Leaving Home Pt. 01Leaving Home Pt. 01


While still recovering from my recent broken wrist I’ve had time to read Literotica stories rather than write. Something I wasn’t doing much of previously. I have to say, I was better off not reading.

It was difficult to find the proper category for this story. It could have been first time, or romance, though neither occur until the second half of the story. It’s more a story of a middle-aged widow teaching a 19-year-old how to grow into manhood, emotionally and sexually. Therefore I’ve put the first part into the erotic coupling category. I’m still not sure what category part two will be submitted in.

Leaving Home Part One

I turned 19 in February of 1979, it was a time of turmoil and upheaval. The world economy was flat, high oil prices, high unemployment and double-digit inflation led to what was called ‘stagflation’. Jobs for young people were few and far between, even more so if you lived in an Iowa farming community such as I did. My dad was a pig farmer like his dad, and his dad before him. He and my oldest brother raised about a thousand head from farrow to market hogs year after year. They raised feed for them on a little less than 800 acres of land, mostly planted to corn.

I was the youngest of four with two girls in between, they skipped outa Dodge, so to speak, as soon as they graduated high school. The older sister was a nurse and the younger one was due to graduate college about the same time I graduated from high school. Like my siblings I was large in stature, my dad was six foot three and mom stood an inch below him. My older brother was an inch taller than dad and my sisters were both six feet. Then there was me, six foot one and bulky, as you would expect a farm kid with parents like mine to be.

High school sports weren’t of much interest to me, I participated in gym class but that was about it. My older brother had been all-state as a tackle in high school his last three years. It was more or less expected that I would follow in his footsteps, imagine how disappointed and pissed off the coaches were when I didn’t want to play football. I was basically ostracized by the jocks, I could have cared less, I was bigger than most of them which meant they left me alone. I had determined that I was going to study and learn and prepare myself for more than raising hogs. Not that it isn’t a necessity as part of the food chain, but in my mind, it wasn’t for me.

I wasn’t what is now called a nerd, I had plenty of friends, computer games didn’t exist or smart phones or any of that stuff stealing today’s young minds. However, there was a new thing being spoken of throughout, personal computers and software development. Apple and two others launched models in 1978, I determined I was going to learn this new technology and make my living away from the farm. Now, don’t misunderstand, just because I wasn’t planning to farm didn’t mean I wasn’t expected to be a part of everything that went on in the family operation.

I never much cared for working with the pigs, something my dad and brother would rather do than fieldwork, for us it was the perfect trade off. By the time I was 14 I could operate every piece of machinery my family owned or leased. If I wasn’t in school my days were consumed by field prep, planting, cultivating, harvesting and machinery maintenance. Along with helping my dad and brother when needed.

Knowing I planned to attend Nebraska State the next fall my dad began encouraging me to try and find work in that state for the summer if possible. He and my brother already had two other farm hands with families, adding me would be a drain on the budget. I was discussing my dilemma with the Ag teacher during lunch when he asked if I was averse to working on a farm even if I didn’t intend to make a living farming. Considering it was what I had known all my life my answer was, “no, I wasn’t against working on a farm.”

Mr. Wilomet had to have been in his mid-sixties at that time. He looked at me and smiled.

“There’s a posting for a farm hand job near Lincoln, Nebraska David. You might be interested in applying, if it works out maybe you can work there through college and not have as big a student loan when you graduate. It’s mostly crop farming, which you already do, and she runs a small herd of beef, only a few hundred.”

I looked at him in disbelief, “She? You mean a woman is looking for a farm hand? Never heard of a woman running an operation like that.”

“I sort of know her, my youngest daughter went to Nebraska State in Lincoln and Tina worked for her. Her husband was still alive then, I think she’s been widowed about five years now.”

“Will I be the only farm hand? Seems like a lot of work for one guy and an old lady.”

He chuckled, “She isn’t old, she’s 47. Farm work has kept her fit through the years, she can keep up with most men. She has two other guys working for her seasonally, both with families and they live in town. She hires them during planting and harvest, in between you’d be doing maintenance and general chores. She’ll likely Dikmen Escort work alongside you, but some of the equipment is too big for one person to maintain, that’s where you’ll come in.”

“Yeah but, where would I stay? I wanna earn money, not spend it on rent and food.”

