This tale is purely a work of fiction; any correlation to anyone living or dead is purely happenstance. I hope you enjoy this story.
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I had kayaked down from Redding, on vacation. We had paddled with the current from just below Redding through Sacramento to Isleton. The downstream leg long distances were reasonably easy, the current adding miles to our daily range. Nick and I were young and athletic, efficiently paddling long distances. My friend Nick had set out with me but could only do the first week. At Isleton, his father had picked him up. He needed to get home. We had gone to the state university together and graduated that year. He was due to start his new information technology job and had to get back. He was excited to start this new phase of his life. The entire first half of the trip was with the current. I had two weeks available, and I intended to paddle back up to my home town Sacramento, roughly 40 miles upstream. I figured to take it slower. It was a short, relatively short, distance, compared to the marathon of the previous week. My blue Perception Express 14.5 was the right choice for touring.
It had water-tight compartments for gear. Nick had another brand also meant for touring equipped similarly. I felt mine was much more capable. Nick and I had used the old Sacramento River route, rather than the deep water channel. Cabin Cruisers were enough to deal with; ships were out of the question. Nick was one of my oldest friends, and I had known him since grammar school. He was taller than me at around six feet. I was relatively short at 5 foot six. He had always been lankier, still keeping an eye on me. Insuring bullies didn't trounce me, as small kids like me generally picked on. We had used several campgrounds on the river on the way down; Nick was less inclined to rough it. Especially since beaches have a way of disappearing under the tide in this part of the delta, I had another week of vacation before I had to start my internship.
On the way back, since I was now by myself, I wanted to take a more remote route. While doing this, I got a little turned around and had to use my phone's GPS to figure out where I was. My phone was charged by my solar charger while underway. The only problem with using my phone as a GPS was it was much better at showing roads than rivers. Somewhere near Locke, I had to backtrack a few miles, so I pulled in real late, beaching my Express just before dark. I had luckily found a beach suitable for camping, just as it was too dark to navigate the water. I pitched my dome tent and cooked dinner on my propane stove in the dark. The mosquitos were thick on this backwater part of the river delta. I lit a mosquito candle and marveled at the incredibly starry sky. The stars were so much more impressive away from city lights. I was tired, so I soon turned in and slept great. There was a mist over the water when I took my morning pee. Birds were active in the tulles, that early in the morning. A yellow-breasted chat landed right in front of me. I loved nature and was a bit of a bird watcher. Later that morning, I went looking for freshwater I found a white clapboard farmhouse with faded red trim. The farmhouse was up on stilts to protect it from potential flooding. I could smell the Pete moss soil.
The native doves were cooing, and the wind was blowing. I accidentally spooked a ringneck pheasant; the flurry of bird wings startled me as it flew off. A broke down rusty old Ford tractor between the dilapidated white house and the faded red barn. It was late summer, almost fall, so the corn crop had been harvested. The corn stalks tilled over, waiting to rot into the soil. I came upon the house from the back. Since I was trespassing, I was Leary. The last thing I wanted was a load of rock salt. My father had warned me of this painful consequence of trespassing. I walked well away from the house until I reached the driveway. Then I walked up the driveway and the well-worn stairs to get to the door. It was about eight am. Carrying my Coleman collapsible water jug, I knocked on the door, thinking farmers get up early. A woman answered the door in a sexy black lace negligee. Her full breasts and pink nipples visible through the open lace. She did not attempt to cover them, even when she realized I was a stranger. Her hair was a little messy, and she looked as though I had woke her. She looked to be about 40 years old. She was tall, about five foot eight. She had a beautiful face, but her blue eyes looked weary. Her breasts were very sexy, and my libido controlled cock told on me through my shorts. I felt shy, so it didn't speak right away.
"Sorry to bother you, but can I fill my water container with fresh water?" I finally asked.
"Sure, you can. Would you like a shower as well?" the tall woman asked. "There is an outdoor shower for the migrant workers," she said. It was no longer harvest season. I did not see any migrant workers.
