Women I Have Known Willadean

Five thousand one-hundred words, twenty

Willadean minute read.

This is two pages of background, followed by an adult story. Enjoy, review, and suggest a sequel direction, please.

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I had lived on a dairy farm in the county since I was four. The farm was seven miles from town. The best job I ever had was that of a newspaper delivery boy.

I had numerous jobs as a kid from a financially insecure family. I was dependable, hard-working, and hung bigger than my friends. My eighteen-year-old, sinewy and lean, handsome in an immature way, smart, eager for a buck, and naive about women and sex body was 'hot' although in those days that wasn't the word; 'cool' was the description.

I had light blond hair, cut in a butch flat-top, and was hairy in the same color around my genitals and beard. At eighteen years old, I'd been delivering newspapers for three years, always working diligently to win the monthly prize for the paper boy of the month prize money.

When I earned the thirteenth trophy in a row, I received a notice that I would receive the twenty-five dollar prize money every month but would be ineligible for more trophies or to be recognized as the monthly winner. The paper created two new plaques for the office wall of the Linotype machine operators. They were the 'carrier of the year,' with my name as the first winner. The paper also hung a plaque with only my thirteen monthly wins shown.

I then competed with the motor routes, including newspaper drops at grocery stores and newsstands in three counties. The monthly prize for these routes was one hundred dollars. I won the first three months until the other carriers understood the prize was paid monthly.

The advantage I had, and figured out that first Christmas, was two-fold. I knew all of my customers' first and last names and their dates of birth. I usually included a Birthday card with the paper I threw the day before their Birthdays. Then I attempted to hand deliver the paper on their Birthday. The reception I received after a Birthday card delivery was absolutely unpredictable.

I seldom had delivery complaints, and usually, when something went awry, I received a note in their paper box the next day. I collected in person each month and had good tips for the efforts I went to for my customers. I had begun the paper routes with a route of one hundred papers in the poorer part of town. Quickly as my dependability was recognized by the circulation manager, my route increased a little at a time until I was throwing three hundred to three hundred twenty-five papers every evening.

I had an old rebuilt Columbia bike, one-speed, with a reverse pedal Bendix brake. I could carry the entire route on the bike. Still, steering was very difficult, so I separated the route into two sections. I could do the route delivery in an hour and a half, and it took me an hour to roll and pack the carrier bags.

Miss Trodick was kind enough to let me place two bags of papers in her entry while I threw the first half of the routes. I gave her the paper for free in exchange. It kept the papers dry and safe for me.

The motor routes got the first papers off the press, and I was next, and then the other carriers were given theirs. I would be all rolled and packed as the last of the carriers received their papers, which meant they were just standing around waiting and goofing off with each other. Many days they would help me roll and pack, and I could be out to deliver in as few as 15 minutes.

One route in an upper-class neighborhood had a girl paper boy. Today she would be known as a paper girl, I am sure. Trust me, she was a girl. A cute girl, a fellow tennis team player with who I was relatively equally skilled at tennis, so we practiced and became friends.

Elaine was from a poor family and wanted to go to college. One day after tennis, she asked if I could get her a route to make money for her college fund. I was able, and she was given a cushy route where the tips were big, and the widow's row was built during WW1. She didn't hang out with the other paper boys, as we were mostly too vulgar most afternoons.

Since I had been throwing papers for the longest, I was the kid that everyone wanted to substitute throw their route when they had something else to do that would keep them from throwing for a day or more. I worked cheap enough, charging them a dollar and fifteen cents. When I threw Elaine's route, I generally did it and forgot to collect because I wanted her to add that as extra for her college fund.

'The Daily News' was only printed during the week, so I didn't have to throw papers on Saturday or Sunday. I usually milked early on Saturday, set up the feedlot for the evening, had the milk coolers ready, the barn cleaned, and the machines assembled. This took about 45 minutes off of the evening chores. That meant that after I finished in the barn at 10 o'clock on Saturday morning, I could either come back at 2:30, milk the string, clean up, and be out of the barn by 4 pm, which gave me a rare free evening. Or, I could wait and milk late, around 7 pm, to be out of the barn around 8:30 pm and have had a long day to do what I wanted.

