Dude Ranch
by Tom Walker
Jeannie and Jane scissor Tom from boy to man.

It was the summer I turned 15. I was off at a working cattle ranch in
Arizona. The place was a smart promotion by an eastern high school
athletic coach --- a summer of work that the kids' parents paid for on
a ranch that paid the coach to get the kids as free ranch hands. The
funny thing was that it was also great for the kids that went there.
For me, it was a kind of turning point. I was short (5'), prepubescent,
and 35 pounds overweight (155) when I got there in late June. When
I got back to New York in the first week of September, I had grown
to 5' 4" and weighed 132 pounds; had sprouted some body hair in the
right places, and had a voice that rarely cracked in its new low tenor
range. I had also done a little growing up, with a lot of help from two
very good friends.  

That's what this story is about ...

The summer program was co-ed. Not that the girls shared bunks with
us, but their bunks were clustered on the other side of the main
outdoor assembly and horse-gathering area. They worked the cows
and ponies with us all day every day.  

During the course of my own summer "changes," the girls changed
too, or at least my perceptions of them did; eventually, so did their
views of me.  It was all quite gradual, and we only noticed it when
some particular circumstance or event evoked a response that
marked the difference between childhood and puberty.

It was mid-August and we had finished with the cows for the day.
About 7:30 in the evening, sun going down, twilight. I was in my
cabin, sitting on my bunk bed in my khaki shorts , chatting with Jane,
who was sitting next to me. Dressed in cut-off blue jeans, she was a
tall girl, 16, a good experienced rider with long athletic limbs that
looked great when she rode bareback in a pair of shorts; so great that
I found myself fantasizing about being the horse. We were good
friends from the beginning of the summer, and she and I were used to
roughhousing with each other the way that youngsters do. 

In the beginning, I outweighed her by almost 40 pounds, but I was
fat and out of shape, and neither of us was clearly "tougher" than the
other. By August, the weight difference was less than 15 pounds (she
grew a little heavier during the summer), but I was much stronger
than I had been, and was becoming clearly dominant in our tussling
matches.

That night, she said she wanted to wrestle with me and she broached
the subject with a kind of gravity that was new between us.  She
complained that I seemed to have gotten stronger than she during the
summer, and that she felt that she had no chance to stay even
anymore when we wrestled, unless I agreed to let her have the first
hold.  I had no problem with this suggestion,  and told her to take
whatever hold she wanted.  There was nothing fancy about Jane's
idea of wrestling (yet), and she decided to get on her knees behind
me on the bed and pinion my elbows together from the rear with her
arms. 

"Ready. Go!", she yelled, and we started to tussle. She was wiry,
with large hands and good strong arms, and I was having real
difficulty breaking out of her hold. I finally decided that the best way
was to roll off the bunk bed and take her with me if she still hung on
to my arms. I start to roll, when suddenly, we heard another voice in
the cabin.

"Hold him, Jane, and let me get my scissors on him." The voice was
Jeannie's. She was the oldest girl in the summer group, having just
turned 18.  Standing about 5'4", weighing a solid 120 pounds, pert-
nosed, gray-green eyes, blond-streaked hair, she was the fantasy
object of just about every boy and cowboy at the ranch.  A
competitive gymnast for her high school and a member of the student
corps de ballet of the American Ballet Theatre, she was much more
maturely developed than the other girls, with hard, adult
musculature, particularly in her legs, as you might expect from the
ballet activities. 

It is no easy matter to resist the temptation to bore the reader with a
detailed description of Jeannie's legs, inch by inch---the mere thought
of them still makes me dry in the mouth. Without going into too
much descriptive detail, her legs were about as muscular as you see
in the most"ripped" of the Miss Fitness America contestants, but a
little thicker in the thighs and calves than most of them. I had seen
her sit a bucking horse bareback with those legs, hanging on by her
hands to the mane and clinging to the animal with her strong thighs
until it ceased its maverick activities and returned to docility.

"What --- what the hell's going on?" I shouted.

"Just a little something we planned for you, Tom, as a kind of end of
summer thing." Jeannie replied. "Keep him held, Jane --- here I come.
Hold him while I lock him in my scissors."

She lay down on her back on the bed beside me, stretched one
muscular leg behind my back, laid the other across my lap, then
brought both legs up and locked my torso between her thighs. She
straightened her legs against me and squeezed. The hard interior
sinews of her thighs felt like steel cables, digging and embedding
themselves into my stomach, as they clamped against my lower back,
making me gasp with the initial impact.

I had wrestled other boys, however, who used scissors holds, and
none had ever been able to make me submit. The pressure of
Jeannie's scissors was tight, but I thought it was bearable, and I
turned my attention back to trying to break Jane's hold on my arms. I
found this to be much tougher than I expected because Jeannie's legs
were holding me immobile, making it  impossible for me to try the
rolling escape I had originally contemplated. This left me only with
trying to out-muscle Jane, which was a hopeless task considering the
positional advantage she and Jeannie had, and the fact that I wasn't
all that strong to begin with.  

