The Jacket (The Farm)

This is the first short story I ever submitted.  I wrote it in the Fall of 2007 with a completely different male character in mind.  It was quite a bit shorter then and originally entitled “The Farm”.  When a friend encouraged me to try posting my work online, I pretty much doubled it in length and reworked the Jack character to resemble someone I knew.  The idea of the yellow jacket was never part of the original story line, but to me it always visually represented the the person the character was based on.

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Hill Top Farm was all mine now. Just under 20 acres, including the horse paddocks. There were mature orchards, the old barn and outbuildings, and of course all the gardens. There was no way I could take care of it all own my own though, and that’s why I had Jack.

He’d been working for me for almost two years now, and was one of the main reasons I loved coming home. He loved the farm as much as I did and everything around the place came to life under his expert touch. Coming home to the mowed fields, seeing him work with the horses, or mending the fences, everything was perfect when he finished.

Best of all, he usually left me something on the side porch. A pear from the orchard, or some daisies on the old rocker. One time, even a tiny hummingbird’s nest.

He was here almost every day now, riding up the driveway to the barn where he’d park his old Indian motorcycle under the big maple tree.

He was tall and lean and strong. I loved watching him through the kitchen window when he worked. Summer or winter, he’d be wearing the same thing, old blue jeans, a flannel shirt and his jacket. God, I loved that jacket.  It was soft yellow, like churned butter, and completely worn in. It was big enough that I would be swamped in it, completely wrapped up.

When he was working, his jacket was the first thing to come off.  As soon as the chill was out of the air and the sun came up over the house, he’d throw it over the wooden fence where it would stay for the day. In the hotter months he’d be stripped to the waist, flannel shirt tied around his hips, bare shoulders broad, his pale skin stark against the denim of his jeans. I’d sit at the window with my lemonade, just watching him work. The glass would start to sweat and bead where my hot hands were gripping it, and I’d have to take the ice-cold drops and let them trickle down my chest to cool off.

…

My life was good. I had the farm, my books, I loved my job, and of course the animals kept me company. A little bit lonely, but good.

…

Today was warm for October. This week the temperature had jumped back up during the daytime, so I took off my shoes and stockings before getting in my pick-up for the drive home. It was nice to drive barefoot with the windows down. Once I was on the back roads, the music went up loud and I could feel it pulse down to my core.  The draft from the wind blew my dress around my knees and my hair streamed out all around me. I could smell the fields as I drove down the dirt roads, loving the thrill I got from driving so fast.

Pulling into the driveway, dusk was starting to settle. I could see the light on under the side porch veranda, and Jack’s motorcycle was still under the tree. Walking up the path, I smiled when I went up to the house. The last of the Black-Eyed Susans from the gardens were waiting for me on the old rocking chair.

Getting a mason jar for the flowers, I could see his silhouette in the doorway of the barn through the kitchen window. I had to stop and watch him.  His jeans dirty, flannel shirt on, but unbuttoned, and his yellow jacket in hand as he walked towards the house.

As I watched him, something made me shiver. Something about his walk, tired from a day of good, hard work, made me realise what I needed.

I needed this. A man who came home smelling of earth and wind. A man who was strong enough to tame the horses in the fields, but soft enough to pick me flowers from the garden. I wanted a man to push me up against the wall when he wanted me, but make me sigh when he whispered in my ear.

How could I not have seen this before? Jack was what I needed, what my body wanted.

I walked barefoot out to the porch and he was already sitting on the old rocker. I hadn’t been this close to him in weeks. Usually I just watched him from the window. I could see the sheen of sweat drying on his chest. His dark hair had a little more grey than before, and was a little longer, just curling around his earlobes. But his eyes were exactly as I remembered, hazel, with just the start of smile lines in the corners. He had a bit of stubble on his cheeks, and when he looked up at me, I could feel myself get wet.

“Thanks for the flowers, they’re beautiful”. He smiled up at me and I saw that one crooked tooth that made him look so boyish and sexy all at the same time.

“I want to show you something”, I said. I went to stand before him, my brown hair falling around my face as I looked down and took his hand. They were so big compared to mine, rough from work, nails bitten to the quick. I pulled his it towards me and slid it up my thigh.

I held my breath, not sure what he would do.

His eyes widened, and he breathed in hard.  But then slowly he slid his hand up, bit by bit, until he was cupping my pussy, feeling how wet he’d made me. I couldn’t help it. I shivered again and his name came out of my throat in one long exhale.

I felt his other hand reach under my dress and slide up the back of my legs until he was holding me from behind, his long fingers slipping in and out of my cunt, making me wetter and wetter. He was still looking right at me, watching my expression. Our eyes locked, licking my lips I tried to lean in to kiss him, taste him, but he held me back. I knew I was trembling, but couldn’t help it. He slid in and out, teasing me. Fast and slow, playing with my clit, making be wetter and wetter. I was going to cum soon, but I wanted, needed to hold on and make it last. He pulled me in closer, so I was straddling him on that old porch rocker. Face to face, breath to breath, I could feel his pulse quicken under my hand. My dress was up around my thighs now, my feet no longer touching the ground, I could feel his cock pressing though his jeans, throbbing with his heartbeat.

I couldn’t help it and slowly started to rub myself back and forth over the rough denim, loving the sensation. He was so hard and I was so wet. His hands started to undo the little pearl buttons on the front of my dress, one by one, slowly working his way down as if he’d always done this. He pulled me up against his chest, and I could still feel the heat from his day’s work. Slowly, he stated to kiss me, once on the mouth, long and wet and hard, then trailing his lips down my neck, to my breasts, flicking my nipples with his tongue. Soft than rough, I couldn’t get enough of him.

I needed to taste him. Now. I slid off his lap and pulled open his belt buckle, I could hear it jingle as it fell back against the wood of the chair. Kneeling in front of him, I undid the buttons on his jeans, one by one. His cock was heavy as I leaned in to taste him. I felt his hands get tangled in my hair as he pulled me to him. This time I took all of him in my mouth, loving his taste, the smell of his sex. He groaned, pushing into my mouth, just a little more. He was in control, but I was giving him what he wanted.

He kept his hands in my hair, moaning, while I licked him up and down, taking his balls in my mouth, running my tongue over every inch of his long cock. I felt him tightening in my mouth, ready to cum, me sucking harder, wanting him to. But he pulled me back up onto his lap and slowly slipped himself into me, inch by inch. He was so long and wide and filled every bit of me, rocking us back and forth as we came together.

But I wanted more of him, and he touched me everywhere, stroking my skin with his rough hands, kissing my breasts and sucking and biting my nipples until I came again.

We played with each other for hours while night fell. I had so much to explore, his body was new terrain and I had to cover every inch with my touch.  I loved all the little imperfections I discovered when I roamed the length of is body, the secret side that made him who he was.

…

I fell asleep with him on that old rocking chair, his body wrapped protectively around mine, and when I woke to the morning sun, we were covered by his soft, butter yellow jacket.