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The honesty and integrity surround him like an aura. His skin is filthy from a day’s work on the farm and his body reacts involuntarily to me. He has needs. This is aman. He’s not soft and standoffish and wishy-washy like the dudes in the city. In fact, the comparison makes me laugh under my breath. This is a man who works with his fingers in the earth, sweat on his brow…and he is aroused forme.I stir him.
I’m not sure why that gratifies me so much. Maybe because I know it’s real. I don’t have to question Dusty or his motives, the way I must be skeptical of everything in my life. Not to mention everyone. Casting directors, other actresses, my weird neighbors.
What I see with Dusty is what I get.
And what he’s showing me is doing funny things to my own body.
With any other man, I would be alarmed or offended by his erection. By the way he’s touching it, scrubbing at the thickness of it through his overalls. But I’m not offended by Dusty’s actions. I’m…hot.
As I stop on the threshold of his bedroom, I feel weightless and itchy and excited.
What is going to happen in here?
What am I going to see?
I don’t know, but I feel totally safe to explore. To watch. How rare is that? This opportunity to learn about sex might never arise again and I want to take advantage. Furthermore, I want to watch this sweet, noble farmer find pleasure. I want to watch his strong body succumb to lust right in front of my very eyes. I’ve never been turned on by the idea of a man touching himself. Doing it alone. But with Dusty, I can barely leash my anticipation.
“Do you usually sit on the bed?” I whisper back at him.
His attention is fastened to my butt, his breath beginning to come in quick bursts. “I…uh. Yes. Sometimes.”
With a nod, I enter the bedroom and flip on the small bedside lamp, chewing my lip, watching him lumber over to the bed. Before he sits down, he unhooks the remaining strap of his overalls, both buckles sagging between his thighs. “You don’t mind if I take these off?”
“No, I don’t mind,” I say, trying not to sound too eager.
Dusty grunts, kicks off his muddy boots and, with one final, measuring look in my direction, pushes the overalls down to his knees.
For the first time in my life, I can feel my pulse behind my eyes.
Between my legs.
Everywhere.
At the sight of this large man with his overalls around his knees—and not a stitch more—my entire body launches back a step, rattling the lamp on the bedside table. My nipples twist into tight, little beads and the breath in my throat skyrockets in temperature. No, my temperature rises throughout my wholebody, scorching my skin.
He’s gigantic.
His butt and hips and thighs arethick.Muscled and hairy and male. He’s built like a bull. Broad. So broad and teeming with strength. That part of him sticking straight up from the middle of his lap…I can barely form a thought when I see it. The balls are the size of two balled up fists held side by side, mottled and heavy. The shaft curves upward, the big, shiny tip pointing at his stomach, a vein pulsing on the underside. All of him is surrounded by a pelt of black hair. No manscaping here. He’s an all-natural animal and his untouched nature, his coarse masculinity calls to something ageless inside of me. Something raw.
Potent.
“Do you want to start?” I whisper, breathlessly, surprised by the urge to squeeze my breasts. To pluck at my own nipples. I’ve never been compelled to touch them before. Not in a way that wasn’t purely functional. On the rare occasions that I touch myself to find pleasure, I just get to the point. No frills, no wasting time. Even when I reach my peak, it’s rarely satisfying.
Something tells me watching Dusty climax will be better than reaching my own.
“Yes, ma’am,” he grunts, that thick backside planting on the edge of the bed. With an almost shy look in my direction, he wraps a fist around that huge stalk of flesh and begins to pump. “I don’t reckon this is going to take very long,” he chokes.
Denial surges inside of me. I don’t want it to be over fast.
This big, beautiful farmer giving himself pleasure is the single most arresting sight I’ve ever been privileged to witness. I want this experience to go on for a while.
“Slow down,” I say softly, crossing the room.
What am I doing? I don’t know. But it feels right. I’m just letting myselffeel.
To embrace what this man inspires in me.
“Slow down?” he echoes through his teeth. “I…can’t.”
