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Disclaimers: This tale’s fictional fuckers are over 18 and avoid condoms. Tags: bisexual, mature, multiracial, impregnation, harem, fuckfest, school, lucky guy, reality-based, Kansas. If you object, stop reading. Voices and details may be unreliable. Opinions may not be the author’s. Comments are demanded. Enjoy!

***** HAREM-SCAREM *****
(such a lucky lad)

He awoke in a hospital bed. What was he doing here? He remembered nothing. He did not really try to remember anything. His name? His past? Not important. All that mattered were aches and pain all over, especially his head. And the hospital bed, and all the tubes and wires attached to him — they mattered, too.

Things looked and felt fuzzy and funny. Nothing was quite right. Wait, how could he know what was right? Whatever was around him and in him was not right.

People in green medical scrubs coming into the bland room with all the telemetry and stuff around him — they looked fuzzy. People shone lights into his eyes, did stuff to his skin and fingers, and said stuff, but he could not really tell what was said. Then he went back to sleep.

He awoke again with pain and some memories and more beeping. He remembered who he was and where his life was. Jon Swenson, that is who he was. Wolverton, Kansas, that is where he lived, but he lived for his team, the Wolverton Wolverines, where he was star fullback on the tiny country school’s tiny squad.

Why was he in a hospital bed and not at home, or in school, or on the field? Oh, the field… something about the field. Scrimmage on the field that winter afternoon. And then… and then he was here.

The nurse who came into the room — he knew she was a nurse because her tag said R.N. and he remembered that R.N. meant nurse and M.D. meant doctor — she said things to him and he almost remembered what she said but he mostly noticed her boobs under the ugly green scrubs. She looked like she had nice boobs. Nice butt, too, when she turned and moved. He admired her. Then he went back to sleep.

Things were clearer when he woke again. Another R.N. checked him, and an M.D. with bigger boobs and butt came into his room. They talked to him, asked him questions, and he told them stuff. But he mostly noticed that even though their hair was all inside tight caps, he could tell blondes and redheads from brunettes by their eyebrows.

He slept and woke and was fed and taken to the bathroom and he was weak, oh so weak. How could a star fullback be so weak? Why did he need a wheelchair? And when he was rolled past a window, why did it look like late spring outside?

He was told, and he remembered. He thought about it all the time he was in the physical therapy unit now. It was that winter scrimmage. His head was whacked real hard, enough for a concussion, enough to put him in a coma for four months. They had done stuff to him to keep his muscles from melting away but he still needed careful therapy.

That is what filled his mind: “I was in a coma for four months.” All of 1990 from January to April was gone. He would be in therapy all of May. And he would not graduate in June.

Not just the school and the athletics — he had also missed the spring planting on the family farm. How had Dad managed without his work?

His mind felt different and his vision had changed. He saw everything with crystal edges. He forgot lots of his football plays and remembered lots of other stuff. His thoughts took him places he had never been. Was his brain messed up? He tried to get grounded again.

He irreverently thought about the Kawasaki he bought when he was sixteen with his work savings — and a loan from Dad. He rode that big red bike the twenty flat miles from farm to school and back every day except when snow was so bad he had to take the fucking bus filled with fucking losers. He wanted to ride again.

No riding anytime soon, doctors said — too much vibration. No graduation, either, the vice principal said. Jon needed a summer school session to make up for his missed semester. THEN he could graduate and escape remote fucking nowheresville Wolverton, Kansas.

Dad and Uncle Frank had a solution. Jon was home at the farm from the Wichita hospital, still doing therapy exercises, able to walk on his own now. His coordination was returning and his muscles were nicely filling in.

“Hey kid,” Uncle Frank said, passing him a cold soda can. “Your dad is okay with my idea. I got a field assignment back east for the summer. You can stay at my place in town while I’m gone. It’s just a short walk to school and the co-op market is near. Tend my stuff and it’s yours. Just keep everything watered and trimmed, don’t make messes, no wild parties. I don’t want to hear from the sheriff, okay?” Frank’s rough hand waved his frosty beer.

Frank’s so-called ‘minifarm’ was near Wolverton Country School at the edge of town. An acre of truck garden and heavy sunflowers surrounded the faded 2-story prairie house and small barn that had so far been missed by tornados. The plot was high-fenced for privacy. The black windmill-fed cistern and Bycasino galvanized eight-foot watering tank stayed full. Frank kept no livestock so the tank was mostly for cooling off on hot days.

Jon was tempted. Keeping-up Uncle Frank’s place would be easier than farmwork at home. He knew he could cook and clean for himself and yes, school was real close. He just hated being on foot — no car or pickup was available — and being stuck in more school.

