Well, there we were, in bed with a tequila glow and no companeros. I'm pretty sure Jane feels the same way I do. What do we do now, she says to me. We just sat there, Helen, looking at all those burros, hotter than hell."

"All of a sudden one of those animals starts getting a hard-on. Have you ever seen a burro hard? The damn thing must be as long as from my elbow to my fingertips. And thick! Like a firehose! Jane and I just sat up on those cots and stared. There must have been three or four coming out in that herd anytime you cared to look. They would come out, wave around a bit, then whap! bang up against the belly and start shriveling up."

"Jane says, Do you think you could get one of them to go inside of you? I said I'd had a lot of meat shoved into me in my time, but that's stretching it a bit. She says, let's try it, anyway. We got out of bed and went over to the gate in the fence. Jane says, there's a good one, and sure enough I see the little guy beginning to come out in a big way. We coax him through the gate and pretty soon we have him all to ourselves."

"How shall we do this, I ask Jane, and she says try it doggy style. I said, here goes, and lifted up my nightie. I got down on the floor, and Jane walks the donkey over to me until I felt that thing popping at my pussy. You ever have a real big one go pom-pom at it?"

"I spread myself as wide as I could because I figured a boxing glove like that is going to want punching room. I said to Jane, you coax him forward while I move backward at the same time. She does and I did. Wow! I thought I was being split wide open. The head on that thing just about tore me up. After it cleared, though, the rest of it ran up in pretty fast without much strain. I thought it would never stop, as a matter of fact. I had been filled with a longie, I knew, but I couldn't see just how much of it I really had."

"Jane said, you'll have to raise your ass up and put your head down on the floor. She said, because of the angle, his meat was bending, and it didn't look like the rest of it could go in. I did what she suggested and felt the rest of it slip into me. Something heavy bumped my legs, almost pushing me forward. I asked Jane what it was and she says the donkey's balls just slammed against you. I knew then there couldn't possibly be any more left that hadn't gone in."

"What do we do now, Jane says. Get him to pump, I said. How, she asks. I don't know, I said. Give him a whiff of your pussy. All right, she says, and bends down in front of him, raising up her nightie.

I could see it all. The burro goes after it like a carrot. He lifts his front legs and tries to climb up Jane's back. In the meantime, I could feel him stretching out inside a little bit."

"Turn around, I yelled to Jane. Turn around and try to hold his front hooves off the ground. She does and the angle of the thing feels perfect inside me. He starts pumping then and I could feel the juices working in there. If Jane could hold him, he would do just fine. As for me, I was finally getting the big F. He dug down into me, jamming away at it. I could feel it swelling and stretching. That big head was deep in there reaming out those neglected, far away places. I knew it."

"All I could think of was a big sign they used to have on a water truck in my home town that said Filled to Capacity. That was me, Helen. For the first time in my life I really felt packed solid. Those testicles kept bumping my thighs like flour sacks. I figured on bruises there by next morning. I wasn't going to worry about it then, however. The burro began to bray compulsively and I thought, now, he's going to let go. I yelled to Jane to hold on, and waited for it to come. The animal shuddered violently and drove down into me hard, and then slowly tapered off."

"I felt that warm glow inside suddenly and the pressure building up. The load these animals expend must be prodigious. It had no place to go but out. It burst out around the sides in big, bubbly farting sounds, splattering all across my rear and running down my legs. I could feel the stuff forming pools in the little depressions behind my kneecaps."

"I came then myself, grabbing Jane's legs for support. It came over me in wrenching waves that convulsed me forward toward her. I moaned uncontrollably, unable to stem the tide of pleasure that was almost unbearable. I finally collapsed on the floor, limply. The last thing I felt was that organ slithering out of me."

"Gosh," Helen had said. "It sounds better than with the pony."

"Pony? You have a pony?" She had wanted to know.

Helen, of course, had told her everything then. She had been eager to know if we still had it, and where she might be able to get one for herself.

Before long they had brought the pony in from the yard and were getting undressed. Mary had been dying to try it since being told. Mary's story had left me exhausted and I had begged leave to retire early. Since the two of them had been good friends, I hadn't felt I was deserting.

I had gone back to my bedroom. I had felt very, very tired, and had fallen asleep very quickly.

I awoke with a feeling of disappointment inside me. I was aware of my surroundings as wrong, in error, and felt that if I waited a second or two, they would turn into the correct ones.

They remained the same.

I lay in bed thinking what had started out as a good prospect of companionship had been demolished by my own fear of commitment. I had to be myself, fears and all, in spite of what happened. That was the way it had always been with me.

I got up out of bed and walked over to the clothes closet. I took my robe off and stared at myself in the full length mirror. It isn't worth it, I thought. It isn't worth the hassle. Every time I had let myself fall, it was the same old story.