I usually milked late in the winter, and I usually milked early in the summer. I would hunt migrating geese and ducks in the winter before milking and feeding, and I would go to the drive-in movies in the summer.

This is where the story of my 18-year-old first time.

It was winter, and I was out in a rice field sluicing ducks when I was chased by the two game wardens for hunting after dark. If I hunted after dark, I could kill more ducks quicker than picking them off in flight, which saved a lot of money, and usually, the bodies were free of pellets when ground sluiced. So, I watched where they were feeding at sundown during the week, and then on the weekend, I would go out and have a sluicing hunt. I usually would kill 20 to 50 ducks in a hunt and then clean ducks all night to go in the freezer.

As I picked up the ducks I had sluiced, I saw a flashlight flicker at the edge of the next field over from me. I dropped the burlap bag full of ducks in a copse of weeds and, crouching very low, snuck away from the light coming out into the field where I had sluiced the flock.

Then I saw another flashlight sweeping the field in my escape route, so I veered to the North, which took me into a cottonwood grove overgrown with bunch grass, tulles, and water grass. I found a break in the edge, stomped heavily back into the grove, slunk out carefully, and snuck back into the field. I laid down with the rice stubble covering me.

I was stone still and silent as I could hear the wardens talking and see an occasional flashlight beam rake the field where I was lying beside a check bank for more camouflage. As time passed, I realized they were heading back to their vehicle and going to be right on the other side of the bank from me, but it was too late to move. I hid my face and was as still as I could be, as now I was cold, sweaty, and wet from crawling in the mud and water and shivering in the rain and cold temperature.

Fortunately, they didn't see me, forgot the bag of ducks, and walked past me without seeing me. It seemed impossible for them not to see me; however, after all these 58 years, I realized they had already decided I had gotten away, so they were more visiting than looking for me. As soon as they were in the next field and headed back to their vehicles, I got up, located the bag of ducks, and headed home.

As I walked up the lane behind the barn, I noticed the yard, driveway, barn, and shop lights were on. The doors to all of the buildings were open. I became wary, as we seldom, if ever, had turned all of the lights on quite so completely. I dropped the bag of ducks beside the manure spreader, stowed my gun under a stack of feed potatoes, shucked off the muddy clothes, and put on a pair of milking coveralls.

As I entered the light, my mom said, "Dale, I turned on all the lights so you could see to fix that fence and get home. You were down there so long I had begun to worry. Do you know Mr. Meek? He was just now going through the barns looking for you because he thought you had been sluicing ducks in Benamati's rice field. They found some shells they think you used out there and want to see your shotgun shells."

"Okay, sure thing Mom," I replied.

"Can you bring them here for him to see, please?"

I stepped inside, grabbed a box of shells, and handed them to the warden, Mr. Meeks.

He said, "Which fence were you fixing?"

"Do you want to see my fox?" I replied, "It was the single electric wire that divides the pasture's separate grazing areas. The cows had raced through it after a fox entered the field earlier in the evening. I hit it at about 100 yards, killed it with one shot, and tried to take out its eye, but I shook just a little and took off his nose instead."

The warden did want to see it, so I showed it to him, hanging it on the outside back wall of the shop. While looking it over, he was standing about 4 feet from my bag of ducks. I actually had an erection; it was so exciting to fool him and do it so easily. He said rabies should be tested and that he would like the skull. I put the whole thing in a burlap bag identical to the one the ducks were in, and he threw it in the back of his pickup.

Mr. Meeks apologized to my mom, but not me, and left my mom and me standing in the floodlight-lit yard.

He told me. "Come by the office tomorrow after school to get the pelt."

My mom said, "Damn you, Dale. You scared the bejesus out of me. He knows it was you, as you are the only one around here who reloads with that shell. How did you know he wouldn't see through your partial box of shells bluff?"

"I am not the only one who shoots my reloads, though, Mom; there are others also sluicing ducks with them. They work so much better than factory loads. I load for short range, and with the reduction in powder, I can load more pellets, which kills more ducks. He may think he knows, but he still cannot prove it was me."

