Kris Evans





The Farmer's Grandson 

by Sean Reid Scott  This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.




Originally published in, like, 2009 I think. 

Approx. 2,500 words








So there I was...

  ...just minding my own business, getting ready to start work on this contract I had landed. I had established quite a good business in this small, country town, installing windows; and three weeks earlier this old codger of a farmer had wandered into town looking for someone to install some more energy-efficient windows on his old farmhouse.    Long story short, I drove out to his place-- a sprawling ranch with horses, cattle and acres of crops-- took some measurements and gave him an estimate. The windows came from the factory yesterday, so I loaded them up and drove out to the farm this morning all ready to start.

  Anyhoo, I had set up a workspace on the back lawn of this farmer's place and was just getting started when the old guy ambled out of his back door and said, "I gots ta head over to the livestock auction for the day. You okay here by yourself?"   "Sure," I told him.     He hops into his '59 Ford pickup and just before he drives off, he leans out the window and says, "Oh, I forgot to tell ya', my grandson is out working in the barn. If you need anything, jes' wander out there and ask. He's a big guy, and he'll sure be able to set you up with anything you need."   "Okay," I smiled.

  "And, hep yourself to anything in the kitchen. There's fixin's in the fridge too." With that, he left in a trail of dust, promising to be back around 6:00.     Well, after about ten minutes, my curiosity got the best of me-- he's a big guy, the old man had said. I didn't really have high expectations, what with the old farm atmosphere around here. Anyway, I decided to amble out to the huge barn and see what was shakin'.

  The place smelled like a barn-- duh. There was hay everywhere. Tack hanging on one wall gave off a wonderful odor of leather, which fought against the smells of hay and manure.    "Howdy!" a friendly voice said from one of the horse stalls.    Startled, I swung around quickly to see who it was, and I nearly choked on the parched, stuffy air. He was blond, with buzzed hair on the sides, and longer, styled hair on top. It was kind of surprising that he'd have such a citified hair style, especially given his grandfather's curmudgeon-style attitude toward, well, everything. But it wasn't his hair style that took my breath away. He was wearing a set of denim overalls, with no shirt. One of the straps of the bib was undone, and as he stood there with that shit-eating smile, his left pec was exposed-- along with all of his huge shoulders and arms, and I gotta tell you it was all I could do to keep from pissing in my pants. The guy was a god! Just absolutely gorgeous! He was one hell of a muscleman.



HE LEANED, VERY CONFIDENTLY, on the handle of a pitchfork, and godalmighty, I just couldn't take my eyes off all of those bulging muscles. "You must be the window guy grandpappy mentioned," he smiled.

  "Uh, ye-- well, yeah," I stuttered.

  He grinned, took a few steps toward me, extended his hand and said, "Jacob. Jacob Olson."   "Sean. Sean Scott," I said.

  "Glad to meetchya," he grinned. I wasn't sure, but I got the impression that he could tell he was killing me with his adorable smile and hunky body. And yet, as we released the handshake, he stood back, leaning on his pitchfork, chewing on a string of hay-- all country and easy-like; it was as if he didn't have a care in the world, was totally lovin' life, and couldn't care less what was going on in my head-- or my pants..    What was going on in my pants was a hard-on like I'd never had before. God, this kid was pushing all of my buttons!

  "You need somethin'?" he asked. "Help with the windows or somethin'?"   "Oh, well, naw," I started. "I was just taking a break. Uh, just wanted to introduce myself. Your grandfathe-- your grandpappy said you'd be out here, working."   "Yeah," he grinned. God, I thought I'd start shooting then and there, right into my pants. His smile was perfect! How could such a gorgeous musclegod exist out here in the middle of nowhere-- where there was hardly anyone to worship him?! He kept chewin' on that strand of hay, and said, "Grandpappy lets me stay in the room upstairs-- in the farm house. He doesn't charge me rent, so when I'm not goin' to school, I try an' hep out with the chores."   "I see," I said. I got the idea that he was picking up on the fact that I couldn't keep my eyes off that amazing body of his, so I said, "Looks like these chores give you a good workout."   "Yep," he grinned. "Grandpappy keeps saying that I should stop heppin' out so much, 'cuz my muscles are gettin' too big." He smiled at me, and deep dimples formed in his cheeks.

