The Chapman farm in the sleepy town of Clinton in upstate New York was a modest operation back in the late 60's, but while the family members did most of the work during the year, come harvest time they needed to hire some outside help.
There were a number of such workers who made a circuit of the area farms each summer, usually going back to the same places each year if they had been reliable and did good work.
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The white cotton fabric of her panties made a scratching sound as it rubbed hard against her pubic hair. Wet heat was penetrating the only barrier to the pussy I had dreamed about since I was sixteen. The situation had deemed it necessary for hard, rough kissing. Our tongues were battling, roughing the other up, our mouths had become instruments for something other than verbal communication; instead it was a primal and taboo language we were speaking.
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I thrust my cock deep into Kate's slippery wet pussy. As her internal muscles clamped hard round my erection, I groaned as I came. I spurted my load of sperm deep inside her tight little wet pussy.
Kate and I have been married for ten years now. I am aged 34 and Kate is 30. We both have good professional jobs, which between us earn a good income. We haven't any children yet, although I know that Kate sometimes feels a little broody.
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Spots of dappled sunlight streamed through the trees and danced and twirled on the pavement as I waited for her outside the building. She was always late, frantically trying to keep up with her life. Not that I would ever want her life, I snorted to myself. Immediately regretting the thought, I focussed on the distant rush of traffic echoing softly through what had to be the last quiet street in Brisbane's central business district.
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I had made the trip from the little cottage across the street and about 50 feet down countless times but never faster than that afternoon in June of 1976. After I sprinted blindly from our neighbor's back yard, a yard I had mowed for the last four years - not even watching for cars on the rarely traveled gravel road - I ran into our house and closed the door. Closed it and locked it and then looked through the blinds for what was about to happen.
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This story has only marginally incestuous themes although it involves a naked voyeuristic grandfather and his bi-sexual granddaughter in the same bed.
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When 68 year old Edgar Whitney went over to put in his daughter's storm windows for the winter, he thought he was going just to do his daughter a favor. After Anne's husband took off for greener pastures a couple years ago and pretty much disappeared from his wife and daughter's lives save the occasional support check, Edgar had tried to help out around the house whenever he could.
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Sandra shook her head and sighed as she listened to her daughter talking to her boyfriend in the next room.
"You have got to be kidding me, right?"
"C'mon Jen, it'll be fun. Ron and Angela and Wendy and Greg will be there."
"A stupid protest? Please."
"We could end up on T.V."
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When the drizzle we had been standing in began to turn to something more substantial, the trees that had been sheltering us began to let in some of the rain, and that was just as good a reason to end this "party" I had been having with my best friend Jeff.
We had been celebrating a couple of things, the most important as far as I was concerned being my 18th birthday. The other, more sobering event was my friend getting ready to go off to college.
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Linda's mother had been spectacular, so much so that I practically forgot about Linda. We kept seeing each other, but when I was with her I found myself thinking about her Mom.
After all, it was an competition of sorts. While the 18 year old Linda had the advantage of youth and was more classically attractive than her mother, Millie had experience and the fact that a 50 year old woman found me desirable was a boost to my ego.
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It had become the highlight of my day, sitting out on the bench in front of the apartment complex I called home, waiting for the school bus to drop the students off. This gives you an idea of how exciting retirement was for me, but at 65 you take your thrills anyway you can.
Each day at 3:35 or so, the Catholic school girls go by, dressed in identical outfits that were as stereotypical as they come.
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