by E. S. Carter
City Farm, Sat, 1pm. Bring your wellies
It takes him a few minutes to reply but when he does, I chuckle.
Animals don’t like me. I think they sense the alpha in me and either want to challenge my authority or hump my leg
I text back quickly.
It’s your irresistible pheromones. Hence, the reason I fancied you when I was dressed as a bunny. Don’t go all chicken on me. It’ll be fun
His reply is almost instant.
You only fancy me when in costume? In that case, I vote for a naughty nurse or even the Domme
He wishes!
We were talking about animals, not your freaky fetish. Want me to pick you up in Clarabelle or are you coming in the Banana mobile?
Seconds later I get:
Chauffeur service, please. The Banana mobile is out of commission. I’ll dice with death and ride with you
Cheeky bugger.
Oh no! Has its little engine finally given it’s last breath?
I watch the dots appear as he types out his reply.
No. Still fully functional. My Mum needs it to go shopping
Aww, bless him.
Sharing your car with your mother is sweet
I wait for his reply; it takes a little longer even though I can see him typing.
It’s her car. I’m between wheels at the moment
That makes sense. I could never understand a bloke buying a car like that. Maybe he was embarrassed to admit not having one of his own.
OK, text me your address and I’ll come and be your beck and call girl
I quickly send another text, not wanting to look like I’ve just offered my body up on a plate.
I mean chauffer. Not call girl. Just to clarify
His reply text brings another smile to my face.
Damn. I had a reply wrote out and everything ;) See you Saturday
Another pops up almost immediately.
I don’t own wellies. Will cowboy boots do?
Harry in cowboy boots. That could be hot. Maybe I have my own little fetish after all.
Ye-haa cowboy. Looking forward to seeing those beauties.
I don’t bother to tell him that wellies aren’t required.
I wonder if he’ll wear a Stetson too?
Damn. I really need to stop picturing Brad Pitt riding a horse in Legend’s of the Fall.
I’ll wear a Stetson if you wear that nurse outfit
Yeah. Not going to happen at the city farm.
Stick to just the boots then. The fantasy still works for me
Look at me all text flirty schmirty.
You’re killing me, Bunny Girl. See you Sat x
I got a kiss.
He signed off with a kiss.
Bloody hell, I’m fifteen all over again.
Families swarm around the edges of the enclosures. ‘Oohs’ and ‘Ahhs’ combine with ‘he’s so cute’, ‘look at his tail’ and I even hear one lad say ‘horses have big willies’. Yeah, good luck explaining that one, folks.
The scene is exactly as I expected the city farm to look on a Saturday afternoon; packed with kids, frazzled parents trying to stop small fingers from getting bitten or attempting to halt little Johnny’s adventures in bull riding. Not exactly what I expect for a first date, though.
Lilah rumbled up to my house in Clarabelle at precisely 12.30pm, allowing us more than enough time to make it to the farm.
She was bouncy and excited to see me, a little more so than usual and it all felt kind of forced, in a manic ‘I’m having fun’ way. Now we are out of the car, I notice her limp quite a bit, her right leg dragging on the floor every other step.
I want to ask if she’s okay, but I feel like that’s a boundary I shouldn’t overstep, and if I draw attention to it, she might be embarrassed. I’m not sure why I’ve come to this conclusion, other than she seems off and surely if you have an injury that makes you walk a little funny, you just get it out in the open, but Lilah is doing the opposite. Overcompensating with her abundance of fake joy.
I recognise it for what it is because it’s what I normally do. Crack a joke, have a laugh, all so that I don’t have to talk about what is actually bothering me.
I just hope that by the end of this day, she’ll trust me enough to tell me anyway.
“Come and see the goats, Harry. I love goats; they are so…” I dutifully follow Lilah across to the pen she’s currently dragging me towards.
“Don’t you dare say cute.” I grumble and not in a playful way. These things look evil, with their beady eyes and tiny mouths.
