Gabe really did pitch in and help me with the chores - a lot, actually. He was a big bruiser even for a high school graduate. Only really 3 years older than me, he nevertheless dwarfed me completely in size. Let me tell you though that when you don't have the benefit of machines of any sort, having THAT kind of physical strength comes in mighty handy around a farm. Moreover as time went on, Gabe really seemed to quite genuinely enjoy working on our farm. Perhaps it was his own version of 'culture-shock' in reverse, but I think 'our ways' as well as our Amish way-of-life actually fascinated him. I know there was something that also strongly appealed to him about such manual labor too. He really loved doing hard physical labor- and that we had in absolute abundance. He was, I swear, just as strong as an ox. He'd demonstrated that to me on more than one occasion and that always resulted with me springing a 'big one' instantly.

I don't know why really, but he even took to showing up in more traditionally Amish 'work attire' too. Maybe it was to feel like he just fit in better, or perhaps to placate my parents a bit and feel more accepted. But anyway, I had to stifle myself from laughing aloud on the day he first showed up wearing a solid colored shirt, broadfall black trousers with suspenders, black socks and boots - and - a straw broad-rimmed hat. I remember Zec just rolling his eyes and grinning at me when he spotted Gabe's 'Amish drag' for the first time. I thought Gabe looked absolutely incredible in anything he wore however, and an Amish work shirt suddenly looked very hot indeed when Gabe was wearing it - I never saw one look any better on any man, in fact.

Well, Gabe became accepted as at least 'a regular' by my family in a short time. My mother just automatically took to setting him his own plate at the dinner table after awhile. But much more symbolic of his real acceptance, she spoke English whenever he was present. And Gabe, not the least bit bashful or shy, fumbled openly to speak the little German he began to pick up from me as time progressed. He thought my mother's cooking was simply the very best he'd ever tasted in his life- and in fact, it well may have been. Amish women, despite not having literally any of the conveniences commonly found in a outlander's kitchen, nevertheless CAN cook incredibly well. And that boy could pack away more food than anyone I'd ever seen. Mein Gott did he ever love to eat! At least he loved to eat my mother's home-cooked meals anyway. But Gabe worked as hard as the rest of us, and arguably maybe even harder, for his supper.

Nothing seemed to please him more than when we ended up alone together somewhere at the end of a hard day's work, when he'd often work up an even bigger appetite after he'd enthusiastically worked on me. We did what many other boys did - we just 'fooled around' out in the loft of the big barn. That kind of fooling around still had no name whatsoever, but we certainly managed to do 'whatever-it-was' with amazing regularly, indeed! Regardless, and thanks directly to Gabe, at least my sexual vocabulary grew by veritable leaps and bounds that Spring and Summer.

When we were done working for the day which was usually out in the fields during the summer, Gabe and I would start to head back to the house. If Zec or my father wasn't around at that time, Gabe would often encourage me to jump on his back and he'd carry me at least part-way back through the fields and over the rolling hills to give him 'a good workout'. He was as big as a horse to me anyway - certainly as strong as one. Oddly, he seemed to actually enjoy carrying me around on his back very much whenever it seemed 'safe' enough to do so.

I'd leap onto that mile-wide back of his and then he'd grab my legs - and off we'd go. I'd usually grab hold of him around his large shoulders (the little of them I seemed to actually be able to get my arms around anyway) and then I'd pull my body right up close to his back, resting my chin on the side of his neck. I actually savored inhaling his manly scent at such close range. The mere smell of him usually acted like an instant aphrodisiac. Usually it didn't take long at all before his manly pheromones, combined with feeling his powerful shoulders in my arms, aroused me. Sometimes the feelings were so intense that I'd close my eyes and nibble at his neck and ears, kissing him wherever I could. He really liked that a lot, I could tell. My dick inevitably would begin to get pretty big, and he could feel my sexual arousal pressing ever more prominently along his spine between his shoulder blades. Sometimes he'd bend over and sort'a start rubbing my whole body all around his back just so he could feel my 'big fatty'.

"Just hold that thought, Peter," he'd say encouragingly. "We'll be there in a flash."

Then he'd often picked up the pace, usually making a beeline for the barn with me on his back at a full gallop.

Once safety inside of the barn, our games were private from the rest of the world- out in those big piles of curing hay, where maybe God wouldn't notice the sins that were about to take place either, or so I told myself. Somehow my anticipation of how Gabe was going to 'do me' as he referred to it seemed to always far overshadow my concerns about the nature of my sins in those moments.

