R Geis - A donkey named Peter

"Marsha gave a series of short, sharp groans, almost like barks. Her eyes closed tight. She clutched Khan with both arms, so that he had trouble getting enough curve into his spine that down-arch that drives his whole rump and loins."

"Khan was frantic, too, and was making it. He growled softly, pantingly, and tried to hug Marsha with his forelegs, to dig his paws under her in a way, for better leverage."

"I confess I get a tremendous kick out of seeing Khan's penis belt in and out of her that way – it's incredible. I can understand why it gives her so much pleasure, purely as a physical thing – having that long, thin penis pistoning in her while the furry sheath hits her open vulva and tickles the hell out of her clitoris at the same time. That sheath – or fur-covered scabbard would be a better way of describing it – seems almost designed to fit into the gaping vulva of a woman when she's got her thighs wide open and is hot and bothered."

"Marsha tells me the sensation is indescribable. She gets a funny look in her eyes when she talks about it. And as a matter of fact, we don't fuck much anymore. She hasn't really wanted it from me for… since just after she made it with Khan. Hmm. Should I be jealous?"

"No, seriously, it's okay with me. I like to see her enjoy life, and Khan, too. He enjoys fucking her. We're a family now."

"That sounds weird, but it's true. Almost every night we have him into the bedroom, and sometimes during the day."

"I don't know – maybe she and Khan go at it during the day when I'm working. It wouldn't surprise me. It wouldn't disturb me. She used to use the vibrator a lot when I wasn't home, so…"

"I don't miss fucking her. I actually prefer her mouth. She is an expert at it, and when she sucks me when she's supremely aroused – like when Khan is licking her or fucking her – wowee, does she go to town and get me off beautifully!"

"And watching them together is a kick for me – I told you that – yes, and – well, I suggested we think about a bigger dog in a few years, when Khan is old. A Great Dane or a mastiff. That would thrill me seeing Marsha take the penis of a full-grown mastiff. Wham-wham-wham! Eight inches into her like a steam hammer."

"But you know women – she's afraid of something that big. She likes Khan's size. So I suppose that's the way it'll be."

"The future – well, eventually, I suppose we'll get tired of Khan. Even Marsha will."

"We're in contact with a small group – a few couples – who are experimenting with a fucking machine. A real machine. Some of the husbands are mechanical – in the aircraft industry and electronics and they're putting one together in a basement. It's for the women, a kind of masturbation of them, effortless. They'll just lie down, fit themselves to the size dildoe they put on the machine, and turn it on. Dials for speed and depth of thrust and everything. They claim it's for science, for sexology research. With the way things are going, you never can tell – they might end up selling it to some government research group for a million dollars. Can't you just see the clerks in the patent office when…"

"I'm waiting for the suck-off machine to come along. That'll be quite a civilization we'll have – sex between men and women will be obsolete because the machines will perform better and never get tired or cranky or…"

"Of course that's the far future. For me, I don't think I'll ever find anyone better suited to me than Marsha."

The Kinsey Reports tell us that women are known to give cunnilingus to cows and mares, sheep and goats. They fellate donkeys and manage coitus with bulls, stallions, donkeys, and ponies. Not always for "show" purposes, but because they prefer it and like it.

Most bestiality on farms is between boys and animals. Dr. Frank Caprio details this in Variations in Sexual Behavior, but "most" means some bestiality is between girls and women and animals.

And Dr. Rosenberger, in Bestiality, suggests it is of greater incidence: "It is believed by many medical authorities that the percentage for women is even higher!"

Thus it is not too surprising that an adult woman could or would involve herself sexually with a donkey. Given the circumstances described below by a retired veterinarian it is highly credible.

Howie is sixty-five years old and a retired veterinarian. He used to live in a mountain state, in a poor country that was mostly scratch farms and rocks.

I met him when I stopped at a local park for a few moments to watch a shuffleboard match.

Howie is a garrulous, white-haired, small, portly man who, when I first met him and later when I interviewed him in depth, was wearing violent red suspenders and a wildly colorful Hawaiian shirt… with gray pants and wing-tip brogues… and a straw hat.

He was soaking up the sun, peering through sunglasses and talking at anyone who came near.

He vented a constant flow of information about himself, about life, about his circumstances, about his former profession, about people and life in general: "Well, you know, the grave is the last place anyone expects to end up, even when he's got one foot in it."

The bad thing about working with animals is you have to put up with their owners.

"With Social Security I get lots of society but damn little security."

Howie isn't very original but he talks fast, he has a pleasant lilt to his slightly nasal voice, and he uses his hands like an orchestra conductor.

After a few minutes of talking about himself, he asked me why I was free in the middle of the afternoon. I told him I was my own boss – a writer… and inevitably I told him my specialty.

"Things I could tell you if you're interested… things happen on farms you wouldn't believe. People and animals are isolated – snowed in – for months on end; some pretty hairy things happen."

"Yes, air, and not just with the men doing things with cows and sheep and mares and pigs… that's common. What I mean is the farm women sometimes out there in the mountains without men. Widows… women in their forties sometimes, with a lot of vinegar left in them, they do some strange things to scratch that old sex itch."

"No one out there, to tell on them, you see. Animals won't tell. Well, that ain't true exactly, either. An animal will tell a vet a lot in small ways… there's ways of telling what's been goin' on, to a trained eye. I could tell you…"

Of course I invited him to my place with the understanding I would make a recording of what he said, but would alter names and places, if specific names and places were mentioned, and when they were mentioned.

That was agreeable to Howie; he loved to talk, and "Talking down-and-dirty about sex – that's my favorite kind of talk."

I laid in a supply of beer to keep his throat well oiled at his hinted request and he showed up exactly when he said he'd be by.

"I used to laugh my fool head off when a cow or heifer or a mare or filly'd get colic or something and I'd be called out to a farm. If there was a boy on the farm in his teens maybe, or a young hand, and he was hanging around looking worried about the animal and he didn't own the animal, then right away I knew he'd been dipping it in on the sly and was scared I'd find out some way."

"You know, sometimes the young ones would be worried sick they'd caused the animal to be sick. Some figured sure as hell the animal was pregnant from him and was goin' to have a half-man foal or something."

"But what raised the hair on the back of my neck was when a woman was the one who was worried about a stud animal, worried in a certain way. Hard to describe what I mean. Didn't come across it too much, but…"

"Well, there was a time like that about thirty years ago during the war. This young woman was stuck on a farm and her husband was off in the Army – in North Africa, I think – and she was just putting in her time, not farming the land. She lived off the allotment checks. That was a hard, lonely life for her with nothing but a radio and a donkey for company."