I decided I was not going to eat my heart out over anybody. Let somebody eat his heart out over me, if that's the way it had to be.

There were plenty of Hack Raver's around, and if I did not want it that way particularly, there was always Joe Cunningham, or maybe the answer was a good old comfortable collie like Clyde. Was I leaving something out?

I was still young, only twenty-eight, and what's more, I looked good. There was nothing to criticize about the reflection I saw in the mirror.

It wasn't the reflection that counted. It was what was inside my brain. What was in there that I could not see? What memories of dreams were stored in those cells that I had never been permitted to remember?

Once in New York City I had gone to see the ballet. A particular prima ballerina had done a dance so exquisitely well it had sent chills up and down my spine. I had turned my head at that moment and had noticed the person seated on my right, a young girl of about sixteen, had been similarly affected.

Our eyes had met at the same instant, and she had gasped. Her hand had suddenly hesitatingly reached over and touched mine for a few seconds.

We hadn't spoken then or later. In fact, our eyes had not met again, and after the performance, I never saw her again.

The color of her eyes had never been erased from my memory. A recurring dream I was to recall upon awakening had had to do with it.

I am standing on a diving board about to dive into a swimming pool. Around the pool are many people, some of whom I recognize, some whom I do not. They are both men and women. Some of the men stare at me with sober faces, other men are jeering at me.

Still other men, naked, are holding their penises and wagging them at me. All of the women are smiling at me warmly. I dive, finally. Suddenly the water changes to the color of the young girl's eyes, and I actually fall into one of her eyes.

I keep falling. The color is all around me. I begin to fear I am drowning and wake up.

Standing there in front of the mirror, I thought about the dream and its meaning. It occurred to me that the sadness that gripped at me periodically I had first felt at that performance. It occurred just as the young girl had finally passed from my view forever, during my last impression of her, from the rear, of the ponytail, the camel's hair coat, the lithe calves, the loafers.

What was the meaning of the experience?

I dressed slowly, sadly, putting on a blouse and skirt. Definitely I decided on flats. The weather had turned cooler, and I took the short length light brown suede leather coat I had brought along out of the closet.

The coat fit snugly and tied with a belt. It flattered my figure and I looked expensive. It was one of the few articles of clothing I owned which I considered a prized possession.

Helen was waiting for me in the living room. She was petting the pony lovingly.

"I guess we can safely say we enjoyed your visit, pony," she said to him, patting him on both sides of his head. "I'm going to miss you, you know."

"That's nothing compared to what he is going to be missing," I said.

"That's right," she giggled. "What about that? What do you suppose he will act like when he gets to someone else's house?"

"I can see the headlines. Woman Raped in Backyard by Pet Pony. Wild, huh?"

"Then you'd have to write it up in Pet World."

"Actually what will happen is Cunningham will keep him there for stud," I said, "or have him gelded."

"You mean he will actually cut those big things off" she asked. "Does the pony ever want to do it afterward?" she wondered.

"If they are cut proud, in other words, castrated after they have reached maturity, I understand they still want to do it, but whether they actually can or not, I don't know."

"This pony is certainly mature, wouldn't you say?"

I laughed. "No question. Maybe a little too much so, Remember what Cunningham said?"

"The pony would get all excited when we had our periods," she recalled.

"He certainly didn't wait for that," I asserted.

"It was because we gave him a little help, wasn't it?" she chortled. "Shall we have one last one?" she proposed.

"Come on, Sis," I said, leading the pony toward the front door. "We're going to need all the energy we can save."

We got the pony in on the back seat and drove away. The way to Denton looked familiar this time and didn't seem quite as long a trip as it had the first time. Some first touches of fall appeared here and there in the north Texas countryside, reminders to me that fall was already cold up North.

The Ho-Ho-Pony Farm looked just as deserted as it had on our first visit. Even more so. There was no Hack Raver standing in the compound to greet us.

"Why, where's Mr. Raver?" Helen wondered after we had gotten out of the car.

"Try the hayloft," I suggested.

Helen looked at me oddly. "Now, why there, for heaven's sake?" I could see the puzzlement still on her face. "Does he, pitch a lot of hay?" she asked.

"No," I answered, "but he pitches a lot of woo."

She threw up her hands. "You're impossible today. What's eating you? It's about John Young, isn't it? You're still mad because he made love to me." She softened her tone came close to me. "Sweets, if you had only said something. You know it would have been strictly hands off if I had known."

"It's not just that, sis," I said, patting her hand. "It's mostly a lot of other junk. I've really gotten over that night, really," I said. "Just bear with me. I'll be all right."

We strolled around the compound together poking our noses into sheds and barns here and there as curiosity dictated. As on our previous visit, a strange quiet prevailed throughout most of the area, as if the regular work of the farm was taking place somewhere else miles away.

