Ain’t Wearin’ No Bra

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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?” almanbahis 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.

“Higher,” I wheezed, and Carol scrunched her nose up but complied. “Little more.”

“Stay there,” Carol said, and it occurred to me that I must have been moving towards the girl without even knowing it, drawn like a moth to the flame by an 18 year old girl’s tits.

“Wow,” I said softly. “They are big.”

Certainly bigger than I had expected, and on Carol’s skinny frame, her cantaloupe-sized globes looked even larger than they actually were. Firm too – they looked so firm that I was dying to touch them, and since I had made that move towards her seconds before I wasn’t far out of reach.

Her nipples weren’t very large, and the pale rose aureoles they rested on were only about the size of silver dollars, but when you haven’t seen a pair of breasts for years you forget how great they are.

“You’re a very pretty girl,” I told Carol. “I can’t believe how well developed you are.”

Carol seemed to blush at that, and I tried to take this a step further.

“You can take the blouse off if you want,” I suggested, but Carol shook her head briskly at that suggestion, even though I had seen just about everything there.

The wild sprays of hair under her arms were exposed as the frightened teen kept the blouse held up high, armpits that might never have seen a razor and were as hairy as any man’s. The sight did not bother me, because after all this was 1969. It wasn’t uncommon to see hippie chicks passing through our parts from time to time, and all that hair added a level of maturity to the look of the nervous teen.

“Now you,” Carol said.


“You said you would show me your thing,” Carol reminded me.

“I’m nowhere near as good looking as you,” I said, slipping the straps off the shoulders of my bib overalls and lowering them down to my knees. “You seen men’s things before?”

“Couple,” Carol said, looking at my faded boxer shorts while biting her lip.

I was going to tell Carol that she hadn’t seen anybody like me, but instead decided to just lower the boxers and be done with it. Chances are, if my past experiences were any measure, she would either faint, laugh or run.

Carol did none of the above, but did stare open mouthed as my cock, freed from almanbahis giriş the briefs, jerked upward, sort of pointing towards Carol in its own way.

My cock is weird looking and I’ve been told it’s rather big, although the thickness is more startling than the length. The fact that it curves to my right when erect adds to the “character” of my organ, or at least that’s what my wife used to tell me, and it was close to that condition as it swung around lazily in front of me.

“Weird looking, huh?” I said after Carol just stared at my cock, since apparently none of the others she had seen were as thick as a salami at the base and had a glans not much larger than a gumdrop at the other end.

Carol nodded, unable to take her eyes off of my cock.

“Want to touch it?” I offered.

“Does it get even bigger?” she asked.

“It will if you hold it,” I said. “Come on.”

I even sweetened the offer by telling her she could lower her blouse if she would just come over and hold it for a minute, and even though I thought I sounded pathetic begging this girl to touch my dick, I didn’t care.

Carol proceeded to come over to my side, and with a hand that was visibly shaking, reached over and wrapped her fingers around my member halfway up the shaft.

“It’s hot,” Carol whispered as I exhaled like a steam engine while her cool fingers held my organ loosely. “It’s really fat.”

“You can’t straighten it out,” I said of her weak effort to make the curve go away, and as it swelled in her hand the curve grew more severe.

“It is getting bigger,’ Carol said with a giggle that became a full-fledged laugh. “I can feel it throbbing.”

“Not nice to laugh at people,” I said, pretending to be hurt. “I know it’s funny looking…”

“Sorry,” Carol said quickly, her eyes showing actual concern about hurting my feeling. “Wasn’t really laughing. Just nervous I guess, and it’s so thick my hand only goes half way around. See?”

I was quite aware of that, having watched the only hand that had been near it for years – my own – go up and down it too many times to count.

“Here,” I said, putting my hand over Carol’s and moving it up and down. “Please.”

It was over in a minute. A hand other than my own was jerking me off, even though my own hand was providing the movement at the start. Mercifully, Carol’s hand began moving through her own efforts, leaving me to lean against her as she jerked me off.

Her hand, rough from farm work like my own, moved up and down the top half like she had done this at least once before, her grasp hiding the gumdrop head and then sliding down until her hand barely made it halfway around the shaft.

“Oh!” I groaned pathetically as my orgasm overwhelmed me, sending jets of my seed all over the ground to our right, leaving a milky white reminder of what I had just made the neighbor girl do.

“Mr. Schiller?”

Carol’s voice woke me out of whatever place my mind was as my cock went limp in her hand, and what had just taken place suddenly hit me. There I was, a damn near senior citizen standing behind my barn with my overalls down around my ankles, having just made a teenage girl masturbate me.

“Mr. Schiller? You okay?”

I shook my head and wiped the tear that had somehow trickled down my cheek, a badge of my shame.

“I’m sorry,” I said, hurriedly pulling up my boxers and overalls after pulling my mutant dick out of Carol’s hand. “I didn’t mean to make you do that.”

“It’s okay,” Carol said softly as I moved away from her.

“I’m sorry,” was all I could say in response. “Please forgive me.”

“Besides,” Carol said as I walked back toward my house. “You didn’t make me. I kinda wanted to.”

“That didn’t make it right,” I said to my empty kitchen after staggering inside my house, and as I watched Carol make her way through the fields on her way back home, I shook my head.

“Why does it feel so much better when somebody else does it to you?” I said, continuing the conversation I was having with myself on the way to the bathroom, where I hoped that a shower would wash away the filth I felt.


