Midsummer Story

Info South40
28 Jan. '19

                                                               Midsummer Story


This event was replayed in my mind not long ago driving across Iowa on a hot July day. As it happened, I was changing the radio station and found a C&W station that just happened to play “Maple Street Memories” sung by the Statler Brothers.  (If you are curious, look up the lyrics on the net and it’ll be obvious why this song triggered a memory of a wonderful day decades ago.) 

It was the summer after graduation from high school. Most of the graduates I knew had either been accepted by a college or technical school.  Some of us had other plans – including joining a branch of the military or working full time for a business or on the family farm.  My plans included going to a state university to study chemistry.  Other grads, who were either good pals or sometime girlfriends, seemed to all be going somewhere else. So, that summer included some "farewells” and “good lucks” as the summer days after graduation seemed to fly by.

My two closest cousins and I were all headed to different locales. My best pal was signed up to go into the Navy {almost a family tradition despite the fact that our family was mostly Midwest farm stock at least 2000 miles from salt water}. My long-time sweetheart was off to a private college in the fall.  I use the word ‘sweetheart’ advisedly.  I had been attracted to her since we were five year olds. There has never been another girl (or woman) who was more beautiful. But what was always very special about her was that we could openly talk about and share our innermost thoughts and feelings. There were no ‘out of bounds’ discussion topics.  She taught me what it was like to be a girl growing up and maturing into a young woman.  I shared myself to her like an open book and, since she had no brothers, she learned from me growing up and life from a maturing boy’s viewpoint.  I discovered that real transparency, lack of false modesty and complete acceptance of each other were rare among couples.  Our journey of mutual discovery often included topics and shared experiences that society might consider embarrassing or ‘too personal’.  Our new aspects of physical maturity were openly shared as part of our growing closer together in every way. With her, there were no secrets and I deeply treasured that.  The only “big rock” in the room was the discontinuity between our being first cousins and our attraction and feelings towards each other. That barrier was the source of much anguish.

It was a hot spell in July and it was ‘oat season’.  Oats are an early summer crop and the trick is to wait until they are ripe and have a spell of dry days so you can thresh them, haul them up to the grain elevator and put them up in the silo so they dry without mold or rot. When that window opens up, it means that everyone works from sun-up until maybe an hour after sundown to get the oats in.  Often, that also means that 2-3 farms join forces so all the oats can be harvested successfully given it might rain at any inopportune time.  That particular summer, I was recruited to be part of the team (I hauled wagons from the field to the elevator). The two cousins mentioned were part of the operation as well.  My special girl that day worked with the women to provide lemon-aid, water, snacks and a great mid-day meal for everyone.

Actually, she was as handy as I was with a tractor but not working directly with the oats kept her a lot cleaner.  Working oats during hot days, means that all that oat chaff, powdered black Iowa top soil and sweat mixed to create a real mess on all exposed skin. After mid-morning we all looked like hobos.  During lull times, a dousing by a hose felt good and cleaned off most of the grime for a while.

Work started early Thursday morning and it was figured that the fields could be done in two days.  After day one, when everyone packed it in about 9 pm, the job was well more than half done. On Friday morning, the crew was optimistic that we could ‘knock off’ mid-afternoon and tired people could take the rest of the day off.  On Saturday, the same routine would start on a neighboring farm.  However, as farmers well know, no machine is 100% reliable. About 11, the grain elevator stopped running.  Elevators are pretty simple machines – basically angled conveyor belts to transport the oats to the top of the silo. But, they do break down. This one broke such that it could not immediately be fixed – a new part was needed and no one had that particular spare part at their place.  So, the plan was to haul another elevator to be here by Saturday morning and haul the broken elevator to town for repair. Those not involved with elevator transports were asked to be back by 6 am tomorrow.

I was lusting about going swimming.  There was a nice creek not far which had a large pool 3-5 feet deep caused by some big rocks which acted like a small dam.  It was a natural swimming hole – warm, with a mostly sandy, silt bottom that was easy to walk on. {Many of the crew were thinking about getting cleaned up and going to a local road house [beer tavern] that would serve 18 year olds that the owners knew were locals.} With some anticipation in my heart, I suggested to my sweetie that a swim would be a great idea.  With a smile, she agreed. I told her I’d clean up, get a swimsuit and a towel and pick her up in an hour.

