Not a Farmer
Story by Muskwalker on SoFurry
Imported from SF2 with no description provided.
March was unusually warm, and the raucous sounds of bird and insect life on the back trails put me in mind of some deep jungle, even though it was only the path to the Tuesday market.
The background noises of nature gave way to the even more pervasive voices of humanity and livestock as I approached the square.
Aside from the big poultry farm on the county line, most of the farms around here were hobby farms run by families trying to live self-sufficiently, but they usually had a surplus left over for non-farming folks like me.
I walked through the little maze of stalls and booths, passing through the smells of local peaches and local onions and local manure until I ran across something I hadn't seen at the market before.
The booth featured a large blender, several crates of bottles of milk, a mini freezer full of ice cream, and a pile of assorted fruit, all of which were entirely overshadowed by the enormous farmer seated behind them.
He was as wide as the whole table, and big enough that even sitting down his head was level with mine. His hair and beard had gone gray, but his eyes were not those of an old man.
Even though he was, to put it mildly, a little larger than I usually like my men to be, his appearance was still somehow rather compelling; there was an affability to his expression that lined up pretty directly with the role he was playing as a salesman behind the counter.
“Milkshakes?" I said.
“I'm told they bring the boys to the yard," he said. “Though it's not the method I usually use."
I laughed. He didn't.
“The fruit is from Mr. Dow's farm," he added, pointing out the produce in the neighboring stall, “but the milk and the ice cream are all ours. It's very good—I do not hesitate to say we have the most special cows in the county."
“Well, I'll just have to give it a try, won't I?"
It took the big man a few moments to put together a peach milkshake in the blender and pour it out for me.
And it actually was pretty good. I'm not exactly a milk connoisseur so I couldn't exactly say what made it so appealing, but I took another sip as I thought about a fitting compliment to offer the farmer, stepped to one side so as not to block the next customer—and tripped, crashing into the stall and bringing it down.
The farmer cursed, first out of surprise, then out of anger, then out of concern as he reached to help me up. I was covered in milk and the remains of my shake, and fragments of broken bottles were everywhere.
“Sorry," I said. “No, I'm okay. Just…sorry. Sorry."
He was holding me upright, which due to his size mostly meant he was holding me against his belly. It was such a warm, soft mass of flesh—something you could just get lost in. I'd never realized just how fascinating the size of a big man could be.
And how distracting. Despite how comforting the farmer's body was, I remembered my predicament as milk dripped down between us. “I, uh… I know I ought to pay you back, but… I might have to do it in payments… I'm not exactly—"
“It's all right, fellah," he said. “There's a reason they say not to cry over spilled milk—there's always more where that came from. Let me tell you what, you come back to my farm, I'll give you a change so you can get out of those wet clothes, then you can help me load up my stock again, and we'll call it even."
I wasn't sure someone his size would have anything that fit me, but it seemed like a good alternative to paying a few hundred dollars in damages. “Sure thing, boss."
Uncle Boyce (as he insisted I call him) drove us about five minutes down the road to a farmhouse; he parked in front of the big stable behind it and hefted his body out of the driver's seat to help me down from his pickup.
“Go in," he said. “Second stall on the left should be empty. You can get out of those clothes and I'll have something for ya in a bit."
The interior of the stable was full of the stink of livestock. Most of the stalls seemed to be empty, but the second on the left was not—it was mostly taken up by an immense pig that seemed far too fat to even move. I entered the stall beyond it instead, and wondered why I'd been directed in here as I shucked off my clothes.
It's not like the stalls were exactly private.
Still, there wasn't really a reason to worry about animals seeing me in my undies anyway, so I put the worry aside and sat on a bench in the stall as I waited for the farmer.
It was a much longer wait than I expected. I tired quickly of sitting, and decided it'd be more comfortable to wait on all fours. It felt like the right thing to do—after all, only a farmer would sit or stand upright in a barnyard stall, and I was no farmer. It was a little rough on my knees at first, but as I knelt there I felt my bones shift till I was far more comfortable.
I couldn't keep track of how much time passed, but it felt like a long time—long enough to get hungry and start munching on the hay that had been left here for occupants of the stall, feeling my lower teeth change and my upper teeth withdraw.
As I stood there working my jaw, the farmer returned, readying an apparatus with an array of tubes. “Good to see you're settling in," he said. “For the most part, anyway. Let me help you with this."
He pulled a knife from his pocket and cut away my underwear, letting the scraps fall to the floor. At first I felt exposed, showing so much of myself, but then I remembered that only farmers wear clothes on the farm. Livestock doesn't get underwear, everyone knows that…
My mind started to rebel as he started to slip one of the tubes onto my teat—no, it was my cock he was trying to milk, I was sure of it, even if it didn't make sense—and my confusion only increased as he added a second one on to another teat, just beside it.
“Hey, what—"
Boyce looked up at me sharply as I protested, trying to get away, but my legs seemed to have trouble getting steady. “Hmm," he said. “Didn't get enough milk, did you?"
I looked up at him, terrified, as he stood up and lifted his shirt, exposing that massive belly of his. I could tell it was covered in dark hair, but that was hard to focus on as my eyes were drawn to his navel in a way I couldn't escape.
It was so deep… so irresistible…
Before I even realized what was happening, I had my nose pressed into it, letting the smell of his furry belly overwhelm my senses.
For a moment I didn't even understand what I was doing, what was happening, but with deep inhalation of his musk through a nose that felt much bigger than it had been a while ago, the clarity I'd had only a minute ago returned to me:
He was a farmer.
I was not a farmer.
And if I was here, in a place for livestock, and I wasn't the farmer, then I must be the livestock.
Obviously.
It was a comfort to understand that again.
It was a comfort to be with my farmer, nuzzling into him as he rubbed the fur on my head.
It was a comfort to slide my thick tongue deep into his navel, enjoying the size of him, even though I could tell I was probably a lot bigger myself than when I'd first come in. I felt the warmth of fur spreading across my body, replacing the need for clothing. Clothes were for farmers, after all.
He moved back towards my hindquarters and finished securing the milking machine to my udder, which was so full and heavy now that I couldn't imagine why I had protested his help earlier.
I lowed softly as the milker got to work filling the container that Boyce had brought. It felt good to have my teats worked, rough as the machine's movements were. Lulled by its steady action, I turned my attention to the hay in front of me and set to eating.
Once I'd filled the tank with the milk that bore my farmer's influence, he left with it to return to the market.
I ruminated over how long it might take for me to replace the milk I'd ruined. It hadn't been a very large container, after all.