Michelle lived in a small cabin in the mountains outside of Missoula, Montana. She was a part time student, and boarded horses over the winter to pay her rent.
I was always looking for work that winter to help pay my bills. I knew horseshoing and other horse skills and was always stopping into tack&feed stores to see if anyone had any extra chores. That's how I heard that Michelle was getting a shipment of hay for the winter and would hire someone to help unload and stack it in her barn. Just a few hours of work, but work nonetheless.
I enjoyed stacking hay. Even though it's itchy, it's a great work out. And there's something rewarding about seeing the neatly stacked hay go up.
So, that day, I drove out with the hay delivery. I had expected the usual ranch wife, or widow. There are a lot in Montana. They are sturdy, and weathered. Polite to strangers, but not fast to trust. They are often grey and hard as barn planks, knotted and lean with weather and age. But once you prove your work ethic and character, they are like your instant great-aunt. They will give you anything and defend you. After meeting a ranch woman, it is easy to see how famous outlaws like Butch Cassidy or Billy the Kid were able to evade the law so long, just by being taken in and hidden by ranch women.
Michelle had many of these traits I instantly recognized, but there was one immediate difference. She was not over the age of 50. Rather, she seemed as young or younger than me. She stood barely 5'4" in her boots. She wore overalls and a pearlsnap shirt and had her long black hair braided on either side of her head. She looked at once tough as any ranch hand I've ever seen, and at the same time like a regualr college student from campus.
We quickly set to work, and I soon found that she could throw the 65 lbs bales over her head, and just as high as I could. She could stack hay faster, and I could barely keep pace. When we stopped for a break, she pulled out a tin of Copenhagen. I bummed a pinch, and we were then officially bonded.
At her pace, the full load of hay was stacked in only a few hours. By myself, it probably would have taken half the day. I hardy seemed like I could charge her. But she insisted, and to top it off in the ranch tradition, she invited me, her hired hand, to supper.
We pulled off our work gloves, and shook the hay out of our hair and ears and neck. We were both coated in a glistening sheen of sweat. For the first time, looking at her, I noticed she was actually very attractive.
From the barn, we hiked up the hill to her 2-room cabin. It seemed like a snow storm was on its way, and I didn't want to get snowed in, but I was also famished. I wasn't about to miss a free meal, especially after such hard work. She served elk steak, marinated in red wine and served with sauteed onions and wild mushrooms. We drank several bottles of red wine and listened to bluegrass. She told me she had three prized possessions in life, and if the cabin ever burned down she'd resuce, in this order: her dog, her chainsaw, and her banjo.
She had a fired stoked in her woodstove, which pounded out waves of heat. Soon the room was stuffy, even with the front door open. Outside, the first few flurries of snow began to fall.
She told me she usually didn't wear clothes in the cabin, and asked if I'd be offended if she stripped down.
"Offended? Me? No, no... please, go right ahead." I thought perhaps she was just joking. She wasn't.
She quickly stripped down and sat back on the couch, naked. The first thing I noticed were her nice, soft hippie boobs. I call them hippie boobs, because they weren't perky and pointy, like you often see on models, nor were they pumped up fake, like you see in porn. They were medium sized, soft, slightly saggy, maternal in a way. Earthy.
Between her legs was a thick briar of black hair. I noticed, when she reached for another fire log, that she didn't shave under her arms, either. I had never seen a natural woman before. All the college girls I had dated shaved, waxed, and plucked religiously. Seeing a woman so hirsute for the first time was a little shocking. But there was also something indescribably sexy... so natural, and so wild. Maybe it was the wood fire, or the elk for dinner, or the smell of woodsmoke, sap, wet wool, and our own sweat... but it was sexual and primal and beautiful all at the same time.
She told me I could make myself at home, too, and strip down. I felt incredibly self-concoius. I didn't know what would be more awkward: to stay clothed beside a naked woman, or to strip down. I've always believed that it's better to regret something you've done than something you haven't, so with a quick fumble, I removed my clothes and tossed them on the pile of her clothes.
Then we were both naked, sipping wine, listening to bluegrass, and casually chatting. Part of me was enjoying exactly what was happening, and didn't want it to stop or change at all, and part of me was wondering if I should make a move. Clearly, she'd started it. But wasn't it now up to me to lean in for a kiss? How could I make that happen? Being naked didn't make it easier, if anything, a little more awkward.