Far down at the south end of the compound we came upon what looked like a sheep shed. The ramps and pens were set up for running sheep through a water system and prepping them for shearing. A few sick-looking sheep were penned up. The others, we concluded, were probably out to pasture.

As we walked down around one side of the sheep shed, we heard what sounded like human voices coming from an enclosed area. Occasionally the human sounds were overlaid with the obvious bleating of sheep.

We stepped up close to the side of the building and the voices grew louder. There was an argument of some kind going on inside, but the voices were still too indistinct to make out too many words.

I looked around for a door but seemed to find only windows on the structure. I was standing there puzzled when Helen motioned me over to her. She was standing by a sheep pen at the end of the shack.

She pointed to a flight of concrete steps leading down into the basement of the building. To get to the steps required walking inside the building where the shearing was done, but that did not seem to pose a real problem. The worst that could happen was getting our shoes dirty.

We picked our way through the shearing area. Sheep dip was everywhere but most of it had dried. It was hard to believe that better sanitary conditions could not have prevailed. Since slaughtering was not involved there, it was probable no strict sanitary code affected the operation.

We reached the top of the steps without mishap. Helen had reached out to grab a board at one point and had picked up what looked like birdshit on her hand. She wiped it on a clean patch of concrete.

Carefully, we stepped down into the basement well. The door at the bottom opened easily, and we found ourselves in a storage area.

Shushing one another in an effort to be very quiet, we walked back into the basement. The voices were above us now, and we could hear the tramp of boots across the floor along with the other sounds.

We reached another staircase, this one leading to the upper floor, and carefully ascended. A door at the top opened easily and we found ourselves in a corridor hemmed in on both sides by a heavy wire mesh partition.

The voices came from behind the partition on the right side. We tiptoed along the corridor to a point where we could see clearly through the wire mesh the scene that had been our ultimate destination since first hearing the voices.

Four boys, in their middle teens, obviously farmhands, were in the room along with several sheep. One tall boy wore a Montana cowboy's hat and western riding boots. The other three were hatless and wore conventional workboots. All wore levis and denim jackets.

I noticed another pair of boots out in the middle of the floor, side by side. It seemed strange to see them there so obviously in the center of the room and in the way, yet judging from the attention of the boys, somehow important to what was going on.

The tall boy's name we picked up as Montie, and he was doing most of the talking.

"Shit, now," he said. "We ruined a good pair of fuckin' boots for this, and you gotta change your mind."

"Aw, Montie, his old man told him sheep is where VD comes from," one of the other boys said.

"You mean you told your old man you was gonna fuck some sheep?" Montie asked the boy, "Billy, you actually told him you was gonna do it?"

Naw, Montie," the other boy came in. "He told his old man he knew of some kid in Denison who did it. He made like it wasn't gonna be him at all."

"Tex is right, Montie," Billy piped up. "I put it to him like that. I ain't never fucked nothin' before, and I got like uptight."

"Well, if you're that uptight, put on a rubber. Course I figure a man's uptight about a little ol' sheep, he ain't never gonna get up nerve to fuck a woman, right Glenbo?"

Billy was squirming. They were reaching him, and he did not seem to know where to turn.

"Well, why do I have to be the only one?" Billy protested. "If it's all that good, why don't one of you guys want to do it too?"

"'Cause we already fucked one, man. Me, Tex, and Glenbo already been initiated, right, guys?" Montie asked around.

"Seems dumb, if it's all that good, just to fuck it once," Billy allowed.

"Man, you think anyone wants to be a sheepfucker all his life?" Montie asked him. "You want to spend your whole life fuckin' sheep?"

"Come on, Billy," Glenbo urged him. "It ain't so bad."

"Yeah, Bill," Tex agreed. "Get it over with. You gotta do it. Them's the rules. You knowed that when you joined up."

"Well," Billy faltered, "you sure Raver ain't gonna come poking his nose back here?"

"Bill," Tex said, "I told you Raver's in Dallas, and Uncle Joe don't care about nothin' but them ponies."

"And eatin' pussy," Glenbo chimed in.

"Fetch me one of them sheep," Montie told Glenbo. The boy chased one of the roly-poly animals back into another room and came out moments later dragging the reluctant animal by the front legs.

"Give it here," Montie ordered.

He took the animal and placed its hind legs inside the boots on the floor. The animal tried to move forward but could not move its hind legs. I realized then the boots must be nailed to the floor. The animal bleated in fear.

The boy called Tex dropped a cushion on the floor behind the boots. "Okay, Billy boy," he said.

"Your Move," Montie said to Billy.

Billy knelt there for several moments, apparently unsure of his next move.

"Nice day," said Montie, feigning a patient air.

