Horny things

I am so going to regret making this post . . .

Bestiality is a topic I wouldn’t normally talk about. But I guess I pretty much established that my life is far from normal. And when it ends up being two different species of animals fighting for one mate in another species, there might be some entertaining humor to be found.

(Before you grab the phone to call the authorities about the crazy woman in Pennsylvania, I will inform everyone right now that I was NOT purposely involved in the physical aspect and no clothes were removed by me in this story.)

The days of reaching puberty were fraught with curiosity and bewilderment. Having things enlarge on a person’s chest can take up most of their attentions. What I hadn’t noticed, or I suppose most humans are not given such heightened olfactory nerves, was that females give off scents perceived by males concerning the hormonal changes in their bodies. Most of these changes concern when a female has an intense sexual arousal during a reproductive phase -or putting it in dog terms, when a bitch goes into heat.

And speaking of dogs . . . MOO!

All right. That was confusing. But I give enormous credit that my readers are extremely intelligent people. So anyone whose reading my below-average writing probably figured out what animals would be involved after seeing the first two letters in the title. Ho . . . oh wait. You can’t figure it out by that, and I just totally dissed myself while not even halfway through this story. Damn!

(By the way, maybe I’m not TOO below average. I once took an online IQ test. - no, not those stupid rinky-dink ones on Facebook with only five questions with the word, quetsonis, misspelled. This one had almost 40 without trying to sell me a cell phone plan and it threw trigonometry at me [my arms are all scratched up by those sharp points on the triangles]. I am a whooping . . . *lots of sarcasm* . . . 124, which probably averages out as a 74 - in dog years.)

Did I digress badly in this or what? I guess I’m really showing my intelligence, which isn’t much.

Anyhow, the livestock interacted constantly on the farm. Everything was peaceful between the cows, pigs, chickens, and dogs - or rather our one dog, Petrum (Petey for short). He was a black&white border collie - a natural herder dog. He really didn’t mess with the cows so long as they kept their distance and he was on his chain. But that was before my puberty struck. In this weird cosmic world we live in, I really didn’t feel too much different overall - or smell any different to my nose. But for the animals, it was an entirely different matter.

One day, while going toward the barn, I stopped by Petey’s food bowls to make sure he had some water. Being a typical everyday dog, he wanted an ear rub. Not being typical for him, something else caught his attention. He began giving me the crotch sniff, really enamored about doing it. Confused, I backed away. Determined, he charged forward with his big black nose aimed at the fabric between my legs. I pushed his head away. He sat and gave me his brown-eyed sad doggie stare. I walked over and rubbed his ears.

He reared up and latched both front paws around my leg. Then his backside began thrusting.

Now realize something - I had entered my puberty stage earlier than other girls. I think I was 10 or 11 at the time this story happened. So I was still naive as to the sexual aspects he was doing.

My brother was outside as he walked up. I said, “Look, Mikey, he loves me so much that he’s giving me a hug!”

“That’s not a hug,” Mike said mysteriously before walking away. I scratched my head and stared at my dog who had his muzzle opened wide and his tongue hanging out the side in happiness. He had a literal death grip on my leg, and I tried to walk out of it but he would just hop forward. That’s when I saw something I had never seen before.

It was a small pink thing, about half an inch long and quite visible against his black&white fur, coming out of the main shaft of his penis. Curiosity made me watch more than anything until he was done. Nothing came out of him because he was neutered. He licked his little pink thing, and after some time it retracted completely back inside. Then he curled up and took a nap.

(What? No dinner? No movie? What a gyp!)

Anyway, Petey was one satisfied dog . . . until something else got interested in me.

We raised many cows on the farm, which I think I’ve mentioned before but my extreme embarrassment of the previous paragraphs have forced my mind to do a brain freeze at the moment. Anyway, we raised them from calves (my father bought them as such) and it was my sole responsibility to give them milk. Because of this, they saw me as their surrogate cow mother who walked on two legs instead of four. This means that they followed me around constantly, while still being skittish of the other members of my family. I could walk up to a cow and give it a neck rub with his forehead up against my chest and eyes closed (I’ve done that with wild deer too - not the rub, but I’ve walked right up and touched them while the deer thought I was just another of its kind).

Er, where was I? Oh, right. The cows. Anyway, the cows were pets . . . but pets that I knew I would be eating later. So I didn’t really become too attached to them. I should mention that all the calves were male. We had no females because my father didn’t want them to breed when they reached puberty. Unfortunately, when a cow hits puberty, it wants to breed. And it will do it with anything that catches its eye.

So the puberty-frustrated young cows would rear up and lay their heads on each other, or on my shoulder. That was a lot of weight, and I hurried to get away before they knocked me down, afraid I would get trampled under their hooves. Petey was not happy with the cows taking an interest in me. He ran around his doghouse barking, wrapping his chain around until it became shorter and shorter and he got tied up. I had to unwind the chain, which meant being in-between his doghouse and the detached garage.

I was trapped in-between a horny dog and a horny cow and two buildings.

Once I had his chain free, Petey would rush up to the cow, snarling, but he knew he couldn’t hurt the animal. He had been trained only to herd. The cow kept out of the range of the chain, but it wouldn’t leave because there was a female nearby and it wanted to mate. When I tried to walk to the gate, the cow came charging at me. Petey ran around me, and I had to play jump rope with his chain so it wouldn’t wrap around my ankles and cause me to fall or seriously injure my legs. I rushed back to the safety of the dog house. The cow waited and stared. Petey waited and stared. We were at an impasse.

(And everyone is laughing. Go ahead. Laugh. It’s a humorous moment when you think about it: a young pubescent girl and a young pubescent cow and a young pubescent dog. Menage a trois - farm-style.)

Let me wrap up this story with no more embarrassment. Eventually, I got out of the pasture with no harm done - to the forlorn mooing of the cow and the sad doggie stare of Petey. Farm life was never boring after that.