Indeed, what happened was like a verification of the old
"conservation of energy" theory we used to have in Physics I class. 
The more I fought to get loose, the weaker I got. The weaker I got,
the tighter Jeannie's scissors squeezed into me, The tighter Jeannie
squeezed, the easier it was for Jane to keep my arms trapped. 

I struggled in this double-truss of female sinew for about three
minutes, when I suddenly felt as if I had been buried to exhaustion
under some huge weight. I could not catch my breath, and my face
felt flushed and hot. My arms felt as if they had lost all strength, and
each time Jeannie compressed her scissors, I heard myself gasp
aloud. Frightened then, I realized that Jeannie's scissors had so
depleted my oxygen and sapped my strength that I was too weak to
fight.  Jeannie could see what was happening, and decided to have
some fun with it. 

"My scissors just got to him, Jane. Let go of his arms. I control him
now. Watch, Jane, what these dancer's legs can do to a boy."

She demonstrated by squeezing my stomach with rapid jolting
contractions of her thigh muscles, like a series of jabs softening me
up for some final haymaker. I was able to bear the first few shots, but
it was a matter of only a few seconds and a few more squeezes
before she was making me wince with each constriction, and had me
cringing between constrictions in fearful anticipation of the next one.  


"Those were just the warmups, Tommy. How did they feel?" When
she said this, she stopped the thigh-muscle hammering, leaned back
on her elbows, elevated her hips and squeezed me very tightly with
steady pressure, never letting up, digging the cables of those hard-
sinewed thighs deeper and deeper into my stomach, squeezing more
air from me and making it impossible for me to breathe. I could not
respond. I lacked the breath to speak, and I knew that whatever came
out would sound no better than a whimper.  

"Now, Jane, I think he's ready for our surprise." Jeannie called out.
Turning to me, she said,"We've been watching you this summer,
Tommy, and we think you aren't a little boy anymore. Jane and I are
going to prove it. Jane, pull off his shorts."

With that, Jeannie tightened her scissors again and forced me back
flat on the bed next to her, my feet still hanging over the side.  Jane
started to unbutton my shorts. I kicked my legs and struggled. 
Jeannie stopped me immediately with five ferocious constrictions of
her thighs, the final constrictions so excruciatingly painful that I
screamed then broke down in sobs. "There, there, little boy, mustn't
cry already. We've just started. Co-operate, Tommy, or I'll really
squeeze your guts to mush."

I was young but not stupid. Since I now had an immediate and
terrifying sense of what Jeannie's legs could do to me, I lay still and
compliant while Jane finished taking off my shorts. I was retching in
painful spasms, trembling and terribly embarrassed, not only because
Jeannie had made me cry but also because, in spite of my pain, I
realized that I had a huge erection, brought on by her body scissors
on me.

"Gee, Jeannie, you were right" Jane said, "He's got a heck of a hard-
on for a boy-child. Did you know you got hard, Tommy?" she asked. 


I didn't answer. Mortification had combined with shortness of  breath
to silence me. Jeannie, however, would not allow me such luxury.
She hardened her thigh muscles into my stomach and squeezed with
such force that I could feel my internal organs squirm, as if they were
about to convulse or implode under the pressure of her legs.

"Answer, Tommy, or I'll keep this up until you think you're going to
die. When I stop squeezing, answer Jane nicely when she asks you a
question." Jeannie commanded.

She eased up on the squeezing, and I answered Jane. "I know I'm
hard now. I didn't know it before, probably because I haven't been
able to feel much of anything below my waist since Jeannie wrapped
her scissors on me. I've never felt, imagined, or dreamed anything
like this in my life. I can't tell you the why of it, but I'm more excited
than anything else, even though Jeannie's scissors have been
squeezing so tight that it feels as if she could kill me with her thigh
muscles."

"That's just what I thought would happen." Jeannie said. "I've had a
lot more experience than you kids, including turning on guys with my
legs. What I'm doing to you, Tommy, for nothing because Jane and I
like you, is the kind of thing that my 21-year-old boy friends would
die to get a piece of." 

Turning toward Jane, Jeannie added, " Jane, I know you've never
held a boy's cock before, so this will be an initiation for you as well
as Tommy. Wrap your hands around the base of his cock and hold
him gently while I make his hips move with my scissors. When you
feel him all of a sudden get hard as a rock and he starts to jerk and
throb, that means he's about to come. When that happens, let him
start his shooting, then, after the first few spurts, squeeze tight each
time he throbs until he's dry. I'll be doing the same thing with my
legs. He'll probably pass out when we're through with him, but, don't
worry, he should recover pretty quickly, considering how young he
is."  

Jane's long fingers encircled the base of my penis. I writhed and
twisted my legs with the pleasure of it, trying to arch my back to get
a stroking motion out of her grip. 

"That won't do, Tommy." Jeannie growled. "You must lie perfectly
still and not kick your legs." As she said this, she squeezed her thighs
tighter around my stomach, squeezing so long and so hard that I
again found myself sobbing and retching. I thought I was going to
vomit. I was lurching and convulsing helplessly. Her thighs felt so
hard that I feared they would cut through my skin and leave my
stomach in a pile of angled pieces. 

