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He watched her beeline from the station beneath the table to the door, disappearing with a click, leaving him alone with whoever it was that interrupted them.
“We’ll have you out of here in no time,” a sullen voice echoed from beneath him, and his fingers tightened around the edge of the bench.
No. No, no, no!It was the same Stiff Grip Sally from the previous week, Violet’s trainee, and his frenulum had only just recovered. Before he could even open his mouth to protest, his cock was caught, trapped in her unyielding grip.
He was going to wind up chafed. He was going to wind up circumcised. Every uncomfortable tug of his foreskin felt as if it were pulling the skin off his face, that stiff up-and-down jiggling, and he wanted to scream. He didn’t know what deity he had slighted, if this was his punishment for having his ring removed, or if this was some cosmic comeuppance for feeding the capitalistic human pharmaceutical machine in the first place.We have to be tortured so they can have Ejacumints.
“Just use the hose!” he wheezed. This was his fault for not immediately putting an X beside her name after the previous week, a mistake he would not make again.Where is Violet?
The nozzle was shoved down his shaft with no gentleness, and his eyes watered as the hydraulic arm did its work.
“The technician I normally have, where is she? Don’t tell me you don’t know who I’m talking about; I know you do,” he plowed on when the girl began to hem and haw. “You trained with her that last week before they let you loose on your own. It was on a Tuesday, she worked on me, but you were in the room. Where is she? Did she quit? Was she fired? Did something happen to her?”
The only sound in the room was the whirring buzz of the machine, and his questions were met by silence from the tech.
“Look, I’m not trying to stalk her or something. I just want to know if she’s gone for good so that I can rebook with someone new,” he lied.
The lie worked. “She still works here,” the girl finally said hesitantly, and he strained to hear her voice over the sound of the machine. “She’s out of town or something.”
The light clicked green, and his whole body sagged. She was out of town. Maybe on vacation. Maybe with friends or reconnecting with an old boyfriend.Maybe someone she’s met here could be another bull. Or maybe just someone else in Cambric Creek. She could have met a hundred people in the time it’s taken you to actually act on your crush.
Rourke could not account for the next week. He had no idea what he did with his time, how he made it back and forth to work, and what he said or did once he arrived there. He felt as though he were trapped, frozen, suspended in amber like a prehistoric bug. The world was moving around him, but it was hazy and indistinct. At one point, he was certain Lurielle had shimmied through the hedges, poking him with a pointed nail, trying to lure him out of the house with the promise of cake, but he shooed her away. Or at least, he thought he did. By the time Friday rolled around again, he was apathetic to his very existence. If she wasn’t there again, he would not return.
He felt stupid and small and more than a little foolish for even admitting it to the bull in the mirror, but somehow, this almost felt worse than his divorce. That, at least, had been a long time coming. Like a slow-moving accident that he had watched from the very first screech of the breaks to the inevitable pile up and removal of mangled metal. He and Veleena had both played their part in the demise of their relationship, there had been more than enough blame to go around, and at the end of the day, it had felt pointless to do so. They were no longer in love and barely liked each other, and beneath the hurt and upset at the lifestyle change, it had been a relief.
He didn’t know this girl. He wasn’t in love with her yet, didn’t know if they had anything in common nor whether they would be compatible to even make it beyond one evening in each other’s company. It was that bubble of hope he mourned, the extinguishment of that tiny glimmer of optimism. A door closing before it ever had the chance to be open fully. He felt a hundred years old, too tired and defeated to even think of going through this madness again, and he was ready to call it quits on his love life.Wheel of Enticement, dinner from the blender, and an early bedtime. That’s all that’s left for you.
***
It was with that same defeated attitude that he trudged into his appointment that Friday, potentially for the last time.You don’t need the money. Just because that one old mule has an opinion doesn’t mean you’re being derelict in your duties as a member of the community. Maybe youshouldstart doing drugs; it’s an option.
The door opened, her wide eyes finding him, and his heart lurched in his chest, nearly knocking him off his hooves.
“You. Where have youbeen!?” Violet looked over her shoulder as if he were referring to someone behind her, and he wanted to scream. It took a mighty effort not to lift the chair his pants were folded over and fling it over the railing in the direction of the milking machine. “I had to practically twist someone’s arm off just to find out if you still worked here!”
“I’ll bet they didn’t tell you much,” she hummed airily, placing her clipboard on the invisible desk below. “It’s against company policy to divulge any information about employees, especially to a client.”
He soured at her words, once again catching them like a blow to the ribs.A patron, a client, a customer. Impersonal, a stranger. All you are and all you’ll ever be.
No. He was tired of being caught in this spiral of despair. He’d grown up on the plains, hundreds of miles of nothing but farmland and dust, and he had seen more than one twister in his days. The key, their grandfather had taught him and his brothers and cousins, was preparation and decisive action. When they were children, their daily chores on the farm were the same, day in and day out, until they were able to execute the order of every task in their sleep.
He had been seven or eight the first time he remembered witnessing a crooked finger coming down from the clouds, snaking over the earth, existing to test their muscle memory. Livestock and tractors were secured, shutters latched, his mother and grandmother fetched from the house, the bulkhead doors to the dugout cellar latched behind them before it seemed he even had time to take his first breath. He knew the damage the spinning vortex could cause, and he was tired of being swept up in its unpredictable misery.
“Don’t give me that,” he countered, knowing full well his tone could only be called belligerent. “I can’t believe you literally left me in the clutches of that amateur. I waschafedafter the last time!” It wasn’t a lie. Stiff Grip Sally had no respect or regard for his prepucel integrity, and he’d practically needed to put himself on ice.
Her laughter shimmered around him, a bright ray of sunshine pushing through the clouds, chasing the tumultuous storm away. As he gazed down at her, Rourke couldn’t help but think she seemed heavier, somehow. Even her laugh felt as if it were weighted, but he supposed coming through the storm meant something was bound to get wet.
“Poor thing,” she chuckled, rolling her eyes dramatically at him before disappearing beneath the bench. “We’ll have to be extra gentle on your delicate, chafed bits.”
The first touch of her hands to his heated flesh, once he had settled against the bench, was like slipping into a warm bath after a hard day in the fields. Comfortable and comforting, familiar, yet no less soothing, despite the familiarity.Because ofthe familiarity, he mentally corrected. She stroked him slowly, languidly, and he felt himself slip beneath the surface with a groan.
“The first client I had today was new. Like,newnew. He’d never done this before.”
His eyes slipped closed as he listened to her narrate the tale of her disastrous morning. As she talked, her hands moved, one over the other, coating him in lubricant, tracing a thick vein up the side of his shaft with the tip of her nail until she was able to press into the slit in his tip. His eyes rolled back as he hissed in pleasure. Both thumbs were moving at the base of his head, a circle eight of movement over that spot that made his stomach clench, and his balls lift. A secret decoder ring to all of his erogenous zones, a Sibil before an Oracle fire – all seemed possible, for there was no one other than her who could make his body sing this way.
“He lost his erection—twice!”
He huffed in laughter, and it was so comfortable, so easy, that he could almost imagine the same conversation taking place stretched out on the sofa after a long day’s work. She would pull into the driveway of his cookie-cutter house, her car having its own spot close to the door. They would cook together, clean up together, go to bed together, but first . . . First, they would both collapse on the sofa extra-large and deep, designed for big species. He would stretch out on his back as she laid against his chest, giving him the opportunity to scratch his nails against her back, into her hair, rubbing her temples and tugging on her earlobes, encouraging all of her tension to release against him.
