The harsh storm and unreleased semen left me in a fitful sleep all night and into Sunday morning. My third day alone managing the farm along with our sad guest was beginning to drain me. I was tired of making decisions and making all the meals. Being dumped with all this responsibility on vacation was not exactly what I planned but while eating breakfast and sipping a coffee in my tank top and running shorts I was able to sustain some deep introspection on the problem: I was just really unbelievably horny.
But now I had a contract with a mysterious MILF Tinder match who had coerced me into an involuntary, though temporary, no-nut 72 or so hours. Meanwhile the one woman I knew in the entire county had just seen her marriage destroyed in real-time and was probably too depressed to solve any of my immediate needs. I needed to work out all my frustration so after assessing the list of other tasks left for me I set about weeding the rows of corn and potatoes. It was early-mid morning yet the air was already hotter than the cool wet earth that swayed under the heavy burden of persistent raindrops that flicked onto the ground as I walked through the grass and clovers towards to tool shed. With my hoe in hand and my bare arms and legs covered in copious sunscreen, I set about for a few hours of hard work to silence my gnawing needs.
I only made it an hour and a half in before I was drenched in sweat. After finishing the row, I had to stop. The heat was unbearable, so I laid down my tools on one of the oaks and returned to the house. I poured myself a big mocktail of ice, water, and current juice that Gerianne had left in the fridge. Finally I had stopped running with sweat, but hadn't really cooled off. I drifted back outside with a fresh towel from the laundry room while sipping from my glass. The coast did look clear since the curtains were still all drawn in Angela's lodge which allowed me to consider a quick plunge. However, then I thought about the last time I was naked back there and felt anxious she might stumble upon me when she gets up to use the latrine. I didn't want to seem like a pervert invading her part of the farm now that's she's single, so I instead drifted down the path towards the woods.
Gerianne had told me she tried experimenting with micro-hydroelectrics in the early 2000s. There was supposed to be a basin where the hill water from several properties crossed her land. Some university students designed a little retaining pool for her where, in theory, water could be channeled through a turbine before flowing out into the drainage ditch that ran along the county road. I figured that might be a secluded spot to cool off.
Descending into this shaded grove felt like entering another world. The sounds of the prairie bugs died down while the bird chirps grew muffled then distant before ceasing entirely. The path was filled with old gravel and criss-crossed with thick roots from the basswoods growing on either side which blotted out the sun. The path veered right and I took it though it rose uphill and likely away from any water system. Around the bend I stumbled into an inner grove that had been cleared out. It looked like some enemy camp in Breath of the Wild. There was a ramp leading up to a round elevated stage or platform, made of wood and beams in the center of a ring of trees, maybe 20 or 30 feet in diameter. One of the beams rose above the platform and had a small crane and winch that could be raised or lowered if you knew where the controls were. I climbed up the ramp and looked around, at the center, there was an empty stone basin with some ash and an old unburned log, though otherwise, the platform was empty and deserted. Some unfinished project of Gerianne's, I thought, before turning around back down the ramp, back to where the path veered.
My ears had now grown accustomed to the leafier hum of the forest where beetles and ants marched under gilled toadstools and old leaves. Up ahead, the sound of croaking frogs betrayed the hidden pond and as I approached, the path opened up into a wider space. You could see the poured concrete that had made a retaining wall spanning three-quarters of the way around the basin. The last quarter was made of natural cliff face that rose maybe nine feet and was marked by a little trickling waterfall carrying last night's stormwater. From the side of the path where I stood, you could walk into the basin just like any pond shore, though the other side, leading out to the walls rose from the low land some four and a half feet.
I walked toward the "beach front" if you could call it that, where ancient pebbles had a thin veneer of algae. To the left of the beach was an old valve ring the width of a bar stool emerging from some pipe half-buried in the ground, probably related to the machinery. Across the pond, on the edge of the wall, was a little cement slab that jutted from the wall over the pond's surface like the state's tiniest concrete dock.
I took off my shoes and put down the towel before wading into the water. It was the perfect temperature. Then I paused, thinking long and hard, before I exited the water again to slide down my pants then underwear, followed by my shirt. I folded them all then tucked them under the towel. I stood in the cool air and let my parts hang out to dangle before swaying them back and forth with my hips. Beads of sweat started evaporating and I could smell my own musk when I lifted up my arms and leaned into my armpits. There wasn't a mosquito in sight (I bet Gerianne did some sort of dragonfly farming to control them naturally). I stepped in slowly to let the water rise up to my knees, to my thighs, then lick my balls. They shrunk up and I dipped in past my waist. This was healing. Refreshing. Cleansing. I floated; I lathered up with the crystal clear liquid. I stuck my head under the little plume of water falling from the hills.
Then I heard Angela laughing, I froze.
"I keep doing this by accident, I'm wondering if it's not an accident anymore" she said standing at the pebble beach.
My body instinctively sunk down a little more, like I was squatting yet buoyant, "I didn't know you were back."
"Yeah, I was, I stayed today, no hike or run. Just talking to my family and taking a walk around the farm."
"It sounded pretty bad, what you saw."
"Oh, I'm not even upset anymore," she frowned, "I move on quickly, he was an asshole, since the first time I met him. I'm just not surprised this is how it went down. I should have known." Then she sat down on the big valve and turned towards me dead on.
"She was a real skank from what I saw in the binoculars. Blue hair and an ugly blue fox tattoo on her right calf. Tattoos always turned him on but I refused to get one."
The shade of the forest had me suspect she couldn't see that I was naked. I'm sure the water was just a black mirror reflection from her angle. For now, I wasn't exposed again though my penis kind of wanted to be. I felt it flick to life under the water. I ignored it for now.
"Well that's a good attitude to have," I responded.
Angela went on, "yeah, honestly, I'm just happy I found out so soon. I have my whole life ahead of me."
"Exactly, you're young and hot," I was stunned at myself for such a bold compliment but she didn't miss a beat.
She yelled back excitedly, "I'm so fucking hot." I felt a sense of coolness on my nipples. Like I had stood out of the tub, but I wasn't moving. Instead, I looked down and realized the water level was dropping, however immeasurably slow.
Angela kept talking, "I'm so hot, I honestly can't belief how lucky I am that he was so stupid and obvious. I took a bunch of photos with the binoculars. My divorce papers have basically written themselves. I'm unstoppable," she started to twist in place while sitting on the valve. At that point I realized what was happening. The water lowered again, this time it was measurable - like I felt the part of my chest that had been submerged was now cold in the open air. I bent my knees and moved to sit on the pond floor to give myself more time.
"Yeah, um, I'm going to get out soon, can you get me my towel."
"Oh, sure," she stood up from the valve and bent over to get my towel. She was telling me how she told her paralegal to draft up the papers since she was about to deliver them to him and watch him shake. "If he didn't want this cunt, then he's going to get this cunt." For I moment, while I listened, I planned it all out. I could rise up at the right angle so that as she reached out the towel I would stay covered at least from her line of sight; the speed of me standing up would help blur the moment too.