"That would be great. Are there any migrant workers here now?" I said. There was a pile of sunflower debris over by the river. Sunflowers were probably the second crop, and corn being the cash crop. Anyhow both crops' harvest seemed over.
"Heavens no, they have already picked and gone," she said. My eyes kept wandering to her visible breasts. As hard as I tried, l could not keep from looking. It wasn't that I was a total horn dog, though my eyes refused to behave.
"The shower is off the back of the barn; there are shampoo and soap in it already," she said.
I went behind the old barn and found the shower. I saw the way someone designed it; there was a 'U' shaped redwood wall spaced four feet off the barns back wall and two more walls connecting only to the barn that kept you private. There was an unfinished wood bench for taking off your shoes—a wood shelf for placing your clothes. Then you walk around the end wall to get to the shower stalls. The two stalls each had doors—a simple concrete-floored shower stall with a drain in the middle. The floor was quite eroded, exposing the large aggregate. I took off my clothes and got into the shower. It felt so good; it had three days since I had last been clean. Thinking of those gorgeous lace covered breasts and nipples had me excited. My cock was sticking out. I decided I better take care of it. I started to masturbate. I was stroking, trying to visualize every detail of the farm woman's breasts. I often jacked off in the shower, knowing it was a mess less way to take care of my needs.
My eight inches soon spewed its seed down the drain. I had brought the collapsible water container in the shower with me, figuring I could fill it there. When I finished showering, I filled up the plastic vessel. Then I went around the corner to get dressed, but my clothes were gone. There was a small towel there in their place, with a pair of flip-flops. I used the towel to dry off, thinking the tall sexy woman would bring me some clothes. I waited a while, which did not happen, so I placed the small towel over my crotch, stepped into the flip-flops, and headed back to the house. Struggling to both carry the jug and keep the little towel around my waist. When I got there, I climbed the wooden steps and knocked on the door. She answered the door again. I could smell a fire in her wood stove, and smoke was visible from her chimney.
"I am washing your clothes," she said. I was embarrassed about being mostly naked. There was a strange smelling smoke coming out of her chimney.
"Come in; they are almost done in the washer," she said.
I walked into a quaint little farmhouse, decorated mid-century. The hardwood was worn and scratched. An old brown davenport couch and a black recliner were in the living room. There was a coffee table with a black ceramic panther adorning it. She had gotten dressed, but she was wearing a halter top and Levi shorts. The halter let her nipples poke out, and the shorts clearly showed her pussy lips. My cock was stirring again. She grabbed the towel and pulled it away from my penis; She was powerful, probably due to farm life.
"You won't need this; sit down," she said.
I sat down, putting my hand over my crotch.
"Move your hand; I want to see your cock," she ordered. I don't know why, but I did. My cock stood embarrassingly at attention.
"Good boy, now if you try to cover it again, I will have to spank you," she said. Then she turned on a television screen, and I was on it, naked in the shower. I was masturbating in the shower. She had taped me, obviously using a hidden camera. My cock spewing on the big screen. Soon the screen showed me walking back to the house with only that small towel. My face turned red with embarrassment.
"Do you like this channel?" she asked. I did not say anything.
"Only a pervert would masturbate in a stranger's shower," she said.
I felt humiliated. The forceful woman laughed.
"Are you a pervert?" she asked.
"No, I am not," I said.
"That remains to be seen. You like being naked for me, don't you?" the woman asked. How could she tell?
"Yes, I do," I said.
"What is your name, pervert?" she asked.
"Benjamin," I said.
"Good, now I want you to play with yourself, Benjamin," she suggested. "Will you do that for me?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
I just wanted to please her. I started to stroke my erection. She turned on a video camera, and my masturbation was on her big-screen television, again. The show was fascinating, to be on the screen doing this. She smiled as she knew she had me.
"I like seeing men play pleasure themselves," she said.
