Birthday Girl Ch. 1

Mike took it easy riding to Mrs McLean’s place, enjoying the summer sunshine. He’d brought his bedroll because he figured he’d probably take the job on. On impulse he turned Caesar, his bay gelding, and followed a faint game trail into the trees. After twisting through some underbrush he came out at a natural pool formed where the creek ran off over a rock shelf. He figured it was about fifty feet long and about half as far across. The only tracks were animal tracks. A good place for a swim. Even better with a girl along, he thought, feeling his prick twitch in his pants. Mike shrugged ruefully. No girls near old enough in these parts except his sister.

Another faint game trail brought him back on course. He didn’t think he’d lost more than a half-hour or so and a glance at the sky suggested it was close to noon. He raised Caesar’s pace to a trot and within the hour was stepping off him and hitching him to Mrs McLean’s rail.

She came out on the stoop to greet him.

“Good morning, Michael. Come to fix my barn?”

“I guess so, Miz McLean. Ma give me an idea what you needed done, but iffen you could show me?”

“It’ll keep a while longer, Michael. Coffee and some beef stew first?”

“That’d be great, Miz McLean. If you’d show me where I could clean up?”

“The pump’s out back, Michael. There’s soap and a towel under the lean-to.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Come into the kitchen when you’re done. Straight in through the back door.”

He eased the saddle girth on Caesar and watered him, then hitched him to the rail again before going to the rear of the house and washing his face and hands.

The meal was first rate, simple and filling, the coffee delicious. He told Mrs McLean so and she refilled his cup with a smile.

“I’m trying to bribe you to do the work,” she joked.

“No need, ma’am. If you show me what needs doing, I’ll get on with it.”

“I’ll get my shawl.”

The work wasn’t hard, but there was plenty of it. The barn roof needed the shingles replacing over an area about fifteen feet by twelve, near one corner. The corral rails were rotted, and he told her so.

“What do you reckon, then, Michael? New rails?”

“Surely, Ma’am. If you’ll lend me your buggy team, I’ll cut some new poles and we can drag them down here with the team.”

“And the shingles?”

“I think you got enough stored in the barn to fix the roof. I’ll take the old ones off this afternoon. I guess that’ll take me until near sundown. Tomorrow morning I’ll start replacing them. I reckon that will take me most of the day. Thursday I’ll cut the poles and Friday I’ll do the corral.”

“That would be wonderful, Michael. I’ll help in any way I can.”

“I’d prefer it if you stayed in the house while I’m ripping off the old shingles, Miz McLean. That way I can just throw them down without wondering if I’m going to hit you.”

“Fine, Michael. I’ll make us an apple pie for tonight’s supper.”

Mike unsaddled Caesar and parked his saddle and bedroll in the barn. He left his gunbelt there, too. He turned Caesar into the corral with Mrs McLean’s three horses.

He spent the rest of the afternoon stripping off the old shingles. To do the job properly meant he had to take some good ones off, too, but he was finished before the sun hit the horizon. He went to wash up at the pump and stripped off his shirt. He wasn’t wearing his long johns in the summer heat so his chest was bare. He washed up well and dunked his head to rinse the soap off. That way he could comb his hair so it’d behave itself. When he straightened up he had soap in his eyes and couldn’t find the towel.

“Here, Michael, beside your left hand.” Mrs McLean put the towel into his hand. He wiped his eyes and put the towel back on the hook.

“Have you a spare shirt with you, Michael.”

He flushed and shook his head. “I never thought.”

She smiled and held a shirt out to him. “Wear this. It was my husband’s. I’ll wash yours for when you go home.”

“That’s very good of you,” he said awkwardly.

“Think nothing of it, Michael. Supper in ten minutes. Come in as soon as you’re ready.”

Supper was as good as the noon meal had been, simple and satisfying. The apple pie was marvellous, He’d never tasted one as good and told Mrs McLean so.

“Not even your mother’s? I don’t believe you. I used her recipe!”

“Well, maybe, but yours is as good as hers.”

“Thank you, Michael, I take that as a compliment.”

“Mrs McLean, would you call me Mike, like Ma does? Michael sounds kinda, well, formal.”

“Certainly, Mike, on one condition.”

“And that is?”

“That you call me Louise.”

“Louise. That’s a pretty name.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you, Mike. Come on through to the parlor for a while. I’ll do the dishes later. Bring your coffee.”

She had a fire burning against the cool of evening and two lamps lit the room. Mike’s eye was caught by a shelf of books and he went across to them. Louise McLean had sat down in a rocker beside the fire and picked up some sewing. She nodded permission when he reached towards the books.