The shower cleaned my body but not my soul, because I still felt ashamed all through dinner, which I made and ate without remembering what it even was. Half expecting to see Carol’s asshole father at my door any second, I was somewhat surprised when no such visit occurred.

In fact, I had just begun to manage to get the image of Carol’s hand out of my mind when I heard a gentle tapping around the back of the house. Getting up and turning down Mannix on the TV, I listened and heard it again.

I went to the back door and looked outside. Huddled in an over-sized jacket was Carol, looking nervously at me through the curtains.

“Hi,” I said, clutching the opening of the bathrobe I was wearing.

“Hi Mr. Schiller,” Carol said, glancing down towards her house which was well out of the range of vision. “Can I – uh – come in?”

“Oh – sure,” I said, letting the girl in almanbahis adres out of the chill of the night.

“Can I get you something to drink?” I offered. “Water?”

“No, I just wanted to see if you were still mad at me or not,” Carol asked.

“Mad? At you?” I asked. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“I dunno. You seemed kinda – upset – about what I did today.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I said in the understatement of all time, ushering her into the living room where Mike Connors was moving his lips on the muted TV, Mannix providing the only light in the living room.

“That was my fault,” I said. “I was fooling around with you and it got out of control. Kind of ashamed of myself. I should know better, after all I’m not a kid.”

“Neither am I,” Carol said, as if I hadn’t noticed. “I don’t have many friends – any friends really. Outside of home you’re about the only person that talks to me.”

“Does – uh – your old man know you’re here?”

“Gosh no!” Carol said. “I snuck out. Crawled out the window.”

“Really?” I asked. “Why? I mean, I’m glad you did, but why would you risk getting in trouble?”

“I dunno,” Carol said softly. “I thought that today, you liked what I did to you.”

“I did. Very much, but…”

“You said I was pretty,” Carol said, her hand going to the zipper of the over-sized jacket she was wearing, a jacket that had ‘Ted’ embroidered on a patch over the Grange Hall logo. Her father’s jacket.

“Nobody ever said I was pretty before,” Carol said as the zipper slid down, the tiny clicking noises sounding like an engine roaring in the deathly quiet room.

Carol was naked underneath, expect for a tattered pair of panties, and as she sat there looking at me looking at her, I moved my lips and tried to speak.

“You are pretty,” I managed to say.

“I liked how you got excited when you looked at me,” Carol said, and somehow I was leaning back on the sofa, and Carol was opening my bathrobe and reaching into the fly of my pajamas.

“Can I suck on it?” Carol asked timidly after fishing my flaccid dick out, and without waiting for my response, bowed her head and ran her tongue over the relatively tiny head of my dick, flicking the little bulb while squeezing the thick flesh of the rubbery shaft.

“Carol,” I whispered, running my hand through her dirty blonde hair while she moved her mouth down the shaft a bit before letting her mouth move back off of it.

“Does this feel good Mr. Schiller?” Carol asked before taking it in her mouth.

“Yes,” I gasped as I watched Carol’s mouth move down the shaft as far as she could manage before pulling back upward.

Carol, for all her claims of being lonely, had done this before. I could tell even though it had been years since I had enjoyed the pleasure of a woman’s mouth on my cock, and with each slide of her lips down my member I got harder, until the curved flesh was just as hard as it had been earlier.

I wanted to apologize for what she was holding in her hand, but she seemed fascinated by it all; the diminutive glans, the curve of my organ and the ever-increasing thickness of the shaft as it disappeared into the bush.

“Would you tell me before you shoot your goo?” Carol asked me as she looked up from my lap, and I nodded.

“I’ll swallow it,” she assured me. “It’s just that if I don’t know it’s coming, I choke on it, and I know that ruins it for you.”

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” I asked. “You’re very good at it.”

“Couple guys,” Carol said, sliding her hand up and down my cock, which was wet half way down with her saliva.

“Lucky guys,” I said as Carol’s head bobbed up and down while her hand snaked down and grabbed my balls.

“Wow!” Carol exclaimed as she kneaded my sac with one hand while spinning her hand around the stump of my cock. “These are big too. No wonder you shot so much spunk before.”

My hand had worked down to cup Carol’s tit as she bent over me, and the flesh was every bit as soft and giving as it had looked. I was fighting the urge to cum as Carol’s lips moved up and down, her mouth adapting quickly to the bizarre arch.

Finally, when I could hold back no longer, I warned Carol that I was about to cum. She didn’t miss a beat, and when after an extended period of being on the brink of orgasm my cock started to spurt into Carol’s throat, she swallowed it eagerly.

“Wish I could get my mouth further down it,” Carol lamented as I slumped into the back of the couch, having just cum just as intensely as I had earlier in the day. “Gets way too thick for me about halfway down.”

“It was wonderful,” I said as I drew Carol upright and kissed her with as much passion as I had.

“Wow!” Carol said after our lips came apart. “I thought guys didn’t like to kiss you after that.”

“I’m not most guys. Besides, I know where it came from,” I said. “Now how about you?”

“Me?” Carol asked as I rolled onto my knees and knelt between her slender legs.

There was a light dusting of down on her thighs and calves, and it felt soft as I ran my hands up and down the slender limbs. Up higher, her tattered panties were at eye level. Pink panties, torn around the elastic tops and sides, and her strawberry blonde pubic hair peeked out from the rips.

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