Big Orange

This is one of the strangest things I ever did, and, as you will see, it had a totally different effect from what I originally intended.

Moving from the Mid-west for a good job in Deep East Texas, I was new to town, and bought a brand new home on the very edge of a new residential development. For about the first year, it was a very secluded and quiet area. Mine was only the second house on the street, and the gravel cove that backed up to my backyard had no houses at all under construction at the time, and the big vacant lots back that way were heavily wooded.

It was a perfect place for teenagers—high school seniors at least 18, of course—to drink and carouse late on Friday and Saturday nights. Our crowd used to do the same thing out in the new 'burbs in the city where I grew up. Only we always made sure we were far from any occupied housing—we didn't want to be caught—and the kids partying in this Piney Woods town were right behind my house making all kinds of noise and raising hell into the wee hours of the morning.

In fact, when it wasn't raining, instead of "parking," they'd usually get out of their vehicles and make their way through the woods almost up to my backyard's property line. Just beyond it was a stand of big trees making a crescent around a giant old hollow oak. From the remains of beer cans and cigarette butts, this was apparently the central party area.

I didn't care one whit about their drinking, smoking, and probably having sex back there, but the trash and especially the noise became a nuisance. The area was only about fifty feet from our master bedroom window and finicky-sleeping two-year-old's room just beyond.

My first thought was to call the cops, but I quickly dismissed that because I really didn't want the kids to get busted. Then I considered going back there myself to confront them directly, but then they'd know who I was and where I lived and might take revenge by egging my house or something, so I nixed that approach. Besides, I didn't want to be known as an old stick in the mud.

During this period, I finally talked my wife into considering a toy to add some flair our sex life. Such items as dildos and vibrators were not sold anywhere near this conservative little town, so I'd have to wait until I could get down to Houston or over to Dallas.

And forget about ordering a toy off the Net or mail order, as we'd received several packages through the mail, UPS, and FedEx that had obviously been opened. Their local employees were like most of the other folks in this typical small town: They just LOVED to mind other people's business.

In the meantime, I'd have to come up with something on my own. We experimented around with the usual fruits and vegetables—bananas, cucumbers, zucchini squash—and they were OK, but all had some significant downside like too rough on the end or not quite the right shape.

Then one day I was grocery-shopping at Randall's and spotted a bunch of the biggest, nicest carrots I'd ever seen. They were positively huge, bright orange, fresh, and hard. Nice texture, too, with ripples from end to end. I thought this would be just the thing.

When I got home, I took the largest one, pared the top off smooth, and evaluated just what I had there in the way of a produce-section dildo. It had the right feel, size, and general shape, with only a slight taper down to the narrow end. Nice heft, too. But, never one to leave well enough alone, I sharpened the paring knife and went to work carefully whittling a dick head into the big end.

Using my own erect cock as a model, if I do say so myself, it was right on the money—a sizable tuber that looked, but for its being orange, just like my dick! For the finale, I even snicked a slightly open pee-hole in just the right spot. Perfect. I hadn't done much whittling before, and I was pleasantly surprised that I'd done such a good job on the first try. Sounds funny, but I was beaming with pride!

After we got the kids to sleep that night, with an "Ehhhh, what's up, doc?" I introduced it to my wife, who got a kick out of that but even more of a kick when I went to town on her lippy pussy. Christening it "Big Orange,"—funny in its own right but especially so since our favorite college football team was the University of Tennessee—she quickly learned to like sucking on it while I pounded her with the real deal.

Before long, in a logical progression, it worked its way into her generously lubed bum hole, which she absolutely loved. You see, while shagging her doggie, I could use that root to stimulate her ass in ways impossible to do with my cock. I could twirl it round and round, and, holding it in my fist, vibrate it in and out in small, rapid, back-and-forth motions.

Unlike a real prick, the glans I'd carefully carved in the carrot did not compress one bit, and so she would go ga-ga as the rigid flare provided that extra stretch sensation boring from one end of her deep anal canal to the other.

