I am honored and thrilled to be a new member of ‘Tuesday Tales’ which is a group of wonderfully skilled authors who share original short stories every Tuesday. Each week the scribes at ‘Tuesday Tales’ write their stories to a prompt, either a word which must be in the story or have bearing on the tale, or a picture. This week the word is ‘Mountain’. As these are original stories written in a week, some errors may be found. I do apologize for those in advance. Try not to let them boggle you down though if possible.
My post this week is an original short starring my leading lady and man from ‘Of Gods & Goats’, Libby Simons and Ares, Greek god of war, bloodlust, and other testosterone laden titles. Thanks for stopping in. May the gods smile upon you!
A Mountain Morning
Late summer on my goat farm is a sanguine time. Or it used to be before the behemoth known as Ares, Greek god of war and manly courage, tumbled through the roof of my barn. Sanguine is now what I`m usually mumbling incoherently at the end of a crazy day when I need some sangria stat.
There are many things that late summer means to me as a caprine raiser. Getting my hay in for the winter is a labor intensive job but a necessary one this time of year. There are fairs to attend and goat shows to participate in. I used to show in open but now with Ares to keep an eye on I declined this year. Trust me, it was a good call. I can`t imagine what the ox would do to the judge if I lost.
I always go watch if some 4-H or FFA members have purchased my kids for the fair. Ares and I attended this year’s fair but I`ve not had enough sangria to rehash that outing. I`ll get to that trip next time.
Another sign of fall approaching is that the kids are now more than old enough to be sold. This is a bittersweet time for me as I`ve grown very attached to all my little darlings over the course of the summer months. This spring I was blessed with four does and one buckling. Despite my intentions of castrating the little guy, he never got his goat nuggets removed so, sadly, he had to find a new home. I do not wish to have son making babies with mama. My four little girls are staying here on my farm to increase my milk production needs. More milk means more soap which means more money for me.
Today was the day that the buyers were coming to pick up Simba, my lone little guy. The family is a great family. The parents are very much into getting this buckling for their yearling Saanen does. The young man who is buying Simba is a goat enthusiast; his admiration for my buck kid was obvious when they came out to look at Simba a few days ago. As soon as the young man saw the buck he was sold. I have to admit that kid is going to make some great does in the future. His mother has an udder attachment and capacity to die for. Oops, sorry. I slipped into goat talk for a minute.
Anydoodles, this morning when I woke up I rolled over. Actually, it was more like free-rolling into a ditch. My nose crunched into Ares hairy armpit. Praise Hera he had taken a shower and applied liberal amounts of that manly deodorant that is spicy and old. I sneezed violently. The man chuckled deeply. After my sneezing fit was over I got my face onto his pectoral. It`s nice and firm and covered with dark curly hair. We laid there intertwined for a few minutes, listening to the robins greeting the new day and the sound of a steer and Minotaur making bovine whoopee. Ares was the first to say something. Big surprise, I know.
“Do those two never tire of their failed attempts at breeding? Surely it cannot feel that good. If `twas me that tried numerous times to poke about pointlessly in search of the correct …..”
“And a rosy ‘Hello Tuesday!’ to you as well,” I quickly cut-in. There is something you should know about the god of war. Ares has no filter. There is nothing between his brain and his mouth to censure what flows out. Being a god I suppose he never really needed to learn tact upon Olympus. Living here in among we mortals is another story. “Why don`t we just let the calls of cow love drift away without comment? Think you can do that?”
He made a funny sort of sound which I took for consent. His arms slid from behind his motor-block of a head. Fingers, war-torn and rough as tree bark, began to move in languid strokes up and down my neck. I shuddered. His chest swelled. Ego thy name is Ares. More time moved past. My dog and cat got up and found new sleeping spots behind me. I wriggled closer to my man.
“Bunting, is there some reason you are content to lay in our bed this morn?” Ares inquired. His voice was a booming sound in my ear that laid flat to his chest. “Do you wish to rut? I find I am quite ready if you are.”
I winced. After the rather robust session last night, I was really not in the mood for canoodling. “Uhm, maybe later,” I offered then slid my bent leg away from his ready part shyly. “I`m just in the mood to cuddle this morning,” I confessed.
“Ah,” he said with a smile, “The attentions of a god were too much for you last night. I shall be gentle and considerate of your weary womanly gates this day.”
“My gates and I thank you,” I giggled, placed my lips to his chest and inhaled deeply. More time crept past. The man next to me began wriggling around. I lifted my head to look into eyes as deep and blue as the Aegean Sea. His bushy brows were knotted.
“Are you feeling ill?” he asked.
“No, I feel fine.”
Obviously he did not believe me for his brows dropped even lower. “Then why are you here in bed? If you are not wishing to rut, or are not sickly, what besets you? Never do you lie in bed when Apollo is rising.”
“Nothing besets me. I just wanted to curl up with you,” I lied like that famous rug. “If you have to pee then please feel free.”
“You are not being truthful, Libby. My need to urinate can wait until I know the manner of this malaise that has settled upon you,” Ares said in that tone I know too well. It was his ‘I mean it and will brook nothing less than the truth, Woman!’ tone. He rolled to his side. My head flopped to his rumpled pillow. Again I found his gaze upon me. A finger twice the width of one of mine gently brushed a red curl from my cheek. “What weighs so heavily upon you?”
“I`m just not in any rush to get up this morning,” I replied, wondering not for the first time why men are blessed with lashes so thick and naturally dark. His crooked nose wrinkled in concentration. Somebody down in the goat barn blatted. A cool breeze carried the call in through the window. I watched the light of illumination cross his rugged face and knew he had hit upon my reluctance to rise and shine.
“You do not wish to see your kid leave, that is why you lay here in my arms when `tis not your norm,” Ares told me. I shrugged a shoulder. He ran his palm over the bare expanse I had just tossed up in feigned nonchalance. “I am correct, am I not?”
My face may have screwed up slightly. “Maybe,” I finally admitted. The cover slid from my back to be replaced with a hand centuries old. Ares pulled me to him then kissed me tenderly.
“I find your affection for your beast endearing. He is going to a good home, you yourself said so. I have never heard a shepherd ask so many questions of a person seeking to purchase a member of their flock,” he whispered. Whenever Ares speaks tenderly it is done so very quietly. It`s as if he`s afraid someone may hear him being gentle. “If you wish, we can go see him after he has settled into his new abode. Will that ease your caring heart?”
I nodded then gave him a smile. “That would ease my heart greatly.” I tossed my arms around his neck and molded my mouth to his for a long kiss.
When we came up for air his right eyebrow climbed up his forehead.
“You can lower that brow. My gates are closed for the day,” I informed him. The brow dropped like a lead weight was tied to it. “I can go make some breakfast though, if you`re hungry?”
“Aye, I may as well break my fast,” the man sighed dramatically then tossed himself to his back with a huff.
“May as well,” I agreed, pecking a cheek in bad need of a razor.
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See you next Tuesday for another round of great tales!