textfiles/sex/EROTICA/C/crackers.txt

                         ANIMAL CRACKERS
 
An original story by Bruce Bramson (m/m/a best humor)
 
I grew up on a farm. Everyone should grow up on a farm! By the
time my Dad got around to mentioning the birds and the bees, I
figured I could tell HIM a thing or two about the goats and the
cows (and the horses, and the dogs...), but then, my Dad grew up
on a farm, too.
 
Any budding youngster with a smidgeon of curiosity and his eyes
open will know quite a lot about sex even before he's ready to
really enjoy it himself. Unless he has an over-protective Mom who
shoos him away from "the action" out in the paddocks, he can't
help but learn a thing or two. And if there happen to be
brothers, cousins or hired-hands around the place, he's likely to
have learned a lot MORE than "a thing or two".
 
And don't forget the wonderful influence of the one-room rural
school, where kids of all ages get thoroughly mixed: a guy with
his ears open can learn a lot on the playground, loitering around
near the clots of older fellows joshing each other and daring
each other to "show it" then and there...
 
My curiosity was first aroused when a couple of the dogs on our
place got "locked" together. Hearing it, I thought is was just
another fight over a bone. But when I got to the scene, there
seemed to be a bonER involved! That the dog had one was clear
enough: that I GOT one would also have been clear if there'd been
anyone there to see it. It wasn't many days later that I decided
I should know more about "dog anatomy", so I took the old, gentle
fella that we inherited with the farm out behind the barn and
began a thorough exploration between his hind legs. He got a
hard-on immediately, and vigorously humped my knee: at that point
in time, his pecker was larger than mine, albeit a rather
different shape. When I got all of it out of its hairy den, and
the base swelled up to roughly thrice the diameter of the rest of
it, the reason for the "lockup" I'd observed earlier became quite
obvious. By this time, I, too, was hard, and I slipped my jeans
down and Bouncer gave me a good licking. It was very exciting,
and with the dog shooting his juice all over my pants, I soon
shot my wad as well. While I soon returned to my normal
insignificant size, poor Bouncer had a hard-on dangling between
his legs for half an hour, and I thought I'd surely catch heck if
anyone saw him that way and thought I had anything to do with it.
But there was no one else around, so I got away with it.
 
One day at school, as I hung around a group of eighth-grade guys,
the conversation turned to how far each could shoot his load, and
there was a lot of bragging, of course. Carl, a tallish chap who
(unlike some of the others) tolerated me (a lowly 6th-grader)
told everybody he could shoot fifteen feet - and after the
laughter died down, someone "dared him" to show us. He said 
he'd
demonstrate for anyone that showed up at his place the next
Saturday morning. So I rode my bicycle over there, consumed by
curiosity, and found quite a crowd. Carl had long since found his
Dad's collection of grimy porno pictures (accumulated during WW
II, apparently), and although dog-eared and faded they were
highly stimulating to everyone. When Carl was ready to
demonstrate, after taking a few bets, he casually climbed up on
the water tower, whipped out his meat -- and sure enough, he shot
fifteen feet, down to the ground below. Naturally, he was accused
of not "playing fair", but it was fairly good natured. And of
course, everyone was feeling horny by this time, and ready for
just about anything!
 
At this point Carl sprang his surprise: did anyone want to watch
him jack off his horse? Well of course EVERYone did, so we all
traipsed out to the paddock where this rather decrepit horse
languished, swishing flies off his flanks with his tail. It was
soon clear enough that Carl got this horse off regularly, because
he offered no objection when Carl brazenly walked up, reached
under his belly and began stroking him. Everyone watch in
amazement as this incredibly large dong emerged, dangling flaccid
at first, then stiffening into a log about a foot long, near a
couple inches in diameter, and quite blunt on the end. Without a
mare to mount, the horse seemed a bit awkward, but he did reach a
climax of sorts, exercising the muscles of his flanks and
expelling a cup or so of stringy fluid.
 
I was so fascinated by this I'd pretty much forgotten the other
guys, and was vigorously working my own dick through the pocket
of my pants - the pocket I'd purposely cut the bottom out of just
so I could do this un-detected. But I was hardly startled when I
found most of the other guys were already beating off - strictly
solo. When one of the guys reached out a grabbed another's dick,
someone suggested I ought not to be there, but Carl just reached
over and unzipped my pants, revealing my flying fist inside, and
pretty soon everyone was groping everyone else. One by one, each
of us dropped a load, after which Carl declared the "show over" -
he said he had chores to do, and we all went home.
 
