The sun peeked through the calico curtains, and Hilda's nose twitched. Oh, let me sleep another half hour, she thought, wriggling her bountiful bottom into the feather mattress, and accidentally kicking Rex, her little white dog, who snorted and rearranged himself, then went back to dreams of chasing pussycats. But it was no use; the old stove had gone dead hours earlier, and the cabin was too chilly to allow further sleep. She stretched her arms above her head, savoring the last moment of warmth in bed-- and then she leaped up, putting bare feet to the wood floor and scattering crackers from last night's snack onto the floor as she clutched her red flannel union suit around her.

She lit a match and in a moment the old iron stove was glowing again. She held her hands in front of the growing fire, then turned around and shimmied her capacious behind in front of it, her round breasts bouncing back and forth under the coarse red flannel like a gunnysack full of polecats, her nipples swelling excitedly as they brushed back and forth against the rough cloth with the full weight of her breasts behind them. Then she noticed the cracker crumbs, and grabbed the dustpan to sweep them up. As she bent over to do so, her red hair fell in her face, and her breasts nearly spilled out of the top of the union suit.

It's too cold to be the first of May, she thought, as she admired the sexy new image on the calendar. A little dancing would warm me up, she thought, so she cranked up the Victrola and "Fascinatin' Rhythm" as sung by Ukulele Ike began to boom from the large metal horn. She began to dance to the music and Rex quickly ran for cover, observing the buttons in the rear straining as her ample bottom tested their strength and fearing that at any moment, one of them might fly his way at bb gun speed.

By the time breakfast was finished, the day had warmed considerably, and so Hilda slipped out of her union suit and put on the bikini she had made out of an old flour sack, then gathered up her watercolor kit and brushes. "C'mon, Rex, you old stick in the mud," she said teasingly, and Rex rolled his eyes and resigned himself to accompanying her to whatever trouble she would find today.

It was in fact a beautiful day, and butterflies and songbirds accompanied her as she strolled through the meadow. "Why so gloomy?" she cried out to the bull in the neighboring pasture, who merely scowled back at her. She well remembered the time she had tried to saddle and ride him, and found herself thrown onto her bottom. Fortunately, there was plenty of it to absorb the shock.

She came to an old wooden fence and an idea struck her. Years ago, when Pappy was alive, she had gone to the circus with him, and admired the tightrope walkers. It was not a skill she expected she could master-- they were such thin girls-- but the fence was a little broader, it seemed worth a try. So she climbed up onto it and with her parasol for balance, began to try to walk along it. She made it about five feet before shouting "Whoa-oh-ohhhhh!" and tumbling backwards, luckily into a haystack piled up just by the fence. As she looked up, dazedly, a squirrel glanced at her, shook his head, and ran off.

She stood up and then she looked down. Something was missing-- her bikini top! It must have popped off in the fall. Covering her round bosom with her arm, she looked around for it, but it was nowhere to be seen. What in heaven's name could she do?

She noticed some vines dangling from the chestnut tree a few yards away. In a few moments, she had snatched some leaves from the chestnut tree and attached them to the vine, making a makeshift bikini top out of the leaves. To be honest, it revealed as much as it covered, the swell of her ample breasts easily discernable between the patches of green. But it would serve for the morning, as she always had the pasture to herself. No one would see her.

She continued on her way until she reached a favorite spot overlooking the river. Sitting on a giant toadstool, she set up her easel and began to paint while Rex sniffed around for a place to nap. She had only painted a few moments, though, when he spotted a hummingbird and ran after it in high pursuit. Hilda ignored him at first, but a few moments later, there was a splash. He had followed the bird right off the dock and into the water.

"You naughty, naughty Rex!" she admonished him as she stepped onto the dock to retrieve him. The timbers must have rotted since last she used it, however, because soon the two ends of the dock began to move in opposite directions, and Hilda found herself being split in half. With a shriek, she tumbled forward as the dock halves gave way, and soon she too was in the river, with Rex.

A few moments later she stood on the bank, dripping water as she wrung out her bikini bottom, revealing both the curves of her behind and the mound in front. The bikini bottom would have to hang to dry, the thick flour sack burlap being no match for the fast-drying synthetics worn by more sophisticated bathers. Again she plucked vines and leaves and quickly wove them into a garment, which she was just about to put over her sex when suddenly a voice called out-- "Oh, don't cover it up, I was just thinking how much I liked a natural redhead."

Her response to this was to let out a bloodcurdling shriek, like none she had emitted since the night she was reading the volume of ghost stories and the Jessops' tomcat turned out to be hiding under her bed. That expression of surprise past, however, she took in a look at her unexpected audience-- and she had to confess to a lot of liking for what she saw, six feet of tall, lean, well-dressed city slicker, with a fedora hat and a pencil-thin mustache.

"Shapely's the name, Waldo Shapely," he said, as the Chesterfield on his lower lip dangled without falling. "Representative of the American Butter-Churn Company, it's the way it vibrates that produces all the cream."

"I-I use oleo," Hilda stammered. "For my figure."

"Don't tell me a lovely bounteous gal like yourself is one of those diet-fad types trying to make yourself as skinny as a spinster schoolmarm," Shapely said, walking toward her. "Why, a fellow doesn't want to hold his sweetie and feel nothing but elbows and ribs. He likes the feel of a real gal with flesh to grab hold of," and he grabbed her breast in its leafy covering, "and a bottom that gives when he pushes into it," and he grabbed with his other hand one of her buttocks, "and a face that is soft and tender, not as full of angles as a Cincinatti card game," and he brought her lips up to his, and bestowed on her the first kiss she'd had in nearly two years, not counting the ones she planted regularly on an unwilling but resigned Rex.

It had been so long, and Hilda was a gal with a lot of love built up in her, like steam in a kettle. She could hardly believe what she was allowing this traveling salesman to do to her, but in a moment he had popped the vine on her bikini top and was cupping her big round breasts in her hands, and she reached down the line of his seersucker trousers and felt the hard bony thing in his pants, and he led her backwards toward a sheltered little knoll, and then she lay on the grass, panting, her legs spread wide to reveal her treasure, wet and slippery, and he slipped out of his suspenders and dropped his trousers, and there it was, that hard thing, and all she knew was that she wanted it in her that instant, and she kicked her legs up in the air and he climbed onto her and jabbed it in, and she shrieked again, with pain but also pleasure, as he thrust it into her, her big bottom rolling up and down with each thrust, her hands roaming all over his back while he chugged at her.