"C'mon, Bill," Tex urged.

"What do you do first?" Billy asked, as if stalling for time to think.

"Man, you take your cock and stick it in that little ol' hole right there," Montie said, pointing to the sheep's pulsating vagina.

"Look at that," Helen whispered to me. "It almost looks like a girl's."

"Shh!" I cautioned her.

Billy bent over and unbuttoned his fly.

"Naw, Bill," Tex interrupted. "Take the whole fuckin' thing-off. Otherwise you're liable to get sheepshit and whatever on your levis. No telling what these sheep'll do while you're fuckin' them."

"Montie knows a guy in Oklahoma got a wet sheepfart right in the face once, don't you, Montie?" Glenbo asked him.

"That ol' sheep got so excited he didn't know if it was fuckin' time or shittin' time," Montie averred.

Billy had pulled his levis and underwear down below his knees. His meat hung limply in a flaccid state. "Don't see how I'm gonna do it. I ain't hard," he said.

"You can get it up," Tex assured him.

"Jack it a couple of times," Glenbo suggested.

Billy spit on his palm and started whacking at the dead organ. It swelled out a little bit and got red, but didn't harden.

"Keep it up, man," Montie urged.

"Maybe he needs a cunt to look at," Glenbo said.

"What the hell do you think that is?" Montie snorted.

"He means a real pussy, Montie," said Tex.

"Come on, Billy, jerk that thing harder," Montie insisted. "Ain't you never jerked oft?"

Billy worked hard at the organ. It finally reached some semblance of an erection, but was far from completely rigid. It would have been a good-sized organ fully hard, but lacking those last few inches, it seemed a pale imitation of its full potential.

He leaned forward on the cushion and pushed his raw penis into the dripping gash. It oozed inside in spite of its flexibility. The sheep responded by bleating excitedly and pushing outward with the sphincter muscles controlling its opening.

"Feels good," Billy announced, surprised with delight.

The others laughed out loud.

"Well, move it in and out, Billy Boy," Montie urged.

Billy began to pump back and forth at the sheep's rear end. "Oh, man!" he exclaimed. "That's good. Does a woman feel that good?" he asked no one in particular.

"Better," Tex assured him.

He was driving furiously into the animal now. His full erection must have finally developed inside the vagina. I could see that the shaft, when I was able to get a glimpse of it, was much fatter than before.

He let out two short cries of pleasure suddenly and fell across the animal's back. The others applauded his performance.

"Well done, Bill," Tex cried.

"Hey," I whispered to Helen, "Let's get out of here before they discover us. They're all through now."

For a moment she didn't respond.

She nodded her head in agreement, and we tiptoed back along the corridor to the stairway.

Outside in the sun again Helen was asking me questions.

"Do all young boys experiment with animals that way?" she asked me.

"I suppose the ones that grow up on farms do," I told her. "Farms where there are sheep."

"What's so special about sheep?"

"Well, you saw," I reminded her. "I think the body oils and fluids are similar to a human's."

"I wonder what the sheep thought about it," she said.

We walked down to the farmhouse hoping to find Cunningham now that we knew Raver was out of town. We rang the bell several times before he finally emerged. He seemed pleased as could be when he saw us.

"Did you come to return the pony or did you have something else in mind?" he asked.

"What else is there?" Helen asked him.

He glanced at me and seemed disappointed Helen did not understand his remark. I had put off telling her about his famous room. I had meant to tell her the night we brought the pony home, but Clyde's disappearance had become the major topic of discussion that evening, and I subsequently lost immediate interest in talking about the strange incident.

We walked to the car and let the pony out. Cunningham remarked that he was still a stunning animal. Helen wanted to know if he was going to geld the animal.

"Don't think so," he said. "If he proves a good stud, throws true, I'd be foolish."

"I'm so glad," Helen said, "I hope he throws true, as you say."

Cunningham looked puzzled. "First time I ever heard a lady choke up over cutting a pony. It don't hurt them more than a scratch might," he assured Helen.

"I wasn't thinking about that," she told him. "I was thinking about all the fun he would miss."

Cunningham looked her up and down. "How about that, Miss Starr," he said to me. "Your sister's a real winner."

He had a habit of fixing his stare on a person, and not letting any change in the conversation sway him from the object of his gaze. He was wrapped up now in Helen's pelvic region. She had not worn hot pants this time, but the skirt she had chosen did an even better job.

I knew what Cunningham hoped for more than anything else in the world, and I had a feeling with Raver out of the way, he might just realize it.

We walked the pony back into one of the stalls in the barn where Cunningham tied the animal in place and filled the feed bucket. Helen had wandered a few stalls down and Cunningham sidled up to me.

"You haven't told your sister about the Victorian Room, have you?" he asked.