When I was 19 I spent my summer picking strawberries at a local fruit farm. As the strawberry picking season runs from the end of May until the middle to end of August, this fitted in perfectly with my summer break from university.
There were about 20 of us pickers working there, most of whom were women from low-income famalies trying to boost the pay of their husbands. We would all arrive at around 6.30 every morning and work through till about 1 o’clock when most of the pickers would go home to collect their children from school and complete their household chores. Four of us, though, would take a 40 minute lunch break and carry on picking through the afternoon until we were too tired to do any more. As we were paid by the weight of strawberries collected, this system seemed to suit everyone. It wasn’t the best paid job in the world but gave us some pocket-money, and for the wives who worked there, alleviated some of their financial worries.
The only trouble was the weather. If it rained we stopped picking and usually went home, as strawberries shouldn’t be picked when they are wet because they become mushy after picking. Fortunately that year was one of the better summers that England enjoyed. We lost a few days to the rain in May and June, but had almost continuous sunshine throughout July and August. If anything it was too hot to work on some afternoons, and I for one wore a wide-brimmed hat which at least gave me some shade.
On both sides of the field there was a little wooden shack which was primarily used to store the picked strawberries until the farmer collected them, but also had some basic toilet facilities, and was where we hung our jackets and kept our coffee-flasks whilst we laboured in the fields. If there was a short rain shower, and it hadn’t been too heavy, we would shelter there until the clouds had rolled past and we could resume work.
The strawberries were planted in a field in rows approximately 2 feet apart, and we all worked along our own row from plant to plant, plucking those berries that had ripened. Once we reached the end of a row, which would take a fortnight or so, we’d start again at the beginning as some of the others by now would have ripened.
One late July afternoon was a particularly hot one. Only the four of us were there for the afternoon, my fellow pickers consisting of another student like myself named Mike, who was earning some pocket money during his vacation, a girl from New Zealand called Linda who has stopped off in Britain for a few months as part of a year-long trip around the world, and the farmer’s son Ian, a 15-year old lad that helped on his Dad’s farm during the school holidays. Mike and Ian were working close to each other in one corner of the field, whilst Linda and I were a couple of hundred yards from them over the other side. Linda was working two rows to my right. As it was a Friday I was in a good mood, there had been no weather breaks for some days, and I had filled a lot of the wooden trays with the strawberries, so I should be getting a fatter than usual envelope of money. The only problem was a summer storm that had been brewing on the horizon. Dark clouds were heading our way and the low rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance. I figured I would work on until the rain hit us, carry the trays of strawberries over to the huts, and call it a day.
Suddenly the first heavy drops of rain started falling. Initially only a few fat drops fell, but soon afterwards the heavens opened and a torrential downpour started. I grabbed my two crates of strawberries (we couldn’t leave them there or they would be spoilt) and headed as quickly as I could to the hut. I couldn’t run with them, the strawberries were too heavy for that, but I walked pretty fast. When I got there I dumped the boxes on top of other crates already there, and looked out the hut. Mike and Ian had headed for the other hut carrying 3 crates between them and Linda was slowly heading towards me struggling with her 2 almost full trays. I ran out to her to help her with her crates. Even though it had been only a couple of minutes since the storm started she was soaked through. Unlike me she doesn’t wear a summer hat, and her long blonde-haired was plastered to her skull. Today she had come dressed in a striped short-sleeved shirt and a pair of Levi’s with the legs cut off, turning them into a rather small pair of frayed denim shorts. The clothes, of course, like her hair were plastered to her body.
I knew that Linda was not one for wearing a bra, many a time I had peeked at the indentations of her nipples on whatever top she was wearing, and I had occasionally spied the tops of her breasts as she stooped down to pick the fruit, but now they were almost completely visible in their full glory. Her sodden shirt had sculpted itself round them and I could appreciate the firmness, size and shape of them. She was not a big-breasted girl, but neither was she on the small side. The looked just right I thought, I could see myself cupping one hand round each of them and bringing my lips to their nipples. All these thoughts rushed around my head in the few moments it took to take one of the trays off Linda and head back to the hut.
I got back there, placed her crate on top of the two I had dumped their a few moments ago, Linda following me in and doing the same with the remaining one.
“Jeez,” she said when she had plonked it down, “that came on suddenly, I feel like a drowned rat”.
“Yeah,” I said looking out across the field where the rain was beating down even more fiercely, “I guess that finishes us up for the week. We won’t be picking any more today, the berries will be drenched.” A sudden bolt of lightning lit up the darkened sky as if to confirm my opinion.
I turned back to look at her one again taking in the drenched shirt and the way the material moulded her breasts. I could feel my cock harden and start to bulge my Levi’s as I took in the sight.
Linda noticed too, glanced down and saw the cause of my erection. “Hey, what’s the matter with you, never seen a pair of tits before?" She shook her head to shake some of the rainwater off and continued. "You know you guys are all the same. You see tits on television, in the papers, on adverts by the side of the road, and yet you still get a stiffy when you see them. Don’t you ever get bored looking at them?”
“Er, sorry… no” I stammered, “it’s just, er... yours look very… um…nice”
“Don’t apologize,” she said, “I quite like the attention, I just don’t get the fascination, I mean there only tits for Christ sake.”
“Well,” I continued, “I like… um... breasts, and … well it looks very sexy like that with your hair and clothes all wet.”
“Oh Jeez, my hair,” she said running her fingers through them like a comb and trying to pull some of the moisture off. I’m gonna need to wash it when I get home.” She looked up at me and chuckled “Say you got pretty wet as well. Thanks for helping me but you didn’t have to you know. I could have managed, and now you’re soaked through.”
I looked at myself. I must have looked a sight as well, my T-shirt and jeans stuck to my body at various points and the water was still dripping off the rim of my hat and down the back of my shirt. I took of the hat threw in it the corner and shook the rain of my head.
“I love it when it rains,” she said, "don't you? Say, have you ever done it in the rain?”
“Done what?”
