Frank Brown: Barnyard orgy

Harlan swilled down the last of his beer, then crumpled the aluminum can like a wad of newspaper. A few drops of the piss-colored liquid splashed onto the floor and Harlan wiped them up with the holey gray sock on his foot while he tossed the crushed Coors can into the trash container across the room.

"Don't mean to dirty up your home none, Cal."

"Aw, shit," Cal said, showing front teeth that looked moth-eaten, "my place is your place any time you're in town. How many times I have to tell that? Now, put up your feet and have another beer. You and the young 'uns spend the night. A lot of good drinking bars in this town – and a couple of 'em even got strippers."

"Don't say?" Harlan said, returning the wink Cal had given him. "Don't say?" He popped the tab off another can of Coors. "Well, Cal, you're forgetting what it's like being a farmer. A man can't be sitting around all day and night swigging beer when a man's got farm to run." He raised his eyebrows intentionally, smiling to himself when he saw Cal wince, "No Sir, not when a man's got a working farm to run. Strippers, eh?"

Cal's face brightened as Harlan brought the topic back to strippers. "Take off every stitch, Harlan. You never seen nothing like it. Professional gals from the big city. Tits like you ain't never seen. Cunts like slabs of hairy raw liver – smoking hot cunts. Shit, you can shine a flashlight up inside 'em and they don't give a fuck."

"Don't say?" Harlan had only seen strippers at the traveling carnival in the summer, but none of them had ever spread their legs for the crowd.

"Sure thing. One of them babies even shoves a lit cigarette between her bristly lips and puffs on it. Ever hear of such a thing, Harlan?"

"Heard of it, but ain't never seen it." He scratched an itch on the sole of his right foot with the big toe of his left. The toe was naked, sticking out of one of the holes in his sock. He took a long swig of beer, letting the cold bitter liquid slide down his throat. A few drops rolled down his beard and flicked off onto his bare chest. It was a hot day, and the beer felt good, like cool rain, and it tasted even better.

"Well, you gotta see it, Harlan. I'll take you over to the Dingle Dangle Bar tonight. Say, maybe we can even get Seth inside. Give the boy a thrill. Shit, he can pass for old enough if we pull a cap down over his eyes. Besides, you being his pa and all, they'd probably let him in anyway."

"The boy's getting his thrill this afternoon. Besides, like I told you, Cal, I got me a farm to run."

"Shit, one night away from the place ain't gonna hurt none. You'd think them hogs of yours was milk cows the way you carry on about 'em. You likely fed 'em enough slop before you left to keep em eating high off the hog for a week." He chuckled. "High off the hog, Harlan. High off the hog."

Harlan smiled, chugging down the rest of his beer. "You always had a sharp wit about you, Cal. Never could deny that. Well, let me put it this way – I ain't saying yes, and I ain't saying no. We'll wait awhile and see." He crushed his empty beer can and flung it across the room. The crumpled aluminum wad careened off the wall and dropped into the trash bucket.

"Nice shot," Cal said, tossing Harlan another sweaty can of Coors from the ice-chest on the floor between them. "Maybe tonight you can get a shot at one of them open strippers. Some of them broads look like they been fucked by a donkey."

"Maybe they have," Harlan said, and Cal guffawed. "Maybe they have." And Cal hugged his paunch. Cal always was one to appreciate a good joke. Maybe that's why Cal had such a sharp wit.

The door flew open from one of the back rooms and Seth stomped in and pulled up a chair next to Harlan. As he settled himself, he clunked the heels of his overgrown bare feet on the sill of the window before which they were all seated.

Harlan slapped his son's bare chest with the back of his hand. "Get your shit-black feet off Cal's window! He'll think you was raised in a barn."

"Hey, wait a minute there, Harlan," Cal said. "Ain't nothing wrong with the boy resting his feet up there just because he ain't wearing socks like you. Shit, what's a window sill for but to cool off the tired old dogs?"

"See," Seth said, nodding to Cal appreciatively. "I ain't hurting nothing, Pa." He nabbed Harlan's can of Coors.

Harlan let the boy get a good swig of beer, then yanked the can out of his hands. "Don't be a pig, boy. Mind your manners."

Cal laughed. "Let the boy drink up, Harlan. Here's another can for you." He tossed Harlan another can, but before Harlan could get it Seth snatched it out of the air from right in front of Harlan's nose. Seth's arm was as fast as a whip. He'd make one hell of a boxer, Harlan had thought many times.

Harlan watched the boy rip the tab off the can and start chugging down the beer. "Slow down, boy. I ain't gonna have you crawling around drunk." He grabbed Seth's arm. Sudsy beer spilled down Seth's neck and over his chest.

"Now you made me spill it," Seth said. "Shit!" He wiped the beer off his bare belly. Some of it had run down under his jeans, making it look like he'd creamed in his pants.

"Don't go shitting me, boy," Harlan said. "Unless you want a good whipping. I can still take you, boy. Remember that."

"Sure, Pa," Seth said, wiping his wet hand on the leg of his jeans. His wheat-colored hair fell in his eyes, making him look like a forlorn sheep dog.

"What're you so dang ornery about anyway?" Harlan could always tell when something was wrong in his son's head. The boy had the same shut-mouthed orneriness as his ma had had.

"I ain't ornery," Seth said guzzling down more beer. He stared straight out the window as if he were reading a sign out on the street.

"You're chewin' your dang beer like it was rawhide, boy. Don't try telling me you ain't ornery."

Cal laughed. "Leave the boy alone, Harlan. I think maybe Ruby in there's been giving the boy a hard time. She can get a might ornery herself. Just give me a few minutes with her, Seth. I'll knock some sense into her silly head." He started to climb out of his chair.

Harlan reached over and held him back. "Whoa there, Cal. Seth ain't stated his grievances yet. Now you just rest easy."

Cal sank back into his chair, looking relieved that he didn't have to get up. Harlan smiled to himself. Ever since Cal had moved to the city he'd been getting lazier and lazier, and his paunch had been getting bigger and bigger – not that Cal wasn't a lazy bastard even when he'd still been a farmer.

"Rest easy Cal," Harlan said. "These young 'uns can care of theirselves. Ain't that right, Seth?"

"Sure, Pa." A vein on the boy's temple throbbed. He guzzled down the last of his beer, then swore under his breath.

"Goddamn it, Seth," Harlan said. "Now you open up or I'm gonna lay you out flat. Why are you so Goddamn ornery?"

Seth crushed his beer can with a clap of his two large hands, "Ask Delbert," he said. "Don't ask me. Ask him."

"What do you mean, ask Delbert? I'm warning you, boy. Out with it."

"Delbert's hogging her, Pa. I ain't had a crack at her yet. He's up on her ass like a billy goat, and he ain't getting off." Cal guffawed, nearly falling out his chair. "Shove it in her mouth, boy. She's got more holes than one. Shiit!"

"I tried," Seth said. "She's got her jaw set like a mule. One at a time, she says. One at a time, or she ain't doing no more fucking today. Christ, it ain't fair Delbert's been up on her for more than an hour. Oh, jeez!" He rubbed the leg of his jeans. His hard cock throbbed inside his pants like a living salami.

Cal's face screwed up with seriousness. He chugged down the rest of his beer. "Damn little bitch," he said. "What kind of shit's she trying to pull? Goddamn it, ever since I brung her to the city she's been getting more and more high and mighty."