"I can't help it," I sobbed."I don't have any control down there. I'm
trying to be still, but I can't."

"All right. Jane, you'll have to keep his legs still. Do you know what
a double grapevine hold is? If you do, use it."

"I'm not really sure. Jeannie. I think I saw it once in a pro wrestling
match on television. What do I do?"

"Follow my instructions. First, sit high on his lap,  facing him. Sit
above his erection so you don't interfere with it. You can lean
forward and rest your belly against my thigh for security. Now,
spread your legs and get both his legs between your thighs. OK. Curl
your lower legs under his calves, then wrap around far enough so
you can hook the arches of your feet across the tops of his ankles.
Point your toes out, duck style, then spread and straighten your legs,
stretching him under you. Pull his groin as wide as you can and really
extend your legs, using maximum power with your calves and thighs.
I can see that your legs are stronger and longer than his. You've
really go him helpless now."

She was terribly right. Jane's ropy legs encircled and stretched me so
hard that I thought she would tear my groin apart and dislocate my
knees. Her clamping feet were bruising my shins and causing me
stabbing jolts of pain. My lower body was totally immobilized in her
leggy grip, and I was crying like a baby again.

"This is easy." Jane said. "I wish I knew this hold when we were
roughhousing before. I would have 
beaten him every time. How do we stop him from crying, though?
It's making me feel bad to cause him so much pain. I thought this
was going to be mainly a sex initiation."

"Well, Jane," Jeannie replied,"You can see now that there isn't a lot
of difference for some folks. Look over your shoulder and you'll see
that he's still all aquiver and ready to come if either of us touches
him there. I'll bet we can make him come without even touching.  I'll
do the work. You watch and do the talking. It'll be good practice for
you. Just hold him still with the grapevine while I massage him with
my scissors. Now, watch and start talking."

Jeannie bent her knees. loosening the pressure of her scissors, and
pulled my side in tightly against her crotch with her entwined feet.
Then she started a rhythmic series of caressing pressures with her
thighs, straightening her legs to increase the pressure, then drawing
them up toward her again and making her interior thigh muscles
ripple across my stomach.

"Feel that, Tommy? Feel how good Jeannie's legs feel. Feel how
strong they are when she squeezes a little. Think about what will
happen when she squeezes a lot. Can you stand it? All of you just
wants to collapse and let the sperm shoot out of you until there's
nothing left and you pass out. We can make you do that. You know
it. You've felt what Jeannie's legs can do to you. Feel again. Now
Jeannie --- squeeeeeze--- and release, and squeeeeeze again --- and
release --- and squeeeeeze. Here you come Tommy, I can feel you
shaking all over --- now, Tommy, now, come, squirt it all out while
Jeannie keeps pumping you, pumping you, harder, harder, let it all
go!  Finish him, Jeannie, finish him NOW!"

I was erupting and gasping for air in the biggest most excruciating
orgasm I had ever had. My head was spinning. I could not breathe at
all.  Jeannie's thighs were pumping me mercilessly until there was
nothing more for me to give. I moaned, then screamed as she crushed
me with one long final constriction, my mouth filling with my own
vomit as I passed into oblivion.

Jeannie had been right. I was young, and I did wake up and recover
after about 20 minutes. Jeanne and Jane were deeply engrossed in a
private conversation across the bunk. They were playing with a thick
canvas air mattress that we used on overnight cattle hauls, and
Jeanne was instructing Jane on certain procedures.  Jane lay on her
side, placed the mattress on its edge across her lower leg, then
slammed her other leg across the top and scissored the mattress
between her thighs. With Jeannie instructing her, Jane straightened
her locked legs sharply, her thighs folding and  compressing the
mattress until her knees almost touched. There was a sudden loud
noise as the mattress exploded between Jane's legs, unable to
withstand the pressure she was applying.  Both women giggled,
pointed to the torn shell of the mattress, stroked the insides of their
thighs, and pointed at me, letting me know that I could be next.
I was saved by the night bell, which signaled that everyone had to
return to their cabins for check-in.
Exhausted, I crawled into my cot. My stomach was sore; my groin
and my legs, especially my knees, felt sprained; my shins were black
and blue from Jane's grapevine; my ribs were intact but sore; and all
I could think of was how soon we could do it again. 

As it turned out, we did similar scenes every night for the last two
weeks of the summer. When we were to return to our east coast
homes via overnight Pullman train accommodations, Jeannie elected
to fly to meet her boyfriend at the Newark Airport. Jane and I had
two nights and three days together in a small compartment behind a
closed Pullman door. When I got off the train at Grand Central
Station in New York, my folks met me.  I must have looked terrible,
since my mother cried and shrieked "What have they done to you?"

My older sister, on the other hand, who, like Jeannie, was also 18,
approved of what she saw.  After Jane paused to hug me good-bye,
then walked on to meet her older brothers at the end of the platform,
my sister turned to me and said:

"You must have had a great summer. I can tell, especially by the
stains in your shorts. That Janie looks like she must have taught you
a lot besides horseback riding"

I blushed. "Right you are. But you should meet my other teacher -
her name's Jeannie."
--