A few weeks later, I begged Carl to let ME do the horse, so again
I pedaled to his place Saturday morning (guess his folks did
their marketing then) and we repaired to the corral. Carl said I
was the first he'd ever allowed to do this, and maybe the horse
would not like it, so he began the process as before, then let me
take over. What an amazing sensation that was, my smallish hand
barely able to get around all that meat that throbbed mightily as
it grew to full size. Carl was, though, an inventive chap, if
nothing else, and he'd brought along a metal porcelainized cup
from the kitchen, which he used to catch the horse's load. For a
moment I thought he was going to drink it, as we studied it,
standing beside the heaving horse. But instead, he used it as a
lube on his own pecker - and on mine - thus giving me the first
hand job I'd ever had. I was in ecstasy! Young and super-
sensitive, it took about ten strokes of Carl's hand and I was
shooting my wad: he took a little longer, but at the critical
moment pulled me near and unloaded into my shorts! (I wonder 
what Mom thought when THOSE shorts hit the laundry)!
 
Our farm wasn't all that big, and we had just one hired hand -
even he split his time between ourselves and the neighboring
spread. Mostly he did the things my brothers and I hated, like
taking out the chicken-shit, and helping with the milking. But
even at my tender age, I had MY chores, and one was milking the
calf I'd raised, when she came fresh. She was my pet, but became
a good producer. Milking her never failed to give me a hard-on!
Toby, the hired hand, would often be feeding the chickens, goats,
or cows when I was milking "Camelia" ("Mealy", for short). So I
never paid much attention when he was around, but I always tried
to hide my hard-on 'cause I thought he might "tell on me" or
something. One balmy summer evening, nearing the end and
stripping Mealy down, I stopped to re-arrange my pecker before
getting up from the milking stool. But I almost dropped the pail
of fresh milk when I glanced through the stanchion to discover
Toby standing with his jeans around his knees and Mealy calmly 
munching on his cock! Toby was a man of few words, and he made 
no move to stop what he was doing: he just said, "Here, let her suck 
on YOUR hard-on", and stepped back with his dripping tool 
swinging. Guess he knew I had a hard-on, and if I hadn't already, 
the sight of his wang would certainly have done it! But I obeyed his 
command, and Mealy obliged with gentle but VERY wet tonguing on 
my swollen member. It felt mighty good, though truth to tell I had 
jacked-off that afternoon anyway, so it didn't seem like this was 
going to make me come. I grabbed Mealy's ears and tried to work 
things up, but I guess I just wasn't in the mood (no pun intended). 
Toby watched, then suddenly sank to his knees, grabbed my hips, 
and thrust my cock into HIS mouth, a location I found far more
stimulating. Within a short time I shot my second wad of the day
into his throat, and felt his own explosion of jizz land on my
calf (no, not on THE calf, MY calf, silly...) When we'd calmed
down, Toby wordlessly zipped up his jeans, gave me a big smile
and a wink, and left the barn, leaving me to get back to the
chores, which I found difficult to concentrate on.
 
So my first blow-job in life came from a cow, and my second from
Toby: it was the first of many - from both of them. When I was
horny enough, Mealy could bring me to orgasm (hell, the dog
could, too!), but Toby was more expert than either of them,
seemed to enjoy it more, and I always got a kick out of the way
HE came: he was a real "shooter", spewing long strings of cum
that closely resembled the squirts of milk from the cows.
Milking, I discovered, made me hornier than ever. But it turned
out to be Billy (doesn't every farm have a goat named "Billy")?
that REALLY knew what a blow-job was (or so it seemed at this
stage of my experience). It struck me one afternoon that he was
just the right height, and when he took my pecker AND my balls,
and butted my fuzzy pubes with his nose and lips, he could bring
me to orgasm in minutes. Toby caught us "at it" one afternoon
after school, and of course he had to try it: I thought he would
bring the neighbors running with his whoops and hollers as he
blasted that poor goat's throat with a fresh wad. The expression,
"he's horny as a goat" took on new meaning for me about this
time.
 
The neighbors up the road had a son a trifle older than I named
Jim. We seemed to have some interests in common. We talked 
about sex a lot, and I noticed he liked to grab my arms when we 
were "horsing around", but we never DID anything, until one day 
when he told me he liked to use the milking-machine his Dad had 
for their little dairy. The idea appealed to me, so a couple of days
later found us in their barn, where we shucked our pants and each
took a teat-cup in hand. I'd never seen Jim's dick before, but it
seemed HUGE next to mine. He switched on the pump, and his 
cup swallowed his soft dick is seconds. My dick had to swell up a 
bit before the suction took hold, but when it did, I thought it was
going to suck ALL of me into it, the vacuum was so strong. Jim
showed me how to kink the hose to regulate the pulsation and
reduce the awesome suction, though I noticed he used his without
any constriction. If he'd been using this gadget as long as he
said he had, I guessed the size of his pecker might have been
enlarged by it. It must have been quite a sight, the two of us
standing there with our dicks buried in the cups which
alternately sucked - hard! - and relaxed. For me, the feeling was
remarkably similar to Billy, but I was not sure whether Jim had
ever had that experience. But I could tell Jim was really getting
off with the machine, and before long the familiar sounds of
orgasmic ecstasy told me he had shot his wad: he shut the machine
off before I had climaxed, and I was grateful, because it hadn't
really "gotten to me" the way it seemed to "get to him".
 
