The farmers in our district are all 'upright' people. On Sundays they stand upright in church, and the rest of the week their cocks stand upright for anything in or out of a skirt. Understand, this is all covered by layers of sanctimoniousness, which had me fooled for many years. But after I left school, I went to study Computer Science at the technicon and discovered the truth. In July I had turned nineteen and when I went back to campus, my mates gave me a rum party, which included a girl who was willing to take my virginity. That was when I realised there is more to life than singing hymns. After that, I had occasion to dip my wick in a few honey pots and learnt the art of lovemaking, alias glorious sex.
Come December and the long summer holidays and it was like going back to the old grind of toeing the church line of manmade dogma, which was excruciatingly painful after the liberty I had experienced during the second half of the year. My hormones were pumping to such an extent that I looked enviously at our bull who had twenty jersey cows to fuck! The nearest girls were more than ten kilos distant and I didn't even know whether they were into petting or finger-fucking. There was some talk that my cousins would be with us over Christmas, but the female of the species was a fat girl of twenty-two with a strong body odour. It was not a good prospect!
I got home just in time for supper the day the schools, varsities and technicons officially closed and found that I was the only child at home, because my younger brother Deon had gone with friends to do the Fish River hiking trail and would be gone for two weeks. We had two elder sisters, but they were already married and carrying on the biblical fashion of 'going in and cumming'. I envied them! My only consolation was that I had by now quite a collection of nudes on my laptop as well as a few sex games.
My old man kept my nose to the grindstone weekends and holidays, so I was not surprised when he announced at supper, 'Faan, you must go and help in the milkshed as from tomorrow morning because I've given Jonas leave to visit his family in Lesotho. And make sure you wash your hands while you're working there.'
He had a brusque way about him which used to irk me a lot, but I knew better than to object. There are worse things than working in the milkshed. It had fly screens on the door and windows and an air-conditioner, because we made our own cottage cheese, in addition to supplying milk to the supermarket in Ficksburg. (In case you don't know, there is nothing that attracts flies like spilled milk in a dairy.)
I didn't know what to expect in the milkshed, but reported there at five the next morning when the first milk came from the milking stalls next door. The system was semi-automatic at that stage. The labourers simply fitted the milking machines to the udders and the milk got pumped to the milkshed and into the sterilised containers. My job was to make the switches from one container to the next and to ensure that there would be 200 litres for the separator, because we sold cream separately. The separator used to run on an electric motor, but apparently that had burnt out and dad had not had time yet to replace it. He told me that the previous night, so I expected that I would have to use the old, hand-operated model. Two hundred litres is a lot of milk to do that way so I thought my tossing arm will get enough exercise during the holiday!
I was still busy making the switches when Lerato came into the room. As toddlers we played together because her mother was our cook, but we lost sight of her when she started attending the convent school in Ficksburg from grade 1, and because there was little overlap between their holidays and ours, we didn't see much of each for the next twelve years. Now I was surprised to see how her body had filled out: she was a young woman now, not a flat-chested six-year old anymore. That was quite evident, because she was wearing a thin, sleeveless cotton vest which just about covered her tits, with no bra, and a short plaid skirt.
'Hi, Lerato! You finished school! How did it go?'
'Oh, alright, I guess, Faan. The matric results will be published just after Christmas, but I have already applied for varsity.'
I thought I'd surprise her because my mom kept a birthday diary of the family and the staff, so I said, 'You turned eighteen on the 6
th
of June this year, eh? It's a pity you were at school and I was at college, otherwise we could have celebrated!'
'I didn't think you would remember, but that would have been nice, yes.' She grinned. 'And I heard that you turned nineteen in July, but I also missed that. Ships passing in the night, hey?'
'Something like that. What are you going to do next year? You're not going to join the convent, are you?' but I laughed.
She grimaced and made a dismissive gesture. 'Oh, my god, no, never! I've had enough of Hail Mary's for the rest of my life, but it was a good school and I have matriculation exemption. I thought I could do a degree at Lesotho university, probably languages, because the tests say I have an aptitude for languages. How are you doing?'
'The technicon is much more fun than school, Lerato, at least I do something I like, working with computers.'
'That's good. I need your advice on buying a laptop.'
'We can do that later today: I can show you what is available on-line.'
'I'll appreciate that, Faan.'
'How much?'
She grinned. 'We can negotiate...'
'And confess later, I guess?' I replied, grinning back.
She laughed and went to the hand-operated separator. 'Can you pour the milk?' she asked.
I poured some milk and started eyeing her tits dancing around in her vest while she moved, and getting a huge hard-on in the process. When she started turning the handle, she leaned forward in every cycle when the handle was at the lowest point, I could look down the front of her vest. Her tits were beautiful brown pears with the large areolas and dark brown nipples! O Jesus H. Christ, it made me so horny just watching her, I wanted to
feel
them. I'd necked and petted with white girls earlier that year, but they never gave me the same thrill as Lerato's two ewe lambs frolicking in her skimpy top. When I couldn't stand it any longer, I went back to switching the taps. There I moved in behind the big tank and jacked off to relieve the tension, used some waste cotton to clean my hands, then went to the basin and washed. Lerato was still turning the handle, seemingly tireless!
After breakfast she came to my room, having thrown a tank top over the vest in order to pass muster, because my mom was watching us, but her tits were bouncing around, just begging to be fondled. She stood next to me while I did the on-line search, found what we were looking for and explained the options to her. 'If you're only interested in word-processing, you can go for a cheaper model, but for graphics and gaming you have to fork out more.'
