Today at 1pm ET.....join my live. I'm letting a fan use me a..
Today at 1pm ET.....join my live. I'm letting a fan use me and do whatever you all tell him to do.
2024-11-15 14:52:02 +0000 UTC View Post
thedaremilf posts
Im going live here at 2:45 ET....join!
Im going live here at 2:45 ET....join!
2024-11-14 19:14:26 +0000 UTC View PostPerfect day to tan naked.....hope nobody sees me ;)
Perfect day to tan naked.....hope nobody sees me ;)
2024-11-13 22:17:37 +0000 UTC View Post
Do you think anyone actually notices when I do this?PS....ch..
Do you think anyone actually notices when I do this?
PS....check your PMs for a bonus ;)
Episode 2....loved the body writing and wish he did a bit mo..
Episode 2....loved the body writing and wish he did a bit more ;)
We are just getting started with this series and getting better each time....we have a lot of big things planned.
Never had body writing done on me before, but I liked it ;)
Never had body writing done on me before, but I liked it ;)
2024-11-05 14:54:16 +0000 UTC View PostBeautiful day for a drive on my way to filming another DareD..
Beautiful day for a drive on my way to filming another DareDice episdoe ;)
2024-11-04 22:18:36 +0000 UTC View PostMy first try at a dice game....I filmed with the loyal fan w..
My first try at a dice game....I filmed with the loyal fan who gave me the idea :)
Let me know your thoughts and ideas!
Some creepy shit coming soon ;)xoxo
Some creepy shit coming soon ;)
xoxo
I love lingerie and hope to be using a lot of it for my new ..
I love lingerie and hope to be using a lot of it for my new game. :)
2024-10-11 14:15:46 +0000 UTC View PostI get so turned on in the woods....alone and exposed. ;)
I get so turned on in the woods....alone and exposed. ;)
2024-10-03 17:16:32 +0000 UTC View PostAnnouncement! Starting next week, I will be strapping myself..
Announcement! Starting next week, I will be strapping myself, helpless, to the platform in the pictures...and letting fans and strangers play a dice with my body.
Check out the game rules and let me know your thoughts...PM me. I'm so excited (and nervous) to try something like this.
People tell me a mom shouldn't wear a thong to the beach, my..
People tell me a mom shouldn't wear a thong to the beach, my tan line disagrees ;)
2024-09-04 17:53:47 +0000 UTC View PostGoing to be making a big comeback soon....stay tuned :)
Going to be making a big comeback soon....stay tuned :)
2024-09-03 15:51:14 +0000 UTC View Post
Just a little Disney flashing ;)
Just a little Disney flashing ;)
2023-08-14 15:02:02 +0000 UTC View Post
Its always polite to flash when asked while cruising in a bo..
Its always polite to flash when asked while cruising in a boat ;)
2023-07-12 16:55:42 +0000 UTC View PostTheDareMilf is always outstanding in her field ;)
TheDareMilf is always outstanding in her field ;)
2023-06-24 20:06:11 +0000 UTC View Post
If I can't see them they can't see me?
If I can't see them they can't see me?
2023-05-26 16:29:36 +0000 UTC View Post
I'm changing the title from Farmers Daughter to "Wicked Game..
I'm changing the title from Farmers Daughter to "Wicked Games."
This is really starting to get dirty. Love to hear detailed thoughts and feedback.
Chapter 8:
My mom and I can spend hours shopping, so this afternoon, that’s exactly what we did. We got home kind of late, since we decided to stop and eat at our favorite Mexican restaurant, so to avoid mom having to make dinner for dad once we returned, we brought him home a to-go order. He has already eaten it and passed out in his favorite chair, while watching the news.
I found a super cute, new outfit that I plan to wear tomorrow night, so I grab the store bag from the dining room table — our go-to “drop zone” to throw things when we first come in the door — and I head to my room to try it on again. I quickly pull off my shorts and tank top from today and slip on the new short, denim skirt, followed by a fitted black top. It fits like a glove against my body, the neckline a wide cut that sits below the tops of my shoulders on both sides, exposing my collarbone, and while it’s not technically a crop top, the waist of it falls about an inch above the top of the skirt, just giving a little peek-a-boo of skin. It feels flirty and sexy.
I slip on a pair of black high heels to complete the outfit and spin around in the mirror. I think Tyler’s going to like this. Maybe it’s mean, since I know there’s nothing serious going on with him, but I’d like to wield my newfound power a little and make him drool over me. This short skirt that just barely hides my ass cheeks is super intentional, too. I could say I’ve become somewhat obsessed with accentuating that spot below my ass ever since I paid it more attention in the bathroom mirror yesterday. It’s such a tease and I know it. I drop my panties to the floor, from under the skirt. Ohh, that feels even better.
I do another couple of spins, pleased with what I see and feeling giddy with excitement, when I hear what sounds like a car pulling up in our driveway. It’s so quiet here at night, since even our closest neighbors are at least a half-mile away, that you can hear a car coming from a mile down the road, let alone one pulling up our long gravel drive. Someone must be stopping by to talk to dad, but it’s nighttime, so I’m assuming it can’t be good news. Maybe a cow got out or something. Although, when that happens, it’s usually just a late night phone call instead of a house visit.
I walk over to my window and peek out of the curtain. The car didn’t stop in front of the house. It’s parked over at the hay barn. And it’s not a car — it’s a truck. I can make out the shape of it in the dim glow of the barn’s single light bulb, which hangs inside, near the peak of the roof. What is someone doing at the barn this late? I say “someone” but my gut already knows that what I’m seeing is Frank’s truck parked at the barn. I just can’t tell for sure since it’s so dark out, even with the barn light.
I walk over to my room door and glance out towards the living room, which I can only partially see from down the hall. It’s quiet out there. Neither my mom nor dad seem to have noticed the sound and no one seems to be moving around, so I walk a few steps down the hallway to get a better view. My dad is still asleep in his chair, and my mom has fallen asleep on the couch. Old people fun on a Thursday night.
