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Introduction:

The names have changed, but this might have happened like this.
I started working on a farm when I was 13 years old. Back in those days, if you lived in the country, you worked somewhere during the summer. My family moved out to the country after my eighth grade year. I was young for my grade because I had been advanced due to my schoolwork. But I was fair sized for 13 and most folks didn’t know I was that much younger than I looked. My first job was for a beekeeper who hired me to hoe the thistle weeds out of his clover fields so that his honey was pure clover honey. I don’t remember what I made, just that it was always hot. My dad gave me a nine-volt am/fm radio to listen to as I hoed weeds until I had blisters and then kept hoeing until I had callouses. That job lasted until right before the Fourth of July, when I actually hoed myself out of a job. The honey farmer told me on July 2nd that he’d never seen anyone chop as many weeds as I had and that he was pleased and proud of having given me my first job. Then he gave me a quart of the best honey you’d ever taste and my final paycheck. And with that ceremony, I was out of work, just six weeks into the labor force.

Don’t fret. I lived in a small rural community and word traveled fast. I was young, but I kept my head down and did the job from start to finish and there were plenty of farmers looking for hands like that. The Fourth of July meant a community barbecue with fresh corn on the cob, plenty of grilled meats, potato salad and cold drinks for the kids. The adults drank keg after keg of beer. The man running the big barbecue pit was a giant of a man. Everyone called him Mr. Loeschen if they didn’t know him. They called him just Mister if they did know him. He was an ex-marine turned farmer and he was gruff from sunup to sundown and was known far and wide as the hardest working farmer in the valley. If Mister said it could be done, it got done. At the barbecue he worked and sweated all day, grilling steaks and burgers and lamb chops, stopping only occasionally to mop his brow or drink an entire Hamm’s beer in two swallows.

“Boy! You there with the Dodgers cap, what’s your name?” he bellowed as I walked by, just beyond the edge of the crowd of farmers standing around the barbecue pit. I knew he was talking to me, and I turned to face him. I knew of him, but I didn’t know him.

“I’m Paul David, Mr. Loeschen. I’m Pete David’s boy.”

“I know who you are,” he replied gruffly. “Are you the youngster who cleaned out McPhee’s clover fields?”

“Yes, Sir.” I really wanted to be anywhere but there. A game of baseball was about to start behind the community building and I wanted to be picked to be on the good team with my friend Buddy.

“McPhee told me you aren’t working there anymore. Why not?” His tone was more accusative than inquisitive. I was scared to death he was going to tell me I did something wrong.

“Mr. McPhee said I had hoed myself out of a job,” I said without a hint of bragging, hoping a simple answer would get me dismissed.

“I reckon you did. I’ve been here twenty years and never saw any clover growing in McPhee’s clover field until this year. You looking for someplace to work?” His tone softened some. It must have been the beer and the heat getting to him.

“Well sir, I hadn’t really give it much thought.” In truth, I was hoping to get a job pumping gas at the community store. Shady and slow with plenty of cold drinks in the store.

“You start for me in the morning. Bright and early. Pack a lunch. I’ve got some chores for you to do.” The men around him laughed.

“Yes sir.” I tried to sound grateful but I am sure it was the sound of defeat and dejection. Maybe my dad would tell me I couldn’t work for Mr. Loeschen, on account he’s such a tough guy to work for. Not my luck.

“Did Mister talk to you tonight?” he asked as we headed home, walking in the dark behind my mother and my younger sister.

“Yeah.”

“Did he ask you if you wanted to work for him?”

“Not really.”

“Not really? What does that mean Paul?”

“He asked if I was looking for someplace to work, and then he told me I was starting at his place bright and early in the morning. So I guess I need to get up early and make a lunch,” I looked at him with half a hope that he would tell me I couldn’t. “Unless you object that is.”

“Object? Heck no! Mister is one of the best farmers in the valley. You are going to learn a lot from a man like him. You be sure to give him a honest day’s work, because he will give you an honest day’s wage.”
I nodded. I was still hoping I could get out of it somehow.

“I’m serious Pauly. You are going to be his youngest hand by far. You have to show those older boys you aren’t afraid to work. You need to prove you are there because you deserve to be. Understand what I am saying?” He was giving me a look that meant he’d be mighty disappointed if I gave less than 100% all day.

