Calving Signs - part 1

Calving Signs - part 1

Terri watched the cows.
During her final descent the black and brown specks of distant cows grew into gross mooing things. Terri watched the big, dumb animals amble around, chewing on grass.
She thudded her head against the plastic windowpane.
There were no bovines back at College. It was dead center in urban blight. She had picked it partly for that reason.
And now she was going back… to cows.
* * *
Her Mom didn’t meet her at the gate.
Terri collected three heavy bags and walked out of the terminal. At the taxi stand she picked a large yellow van, the driver congealed in the seat. When he hauled himself up to get her bags the chair rippled and bubbled behind him.
In a battered College t-shirt and grey cotton pants she looked like a refugee from a slumber party. If she had any curves, they were lurking in depths.
Terri climbed into a leather backseat that smelled like cheap cigarette smoke, and checked herself in the rear-view mirror.
Her only positive features were two blue eyes and a healthy, rosy complexion. Terri had been born with a wholesome, wide-eyed look that screamed “country girl.”
Which was why she usually dusted on bone-white makeup and pulled her ash-blonde hair back into a tight braid. The girl looking back at her resembled a consumptive mortician. But at least it wasn’t fresh off the ranch.
“Where to?” the Driver said.
“Calving,” Terri said. “It’s about a half-hour southwest on…”
“Yeah, I know,” the driver said. He accelerated.
Terri raised an eyebrow. No one had EVER heard of Calving. That was one of its virtues.
“You know where it is?”
“Lots of people going out that way. They’re building something out there,” the driver searched his memory. “A factory. That’s it. Big factory. Right outside of town.”
“Of what?” Probably a slaughterhouse. They had been talking about one for a long time. People in Calving talked about cows whenever the weather wasn’t interesting.
“No… hold on. It’s coming. It was something weird. Baby food! It’s a baby food factory.”
Baby food? She would’ve expected weapons defense or chip manufacture before baby food.
“Yeah, organic baby food or something. Big factory. Real big. Lots of lawyers and financial types going to Calving. You from there?”
“No,” Terri lied, reflexively.
An hour later they reached the outskirts of town. It used to be a nondescript freeway exit, with a bolted-on town marker underneath the highway sign. Now the road was two lanes wide, with new pavement, and a brand new sign read “Welcome to Calving!”
The factory stood on the right side of town. It was three stories tall, with beige walls and few windows. Two smokestacks were already churning black tatters of smoke into the air. More specks—people this time—swarmed over construction equipment.
A large chain link fence separated the property from the road.
At the next turn they stopped at a red light, up against the side of the road.
Terri came face to face with a cow.
It had sidled up to the edge of a fence and stuck its dumb wet eyes over the side of the road. The fat animal pawed at the ground. It was pregnant—large sides ballooned out with a calf.
It mooed at her.
* * *
Downtown was the same. City Hall, library, barbershop, Mike’s Diner, barbershop. And then the Cathedral, a huge, oversized pile of white stone overshadowing the rest of the town.
“This driveway,” Terri instructed, five minutes later. On both sides were dead pastureland with bleached-wood fences.
They had reached the House.
Terri remembered for the first time to check her pockets. Then her wallet. Nothing.
“Wait right here,” she told the man, and dashed inside. Terri barely had time to register new things: the lawn was mowed, the ivy had been cut back, the faded paint had been refreshed.
Her Mom was in the living room, drinking a glass of wine. A big glass. They looked at each other, and her Mom opened her mouth—
“I need seventy dollars in cash,” Terri said, quickly. “For the cabbie. He’s waiting outside.”
Her Mom stopped, sighed, and pulled a bill out of her purse. Terri dashed back outside. A fifty-two dollar fare with a three-buck tip meant a fifteen dollar profit. The driver didn’t bother to take her bags out.
Terri went back inside. Her Mom was just refilling her glass.
They looked at each other.
“So,” she said, to her daughter. “My college dropout returns home.”
“That’s me,” Terri said, and stomped upstairs.
