Roadside Stand

On the back-roads of upstate New York, there are a lot more things going on in some of those sleepy rural areas than meets the eye, or at least that was the way in was back in the 60's. Take the Brennan farm in Trenton Falls, for example.

...

This was going to be the third time that I had driven up Neversink Road this afternoon. The first time that I had gone past the Brennan farm, Jenny had been sitting in her lawn chair behind the table of produce, and she waved when she saw me approach. Jenny seemed disappointed when I changed my mind at the last minute, waving back at her and stepping on the accelerator.

The second time I went back the Brennan farm, there was a beat up Studebaker parked off the road next to the stand. I didn't recognize the car, but since Jenny wasn't at the stand I knew where the driver was. In the barn with Jenny.

I felt a twinge of jealously as I sped past, wondering what the guy was doing with Jenny. Judging by the shape of the car, I was pretty sure he was going the cheap route, but then again you never know. Here I was driving a rusty Ford Falcon and I was planning on going top shelf with Jenny. What I was going to get nobody else even knew about, I reckon.

The Ernie Charles Special, I called it. It wasn't on the menu, that was for sure, and when I had suggested it Jenny had to ask her father how much to charge for it. Ten dollars came the verdict from Daddy.

That's a lot of money for a 63 year old retiree living on Social Security and a skimpy pension, but then again, it isn't like I have a lot of vices. A nightly snort or two of bourbon, a cigar on special occasions, and Jenny. That's it.

As I made the long loop around Trenton Falls, I thought back to how I had found out about the Brennan farm, and about Jenny. The roadside stand had been around for many years, and I had never paid it any mind. Back then I thought it actually was a vegetable stand. Of course, up until my wife Clara passed away, there wasn't any need for me to know about it.

Jenny was the youngest of the four daughters George Brennan had. I suppose that the elder three had flown the coop, most likely the first chance they got. Farming isn't easy, and when you add on the responsibility of running the vegetable stand on weekends, let's just say that it wasn't the ideal situation for a young lady.

I barely remember Jenny's older sisters, except that they were all tall and pretty girls with rosy cheeks, golden hair and butts that filled out their Wranglers to capacity. Jenny was sort of the runt of the litter in the Brennan family.

Oh, Jenny was tall alright, probably near six foot tall like her sisters, and she had the same strawberry blonde hair that they did, but that's where the similarity ended. Jenny was rail thin, built sorta like Olive Oyl on the Popeye cartoons, and not very pretty either. Some might even say downright ugly, but not me. I thought she looked real fine, and who am I to complain about looks? I'm a 63 year old guy who looks every bit of it.

It took about ten minutes to make the long circuit back to the Brennan farm, and that was plenty of time for the last guy to finish his business and leave. You weren't supposed to stop if there was another car at the stand, I had found out. Daddy didn't like that, according to Jenny.

And you didn't take longer than five minutes either, I had been told. Much longer than that, and Jenny said that Daddy got angry and would sometimes come in and find out what was taking so long. That didn't appeal to me, and besides, I was so revved up and horny come Saturdays that I never lasted long anyway.

There she was. Jenny was alone at the stand, and this time I pulled over onto the side of the road. Jenny got up out of the bent lawn chair and assumed her usual position as I slowly made my way up to the stand, my legs creaking a bit from sitting in the car for so long.

"Afternoon Mr. Charles," Jenny said in her drawl that sounded kinda dumb for a northern girl, but maybe she was trying to imitate Ellie Mae from the Beverly Hillbillies TV show. "Thought maybe you weren't going to stop by today, seeing how you went by before."

"Forgot something at home," I lied, and although I had told myself that I wasn't going to stop today, I knew that I would eventually. Rain or shine, I knew I would stop every Saturday and be pulling my wallet out of my back pocket while looking at the produce on the table.

Tomatoes, potatoes - hell, I had plenty of that stuff at home. It was Jenny I wanted, or at least as much of her as I could afford, and as I nervously fiddled with a tomato I didn't want, Jenny did as she always did, reaching up and holding onto the rail above her head.

I did as I inevitably did, raising my eyes to follow Jenny's movements that exposed all of her that you could see for free. The red and white checkered shirt would open slightly, exposing the inside parts of Jenny's titties. You could call it cleavage except Jenny's breasts were so small that there wasn't any valley between them to speak of.