“Yes sir,” I responded with little enthusiasm. “I reckon I’d better get cleaned up. 5 am comes early to these parts.”

“Yes it does. Don’t worry, your mamma will get up and make you a man’s breakfast and a man’s lunch. You are going to need it.” He tousled my sun-bleached hair and put his arm around my scrawny shoulders for the rest of the short walk home.

My family wasn’t well off. My summer job would be the source of my school clothes this year. It was also the start of my savings for my first car. My family had a lot of love and laughter, but money was always tight. Dad worked in a lumber mill and mom worked as a waitress. We lived in the country because rent was cheap, not because we were farmers. There was always food on the table, but not really enough money for luxuries. If we ever got a few dollars ahead, dad’s rusty old Chevy truck would cough and spit and die. I knew I needed to work, but I did resent it a little.

At five in the morning my mom opened the door to the bedroom I shared with my little sister Becka and saw that I was already up and nearly dressed. When I came out to the kitchen and took a seat at the table, she put the biggest plate of food in front of me I’d ever seen.

“I can’t eat all this. Save some back for Becka.” There was a heap of scrambled eggs, three large sausage patties, four slices of dark toast with butter, a glass of milk and a cup of coffee. “I don’t even drink coffee, mom.” She gave me a stern look, then reached over and poured a little of the milk from my glass into my coffee and smiled.

“You’d better eat up son. You are going to need your strength. And farm hands all drink coffee. You’ll thank me later.” I looked up into her care-worn eyes. Even in her simple nightgown and house dress, it was easy to see what attracted my dad to her. When she cleaned up, she could still turn heads. I tucked into the big breakfast and ten minutes later I was draining the last of my milky coffee. I was so full I could barely move.

“You’d better get outside. You don’t want to keep your ride waiting.” She handed me a thermos and a lunch pail, just like a man going to work in a factory. She kissed me on the forehead and ruffled my hair. “Make me proud.”

I went out into the faint light before the dawn and stood at the end of the short lane that led to our house. At 5:30 sharp a rusty green Datsun pickup slid to a stop in front of me. In the cab were three high school boys, clearly all related.

“You Pauly David?” the one nearest the door asked me. I shook my head yes. “Hop in. We’re the Baldwin Boys.”

I jumped into the back and sat on the wheel well, trying not to trip over the two hundred cans and bottles rattling around in the back. We roared off, scaring the morning birds and a couple of cottontail rabbits. Three miles later we slammed to another stop at the end of another lane.

“Get in Rusty. We got you some company. His name’s Pauly.”

“Hey!” he said with a smile and a nod. “You must be the new kid. Ever move pipe before?” I shook my head no. “Don’t worry, you stick with me and you will be an old hand by the end of the day. “

“Thanks.” Moving pipe. Great. Moving four inch diameter irrigation pipe isn’t that hard, except when it’s full of water and weighs twice what you do. I’d seen guys moving pipe and looked like hard work to me.
We rolled into the Loeschen farm yard at a quarter to six. Another old pickup pulled in right behind us and out got three more high school kids, two guys and a girl. The girl’s name was Sandy. Sandy was the oldest and she was really attractive. Only at first. Sandy was also the crew boss.

“Pauly is it? You ain’t much to look at.” She spit a brown stream at the ground. I nearly gagged. Sandy chewed Day’s Work, a plug tobacco, as did nearly all of the pipe movers. They thought it made them more country. “You met Rusty. Did you meet Jack, Joe and James?” She pointed at the three boys I had correctly identified as brothers from the front seat of the Datsun. “This is Tater and his brother Spud,” she finished indicating the two boys who rode in with her. It took me the rest the day to get the names right.