When I picked her up, she carried a small picnic basket along with her suit & towel.  She noted that the lunch for today had already been made…Also, included were two 12 oz. Cokes which we quickly drank down. We got to the secluded swimming hole area and parked under a big cottonwood tree so that the car wasn’t visible from the country road.  Then, she picked a spot under two other cottonwoods to put her stuff down.  It was totally quiet except for a small gurgling noise made by the creek and a slight rustling of the cottonwood leaves caused by gentle breeze.  We looked at each other and, with some modesty, shucked our clothes and put on our suits. We carefully walked down to the swimming hole and waded in.  It was wonderful – just cool enough to be refreshing on the hot July day but not chilly.  We waded, we talked, and I did some swimming while she mostly waded in waist or shoulder deep water.  After about a half an hour, I offered that I was hungry; she was too.

We took off our wet suits, and started to dry off. I could not take my eyes off of her. She has (among other fine features), eyes you want to dive into, a smile that will melt an iceberg and the most beautiful breasts I have ever seen.  Her aureoles are dark pink and her nipples are a wonderful mix of orange and pink.  She also has auburn hair, fair skin and her share of freckles. She was frying my brain even as she was doing nothing but standing there.

I approached her and offered to dry her off.  That chore was a profound pleasure.  And as I was drying her beautiful body, I was acutely aware that my cock had gone bonkers; it was ramrod straight.  I was concerned that it would be a cause of embarrassment and ruin the rest of the day and I was concerned that she might interpret a raging erection equivalent to asking her to make love.  But, amazingly, she just seemed to enjoy my toweling her off. I gave her back her towel and dried myself with mine. Then, I asked her if it would be OK to lie down on the towels and, after laying down the towels, my hands pulled her closer. Then, I brushed her left breast lightly, and then gently put my whole hand on her.  The nipple was hard but her breast was like a marshmallow – not too soft but not too firm.  She was now on her back and I was on my right side.  After I caressed her right breast for a while, I repeated my caresses of her left breast.  Twin beauties!  Then, after more manual caresses, I leaned over and kissed them, one at a time, slowly, gently using my tongue and then sucking a bit. It was then her reactions had gone from stirs to occasional inrushes of breath and slight moans.

I then kissed her warm, supple mouth.  I didn’t time that kiss but it must have lasted 5 minutes or more.  I added more manual caresses of her wonderful breasts. Meanwhile, she was grabbing my back and neck, drawing me even closer.  [We were in unexplored territory for us. There were some decisions in the near term future we had yet to make.] At this point, she was in control; I was not about to do anything more without an invite. Amazingly, even as our deep kissing continued, she pushed my hand towards her vulva. She left my hand on top of her mound and withdrew hers.  I gently caressed her mound and then slowly caressed her thighs and then her inner thighs.  Not until she spread her legs apart, did I caress her waiting pussy.  It felt so good. It was moist and mostly soft though its center was getting firm.  The perfume of her lips and core filled my lungs. I caressed her up and down, around and around.  I gently traced the outline of her lips and toyed with the entrance to her core.  I gently stoked her rose bud as it got firmer and firmer.  My explorations were as much driven by curiosity as they were meant to bring her to an orgasm.  But, I must have been doing something right as her breathing was becoming ragged even as she twitched her hips and legs. I then gently put one finger inside her core. She gasped. It slid in effortlessly and I stroked her slowly. Then she groaned, “Use your whole hand outside”.  So, I stroked her entire pussy making sure her rose bud was part of my slow motions.  Without warning, her whole body jerked as she gasped and moaned. She bucked her hips again and again. Maybe after ten seconds, she pushed my hand away and stared into my eyes.  The expression was awe.  I was also awestruck.  I’d never seen a woman have an orgasm. I was impressed that a woman’s orgasm could be as profound (or even more so) than a man’s orgasm.  She was impossibly even more beautiful at that moment.  I kissed her and lightly caressed her breasts as her breathing returned to normal. I again looked into her eyes and expressed the obvious, “I love you”.  She returned the sentiment.