But that experience was the beginning of a long and close 
association between us. I introduced Jim to all my simple 
pleasures (except Toby), and Jim introduced me to a few of his. It 
seems he liked to penetrate things, and there was a brief period 
when we experimented with all sorts of things - melons, large 
potatoes, various fruits. Jim was a "tinkerer", and was always 
trying to build a jack-off machine. I thought it amusing that the 
nearest he came to success was built with an erector set! Whatever 
mischief he and I got into, we almost always wound up jacking 
off together. We used my dog, his dog, our goat, my calf, Carl's 
horse and one of Jim's horses as well, not to mention the 
vegetables, to get ourselves worked up, and then bring each other 
to orgasm by hand. I'll never know why, with his penchant for 
penetration, Jim never suggested penetrating me, but I would have 
resisted at this stage of my life. The fact is, I had yet to discover 
the joys of rear entry.
 
THAT discovery came about through the intervention of a new 
hired hand, Toby having decided to move on to bigger and better 
things. Burt was much older than Toby, about 38 I suppose, 
which seemed very mature to little me. And he made it clear he 
had "been around". True, he was very good with the animals and 
chores, but he wasn't very bright and we didn't have a lot in 
common - or so I thought, until I went into the empty barn one 
afternoon bent on a quick pull of my pud. I was flailing away 
when an unfamiliar sound caught my ear: it seemed I was not 
alone! Zipped up, I quietly snuck down to the milking stalls, and 
there was one of our cows stanchioned as if for milking, except it 
was too early for that. Burt was standing on a milking-stool, 
buck-nekkid but for a sweaty hat far back on his head, the cow's 
tail clamped in his teeth, and his dick plunging in and out of the 
cow's behind! I suppressed an inclination to holler out "Ride 'em, 
cowBOY!", and instead just watched the performance, stroking 
myself the while through my carefully prepared pocket. Here was 
something new! Burt humped that poor cow, shit flying in all 
directions, until the unmistakable signs told me he'd got his rocks 
off. Standing in shadows, I watched as he took the hose and 
FIRST washed the cow's behind, then hosed himself down to 
remove the dung that clung to his dick, thighs and legs. The cold 
water had a remarkable effect on his pecker, which, when he was 
clean, had retreated into his hairy thicket and seemed even smaller 
than my puny thing, but watching all this had really got my juices 
flowing, so after he pulled his jeans on and left the barn, it was 
only moments before I let a copious wad fly across a sack of 
chicken-feed.
 
Now, I can't say the idea of being that cluttered with cow-shit as 
Burt had been appealed to me much. But then, the experiments 
with melons and things with Jim had not appealed to me much 
either - or at least I had not found them particularly exciting. But 
as I thought more about the matter, the idea of plugging something 
warm and sloppy began to grow on me. I thought maybe Billy 
might be a better target - goat-shit is dry and hard - but Billy 
wouldn't cooperate, insisting on turning around no matter how 
hard I tried to hold him, and trying to suck me off as he'd done so 
often. Jim's horse would have required I stand on something quite 
high, and to tell the truth, I'd seen that horse kick a time or two, 
and I didn't much want to be on the receiving end of a hoof. In the 
end (so to speak), I decided it could only be my calf, Mealy, now 
no longer a calf, but still  smaller than the other cows in our herd. 
So the next time Burt took a day off, I let Mealy follow me (as she 
liked to do) into the milking barn; I gave her some hay to munch 
on, and was about to put down the milking stool when - sure 
enough! - up went her tail, and she dropped a copious pie with the 
usual "splat" on the concrete. This I shoveled aside, figuring that 
she'd be pretty clean now, and I put the stool in place, stood upon 
it and dropped my pants. Hard now with anticipation, I twisted 
Mealy's tail aside and began to probe her backside: but in my 
enthusiasm, the stool skidded on the still-slippery spot where I'd 
put it and I fell off, unable to control my fall because my pants 
were coiled around my ankles. And of COURSE, I landed in the 
fresh pie I had moments before shoveled aside. What a MESS I 
was - and how was I going to explain this up at the house?
 
Somehow, the thrill of this escapade had quickly worn off! I 
hosed myself off, sluiced the splattered pie down the drain, 
shooed Mealy out to pasture, and snuck up to the house, put my 
clothes in the old Bendix, and took a long hot shower. For a 
while, the notion of plugging something alive passed out of my 
mind...
 