Moving pipe has its own set of rules, depending on the kind of latch that is used to secure the pipes together. What unlatches one kind won’t unlatch the others. It took me a few frustrating tries before Rusty took pity and talked me through the differences. The morning passed quickly. Mr. Loeschen came out at 6 a.m. sharp and spoke briefly with Sandy. When they finished, he went back into the house to have another cup of coffee while we all piled into the back of the crew truck. At the first field, Jack and James jumped out and started racing each other down the rows of the bean field. I found out later that the first person to the main line got to choose which string of pipe he would move. In every field, one side of the main line would have a few more pipes than the other and it was always a race to see who could finish first and run back and start the water on the other guy’s pipe. On this field, they raced to see who got to move the pipe that came back to the country road. The guy on the far side would have to come all the way back across the field to get picked up. It paid to finish first.
At the second field, Rusty and I were dropped off. It was sweet corn, shoulder high. The lines weren’t long, but there were four of them and you had to pick the pipe up to your chest to clear the corn. I’d like to say it went pretty smoothly, but that would be a lie. Rusty had to teach me to count the rows because I couldn’t find the end of the pipe I needed to connect to, even with water running through it to give me a clue. By the time we got to the fourth line, he sent me back to turn on the water while he finished the last few pieces himself. I jogged back and got the water going and then headed for the road. I heard the crew truck on the county road before I got there.

“How’s he doing?” Sandy was asking Rusty.

“He’s getting the hang of it. It’s his first time. You stuck him in the worst corn on the place.”
She just laughed.

“You can be a royal bitch, Sandy.” She just laughed harder, and so did the rest of the crew.
I appeared at the end of the corn and climbed into the truck without a word. My hands were already sore. I was grateful for each callous I’d built up hoeing thistle. My boots, which were the leather work kind while everyone else wore knee deep rubber boots, were caked in mud. I made a promise to myself to ask my dad to pick me up a pair of proper rubber boots. I was sweating and soaked through my pants and short-sleeve work shirt. The corn had done a number on the exposed skin under my arms. I didn’t know the edges were like saw blades. Anywhere the corn had rubbed, the sweat burned me through my skin. But I didn’t say a word. We drove down the road and picked up Jack and James.

That’s how the day went. Drive to a field, Sandy would bark out who had to go, and then she’d drive on until everyone was in a field moving pipe. Then she’d back track, pick everyone up and we’d move on to the next set of crops.

“Paul Harvey time!” Sandy yelled out her open window as she pulled into the Loeschen yard at the stroke of noon. Everyone piled out of the truck and grabbed their lunch boxes or lunch sacks. Sandy left the door open on the pickup and we listened to the Paul Harvey radio show while he gave us the news. After I had finished breakfast, I never thought I’d be hungry again that day. I was wrong. I was famished. I opened my lunchbox and inside were three sandwiches, thick with leftover meat from the barbecue the day before. My stomach lurched.

“Dang Pauly, those look good! Wanna trade for something? I’ve got Pringles and peanut butter and jelly,” Tater offered. I swapped him a thick bbq sandwich for half a can of Pringles and a warm PB&J and thought I’d struck gold. I opened the thermos and thought I was going to wash it down with coffee, like my father did. I poured the cap full of icy cold lemonade, made sour enough to curl my eyebrows. Just the way I loved it. I owed my mom a big hug. I ate everything in my lunch box and took a cue from the other crew members and stretched out in the cool air under the big oark tree and listened to the radio. At one o’clock on the dot, Mister appeared at the screen door of his farm house and Sandy trotted over to get the marching orders.
We headed south and pulled into a neighbor’s barn yard. In front of their giant red barn was a big jumble of hay bales.

“Rusty, you and Pauly move the two back pastures and then start putting that hay up in the barn. We are going to move the Island and then we will come back and finish.” I am sure her instructions meant something to Rusty because he punched my shoulder and we started jogging around the barn into the fields behind. There were only two short lines of three inch pipe irrigating the mixed grass pastures. We had to move one side and then the other in order to keep the pump running. It didn’t take us long at all working together, racing each other to get to the next length of pipe. With the water running again we jogged back to the big red barn. In the short time we had gone, the pile of bales in front of the barn had grown. Just as we got started on the edge of the pile nearest the door, a giant contraption rolled into the yard. On its back was another load of bales. This was the first time I’d seen an automatic hay bale loader called a Stack-Cruiser. It was mostly red with yellow trim and it had a single cab that stuck out in front of the steering wheels. While I watched, it backed up to the pile, the whole back end raised up, then two long push rods pushed the against the lowest layer of bales, pushing the New Holland-built machine out from under the stack. Then the bed lowered and the machine roared off in a cloud of diesel fumes and road dust.

“What was that thing?” I asked Rusty.