Being as how she’d been the school teacher before she married Tom McLean, he wasn’t surprised to see a couple of McGuffey’s Readers, but she had Shakespeare, some Charles Dickens’ and Ralph Waldo Emerson’s Essays. There were a couple with plain brown paper wrappers where he couldn’t read the title. He picked one of them up and opened it. The title caught his eye; Aristotle’s Masterpiece.

“Mrs McLean – sorry, Louise – I don’t think I’ve heard of this one. What’s it about?”

“Let me see.”

He passed the book to her and she opened it. To his astonishment, she looked very uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry, Mike. This one shouldn’t have been on the shelf. It belonged to Tom.” She held the book to her chest, bottom lip caught between her teeth. She looked thoughtfully at him, then as if coming to a decision, held the book out.

“You’re old enough to read this. Would you mind taking it out to the barn and reading it there? I think I’d be too embarrassed to be in the same room while you read it.”

He was real keen to read that book, but he figured a little reluctance would do no harm.

“Louise, I don’t want to read it if it’s going to bother you.”

“Mike, Tom used to read it sometimes. I’d appreciate your opinion. You always seem level-headed.”

“If you’re sure?”

“Go on. Take the spare lantern in the kitchen. I’ll do the washing up and then I’m for bed.”

“All right, Louise. Good night, and thank you.”

“Good night, Mike. See you at breakfast.”

He took the book and went out through the kitchen, collecting the lantern as he went. It was about nine o’clock and there was still quite a lot of light in the sky, but the barn was dim and he needed the lamp. He put the lantern on an upturned barrel and opened the book at random. An illustration caught his eye and his jaw fell. He looked closer and shook his head. A woodcut of a naked woman! And a man! He flicked the pages and found more, together with description of the way of a man with a woman. Jumpin’ Jehosophat! He could feel his pecker getting hard and eased himself in his jeans, then decided that the way to be comfortable would be to undress and get into his bedroll.

It must have been well after midnight before he settled down to sleep and his prick was aching hard, aching hard for Louise McLean, In the house Louise smiled when she saw the lamp go out. Seed sown! Now to cultivate it. She settled herself for sleep, her hand resting comfortably between her legs.

Next morning dawned bright and clear again, the sun soon warming the air. Mike tried hard not to look as tired as he felt and was out mending the roof as soon as he’d finished breakfast. He’d only been working a little while when Louise McLean came out into the yard.

“Mike? Is there any way I could help?”

He considered. “It would go quicker if there was some way you could pass the shingles to me. But that’d mean climbing the ladder, and you couldn’t do that in a skirt. At least, not easily.”

“If I wore trousers?”

“Yeah, that’d do it.” He was curious. He’d never seen a woman wearing trousers.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” She turned and went back into the house, thinking furiously. How can I tempt him? she wondered, then had an inspiration. The spare bedroom window, it faced the barn.

Mike carried on with what he was doing and carried some shingles carefully up the roof to where he was working. He straightened to ease his back and glanced down at the house. A movement caught his eye inside the house and he watched guiltily as Louise McLean removed her dress. He was looking steeply down, but he could see her from the waist down. He held his breath as she pulled the dress up over her head. He was astonished to see that she was not wearing anything under the dress except stockings held by garters above the knee. At least, he couldn’t see anything. The curly mat of blonde hair at her groin was clearly visible and his cock twitched in his jeans. She turned slightly and the delicious curve of her ass was clear to him as she stepped into a battered pair of overalls. Her lower body moved out of his sight as she stepped away from the window.

Guiltily and trembling, he got back to work as she came out into the yard.

“Mike?”

He moved to where he could see her and looked down. The overalls were about three sizes too big for her and she had a belt fastened snugly about her waist to hold them up. The bib was only decorative on her slender form and she’d tied the galluses together behind her neck to keep them out of her way. The cuffs were turned back to let her walk. A faded man’s shirt completed her outfit. She saw him looking and twirled.

“Elegant, Mike? The very height of Paris fashion?” She laughed in self-mockery, a bubbly giggle that made Mike’s prick twitch. She sobered. “OK, Mike. How do I help?”

“Have you ever climbed a ladder, Louise?”

“Not that high.”

“Climb up here, see if you’re OK with it. Don’t try to carry anything.” Mike watched carefully as Louise McLean climbed gingerly up to him.

“Well,” she demanded. “How did I do?”

“Fine, Louise, now do it again, and this time bring me a shingle up.”