I consider waking my dad up, so he can go see what the visitor wants or needs, but before that, I go back to my room, to the window, to make sure they’re still there. I don’t want to wake him up for nothing. I pull back the curtain again, just a little, and the truck is still there. Only this time, a man is standing in the doorway to the barn, unmoving and backlit. He’s just a shadow.
Hello, Frank.
What on Earth is he doing here at night? Did dad give him some kind of night chore to come back for tonight? I try to think of all the possibilities. It’s not planting or harvest season right now, which does usually entail longer work days, sometimes into after-dark hours. It’s not calving season, which requires middle-of-the-night checks on cows that are about to give birth, just in case they need help or have a high-risk pregnancy going on. Usually, those cows are kept on one side of that barn for observation, so that would be a plausible explanation, except we’re nowhere near the right time of year for that right now.
The shadowy man makes a small movement with his arm, then suddenly, the barn light goes out. I can’t see anything anymore. Not the truck, not the man, not the huge barn itself. Where the hell is the damn moon when you need it? I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen that barn light off. It’s one of those that just gets left on twenty-four seven, I assume to offer some light or point of reference to go by when they’re out working late in the dark. A lighthouse for land.
I stand stone still in the window, staring out into the darkness, waiting to hear the truck start up and leave. But I hear nothing. I see nothing. Not a flashlight or even the cab light from inside the truck. If it’s still there. If that is indeed Frank out there, I guess he’s not needing the light. Or rather…he doesn’t want it.
My mind is whirring, trying to figure out what to do. I can’t ignore it and just go to bed, because then we just have someone creepily hanging out outside, in the dark, not far from the house. Who could sleep through that? Besides my parents, obviously.
I think back to the stories my mom told me about Frank earlier. Is he trying to pull one over on my dad somehow? But if that’s the case, what could that possibly be? And why tonight?
I’m so close to just waking my dad up so he can go check it out, but then I think back further and remember my and Frank’s encounter through the window this morning. The way he stood watching me give him a strip show while he filled the water tank. It was eerily similar to how he was standing just now, under the barn light. It was hard to tell which way he was facing, but from his posture, it looked like he had been facing my window again. Is he still there? Standing in the dark? Watching my window?
My heart accelerates, in that same way it did this morning, as I come to the realization that he might be here, standing out in that barn alone, for me. I’m now torn between fear and curiosity. If he is here for me, what does he expect? A continuation of my little show this morning? He’s the one who left that time, though, so if he wanted more, he would have stayed and watched longer. Right? It strikes me that I’m still irritated about that. About him walking away while I was standing there so vulnerable and excited, like it didn’t hold his interest.
Suddenly, a devious idea illuminates my brain. Let's see if I can be more “interesting” tonight.
The thought sends butterflies through my stomach and simultaneously, a wave of heat radiates over my body. I slowly pull the curtains all the way open, exposing my softly lit room out into the immense darkness in front of it. I feel like an actor on a bright stage, staring out over a faceless audience sitting in a dark auditorium. My audience is out there tonight and I guarantee his eyes are on me. I can feel them.
I turn away from the window, walk over to my room door, and turn the lock. Moving slowly and quietly back towards my stage, I peel the little black shirt up and over my head, then unfasten the tiny skirt, letting it drop to the floor. I step out of it, leaving my high heels on. I pick both pieces up and toss them onto the bed as I walk over to my closet, open the doors, and pull out Frank’s oversized flannel shirt. I look at it and take a deep breath. Here goes nothing.
A quick peek in the mirror’s reflection of the window shows me that nothing has changed outside. It’s still dark. It’s still quiet. So I slip on Frank’s shirt, leaving it unbuttoned, and I can feel the bottom hem of his shirt caressing the lower edge of my ass. That spot. My new favorite sneaky spot. I feel myself getting wet and the entire area between my legs starting to swell. I turn around to face the window. My heart is pounding so hard that I freeze for a moment, staring out into the abyss, trying to settle my nerves. I wonder what he’s doing right now. My imagination is going crazy. Maybe he’s jerking off out there, with his giant cock in his hand, watching his shirt drape over my naked body. The idea is starting to drive me wild. I can feel the wetness spread down to my inner thighs now, unable to be contained. Frank’s flannel is brushing softly over the tips of my nipples and they react with enthusiasm to the sensation.
I walk with delicate, deliberate steps over to my desk, stage left, grab my Discman which has my headphones already attached, and flip to a specific CD in my CD case (a playlist I made myself) and pop it into the player. This will help. Next to my Discman, there is a hairbrush sitting on the desk. I stare at it for a moment, then pick it up as well. I hook the back of the desk chair with my remaining free fingers and pull it over towards the window, placing it front and center.
Take your time, Fiona. Move slowly. I need to keep a steady pace, because I’m so keyed up right now that I feel like if I move any faster, all of the molecules in my body will shatter into a billion pieces. My instincts, my humanity, my nerves, my sexuality — they’re all operating at max capacity at this very moment. If they had a visible meter, the needles would be on the verge of breaking off. I am in control.
I take a seat in the chair, facing the window. What I’m about to do, I’ve never done before. Not like this. But right now, I really, really want to. I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I am in control.
With shaking fingers, I carefully place an earbud into each ear, press the forward button on the cd player to track four, hit play and set it to repeat. The opening music to Britney Spears’ Touch of My Hand begins to play. I am in control.
With my ass positioned at the edge of the chair, I place my Discman on the open part of the seat right behind me, then return my hands to my lap. I take another deep breath and I recline my body back against the chair’s backrest as I stare straight out the window into the darkness. Britney starts to croon in my ears:
I'm not ashamed of the things that I dream
I find myself flirting with the verge of obscene
Into the unknown, I will be bold
I'm going to places I can be out of control
I close my eyes and I begin to slowly caress my hands up along my thighs, towards my belly, and slip them under Frank’s shirt, letting it fall open. I focus on my touch, as I continue up to my breasts, squeezing them together, before stroking my fingers around my nipples, then higher, up to my neck as I let my head fall to the side, taking care not to snag my earbuds out of my ears. I spread my fingers as they slide up into my long hair, tousling it as I massage my head, causing wisps and strands to fall over my face. The music is drawing me further in:
The small of my back, the arch of my feet
Lately I’ve been noticing the beautiful me
I'm all in my skin and I'm not gonna wait
I'm into myself in the most precious way
I open my eyes as I lower my arms back to my thighs, my gaze following my fingers. I feel like I’m watching someone else’s hands touch me, instead of my own. My heart is beating out of my chest and my breathing is slow and heavy, as I slide my hands down to between my knees and spread them open, wide. I dare to lift my eyes back to the window. It’s strange to me how the infinite darkness before me feels like a spotlight. I’m caught in the tractor beam of a black hole. I still feel you out there watching, Frank.