“But they are cute. See that one over there,” she points towards a brown and white goat that looks like the runt of the litter and has a devilish glint in its eye.
“I’ve booked for us to go inside and help feed them; we just have to wait for the goat herder… or, err… goat person,” she scrunches up her nose, trying to think of an appropriate title.
“Goat farmer? Goat wrangler? Goat lover?” I offer, helpfully.
A cough sounds from behind us, and we both turn to see a short, yet powerfully muscled woman, in cargo shorts, pink Hunter wellingtons and a fleece jacket who is staring at us disdainfully.
“I’m Glenda, your ‘goat lover’ for the next hour.” Her face is stern, and she says the words ‘goat lover’ like she wants to punch me in the nadgers. “If you’ll follow me please, and make sure you wash your hands before you enter the pen.”
Lilah and I look at each other; she wears a slight grin, while I swallow visibly. The thought of Glenda the goat lover busting my nuts causes my implants to scuttle up behind my cock, just like they are the real thing.
This is going to be so much fun; not.
Glenda provides us both with some frowsty smelling, blue overalls and I’m just doing up the poppers of mine when I look over at Lilah, who, despite sitting on a low bench, is struggling to slide her right leg into the trousers. Her hands shake as she tries to manoeuvre the pant leg over her foot while barely bending her knee. Just looking at her is painful, so I stop what I’m doing to go and help.
She flinches when I kneel down at her feet and refuses to meet my eyes.
“Here, let me give you a hand.”
I take the fabric from her shaking hands and proceed to pull it up over her shoes until it sits at her ankle. The denim of her jeans covers her leg entirely, but, upon closer inspection, her ankle looks weird beneath the spotty pink socks she wears, and I hesitate before tentatively reaching for it.
“It’s okay; I’ve got it.” She grabs the rest of the overalls from out of my hands and rushes to pull them up her leg, quickly pulling them over her hips and torso and sliding her arms into the sleeves.
What the fuck was all that about?
She offers me a shaky smile then tucks her bag underneath the bench. When she straightens and looks at me once more, the smile on her face is entirely fake, stretching her mouth wide but not reaching her eyes.
“Let’s go and play with some goats!” her false enthusiasm is laughable, but I don’t call her out on it, who I am to judge? Instead, I follow her out into the pen, where I’m greeted by the strong smell of animals and goat lover Glenda’s happy face. When I say happy, I mean scowling and scary.
“Their feed is in the buckets inside the shed,” she motions towards a small wooden hut to the side of the pen. “Empty the food into the troughs, watch out for their teeth and try not to let them nudge you out of the way before you’ve finished.” She looks at me and adds, “Oh, and watch out for Grunt,” she points at the small brown and white goat that Lilah called cute earlier. “He’s feistier than he looks, plus he likes to eat clothes, so if he goes for your overalls just nudge him away until he gets the message.”
Great. Grunt the goat wants to eat my only armour from these evil looking beasts.
Glenda leans up against the side of the pen and dismisses us with a wave of her hands. We walk over to the small shed, dodging the goats who now weave in between us apparently understanding that
their food is on the way. They begin to get a little antsy, and I see Grunt the runt approach from the corner of my eye.
“He’s just a tiny goat, Harry. Are you really scared of such a small, helpless animal?” Lilah teases, when she catches the stink eye that I’m giving to that menacing little shit.
“It’s the sneaky, little fuckers you have to watch out for.” I say, as I carefully plot my way towards the shed door.
“Language!” Glenda calls out from behind me, and I turn my head to see her surrounded by families who are waiting to watch us make complete tits of ourselves when we feed these little beasts.
I mutter, “Sorry” and slowly open the shed door, using my legs to keep the little gits at bay.
“You go in and pass me a bucket; I’ll protect the entrance.” I nod my head at Lilah, who just shakes hers in response but does as I ask.