* * *
The old house was too large for just a Mom and a Daughter. It sprawled amiably in most directions, centered loosely around a wood-paneled staircase that pinwheeled up three floors. When Terri was young she had liked to play in the outskirts, checking out the sealed rooms with cloth-covered furniture.
It wasn’t until she was older that the oppressiveness of the huge edifice started to get to her. She had already planned out her dorm room posters when she was sixteen, eager to move away.
Her room was the pride of the house, with three large windows in a triangle, peering out over a wide and dusty landscape. She had decked it out with any number of posters and miscellania from trips to the City.
Terri rolled her bags up to her room and opened the door.
And shrieked.
There was a man inside.
He was sitting on the bed, reading a bible, and looked up at her.
“You must be Terri!” he said, crisply. He had a trained, low voice, and stood up to shake her hand. She simply stared back. He had his other finger in the bible, so he wouldn’t lose his place. Her room had new white wallpaper, and the room was empty except for a single bed, a desk, and a dresser.
“Excuse me,” she said, and ran back downstairs.
Her Mom was halfway through her latest glass. “I see you’ve met Reverend Flynn,” she said, watching her daughter race down the stairs.
“There’s a MAN in my room,” Terri accused, pointing a finger.
“Is this about your room or is this about the man?” her Mom said.
Only now did Terri pick up on the difference to her own mother.
The old Anne switched between TJ Maxx blouses on weekdays and faded tie-dye on weekends, when she gardened. Usually with her hair yanked back into a ponytail, and pinned.
Today she wore a very pretty blue dress, frilled at the edges, It swung just above her knee. There were low heels.
“Both!” Terri said, following her Mom into the parlor room. Anne had gotten her hair done. Bright blonde curls framed her face. “Who is he? Why did you give him my room?”
“I wasn’t expecting you back for, oh, three and a quarter years, Terri. At least. So I rented the house out. I needed the money. He’s not the only tenant, either.”
“So where’s all my stuff?”
“Basement. I’ve got it all set up. Reverend Flynn was nice enough to help arrange it. He’s very… handy to have around.” Anne lingered on the last sentence.
Terri didn’t even know where to begin. Her Mother sipped more chardonnay while her daughter struggled to put a sentence together. She finally settled for an all-encompassing look of frustration.
Anne sank into her own chair, a high-backed thing made out of horsehair. “What were you expecting, Terri? You made very clear that I wasn’t to coddle you anymore. What were your exact words? Something about how you were a butterfly, and how me keeping you in this town was like scraping up your cocoon?”
“Squishing,” Terri said.
“Squishing my cocoon.”
“I see,” Anne said. She crossed her legs. The material of her dress was very shiny. “And now you’re back.”
“Who is the guy? Since when have you been going to Church?” Terri said. Her Mom was one of the few who stayed home on Sundays in a town full of thumping bibles.
“Reverend Greet died in February. You probably didn’t know that. Reverend Flynn is his replacement,” Anne smiled. “he’s quite a remarkable man. Not as a Reverend. Just as… a man.”
Terri made a face.
“Give him a chance,” Anne said. “On his first day in town he had dinner with Reverend Smith. At the Diner, where everyone could see.”
That WAS impressive, Terri had to admit.
Reverend Smith was the minister at the black church on the West side of Calving. Race relations hadn’t been a strong point of Calving society. Reverend Greet had liked to drop his voice to a stage whisper and roll his eyes whenever he had to say “African-Americans.”
“Now go to your basement and get changed,” Anne said, standing up. “Dinner is in five minutes.”
Homecoming was getting better and better. Terri slouched towards the dusty staircase that led underground.
“And Terri?” her Mom said.
“We’ll talk about your rent after dinner.”
The skirt-wearing woman that had been her Mom swept into the kitchen.
* * *
Deanna repeated her lines in the mirror.
“Robert, I’m going home tonight,” she said. “To Mom’s. I’ll call you when I get there. I’ve contacted a divorce lawyer and left his number by the phone so that you can call him tomorrow morning. His name is Steven and he’s very professional.”