My eyes strayed to Jenny's arms, long skinny limbs that were bronze up to the bicep in what we knew of as a farmer's tan. In this shirt, with the sleeves torn off, Jenny's pale upper arms were exposed, along with her bony shoulders, and as she posed there my eyes took in the wild sprays of strawberry blonde hair that sprouted out of the deep recesses of Jenny's armpits.

"Daddy don't think women should shave anything," Jenny had told me when I had first commented on the abundant hair under her arms. "He says that we should be natural."

George Brennan was probably the worst train-wreck of a father that a girl could have and deserved to rot in hell, but he was right about that. Every time I saw Jenny's armpits I was reminded of my Clara and how she would enjoy how I would play around with hers.

"So what looks good today, Mr. Charles?" Jenny asked, breaking me out of my daze.

I smiled and fished around my wallet for the right bills. A ten and a five. When I pulled the bills out Jenny smiled.

"The Special," I said as I handed Jenny the money, and her freckled hand came down and took the bills, stuffing them into her jeans pocket and nodding for me to follow her back to the barn.

...

Jenny Brennan had a price list for the produce, but the menu for the other stuff wasn't written down. I knew the prices by heart, and they hadn't changed since I started stopping here last year after first getting wind of it.

"Jenny's her name. She's no beauty queen. Nothing like her sister Jill was, but still better than doing it yourself," Chester Hood had whispered to me one time during one of my rare stops at the South Trenton Pub, or STP to the locals. "Tell her that you don't see anything you like on the table, and she'll give you the score."

I hadn't really believed old windbag Chester, but after I stopped that following Saturday and did what Chester had told me to do, Jenny did indeed give me the score.

"Three dollars for the hand," Jenny had told me, which was what I went for that first time.

I had been led back to the barn, which was like every other barn I had been in, except for the back stall, where a horse long gone probably used to reside. There, a chair and an old couch were placed against the back wall, with a worn rug on the dirt floor.

Jenny had me take my pants and shorts down and took me over to the couch, holding a bottle of Corn Huskers Lotion in one hand and coaxing some of it into her other.

"Aren't you going to get a little comfortable yourself?" I suggested.

"I can take my shirt off - ain't wearing no bra - but that's five dollars more. I got little ones, but they're real perky."

I nodded, passing on that for this time.

"Pull up your shirt a bit," Jenny advised as she looked at my equipment. "Sure do have a big one, don't you mister?"

I don't know how big it is, and I suspected she said that to everybody, but it was still nice to hear. Even nicer were Jenny's hands, which worked over my cock with such skill that even though I was nervous and was afraid that I wouldn't be able to get it up, she had me hard in less than a minute.

After that, I was powerless to keep from cumming. The incredible way Jenny's hands squeezed my nuts and milked my cock had me ejaculating all over myself in seconds flat. Jenny giggled as the cum kept spurting out of me long after it should have ended.

"Guess it's been awhile," I said while Jenny grabbed a roll of paper towels and cleaned me up, and that was almost as good as the hand job had been, with the young lady even meticulously cleaning the goo from under my foreskin before declaring me done.

"I'll be back," I promised Jenny.

"I'll be here," Jenny said, neither enthusiastically or morosely. Just a statement of fact.

...

"Boy Jenny, you look extra pretty today," I said as I got as comfortable as was humanly possible on the lumpy old couch.

Above me, Jenny was undoing the last of the buttons of her blouse, exposing her skinny torso, ghostly pale except for a little V at the neck and her arms from the bicep down, which were deeply tanned.

"I think maybe you might be extra horny today, is more like it," Jenny said with a smile as she saw my cock, which was already at half mast.

That might have been a result of looking at Jenny's titties, which were the reason I spent the extra five dollars it took to get Jenny's shirt off. They were little, about the size of apples, and on her long and lean body they looked even smaller than they were. Her puffy aureoles took up nearly the whole breasts, and were worth the price of admission.

My hand cupped Jenny's breast as she calmly knelt next to the couch, letting me play with her titty for a bit. The plump nipple responded in my palm, getting even fatter, which made me smile. Finally Jenny prepared me for my "special", but it didn't take long because I was almost hard by the time her slender fingers wrapped around my cock.

"Didn't recognize the car that was here before," I mentioned casually while Jenny pulled down my foreskin and began to slowly stroke my cock.

"Never saw him before," Jenny said casually. "He bought a hand. Had a real tiny pecker. Nothing like yours, Mr. Charles."

Jenny would never mention names, but would occasionally throw in little morsels of business information like that for effect, and when she saw my cock was fully erect she casually lifted her arm for me.

