****** Should A Seen Them Melons by Nathan LaPlume ******
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Should A Seen Them Melons


Every summer Pa planted an acre of watermelons that we, my brother Clyde and I,
harvested and sold at our family's roadside stand just off US 41 in Parke
County, Indiana. I was a little small for my age, 13 at the time, and had a
tough time unloading the biggest melons from the wagon.

Clyde was 15 and Pa let him drive the tractor and such, so it was Clyde that
pulled the melon wagon with Pa's old International Harvester tractor, then
drove off to his chores, leaving me sweating with their melons in the hot sun.
Usually, when unloading a big one, I picked it up in my arms, carried it up to
the pile and let it slide down my abdomen and thighs onto the pile with the
others. I repeated this process 20 or 30 times every Thursday, while Clyde
helped out with the more "grownup" chores.

There weren't any girls around, except for Bessie Mae, our half sister, Pa's
daughter from his first marriage. Clyde and I saw Bessie Mae naked once, down
by the covered bridge on Big Raccoon Crick. She was real mad when she caught us
peeking at her and threatened to tell Pa. Clyde gave her a dollar and did some
of her chores so she wouldn't tell on us.

Both Clyde and I couldn't stop thinking about her pink teats and brown crotch
hair. I heard Clyde pullin his meat that night after he thought I was asleep.
About a week later, Bessie Mae caught him doing it again in the outhouse and
told Pa.

Pa was really mad. He dragged Clyde by the nape of the neck out into the barn
and beat the tar out of him with the razor strap. Clyde was all pale when he
came in an his eyes was all red. I could tell he'd been crying. After dinner Pa
made him read out load in front of us all that part of the Bible where Onan
"spilt his seed upon the ground" and was punished by God for it. Bessie Mae
looked pretty smug setting there in the parlor.

About a year later, Pa caught her up in the hayloft with Charles, the colored
field hand. But that's another story.

Later, the week after he got his whuppin from Pa, Clyde brung out another load
of melons for me to unload and stack. After he drove away, I was unloading the
melons, letting them slide down the front a me so they wouldn't break. I
couldn't help but think about seeing Bessie Mae down by the covered bridge,
even though I tried my best not to.

After about the fourth melon slid over my crotch, I noticed that my cock was
real hard. I wanted to pull my meat, like I saw Clyde do, but was afraid that
it was sinful. Besides, somebody might drive up to buy a melon and catch me
whacking away at myself and tell Pa. I sure didn't want THAT to happen. No
tellin what he'd do to me. Just thinking about it made my cock go soft.

It was a slow day but, just before lunch time, Mrs. Mary Lou Chaplin pulled up
to buy a melon. As she was getting out her '59 Ford, I caught sight of the top
of her nylon and my cock sprang to attention again. I thought at first that it
was a good thing that I was standing behind the counter, and that she wouldn't
notice the lump in the crotch of my Oshosh overalls. It was not to be, since
she insisted that I come out in front and help her "pick out a good one."

She looked me up and down, smiled, and made some comment about how big I was
getting. My face and ears got kind a hot. She gave me a whole dollar for the
watermelon and I could smell her perfume as she brushed against me when she was
getting in her car.

My hands was shaking and my heart was racing a mile a minute. I went back
behind the counter and just sort of sat down on the ground, out a sight from
the highway. I pulled out my cock and started rubbing it. I wanted to pull it
to make myself cum like Clyde done, but it was broad daylight and I kept
thinking about the fact that it was sinful, and of the ass whuppin Clyde got.
Then, all at once, the idea came to me!

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my Barlow knife. Kneeling behind the
counter, out of sight of the highway, I cut a one inch hole in one end of the
biggest melon that I could find, right below the stem. I was real scared to do
it, but I stuck my cock into the melon. It felt soft inside, and was warm, from
sitting out in the sun. I wasn't exactly sure what to do, but was soon screwing
away at the watermelon, just like I seen our coon hounds doing to each other.

I kept poking my head up above the counter to see if anyone was driving up.
There wasn't much traffic on the highway, except for a few semis roaring by. I
whaled away at the melon until my whole inside built up and I shot my load into
the melon. I collapsed over the melon, gasping and sweating.

Just then, I heard Clyde's voice! "Hello little brother, thought I'd bring ya
some lunch, but it looks like you're too busy! Ha Ha! Pa's really going to tear
your ass up!"

I pulled my dripping cock out of the melon and sprang to my feet. "Shit! You
wouldn't tell him would you?!"

"Of COURSE not," Clyde answered. Just as long as you pay me two dollars and do
all a my chores for a week!" I was between a rock and a hard place.

The only money that I had was the dollar from the melon that I sold, and Pa
would want that. Besides, he'd know something was fishy when he saw me doing
Clyde's chores.

"Yer a pervert! Yer a froot! Yer a pervert, yer a froot," Clyde gleefully
chanted. "And Pa's really gone a give you a licking!" I couldn't take it
anymore! I was desperate! All at once, fear of Pa overcame my fear of my big
brother and I punched him, right in the mouth. He went down like he'd been hit
with a pitched baseball. "I'm gonna tell!" Clyde wheezed through his swollen
and bleeding lips. I kicked him hard, right in the stomach, knocking the wind
out a him. "WHO you gone a tell!" I demanded.
"No...body...I...won't...tell...nobody," he gasped.

He was just dusting himself off when Pa pulled up in his old Studebaker pickup.
I was scared shitless, but Pa just glared at us and said he'd find more work
for us if we couldn't get along. Then, to my horror, he gestured to the melon I
had been fucking and said, "Put that in the back. Yer Ma says we're having
watermelon with dinner tonight."

I put the melon in the back and climbed into the cab. I was sweating bullets
all the way back to the house, wondering how I would explain the hole in the
melon. Ma had me set the melon in the refrigerator and I put the hole to the
back, out a sight. To my relief, Ma said, "Nathan, I'll let you slice up the
melon later on after it's nice and cold." I went out to finish my chores. I
prayed nobody would touch that watermelon.

Just before dinner, I sliced off five or six inches of the melon (the end with
the hole) and threw it out in the pig pen, where the hogs would eat it up. I
sliced the remainder of the melon into two inch thick slices and put them on a
tray. Clyde and I were both too full for watermelon that night. Ma, Pa and
Bessie Mae all had some though. Ma commented how the melon didn't taste as
sweet as usual and Pa reckoned it was from too much rain. Bessie Mae spit hers
out and glared at Clyde and me.

This story is part of White_Shadow's_Nasty_Stories.
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