Joey Studd is 15, the son of a poor dirt farmer in Eastern Texas and has a 17 year old brother named Gabriel, Gay for short, who has ambitions of moving to Austin and joining a dance troupe. Gay likes to wear tights and bolero tops and keeps his chest as smooth, oiled up, and hairless as that little twat Michael Flattey of Irish clog fame. One of the big differences between Jack off Joey and Gay is that Joey thinks Michael Flattey is a stuck up little prick, while Gay thinks Michael Flattey is a stuck up wish-I-knew-how-big prick.

One day Jack off Joey was out in the back forty plowing dirt, sending up spumes of dust. He began to cough and dug out a red handkerchief from his back pocket and tied it around his face like a bandit. Out of his other pocket he took a flask of rotgut, to get the taste of dirt out of his mouth. Dad had complained for months that if they didn't get some good rain soon, the dirt would be some damn friable you couldn't pack it in a shipping box without half of it running out the cracks.

Jack off Joey got to thinking. Maybe, just maybe, hmm. I wonder if I jacked off on the dirt instead of plowing it, would that take the place of rain? Now Jack off Joey was one hellacious jerkoff, but even as slow-witted as he was, he realized that jacking off enough to wet forty acres was going to be a damn near Paul Bunyon task.

He decided to go talk it over with Pa. Joey walked back to the barn. He walked with his prick hanging out, enjoying the dry sonora heat on his crank. Thinking about his project made Jack off Joey get hard. Joey got hard pretty easily, in fact just about all the time. Truth was, around these parts, the Studd boys had been known for generations for their big dicks, heavy hanging balls, and ejaculatory stamina.

Joey's pecker was so stiff and bloated it felt like a box of bricks and he wondered if he was going to shoot it off untouched. Sometimes that happened. He heard his Pa talking to someone. The other voice he recognized as Mr. Peers, from the bank.

He went over to a busted out window and cocked an ear to listen to the men. "I'm sorry, Randy," the banker declared with that sickening unguent voice that tells a working man he's being lied to, "I truly am, but unless you can get some irrigation to harden up your dirt, I'm going to have to foreclose on the farm. Why, man, you're raising dust here, not even weeds can grow in this stuff."

Jerk off Joey could just picture his old man, probably running his hands round and round his hat, clutched meekly in front of him, like a supplicant. "Can't you give me some time, Al? I been a good customer of the bank for years, you know that. Sure, it's a tough season, no rain, but you've carried me before and I always paid you back, every blessed dime."

Al Peers clapped his hand on Randy Studd's shoulder and said, "Listen, I can carry you for three more months. That's the last time, Randy. You got get your ground stiffened up. Dry dust doesn't sell. You need fine moist marbled dirt, the kind a lady can put in her flower pots. Something with consistency to it."

"But damn, what am I to do, piss in it?" Pa asked half jokingly. Jack off Joey thought, that's not a bad idea. Piss in it, cum in it, fuck, if we all pull together, maybe even Ma, we can make a go of it.

"Sorry, that's my last word," Mr. Peers said, and he stepped out of the barn lighting a cheroot.

"Well, Jack off Joey!" he smiled at the boy, and Joey nodded and did just that. It only took just one stroke, and white stuff was splattering every which way, landing in fecund ropes on the sickly gray dirt. Where it landed, the dirt darkened.

As it happened, Joey had correctly interpreted the banker, who was one of those "bi-sexual" sorts, in the closet of course, never told his wife or anything. Seeing the over-endowed teenager wanking out blustery gouts of man cream would give the banker fantasy material for a week. He'd think about it when on top of his flabby wife tonight......(cont)