After leaning on my right elbow for this long, my arm was cramped and needed a break so I lay down on my back.  We were both, seemingly, at a loss for words. Then she told me. “That was the best orgasm I’ve ever had – it was way better than pleasuring yourself”.  I agreed that she was pretty astonishing. After a moment or two, she asked, “What about you?”  I looked at her and was afraid to speak.  Then, she rolled over on top of me, started kissing me and also started to caress my cock; it felt as stiff as an iron bar. She caressed my balls as well and probably noticed that they were now ‘pulled up tight’ – a sign that an explosive ejaculation is not far off. As she stroked my cock, I confessed that I was going to ‘come soon’.  She mumbled “good” as she went back to her kisses and caresses. My cock did explode – several big spurts while my whole body was convulsing in a joyous, complete climax.

After a few minutes when our breathing returned to normal, we got up and used the towels to wipe off the ‘evidence’ of her ministrations to me.  I went down to the creek and washed the towels out and we hung them up to dry.  It was hot and they were dry in a half hour.

She had her clothes back on, so I dressed also. It was now well past noon and two hungry young adults sat down in the grass for our lunch. Fried chicken and a baggie with grape tomatoes and celery was the fare.  What, no potato salad?  We laughed. After the lunches, I did not want to ‘go back’ yet.  It was still only mid-afternoon. So, after lunch, I leaned over and kissed her.  Despite orgasms an hour before, both she and I were still hungry for each other. And, a few moments later, we were completely naked again. As I caressed her breasts, she asked me, “Do you have a condom?”  {The question was truly profound. I did carry a rubber I had swiped from my father’s stash, but I had never had the occasion to use one. She also actually used the proper name; none of the boys I knew ever used the term “condom”.}  I simply replied, “Yes”.

From then on that afternoon the scenario was different. My goal was to not make her climax but to excite her to the point where only her wondrous vagina and my willing penis together would be enough for us both.  Again, I took my cues from her as I was totally inexperienced.  On that hot Iowa summer day, there were two young lovers a lot hotter than the thermometer reading. When my lovely finally insisted that I get inside her, I must have been trembling.  She gently guided my sheathed cock into her sweet and mysterious core. I didn’t last 30 seconds before climaxing violently. But, I did stay hard long enough to continue stoking deeply so that her orgasm boiled over - enveloping us both with its erotic power.  After we uncoupled we both were in awe of what we’d done together.  It hadn’t been mere love-making; it had been the fusion of two souls. Later on in life, I knew how rare that was.

Now getting on to where getting home would be appropriate, we dressed, retrieved the dry towels and swimsuits, and drove back.  I was still tingling as if I’d been standing near a high- voltage line. I think she felt about the same as I did.

I dropped her off and we exchanged clumsy good-byes. As it turned out, I didn’t see her again that summer and, believe it or not, it was years later that we confirmed what we discovered that day.

The recall of that special day was over. The what-might-have-been became the never-was. Lives that converged that summer day were rent apart by distance and circumstances.  Some dreams never did come true.  I also idly wondered what ever happened to the oat harvests of yore. This trip through Iowa, I saw mostly soybeans and corn with some scattered alfalfa hay fields. Maybe oats aren’t as profitable these days as many farms no longer raise animals and are now devoted to cash crops only?

What I can tell you is that I have a soul mate. To say that I love her is a gross understatement. She is still the most beautiful woman on the planet.  She is the only woman who has been willing to share her entire being with me even as I am transparent to her. Thoughts of her still make my breathing erratic, inspire my imagination and even bring some olden days’ physical pangs come back to life. I know I am still incomplete without her.

Continuing my drive on that summer day, I knew what town I was going to.  But, even as I knew the past and the present, I could only wonder about the future. Maybe someday? Somehow?  I knew I needed a distraction now and was about to change the station when The Statler Brothers started singing “I’ll Go to My Grave Loving You”.  Unbelievable!  That song didn’t help me forget. I listened for a while but then turned it off in favor of a sports talk station.

That’s where I am now – living a life accompanied by occasional, jarring, wonderful memories of her.