But not for long! A few weeks later my cousin Bob came out from 
the city to spend a couple of weeks. We were about the same age, 
I guess, and on the first night when we shared my bedroom, he 
snuck into my bed because, he said, he had some neat things to 
show me. Turns out he'd learned to jack off a few months earlier: 
apparently he didn't think I knew anything about it! These 
goddam city-slickers: what do THEY know! I told him to stop 
playing with himself, and that I'd show HIM some neat things the 
next day. So he pouted a bit, but obeyed; and he stayed in my 
bed, which I found rather pleasant.
 
Bob woke me early the next day. We both had raging piss-hards, 
and again he wanted to jack off together. But I told him to "hold 
his horses" (inwardly amused by the double meaning)...  After a 
hearty breakfast, we set out to explore the farm, a place where he 
had spent little time. I wasn't sure what to try with him first, and 
teased him by just showing him the sights, while he kept pestering 
me to show him "something sexy". Finally I decided I would 
really "get his goat" - or (rather) that the goat should get HIM - 
and I "introduced" him to Billy. But to my surprise, Bob was 
repulsed by the idea of a goat sucking on his pee-pee, when I 
demonstrated Billy's enthusiastic response to my opened trousers. 
City-slicker syndrome, I decided. But I knew he was 
adventurous, just maybe not quite ready for a ravenous butting 
goat. Something tamer, I thought, so I called out Bouncer, the 
dog, and showed Bob what to do. Not unexpectedly, Bob 
responded more positively to this action, finding Bouncer's 
shapely prick and vigorous humping of his leg more exciting, and 
Bouncer's rough tongue a welcome caress on his turgid "pee-
pee". This gratifying response told me it would only be a matter of 
a few days' acclimatization before Bob would find Billy's 
attention just as welcome.
 
All told, it was quite a day, and one I doubt Bob soon forgot. We 
got together with Jim in the afternoon, and Bob finally drained his 
seed into the milking-machine with Jim, as I watched the two of 
them getting a "mechanical" blow-job. I still found the teat- cups 
too strong for my taste, and I knew it was just a matter of time 
before I would drain a wad from Bob's dick myself into my own 
throat; and that time was that night as, once again, Bob hopped 
into my bed, horny again like all young men are. And I let him 
jack me off, as he had begged the night before, so we both slept 
that wonderfully deep sleep that comes after sexual satiation.
 
But sexual satiation never lasts long, and as I'd predicted to 
myself, it was no more than a couple of days before Bob let Billy 
have a load of his jizz. And Bob got quite a charge out of 
watching Carl and me jack off Carl's horse, too, though it was 
obvious he was afraid to touch the horse himself. After the horse 
got off, the three of us fist-fucked each other several times in the 
course of a lazy afternoon, lying in the shade of an ancient oak, 
with the sated horse watching it all.
 
A couple of nights later, as we were fooling around in my bed, a 
thought suddenly sprang into my head: I'd still been longing for 
something warm and sloppy to "penetrate", and Bob's rear-end 
was right there for the taking! Why had I not thought of this 
before? I asked myself. I was pretty well lubed up with pre-cum 
what with all our fooling around, so I just firmly rolled him over 
on his tummy, massaged his buns for a few minutes, then began a 
slow and careful assault with my slippery pecker. I had expected 
some resistance from Bob, but was surprised when he neither said 
nor did anything to stop me. My tool found his bung-hole quick 
enough, and again I was surprised at how little resistance there 
was to my entering it: I was soon enough up to the hilt, and Bob 
raised his backside up to meet me. In a flash, I realized what Burt 
had been trying to achieve humping the cow: a nice warm butt felt 
mighty good indeed. And (I thought sheepishly) perhaps a city-
slicker has something to teach ME! It seemed clear that this was 
not the first time Bob had been plugged, and after I had rammed 
myself home a few times, he said, "Gawd, that feels GOOD!" I 
agreed, and fucked him as hard as I could until I could restrain 
myself no longer. I don't know why I pulled out at the critical 
moment, but when I shot my wad it landed on the back of his 
head and all up and down his back. He groaned with pleasure at 
the feel of it, then righted himself beneath me and when I gripped 
his tool it spurted forth great gobs of cum immediately. The 
fountain of youth! I thought he would never stop. When at last we 
both relaxed and cuddled in each others' arms, he said, "That was 
one of the best fucks I ever had", and immediately drifted off to 
sleep. I never told him it was the FIRST real fuck I'd ever had, 
but determined then and there it would not be my last.
 
Maybe - just <maybe> (mind you) everybody should grow up in a 
city...

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