There would be few summer students — all seniors in his classroom, all girls who had missed too much of the last semester for various reasons. Jon only sweated slightly on the first day of class and the introductions. His pheromones spun a subtle aura.


A half-dozen student desks formed a shallow arc around the teacher’s desk in the sturdy tornado-resistant brick schoolhouse’s classroom. Bookshelves, hanging maps and posters, and a blackboard gave it that iconic feel.

“What a nice small class!” The MILFy blonde mid-thirty-something teacher in a modest blue dress smiled warmly. “I hope you like the seating arrangement. I know we will have a wonderful summer session, only the few of us. I’m Teresa Emmons and I don’t know all of you so why don’t you introduce yourselves. Tara?”

“Sure, Mom.” A tall blonde girl wearing pink shorts and a light flowered blouse stood. “Like she said, I’m Tara, that’s Tara Emmons, and I hope I don’t suffer too much with my mom grading me.” Her grin was sarcastic. Her boobs and legs, like her mom’s, looked good to Jon.

Jon did not recall ever seeing either of them, nor the red-headed girls, either. They must have arrived in Wolverton after he was head-whacked.

“I’m Deidre Gallagher, call me DiDi, and my sister here is Kaitlyn, call her Katy,” said the taller redhead. Jon saw two Celtic babes standing. He loved what their thin tropical sundresses showed.

The slightly shorter girl piped up. “Before you ask, we’d be Irish twins even if we weren’t Irish. Mom had us ten months apart and we manage to be in the same school year. My big sister thinks she’s the smart one. We’ll just see about that.”

Jon knew the others a little; they were never in the same social circles. They were almost outcasts but he had never bothered them. He knew the Potawatomi (Prairie Band) Indian girl Letitia. He knew nappy-headed black Shakira, and Sandahl with cropped chestnut hair — best friends, maybe queer, or so classmates said.

“How you doing?” the curvy Indian girl in a short lemon dress asked. “I’m Letitia Mankiller, call me Tita, and it was great-grandma who did the scalping, so don’t worry Jonny boy, you can keep that mop.” Jon brushed light hair back from his eyes and watched her jiggle.

The sharp-featured black girl said, “You can NOT have missed me, Shakira Lincoln, because I am the Token Negro is this school.” She wore short brightly hand-embroidered light denim shirt and skirt, as did her best friend. They reputedly made each others’ clothes — which they both filled well.

“And I am the Token Freak here, Sandahl Osvold,” said the girl with tribal tattoo patterns adorning arms and neck. “I see what must be the Token Jock for our summer. Hi, Jonny.”

Jon mused for a moment. None of the girls, nor the teacher, were super cheerleader quality, not even for so small a hamlet as Wolverton, Kansas. But they did not look bad, especially on a hot day in scanty clothes. He brushed his neat jeans and Farm Aid t-shirt and stood.

“I’m Jon Swenson and I’m whacked in the head so you don’t have to expect too much from me. Hi, everyone.” He ostentatiously flexed his arms. “When is recess?” he asked with blue puppy-dog eyes.

“What, a motion to recess already?” Tara teased. Her eyes were bluer than Jon’s. “Can he do that, Mom?”

“Sure he can, honey. It won’t do any good. He, and you all, are stuck here for the duration if you want to graduate. This first hour is statistics. Math never goes on recess.”

Morning and afternoon academic hours broken by lunch hour, whew. A busy day and not too intense. Teresa Emmons kept a brisk but bearable pace.

Jon was surprised — no, astonished. He had not been a great student before he was head-whacked but this stuff all made sense now. Bits of formerly arcane information fit together like jigsaw puzzle pieces. He saw the patterns. What a rush! Better than chuffing nitrous.


The first day of summer class ended. Jon was quite ready to retreat to Uncle Frank’s place that muggy afternoon. Tita surprised him. Her long hand touched his wide shoulder.

“Uhh, hey Jon, you did real good with that stuff today and I’m weak on a few things. Can I study with you awhile?” She unconsciously tugged at her lemony dress.

The walk was short. Jon sat Tita and himself at Uncle Frank’s kitchen table with iced mugs of lemonade. They hit the books and quizzed each other for a couple of hours. But the house was old, with no air conditioning, only lazy fans to circulate a Kansas summer’s thick air. Temperature and humidity were both at 99.

“I am like totally soggy,” Tita Bycasino giriş said. “Is there any way to cool off around here?” Her sleek black hair hung long and sweaty.