He tapped an index finger hard on the table a few times causing me to look up, “It’s called a farm hand job for a reason Dave. You live on the farm with her, meals and the rest are covered, plus you’ll be paid. Tina’s room had an attached bath, I’m pretty sure that’s where you’d be staying as well.”

I had Mr. Wilomet help draft a letter to the lady and put it in the mail. From my freshman year on I had been involved in a program called “advanced learning”, where kids could move ahead of the rest of their class if they qualified. Which meant I would be eligible to graduate in March instead of June. A week after being done with school I received a letter from a Mrs. L. Brantmaier of Prairie Home, Nebraska. Over the next two weeks I was able to secure a position with her via the phone.

The folks gave me an older pickup and $500 as a graduation present. The truck was only nine years old with lots of miles for that day, but dad had it gone through completely, assuring I wouldn’t break down halfway to Prairie Home. The trip would be approximately seven hours, remember that 55 was the national speed limit at that time, though most people drove 65 on the freeways. I headed south and west at seven o’clock on a Saturday morning, intending to be there by four or there abouts. It was 5:15 when I stopped at the Sinclair gas station in Prairie Home seeking directions to the Brantmaier farm. The old guy behind the counter looked up and spoke with a sneer.

“Sonny, you’ll do well to never call the Brantmaeir Homestead a farm. She’ll cut your balls off and feed them to the dogs. So you’re the latest sucker huh? Mind you boy, you’ll earn every penny you get paid, she don’t cut nobody no slack. The kid she hired last spring lasted a total of three weeks before he hightailed it outa here. I reckon you’ll do about as well, although you look like you can hold yer own.”

I laughed, “Yes, I’m the latest sucker. I was raised on a hog farm so hard work isn’t anything new to me. Does Mrs. Brantmaier have a first name? I don’t wanna sound like some school kid.”

He chuckled, “Yeah, but you are a school kid. How old are ya, 18, 19?” I nodded. “I figered so. Yeah, she got a first name, damn few are allowed to call her anything other than Mrs. B, but if you’re feeling balsy, it’s Claire.”

“I’ll be going to college this fall.” I blurted out.

“Won’t matter kid. Mind yer manners and do what she says, you’ll get along.”

I bought a bottle of Sprite and a small bag of chips in case I was too late for the evening meal. After having listened to the old man at the gas station I was feeling more dejected than elated. I trusted Mr. Wilomet when he suggested I apply for the job, but damn, what had I gotten myself into? A huge cloud of dust billowed behind the truck as I made my way down a seemingly endless gravel road looking for the gate that said Brantmaier Homestead. The old guy told me it would be on the right. He said I should drive until I thought I was lost and then go one more mile, damned if he wasn’t right. There it was, an arched gate way with a sign across the top that said, Brantmaier Homestead, Claire Brantmaier proprietor.

The evening sun was already headed for the horizon when I pulled into the longest gravel driveway I’d ever seen. Long driveways are common in Iowa, but this, holy cow, I could barely see the buildings from the road. About 100 feet into the driveway I crossed a bridge with a creek running beneath. I stopped the truck and listened to the song it played, every creek has a rhythm and sound all its own. The rocks, the twists and turns, the speed of the water, they all contributed to the song the creek played. Along the banks were cowslips and water lilies in full blossom.

As I pulled into the yard area a woman stood on the porch, hands in her pockets, faded but clean jeans, a well-worn cotton blouse, cowboy boots and a dark brown hat. Her hair was pulled back and looked like it was in a braid, which would prove to be true once I was out of the truck. She was nothing special to look at, an average height person, I figured around five foot nine or ten based upon my six foot plus height. Her figure wasn’t slim, nor was it heavy, it was somewhere in between, average I guess one might say.

Under the sun bleached and sweat stained hat her face looked weathered and worn. She was a pretty woman, yet there was nothing over the top about her. I couldn’t help but notice that along with her stout slender figure a pair of breasts caused the blouse to billow outward. They weren’t huge, her chest was there but not overwhelming, they seemed to fit in with the rest of stature.

The hippie dippy days of the late sixties and early seventies were basically gone but there were still elements of Elmadağ Escort that era here and there. As I got out of the truck she displayed one of those elements, pulling her right hand from the pocket she lifted it about mid chest and gave me a peace sign. No smile, no words, just a simple gesture. As I walked to the porch she stood at the edge of the two steps leading up to it, I extended my hand to shake hers. She grabbed hold of my hand like hers was a vice grip, not being used to a woman’s handshake being so firm, out of instinct I immediately squeezed in equal proportion to hers. I was eye level with her by the time she let go.

