Of course, his cock was being rubbed up and down of my crack. We dried us up and went back to the bed. George told me to go on my knees and elbows, ex...osing my ass for his delight. He started rimming my ass, it was so lubricated that he told me no finger was necessary (even if I liked the fingering so much) and started fucking me carefully and slowly. (If somebody is asking why I never speak of condoms, AIDS wasn’t known at that time. Either it didn’t exist or we were immune.) I can’t remember. Before I go any further, no, this is not a big i****t story about what hayseeds do on the farm, those episodes were just part of the learning process. And even if it was a farm, some country folk considered us to be city people because we were just thirty minutes outside of Little Rock. Another note about the farm: we weren’t poor farmers either. My parents were fairly wealthy. We raised horses mainly, but had a large vegetable field, tended by hired help, as were the horses most of the time. I. More

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