Then she would pick up her purse, one overnight bag of clothes, and walk out the door. The wispy brunette twisted her wedding ring with her right hand. Her heart was pounding.
A glass of wine would be exquisite, but she had to drive over four hours tonight.
She checked the clock on the wall. 5:50. The wall itself was cheap clapboard, one of many other prefab homes brought in for the Construction Team. Calving was way too far from anywhere.
A little part of her whispered that she couldn’t do this.
After all, if she was so collected, why had she dressed up like a… like a cheap tart?
She hadn’t worn denim shorts like these since college. They hugged her rear end. And her bright pink stretch top looked like club clothing, showing off her wobbling tits.
Time and time again she had told Robert that all that growth wasn’t natural. No one grew two cup sizes at twenty-five.
But then he had just put his big, callused hands over them, and grinned like a boy in a candy store. Except for some squeaking. They were very sensitive. That wasn’t normal, either.
The front door opened.
Robert had a half-day of stubble and helmet hair from the hard hat. He grinned when he saw her standing there, in her heels, twisting one behind her back. He wore dusty blue jeans and a plaid shirt she had bought for him.
Deanna tried to say the lines and nothing came out.
He pecked her on the lips. Deanna inhaled, involuntarily.
The scent of a day’s worth of hard work and sweat climbed off him, onto her, and right up to the center of her head. It touched the huge wobbling cushion that was her new libido and stamped up and down. Hard.
There was just so much of him. Every since they had come out to this cow town, Robert’s masculine, testosterone-laced scent had climbed into her panties and never ever left. Once she had masturbated just from the scent left on his pillow.
She could feel moisture budding on the outside of her pussy. Again. The brunette was dribbling so much these days she had to concentrate to stay hydrated.
She had shaved her snatch for him yesterday, and then cursed herself for the weakness.
“Hey, good news!” he said, heading over to the kitchen. Deanna just stood there, trying to put her fractured head back together. The scent… lingered. She tried to keep her eyes fixed on the chair. But they had fucked there just last week, her legs spread obscenely wide as—
“You can still do this!” she reminded herself. “You don’t need to climb aboard that monster for one more… delicious ride…”
She managed to squeak “What’s the news?”
“Promotion!” he said, smiling widely and cracking open a beer. And one for her. “Gonna be running the concrete laying from now on. The Boss likes my work ethic. An extra two dollars an hour plus the management is watching me now, you know?”
“Which means he makes, what, fourteen dollars an hour now?” her Mom’s voice told her.
Instead, Deanna beamed at him. “That’s amazing!” she gushed. He handed her the can. She got another intoxicating whiff of him. So sharp… and so very male. Like a tanned piece of leather, mixed with hot gravel and dirt.
He was staring at her tits.
Why shouldn’t he? They were so much bigger. Big tubs of boob, swiveling in a hot pink shirt. Even his artless kneading sent fireworks off in her bubbling head.
Deanna clenched her thighs together and felt moisture budding.
“Did you go job-hunting today?” he asked, sitting down on his favorite chair. “I saw a help wanted in front of that diner. You might meet some more people there.”
His legs were open. He was bigger, too. A big dick. Robert said it was probably an illusion, or because of the hard work. But an extra inch and a half of meat between his thighs wasn’t something you could hide. Especially when it was always pumping between your legs. Or from behind.
“Not today. Maybe tomorrow,” Deanna said.
He was right next to her. She could smell him. Like a rough, callused cowboy. Her man.
“Okay!” Robert said, cheerfully. He picked up his can. “What do you want to do to celebrate?”
“Celebrate,” Deanna thought.
Right. He had gotten a promotion.
She should show her man how appreciative she was. She was his wife, after all.
Deanna sank gracefully to her knees. She pulled out her tits, first, to give Robert something to watch.
