One Summer Day

In the summer, we went out to the country again.  I was still only ten or so that year, but I used to wander off alone on some days for whatever reason, even when other kids were around.  My mother never seemed to ask or mind that I was gone for hours and I do believe it was somewhat of a miracle that I ever found my way home, as I was hopeless about directions.  But one day, towards the late afternoon, I had walked to the farmer’s house, which was only a short way down the dirt road, no more than a half mile. Past the family’s large main house, I continued on the gravel path and saw one of the sons working in the barn, milking a cow.

I knew him pretty well, and he had often waved to me and said, “B’jou!” (“bonjour”) when he was on a tractor or checking on some cattle in the meadow.  He was always smiling and friendly. He had even taught me a few words in French, saying I could speak well, and patting my shoulder or popping his finger on my nose.  His name was Orion, pronounced ‘Oh Ree OWN’ and his family rolled the ‘R’, rather than pronouncing it in the classic French style.  And of course the name was spoken with the accent on the last part, and the ‘n’ sound ending up in the nostrils of a French ‘nose’.

He was about 16 or 17, lean, rather tall and very strong, his hard muscles all tanned and golden.  He had longish, unkempt blond hair and squinty blue eyes.  He wore nothing but overalls – no shirt. I stood silently by the barn door watching. He twisted the cow’s teat and squirted some of the milk at me, grinning broadly.  It hit my cheek – I jumped back and he laughed.  When he was done milking the cow, he stood up and emptied the bucket of frothy milk into a large metal milk can which was already quite full.  He then sat down on a bale of hay, pulled a large sack of raw sunflower seeds next to him and motioned me over.

Viens, petite, assieds-toi, ici!”  (Come on, little one, sit right down here!)   I went and sat by him and we ate seeds for a while.  The barn was old, the scene tranquil, except for a few birds flying about by the rafters.  All was very quiet, full of rich, pungent smells of hay, manure, animal bodies.

Orion relaxed, stretched, his legs spread apart as he sat back, and I noticed that his overalls had a pretty big hole near his crotch.  I now think it was so he could pee easily if he had to, while he was out in the fields… but anyway, I could see some curly hair behind that hole and I guess he saw me looking at it.  He reached over and took my hand. 

“Eh bien, petite, tu vois quelque chose la?” he said. (Hey, little one, do you see something there?)

I understood and my eyes got wide in embarrassment.

“Non, non, je vois rien,” I meekly replied, shaking my head back and forth quickly. (No, no, I see nothing.)  Yet I couldn’t help but look again. 

He smirked and tilted his head to one side and as I watched, I saw his penis rising towards that hole and out it came.  He held it with his right hand and put his other hand on my neck.  He pulled my head toward him and near to his penis.  He rubbed the head of it on my cheek and he held my face close to it, and kept pulling on his penis, faster and faster till suddenly he moaned and grunted ‘Ahh!” and the thick white semen came spurting out.  It had only been a few moments.  It got all over me and I immediately burst into tears, sobbing loudly.

“Eh, hé, ma petite chérie, ne fais pas ça, ce n’est pas grave, ce n’est pas grave, c’est pas mal, pas mal!” (Hey, little darling, don’t do that – it’s nothing bad, nothing bad.)

My hair and face and neck were covered with his semen.  I was so shocked!  I had the taste of it in my mouth – salty and funky sweet.  He grabbed a ragged towel hanging on a nail on the wall and then led me out of the barn. He washed my face and rinsed off my hair at the water hand-pump near the fenced vegetable garden.  He worked the big lever and water spat out, and then he got another rag, wiped me off and helped me clean up.  I was still crying. That was the first time I had semen in my mouth.

He watched me as I ran off.  I went right back to the main dirt road and started trudging back home.  It was so hot and I was pretty shaken and the way back seemed very far away. Then I saw a bakery truck coming along the road.  In those days, as there were no stores close to where all the families rented houses, and none of the wives had a car or knew how to drive anyway, there were vendors that came to us, selling all sorts of fruits, vegetables and other general goods out of their trucks.  The name of the bakery was ‘Bonnie Breads’ and we all loved the goodies they sold.

I would eagerly await the ‘Bonnie Bread man’ at least three times a week. I had several favorite pastries and cakes, so I knew this truck and I knew the driver.  He was French Canadian, a big man, slightly overweight, but still well built, with darkish blond hair and a pleasant, smiling face.  He knew me, too, and stopped the truck.

“Hello, you want a ride?” he spoke English comfortably, with a slight accent. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

I happily got into his truck, relieved that I didn’t have to trudge along that stretch of hot dusty road.  He drove up the road, and kept on going – I saw that he had gone quite a ways past the turn where I lived.   I said nothing for a bit and then as he kept driving and seemed oblivious, I spoke up:

“M’sieur, you went past where my house is.”

“Ah, oui, sorry, I will go back,” he said.  He pulled off the narrow road a bit, as if to turn around – but then he stopped the engine and looked at me. 

“You like to take some cake to your house for your mama? You can take it.”

That seemed very nice of him and I immediately nodded, “Yes, thank you!”

He stood up and opened a panel behind the driver’s section.  There were shelves of cakes and cookies.

“You pick something you like,” he encouraged.  There wasn’t much on the lower shelves and I could not see up to the top shelves, even when I tried standing on my tiptoes.   He said, “Wait, I show you.”

Then of all things, he put his right hand between my legs, exactly under my crotch.  He actually lifted me up that way, with only one arm, to the level of the upper shelves.  He was strong! There I was; I felt his big fingers opening and closing, squeezing my hairless pussy over my panties and I had absolutely no idea what to do.  So all I did do was let it happen.   I quickly chose a marble cake – half chocolate and half vanilla – and turned my face towards him.  “I got one,” I whispered.

He set me down and then as I stood there, he took out his penis.  My eyes got wide and I stared at it – it looked immense to me – and I was absolutely frozen to the spot.  He took the cake out of my hands and set it aside.  Then he took my left hand in his right hand and pressed it on top of his cock. I became completely passive, did nothing at all to resist as he placed his own large hand under the shaft, closing his hand tightly so it covered mine and began moving it slowly up and down. I remember how the skin seemed kind of loose on his cock, but it was so very hard underneath.  He kept sliding my hand on it, up and down, up and down.  I began to cry, big tears spilling down my cheeks. I was so confused, so lost in the situation – I felt completely helpless, but did nothing.  “Don’t cry, don’t cry, I don’t hurt you,” he said in a low soft voice.

But I kept sobbing as he kept making me do it.  He moved my hand faster and faster and he was breathing hard.  Then suddenly he ejaculated, and it spurted several feet – right out the open side door of the truck, behind me!  And at that moment – to both our surprise, another car had just driven past us on that lonely road.  With the front of the truck turned away from the road, I am sure they saw nothing but a bakery truck parked off to the side, among the choke-cherry trees.

He quickly put his cock back into his pants.  Then he turned the truck around and drove me home.  My mother came to the door and he nodded and waved to her, smiling as if nothing had happened at all.

 “You are here today?” my mother asked, as it was not his usual day. 

“Bien, non, madame.  I just give a ride home for your girl, votre fille.  She was going home from M. Turcotte.”

I jumped down with my marble cake and went inside.  Never was asked a question and never said a word. That was a big day that summer.

Published by rozhinka

I am a writer, artist and a woman who is exploring and reflecting on many things. In writing this very personal Diary of Secrets and Fantasies, I am looking backwards in trying to understand myself - and I am looking forward in exploring new paths of pleasure and possibilities. It's a precarious and precious journey. It's already been quite surprising - and often shocking.

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