Plot: A former construction worker, age 35, gets a job working a farm in a small town, which is maintained for the most part by three young farm hands. While he was considered a stud where he's from, in the city, he's just breeding stock for a trio of sexy farm hands. PART ONE Boy, the economy sure hit the skids. I used to work in construction, until the jobs ran out. I first started at age 18, the summer after I graduated. Now, I was a pretty strong guy, but even the weakest guy on the site was twice my size. The next 17 years flew by, turning that tough high-school graduate into a real man. My muscles were much bigger, and much denser, and my hot chest was covered in coarse chest hair. And if life wasn't good enough, I also had a fat 9-inch dick between my legs, which sat atop two plump peach-sized nuts, pumping horse-grad testosterone throughout my whole body. No girl or guy could resist. But then the company fell through and I ended up getting a job at this farm in a rural town a few hours away. After a few hard days, I was introduced to one of the farm hands. "Hey, I'm Kenny," I introduced myself with an outstretched hand. He grabbed it, and put my vice-grip handshake to shame. Normally, I'm the one who ends up hurting a few hands, but this time, it was mine that was hurting. "Well, heya there, Ken. My name's Luke, and I lived her all my life, all 18 years'a it. I've been workin' the farms since I was just'a youngin', 'bout fiv'er six." I couldn't believe he was only 18. He was already about my size, and had a thick patch of dark-yellow chest hair poking out of his shirt, which seemed to be painted onto his broad-chested physique, which started with broad shoulders and tapered down to a 30something waist. He had a messy-looking mop of blond hair atop his tanned face, accented with blue eyes in a doe-like fixation. He was also very handsome, and yet looked more mature than 18. I would have guessed about 22 or 24, but 18? I helped him bale hay from the morning I met him till about noon, when he brought me in for lunch. He shared the house with the other two farm-hands, who I have yet to meet, and the young Miss Tilly, who owned the farm. She was almost always in town. Luke went to the fridge and heated up some leftover meatloaf in the microwave. After lunch, we went out to the back porch. "Boy, it's hot," Luke said, as he began to take off his shirt, revealing the body of a man FAR older than 18. He was about the same build as me, though slightly bigger. His pecs were swamped in thick, dark-blond chest hair, which led down to his perfect abs which were equally swamped. I took my shirt off, and Luke looked at me. I think he muttered 'city boys' under his breath. Perhaps he thought that city boys were weaker than farm boys. He realized I was staring at him and said, "You'a queer or summpin'?" "No," I replied. "Well, on this farm, if you ain't a steer, you're a queer. And I don't see horns on you. And if you ain't a steer, then you're just..." He moved it real close and whispered..."breedin' material."