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thought. He tossed the cursed beans out the window.
    That night Jackie could not sleep. “Tomorrow we will have nothing to eat,” she thought, “and it is all my fault.”
    She began to weep, and soon she crept into her father’s room to crawl under the covers with him for comfort, just as she had when she was a child.
    â€œOh, Daddy, what have I done?” the miserable Jackie sobbed.
    Gently, slowly, the old man licked the salty tears off his baby’s trembling face until she sighed and fell asleep curled against his warm chest. All night long he sought to soothe his dear girl, stroking her soft hair while she slept and fighting to keep from stroking her soft curves that pressed against him in the dark.

    The next day Jackie rose with the sun and by force of habit headed for the barn to milk the cow. She was feeling particularly agitated and thought how good it would be to give herself a private little “milk bath,” as she called it, to hose herself down in her special way just so she could relax. Then she remembered the previous day’s folly and her heart sank. But as she rounded the corner where her father had tossed the fistful of beans, she was struck by a sight like none she’d ever encountered. There, in the paltry garden outside their cottage window, was a gigantic beanstalk that stretched all the way up to the clouds! It was so thick and leafy it made a kind of ladder, and Jackie stared at it in awe.
    â€œI wonder where it goes,” she thought. “I think I will climb it and find out. I’m sure there is something wonderful up there!”
    Jackie approached the majestic stalk and, tucking her petticoats up into her waistband, readied herself for the climb. But when she came closer to the gnarled vine she saw that what had appeared to be leafy tendrils cascading around its girth were actually clumps and strands of wiry hair. What had seemed to be the waxy surface of a plant’s stem was really a sheath of delicate skin. The sinews that she had taken for chlorophyll cords of vegetation were in fact fleshy tendons and ligaments and blood-filled veins, and the whole stalk seemed to pulse and vibrate with a life force beyond that of a mere shrub.
    Now her curiosity was fully aroused, and the gentle milk maid heaved herself upon the giant protuberance and began to shimmy up its length. Higher and higher she tried to go, wrapping her naked legs around it, pressing her pelvic mound into its warm hide, rubbing her belly and the valley between her breasts against the plush pores of its skin as she labored to climb the enchanted phallus. But the stalk was slippery, and each attempt to hoist herself up was followed by a frustrating slide back down to its rooted base. Up and down, up and down the meaty shaft she traveled. Soon the entire stalk began to pulsate with a rhythmic rolling, like spasmodic waves, and these spasms finally pushed Jackie up to the mushroom-shaped top.
    There the strangest sensation overtook the milk maid. That familiar burning in her loins, which she’d always quenched with a long, languorous “drink” of milk, came to her like never before. But instead of craving a smooth spray of cow’s milk to put out the flames, she hungered for something richer, firmer, more substantial between her legs. She felt an undeniable urge to be penetrated, to feel the sweet, insistent pressure as something solid forced its way into her tight enclosure. This thick arm of tremulous flesh that she was riding like a bronco was just the thing!
    But gratifying this urge seemed impossible, for the stalk was so very large and she was so very small. How could she even begin to fit the massive head inside her tiny maw? How could she expect her dear little tender spot to yawn enough to accommodate such a fearsome intruder? Still, she had to try, for Jackie felt the desire so powerfully, so relentlessly, she was afraid she’d go mad.
    She kicked off her panties