"I will talk to Willadean, his daughter, tomorrow and see what he has to say about this accusation tonight. I may need to cool the sluicing for a while."

"I am going to go clean and wrap the birds. I will be in after I have them all processed and in the freezer."

The next day, Willadean comes to me before the first bell. She said. "Boy, is my dad after you! He said you didn't lie, but he knew you were sluicing last night, and he laughed at how quickly you told him that you were fixing a fence. He does expect you to do it again tonight to prove how good you are at it. He wants to see your face in jail. He has a special sweep ordered for this weekend. There will be assistance from the Fish and Game, California Highway Patrol, County Sheriff, City Police, and the U S Marshall's office. He plans to do drop-offs, reducing evidence of them hiding among the fields. They will go in fewer cars, drop officers at strategic spots, and then light up the fields with spotlights, flashlights, and parachute flares. He hopes to arrange for some hounds, and he has scent from your clothes and shells.

I told Don and Leroy what I had learned, so we all decided to confuse the night by doing nighttime fieldwork for the weekend. We got the manure spreader hooked up at my house, a sickle bar on John's tractor, and a feed trailer of hay attached to Leroy's tractor.

No one spread manure in the winter, or at night for that matter; there was no hay tall enough to mow, but the feed trailer was the real deal, and we eventually did feed Leroy's herd. As the evening turned to night, we all had our tractors in position and waited for their arrival.

Not to disappoint, the ducks returned to the rice fields for about one hour at sunset and were set for the night of feeding. Next came the geese in behind them, and of course, the wardens, as well as the three of us who were already in position. When it was dark, we could hear shooting a couple miles away, as we had asked the Thorp boys, Gene and Frank, our classmates, to raise a stir at one of the gravel pits an hour and a half after dark. It was strategically located alongside the road into town, so the wardens would have to drive past it on the way back to town.

As soon as they lit off their diversion, We all three started our tractors and proceeded to spread manure, mow fields, and feed the stock, all of which require a large light bar of the times (1956) across the front and rear of the tractors. We looked like three separate carnivals out and about among the dark fields.

We planned to operate for a half hour, but all of us noticed the wardens' flashlights come on and head toward a road nearby so the cars could pick them up where they were waiting for the sluicing to start. Interestingly, a game warden was waiting at all three of our houses when the diversion started.

We all three shut down and walked back to Don's house. We celebrated with a wild duck and rice supper, which Dons mother, Babe, had ready.

It was at school the next week that the coaching staff had a 'meeting' for the athletes. Don and I were in the meeting; Leroy didn't have time for sports; he had a new red Pontiac Chieftain to pay for. The coaches were adamant that any of the players at the school would be suspended if they were charged with a nighttime hunting violation. If caught and convicted, we would lose our eligibility for all sports. The players knew the story, and the coaches questioned Don and me for about an hour after the meeting. Many players waited outside the gym until the coaches let us loose, and then we were 'Hurrahed' for the scene we had caused.

As the day at school ended, the rumors were wild, from a story that we had killed 200 ducks and 100 geese to a story of how we had dug pits in the field to hide in. None of the stories even came close. Willadean came by my locker at the last bell and asked for a ride home. I, of course, said yes. She missed the bus and would have to walk if she couldn't bum a ride since her mom and dad both worked through the evening.

You need to know about Willadean. She was as blond as I was, very thin yet voluptuous and soft looking. She had clear skin and had sort of tan color skin pigment, so she glowed almost brightly in the sunlight. Her breasts were not her most noticeable feature, but her ass, which was very hard, shapely, and lean, was noticeably prime. She had the legs of a dancer and the smile of an angel. Her eyes were pale and striking blue. Her gaze could be intense or soft as cream. Her demeanor was shy and reserved, but not a pushover for someone to abuse her in any way. She knew how to protect herself.

Elaine was almost her twin. Her figure was the same, and she was the same height. Her hair was brunette with red flashes and cut like Willadean's so that it was just off her shoulders. Elaine and Willadean had the same class schedule, lived out on the same bus route, and often stopped at each other's houses after school. I often teased them about at least one shared parent.