“That? That’s Larry VanBeek and his New Holland Stack-Cruiser. Sure makes picking up bales a snap. We’d better get some of these bales out of the way before he gets back with another load.”
In the cool darkness of the hay barn, I could see a hay elevator propped up. The lower end was just inside the door, the upper end was on the first level of the barn. Light coming in from the old hay maw door showed there were two more hay conveyors that raised the bales even higher into the barn. Rusty and I started sending bales up the first elevator until the pile on that level got high enough they needed to be cleared.

“You keep sending bales up, I am going to start stacking. You got this?”

“Sure.”

He climbed up the hay elevator and started dragging bales across the second floor of the barn, two at a time. I took notice of how his arms and shoulders bulged from the exertion. I was envious. My own arms were nothing like that. I was still lanky and wiry. Mostly lanky. We’d made a sizeable dent in the stack when Larry dropped another load, obliterating our effort. We just about had that one gone when he came back with another. As he pulled out, the rest of the crew pulled in. They jumped from the truck bed and cab, pulling on gloves. Sandy noticed my lack of gloves, grabbing the baling wire barehanded as I slung the bales onto the elevator. She grabbed an old pair of leather gloves from under the seat and tossed them to me. Gratefully I put them on.

“Thanks. The wires were beginning to make my hands sore.” She grabbed my hand and flipped it over, palm up. She ran her rough thumb across my calloused palms.

“Nice,” she said with a nod of approval. “You and me will stay down here. Let’s bury those bastards!” She had a mischievous grin. “Get ready boys, me and Pauly are gonna get some WORK done now!”

We started sending up bales, one after another. So close they touched. We caught up to the Stack Cruiser in less than fifteen minutes, clearing all the bales previously left behind. As the last bale went up the elevator, I watched the teamwork going on above us. Every one of those boys had stacked hay before. Jack and Rusty moved the bales from the first elevator to the second. Tater and Spud moved them from the second to the third. High up in the barn, Joe and James worked like monkeys, scampering over the stacks of hay, filling the corners and crevices with bales. When the bales stopped coming, everyone sat down where they were and caught their breath. Everyone upstairs was shirtless. They were covered in sweat and hay. Jack, Joe and James were a year apart in age, but Jack got held back a year so he was going to be a senior with Joe while James would be a junior. They were star football players and wrestlers. It was easy to see they were athletic, broad strong shoulders tapering down to narrow waists. I was envious of how tan and fit they were, compared to me the summer of my thirteenth year. I had begun to notice girls in the eighth grade. I also noticed how they made me feel funny when they looked at me, how nice they smelled. I noticed how dry my mouth got when I tried to carry on more than a terse ‘Good morning’. I looked up into that big red barn and I could imagine each one of those older teens with dozens of girlfriends, each doing things I’d only seen pictures of in old dirty magazines that we passed around as twelve year olds.

“You ain’t such a bad hand, Pauly,” Sandy said as she punched me hard in the arm. “If you can work every day as hard as you are going today, you might make pipe boss in a couple of summers.” Two-thirds through my first day as a pipe mover, I wasn’t thinking about pipe boss. I was thinking about supper. I laughed in my own head. My mom had been right. Tomorrow I wouldn’t be trading any of my lunch for PB&J and potato chips. I might even ask for another sandwich.

Larry made two more trips with the stack cruiser and it didn’t take us long to get both loads up in the barn. Then we all headed back to the crew truck and enjoyed the ride back to the first fields of the day. The wind rushing by us cooled us off as the sweat evaporated. I took a long slug of pucker-making lemonade and offered the thermos to Rusty. He took half a swallow and I could see the sour was caving his face in. Then he smiled and passed it on. The rest of the crew could barely manage a swallow each when it came back to me. I chugged it like sweet wine and grinned. “Ahhhhhh! Refreshing!” They all got a kick out of how sour I like my lemonade. They could have their tobacco; I would enjoy my extra potent lemonade.

By the end of the day I was on fumes. We moved every joint of pipe one more time, getting two sets a day on the crops. I guessed right that it would be this way until harvest. I sat back against the tailgate and enjoyed riding home in the back of the green Datsun, proud of my first day. Rusty leapt over the side of the truck before it came to a stop at the end of his lane. “See you tomorrow.” He had removed his shirt for the ride home. Rusty was dark from the waist up. His brown hair had reddish highlights where the sun had changed its color.