The carrot-reaming also expanded her super-tight anus sufficiently that I could withdraw it and then work my meat in to butt-fuck her for much longer than I could without its going first. Then, I'd squirt big time in her still-pretty-tight bad hole, and, as long as I simultaneously diddled her big, rubbery clit, she'd have a tumultuous orgasm, as well. It was definitely a win-win!

As a result, two things happened:

First, once Big Orange had been in her booty, she wouldn't let me put it back in her pussy ever again. Despite that I scrubbed the root real good with a vegetable brush, fearing another dreadful vaginal infection like the one that happened when I was in a drunken stupor and stupidly fucked her pussy after having been in her butt, she vehemently stood her ground that the trusty tuber in her vagina was off limits. Yet, sucking on it was no prob.

Second, the root got a lot of use in her ass. Again, though every time right after we used it I'd clean it assiduously, put it in a Ziplock bag, and place it in the vegetable drawer of the fridge—where else?—she got increasingly paranoid about hygiene and finally would have no more of it. That happened right after I bought a similarly sized and shaped rubber dildo in Houston. Hmmmm.

She enjoyed the store-bought toy just as much, but, myself, I much preferred Big Orange. It was my very own creation, was virtually identical to my tool, and the fact that it was a carrot--day-glow orange, no less--was just a mental kick.

I know it sounds silly, but I kept it in a Ziplock freezer bag under the lettuce in the bottom drawer of the fridge for another month, taking it out once in a while when home alone to admire it and remember the good ol' days.

One day our neighbor Susan, my wife's best friend in town, was over helping to make a salad and came within a hair of discovering Big Orange. After that, my wife freaked out and tossed it in the garbage.

You see, though great looking, she never wore revealing clothes or talked about sex with others, and had such a goody-two-shoes image that you'd never suspect she was a tigress in the bedroom who'd use such an implement. It was supremely important for her to maintain that straight-laced image in this hick town where, if rumors started, your name was mud.

But Susan and her husband George were different. Like us, they were from elsewhere, and we were just doing a stint there for a couple years on our way up the career ladder.

But that did not change my wife's careful protection of her reputation. So, I didn't even bother to tell her what happened the time when I was across the street at their house taking care of their dog while they were out of town. You see, I was looking for the TV remote and found a couple pair of handcuffs, a blindfold, and a riding crop in a drawer.

Neither of them was in law enforcement, had trouble getting to sleep, or rode horses, so it didn't take a genius to figure out what they used these things for. Accordingly, they would have had not one scintilla of a problem with Big Orange, but there was no use in trying to convince my wife of that.

Susan was a tall, pretty brunette in her early 30s with a nice, athletic physique and a strong take-charge personality, while full-bearded psychologist hubby George was about 50 with a slight build and a super-laid-back demeanor. I think it's safe to assume he was the one cuffed wearing the blindfold and getting whipped. They were good friends, but somehow, after my discovery, I liked them even more! But I digress.

I could not depart my beloved Big Orange, so I fished it out of the trash but could think of no place inside where it could be both hidden and not spoil. Vegetables rot, of course, when not kept cold.

But by this point, it was fall, and the weather was cool all the time, so I poked around outside looking for a suitable hiding place. While out there, I wandered back to the party spot. I'd never really lingered there before, hanging around just long enough to pick up the beer cans.

But this time, I investigated more closely. The hollow of the tree, which faced away from my yard, started about 3 ½ feet up and got wider and deeper as it went down to ground level, making a little cave. It was the holy of holies, for inside, I found a wool Army blanket, and within its folds, a pair of panties, and some used rubbers underneath.

There were a few unopened packages of prophylactics, as well, one a Trojan Magnum, no less. So, this was the have-sex spot! The perverse wheels in my head started spinning, and I came up with an idea.

I took the unused rubbers back inside and rolled the Magnum down over Big Orange. It was like taking a trip back in time, because I hadn't handled a prophylactic since high school. I laughed; there's just something inherently funny about rubbers.

Taking a look, I immediately saw that it was not complete without testicles. Yes, it needed testicles. I had some big marbles that would work, but being Mr. Consistency, I much preferred the balls also be fruit or veggies. Rummaging around in the fridge, I found several viable options: cherry tomatoes, key limes, and a bunch of radishes. At first, the tomatoes seemed perfect—right size, shape, and feel—but then I realized they would soon get too soft and burst.