“Well, since you ask,” Jon said, “there’s the watering tank out back, and the shower next to it, if that’s okay with you.”

Tita looked out the back door.

“Hey, that’s a nice tall fence, isn’t it? Nobody can see in, can they?”

“Nope, it’s really private. So if you don’t have a swim suit…”

“Don’t act stupid. Come on, I need to cool off.”

“I’d rinse first.”

She was thoroughly naked by the time she reached the shower pipes that hung beside the watering tank. He was there fast. Both rinsed on the thick grass, climbed in, dunked in the warm water, sighed, and giggled.

“This is really nice. You do this often?”

Tita raised herself boobs-free above the water, dunked again, and rose with her nipples just out of sight. Her long hair’s tips stayed submerged.

“I only moved in over the weekend. I’m here for summer school, is all. I couldn’t make a commute from the farm. Sure, I soaked here before. Not lately.” He pointed at his head.

“You’ve changed,” she said, moving closer to him. “You used to be, well, not bad, but not really good either — just sort of there, doing jock stuff but not real rough, not a dickhead.”

“And you were just over there, not even watching much, like you were…”

“I’ve always played safe. I had to. I look at my people and see where too many have gone. So I study and try to be better. But I have a question.” She moved closer and touched his arm. “You’re a jock. You’ve fucked girls, right?”

He took a chance and ran a finger along her shoulderblade. “Well, some cheerleaders will do anything, but they mostly go for Jason the quarterback. But yeah, I’m no virgin.” He took another chance. “Are you?”

She put his hand on her warm boob. “I’d have flunked off cheer squad. I’ve sucked dick but no more. And… no, you don’t need to know. But did you ever make a girl cum?”

“Girls cum?” Jon asked innocently.

She slapped him, but not too hard. She held his hand tighter on her boob and pinched his pink cheek.

“Girls had better cum or they won’t be back unless you’re the quarterback.”

He thought for a moment and then moved to put his other hand on her other boob.

“What makes girls cum?” Jon asked.

“Good of you to ask, paleface. Want to find out?” Tita leaned and kissed his mouth. “I can teach you.”

He sang a bit of an old song. “I am just a student, ma’am, and I only want to learn.”

She gently swarmed into his lap. “There’s more to it than just dick. Can you eat pussy?”

He kissed her and admitted, “Well, I’ve 69’d a couple times, but mostly to get wet.”

She kissed him back and said, “You’ve got to lubricate the soul, not the hole.”

He kissed her again. “The sole? What do feet have to do with it?”

She rubbed his cheek. “Feet are really sensuous but you know that’s not what I mean. Except… well, you get extra points if you do my feet and toes right. We’ll get to that.”

“So what can you show me besides your terrific tits?”

“I can show you everything, paleface. Where is a bed?”

They climbed from the tank, showered again, and rubbed each other dry with almost-soft towels from the clothesline. He took a chance and kissed one of her nipples, then the other when she cooed after the first slurp. She held his shoulders and licked his nipples in return.

She liked kissing and being kissed. He did not mind, either.

Jon paid close attention as Tita taught explicit lessons. Kiss her face, chin, neck. Slurp boobs just so long and hard. Stroke here and here with about this much pressure. Bite here. Lick here. Now get down on your belly, put your head and tongue here, and…

“No, don’t spit in me. You are not poking anything inside me anytime soon. I’ll get wet on my own if you do me right. Yeah, like that, just like that, oh yeah…”

She ran fingers into his light hair and pulled his head up. “Run your hand down my legs, yeah like that, and rub my feet while you lick me. Yeah, oh fuck yeah, don’t stop…”

He tickled her toes. She gasped and pulled his head closer into her. She pulled his head up again after she squealed a few times.

“That’s enough with your mouth. You have a good mouth. Now I want your dick.”

He slid up between her open thighs, wet with his kisses, and aimed his cock into her. Her hand closed over his to improve his aim.

“Not so fast. Not yet. We’ll go faster soon. Oh yeah, that’s the angle, and…”

And he entered her; they sighed. She stopped uttering words. Gasps and groans, that was all. And his grunt and spew. Their first fucking did not last long. But that was only the start.

“That was pretty good, paleface. But I haven’t scalped you yet. Let’s 69.”

“But I just came in you?”

“Taste it or lose it. Your choice.”

He chose to taste it. Not immediately. First they lay diagonal across Uncle Frank’s fairly neat king bed and Bycasino güncel giriş only sucked face. Then she moved on him to put her boobs in his face and his nipples at her mouth. Then they licked navels — giggling stopped that soon. And then she moved further, shoved her wet pussy in his face, and sucked his slippery dick.