My fingers glide along my inner thighs, reaching to where my slickness has spread all over my skin between them. With my right hand, I split my middle and ring fingers into a “V” and slide them down the sides of my pussy. It’s soaking wet, swollen and warm. It’s pulsing, yearning to be fully touched, and I can’t take it anymore. I slip a finger into its folds, and my body reactively arches in the chair. I stroke that finger in and out a few times, swirling around my clit with each pass, before sliding in a second finger. God, that feels good. I want more.
My left hand has made its way up to my breasts and is taking turns rolling each nipple between my fingers. My head is swirling and I’m still stroking myself, harder now, with my right hand and I’m about to slip yet another finger in, craving more, when I remember the hairbrush I brought over with me. I forgot I had dropped it onto the floor when I first sat down. I lean over a little and fumble around with my left hand to find it under the chair. My other hand doesn’t stop stroking. It can’t stop. I stare at the brush once again, contemplating its round, rubber sheathed handle. Should I do this? I want more. I need more.
I look back up at the window, out into the abyss where I envision the grown man that’s watching me in the shadows, groping his erection. Then my focus shifts to notice my own reflection in the glass. Hello, again Fiona. Through lustfully heavy eyes, I study the mirrored version of me, fully on display, fucking her own fingers. This is what Frank is seeing. It’s so fucking hot.
Decision made. I turn the brush in my hand so that I’m holding it by the soft, bristled end. The Britney song starts to repeat, and I bring the handle up to my lips, opening my mouth and sliding it in and out to get it wet. I know I don’t need to, since I’m wet enough as it is, but I want Frank to watch me suck it. I tease my tongue around the tip a few times, and then bring it down to my entrance, removing my fingers. I spread my lips with those fingers, and slowly push the handle into myself. Oh God. I inhale sharply at the pleasant intrusion, and while it’s not a particularly large brush — it glides in easily — it’s foreign to me and hitting a spot my fingers couldn’t reach. The sensation makes me clench around the handle, making it fit tighter and feel larger. Yes, right there. I plunge it in and out as I start rubbing my clit with my free hand. I watch it penetrating me and I can slightly see each thrust moving within me through my belly, and this observation sends me into a tailspin. I pick up the pace — thrusting, squeezing, rubbing — and my climax is building rapidly.
It reaches a peak, and I’m just at the tipping point, when I see the barn light suddenly turn on again. Oh my God. I see that ominous silhouette in the doorway once more and the sight causes me to panic. Oh no….no, Fiona! Pull it back! Oh my God! I want to stop, but I’m too far gone at this point and I just can’t. My toes are curling, my legs are tensed up, I grasp the side of the chair seat with my left hand to steady myself, but my other hand keeps automatically thrusting the brush handle, and despite my attempt at resistance, the visual confirmation that he is indeed still there watching, pushes me into my release. How did he know I was about to come? I try to hold my breath as I submit to my climax. My body jerks as pleasure ripples through me, and I come hard on the brush handle, trying with everything in me to not moan or scream. I don’t know what I would do if my parents heard me.
Then, as my orgasm dissipates, I drop the brush and yank the earbuds from my ears with one pull of the wire. The sound of my own gasping breath within the sudden silence of my room is surprisingly intense. I stand up before I’m fully ready and walk to the window on shaky legs. Frank’s shirt is draping off of my shoulders, my skin is glistening with sweat and my hair is still disheveled from playing with it. I must be quite a sight.
The shadow man remains in the barn doorway, but it’s only been a few seconds, and I don’t want to lose my moment. I’M ending this one, Frank.
Without further delay, I pull the curtains closed and take a few steps back to sit in the chair, catch my breath and wait. The seconds tick by like minutes, but finally, I hear the truck start up and slowly creep down the driveway to leave. Once I feel like it’s been long enough, I peek through the curtain. The truck is gone. The barn light remains on.
I stare out at the barn, immobile. What did I just do? What was HE doing? I try to process what I understand about what just happened: An old man snuck out to my house and watched me masturbate through my room window. I orgasmed — with a brush handle — right in front of him. A smile starts to play on my lips. I almost feel proud of myself.
Oh, Frank….what a risky, wicked game we’re playing.
Moving along....Chapter 7 I woke up this morning earlier th..
Moving along....Chapter 7
I woke up this morning earlier than expected and super-refreshed, so I decided to go for a run. Apparently, I had a good night’s sleep for once, as I didn’t seem to have any crazy dreams. I don’t think I dreamt at all, actually, which speaks to how damn tired I’ve been from NOT sleeping well these past couple of weeks. I’ve been slacking with my fitness since I’ve been home, and to be honest, I really want to look good for this weekend, so it felt great to finally get my ass in gear.
I’ve just gotten back to my room, post-run, and I take some time to stretch out on the floor. When I stand back up, planning to head to the bathroom next to take a shower, I notice through my north window that Frank is out at the barn. He’s standing at the fence in front of a water tank that the cows drink from and I assume he’s filling it. There’s a spigot with a hose at the front corner of the barn that’s always used to fill that tank, and with a closer look, I see that the hose is in the tank. He must have just gotten there and turned it on, because I didn’t see anyone out there when I first returned.
I walk over to the window to shut the curtains again, but I stop. I don’t know why, but I just stand there watching Frank, and I become very curious to know more about him. Even though he’s been on this farm for decades, I realize that I don’t know much, other than that he lives a few miles away in an old house, by himself. Where is his family? Did he ever have one?
