Farm Chronicles: Call Before You Come…

There are two times in my life when I dared to go topless in public. If you want to know that first story, keep reading, I’ll end there.

If you know me, you know that I have zero issue with nudity. I spent 2.5 years basically topless because I breastfed the kid,and didn’t care who saw my boobs. But that’s utility. I have since sequestered the girls and kept them in the dewy depths of my shirt, on lockdown and imprisoned.

Until I bought some acreage.

Aww yeah! It was on. Finally, I could be free and no one could say a damn thing.

Ladies, you have no idea how refreshing it is to feel the sun and breeze on your chest. Men have known this for years. They’ve been keeping this miracle to themselves. It’s so much cooler to work outside without a shirt on. This is what the patriarchy doesn’t want you to know!

I took off my shirt and worked in the yard, side by side with Bob. Eventually, even he stopped playing with them and got some work done. It was a great afternoon, just two shirtless equals, sharing work and beer. Glorious!

Until the large truck rolled into the driveway.

I panicked. I forgot that I had left my shirt hanging in my back pocket. Queue the requisite bouncing and jiggling as I ran into the house. I had forgotten that the gas company was coming to service the propane.

I’m pretty sure the guy didn’t see more than a blur of brown streak into the house. But I can’t be sure.

So, if you go topless ladies, be sure to remember if anyone is coming lest you get caught tits out.

And if you come by my place… call before you come.

A Memory of the Sausage

There is a stretch of beach on the east coast of FL that is a bathing suit optional. I must have gone on gay day because I found myself having a conversation among lots of tanned gay men with their tanned junk swaying with the ocean breeze.
Yes I looked. I tried to be adult about it but I wasn’t. It was just… there, in public. And uncut, broiled, and prominent.

He told me about the fine weather.
My eyes slowly slid south… and jerked back to his face.
He told me how he came there all the time and it was lovely.
My eyes traveled south again. I couldn’t help it. It was a compulsion. I couldn’t not look at it. The entire time I talked to this man, I basically nodded and replied to his dick.

And he kept eye contact the entire time so he knew that I couldn’t stop looking.

So that was embarrassing.


Yolanda McGee View All →

An escape from the suburbs and corporate America spawned a journey into rural living. Writer, wife, mother, and local chicken lady, join me as I fail, fail, fail! and learn along the way.

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