“Good handshake boy. At least you aren’t one of those wimps who shake hands like they got no balls. You must be David Winters, is that right?”

Two things had caught me off guard in less than three minutes of being in this woman’s presence. Number one, she was as strong as any guy her size, and number two, I’d never been around a woman who cussed.

“Yes ma’am, David. I’m here about the job.”

She laughed, “Well no shit Sherlock. Why else would you drive all that way? I’m Mrs. B. Don’t call me ma’am, I’m not my mother, nor yours. Have you eaten?” I shook my head. “Speak up David. Have you eaten or not?”

“No ma’… oops sorry. Mrs. B. And before you ask, yes, I’m hungry.”

She slapped my back and turned toward the door, “Good boy, I can already tell you and me are gonna get along just fine. Hope you like beef stew with mashed potatoes, cuz that’s what you’re gettin.”

I smiled, “Love it, one of my favorites. Where can I wash up?”

She laughed, “Damn, a guy with the sense to wash before he eats. Yup, we’ll get along well. Down that hall on the left.”

With the evening meal done I offered to help with dishes, which she declined pointing to something fairly new in most homes, a dishwasher. I’d never seen one in person before and smiled to myself, “no more dishes.”

“I’ll take care of the kitchen, you haul your stuff in, second room on the left, just past the bathroom. If you need help just holler.” She said with a snicker.

Sitting in what she called the den we chatted about my plans for school, my knowledge of equipment and how to use it. All the while she sat making eye contact, nodding in favor of some things I’d said and gently shaking her head at others. About 9 she excused herself, returning ten minutes later in a long nightgown open slightly at the neck.

“I’m going to bed David. I suggest you do the same. I’ll let you sleep in tomorrow considering the long trip, after that we’re up at 5.”

“Five will be fine Mrs. B., I’m used to being up at that time. I can start right away tomorrow, I don’t need to wait.”

She held her hand up, “Nope. Take advantage of the day, look around, get to know the place and look over the machinery. I’ll be back late morning to get lunch ready, you can go out with me in the afternoon. Fencing on the south pasture where the beef will go next is in need of repairs. A strong lad like you will make the job easier.”

I did as she suggested not getting up until just after 7, I hadn’t slept that late in months. On the kitchen table was a plate of fresh homemade donuts and a note.” Help yourself, there’s milk in the fridge, see you about eleven.” I spent the rest of the morning going through the machine sheds, she had some mighty expensive equipment, I almost drooled when I saw the pair of John Deere 6600 combines with 329 Diesel engines and hydrostatic drive. Holy shit, I’d dreamed of driving one, maybe I’d get the chance when harvest time came. I was going through tools in the main machine shed when I heard a tractor, there she was on an IH 856. I later found out it was a 1971 model, the last year the 856 was produced.

With an old manure spreader that had been gutted behind she had everything needed for fencing. Fence posts, wire, a stretcher, post hole digger and all the hand tools necessary. I walked out to meet her as she came to a stop. Dismounting the tractor I couldn’t get past the fact that she was built and walked more like a man than a woman. She had the facial features of a woman with bumps and curves in all the right places, but in some ways, she had the mannerisms of a man. She held herself high, shoulders back, chin up, took long deliberate strides. My sisters used to walk with shorter strides and sort of jerky which made their boobs bounce. Not so with Mrs, B, her body was female, but it was solid, if it wasn’t for her long braided hair, softer facial features and breasts she could have easily been mistaken for a man.

Walking to me she took the leather gloves off, stuffed them in a back pocket and stuck her hand out. I grabbed it like I would any other man’s hand. My second time shaking her hand was as firm as the first.

“Morning David, I think it’s still morning, been at it since 5:30. How’d you like those donuts? Good huh? I see you’ve been looking around the machine sheds. See anything you like?”

I was drooling, “Yes ma — sorry. Elvankent Escort Yes Mrs. B, those 6600’s are beautiful. I’m dying to drive one.”

