When my folks moved us to Kellen, I thought my life was over. Kellen County, or just "Kellen" to those who live there, was well known for being an Amish farming community. We were farmers, and belonged to a church, but Amish we were not. I expected that we'd be outcasts in a society that treats its own pretty coldly. And girls? Forget it. I had enjoyed my share of the local pussy around Warrington, where we came from, but expected a very dry season indeed in Kellen.

But Kellen was a community in transition. By now I'm sure there are very few Amishers left at all there. When I knew Kellen, it was about 50/50. A lot of others had moved in before us, and though all the power in the community, the "elders" and so forth, were still the old Amish types, kin to those who had founded Kellen, everyone knew the walls had come down and it was just a matter of time.

The split was also generational. The grandparents were as strict as only Amishers can be. The parents were highly moral and tight, but allowed for things like music and colored clothing. The kids were like me, for the most part. Especially Sarah Clintoch.

Sarah caught my eye the day we moved in. As is the tradition in farm communities, as newcomers we were welcomed with a party in our own front yard. Sarah came with her folks, two grim-looking American Gothic types, and her brother, Micah. Sarah was a vision; she had long, flouncy blonde hair, a scrubbed, clean, lovely face, and a body that no straight-laced pinofore could hide. She was obviously wearing that frilly "party dress" at her mother's insistence, and it went a good distance toward hiding her physical assets, but this was the girl of my fantasies. Her breasts were large and jutted straight out from her body. Her hips were flared and round, leading to a trim, perfect waist. She was long-limbed and healthy-looking, like most kids raised in the clean air.

Boy, did I want her. But she kept her eyes averted, and looked every bit the daughter of straight-laced parents. During the entire party I never saw her meet anyone's eye. Oh well, I thought, at least she'd be good fodder for my fantasies, which like most boys of 18, were X rated in the extreme.

During the party the men gathered around the barn to loft the hay, which is quite a job and is much easier with a gang of guys to help you. It was a warm day, and after a time most of us were in our shirtsleeves. A few of the younger guys, myself included, doffed our shirts completely, much to the scowling dissaproval of the elders.

But I saw quite clearly that I had caught Sarah's eye too. And such a hungry eye it was. Later that day I would tell myself that I had imagined the raw lust I had seen in that gaze.

A week went by before I saw her again. We were pretty busy getting settled in, so I did not get into town for that entire first week. When I did run an errand for my dad, to Kellen Mercantile (Since 1823, Ezra Corndahl, Proprieter), I found Sarah Clintoch there buying cotton batting and twine for her mother. Her dress was plain and austere, but it's simplicity made her body all the more aparrant. I could not help staring at her.

She noticed almost immediately that my attention was focused on her, and luckily old Ezra was adding up some bills or he'd have noticed too. To my suprise she met my gaze and held it, her fiery green eyes full of wit and delight. I supposed that this was how she was when her parents were not around, and my hopes rekindled.

I sidled up to her in the fabrics, pretending to look at the heavy threads.

"Gonna do some sewin'?" she said, a sly smile on her face.

"Um, my dad's gotta fix some gunny sacks," I said, trying to sound casual.

"Cheaper t'get new ones," she replied, and her smile grew. There was such mischeif in her eyes! I began tro suspect I had not imagined anything when she'd stared me down at the loft. "You're Freddie Clarke, out t'the old Sorrenson farm."

"Yeah. Clarke farm now, though. You're Sarah."

"Sarah Clintoch. People will prob'ly call your place by its old name for a while. Like that here."

"We'll try and make an impression," I said, and I grinned.

She grinned back, and swept the stray hairs from her face in a move that screamed defiance. "So, Freddie Clarke, you found your way around yet?"

"I got here OK."

"Don't mean the town. Kids around here got all sorts of spots they visit, 'specially near the river. You a swimmer?"

"Sure. You?" I was trying to imagine her in a swimsuit, but it was too enticeing for my brain to fathom. My dick was hard enough already, just talking to her.

"Momma won't let me. But my brother and his friends. They like to swim when it's hot. Like 'tis today. Hot." Her face told a million stories about what 'hot' might mean.

"Thg river runs out by our barley. I could give it a try." My words were tumbling out of numb lips. Was it me, or did this girl just ooze sexuality? The cant of her hips, the tilt of her face, the way she twined her hair in her fingers. It was all driving me nuts.

"All mud and leeches there," she said, turning back to her cotton. "You need t'go about a mile north, to the rockslides. Nice and deep there, lotsa good holes."

She knew a lot for a girl who didn't swim.

"`Sides," she continued, "you wouldn't want to go the way you are now."

"Huh?"

She turned and leaned toward me, lowering her voice even though Ezra certainly could not hear us, and could only see the tops of our heads over the cloth bolts. I just about leapt out of my skin when I felt her small hand come to rest on the bulge in my dungarees. "The boys see this one, and they think you're queer," she said, her hand gently massaging my cock, which now threatened to pop a rivet in my pants. "They do it skinny, you know, no clothes. You gotta tame this 'fore you go." She smiled in a way that changed her whole face. This girl knew volumes.

I tried to say something, but no sound came out. Her hand was slowly stroking my bulge, her eyes staring at it as it continued to pulse and grow.

"You're gonna have trouble hiding this," she said, her voice sounding distant. "This looks to be a big one." She began to press her body against mine when Ezra made a noise across the room. We both jumped a little and she stepped two feet away in the blink of an eye.

"Miss Clintoch, you tell your momma I owe her four dollars seventy two cents from that rotten bailclock she returned," he said, his voice bored and businesslike.

"Yessir," Sarah said, the barest hint of excitement in her voice.

She looked at me, her eyes dropping to my still-raging hardon, and mouthed "out back" and pointed with her thumb to the door. Then she ran her tongue over her lips and grinned a truly nasty grin.

My mind a blizzard of anticipation and desire, I made my way to front door, keeping my back to old man Corndahl so he would not see my predicament, and trotted to the back of the store. There were stacks and stacks of large barrels there, some smelling of vinegar, some of grain, all empty. Sarah appeared a few minutes later, parcels in hand, her breath rapid with excitement. She dropped her parcels into one of the barrels, then grabbed my hand and led me into the stacks, which were like a maze.

When we were thorougly hidden, she pressed herself to me and began to rub my crotch again.

"Can I see, Freddie? Feels fair like a monster in there..." Her face was flushed and her heart was pounding: I could feel it through the breast she had crushed to my side.

"Sure, " I managed to say, and she immediately dropped to her knees in front of me, unfastening the buttons on my dungarees with a quickness that belied frequent practice.

My raging dick sprang out dutifully, and she took the shaft in both hands and stared lovingly at it. "Such a beauty," she said, almost as if she was talking to the cock, not me. "I can help you with this, so you can go swimming," she said, raising her eyes to mine. "OK?"

"Wh-what will you do?" I asked. She did not look ready to fuck, and that was the limit of my experience.

"I'll suck it for you if y'like." Her mouth stayed slightly open, her lips glistening with saliva. It was as if she was truly hungry for my dick.......(cont)