“You’re awfully wound up about something that’s supposed to be fun,” she mocks, bending forward and reaching for the first bucket, while giving me the perfect view of her firm arse. For a split second, I forget about the goats and just enjoy the view, until a thud against my arse, snaps my gaze from ogling hers.
Laughter rings out behind me, and I turn my head enough to see even more people crowding the pen, many of them openly snickering at the scene in front of them. Another butt to my behind and I know exactly what they are laughing at. Grunt the runt is charging through the pack of goats, ready to headbutt my arse like he’s some kind of prized bull, not a small, demonic, goat.
“Nice try, small fry.” I gloat at the little bastard while maintaining my stance at the door.
“Here’s the first one.” Lilah gets my attention and hands me a large, black bucket filled with stinky smelling feed.
“What the fuck is in this shit?” I rear back, assuming we were just going to give them some hay. Lilah peers her head inside and pulls back waving her free hand in front of her nose. “Looks like kitchen scraps and straw.”
Glenda calls over from the side of the pen with a big smile on her face, “They normally just graze throughout the day, but this is their treat feed, so they get some scraps too, but not eggshells, goats and eggshells do not mix.”
Thanks for the tip, Glenda. That’s going to be really useful information that I will take with me to the grave.
I get another butt to the arse and sense they are getting impatient. “C’mon Lilah, let’s feed these fuckers so we can get out of here.” I make sure to whisper the word fucker, so as not to incur Glenda’s wrath again.
Her eyes take on a little extra sadness, and I feel like a right twat for spoiling her date.
“Hey,” I place my hand on her shoulder and she glances back at me, her deep chocolate eyes devoid of the ever-present spark that sends tingles through my veins. “I’m having fun, even if I don’t look like it, I swear.”
I hope I sound genuine because I’m lying my arse off but I don’t want her to be sad about it. In truth, I don’t really care where I am, as long as it’s with her.
She huffs out a little laugh, “You’re such a bad liar, Harry. Let’s feed these and then I’ll take you for lunch. I’ll even let you order the goat’s cheese or curried goat, in payback.” The wicked smirk on her face registers right in my Davidson and I have to fight off the urge to rearrange my bits. I hope I don’t have an obvious boner when I turn around. Oh, fuck it. I’ll just cover it with the bucket.
Big mistake.
Fucking huge mistake.
I spin around quickly, figuring the faster I’m done here, the faster I get to spend time alone with Lilah, but also wanting to hide my growing chub on from innocent eyes.
The rest happens in a blur.
The goat nearest to me jumps up on its hind legs and starts trying to root around in the bucket, followed by another goat on the opposite side. I lift the bucket while trying to shake them off and step forward to try and part the sea of goats that surround me.
I’m vaguely aware of rising laughter from the families outside the pen who are enjoying the unexpected entertainment, when another, significantly larger goat puts both its front legs on the rim of the bucket in an attempt to get at the food within. With a muttered curse I shake that goat off and lift the bucket higher again. That’s when he strikes. Grunt the fucking runt.
I’m aware of a flash of brown and white fur launching itself across the backs of its brethren, but before I have a chance to react, a nudge at my side catches me off balance, and I’m butted full force, in my non-existent nuts.
My balls don’t realise they are fake and pain shoots up my groin straight into my stomach. The force of the blow causes me to double over while squealing “Son of a fucking…” but the curse dies on a gasp as I fall to my knees and curl up on my side. Goat feed rains down around me from the bucket that flew out of my hand.
I am all crippling pain, and wheezing gasps as the goats crowd around my body, munching away on anything they can find.
My eyes are squeezed shut, but I hear the collective gasp from the crowd, combined with children’s laughter and the groans of every male in the vicinity
“Oh my God, Harry, are you okay?”
“Ermaghhgonads.” Or something to that effect spills from my lips while I clutch at my crown jewels with one hand and my stomach with the other.