“Yeah,” I thought to myself. “He’s got to have a dozen girlfriends.”

When the truck stopped at the end of my drive, I climbed out more slowly. Already my muscles were tightening up. The Baldwins laughed. “See you tomorrow Pauly! If you take a couple of aspirin, you should be able to get to sleep all right. You might want to get some pipe boots too.” I looked down at my heavily caked worked boots and nodded my head in agreement.

“What size boot do you wear?”

“Twelve,” I answered sheepishly, embarrassed at the size of my feet which seemed to grow when the rest of me did not.

“Twelve? Are you part Sasquatch?” Jack joked. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring you a pair of mudders tomorrow. You can owe me until pay day.”

“Thanks, that would be real good.” I hoped I wouldn’t get in trouble with my dad for spending money I hadn’t earned yet. I gave my mom my check from hoeing thistle and she promised she’d put it away for a rainy day for me. I had been thinking about asking for the money to buy rubber boots, but this would work out just as well.

“No problem Squirt. You ain’t a half bad hand for a townie.” The Datsun rumbled off, the three Baldwins jostling and ribbing each other as they drove away.

“How did it go?” asked my dad as I approached the house. He was sitting on the covered porch reading the evening paper. It surprised me that he was home. Then I realized it was near sunset and he’d been home for a couple hours. “Boy, you are a mess!” he chuckled. “We’d better hose you off before you skinny out of those clothes. We’ll leave them hanging outside tonight.”

The cold water felt good, but I was near frozen before he finished to his satisfaction. “Go inside and get a hot meal. Mamma’s been holding your supper in the oven. She’s right proud of you son. Me too.” I didn’t feel nearly as sore and tired any more. My father was proud of me. I peeled off the wet clothes and hung them from the clothesline. I walked into the house, much cleaner but not clean, wearing only my white JC Penney
tighty whiteys. Becka giggled. My mom hid her smile behind her hand.

“Becka, you go start Paul a bath. Nice and hot. He’s gonna eat his supper and they he’s gonna take a bath and go right to bed, unless I miss my guess.” I sat down to a huge dinner of chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn on the cob and sliced summer tomatoes. I drank two big glass of cool well water and then filled a glass of lemonade for dessert. I took the lemonade with me as I ducked into my shared bedroom and grabbed a pair of gym shorts and headed to the big bathroom that had been built as an add-on to the back of this small country house. Becka was sitting on the stool, waiting for me to join her.

“How did it go? What did you do? Did you like it? What is Mr. Loeschen like? Is he mean?” She rattled off a dozen questions, rapid fire. I let her prattle on and got the Bayer aspirin out of the cabinet. I shook two into my hand and closed the lid. I popped them into my mouth and chased it with the extra-pucker lemonade.

“I’m gonna get in the tub now Becka. You’d better git.”

“I’ve seen your privates plenty of times. You don’t need to be shy around me.”

“Suit yourself.” I dropped my shorts and slipped into the tub. The water felt great, penetrating my aching muscles and unknotting some of the kinks.

“Pauly, you’ve got hair down there now. What’s that about? And it looks like it’s bigger.”

“I reckon it means I am growing up. Becoming a man.” I had only been noticing pubic hair in the last four or five months. Other kids in my grade had plenty, but being so much younger, I was still immature by comparison. I had also noticed that when I got erections, it did seem bigger and harder. My balls felt bigger and heavier too. I hoped that my dick would keep growing until I was as big as those men in the dirty magazines I had seen. The women in the pictures with them seemed to be wild about those huge cocks they sported.

She stood up and pulled her PJ bottoms out, looking inside. “I ain’t got any hair down there? When do you reckon I am going to grow up?”

“Soon enough, I expect. Soon enough.” I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep. I didn’t care to think about my eleven year old sister and her problems with puberty. I didn’t even hear Becka leave the bathroom. My mom knocked on the door.

“Paul. Get out of there before you turn into a prune. You’d better get to bed.” The water had cooled off and I reluctantly climbed out. I barely dried and I slipped on my gym shorts and walked through the house to the bedroom, saying good night to everyone as I passed. I didn’t care that it was barely nine in the evening. It was dark and I was dog-tired. I was night and I was going to bed.