The hard little limes weren't bad, and I really liked the bright green, but the radishes—like the carrot, a salad vegetable—appealed to me more and would hold up longer, as well. So, I selected the two largest ones and trimmed off the tops and roots nice and clean. Then I slipped them in the rubber alongside the base of the big orange tuber, secured them there with a thick red rubber band (from, appropriately, the broccoli), and knotted the end of the rubber to close the whole "package" up.

The big balls were perfect companions to the plus-size phallus, and the whole thing looked great. It was hilarious, and though alone, I cracked up in hysterical laughter.

My plan was to go back to the tree hollow, put it in plain sight inside, and know that such a thing would surely creep out any teen girl and scare off the partiers for good without anyone ever having to speak a word. So that's just what I did. The large orange carrot carved into a perfect hard dick with two big red radishes for balls was about the freakiest thing anyone could imagine! And the latex sheath provided protection from the elements, too.

At first, I laid Big Orange across the blanket, but that just seemed awful ordinary for such an extraordinary tool. I decided the most dramatic presentation would be to hang it from inside the hollow, so I went inside to get some string or something. On the way, it donned on me that fishing line would be ideal because it's practically invisible, so into my tackle box I dug.

There, I also found a fishing hook that I realized would be an excellent way to attach the line up inside the top of the hollow. Out to the tree I raced to do just that, crumbling the loose rot away until I found hard wood to snag the hook into. Then, I made a fashioned a loose loop with the opposite end of the line under the balls to make Big Orange hang down at a natural, about 30 degree, angle. Perfect!!!

You really had to be there to get the full effect, but picture this: A large, bright orange phallus with big scarlet balls looming two feet off the ground in the semi-darkness of the hollow, turning ever so slowly in the breeze. Depending on one's point of view, it was either scary or ridiculous. To me, it was ridiculously hilarious, but my intent was to scare the bejesus out of those teens so they'd never return.

Well, with all the thought and work I put into this project, I would not be satisfied merely that the teenagers would leave muy pronto, I wanted to witness them scram. I pictured them running away screaming in abject horror like kids in the "Friday the 13th" flicks.

So, the next Friday night, sometime after the Tonight Show and after my wife was sound asleep (she, of course, knew nothing of this), I waited at the window of our dark bedroom, peering through the blinds. As soon as I saw the first set of headlights back on the cove through the trees, I quickly made my way out to my little kids' wooden swingset/playhouse. Only a few feet from the property line, this was the ideal spot to watch and listen for the partiers to discover the veggie-package.

In a while, a few more cars and trucks arrived, and they all got out. I could hear them cracking open beer after beer, burping loudly, and talking typical teen jive. But they were keeping their distance, and it seemed an eternity before one couple left the others and finally headed towards the huge hollow oak.

Being late autumn with all the leaves down and a gibbous moon, I could easily see them hand in hand winding their way between tall trees towards "the spot." Wearing a pleated skirt and a sweater emblazoned with a big "L" on the front between medium-sized breasts, she was obviously a cheerleader. It was near the end of the high school football season, and there'd been a game earlier that evening. So, this is where they came to party afterwards.

When she drew closer, I recognized her as the daughter of an acquaintance of mine, not such a coincidence in such a small town but still unusual because I had not been there very long and knew few people. He was a friendly guy who owned the local Manpower franchise, and we used his outfit for temps where I worked, so that's how I knew him. He'd invited my family to his church, and that's where I'd met his daughter, who had perhaps the most upstanding reputation of any young woman in town.

She and the boy stopped and began making out. The guy wasted no time in pulling the sweater off over her head, and she promptly popped the bra off to reveal a pair of fucking perfect pert tits, which looked bigger than before now that they were out in the open and projecting from her slender torso. Unfortunately, they disappeared almost immediately when his bushy head blocked the view as he slobbered all over them. The big tree trunk obscured almost all the rest of him.

In a few minutes, I got a better look at her as she fiddled with something out of my line of sight. Her tiny pink nipples now hard as rocks, she was a beauty, for sure, with the prettiest young face all made up, and "big" blonde hair—this was Texas in the late 1990s, don't you know.