I’m completely zoned out while watching him, silently pondering his life story, when he looks up and directly over at my window. At me. Can he see me behind the glass? I assume, since it’s daylight, that the reflection from the outside would make it difficult to see in, but when I reach up to pull the curtains, something makes me pause again. He’s wearing a John Deere hat and I see him lift his hand up to the brim and give what looks like a little nod. Just like that same nod I envisioned in my daydream. Did he just nod at me? Like a hello? I look around and there doesn’t seem to be anyone else out there with him that he could be nodding to.
I take a step back from the window, to see if I lose his attention, but he actually squares up even more in my direction. I keep staring back at him and the intimacy of the moment makes my heart start beating faster. My adrenaline is picking up and it’s bringing out that girl in the mirror from yesterday. I can’t fight it. I turn my back to the window, breaking eye contact with Frank, and it’s the first time I’m noticing how the full-length mirror on my wall is opposite the window and I can still see Frank in the reflection, albeit from a more distant perspective. It’s becoming a thing to watch Frank in mirrors, it seems. He’s also still watching me.
My whole body feels like it’s buzzing now and without thinking too much about it, I slip my fingers under the band of my sports bra and pull it up over my head. I watch myself in the mirror as I do it and, in the reflection, I see Frank take a couple of steps away from the water tank towards the direction of the house, staying along the fenceline that separates the yard from the neighboring pasture. I pretend I don’t notice, since I don’t think he can tell that I can see him in the mirror, and I continue. I kick my running shoes off by the heels, using my toes, and slide my thumbs behind the waistband of my spandex shorts. Slowly and deliberately, I slide the stretchy material down my hips and over my ass. I bend over as I push the shorts all the way to my ankles, stalling in that position while I use my hands to free my feet from them. I’m trying my best to be graceful. I glance up into the mirror and I know Frank is getting a full view of my ass in my thong, because he’s taken yet another couple of steps along the fence towards the house.
Feeling empowered by having caught his attention to this level, I stand back up and reach for the waistband of my thong next. I peel it down, feeling the moment that my pussy bares itself to the open air, and I inhale sharply at the rush it gives me. There it is, that bend. That simple movement that just took this from rated R to X rated in the blink of an eye. Although, I don’t think Frank is blinking right now.
I stand back up and turn sideways to the window, keeping my attention on the mirror, and simulate checking myself out, giving all the girly poses we do when we try on an outfit. I run my fingertips from my shoulders, down over my breasts, my waist and finally, back to my ass. I see Frank's reflection start walking backwards, back to where the water tank is, and I feel so discouraged that he’s retreating, that I instinctively turn straight to the window and start walking back up to it. It’s as if I’m “following” him. Like there’s a string he’s pulling backward with him and I’m attached to the other end.
I’m now standing in the window, totally naked, just as he stops at the tank. Both of us are perfectly still for a moment, staring in each other’s direction. Then all of a sudden, Frank lifts his hand back up to the bill of his hat and nods, turns around, shuts the water spigot off to the hose, and walks away, totally out of view.
What was that? And where did he go? I’m not sure what I expected to happen next, but for some reason I’m annoyed that it ended like that. He walked away. Did he not like what he saw? Is he fucking with me? I feel like I should’ve been the one to walk away first, to shut the curtains on him, or to cover up and leave the room. What was with the head nods? Maybe I should be creeped out by it, but honestly, the mysteriousness of it has me more curious than creeped.
I flip the curtains shut more aggressively than I expected to, knocking one side of the curtain rod off of its anchor. Damn it, now I’m all flustered. With a big sigh, I grab my desk chair, slide it over to the window, pick up the curtain rod and step up to rehang it. It’s right then that I realize I am now stark naked on a chair in front of my window, and I feel so exposed. A little late for that, Fiona. I quickly finish hanging it, pull the curtains closed (more gently this time) and leave to go take my shower.
When I finish and head back to my room to get dressed, my mom is in my room putting away my laundry.
“Mom, you don’t have to do that. I can do my own laundry now,” I remind her before adding, “but I do appreciate it. Thank you.”
“Honey, I don’t get to have you home very often, so believe it or not, I want to do this for you. It’s funny what you don’t think you’ll miss, until it’s actually gone.” The way she said it was so full of sadness to me. I can feel her loneliness in it.
We used to do everything together, but with me being away the majority of these past couple of years, I can tell my absence has taken a toll on her somewhat. She seems like she’s aging faster or something, but that could just be from me not seeing her every day. Instead of a slow, steady progression that seems unnoticeable day by day, I’m only seeing new snapshots of her every few months. It makes a big difference.
“Oh, by the way,” she starts again. Her back is to me while she hangs something up in the closet. “I didn’t see that white shirt you had on the other day in the load.”
Oh, shit. Why is she so observant about that damn shirt? My face flushes as I scramble for an explanation.
“Oh…yeah…I noticed that it had a hole in it from my fall, so I threw it away.” I feel pleased with my quick thinking.
“Hun, I probably could’ve fixed it for you. You should’ve given it to me.”
Crap. She is pretty handy with a needle and thread, which slipped my mind. Lie better, Fiona.
“I thought about that, but it wasn’t on a seam. Must’ve snagged it on a stick or something. The hole was right in the middle of the fabric. It’s fine mom, it was a cheap shirt.” I think I hit it out of the park this time. I make a mental note that if I ever find that shirt, I have to throw it away immediately.
She lets the issue go, thank God, then picks another shirt out of the basket, and I see that it’s Frank’s, which causes my face to grow even hotter, especially after what just happened in the window.
“I can give this to your father to give back to Frank,” she offers.
Can she please just be done with laundry now.
“No, it’s ok mom, I can do it. Dad didn’t seem to like that he gave it to me to begin with, so maybe we don’t make him do that.”
“Yeah, true. You’re probably right. I just didn’t want you to have to do it.”
“Why not? It’s no big deal.” But as I say the words, butterflies take flight in my stomach and I realize that it’s actually a bigger deal to me than I first thought. Either way, she has me curious.
“I don’t know, hun, I just get a weird feeling about that man. I always have.”
Ok, now I’m extra curious. “Weird feeling? Like how? Why?” I try not to look too interested, but I doubt I’m succeeding.