I had only shut my eyes when my mom was shaking me awake. “It’s five o’clock. Time to get up. Get dressed, breakfast will be waiting.” Every muscle I owned and a few I borrowed ached and objected. Pulling on my jeans took herculean effort. I pulled on a t-shirt and a long sleeve work shirt. I padded out into the kitchen in my socks. I attacked that big breakfast of French toast with bacon and honey like a man possessed. I downed two glasses of cold milk and two cups of black coffee. Even then, I felt like I could eat more. My lunch box felt heavy and I was grateful. I went outside and pulled on my wet leather boots, not bothering to tie them. I clomped down to the end of the lane and waited for the Baldwins. The walk loosened me up a little. The chilly morning air felt refreshing. I was kind of looking forward to the day.

The morning routine was the same with the exception of me wearing new rubber boots instead of those heavy leather work boots. The work loosened up my aching muscles and the camaraderie loosened up my little bit of self-pity. Mr. Loeschen still hadn’t said a word to me since the Fourth. Fine with me. That meant I hadn’t screwed up yet. I recalled wanting to screw up on purpose to get fired, but now I felt completely different. Now I really wanted to work hard to fit in and be part of the crew.

When we drove down the county roads, the other pipe crews always shouted and waved. At eight members, we were the largest pipe crew in Lancaster County. Most of the other crews wondered how we could enjoy working for Mister so much, but it was the work and the crew that made it fun. Mister would give us our marching orders and then leave us to get it done. Sandy had worked for him since she was fourteen. At nineteen and getting ready for her second year of college where she said she was studying to be a vet, she was as good a hand as anyone in the county. This would be her last summer. As we worked through the summer, Jack and Sandy ended up working as a team pretty frequently. I thought it was because Jack was next in line to be pipe boss. Rusty and Tater kept hinting it was because they were “breaking corn stalks”. I was naive and didn’t know what that meant, but I kept it to myself.

After two weeks of working every single day, Mr. Loeschen called us over at the end of the day. I thought we were in trouble for having a dirt clod fight while moving pipe in the bean fields. I was wrong. It was pay day.

“What do you think of the new hand?” Mister Loeschen asked everyone.

“He’s still a little green, but at least he can stick his pipe in the hole if you give him enough tries,” teased Sandy. The boys all laughed at the double entendre, Mister merely smiled. I didn’t get the joke, but I got red just the same from the attention. Mister handed me my check.

“I reckon we’ll keep you around for a while then. I didn’t know you were only thirteen when I hired you. At your size, I thought you were fifteen at least. But you proved you belong.”

“You’re only THIRTEEN?” asked Sandy.

“Yes. Is that a big deal?” I was worried about the big deal she was making and worried people would start to treat me differently.

“No wonder you have such a hard time putting your pipe in the hole,” she chuckled and punched me in the arm.

“You are gonna drive those freshman girls at Centerville High CRAZY! Hearts are gonna break all over Lancaster County.”

I found out later that Rusty turned sixteen in June, Tater was seventeen and Spud was sixteen. I was three years the youngest in the crew.

“You boys better pick up the pace. You are letting a runt like Pauly run you ragged,” she teased the older boys.

“Don’t you let up none either, Pauly. You make ‘em try and keep up with you.”

When the Baldwins dropped me off, I jumped out of the back in a smooth leap. I had noticed over the past couple of weeks that the work seemed to be getting easier. I wasn’t sore in the mornings anymore and I had some pep in my step at night. I cleaned up outside and walked into the house sporting a pipe mover tan. Everything from my belt up was bronzed. Everything from my belt down was milky white. My blonde hair was getting so pale it appeared to be whitish gold. I needed a haircut. I handed my mom my paycheck and told her I would need a twenty dollars to pay Jack Baldwin for my pipe boots. I hadn’t bothered to open it. My mom opened it and gasped.

“Just how much are they paying you?” she asked me. I shrugged. I had no idea. I never thought to ask. Minimum wage was $2.15, so I reckoned it would be around there. “Pete, come see.” My father got up from his easy chair and came into the kitchen. He took a look and covered his mouth with his palm. He looked more than a little concerned.

“Son, this has to be some mistake. You take it back and ask Mister to check his sums again.” What he didn’t tell me is my check was nearly the equal of his.