He'd often start by just gently laying me down into the soft hay. Gabe would gaze at me and I would gaze back at him, each of us enjoying our own lusty anticipation of the events that would immediately follow. Each time I saw his body it seemed like the very first time. Each and every time was a totally erotic miracle to me. He'd often begin our sexual ritual by very slowly unhooking his white cotton shirt and I'd get hotter just watching each new perfectly-chiseled muscle being revealed. He knew exactly how to go about getting my cock right up to the 'desired specifications' which he so obviously coveted. He was one undeniably built-huge specimen of manhood from hitting the big-iron as regularly as he did. And once he'd figured out that his muscles aroused me, he began hitting the gym even more often than he already did.

From the very first time that Gabe removed his shirt in front of me, I'd knew instantly - inside every fiber of my being -- that big muscles were definitely my thing -- my primal sexual on switch. Gazing at Gabe's massive body got my own particular love muscle inflating FAST - well that means fast for me, anyway. ( I'll tell you more about that later, too - the real truth about what it's really like to possess such an unusually large tool) But Gabe was the very first - the beginning of a very special relationship I was to develop with 'muscle'.

So I'd lay there, just watching him slowly strip as he stood towering over me. I stared as if in a trance as his hard upper body was finally fully naked and exposed...and what I secretly longed for him to do right then was - you know - 'make a big muscle' for me, too. I was too embarrassed to ask though, and there also this implicitly understood 'rule' that little to no actual talking about what we were doing was allowed. In retrospect, perhaps it would have made it just too real - too undeniable - for either of us.

But I'd spread my legs apart further and start to thrust my hips up and down rhythmically. It was almost automatic- instinctual- as if it was what I was supposed to do. That was Gabe's cue to begin rubbing his hand all over the crotch of my overalls. He'd rub and squeeze me gently at first God, did his hand ever feel good, too. He begin working it ever more forcefully, maneuvering and coaxing my swelling cock to eventually emerge right through the side of my overalls, over the top side buttons usually. Then Gabe would reach down and take my extra-beefy mantube into both his hands and work it up and down until I'd start erupting like a volcano. Actually these orgasms never took very long at all. My jiism would explode out of me in violent waves, heading high up towards the barn's rafters. Gabe quickly 'capped the gusher' (as he termed it anyway) by opening his mouth as wide as possible and putting it over my exposed cock head. Then he'd just start swallowing and gulping; gulping and swallowing- voraciously. He loved the taste of my cum. He couldn't seem to get enough of it, even though I produced extraordinary amounts of the stuff in my oversized factories. Often my manjuice would start leaking out of his mouth. Apparently I emptied my reservoirs faster than he could gobble me down, and at times I noticed my cum dripping out of his nostrils, too. I never touched his cock though - not even once. In fact, that wasn't even necessary for him, I guess. Gabe seemed completely contented to just play with me, jerk me off and then 'cap my gusher' as best he could, forcing every last drop of me that he could manage anyway down his throat while he beat himself off with his other hand.

But I did make some mental notes about another male's full erection for the very first time. I noticed just how very - well small, actually - Gabe's stiffie was compared to my own. And when Gabe came, there were only a few small globs here and there on the hay - maybe a couple of teaspoons at best- that's all. But the size of his cock really didn't matter at all to me. It was his hard, developed musclebod that was THE gasoline powering my comparative whopper of a sex engine anyway.

We performed this basic ritual many times while we were together. Our games 'with no name' inevitably had to end however, and the following Fall Gabe enlisted in the army. The activities in the barn were never spoken of between us - ever. It was just something we did together. Regardless, when Gabe and I said our final good-byes the following Fall, I saw his big square linebacker's chin quivering more than just a bit, and there were also big tears in the big guy's eyes.

But every night, regardless of how many times Gabe might have played with me that day, I'd inevitably spray more batter liberally around my bed while I slept and still awaken sitting in an ocean of cum again in the morning. My mother would just silently and dutifully change the bedding, just as she had been doing for the past several years already.

I produced enormous amounts of the stuff, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. My scrotal factories just churned out my manjuice non-stop. I'd adjusted to the whole nightly scene by this time and never really gave it much thought anymore -let alone if this might be more typical of the amount produced by your average black angus bull rather than an average teenager. There were some unexpected pluses to the 'plus-sided' overalls that my mother had made me, too. That other aspect I quickly came to understand. When I'd spontaneously ejaculate during the daytime, I discovered that I could position myself so that the large legs of the overalls allowed my cum to often just run down my leg and out the bottom onto my boot. No fuss - no muss, and with some luck, even no wetness visibly showing if I positioned the leg of my pants just right. It always worked best though when I was outside somewhere, of course - preferably a field.

Oh, I did have one more 'sexual encounter' after Gabe left for the Army that I should probably tell you about. There was that 'first time' with a girl, too- well sort of, anyway. I call it my fledgling attempt at 'straight-dom', and it happened at a neighbor's barn-raising. Yes, I did it with the proverbial farmer's daughter. And yes again, we also sort of did it in the loft of a barn. •