She gives a small laugh in response. I don’t think she expected me to ask so many questions, so it’s more of a laugh she’s using to stall giving an explanation, than it is that she thinks it’s funny.
“I guess it’s a lot of things.” She backs up two steps and sits on my bed, looking up to the ceiling like she’s seeing an invisible list up there and trying to figure out which “thing” to start with. I follow her gaze, trying to see that list too, wondering how long it could be. She lets out a sigh as she starts, “Well, when your dad first hired him, I was like thirty…..six, I think. And I looked a lot like you, believe it or not,” she says with a shy smile. “I looked more like I was twenty-something still and I was thin. I hadn’t had you yet. Anyway, Frank was about the same age at the time and I know this will sound conceited, but I always felt like he was checking me out. He’d walk into the house to grab a pop out of the fridge to take back out with him and he’d just linger a little too long. He’d compliment me often — my hair, my clothes, things like that. You’d think I’d enjoy the attention, since you know, your father isn’t exactly the over-complimentary type, but it was the way he did it that grossed me out. He didn’t come off as just friendly when he’d say it. It was more….leering? If that makes sense? I don't know…it just wasn’t comfortable.”
“Is that all he did? Give you some compliments in a kinda-creepy way?” I don’t want to sound like I’m downplaying her experience, but it doesn’t seem like a big deal, so I continue, “It just seems pretty typical of a guy that’s the same age as you, when he sees a really pretty girl. I mean, I’m not saying you shouldn’t have been creeped out, but he’s like almost 60 now, so I guess I don’t see how what he did back then has to do with now. Did he do something else?”
She looks back up at that list. Damn, I wish I could see it for myself.
“He did that a lot, so yeah, that was a big part of it. I guess you had to be there.” I might already be, Mom. I take a seat next to her on the bed, realizing I’m still in my towel, then she proceeds, “Have you noticed his fingers?”
She surprises me with the odd change of direction. “What? His fingers? No, what about them?”
“He’s missing two of them, on his right hand,” she explains. “A few years ago, he somehow got his hand caught on some baling wire as it was feeding into the baler and the wire sliced two of his fingers clean off. I think it had jammed or something and he was trying to fix it.”
I gasp in shock. Holy shit! Frank’s words from yesterday replay in my head, when he was giving me his gloves: You’ll need’em to grip the wire. It can cut through yer hand pretty easy. How did I not notice that? Why did his gloves have all 5 fingers? Wouldn’t the empty two get in the way? I have so many questions.
“Oh my God, that’s awful! What happened next? Was his family upset? What did Dad do?” So. Many. Questions.
“Oh, he doesn’t have family,” she answers. “You’ve never learned any of this? I thought I'd told you before.”
“Uh, nope. Unless I was a kid and forgot.”
“No, I wouldn’t have told you all that when you were little.” Right. Why would she? “His wife, Lilly, passed away from cancer not long before he started working for your dad, and they hadn’t had any kids yet. They had just started their own farm, but as soon as she got sick, he couldn’t keep up with it since he was taking care of her, so he sold most of the land, but kept the house he’s still in. I guess he just never bothered remarrying or dating or whatever.”
Suddenly, a wave of sadness fell over me for Frank. I can’t imagine getting married and maybe wanting to start a family, and then your other half gets sick and dies before you two even get to really start your lives together.
“That’s horrible, Mom. Jeez, maybe that’s why he liked hitting on you. He was still grieving and lonely and just mentally messed up.”
“That’s why I didn’t say anything or put up a fuss to your dad about him. I just let it go, even though it still gave me the heebie jeebies. But that’s not the part that bothers me about him anymore.”
As if my interest isn’t already piqued, she just keeps throwing perfect pitches. I look at her with raised eyebrows, urging her to continue the story.
“After the finger accident,” I hold back a giggle when she says the phrase finger accident because I feel like I’ve had one or two of those happen myself, “he filed a workmans comp claim, which we expected, and he did get a payout, but apparently it wasn’t enough to him and he had a big falling out with your dad after that since your dad wouldn’t pay him extra. He quit working here for a while, and then he tried to sue, but he wasn’t successful.”
“Jesus. How much did he get?”
“I don’t remember exactly, it was a while ago and your dad was handling it. I was just happy he was gone. I don't think any amount would’ve been enough for him, though.”
I can see why she didn’t care if he got paid out enough. As long as he didn’t, he and my dad wouldn’t get along and he’d stay away from the farm.
“Ok, so why the hell is he back working here then?” That seems like the next logical question. Although, I still have ten thousand more.
“Language, hun,” she scolds. Oh, shit, I forgot she hates when I curse in front of her. Whoops. I apologize and she finally answers, “I think he realized after a year or so that he was being greedy and he just needed the work.”
“Why didn’t he go work for someone else, then?”
“No one else would take him. A lot of the farmers around here are friends with your dad, as you know, and of course everyone was aware about everything going on. I don’t think anyone wanted to get on your dad’s bad side, even though he really wouldn’t have cared. He’s not catty like that. I guess it just didn’t feel right to them, plus, I don’t know, maybe they were worried Frank would try to pull the same thing if he had an accident with them?”
Yeah, I guess that makes sense. But then I wonder, “what about all the money he got from workers comp?”
“I don’t know. He managed his money terribly — he still might, for all I know. I guess, right after his wife died, he fell into alcoholism for a while, and I think he racked up some debt in the process. But by the time he started working for your dad, he had sobered up. I think he’d just been playing catch-up for years and the money he got disappeared quickly. Or maybe he fell off the wagon after the accident, who knows. I didn’t keep up with any of it after he left.”
Oh shit, this guy has been through the ringer.
“But, he came back to your dad, hat in hand, and made amends. Your dad hired him back and he’s been here ever since, but something about how that all went down still doesn’t sit right with me.”
“Why not? It sounds like they buried the hatchet to me.”
“Well, they don’t really talk much to each other, for one. You know how much your dad likes to chat when he’s out and about. He can’t pass another human being without stopping and having an hour conversation. Right?”