After we finished the bottle, I was feeling pretty blitzed. I was beginning to think that I'd made the right choice of not forcing a move. We were totally relaxed and having a good time. Maybe we were just naked friends now, and I was glad I didn't force it to be sexual. And besides, with so much wine, I didn't know if I could get hard.
But then she changed everything and asked if I was ready.
"Ready?" I asked, a confused look on my face.
"For sex," she said.
I quickly realized my cue and leaned in to kiss her.
"No," she said, pushing me back. "Not here. The bedroom."
She stood up, matter of fact. She didn't need any foreplay, just to adjust the damper on her wood stove and put the left-over elk back in the fridge. She got a cup of water and then pulled on her snow boots and trudged outside to the outhouse. It was weird to have those 5 minutes or so alone in her cabin.
The snow was falling hard now, filling the woods and starting to blanket the roof. The fire had turned to glowing embers. I knew we were going to have sex, but she wasn't in any hurry. I thought I'd be sobering up, but the wine only seemed to intensify.
When she returned, she led me to the only other room in the cabin--the bedroom. It had a patchwork quilt and a wooden head board. Most of her clothes were stacked on the selves of a tall bookcase, and also in a dresser and a wooden crate by her bed. She had a book she was reading. Walden. And a plastic container for a mouthguard.
We crawled onto her bed. It was cooler in her room, but still warm enough that we didn't need to go under the covers. I tried to kiss her, but she didn't want it. I tried to take her soft nipples into my mouth, but she seemed impacient. I then let my kisses trail down her stomach, and to her thatch of dark curls. She smelled musky, like moss. Like the forest. Trying to part her lips with my hands, I reached my tongue for a taste. She was pungent. Salty. I inhaled deeply.
She had thick lips, sticky and coated in her own female juices like honey. I buried my face in her, and she seemed to like this. Licking and nibbling her clitoris caused it to grow. She held my head down into her, almost suffocating me, pushing her hips up, humping my chin. My whole face was slathered in her wetness. I wondered how much of it was her excitement, and knew some of it was fresh urine.
The more I tried to lick her clitoris, which was now rosy red and puffy, the more she pushed my head down. I couldn't tell if she was too sensitive, or didn't like it. That's the thing about being with someone for the first time--what worked great on the last lover, may not work at all. Honestly, I had only been with two girlfriends before. I wasn't very experienced, and both past girlfriends let me lick them, but I can't say I really knew what I was doing.
She pushed my head down and raised her hips off the bed. At first, I instinctively tried to push back up to return to her clitoris, then finally, I realized she was guiding me to what she wanted. As soon as I let my neck muscles relax, I found my head pushed farther down, my outstretched tongue sliding down her butt cleft until it hit the ring of her puckered anus. My tongue almost recoiled at the shock. I had never licked a woman in the back before. Even the hint of it grossed out my two past college girlfriends. I had never really tried it, and never really held it as a goal in sex.
For the first time, my mouth explored a woman's ass. This area smelled and tasted different. She wasn't dirty down there, but it did smell different, and the taste was sweeter, less tangy than her pussy juices. She let out a deep moan as I tongued her anus.
The more excited she got, the more turned on I became. My cock was hard now and leaking pre-cum as I tongued her butthole.
Then she pulled me up and on top of her. In the missionary position with my hard cock poking at her entry, we both knew what to do. With one thrust, my dick was in her wet, open pussy. It wasn't tight, but was warm.
We both began to move in unison. A good old fashioned missionary fuck. She tried lifting her legs for better traction against her clit. I could feel my pubic hair mashing into her thick curls. Then suddenly, perhaps drunker than I realized or more turned on by the analingus than I realized, I felt my body began to twitch.
"Oh fuck," I said, "I'm going to cum."
Suddenly her face had a look of alarm. She nearly threw me off of her as she yelled, "Not inside me!"
Just as she shoved me off of her, I exploded. Cum shot all over her wet folds and hairy lips.
After a few moments, I realized I was sitting on the bed next to her, looking at her. She was naked, still on her back, legs open, and exposed pussy splattered with my cum.
She seemed a bit disappointed, but not angry. Obviously, she hadn't thought I'd cum so soon. She was just beginning to get herself going. I felt embarrassed because we hadn't even done any other positions. Missionary is such an easy one to cum. Maybe if she'd been on top, or if we'd traded.
"Well," she said, "I guess it's up to me and my toy."
"You have a toy?" I asked, dumfounded. I dont' know why this was so shocking. I'd heard of vibrators and dildos before--even seen them in porn. I guess it seemed like something porn stars or middle aged married women had, not 20-something college students.
