I remember those words as clearly today as when Carol Brown said them to me back in 1969, and I remember just about everything else that happened during that summer just as if it had happened yesterday.
"Ain't wearin' no bra," the blonde teenager had said to me as she stood nervously in front of me out behind my barn, shifting her weight from foot to foot as she looked around with quick glances to make sure no one was near.
To be honest, I was nervous too, even though I wasn't an 18 year old girl but instead a supposedly mature 55 year old man. My eyes were darting around even though out where my farm was located, neighbors were few and far between.
The closest house to mine was the house Carol Brown called home, and that was about a 1/2 mile down the road. She lived down there with her father and couple of brothers, and I knew her father well. The missus wasn't around anymore, and I couldn't blame her if she had bolted rather than stay married with that sorry shit.
He was a mean and miserable asshole, and we didn't get along well at all even considering how little we interacted. If he knew that I was with his daughter right now, he would like me even less than usual, and if he had ever heard what I had just asked of his daughter - well, let's just say that he would not be pleased.
"They look pretty big," I had said, and I was referring to her breasts with that comment.
Carol had been flirting with me as I worked, and I had been flirting right on back. Carol wasn't too good at it, but neither was I. I was out of practice because I hadn't flirted with anybody for over 40 years, since the days I was courting my late wife, rest her soul.
Carol wasn't very good at flirting because I don't think she got to do much of it. Her old man was a strict SOB, so from what I gathered even if a boy had found his way out to her farm, her father would have stuck his foot up his ass more likely than not.
She might have had boys interested back when she was in school, but her old man made her quit back in 10th grade, saying he needed her to help out on the farm more than she needed Algebra, Biology and Chaucer.
I say Carol "might have had boys interested" because to be truthful, Carol Brown was not what you would call a beautiful girl by most standards, and my standards were by no means high, since I'm no matinee idol myself.
I'm a plain and very ordinary guy, resembling Rocky Marciano more than Rock Hudson, which means that a lifetime of farm work has me looking like I was rode hard and put away wet. I'm 6'2" and about 200 pounds, but my hair is going and my back is sore.
Carol, on the other hand, at least has youth on her side. She should move to the city and get herself a real life instead of getting old and beaten-down like most of us out here do, although with her lack of education I suspect she might have trouble getting a decent job, and as I mentioned, she's not a raving beauty.
She's got pale blue eyes, stands about 5'5" and has what I call dirty blonde hair - a kind of strawberry blonde that she wears down to her shoulders - and if she went to a beauty parlor and got it cut it would probably look great, but she doesn't have the money for that.
Carol was kind of skinny, from what I could see given the fact that she always wore baggy blouses with cut off sleeves and shorts. Her arms and legs were skinny for sure, although she likely had a wiry strength and toughness that she got from doing farm work.
What was under that blouse was what got the conversation headed to the point where Carol had informed me that she wasn't wearing a bra underneath that checkered shirt. I also knew that despite her baggy blouses, I couldn't help but notice over the years that as Carol got older, she was blooming in that particular area.
Whenever she would come over to chat, I would try and peek down the front of her shirts or inside the armholes of the blouses see wore with a lot of the sleeves gone, and while I hadn't gotten a real good look, I knew that there was definitely something under that fabric.
So when Carol had mentioned something about this girl on a TV show, some actress that appeared out of a magic lamp, and how much her father got excited whenever she would pop up in this skimpy costume, Carol knew why.
"She's got big boobies," Carol said, giggling when referring to Barbara Eden, who played Jeannie on the show. "Daddy likes girls with big ones and that lady has got em'."
I had feigned ignorance when Carol had mentioned it, but I knew who Barbara Eden was all right. I just didn't want Carol to think that I was some pervert like her father. The pervert part fit, but I wasn't any Ted Brown.
"So do you," I said, leaning on my shovel and nodding towards Carol's chest.
"Not as big as hers," Carol said, smiling and showing that slightly chipped tooth in the front, the only flaw in what seemed to be a perfect set of teeth.
"I don't know about that," I admitted. "You sure have blossomed over the years though."
"I have?" Carol said, twitching her nose a second before shaking her head. "Nah. Not like Jeannie."
"Of course," I suggested. "If you wanted to show me what you've got I could give you an honest appraisal."
Carol laughed at that, and I joined her, but after she stopped laughing I kept smiling.
"Go ahead," I said. "Let me have a look at you. Just open up your blouse for me."
I may have said that, but if there was a thought balloon over my head it would have read, "I'm pathetic. I'm a lonely old man so desperate for anything remotely approaching sex that I'm practically begging a teenage girl to show me her tits."
"Can't," Carol said, crunching up her face and making the freckles that surrounded her nose dance. "Besides, I ain't wearin' no bra."
I knew that. I suspected that if she ever did own one, she probably outgrew it years ago. Besides, if I wanted to see a girl in a bra I could look at the underwear section of the Sears catalogue, for crying out loud.
"That's okay," I said as casually as I could manage. "You can just lift up your blouse. Just for a little bit."
Carol stood there, looking around nervously while she debated my suggestion, and then shook her head again, mumbling, "Can't."
"Why not? I asked. "Of course, if you're ashamed of yourself..."
"I'm not ashamed," Carol said defiantly.
"Well then?"
"How about you?" she asked. "You gonna show me yours?"
I felt like I was in school again, actually playing this juvenile game, but such was my desperation that I found myself answering her.
"Sure, I said. "Don't know why you would want to see a broken down old coot's chest, but..."
"Not your chest," Carol snapped. "Your - thing. But, you ain't that old."
I knew what she meant, but I was thrilled not only to hear that she didn't think I was all that old, but that she wanted to see my cock, which was a new one in my book, so I nodded yes.
So began the most agonizing couple of moments in my life. It was like I was being teased and taunted by some exotic dancer, instead of watching this frightened teenager who looked like a deer facing a car's headlights, slowly pulling her blouse out from underneath her shorts where the bottom was tucked in.
"Nobody is around," I told the girl, whose head kept darting from side to side, reacting to every leaf that rustled or bird that chirped.
"If my Daddy ever found out about this..."
"I'm sure as hell am not going to tell him," I insisted, and my cock was surging in my pants over this silly interplay we were having.
Finally, Carol was lifting her blouse, revealing her pale stomach, and as she raised her top the outline of her ribs became clear. Then, there they were.