Yep, that’s accurate. He’s either not a man of many words, or he’s all of the words. It just depends on the topic at hand. Farming stuff is one of those topics where he will have all of the words.
“How often do you see your dad standing around chatting with Frank?” She raises an eyebrow as she looks at me, and I don’t know if that’s a rhetorical question or if she’s waiting for me to answer.
“Yeah, you’re right,” I decide to answer. It’s true though, even in my short time at home, I don’t ever see my dad near Frank. That explains why he’s always working alone when I’ve come across him. You’d think that if my dad didn’t fully trust him again, he would want someone there to watch him, in case he purposely tries to have another “accident” in order to try for more money again or something. “Do you think they’re still fighting? I mean, what else is weird besides that they don’t talk or work around each other?” I’ve lost count of my questions, but I’m pretty sure there are at least nine thousand, nine-hundred, ninety-two left.
“Well, it’s not just that your dad doesn’t talk to him much. It’s also that your dad doesn’t talk about him much either. If I didn’t know the whole story, I’d think that Frank doesn’t really work here and he’s just a ghost I see around the farm.”
Whoa, that’s weird.
“Like, dad just pretends he’s not here?”
“Something like that. I mean, I’m sure he gives him instructions on what needs to be done for the day I suppose, but then they just go off to work and usually it’s doing separate things. Frank finishes for the day and heads home, then comes back the next and it’s the same thing all over again. Even during dinner yesterday, when your dad made that comment about this shirt,” she holds it up as she addresses it, “was the first time in a while that I’ve heard him speak of Frank. And even then, I did notice he called him ‘that man’ instead of by name.”
I nod silently at her statement. I noticed that too, but I thought it was just because he got ruffled at the thought of me changing around him. I know now, there was so much more behind his few words. So much more.
“So, anyway, I just don’t want you around ‘that man’ Fiona,” she echoes my dad’s words. “There’s something — unstable about him. I’ll figure out how to get the shirt back to him.”
“No mom,” I stop her, “it’s fine. You know, he actually didn’t seem to care if he ever got it back, so let’s just forget about it. That way no one has to do it. Not you, not dad, not me.”
“I suppose.” She raises her eyebrows. “I don’t know though, he might try to sue us for stealing his shirt.”
We look at each other at the same time and start laughing hysterically. I love my mom’s sense of humor. It’s a bit morbid, so her way of coping with uneasy situations is to make jokes about it. I’m totally the same way.
I take the shirt from her and nonchalantly tell her I’ll just rip it up and use it as dust rags when I clean my room, and toss it onto my bed. She seems to accept that, and proceeds to finish putting away the rest of the laundry while I finally pick out something to wear.
Earlier, she mentioned making a run to the grocery store, so I find something casual — jean shorts and a tank top — and we make a plan to leave in twenty minutes or so. A trip to the store from here is a whole event, since it takes thirty minutes to even get to town, where the closest big grocery stores are, which means we’ll do more than just grocery shop. Much to my dad’s disdain, we’ll also hit up a bunch of clothing stores while we’re at it. He hates my mom’s spending habits, but as she always tells me, “we can afford it, and it’s not like I can take it with me when I’m dead.” Maybe I’ll look for a new outfit for tomorrow night. ;)
Another pic from the shoot and another chapter Chapter 6 L..
Another pic from the shoot and another chapter
Chapter 6
Lunch — I mean, dinner — was excellent today. After all, it was one of my favorites, and it was nice to sit and talk with my parents for a while. It was a pleasant distraction. They mostly asked about school. You know, the same old questions about my classes, how my friends are, what do I do outside of classes and practice. My answers were filled with sunshine and rainbows, all the things parents like to hear…and sometimes partial truths. They don’t need to know everything, after all.
Then my mom told my dad about how I fell in the creek this morning and came back looking like a swamp monster. I wasn’t pleased with this change in subject, but I could tell that her analogy made her feel clever, so I gave her a giggle in support. My dad, however, raised his eyebrows in curiosity, so I explained how I was sort of playing the game mom and I used to play over the bridge, about how my stick got stuck, and then pretty much stuck to the story I told mom when I first got home. When I mentioned the part about Frank giving me a shirt, my dad’s eyebrows dropped into a frown.
“You shouldn’t change clothes in front of that man.” He surprised me with his tone, but I knew he was just being protective of me.
“Well, jeez, Dad, I didn’t change in front of him!” I was trying not to break into a sweat as I was lying the entire sentence coming out of my mouth.
“Oh, come on, Jonathan, she’s smarter than that.”
My mom always defended me to my dad, even over things she may have already chewed me out for. She maintained being the sole disciplinarian, but only because when it came time for my dad to learn of my mistakes, she made it sound like it wasn’t a big deal. Like the first time I ever got a speeding ticket, 4 years ago. According to the officer, I was going almost thirty over the speed limit (which I still believe was false, but I won’t get into that), so they took my license and gave me a court date. She ripped me a new one over the phone, after I called her crying to tell her what happened, swearing up and down that I was going to be grounded and not be allowed to drive for two weeks. Of course that punishment never came to fruition. She wasn’t that cruel. After all, a new teenage driver getting a ticket wasn’t unusual or particularly devastating in the scheme of things. Although, during that phone call, she made me feel like I just mowed down 10 puppies intentionally with my Pontiac Grand Am. But when it came time to face the music with my dad, she was at the ready with a snappy “Johnathan, calm down, it’s not a big deal. It’s just a ticket.” God bless that woman.
My mom sticking up for me about taking Frank’s shirt shut my dad up. I think most of the time he just doesn’t care enough to get into it further. He’s a good problem solver, but not a good “problem” solver, if you know what I mean. Give him anything physical to repair, from a leaky faucet to a busted belt in a half-million dollar combine, and he’s got it covered. But come to him with a broken heart, or drama with kids at school, and he’s out. Which is totally fine with me. The downside is that my mom takes the brunt of everyone’s stress and wears it as her own. Which is why I chose to lie to her, and that’s led her to defend the lie for me — a lie she doesn’t know is a lie, and I feel kinda shitty about that. The woman who has always known me better than I know myself, doesn’t fully anymore. It would break her heart to know that, because it breaks mine a little, too.