Later that night, as I lay in bed with the window open and the cool night air blowing across my shirtless torso, I heard my sister slip out of her bed and pad across the room.

“Paul, I can’t sleep. Can I lie down in your bed for a while?” I scooted over. Her side of the room didn’t have the advantage of a cool breeze and I figured she was hot. “You’re changing Paul. You’ve got muscles now.”
I had noticed my t-shirts were getting tighter in the shoulders and chest. My blue jeans were getting shorter but there was more room in the waistband. There was the beginning of a washboard showing on my stomach if I tensed up real hard. I felt her hand massaging my muscles on my shoulder and chest.

“Is your thing getting bigger still?” It had only been weeks since she had last seen it, it hadn’t changed much.

“I don’t think so. “

“Can I see?”

“Will it make you go to sleep?”

“Yes. I promise.”

“Ok. Suit yourself.”

She hopped up on her knees and pulled the waistband of my shorts down. My dick responded to the sudden freedom and the fresh breeze by stirring.

“It’s moving.”

“It does that sometimes. Have you had your look? Is it bigger?”

“Yes it is. Quite a bit.” She was right. I was beginning to get a nice thick boner and my cock was swinging to attention from its position of relaxation. Without asking she reached over and grabbed my swollen dick and squeezed. I was shocked and thrilled. The presence of another human’s hand on my boner had put me into sensory overload. It felt great. So great I felt guilty for feeling so great. She gave me a couple of crude strokes and I erupted in a flood of spurting semen. I had never cum before and I was amazed at how great if felt.

“What did I do?” she asked in a fast whisper, nearly crying. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah Beck, I’m fine. You just made me lose my spunk, that’s all. It’s not your fault. It was the first time for me. I didn’t know it would do that.” I pulled her close and gave her a hug and quick kiss. “It’s fine. I’ll just get a Kleenex and wipe it up. We’d better not do that anymore. I don’t reckon brothers and sisters should be making each other lose it like that.” I kissed her again on her cheek and climbed out of bed. I grabbed the tissue from her nightstand and began wiping. It took six or seven to get it all. She knelt on my bed and watched the whole cleanup. I climbed back in bed and she laid down beside me, snuggling up against my arm.

Sometime in the night, Becka made her way back to her own bed. She wasn’t next to me when I woke up a few minutes before five. I was getting so used to waking up early, I was waking up without my mom’s reminder. When I got to work that morning, I broke the routine and walked over to the Loeschen house. I knocked on the door while everyone watched. Crew members didn’t knock on the door. Not even Sandy. Mister came to the door.

“Everything all right Paul?” he asked through the screen.

“I don’t know sir. My dad asked me to give this back to you and check the sums. He seemed to think that there was something wrong with the check.” I offered it to him and he opened the door and pulled it inside.

“I’ll have Mrs. Loeschen check it and we can talk about it at lunch. Will that be satisfactory?”

“Yes sir,” I said gratefully. I didn’t want Mr. Loeschen mad at me one bit.

At Paul Harvey time Mrs. Loeschen game to the door and called me inside. I pulled my boots off outside and made my way into the farm owner’s home. I waited at the kitchen door while she beckoned me closer. On the table were all the timesheets from the past two weeks. She took the time to show me how long I had worked each day and then showed me how she multiplied the hours by the nearly four dollars an hour I was making. Then she showed me the tables she used to determine the amount of tax to withhold and showed me that everything added up. That’s when I saw the amount of the check for the first time.

“THAT’S how much I made? HOLY SMOKES!” I might have scared her a bit. It was over five hundred dollars. It scared me more than a little bit.

“How much did you think you were making?” she asked.

“Ma’am, I didn’t rightly know. And I never thought to ask. I didn’t want to be rude. Are you sure I’m worth all that?”

“Mister is certain you are. If it makes you feel better, you are the lowest paid hand. The others make a little bit more. If you come back next summer, you will make more. And more the summer after that.”

“Yes ma’am. Thank you ma’am. I should be going ma’am.” I bolted out the door and nearly cleared the porch when she called me back to the door.

“You might want to take this along. It does belong to you.” She handed me my check again.

