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I know my jaw dropped so low, it could have hit the hay, and I stared at him as he moved his hands to the utters. “Excuse me?” I finally got that out, but it was in a breath and wasn’t as loud as I imagined it in my head before I said it.
He chuckled and soothed, “Now, don’t get offended. All I’m asking is, if you’ve ever jerked off. Watch,” he said, curling his fingers around one udder with one hand. “It’s a little like that, like you’re pulling your dick. Up and down, grip it, but not too tight. And, what you have to remember is, this is making her feel good. Like you are when you’re pulling your pecker.”
“What?”
“It’s not sexual,” he said simply with a sigh. “But think about it. You have a buildup in your balls, and you know the only way to stop that from hurting is to pull one off. It’s not that much different for her. She has a buildup of milk in her sack, and you’re pulling that out of her, with much the same motion as you’d pull on your dick.”
The wild thoughts that had gone through my mind amazed me. I thought, okay, the man is gay, and though he didn’t know I was, he didn’t care, and he’d gotten me to his place to fuck me and possibly even kill me. The assurances that he wasn’t a psycho didn’t matter a bit.
Then, hearing all that, it was the best explanation of how to milk a cow I could have ever gotten. Noah got off the stool, and I got on it, and when I placed my hand on the utter, making a fist around it, no, it didn’t feel like my dick, but using the motion, I began.
Milk came from the tip of the udder, and I was laughing as I did it. “Well, shit.”
“There ya go,” he said. “I’m gonna go get some other things done. When you’re finished, take the milk to the house, into the kitchen. I’ll store it when I go make our lunch.”
“Okay, sure.”
I started using two hands and when I squeezed the last drop into the bucket, I had a sense of accomplishment that something like milking a cow wouldn’t give anyone.
Putting the bucket in the kitchen, I knew I should rush right out to find Noah, but I sauntered through the house, taking it in more than I had the last couple of times.
In the living room, on that thick mantle, the pictures I’d seen were examined more closely, and it was one of them where I first saw the picture of the couple.
Noah, much younger, still bearded, but his hair was golden blond, like I’d guessed. He wore a white button shirt, jeans and cowboy boots, and the only thing missing was the hat. Next to him was a man that was handsome, wearing a suit, smiling out at the camera with a cheeky little smirk on his thin lips.
He had what I call a butt chin, a cleft that, for him, was perfect. He was dark headed, no beard or facial hair at all, and they made a beautiful, if a little odd, couple. One polished and the other roughhewn, but their happiness was obvious.
Opposites attract, or so someone said. I turned to leave when I caught a magazine on the coffee table, realizing it was likely what he’d been reading that morning, when I was watching. The article was about breaking a horse, and I thought that was weird, being the guy was an older rancher, had lived there all his life, but he was reading how to do it.
That was until I paid better attention to the title of the article.How to Better Break a Horse.
Reteaching someone. something that wasn’t easy to begin with, but most men were tough. They think they know something and rarely look for better ways of doing anything. When I saw him next, I wanted to sing his praises for that, relearning something to possibly do it better, but I’d have had to admit to snooping, and that rarely brought about good things.
He taught me next how to cool down a horse, brushing the mare, Forever Tawny, not giving her cold water, walking her slowly around the space between the corral and barn.
I will admit to fearing the thing when Noah first handed me the reins. Horses are big creatures, strong, and if one took a dislike to a person, they could do some damage, but I didn’t admit that. Who wants to admit to being scared of a horse?
I took a fast liking to Tawny, as Noah called her for short. She was tawny, almost taupe, and yes, I know the color taupe. Harvey had six shirts of that color, varying shades of it. There was a pinkish hue to her coat, but her mane was blonde, and that was what was so striking. Most horses I’d ever seen were one color on their bodies and mostly darker, or the same color as their mane, but not Tawny.
The longer I brushed her, talking to her as Noah had, calm and low, she got quiet. Her eye would glance over at me when I was near her head and I felt the trust she was beginning to have in me, the new guy.
It felt good.
My bike, I felt like it was alive. Many people did with their vehicles, like they were a living thing, and we’d talk to them occasionally. I know I spoke to my bike, more than I liked to say, but with a horse, it was different.
Not only were they really alive, but they felt smarter than people. The term “dumb animal” had always rubbed me the wrong way, but there was something about that horse that left me feeling like I was the one that was stupid.
I couldn’t explain it then and I’m still trying to figure it out, but right then, it gave me something valuable. Trust and respect for something not human, not machine. That was one thing lacking in many instances of my life, was trust, respect. The last time I remember trusting anyone or anything was in the war, with those I served beside.
Thinking of that, I wondered if I was the right person to feel the trust of a horse like Tawny. Would I somehow fuck it up and get her hurt? Would she die in front of me while I was helpless to save her?
That thought didn’t sit well, and I got Tawny back into the corral, an apology to her on my lips that I never spoke. Maybe I knew I was being “theatrical” as Harvey would say. And maybe I was…
Chapter Five
“Thatchickencomesfroma local farmer. He trades to me and a few others for my beef, pork from Johnson.”
We were having dinner exactly a week after I got there. The chicken was great, better than I’d eaten since I could remember. We had breasts and all the breasts I’d cooked while at the apartment had been dry, no matter how I did it. Noah’s was moist and flavorful. “How’d you cook this?”