The wild spray of strawberry blonde hair that sprang out of her armpit was just a bit moist, and it was the scent of that faint trace of perspiration along with the aroma of Ivory soap that filled the air when my fingers raked through Jenny's underarm.

Jenny purred like always, smiling a bit as she saw my expression change from the kindly old coot to the randy pervert as my fingernails slid through the untamed jungle, prepping the lush forest for the next phase.

"How's that, Mr. Charles?" Jenny after she had leaned forward and slipped my cock under her arm and began to bagpipe me.

"You know how it is," I grunted, looking down as the head of my cock popped in and out of sight, the knob surrounded by that sweet strawberry blond fur.

It wasn't the feeling of the act that did it for me, because while the warmth and moistness of her underarm felt nice around my cock, it wasn't any better than her hand. Instead, it was the visual aspect of it that got to me, and actually doing it instead of just reading about it in that book, The Joy of Sex, was magnificent.

"Oh, Mr. Charles," Jenny said. "Your cock is drooling already. I better slow down or else you'll cum too fast. Don't want that to happen, do you?"

"No," I managed to grunt, my vision getting blurry from the sweat pouring down from my brow. "Want to meet you sometime Jenny. Take you out on a date."

"I can't do that," Jenny said. "Daddy wouldn't let me do that."

"Sneak out," I said, wanting to kiss her so badly.

"What would we do?"

"Anything you want," I said. "What do you like to do?"

"Can't tell you that," Jenny teased. "You would think I was disgusting if I said the things I would like you to do to me."

"No," I wheezed, glancing down to watch the cum drooling out of the beet-red head of my cock like it was a leaky faucet. "I wouldn't. Tell me. Please."

"Well, what I would really like you to do to me is to take my panties off and lick my pussy first."

"Your pussy," I grunted. "Is it hairy?"

"Course it is," Jenny giggled. "Then after you get we all wet I would want you to put me on all fours and spread my bottom with your hands and lick my you know what."

"Tell me."

"Daddy don't like me to curse," Jenny said, squeezing my cock tighter in the fold of her arm.

"Please," I whined.

"Okay," Jenny said, lowering her voice to a whisper. "I'd want you to lick my... asshole. Put your tongue inside of me."

"Your asshole," I choked, my heart racing. "Is it hairy too?"

"What do you think?" Jenny cooed. "Course then, after you got it all slick you'd have to put your dick up in there, but be careful because yours is so big. Ooh! There you go!"

I was cumming as Jenny spoke, my cock spurting out a few jets of milky white cum onto my belly before it just oozed out of me. The sap was still drooling out of my dick as it began to delete, and it was then that Jenny took it out of the steamy fold of her armpit and milked what remained inside of me, finally pinching the head of my dick hard until it retreated back under the foreskin.

"Gonna need two towels today, Mr. Charles," Jenny declared as she reached for the roll and dried off my cock and stomach as best she could before standing up and putting her blouse back on.

"Was it good for you, Mr. Charles?" Jenny asked as she watched me get to my feet very slowly and try to get myself together.

I had gone from being a 63 year old man to feeling like a kid again in the course of five minutes, and now I felt like I was 100. My body ached as I pulled my pants up under Jenny's watchful eye, and most likely her father's as well.

"I love you, Jenny," I whispered to her as she escorted me out of the barn. "Let me take you away from all of this."

"Mr. Charles," Jenny said. "You're sweet. You gonna come back to see me again I hope? Real soon too. You're my favorite customer."

"I will," I said as we went out into the bright sunshine.

I got to my car and drove away, looking at Jenny through my rear view mirror as I left. When I had gotten out to the main highway, I stopped at the South Trenton Pub for a beer and a bump before heading home.

I took the long way, past the Brennan Farm, and saw Lester Hammond's pick-up truck parked at the stand. I accelerated as I drove by, the jealousy burning my neck as I went past, vowing to never go back there again.

Jenny didn't love me. To her I was just another guy getting off in her barn. Asshole Lester Hammond was in there, probably putting a rubber on his pecker and getting head. No more for me, I vowed. I was through with Jenny.

All bullshit, I knew. Next Saturday I would be right back out there, probably just going for the three-dollar hand job because it was getting near the end of the month and money would be getting tight.

That would be alright though, because Jenny would tell me lies and I would get off, and just like Chester Hood had said, it was better than doing it yourself.