I helped my mom clean up after lunch, threw my dirty laundry in the wash, including the clothes from my adventures this morning, and decided to cut the grass again. I wanted the alone time and it was due to be done again, anyway. That walk up to the machine shed again gave me so much anxiety, but no one was there this time and I was able to finish without any…distractions.
Now, I’m standing in the bathroom again, after taking a shower for the second time today. I know what you’re thinking and no, I didn’t perform an encore of my daydream from earlier. Not this time. Once today was about all I could take. Block it out of your brain, Fiona.
I stare at myself in the mirror again and give myself a good look top-to-bottom. I watch how the warm white light from the fixtures above, mixed with the orange glow that’s permeating through the sheer bathroom window curtains from the setting sun outside, illuminates my skin, accentuating all of its peaks and valleys. I slowly turn in a circle, keeping my eyes on the mirror.
My skin looks so soft in this light, so feminine. I mean, I know I’m a female, and a girly-girl at that, who loves to wear tiny clothes and high heels, but typically when I see myself, I see the athlete in me. I focus on how toned my arms are, the plumpness of my ass, the firmness of my abs and the muscular definition that runs down my thighs. But right now, I’m only paying attention to how full my breasts actually are (albeit on the smaller side), the way they subtly jiggle with each soft step, the arch of my spine as I pop my ass out a little further, and then down to where the bottom of my cheeks tuck under. The way their slope irresistibly compels attention to the warm, moist place that hides in the shadow below. The place where just a slight bend forward can reveal all of its secrets, its vulnerabilities. Something so sensitive and desirable, concealed by such a simple camouflage. It makes me feel kind of powerful.
With a smirk to myself, I wrap my towel around me and head to my bedroom. I must have been in the bathroom awhile, because it’s already almost dark now and when I grab my phone off of my desk and flip it open, there’s a missed text message from Brad: Will b home this wknd. Rdy to tlk? Luv u
Ugh, no. I’m not ready to talk. I told him we’d talk at the end of summer. He’s the last thing I want to worry about right now. I send back: We’ll see. Might be busy. Let u know. I throw my phone back down on the desk. Today is a Wednesday, so I’m guessing he’s coming back either Friday night or Saturday morning. I’ve got a couple of days before I have to give him a straight answer.
I head to my closet to grab some clothes and a bright light suddenly floods across the closet doors. What the hell? I turn around and notice it’s coming from my north-facing window. The curtains are still open. Whoops. I walk over to shut them, and freeze. It’s the headlights of a truck that’s backed up to the hay barn, which is in the direct sightline of my room. The headlights shut off and I see Frank stepping out of the truck. He pauses with the door still open and turns in my direction. It looks like he’s staring right at my window.
I snap out of my trance and quickly pull the curtains shut. That was close. I’m sure I’m just being paranoid, but it did look like he was looking at me, and here I am, still standing in my towel. Girl, get dressed already.
I’m staying in for the night, so I just throw on some comfy Abercrombie & Fitch booty shorts and a fitted tank top, before plopping down in my desk chair and flipping open my laptop. I need to plan something fun to do this weekend in order to avoid me eting up with Brad, so I open up my AOL Instant Messenger to see who’s online. But before I even start scrolling through the screen names to see who’s tagged as online, a message pops up from my life-long best friend, Emily, and I am SO freaking excited to see it:
Hanson4Eva: Heeeey slut! U back home yet??
Foxxygirl32: LOL…yeah, I’ve been back for almost a couple weeks!
Hanson4Eva: WHAT! And u didn’t TELL ME?? WTH is wrong w/ u!
Foxxygirl32: I know, sry! Just been super busy!
Hanson4Eva: It’s cool, I get it. Gotta catch up with the fam. It’s not like I’m ur sister or anything.
Emily and I call each other sisters, since we’ve been friends long enough that we might as well be. She’s attending college at a nearby university, about thirty minutes away, while mine is over two and a half hours away, so we don’t get to see each other often. She’s studying business and is an excellent photographer, so I think she’s hoping to start her own photography studio one day. Oh wait— photography — that gives me an idea.
Foxxygirl32: What r u doing this weekend?
Hanson4Eva: I’m free as a nudist’s balls in July.
Foxxygirl32: LOL…U still do photography?
Hanson4Eva: Of course.
Foxxygirl32: Could I maybe do a photoshoot this weekend with u?
Hanson4Eva: Like…of u??
Foxxygirl32: Uhh, yeah, of me.
Hanson4Eva: Sweet! U want like a boudoir kinda thing? Maybe something to give Brad for his bday? *winky face emoji*
Foxxygirl32: Um, no. We’re not 2gether right now.
Hanson4Eva: I know.
Foxxygirl32: WTH, then why did u say that??
Hanson4Eva: Cuz it’s easy to screw w/ u and it’s funny! LOL!
Foxxygirl32: *tongue sticking out emoji*
Ok, here goes nothing. I type and hit send before I change my mind:
Foxxygirl32: I wanna do a really sexy farm girl photoshoot.
Hanson4Eva: Like for real?? How sexy are we talking?
Foxxygirl32: Can u do it?
Hanson4Eva: Hell yeah! We can do it all artistic and shit. Can I use it in my portfolio?
Foxxygirl32: That’s fine, I guess. I don’t care.
Hanson4Eva: Do U want to use any props?
Foxxygirl32: I don’t know what that means.
Hanson4Eva: U don’t know what a prop is?
Foxxygirl32: Lol, I know what a prop is. I mean like what kind?
Hanson4Eva: Don’t worry. I got ideas. Ooh, I love this! Let’s do it this Saturday. Wanna use ur farm for it?
I look over at the window I just closed the curtains to. I wonder if Frank is still out there.
Foxxygirl32: No, I’d rather not.
Hanson4Eva: Ok, I get that. Then come to my house. I’ve got a great spot!
I love that she isn’t asking too many questions about my request, but I know she will, once I see her in person. She’s saving it for when she has me trapped and I can’t just log out of the chat and pretend my internet connection dropped. I wish we could do that in real life, sometimes.