She laughed, patted my shoulder and turned to the house. “You’ll get your chance when the wheat is ripe, c-mon, let’s have some lunch then we’ll finish fencing this afternoon. I want that done, if the weather holds we’re going to start field work tomorrow.”

After lunch she laid down on the living room floor, flat on her back on that hardwood floor. Folded her arms across her chest and was out like a light. I had never seen such a thing, sure, I’d napped after lunch, but never on the floor. About fifteen minutes later she woke, sat up and said.

“There, time to get some work done. I took out meat for tomorrow’s supper. You any good at grillin?”

“I do a fair job of it, ma usually has me cook that way. Dad loves the taste but hates the grilling part.”

She chuckled, “Typical man, wants all the goodies but doesn’t wanna work for them. We’ll get along good, you take care of the grill tomorrow and I’ll get the rest organized. Make sure there’s plenty of water in that cooler, it’s hot and sweaty with the sun today.”

As we rode to the pasture with me seated on the fender, we talked of this and that. I asked how long it had been since her husband died. She didn’t say anything for a minute or more.

“Too long David, too long. He left me all of this, but I’d rather have him. He was a smart man, the ranch is paid off, the equipment is paid for, and he made sure there was money in the bank to cover my first few years. Thankfully I made it work and showed a small profit the first year without him. Enough of that, here we are.”

She continued barking orders, “I’ll continue pulling staples, you pull the rotten poles and start with the new ones. The tamping tool is in the spreader.”

With the wire off it wasn’t difficult to rock the post a few times and lift it out, clean the hole, set the new post and fill it in. As I was setting new poles she was right behind tacking the wire back in place. It was just after 4 when we finished the last post. I was as tired as she was, we didn’t dawdle or take a break the entire afternoon beyond taking a pee. I wasn’t sure how all that was going to work until she walked to the other side of the tractor, dropped her pants, squatted and peed. I followed suit the one time I needed to. I had gotten a glimpse of her butt and no more.

I was going to sit on the fender again for the ride back when she pointed at the seat. “You drive, I feel like sitting.”

Back at the house she told me to put the tractor and spreader in the shed, she was going to rinse off and then shower before we ate. I thought that a bit odd, why rinse and then shower? Why not simply shower? I must have had that “what’s she talking about” look on my face.

“There’s an outdoor shower stall at the back of the house, if I’m as dirty as I am today I rinse off there instead of tracking through the house. The water’s nice and hot, towels are in the cabinet to the left. I suggest you do the same.”

I put the equipment away as she said and walked toward the back of the house. I’d seen the shower set up when I walked around that morning but had no idea why it was there. The outdoor shower was built off the garage wall with two solid sides and one completely open. As I walked around it to take off my clothes and rinse off I got the shock and greatest joy of my life in one thirty second span. I’d been under the assumption she was done and in the house.

Imagine my surprise to see her naked as the day she was born while drying. I stood mesmerized, I’d never seen a naked woman other than in pictures, usually in a Playboy or Penthouse, one some guy at school had absconded from their old man. She wasn’t looking up as she patted and rubbed her body, running the towel under her breasts making sure she was dry, then along her torso and finally the jackpot between her legs. She crooked a leg to the side to reach her crotch and I saw it for the first time. A pussy, a patch of thick brown hair shaped in a V, all I could do was stare.

As she straightened and reached behind to dry her butt she saw me. I thought she would be angry, to my relief she wasn’t, what she did was wrap the towel around her and step toward me.

“You have seen a woman’s body before haven’t you? I mean naked.” I was speechless, she brought me out of my state of silence and bewilderment. “Well speak up David. Have you, or haven’t you?”

“No, this is the first time. I wasn’t trying to spy or be a slimeball. Honest Mrs. B.”

Walking past me she stopped and looked into my face. “Well now you have. I have another surprise for you after you’ve cleaned up and dressed. Wear something nice, you know, clean and not wrinkled.”

I rinsed off, showered inside and got dressed without jerking off. As much as I wanted to it just didn’t seem right. She wasn’t being a slut and I wasn’t trying to steal glances at her body, it was just something that happened. If I had been at home I wouldn’t have shaved the stubble on my chin, but I wasn’t home, and she said to look nice. I was freshly shaved, a splash of cologne, my hair combed. I wore a pair of newer jeans that had never been worked in, a cotton western style shirt and my best cowboy boots. I was sitting on the porch swing when she walked through the screen door.

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