Readers; I couldn't get the idea for this 'dirty-old-man' story out of my mind, so I went ahead and wrote it. I suppose this is a tale of forbidden seduction, but after writing it, I'm not sure of who seduced whom. Did the 'old man' seduce his 'innocent' neighbor or did the 'young woman' seduce him? If you have an answer, please let me know. Thank you.
(Part one) The Orchard
I heard giggling but there wasn't anyone in sight. Supposing I had imagined the sound, I ignored it and went back to eating my apple. I was sitting on the ground with my back comfortably resting against a huge apple tree. It was my neighbor's orchard I had invaded to 'steal' some of their succulent fruit.
Of course now, I wasn't really stealing. I'd been given explicit permission to pick some apples from the bountiful orchard. My friend Bill had said, "Jack, pick all you can eat, we've got plenty."
Although Bill was a decade younger than me, he I had been good friends since he'd bought the farm adjoining mine twenty years ago. Why, just last weekend we'd celebrated my 50th and his 40th birthdays together at a strip club we occasionally frequented.
I heard the giggly sound again. This time, it was more of a snickering laugh someone was trying to restrain. Before I could locate the source of the puzzling noise, an apple fell from above and landed between my legs. I don't think Newton's Law of gravity says anything about the painful effects a falling apple can have when striking a pair of tender testicles. I cried out, "Oh goddamnit, that hurt!"
"Oh Mr. Sharp, I'm sorry," a voice from above repentantly said. "I was just teasing. I didn't mean to hit you 'there'."
Twisting my head to look up, I saw a barefooted, pigtailed form scampering among the tree branches. I spoke a little more sternly than I intended, "Damnit Rachel, you did hit me 'there' and it stings like hell!"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the girl apologetically said. "Can I do anything to make it stop hurting?"
My mind immediately came up with an answer, but just as quickly tried to dismiss it. I was thinking that 'yes' there is something a female can do to relive a man's testicular discomfort. But, this particular feminine personage was not the one to do it. First of all, she was my friend's daughter. Secondly, and more importantly, this girl was several years younger than my own 28-year-old married daughter!
At my advanced years in age, I referred to all young females as 'girls'. In truth, this girl Rachel was now a fully-matured young woman who'd just recently turned 18 and was about to graduate from high school. She had plans for college in a few months. The senior student must have driven her truck home from school and then come down to the apple orchard shortly afterward.
By picking and selling truck-loads of apples, Rachel was raising money for college. But, this girl always seemed to end up spending as much time climbing as she did picking. I believe this young lady loved climbing trees more than any other outdoor activity. To put it bluntly, Rachel was a certified, A#1 'Tomboy'. She wore scratches and bruises all over her body as badges of tomboyish honor.
Looking more closely at the bedeviling vixen sitting on a branch a foot or so above me, I noticed that today Rachel didn't look 'boyish' at all. Surprisingly, the tomboy girl had on a dress! Sitting as she was, the yellow sundress had hiked up her legs and the hem was now far up on her thighs. The shoeless, sock-less legs were slim and short, yet today they somehow seemed seductively attractive. Why, the girl's halter-topped dress even displayed a good bit of 'bosomy' cleavage!
I supposed I ought to stop my unintentional gawking and answer the girl's question. "Monkey," I said. "There is not a thing you can do to help me with my ball-busting pain. Next time, Monkey, why don't you throw a banana at me? They are softer and do less ball-bruising than apples do."
"Stop calling me 'Monkey'!" Rachel angrily retorted. "You know I don't like for you to call me by that name. I'm a 'girl' not a monkey!"
While it was true I knew Rachel didn't like the name, I just couldn't resist mischievously teasing her with it. "Monkey," I said. "The way you scamper around in the trees like some wild primate, I wouldn't be a bit surprised to see a tail sticking out behind you! Hey, Monkey, do you have a tail?"
"I don't have a damn tail!" Rachel heatedly responded forgetting to watch her language. "I bet you a dollar I don't and I bet you I can prove it and maybe shut you up!"
Not knowing why I did it, I said, "Alright Monkey, I'll take that bet. I don't know how you can verify it, but I'll say it's time to 'put up' or 'shut up' and prove that you don't have a tail!"
I had no idea what Rachel was planning to do, but when she did it, she just about blew my mind. Twisting around on the thick tree branch, the girl turned her back towards me and raised her dress above her waist. "Okay Mister," she triumphantly said. "Do you see any tail?"
For a fact, I didn't see a monkey's tail. Nope, all I saw was a shapely, underwear-covered rear-end. Answering the girl's question, I said, "You're right, I don't see a tail. But, Monkey, for all I know, you might have your tail tucked away under your clothes!"
With her temper inflamed, Rachel reacted instantly. She pulled her dress up higher and then pulled her white cotton panties down several inches. "Now smart-aleck," she said victoriously. "Do you see a tail? Mister, I believe you owe me a dollar!"
Again, for a fact, I saw no monkey's tail. What I saw was a mature, beautifully-formed female's ass! Rachel's young body had developed nicely from the gangly 'kid' she used to be. She didn't have what could be called an 'hourglass' figure, but the sight of the nude young ass was causing an undeniable stirring inside my pants. Monkey tail or not, this young woman might make a good 'piece-of-tail' for some lucky guy!
As Rachel pulled up her panties and pulled down her dress, I removed a dollar bill from my jeans. The girl turned back to face me, reached down, snatched the bill away, and tucked it into a sundress pocket.
Not contented to sit back and savor her victory, Rachel pushed her luck. She had 'bested' her mischievous neighbor in a teasing game but she wanted to rub salt in the wound. "Mister," she commanded. "Don't you dare call me 'Monkey' again! Let this be a lesson to you. Sir, I'm smarter than you are!"