He grinned. Getting a spectacular blowjob on his return home had nearly become a ritual. Robert had no idea what was going on with his pretty young wife—the insatiable sexual appetite, the extreme attentiveness to his needs—but he didn’t feel like complaining.
Deanna fumbled with the fly. Robert’s cock was already at half-mast, rising through his boxers. The full force of his heady mix of pheromones socked her in the face as soon as she had his pants down.
She was soaking her panties.
“Don’t have sex with him,” Deanna told herself. “Just a blowjob. You’ve given hundreds. Then you can go.”
She had started counting days ever since half the women in the construction compound had announced pregnancies. Half the reason she was leaving was to avoid the growing chorus of goofily-grinning girls clutching expanding waistlines.
She descended on the familiar, reassuring length of Robert’s cock. The warmth filled her mouth to overflowing, and part of it bobbed at the back of her throat. She waited for it, patiently, and the first trickle of precum dropped into her mouth on cue.
“You’ve gotten real good at this, babe,” Robert said, admiringly, and she blushed at the compliment. Deanna locked her lips around the hardness in her mouth, swiping her tongue along the underside, and coaxed dribbles of precum out of his cock.
Her pussy spasmed and clenched. At times she had slipped a finger into her needy snatch, but usually now she usually tried to concentrate on being the best cocksucker she could be.
“I’m a good wife,” she told herself. “I’m being a supportive spouse.” She was his. Owned, really. There to satisfy his needs.
Robert examined her bouncing tits. They had been adequate handfuls when they moved out here. But two months on country food had swelled them up into heavy knockers, topped with sensitive nipples.
Usually he felt content with a leisurely blowjob, but Robert had gotten a promotion that day. Most of the guys at work talked about fucking their braying wives and girlfriends into unconsciousness. Why not him?
“Hey Deanna, stand up,” Robert said. She did, staring at him uncertainly with her bright green eyes. A drooling bit of cum fell out of her mouth.
“Why don’t you bend over on that chair?” He said, gesturing. His cock bobbed in front of him.
“But…” Deanna tried to say something. “At least get him to use a condom!” she shrieked at herself.
Her pussy was on fire. It was bright pink and juicy. She looked like a very fuckable wife with it smooth. At least, that’s what she had told the bathroom mirror.
Deanna rested her bountiful chest up against the side of the table, and peered back nervously at her husband’s approaching dick. White fluid spread across it.
“Don’t… come in me, okay?” she muttered, quietly. “Not today.”
“Sure thing,” Robert assured her, then slipped his cockhead neatly inside her slippery folds.
Deanna screamed.
Shocks of pleasure cascaded through her sweaty, overripe body. Her tits blushed with pleasure, and she scrabbled at her nipples, trying to squeeze out a few more drops of heat. The neighbors could hear in every direction. She didn’t care. Most of them were screamers, too.
More wisps of Robert’s sex-juice scent stained the inside of her head. Flickers of images rippled through her. Her tits, heavy with milk, dribbling all over the linoleum floor. Getting fucked in the exact same position, only with a huge belly, smiling during her afternoon lay. Cooing over a cradle as her man returned from work with an aching hardon. For her.
He was slick with juice. Robert’s cock burrowed towards her womb, jetting squirts of cum. He had lost control, deep within a slick, tight snatch, thrusting hard behind her swaying ass.
“Come in me, come in me!” Deanna screamed, lost in her own orgasm.
Robert came. Cum gushed and flowed around his cock, coating her with a white batch of goo. Deanna nearly banged her head against the table, and she weakly pulled and yanked on her oversensitive nipples.
When he pulled out of her, she dripped onto the floor, still perfumed with his masculine scent. Usually she spent her evenings luxuriating in it, bathed in his aroma, while cooking dinner. This time she played with the ropes of cum dribbling out of her, and imagined herself swelling up.
Robert, still naked, sat back down and picked up his beer.
“What’s this?” he said, pointing to a written down number next to the phone.
“What’s what, honey?” Deanna said, and rubbed her thighs together to hold in the cum.

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