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Amish Voyeur Jamie Michaels I had always been fascinated with the Amish and their allusive primitive life style and had often wished to become more familiar with them. When Brent and I moved back to Indiana, so he could complete his Masters, we found our selves living in the mist of the Amish in a turn-of-the-century clapboard farmhouse. The farm proved to be more than this city boy could manage and with Brent gone to classes all day we decided to enlist the services of Jeb to keep it going. Jeb appeared to be in his early twenties though it was hard to tell, strong arms, bright blue eyes and a daring smile. He arrived each morning by six and went straight to work feeding the livestock and tending to the crops. I drug myself out by eight or so and offered what assistance I could. I usually wore boots, shorts and a tank top or no shirt at all as I worked on my tan. I felt empathetic for Jeb as he labored all day in the hot sun dressed from head to toe in black. He never complained, but I did find him watching me out of the corner of his eyes as my muscles strained in the mid-day heat. His eyes appeared to follow every curve of my body from my neck, over my shoulders, down my back and they lingered at my ass. Carrying on a conversation with Jeb was difficult. His people had a strong conviction toward allowing external influences to enter their life. He did however occasionally talk about the cattle or crops, something he knew a lot about. He never entered the old farm house where we lived, but occasionally accepted the invitation to have lunch beneath the apple tree behind the house. It was on one of those occasions he transpired to ask about Brent and I. "You have no woman who lives here?" he asked with the ...

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