Kent Collins - Shelly On The Farm

"Don't worry your pretty little head about fancy clothes, Shelly," she'd said once while sewing in a dark, cool corner of the living room.

"Just be a good girl and your time will come." Her eyebrows had raised then and she'd leaned forward in the rocker. "You do know what I mean by being a good girl, don't you?"

"Yes, Mom." Her advice had been indelibly imprinted on my brain at least a hundred times, but still the words made my heart beat faster with an unexplained excitement.

"Never let a man touch you around those… special places." Mom always perspired on her forehead first whenever she started lecturing me, and that day the salty droplets were sliding down her nose.

"Lord knows I let your real father do it too often." Her fingers had moved again on the material she was mending. "As soon as you were born I drew the line." Mom had sighed then, her hands falling limply into her lap. "It's awful for a woman. A dirty, ugly thing like that shoved into your body. And the noises they make while they rut-It's a wonder the Lord doesn't strike them dead on the spot."

Though I knew it was wrong to be excited, my pussy had gotten damp from listening to her and in my confused and breathless state I'd blurted out a question. "Why did you get married again, Ma, if you don't like to… do that?"

Outside the locusts had started up their whirring and I'll never forget the way the sun came through a broken pane and tossed rainbows on the rug. Mom had stood up without a word and come across the room to me.

Her lips trembled as she stared unbelieving into my face. Then she had slapped me, slapped me hard across the mouth.

"Don't you ever speak to me like that again," she rasped. "I married your stepfather so you would have food on your plate and clothes on your back. Can I help it if sometimes he forces me to…" Her words had been choked off with an anguished sigh and I was left alone. A month after that she was gone forever-dead in her sleep from a heart attack.

Even at the funeral my stepfather was drunk. All the way home he cried against my shoulder and hugged me close, swearing he'd take good care of me. My own world had never been all that bright anyway, but now it was torn in shreds. It wasn't Mama being gone that bothered me as much as my instinctive fear of Frank. Being alone with him in that rambling, ancient house would be strange, I remember thinking at the time.

At first Frank splurged on presents for me, and, of course, I was overjoyed. He bought me two new dresses and a pair of brown penny loafers I'd been wanting-even some new panties and a couple of slips.

With only a month or so to go until my sixteenth birthday the new clothes gave me a grown up feeling, a feeling of sophistication.

Sometimes though, at school, I had second thoughts about my growing older. Always before I'd felt skinny and plain, especially compared to the more rounded girls my age like the cheerleaders and Senior Prom Queen. But with my new clothes I began to get long looks from boys in the hall, even whistles when I crossed the school yard on my way to class. When Buck Johnston looked at me I just knew he was trying to see the soft bump of my mound through the thin dress. The times Jerry Tilson got up close behind me in lunch line so he could peek over my shoulder and see under the low-cut blouse, I'd get so dizzy I'd have to hold onto the lunch counter for support and my small, braless titties blushed red under his gaze.

The way the short skirts and tight tops clung and rubbed against my body made me feel wicked and slightly giddy. When I got home in the afternoon I couldn't help but turn in front of the mirror in my room, excited by the way my rear end swept out in a gentle curve under a bright red mini. I never wore socks with my loafers and my narrow feet and trim ankles complimented the long lean lines of my legs.

Once I was undressing for bed and noticed the way my still immature breasts quivered with every move. For some reason I cupped my hands under them, hefting their growing roundness. It seemed innocent enough to touch the nipples, but when I brushed my fingertips across them, they rose like magic and my slit went all buttery like it did sometimes. I was immediately ashamed and began giving my hair long angry strokes with a brush. What made getting undressed such a big thing I wondered. Irritated at myself for letting my emotions get the upper hand, I faced my reflected image once more and, with fingers hooked in the elastic band of my panties, I started to skin them down.

I had to conquer that silly, fluttery feeling once and for all. But as I slipped the sensuous material over my almost boyish hips, it was as if my body wanted to be undressed in a certain way. Slowly I started rocking my pelvis from side to side. That was all it took to tell me I was sinning. The friction of my inner lips rubbing against themselves sent shock waves of electricity up my back and tummy. Quickly I stepped out of the clinging, lacy things and ran to the bathroom to splash my face with cold water.

"I won't, Mama," I said over and over again. "I won't… I won't."

Then I was asked out for a date.

At first I almost turned it down, but when Rodney Gibson told me he was doubling with Bud Carnes and Trixy Goodman I decided to go. Bud was a three-year letterman in football and Trixy was the prettiest pompom girl in the pep club. They had been dating quite a while and, though I didn't know Bud much, Trixy had always been nice to me, even though I was a nobody. With Trixy along I'd feel safe.

As it turned out, my date was even shier than I was, and for the whole first movie we sat there staring straight ahead while Bud and Trixy, who had quickly taken over the back seat, moaned and kissed from behind. My blushing escort finally asked me what I wanted from the snack bar and bolted from the car as if it were full of rattlesnakes.

For a while I pretended to watch the movie again, but the noises from the back seat were becoming more and more intimate all the time. Poor Trixy was having to put up with Bud's advances. The more I thought about it the more worried I became. I decided to take one quick peek through the crack in the front seat, just to make sure Trixy was all right.

The first glimpse shocked me dizzy, but I opened my eyes again, heart pounding and palms wet. It was awful. Bud had pulled Trixy's skirt up so that everything from the waist down was clearly visible in the reflected glow from the screen. Her white, pantyless hips, full thighs and shapely legs seemed almost incandescent. I noticed then that even her sneakers and white socks had been peeled.

Above her were Bud's equally white buttocks, all covered with black swirls of hair. I could see that he had only dropped his pants enough to get his cock out, and that made the already ugly scene even more distasteful.

"God, you're nice and tight, Trixy," Bud whispered.

Hearing words that were not meant for other ears made my face go red, but at the same time there was a tremble of excitement in my throat from the knowledge that I was peeping.

Mad at myself for being so weak, I turned back around and tried to watch the movie. It was no good. A slick, sliding sound had been added to the murmurs and kisses. I'd look one more time, I decided. After all, Trixy was alone-except for me.

Bud had slipped one leg out of his corduroys and I noticed that a randy musk had suddenly permeated the car. I couldn't see him actually penetrating Trixy, but every time Bud moved forward my mind conjured up an image of the soft, wet skin of her hole being pushed inward around the shank of his penis. They were just like a couple of animals. Why didn't she stop him?

"Ohhh," Trixy mewed, "Bud…"

Bud pulled himself almost all the way out of her, and for the first time I saw his thing-glistening and slick all the way back to his testicles. When he jammed it deep again, Trixy's ass quivered against the car seat like a gaffed fish and my breath choked in my throat.