But this was all too brief, as she dropped down so that I could see only the top of her head, which began moving back and forth. Aha, what she'd probably been fiddling with was his belt and pants, and now she was apparently giving him a blowjob! In a moment, the "uh, uh, uh" from him left no doubt.

OK, this I had to see, but to do so I'd have to move from where I was crouched there looking out the "fort's" back window. I reckoned I'd have an unobstructed view of both of them from the left side of the platform above, but it was not enclosed and would expose me.

However, I got up my gumption and slowly climbed the ladder, every creak causing me to momentarily pause. When I stepped gingerly onto the plywood platform, there was nevertheless a seemingly deafening "crack," and I froze. Fortunately, they were busy spreading the blanket at that moment and did not notice.

Standing still as a statue, from up there I had a perfect bird's-eye view and looked down to see that they were both, but for socks, now naked as jay birds. Flat of her back on the green blanket, she had her legs spread wide as he lapped at her pussy. When he'd come up for air, I could see that her pubes were trimmed in a thin vertical landing strip, exposing flared-out pussy lips and a half-hooded stiff clit glistening in the moonlight. She was truly a piece of ass. What a lucky son of a bitch he was!

I felt pretty damn lucky myself, for, her fair-skinned face flushing, she bit her lower lip, grasped his bushy brown hair with both hands, and came with a long, sensuous moan. Wow!

When she wound down from that, he got on top of her, preparing to mount the beautiful high school senior.

"Wait," she implored. "Put on a rubber. You know I'm not on the pill."

"Don't got none," the boy said in a thick Texas drawl. "Somebody musta used up the last of 'em we keep stashed back here in the blanket. Don't worry, I'll be real careful and pull out."

It was I, as you recall, who had taken the rubbers. Oops.

And with that, he eased into her dripping-wet pussy as she let out a long, sweet sigh of pleasure. Had I been he, I'm sure I would have spurted right away. Gradually, he picked up speed, she "Ooh, ooh, oohing" with every stroke. Eventually, he was really pounding her hard and fast. I couldn't see her pussy, of course, but her firm, standing-straight-up boobs were wobbling up and down with each thrust—a TITillating sight—and the la-la-land look on her face was simply priceless.

The funny thing was that, during all this, their friends drinking and smoking and jawing not fifty feet away could most certainly hear and knew exactly what was going on! Privacy, I suppose, is a relative thing, and their buds did serve as a buffer to alert them should Dad come in pursuit with a shotgun.

Since he was pumping her so vigorously, and she was a petite thing, they gradually ooched forward so that her face was out of my line of sight in the hollow of the big tree. I missed her pretty, sexed-up expression, but, watching those perfect, erect-nippled young tits heave was not exactly boring.

"What the hell is THAT!" the cheer girl suddenly screeched.

In all the excitement, I had completely forgotten about Big Orange, but I knew instantly what she'd seen. She'd looked straight up to discover it dangling by the fishing line right over her head. I expected them to tear out of there.

Instead, he halted his pumping but remained inside her and reached up into the hollow and brought it out into view where all three of us could see it. I'd intentionally looped the sharp line loosely under the balls so it wouldn't cut through the rubber, but in so doing that made it easy to remove.

"It's a carrot carved into a dick," he said, dumbfounded.

"With radishes for balls," she said, raising back up into my line of sight again with an I-can't-believe-this look on her face.

"This is the weirdest fuckin' thang I ever seen, and what's it doin' here?" he asked, incredulous.

"I don't know," she added, taking it into her own hands "But it's so realistic, and, well, big, really big—a lot bigger than yours, even bigger than..."

"Who?" he barked. "Even bigger than whose, Heather?"

"Oh, Josh, settle down. You're my steady boyfriend now, but you must know there's been a few before you. I mean, do you want a virgin who doesn't have a clue or me, the captain of the cheerleaders who knows exactly what boys like? Poor thing, you've gone all soft. Stand up here where I can get to you good and suck that handsome cock up to size again. Since we don't have a rubber, why don't you just go ahead and cum in my mouth this time? I know how much you like that."