I fairly skipped across the yard to the shade tree. I pulled open my lunch pail and started attacking the thick ham sandwiches my mother had made. Everyone gave me the eye, but I didn’t want to let on that I didn’t know how much I was getting paid.

When I got home that evening, I handed my mom the check and told her to put it someplace safe and if it wasn’t too much trouble, let me have twenty dollars from it to pay for my boots and something nice for Becka.

“Mister said it was correct?”

“Yes ma’am. Mrs. Loeschen showed me how all the sums worked, how many hours were on my time sheet, and how she deducted the tax. She’s very nice.” Mamma looked like she was still skeptical but she gave me a big hug anyway. “You have a nice start on your first car. And plenty for school clothes too.” I grinned with pride. My father took the news a little more stoically. He made over eight dollars an hour at the lumber mill, but he only worked eight hours a day, Monday through Friday. I worked 12 or 13 hours and made a shade less than four dollars an hour. I was also working Saturdays and Sundays.

“That’s a lot of money for a young man,” he began. “I think you and I ought to talk about what you can use it for.” We spent the evening talking about saving money and being prudent and not lavish. He explained about banks and interest and how to be responsible. We agreed it would be best if I just saved it all and used a little for school and the rest would be my college and car fund. “By the time you are old enough to drive, you will be able to afford a pretty decent car.”

That night my sister slid into bed next to me without asking this time. The cool night breeze washed over both of us.

“I got my first hairs down there!” she whispered. “Wanna see?” I could tell she was excited and proud.

“Sure.” If it meant so much to her, I would make a big deal for her. She pulled down her pajama bottoms and showed me her bald slit.

“Look close. They are small now ‘cuz they’re new.” I leaned in, but for life of me I couldn’t see any hair growing down there in the dim light of the moon streaming through my window. I did catch a whiff of her prepubescent scent and that caused me to stir. I felt of flash of desire that had nothing to do with her being my sister and everything to do with her being nude and inches from my nose.

“I see them. They are really cute,” I lied.

“No you don’t. Look closer!” she pressed her loin up toward my nose. “Closer.” And she pressed her tiny pussy against my nose. God help me, I grabbed her ass and gave that wondrous slit a lick, parting those tiny lips with the tip of my tongue and grazing her love button by accident. She shook and shuddered as if electrocuted.

“Check again.” She pressed her bare pussy against my lips and I licked it again. She bucked and squealed, clapping both of her hands over her mouth. “What are you doing that makes me feel that?”

“You mean this?” I asked before licking her slit up and down. She tasted so fresh and young and delicious. Naïve or not, I knew I was on the edge of a dangerous precipice. A brother shouldn’t lick his younger sister’s cunt. A brother shouldn’t like licking his younger sister’s cunt so much. So I worked my tongue up and down until she got really hot, arched her back and got tense, then fell back on the bed.

“Did stuff come out of me like it did when you spurted?” she asked between gasps while catching her breath.

“No, but it looked like it hurt. Are you ok?”

“It didn’t hurt. Not one little bit. That was weird but I really liked it. Can we do it again?”

“No Becka, not tonight. Let’s just go to sleep.”

Sometime in the middle of the night I rolled onto my side and found her spooned up against me. I was acutely aware of her tiny butt pressed against my groin. My soft cock was lying between the cheeks of her tight ass. It sprang to life as soon as I realized where it was. It felt so good against her crevice. I couldn’t help but rub her with it, rocking my hips back and forth in a humping motion. She responded by pulling her knees higher, giving me more access to her backside. I slid my now hard cock against the crevice. The crevice was getting warm and moist.

I lowered my shorts so my erection was exposed. I rubbed it against the worn cotton covering her preteen pussy. It felt glorious. The more I rubbed the harder I got. The harder I got, the more I rubbed. I could feel her rocking back against me. She was awake. I slipped my thumbs into the waistband of her pajamas and slid them down, exposing her bare ass and pussy. I rubbed my cock on the outside of her pussy from behind, enjoying the skin on skin. It only took a few minutes and I was ready to explode. At the last second I pulled away and grabbed some tissues. I shot a big wad into those tissues and then pulled my shorts up. I kissed Becka on her ass cheeks and licked her slit for a short time, then pulled her pajamas up and climbed back into bed. This time I stayed on my back for the rest of the night.
29 comments

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