We set up a time for Saturday evening, at seven p.m., because she wants to get set up in plenty of time to catch the “magic hour” or whatever. We’re chatting about nonsense for a little longer and off to the side of our chat, in the main AIM user list, I see a user pop online: Ty2002.
I stare at the screen name for a while, remembering back to when I had a crush on Tyler in high school and I’d spend hours chatting with him. He had a crush on me too, and was actually in my car with me when I got that speeding ticket I mentioned. I was freaking out and he tried to calm me down, swearing the officer would just give me a warning since I was a pretty girl and a new driver with nothing on my record. Boy was he wrong, and ironically, he’s now studying criminal justice in school with the hope of becoming a police officer. Anyway, back then, he went to a different high school than me, which complicated how often we could see each other, plus he was going to eventually go to the same nearby college Emily is and I was going to be moving away. But even before that could happen, Brad entered the picture, so things with Tyler just dissipated. I wonder if he’s still single.
What the hell. I click his username to open a chat window and send the first message: Hey stranger, long time no chat. Then I return to chatting with Emily.
Not even 30 seconds later, I hear the ping of a new message: Holy shit, hey Fiona! What’s up?
Well, I’ll be damned. I make small talk with him about school and family and whatnot, and then he actually asks me first if I’d want to catch up in person.
I think about it for a minute. I don’t want to respond too quickly or seem too eager, but it would be kind of nice to go on a date with another guy and what better way to do that than with a guy I already know and used to like. I decide to take him up on his offer.
Foxxy32: Sure, that sounds great.
Ty2002: Sweet! At our old spot on Friday? Around six?
Foxxy32: That’s perfect.
Ty2002: Can’t wait. *winky face emoji*
He winky faced me. Maybe he’s the more eager one. The thought makes me smile, as I close out both of my chats, grab my copy of P.S. I Love You by Cecilia Ahern from the desk, and sprawl out on my bed. A little reading before bed sounds great right now.
I flip the book open to my bookmark. Holly has just received the package of letters from her deceased husband Gerry, in which he’s giving her a new adventure to do every month for the rest of the year following his death, to help her cope with losing him. Wow, how freaking thoughtful. The dude was dying and still showed so much concern for his wife’s well-being after his passing.
I know for a fact that’s not something Brad would do. He’s only upset about our “break” because he doesn’t like the thought of being alone. It doesn’t matter that it’s me he’s losing. In the past, when we’d take a break and get back together, and he felt confident that I was sticking around, he’d go back to his old shit of ditching me for his buddies because he didn’t want to get made fun of for being “whipped”. That’s such a lame, juvenile thing for friends to pull, too, and I resent them for it. They just do it because they can’t keep a girl and they’re jealous, but he falls for it and I hate it. He changed his whole style, how he speaks and how he treated me, just to fit in with them. He’d say it’s no big deal, but all I could see was a manchild more concerned with fitting in than nurturing his relationship with supposedly the person he wants to end up with forever. I’d tell him that he’s changed and isn’t the guy I started dating 5 years ago and that I don’t want this “new’ version. We’d end up in a fight, some things would get broken, and I’d call for the break. Then he’d get all upset and start begging me back — and the cycle has continued, over and over. I don’t know why I’ve kept getting back with him in the past. I know a big part of it is that I haven’t really found anything better. We have a ton of history up to this point and it just becomes easier to stick with the person I know than to start over with someone new. Plus, I guess I’ve always held on to the hope that this is all a phase and I’ll get the old Brad back at some point. They do say boys mature slower than girls, so it makes me feel like some patience, on my part, is due. But it’s been three years of this, so how long is long enough?
It started when he left for college a year before I did. I was still a high schooler while he went off to be the big college guy. I can admit that I had a lot of insecurity with that. It was tough being two and a half hours away in a rinky-dink town while he was off on a big college campus talking to college girls. That’s when things started changing. He started calling me less, lying to me about where he was or who he was with and it started p*ssing me off. We somehow made it through that year still together, but then once it was my turn to join him there, he flipped and got super-clingy. At first I was excited, because I felt like he must have missed me so much that he was happy to finally have me on campus with him and the fact that he wanted to spend all of his time with me made me feel secure in the thought that he hadn’t found someone better to leave me for. But then, it got stifling. I was trying to make friends with my teammates and get into my own routine, and he didn’t like that. I realized then, that his being clingy wasn’t necessarily because he loved me and just wanted my company. He was the one worried I’d find someone else. So, there we were again, fighting. We just couldn’t get it together and we’d spend most of our time taking turns trying to get back at the other person for their insecurities. So I called it off again, and here we are.
I know he’s going to be pissed if he finds out I’m going on a date with Tyler.
Good. Let him be.
I mean, it’s not like an official “date” I guess, but to me, getting together with a guy who sent you a winky face sure sounds like a date. I’m really looking forward to it, too. I could use the distraction from Brad, the farm (whatever the fuck that stuff is all about) and just let myself be free for a little bit. Tyler’s really cute too. I need a pretty face to look at, especially after this morning’s…uh…run-in with Frank. Don’t even go there again, Fiona.
Oh! Then Saturday — the photoshoot! I know Emily is going to grill me about why I want to do it, since this is a first for me, so I need to be prepared with answers. That is, if i don’t chicken out on it. It’s just…these past couple of days, I’ve discovered a side to me that I hadn’t explored yet. Something about expressing my sexual appeal is exhilarating and I want to capture it. This gives me a chance to explore that in a controlled environment, and I think it’ll be awesome. If I follow through with it. I can’t tell her everything that led me to being curious about this all of a sudden, so I don’t know…I’ll think of something.
It looks like reading just isn’t in the cards for me tonight. My brain can’t focus on it, so I put the book down and run out to say goodnight to my mom, as I always do, before snuggling in under my covers and turning off the bedside lamp.
As I let myself settle into sleepiness, I stare out the east bedroom window which is next to my bed. It overlooks the pasture behind the house — the one that leads down the hill to the creek and continues on the other side of it. It’s a view that’s always given me comfort as I fall asleep. I’m not so sure it has the same effect now. Or if it ever will again.