squeezed it.

“Hah!” I panted. “Gotcha!”

If I hadn’t done that, I don’t think he’d have twiddled my nipples. But I did, and then he did that, and the second he rolled my nipples and tugged at them, he owned me. It’s just that simple. I knew at that specific point in time that I would give my virginity to Uncle Bob.

I made some more noises and squeezed his cock hard. I didn’t mean to squeeze it hard. It just happened.

“You think you want that?” he said, breathing deeply. “You want to see what that will feel like?”

I didn’t answer him. My lungs were frozen. Streaks of electricity were zipping from my nipples to my belly. Of their own volition my knees bent and my legs pulled up and fell open. It must have looked like I was a slut of the first degree, but none of it was voluntary. I swear!