Hi, my name is Ben Colton. I am 20 years old. Six foot 190 pounds. For now, I live with my mom out in the country where the next-door neighbor lives two and a half miles from the end of the dead-end drive-road I live on. There is a border side road a half-mile to the east side of the estate road I live on.
The estate road was originally the drive up to a large dairy farm that became the estate. The estate holds title to two-thousand acres. It is a mile wide and just short of three and a half miles deep so you could fit a city the size of Pittsburgh inside it.
The story is that a tornado wiped out the barn, house, and all the out buildings about sixty years ago and then they built this small egg farm down the drive from the old ruins with money they had saved.
When I say "they," I am referring to my grandma and grandpa on my mother's side. I never met them; they passed before I was born. My mom was an only child so she got the house and land.
She rents the fields along the side road to a few of the local farmers and that and a few productive gas wells cover all her taxes and stuff. The rest of the money along with all her tips from work, she donates to the local food bank.
Let me tell you a little about my mom. She is 45 years old a little over five and a half feet tall with an average county girl figure, not too big and not too small with everything in the right proportions.
She gathers eggs in the morning and serves them for breakfast and lunch down at a place called Jack's at the four corners west of here. She only works to keep busy because she has everything she needs to live out the rest of her life.
Jack's place is one of them all in one places were you can buy groceries, clothes, gas and just about anything else you would need out here in the country. At seven o clock the restaurant part shuts down for a bit and reopens just as soon as it morphs into the only bar in a fourteen mile radius from the center of the four corners. Dad used to call Jack's place. "A country boy's little slice of heaven" then he'd through in, "if they had a grease pit it would be heaven."
About four years ago, mom and dad bought a winning lottery ticket there. I rarely see dad now that mom and he divorced three years ago. He, my older sister Kim, and Carl, my older brother live in the city now.
We are just plain country farmers who like to drink beer and chase women. I do not chase women, I probably will not ever settle down since my girl moved away in high school. We still write but she has gone off to, "A place of higher learning."
I help my mom raise chickens for eggs and work our gardens where we raise enough food to help feed the less fortunate people and ourselves around here a good part of the year. Mom says I do not have to work for living here but before I can receive my inheritance, I want to know how to handle it and what it is worth.
Thanks to my mom's donating to the local food bank, not too many people go hungry around these parts anymore. Mom likes to help people with her half of the lottery money she ended up with after the divorce.
Why last year when the Sorenson's house burnt down she went and bought a used camper for them to live in until their new house construction completed so they stayed with their farms property.
Yeah, moms the best person I know and the people around here just love her. Dad on the other hand thinks she is just wasting her money giving it away as she does. He is a businessperson now so he knows what to do with money, or at least that is what he says if he ever comes around.
I just remember the man with a beer in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth wearing a dirty white tee shirt and cussing like a drunken sailor on shore leave.
Mom and I do not ever see dad much any more. As soon as it was ready, He, Kim and Carl moved into the new house. Dad has his new trophy wife, Lisa, and she must be a good mom because Kim and Carl do not ever call mom to just say hello and chat about things, as they did at first, after they moved.
Mom and dad's divorce was somewhat unusual around Johnson's corners, because it was the first one anyone can remember being on the local news. My advice is, if you ever win a big lottery prize; keep it a secret or thing get weird if you do not.
Most people around here meet in the first grade and grow old together, which is the way it usually works in these parts anyway. Except for me, my girl moved away in high school and I just never found another girl I wanted.
I spend my free time fixing things for people who do not like to call repair people from the city twenty-five miles away. It started with my mom telling a customer I could probably look at a lawnmower that was on the fritz. Because of my success with that, the word spread and so did my reputation as Mr. Fix-it so the business name was an easy choice.
By the time I was out of school, I was painting a sign on the side of an old van I bought with money I saved. Mom wanted to buy me a new one but I want to do this on my own. Anyway, calls started coming in so often I had to get my own phone line with a fancy answering machine.
Every Monday morning, an older woman named June calls me to come and fix something that has broken; nothing ever breaks. She just likes my friendly service and I am not talking about repairing things, if you get my drift.
June told me that she had heard that I could fix most things so she called me when her dryer stopped working right. Apparently, one of my customers had told her I was willing to trade my work for other things because I took a pecan pie for fixing a leaky faucet.
She had something else in mind for a trade and being a virgin I had no idea that "take it out in trade" was her code for sexual compensation for services. I just agreed and completed the work after driving to the city for parts.
After I had the machine working again, June gave me a beer and told me to wait at the kitchen table while she got her half of the trade ready; I sat wondering what, "something I have not used in a long while but I am sure you'll enjoy," could be.
When she walked into the kitchen naked, I froze in shock as I recorded what I saw.
June stands just over five foot tall with short curly brown hair, with no sign of grey. When she is dressed in her out dated styles, her hair makes her look much older than her fifty years. She has a little extra on her belly and rear-end and it actually looks good on her.
What I could not look away from for long were her tits. Sure, they sagged a bit at fifty but they have been around a while. I spent so much time staring at her tits that I did not even notice her shaved pussy.
She said later that she heard the young girls are doing it and thought I might like it better if that was what I was used too. She said she had been a celibate widow for ten lonely years and still talks about her 'mid-life-crisis' allot.
As I sat there in shock she seamed a bit confused until she asked, "Ben, are you a virgin by any chance? If I am scaring you, I can get dressed and write you a check. I just thought you might enjoy an experienced woman instead of a young girl for a change; guess I was wrong about that, I am sorry.
What I did get right is that you are a handsome young energetic man and I was hoping you could help me get past my dry-spell."
I just sat there not saying a word as I reached for my beer to wet my dry throat. Once I could speak I said, "You are the first naked woman I have ever seen and I am very nervous."
It seamed like forever before she touched my hand and said, "Would you like to get over being nervous, or would you rather I write a check after I get some clothes on?"