“Shoo, shoo.” Lilah attempts to move the animals away from me but they won’t budge. They are focussed on one thing only, food.
“Your bucket,” I grind out between my teeth. “Throw your bucket over there to draw them away.”
“Oh, good idea. Okay, I’m on it. Don’t move.”
As if I could fucking move.
She rushes away from my pathetic form, and I hear, “Hey goaty goats, come on over here and get some goodies.”
The goats start to thin out, and Lilah’s voice keeps trying to entice the rest of them away. “That’s right, over here. Lilah has some juicy slops for you.”
If I could, I would laugh, but I am in agony. Complete agony.
When I am able to open my eyes, I’m aware of a hulking figure standing over me. It’s Glenda the goat lover and she looks right pissed off. What’s her problem? It’s not her nuts that just got rammed up through her stomach and out her anus.
“Get up, you’ve caused a scene, and you’re scaring my goats.”
I blink up at her silhouette, unable to reply because fuck if I can get up on my knees right now, let alone my feet.
“Scaring your goats?” Lilah appears growling at Glenda’s side, and the expression she wears is fierce. If I wasn’t currently chewing on my nuts, I’d think it was hot.
“How dare you. How bloody dare you come over here and talk to him like that. You never bothered to help, and he’s injured because of your lack of care.” She puts her hands on her rounded hips, her face a picture of anger, “Get me a first aider and a manager, now.”
Glenda glares at the spitfire in front of her, and I’m not sure who is scarier. The butch and overly muscled goat lover or my feisty girl. The stare-off goes on for a few seconds until Glenda breaks eye contact, mumbling something under her breath.
I watch as Lilah’s eyes flair and her hand shoots out to stop the (wo)man mountain, walking away. “What did you just say?”
Glenda shakes her hand off and takes a step away, muttering “Townie idiots,” as she does.
I watch Lilah reach for her again, and I know I have to do something to stop this from escalating, but I’m still struggling to catch my breath, so I do what all men are good at when injured, I groan. Not just any normal groan, this is an epic ‘Im-about-to-die’ groan.
It does the trick and Lilah is soon leaning over me once more.
“I’m so sorry, Harry. Do you think I can help you up?”
She reaches down and offers me her hand, and I suck in a deep breath and let go of my nadgers long enough to grab it.
Using strength that I didn’t know I had, I slowly get to my knees, and then up onto my unsteady feet, but the urge to bar
f is still strong. I bet I’m that attractive green colour that I’ve seen other blokes go when they’ve taken a hit to their family allowance. I think my mother has that same shade in her downstairs toilet.
“Can you walk?” Lilah’s concern is written all over her face, from her furrowed brow, to her glassy eyes.
“Yeah, I think so. Let’s just… go slow, okay?”
My first step is met with rapturous applause and I look up to see all the families who witnessed my bout with Grunt, clapping and smiling at me. Some of the blokes are the same ‘downstairs toilet’ green colour that I probably am, but loads are smiling and giving me the thumbs up.
“That’ll be on YouTube within minutes. You’ll be an internet sensation.”
I can’t help the laugh that splutters from my lips, despite the pain that ricochets around my insides from the effort, “Cheers, Bunny Girl. You always know the right things to say.”
She fights a smile but replies, “What? I’ve never dated anyone famous before. It makes me all kinds of hot just thinking about it.”
My step falters, “Not funny when my Davidson has just burrowed it’s way through my body and is currently hiding behind my tonsils.”
She snorts, “Your Davidson?”
I glance up at the kids, now just a few feet away. “All men give their bits a nickname, even if they claim not to. Mine’s Davidson.”
“But your name is Harry?”
“But my middle name is David, and my Grandma always calls me Harry David, no matter what. So my pecker got shortened to Davidson.”
She mulls this over for a moment as if she’s trying to solve the riddle of the universe. I begin to strip slowly out of my overalls, making sure to avoid the area that is undoubtedly going to bruise like a bitch.