I guess it made sense. She lived alone in a cabin. No doubt she'd ordered it online and it had come in a small plain box. Why wouldn't she have a toy? Still, I'd never dated a girl who owned one. I didn't believe she actually had one until she reached over and pulled one out from under her pillow.
She didn't even have it stashed away in a drawer, but right under her pillow. I imagined she used it nearly every night, right before bed. Or maybe that the first thing she did when she woke up.
She moved the toy between her legs. It was a rubbery penis shaped toy, about the same size as my own penis, maybe 6". Realistically sized, and not the size I'd seen in porn. I thought it was curious that she'd picked an average size and not something giant.
She then rubbed the toy up and down her folds before sliding it inside her. It disappeared into her pussy easily. She slid it in and out a few times slowly. Then I realized she wasn't doing it for pleasure, but to lube the toy.
Opening her legs further, she positioned the toy at her puckered backdoor, and slowly, but easily pushed it in. Suddenly a look of bliss washed over her face. Her mouth opened a little, and her eyes rolled back. With slow, but building rhythm, she worked the toy in and out of her butt.
I was still only a few feet in front of her, seated on her bed. I had always wanted a girlfriend to masturbate in front of me so I could watch, but the two girls I had dated were both too shy. And now, within arm's reach, Michelle was on her back, legs open far as they could go, as she fucked herself anally with her toy. I could see every detail. How her tight muscles wrapped around the toy. The few sparse black hairs circling her butthole. How her pussy lips moved as the toy went in and out. How her folds glistened with her excitement. How my white cum sparkled against her black pubic hair.
I felt invisible then. She didn't even seem to notice or care or acknowledge I was there. She was simply fucking herself by herself, as she regularly did alone. I was like an specter sitting on her bed. A total voyeur.
She was really getting into it and as her moans became louder, her pussy began to contract and spasm. Soon she was climaxing hard. Her sphincter muscles pinched the toy inside her until with a huge release and sigh, relaxed. She slumped back, and let the toy slip out.
I stared at her for several mintues. I was hard and wanted to climb back on top of her. Then I realized her slow, steady breathing meant she'd fallen asleep.
I then looked at her again, her body sprawled out on her quilt. Legs still apart. The last of the cum dripping and forming wet spots. Her breasts almost flat. The rosy flush on her chest starting to fade and beads of sweat drying.
I had a raging boner, but also had to pee. I tiptoed back to the living room, restoked the woodstove, and then slipping on my snow boots, stepped into the cold. It was chilly, but invigorated to be naked in the night snow. The snowfall made the entire forest silent and soft. The only sounds the squeak of snow under my boots. Her footsteps were nearly filled in, but I followed them to the outhouse.
Inside, I thought I would use the bathroom, but my cock was still too upright to pee. So I sat on the wooden bench seat with he door still open and looked out at the snow. The woods seemed to softy glow. I was still turned on by what I had seen. I wanted to fuck her now, with my second wind. The wine mostly worn off. But she was asleep and I didn't want to disturb her. I knew in morning, we'd have a second go. For now, I had to relieve the pressure. Without really thinking about it, I was already stroking myself.
As the snow slowly fell, I began to move my hand up and down. I stared into the snow, but was recalling the sight of my cum on her black curls, and her toy pushed in and out of her ass. The outhouse smelled slightly of the piss and crap in the pit below, but it was so cold, that it has all frozen, so mostly the outhouse smelled of wood and pine trees. I thought, what a dirty image to see me in the outhouse, door open, me on the wooden bench, stroking my now long and hard cock. I could smell her pussy juices still on my skin.
I wondered if she ever masturbated in her outhouse, and I figured, probably yes, at least once. I imagined her now in her secluded life at the cabin. Masturbating on her couch, on her small deck where she had the wood pile, or maybe in her horse barn, on the stacks of hay. Something about the total privacy made it seem like you could, and should, masturbate wherever the feeling grabbed you. It seemed very open and natural. And I began to understand why she didn't shave, and why she had a toy, and why she didn't care that I watched her put it in her butt and climax.
My cock was now thick and throbbing. Soon I felt it twitch and the semen begin to boil up. Quickening the pace, I groaned as I shot globs of fresh cum over the grey weathered boards of the outhouse.
She would never know, but I would. Every time she used the outhouse, my cum would be on the boards, dry, invisible. But there. A small token of our first, and only night together.