2: growing potatoes
I stood in front of the full length mirror looking at myself still wearing just the tight red print swimsuit. I was feeling aroused, excited and desirous, all at once. Ashland stood behind me watching, as he had done so many times before. Ashland knew the true secrets of my alone time pleasures. I was filling the suit out, near fully erect, enjoying the look and feel of the suit on me in this heightened level of desire. I teased myself, feeling me growing and edging closer. The sensation was amazing, one of my secret games. It was a special benefit of being a swimmer, getting to wear these awesome suits. My self teasing made me squirm with anticipation. I brought myself ever closer, backing off in the nick of time. A game of dare. All the while, thoughts of Kelly danced in my mind.
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While it had been a cold and wet Spring, delaying the very tight planting window, the Summer was turning hot and dry. Growing potatoes is a balancing act of cooler weather, adequate but not excessive water and nutrient rich soil. The Summer was challenging me with not doing its part for the perfect trio. I left the house, Ashland riding shotgun, heading for one of my fields, a 635 acre parcel of crop. My goal was to rig the irrigation system to give ingredient two of the required three. I was wearing my requisite tight 501 jeans, work boots, a bright orange shirt and my Can Am Dog Sled Race ball cap. My tensions of desire from meeting Kelly were well released in my play while wearing the red print Tyr. Now I had on under my jeans an older orange and black print Adidas suit that was dated at least ten years, ready for a jump in the river in the hot afternoon sun.
"You gotta pull your weight Ashland, then we can play in the water,".
Ashland stared at me as if he understood. I wondered whether he really does. After a few seconds I lost out to the lure of sticking his head out the window as we shot along Castle Hill road, skirting the north end of Mapleton, soon to be running adjacent to the river.
Ben and the crew were already hard at work. The irrigation rigging almost ready to charge. "None to soon,". Ben observed as I stood and admired their work. A great crew makes the job easy, and that Ben was so damn ruggedly handsome in his tight Lee jeans was an added benefit. "Crop is getting a bit crisp."
Six hours later, and a big lunch in us, we charged the line. What Mother Nature refused to do, pumps and rigging took over. The field was glistening in its own private rain storm. Ben stood under the water, his jeans and tight shirt becoming soaked. Ashland joined him.
"Looks like a good time to hit the river," I called out. Ashland barked and ran off ahead. "No way he doesn't understand,". I thought to myself.
The crew was four guys, all high school or college age, all muscular and strong. Bashful they were not. Two of them striped to their brief cut underwear and jumped in the water. The river was shallow, with sections that were four or five feet deep, the current was strong, but not aggressive. Peter was a senior and on the same swim team I belonged to as a much younger version. He striped to a swirl print Speedo he was wearing under his cargo pants. Unlike the other guys, he was free of all body hair, his smooth, swimmers build unblemished and pure. He was by far the hottest looking of the guys, and the most self confident.
"Finally, another guy who wears Speedos," Peter said enthusiastically when he saw me in my suit. "You are pretty hot looking for an old guy, Mr. Ryan," Peter called to me.
"Hey, watch that old guy crap," I teased back. "I bet I can still take you in the pool," I challenged half serious, half just.
After swimming for a few minutes, we all sat on the back of the trucks drying in the sun. Peter and I talked swimming. It was his first Summer working on my crew. He had no idea I was a swimmer and had not connected the name with any school records. Ashland got to play ball, rotating amongst the guys, he especially liked the younger men, who all took a fondness to the old dog.
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"He is really nice, and you should see him rock a swimsuit,". Kelly stood on the front deck of his sister's place telling her. He was still in his tight Lycra shorts, bare chested. His bulge was very pronounced, his sister noticed, but said nothing. Her brother was clearly excited and aroused. Most of all, she was happy that he had the courage to go meet the swimmer.
"What kind of swimsuit, give me all the details," Alice responded to her brother. His left hand adjusted his anatomy, his arousal growing in the Lycra shorts as the image he was about to describe popped in his head.
"Well, he was on his dock when I stopped, in this really tiny red design suit, like they wear at meets. He is so cute, I almost couldn't stand up." Kelly continued on, "then he turned around, and that was it. He really fills out a swimsuit nicely."
The two, brother and sister talked for twenty minutes, Kelly getting excited, animated and worked up. He loved wearing his Lycra gear, how it fit, looked and felt. He felt his hand along the smooth shorts, the tight feel teasing him. "Are you going to see him again?" Alice asked.
"I have to, I intentionally left my shirt on his deck chair," Kelly replied with a coy smile.
"Very smart," his sister replied truly impressed, "but I might have a better idea," she added.
"Oh yeah, sounds fun," Kelly replied as she filled him in.
"Plus maybe I will get to see him rock a Speedo!" Alice added.
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"What is everyone wearing?" I texted a reply note
"Mostly shorts and swimsuits," came back the text reply. I wrestled with exactly what swimsuit to wear. I wasn't going to know anyone, so maybe a square cut or Funky Trunk print, I contemplated. Never board shorts, of course.
A few minutes later some unsolicited advice, "wear the same suit you swam in today. You look great in it." Was that my answer?
I stood looking through my options, trying several different ones on
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