  I let my eyes scan up and down his perfectly-developed body and said, "I think he might have a point."   Jacob laughed loudly, partially bending over at the waist; his massive muscles rippled with each guffaw.

  "So, what are you studying in school?" I asked, trying desperately to keep the conversation going.

  "Oh, I'm going to be a masseur!" he said with wide eyes. "Jes' takin' some classes at the community college."   "Really!" I said, trying to maintain some semblance of composure.

  "Hell, Mr. Scott, you want to come up to my room and let me show you what I'm learnin' in class? Shoot, I could even teach you a few techniques! Then you could try out some massage on me if you want!"    



Part 2

Well, I certainly wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity, so I told the stud I’d love to see what he’s been learning. We made our way up the stairs to his small room, which was really no more than an attic. Jake (he said his close friends call him Jake, so he asked me to do so) nearly touched the ceiling when he stood up straight.

  There were some clothes scattered around the room, but I’d characterize it more “lived-in” than “messy.” “Excuse the mess,” Jake said, “I don’t usually have visitors up here.” He grinned that adorable grin of his. “Okay, Mr. Scott, lay down on my bed and I’ll start loosening you up,” he said, motioning to his bed. The bed hadn’t been made, and instead of pulling the covers over the sheets, he threw them off the bed, inviting me to lie right on his sheets. 


He had me take off my shirt.

  God, it was a nice bed. I rested my face on the very fabric that his face had touched. I rested my body on the very fabric that his body had touched.

  “I hope you don’t mind the sheets,” he said as I relaxed. “I washed them on Sunday, but I probably should warn you that I sleep in the buff, and well, you might want to avoid anything that’s crusted on ‘em.”    I looked up at him with a serious look. He burst out laughing. “Jes’ jerkin’ you around, Mr. Scott! Jes’ jerkin’ you around!”   I relaxed, wishing he had been serious. Soon his strong, powerful hands were on my back and shoulders and I was in heaven. God, he had a fantastic touch! If it weren’t for the insatiable boner I was dealing with, I could easily have fallen asleep. His muscular hands had so much tenderness! Fuck, he was amazing!

  “You’re not fallin’ asleep, are you Mr. Scott?”   “Naw,” I said lazily. It was almost a lie. “God, this feels so good,” I said.

  “Hell, you oughta’ see what my hands can do where it really counts!” He kept massaging, and he laughed, but this time the laughter didn’t seem to suggest something outrageous.    I chuckled and said, “I bet! God, Jake, with all those muscles of yours, I bet your hands have a really nice touch-- where it counts.”   He kept rubbing, but it turned lighter, more tender.    And then, his hands moved down my back, toward my butt.    “You really should undo your belt, Mr. Scott. So I can get a little lower and work your glutes. They look pretty tight to me.”   I raised my butt and undid my belt, lowering also, my zipper.    Jake pushed my jeans down and continued his magic. “Gooooolllllly, Mr. Scott, your glutes are really firm. You work out?”   My head was buried in his pillow; I let out a muffled, “Yeah.”   “Shit! ...oh, excuse my swearin’. Grandpappy wants me to watch the cuss words. But Shazayam, Mr. Scott, your ass muscles are really firm! I bet they’re almost as firm as mine!”   “Oh really?” I was trying harder than hell to maintain my composure. His hands on my ass-- it was heaven.

  “Yeah!” he said. “Why here-- take a feel for yourself!” With that, his hands left my ass, and I could tell he was standing tall. I looked up, and he was taking off his overalls. “I hope this is okay, Mr. Scott,” he said, “but I don’t usually wear underwear.” He pulled his overalls all the way down to the floor, and then stood up, naked.    I nearly started squirting, all over those sheets of his.

