The Farm Boy

A little story to break up the monotone.

So a farmer had a young daughter who was reaching the age of maturity who was showing a good deal of restlessness. The farmer was not ready to marry her off just yet, and besides there were no good candidates nearby. However, he feared for the safety of her immortal soul, and he also didn't want her or his reputation sullied by anyone discovering that this young lady was on the verge of becoming a sexual creature.

The girl's mother, God rest her soul, had been a sexual dynamo, the farmer remembered. It took most of the energy he had to keep her satisfied. For weeks the farmwork was left undone while he carried out his husbandly duties. He was constantly going to the doctor to get more vitamins and tonics - he never told the doctor what they were for, but he suspected the doctor knew.

And now the girl was showing signs of following in the mother's footsteps. How did he know? The walls in the house were thin. As she apparently explored her young sumptuous body at night, she made little cooing gasping and groaning sounds, and even if she put her hand over her mouth, the sounds still made their way to the ears of her father. Over time, she got better at pleasuring herself, and then the cooing gasping and groaning was followed by fast shallow breathing and then shrieking and crying. Then one night, the farmer heard a sound like an electric toothbrush, only it was long after the time when any toothbrushing would be done, and then the usual cooing and groaning, just a little louder than usual, and the shrieking and crying a little sooner and louder too.

During the day when his daughter was out of the house, the farmer paced the livingroom floor, perplexed and troubled. Since he would not be marrying her off any time soon, this self-pleasuring was going to keep on. And he had seen that she looked at people differently now than she used to - not just men, but everyone. It was as if her gaze was saying "oh my god, I have so much fun at night, you have no idea." It was only a matter of time before people started asking if his daughter was ok, just as a generation earlier, people had sometime come up to him and said, "um, is your wife ok?"

What could he do? He knew what the preacher would say: a regimen of prayer and beatings if she kept up the funny stuff at night. That just didn't sound to him like any kind of solution. But that didn't lessen his anxiety any that left untreated, his daughter was in trouble. He remembered how distraught his wife became when he didn't take care of her needs properly. He didn't want his baby girl to go through that.

The next time he was in the county store, he overheard someone talking about a crone who had settled nearby who was very wise, so he thought, "hmmm, maybe I could consult her." He discreetly asked for her whereabouts and planned a trip to meet the old lady.

The hut in the woods was sufficiently dilapidated. The wrinkled nearly blind creature dwelling inside probably had forgotten what a bath was. But when the farmer spoke her name, she brightened up and spoke out in a clear voice, "what do you need, friend?"

He could hardly tell her, but it seemed almost as if she knew before the words were out of her mouth. "This isn't the first time you've seen this kind of behavior, is it my friend?" So then he told her about his wife, and she nodded, listening to the story.

When he had finished talking, she sighed, cleared her throat, and said, "Neighbor, do you have any young men nearby who can be trusted?" The farmer said no quickly, but then realized that there was such a person, a youngster nearly the same age as his daughter who was working for the season at the farm next to his. This farm boy seemed intelligent, and his employers swore that he was very trustworthy and hardworking. He spoke up, and told the crone about this farm boy living so nearby.

She told him what he must do. The only way to restore this girl's virtue and keep her from getting in trouble, and imbuing her with quiet and seemliness was to satiate these desires welling up within her. He must discreetly invite the farm boy over and coax him into giving the daughter what she needed regularly until such time as she recovered her air of chastity.

The farmer scratched his head. He had never heard of such a thing. Actually encourage your own daughter to carry on with a near stranger under your own roof? Would it even work? Well, he was a man of ample imagination of breadth of vision. So he reasoned that as long as this arrangement was kept between the three of them, it could work.

He didn't waste any time getting the farm boy over to his house. He had told the boy's employers that he needed the boy to do some hedge trimming. The boy looked the daughter over as the father explained what he was proposing they do, and without a word of agreement or contradiction, stood up, took the girl by the hand, and led her upstairs to her room.

If the sounds coming out of her room used to keep the farmer awake, they were nothing compared to what he heard now. She screamed as if she was being murdered, for it seemed like hours on end. And then finally she screamed one more time, sighed, and it was over. Two minutes later, the farmer heard a soft knock on his door, and then the farm boy whispering, "it's done, sir. She's asleep now."

Every night after that, it was the same thing. The farmer took to sleeping on the livingroom couch because he thought the noise might be less acute, but it was still loud enough to keep him awake. The shy but gentle farm boy would report to the farmer before he left and walked back to the neighboring farm and his bed in their barn.

Several weeks went by, with the screams taking on a more tempered fashion. Now the farmer could make out his daughter saying things like, "more!" and "oh yes!" Not that he really wanted to make note of exactly what was going on. But he thought a certain amount of knowledge of what was taking place upstairs was important. He was after all doing this for her good, and needed to be sure that it was in fact helping her.

How was she during the day? Still licentious and loose and overly familiar with people, even overly physical with people? Well, maybe a little. She seemed to be making some progress toward being self-contained and proper. He hoped that wasn't just him wanting to see her that way. But he had to be honest. There were still moments when she stared at people as if she wanted to tear their clothes off and have them right then and there.

Weeks passed, with the sounds emerging from her throat during the nightly carryings-on still as lusty and loud as ever. As he lay wide awake on the couch, the farmer started wondering if this experiment was really so wise afterward. He had spent years satisfying his wife, her mother, for weeks or months at a time, thrashing and sucking and licking until he was sore and exhausted, and he didn't ever remember his wife growing less ardent in her desires for love. They did manage to keep the randiness between the four walls of their bedroom. But it never seemed to abate.

The next morning he thought he better pay a second trip to the crone. So he got on his horse and rode over to the wood where her hut lay. He hammered on her door for a good solid 5 minutes before her voice answered an invitation to enter. She sat in a shadowy corner and wouldn't meet his eyes. What he could make out seemed to indicate that she was more disheveled than last time, and had not as many wrinkles as before.

He explained to her how he was unsure that the cure was working. She hoarsely reassured him that he just needed to give the process more time. He tried to listen to the advice, but he was distracted by a growing suspicion. Something told him that he knew this crone. Something in her voice and the curve of her nose and her smell was familiar to him, he could swear. The more she talked, the more he felt he knew her somehow.

"More time, you've got to give it more time," she was saying and then she sneezed, and the farmer could've sworn her hair moved as if it had come loose from her head. "This boy is doing a wonderful job I'm guessing. You just let him work his magic a little while longer..."

The farmer reached forward, not really knowing what he expected to happen, and snatched her hair off her head, to discover that underneath that wig was none other than the farm boy himself. Realizing himself discovered, he jumped up, lunged past the farmer and ran out of the hut and into the woods. The farmer stood up and walked in the direction he'd run. He was less angry with the boy than he was disappointed that his problem being left unsolved.

"Oh well," he thought, "hopefully the farm boy will come back. I'll let him know there's no hard feelings. There's my daughter's well-being to consider here."