Neither found their mixed flavors too disgusting. Rather nice in a smoky way, really.

She dropped his cock from her mouth. “More tongue, like you know I like, yeah, oh yeah.” She resumed cocksucking. He got quite hard. She rolled off him and crouched.

“Now I want it harder, paleface. Do me like an animal. You’ve seen animals fuck; you’re a goddam farm boy. You’re a prize stud bull. I’m a ready heifer. Do me, bull!”

Yes, he knew how cattle fucked. He remembered the old joke about the young guy and a neighbor gal watching a bull mount a cow. The boy excitedly said, “Wow, I wish I was doing that!” and the girl replied, “Go ahead, she’s your cow,”

“Mmmmhhh!” he roared like a horny bovine, and bull-pierced her. First he held her tight smooth Indian butt in place for his thighs to regularly impact. Then he took her swinging boobs as handholds. And then he only held her and pounded. He felt her hand reach to their joining to press herself. He did not let the distraction slow him.

“Uuuhhh!” he grunted, and shot a stressed stream of semen into her gaping vaginal maw.

“Ooohhh,” she moaned, and felt waves of hot pleasure wash through her whole body.

“Aaahhh,” they sighed together when their joints gave out and he collapsed on her.

“Nice study session,” she said awhile later.

“Let me know whenever you need help with Pynchon.”

“I’ll call if I need help with Hemingway, paleface. He makes no sense.”

“You’ve just got to remember, he had a ball shot off in one of those wars, BANG!”

“Lots of those guys probably only had one ball. Drives them crazy.”

“How crazy am I with both balls and a whacked head, then?”

“Quiet, paleface. These balls are mine.” She squeezed.

“Okay, they’re all yours. Want to do it again?”

“Oh god, you’re one of those guys who just goes over and over, aren’t you? Do you jerk off ten times each night, just to keep the pressure off?”

“Five times. We’re barely past two here. Want to 69 again?”

“Oh god yes, but I’ve got to get home. Is that clock right? Mom will kill me, I’ll be so late. We’ll have to study again soon.” She kissed him with her full naked body.

He did jerk off three times that evening. Just to keep the pressure off.


Class sessions filled Tuesday. Jon talked to Tita but she said she had household chores after school. Jon started to leave alone but DiDi Gallagher stopped him at the door after all others but her sister Katy had left.

“You chopped the logic in that review real good, Jon. You see stuff we don’t. Can we study at home with you this afternoon? Just for a couple hours, okay?”

DiDi took one of his arms. Katy took the other and said, “We hear you’re a good study.”

Jon was not about to argue. He led the red sisters wearing mixed lime and beige blouses and shorts to Uncle Frank’s kitchen table. Yes, they actually studied, and discussed, and clarified critical issues, yada yada. And they sweated, even with the fans blowing — not quite hard enough to send their papers flying.

“This has to be the hottest day of the year,” Katy said.

DiDi asked, “Isn’t there anyplace cool around here?”

“Well, there’s the watering tank out back. But you don’t have swim suits.”

DiDi took one of his arms. Katy took the other and said, “We heard it’s a nice soak.”

“Let’s shower out there first,” Jon suggested.

They more-or-less neatly piled their clothes by the back door. He saw the sisters were speckled with galaxies of freckles on their young bodies when they showered and dripped before dunking in the tank, and when they showered and dripped afterward, and when they nakedly peered around the bedroom.

Jon remembered what Tita taught him yesterday. Katy was the shorter but curvier sister and she reacted very well to his kisses and rubs and cunnilingus. Her heels pressed into his back while her taller, slimmer big sister swallowed her cries, mouth to mouth. Their kisses were so exciting to his eyes! Katy cried again when he was on top of her, missionary-style, and he came into her. Her heels only unloosed him when her sister pulled them apart.

DiDi also liked his neck-biting, nipple-sucking, navel-licking, thigh-kissing, foot-rubbing, and cunt-slurping. Her first cries drove him to roll her over into animal position and animal-fuck her. Her smart little sister kissed her face while he drove in and out. Nice!

Jon lay on his back with a naked sister on either side. His hands wandered over their boobs, bellies, and thighs. They rubbed his body and kissed his face. Fans slowly dried their sweat. It had been a good afternoon.


Wednesday classes went smoothly. Jon found himself sparking levely discussions. Maybe that head-whack stuff was not so bad! Or maybe he would suffer over time. He shrugged — that will be THEN, this is NOW, and NOW is what he had to deal with. He was scheduled for weekly neurological checkups. I’ll stay tuned for prognoses, he thought.

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