Mary Jenkins - Innocent in Chicago Volume One

When a child of eleven, Cynthia Gordon was perfectly content to live on the farm in Iowa where she had been born and raised. Her father, a burly, blond, third generation American of Scandinavian descent, grew mostly corn and pigs, but Johnny, her fifteen year old brother, who wanted to stay on the land, was interested in raising cattle. He already had a young milk cow which he had raised from a calf and was thinking of breeding her with a neighbor's bull.

One morning early that autumn, as the pumpkins were glowing yellow and plump on the vines, and her mother's kitchen was permeated with the heady smell of spices and pickling, and the fresh tart odor of baked apple pies was floating through the window to where she was sitting on the back porch with Pal, their thick coated German Shepherd dog, she heard her father and Johnny talking in the kitchen about his cow.

"Jersey seems to be in heat now, Johnny," her father said. "If you still want to breed her, now's the time to do it. I've talked with Chris about it and he says to bring her over anytime. He's got a fine bull and it should be a dandy calf."

"Gee, Dad, that's swell. When can we do it?"

"Tomorrow's okay with Chris. But remember, the entire responsibility of bringing this calf up is yours. No saying you're tired of taking care of it and Jersey after it's here."

"Gosh, Dad, you know I won't do that. I'm all set to grow her up and win me a couple of prizes at the fair."

"Okay, boy, we'll go over tomorrow after lunch, then."

Cynthia slipped off the porch so her parents wouldn't know she had heard and walked down to the barn to look at Jersey. She had noticed that previously she had not only been kept away from the pens and barns at breeding times, but that any discussion concerning them between her parents, or between her father and other farmers, had always ceased when she approached. Thus, the only things she associated with the word "breading" were the sound of the bull's bellowing cries echoing over the green hills and a feeling that it must be something "not nice".

But lately she had been disturbed by vague warm sensations in her own body, centered deep in her belly, which had made her restless and irritable, and she had begun to speculate about her own sex organs as well as those of animals. She resolved she would sneak over to Chris' farm tomorrow and see what happened that was so forbidden.

The next day was a golden autumn day with the smell of an early winter in the air. From a deep blue sky the sun turned the leaves to a shimmering fire of reds and golds. Along the road the sumac was glowing purples and deep reds, and by the farmhouse the late blooming flowers were showing their last blossoms.

After lunch, Johnny and his father went down to the barn to load Jersey into a truck to be taken over to the next farm.

"Cynthia," her mother said, "you're as restless as a cat. You don't have to help me with the dishes. Go out and play but stay close to the house. And put a sweater on."

She ran up to her bedroom to get her sweater, clattered back down the stairs and out the door, her pigtails flying. She went down to the barn where the men were about to leave.

"Put Pal back in the house, Cynthia," her father said. "We don't want him following along and disturbing the cattle."

She didn't ask to go along with them as she knew her father would refuse. Instead, she obediently took Pal back to the house and then headed for the wood, on the other side of which lay Chris' farm. Once out of sight of the house, she broke into a run. She was afraid of missing whatever was going to happen. When she came to the other edge of the wood, she hid behind a bush and peeked through the leaves. No one was in sight. Directly in front of her was the back of their neighbor's barn. Beyond it she could hear the sound of men's voices and from time to time the bellowing of the bull. She quickly climbed through a wire fence, ran across to the barn and slipped through a rear door. Inside, the barn was dimly lit with shafts of sunlight lancing through crevices in the roof and filtering through a haze of hay dust lazily turning in the still air. It was warm and close with the smell of cattle, now out to pasture, and the acrid scent of manure. A few chickens stirred restlessly and ruffled their feathers as they perched on the railings of the stalls. She looked around and not seeing anyone, moved silently to the other side, beyond which lay a small corral. She could hear the voices more clearly, as well as unidentifiable rustlings and scrapings and the restless, heavy tread of the bull.

"He's sure as hell rarin' to go," someone said. "He's hotter'n a firecracker."

A loud urgent bellow cut off the voice.

"Okay, Johnny," said a voice which she recognized as belonging to Chris, "you can bring your cow in soon. Just wait a minute until he's moved to the other side of the corral away from the gate."

Entering an empty stall, Cynthia lay down on a pile of hay. It pricked and ticked her body through the clothes she was wearing and the hay dust made her afraid she would sneeze. She pressed her eyes against a small crack between the wooden slabs and looked into the corral beyond.

Three or four men were standing on the other side of the corral fence, their tight blue jeans showing every muscle and curve of their legs. To the right was her father. Johnny was looking anxiously at the bull and while saying something to his father, burst into a tense, embarrassed giggle which he tried to hide with a cough. Chris was standing near the gate, one hand on the latch. Everyone was looking inside the corral.

And there was the bull. Big, black and powerful. A dark boxcar of latent, dynamic energy. His muscles rippled under the shiny dark hair over his firm, bulky shoulders and haunches. He was standing near the fence, a square block of massive movement. Lowering his head, he sniffed through the fence, his lips curled back, his nostrils flared, his shoulders hunched. He could smell the cow in heat, although she was not yet in sight. The scent made him all male, urgent and demanding. He was in constant, restless movement, at times almost dancing with a heavy tread as he sidled along the fence, scraping it with his side. Saliva dripped from his lips. He swayed slowly from side to side, his tail raised at an angle. Beneath him his large, potent testicles were stretched tautly from the urge in his body. He snorted loudly again and then backed away, pawing the ground with one hoof as he raised his head. With his square, black face raised towards the luminescent sky he roared a mighty bellow which was insistent, commanding, almost an ultimatum.

When he had moved over to the other side of the corral, Chris quickly opened the gate and let the cow in. She stood quietly, switching her tail and looking at the bull. He turned towards her immediately, lowered his head and pawed the ground. Moving to her haunches he sniffed loudly and wetly at her rear. She lifted her tail and he began licking the opening beneath it. His rough tongue caressed her moistly as saliva drooled from his mouth and fell to the ground below.

Cynthia held her breath as she watched the animalistic ritual going on in the corral. Tiny dewdrops of moisture formed between her own legs without her fully understanding why and she closed them tightly together to try and snuff out the tiny ripples of sensation that were for the fast time in her life beginning to stir there.

The bull's heavy, thick pointed penis suddenly emerged from the thick sheath enclosing it. It was wet and glistened in the afternoon sun as its full prominence burst into view. He stopped to bellow triumphantly and the sound echoed over the surrounding hills proclaiming his stirred passion. His penis slipped out another eight inches and he tried to mount the wobbling cow, rearing up with a clumsy lunge, but she moved to the side and his forefeet crashed to the ground. Staggering slightly from the first failing effort, he tried again. He succeeded in straddling her with his front legs, his black, immense chest crushing down on her haunches. Her legs buckled slightly from his weight but he succeeded in entering her this time and Cynthia's watching eyes bulged wide as she watched the huge, pole-like instrument slither without resistance deep down into the belly of the straining cow. The bull gave an angry snort and began a sudden series of short, quick jerks with his hind legs and suddenly emitted a soulful moan from deep in his chest. The glistening red penis sunk deep inside the cow beneath him throbbed for an interminable moment and then he backed quickly away and gave an ear-splitting bellow that somehow seemed now less urgent to the gaping Cynthia as she crouched excitedly behind the crack in the barn wall. The cow staggered drunkenly around the corral, her head down in sudden fatigue, her back arched spasmodically.