  He turned around so I could see his ass. “Here, Mr. Scott. Take a feel. I guaranteeeeeee you, my ass is as hard as a rock!”  



Part 3


So there I was...

  ...just minding my own business, feeling out Jake's extremely hot ass. I was trembling. I mean, literally, my hands were shaking as I took hold of his glorious, hard glutes. It was like nothing I had ever imagined. Nothing.

“Oh, yeah, Mr. Scott,” Jake said slowly, “You got some really nice hands there. You ever think about takin’ up massage?” “Uh, no. Not really,” I said. My fingers were on his ass!  It was the hottest thing I had ever experienced! And then, as if this whole thing weren’t enough, underneath my trembling fingers, his ass muscles FLEXED! I almost fainted. They were glorious, sensual ass muscles; and to see them-- and FEEL them-- flex into two globes of molten, hardened granite-- oh hell, I just wanted to die right then and there. Take me, God. My life is now complete.

I looked upward as his back. From his narrow waistline, it broadened up and out, to his broad, strong shoulders. God, it was amazing.

“Hey, watch this,” Jake said. He put his hand on his hips and spread his latissimus dorsi out-- god, it was amazing-- just about as wide as the wings of a Concorde. “I seen some guys down at my gym to this pose. They call it a lat stretch.” “Lat spread,” I corrected him. I felt bad for doing it, but it just fell out of my mouth.  “Yeah, that’s it,” he said. “Move your hands up onto my back; I’ll hold the pose so you can feel my lats.” Oh god; my trembling fingers slowly moved up onto his rippling back. I turned my palms up and stopped, just holding his lats as they hung out there. I squeezed them.

  “Well, what do you think?” he asked.  “God, Jake. Your body-- it’s so big. So, muscular. I’ve sever seen anything like this-- or felt--” “Hell, Mr. Scott,” he said, “If you like my lats, you should feel my pecs. Oh, man, you have nice hands, though. Kinda like our massage teacher at the community college. She’s always wanting to use me to demonstrate to the other kids in class.” “Really? Thanks,” I said. I moved my hands up onto his upper back and then to his shoulders. “God, kid, you are unbelievable.” Jake started flexing his ass again. “You want to move your hands down lower again? I really liked it when you massaged my glutes.” I didn’t have to be asked twice.

I held each hard, round globe in my hands. My palms could feel every ripple as he flexed them. It was as if his ass was massaging me!

“You know, sometimes when our teacher does this to me, I kinda get… well, I get a little hard… in the private parts,” he said.

“Really?” At this point, since I had undone my pants earlier while I was lying on the bed, my jeans now fell down to the floor. And consequently, my boner burst through the slit in my boxers, pointing right up at Jake’s ass. And yet, I wasn’t paying any attention to my own anatomy.  And then, it happened.

As I continued to massage, and enjoy his taut, tight, hard, small ass, he slowly turned around. I didn’t really remove my hands from his lower torso, so as he turned I eventually found the fingertips of my left hand buried in his pubes. My right hand was on his hip.

He had a semi-hard dick that was growing hard. I watched it, as it pulsed slowly-- with each of his heartbeats. Within seconds, his cock was at full mast. My fingertips were still in his pubes.

My eyes slowly travelled upward, over his rocky abs, up and over his bulbous pectoral muscles and onto his content, relaxed, confident face. He smiled down at me. “Mr. Scott, if I weren’t such a dumb farmboy, I’d swear you were enjoyin’ this a little too much.”  He grinned at me.

His eyes twinkled.

My fingertips moved onto his now fully-erect cock.

He smiled.

“Mr. Scott,” he said, “I guess you’ve figured out that the only thing harder on me than my ass, is…” he looked down at my hand that was now moving up his huge boner… “is, my… well, my cock, Mr. Scott.” He looked down at my hand as it trembled up and down his penis. “Uh, knock yourself out, Mr. Scott. This feels good.” Our eyes met.

He grinned.

My hand moved slowly, up, over more hardness than it had ever experienced.


[And that's it! I hope you enjoyed!]






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