They both intended to attend Chico State in the fall; however, there were money issues for both. Willadean would undoubtedly have financial help from her mom and dad, while Elaine could not count on that. Willadean had become a close friend when their home had flooded, and my family made room for them to live with us for a few weeks while their home was fixed. We were in our Sophomore year then, and we both learned anatomy during their stay, but nothing sexual had happened. The shower was overworked, and often we would see each other in our underwear or, less strictly, accidentally.

I had become friends with Mr. Meek during those few weeks, and we learned to like each other enough that he would help me find work when I had extra time. He had not wanted to catch me sluicing then, as he did not yet know I was one of those nighttime hunters.

Willadean climbed into the passenger seat of my 1941 Buick Sedan. We started home when she said, "Dale, have you ever had sex?"

I nearly hit a mailbox alongside the road as I stared at her. I stopped the car just before it struck the barbed wire fence set back from the road about twelve feet. We were jostled around as the car bumped over the shoulder and through the low drainage alongside the road. I managed to stop the car, jumped out, ran to the passenger's door, and opened it to find Willadean piled up on the floorboard in front of the passenger's seat.

She clutched my right arm as I was ready to help her stand, and we stepped back a little, holding onto each other to look the car over and figure out what was next. It seemed to be set up for an easy return to the road, so I backed up onto the gravel road.

She said, "I want to be held after all that. Can we sit here for a minute?"

I set the brake, pushed the kill switch, and turned toward her. She leaned forward, and I slipped my arm around her waist and held her firmly against me. She laid her head on my shoulder and sighed deeply. She relaxed a little at a time until I suspected she was asleep. I sat as long as I could, and then she awoke, turned, and kissed me when I moved. I was surprised and was slow to kiss her back. She disconnected just as I connected our lips, so my tongue slid into her mouth almost before our lips touched. She moaned softly and returned to my lips, full-on kissing and kissing.

She was on fire. I was beginning to feel my own heat as my cock unfurled the ruffle around the crown and involuntarily flexed. I had to stop this as we were in a roadway, although it was a backcountry, pot-holed, washboard gravel road.

I pried her loose and managed to get her to look at me. I whispered, "Please, let's get out of the road first."

She stared at me and slowly nodded in agreement. I turned the car into the next chance to get off the road through an open gate into an area of stacked hay bales. I pulled around behind the bales and almost crashed into the warden's pickup's front bumper.

I looked through the pickup windshield and back glass and saw the warden standing facing the back of his truck, and I also saw a woman facing him sitting on the tailgate. When I looked closer, the woman had no shirt, blouse, or anything covering her. I sat and stared. He stood and stared. Willadean scooted out the passenger window and looked around the pickup cab to see her father naked to his ass and facing this woman who was naked too. It was as though they had been fucking when we arrived. They quickly recovered their shock and confusion, but not before Willadean, and I had the images burned into our memories.

Willadean screamed at me, "STOP!"

I stopped in a gut reaction to her scream. I decided to back away and drive away.

She jumped out of the car and ran towards her father. When she rounded the back of the pickup, he was getting his pants up to his knees. She saw the condom lying on the gravel, the woman's panties around his neck, bright red for the record, and the woman's nipples pointing straight ahead. What she saw about the woman was that she was a classmate who had recently turned eighteen and worked at the Game office for Willadean's dad. She noticed that her father's cock was still hard and long and thin with a round head.

Willadean noticed she was soaking wet and about to orgasm from what had just happened. She was stunned, hung her head, slowly walked back to my car, got in, and said, "I am sorry I screamed at you. I will never do that again."

After that, our ardor died, too, so we just headed for her house. She said she didn't want to be there when he came home and asked if she could wait at my house. I said I was sure it would be fine for a while. We went to her house, she wrote a note and grabbed a few things. We then drove to my house.

The house was quiet; there was no one home. My father had a day job as a farm equipment mechanic. My mother was the Western Union Operator for the area, and we three kids went to school. We all had farm jobs to do that kept the bills paid and the livestock fed and cared for. So everyone knew how to work long and hard. Schedules were regular if uncertain, so to be home alone was not unheard of but not probable either. I relished being alone right then.