Stay With The Farm

This erotic story features anthropomorphic (furry) characters, intelligent humanoid beings with both animal and human characteristics.

*

Ruck stepped out of the cab at the foot of the long driveway to his childhood home. Money changed hands with the cab driver, and a cloud of dust on the arid dirt road covered the car's retreat. Tires ground the loose soil, tossing the beige matter high in the air. Ruck raised his arm to shield his eyes, coughing at the mess the driver had caused. It didn't matter. He was home.

After the dust cloud subsided, he shook the dirt from his fur, fetlocks swinging side-to-side. His arms and legs suffered less than his glorious mane, while the rest of his body was protected from the elements by his leisure clothes: a plain black t-shirt and pants. Dark glasses reflected the brunt of the midday sun. He collected his sand-blasted self and lifted his leg. At last, he crossed the threshold, setting foot firmly on his parent's land. The sandy earth rose around his hoof, the sturdy pillar of his limb sinking into home. This land wanted to envelop him, wanted him to stay and never leave again — to trap him here forever. Ruck felt its pull, the warm comfort of familiarity tug at his soul. It was enticing.

Three steps. Then four. Then many. The grown-up mustang entered the past. His tall body carried him quickly up the path, the still air not yet whipped into a frenzy by the wind, leaving his rich coat of fur unmolested. The walk to the house usually took ten minutes. He took longer, seizing the opportunity to look upon the acres he ran and hid and played among in his youth. Those memories seemed so distant now, to him, a man of twenty-five. But seeing the same sights he spent his childhood days observing brought them closer than ever. He could almost taste the meals he used to enjoy as a child after a long day adventuring, and the smell of the farm reinforced that nostalgic sensation. He could get lost in a place like this. Not in the physical sense. The emotional.

Ahead! There she stood. His mother, in the porch of the two-storey white timber house he was raised in. He last saw her a year go, at his graduation. She positively shone that day, in fine formal wear, proud of her son's achievements. He looked towards the porch. She was as radiant as ever. No fancy dress this time, only her usual get-up. Tight-buttoned shirt with the collar splayed, the criss-crossing burgundy and yellow ochre pattern her signature style. She clad her bottom half with a pair of old ripped jeans, from where he stood Ruck could see muck-marks, evidence of a woman hard at work. A cowboy hat rested on her head, giving the mare a classic rancher look. Past that her mane had been bunched back to keep it from flopping in front of her during the day.

Ruck's tail flicked as he approached.

She leaned against the door frame, a big smile on her muzzle.

He reached the entrance in silence. He removed his sunglasses, the shade of the porch now taking over that responsibility. This was the first time in a while his brown eyes (matching his fur) set themselves upon his mother's. Her grey-green irises shone brightly, staring deep into his soul. No words were spoken. One look was all they needed. One look that said: 'welcome home'.

"Hey Ma," Ruck said in a bass voice, the sound of which ripped through the idyllic ambiance, banishing any chirping of birds or rustling of trees to oblivion. That voice! Oh how his mother had longed to hear a word spoken by that voice.

"RUCK!" she squealed in her Southern twang. Leaping from the doorway, she wrapped her son in an enormous hug — squeezing like her life depended on it. "Yer home! Mah baby..."

"I missed you too Ma." He brought his arm 'round her back, placing a firm hand on her shoulder blade, keeping the hug close. His other arm soon joined the party, locking behind her back, bending his knees to accommodate his mom's shorter stature.

He'd come a long way. And this moment made it all worth it.

She broke the embrace. "Can't ya stay fer more than a Summer?"

Ruck chuckled. Unlike his mother, time spent away from home had diminished his accent. "Ma, you know well I got a job, responsibilities..."

"I know, I know. Ya silly boy! I wish it was simpler. Like the ol' days."

"Well I'm here now. Make the most o' me."

"I will!" she exclaimed, "now hun, how's life in the big city? How's work?"

"Work's great. Got a position at a big firm downtown. So I don't want for much. Stayin' with some roommates to keep costs low, so I can put more into savings. We all pitch in for stuff. Nobody's an ass or got a big ego. Things're pretty good."

"Oh my God, I'm so happy fer ya! Hope ya saved some money fer yer dear ol' mama!"

"I did Ma. I did." He produced a small bundle of dollar bills, placing them on her palm and closing her fingers around the wad. "For being a great mom," he grinned.

She opened her hand. Shock and amazement washed over her, the matronly mare's jaw dropping. "Baby! How much is this!?"

"More than enough for a few repairs and renovations for the house. Plus enough for you to treat yourself."

"I...ya earn so much..." She stood there. Dumbfounded.

"Ma, I told you I have a great job. It's no big deal."

"Yeah it's a big deal. I can't believe—"

"That your son treats his momma right?"

Words weren't necessary to express her gratitude. The silvery twinkle in her eye was thanks enough.

"Where would I be without you? Eh, Ma?"

She kicked her hoof into the porch floor, angling it so that she tip-toed on the boards, her left leg twisting, lightly grinding her hoof into the wood. "Nowheres. That's where," she replied.

"I have a lot to thank you for. Especially this year."

"Shucks honey, I'm not one fer takin' credit. But ya did so well..."

"Oh I did more than well. Top percentile o' grades—"

"Just as smart as yer Pa!"

"—and I owe it all to your support." Ruck had left to pursue a college education, something his father pushed for, and his mother supported wholeheartedly. His father had done the same in his youth, studying hard to make something of himself. His parents met at a county fair, dad visiting his hometown for once in a blue moon and falling head-over-heels in love with a simple farm girl. One thing led to another, and with the blessings of both families concerned they were wed. Ruck arrived on the scene shortly after.

"I miss him honey-pie. More than anythin'."

His dad died a week before graduating. It was a black mark on an otherwise happy occasion. It affected his mom more than anyone else. Yet she dried her tears and put on a strong face as the flash of photographer's camera immortalised her son's triumph. Her husband would've been proud to see him then; smart, strong, handsome...

She led him by the hand into the house.

* * *

The old farm house's exterior was a sight to behold — a clean, well-kept Carpenter Gothic home, built before electrification of the region. It had seen plenty of updates in the time since its construction, and while from the outside it hadn't suffered the ravages of time, the interior of the house bore the marks of repeated remodelling. Modern conveniences occupied nooks and crannies, haphazardly inserted wherever the space existed, with preservation of the quaint aesthetic a fleeting regard to its inhabitants throughout the years. Ruck's parents never minded much the 'corruption' of its antique look. They were people who lived in the now; their minds on the godly-green land and its people. Drinking. Dancing. Lanterns hanging from trees in Spring — illuminating the paths and parlours of the rural neighbourhood. Love. Laughter. And smiling faces. Who cared about the history of the building when there were far more important things in life?

Foggy glass panes were held in permanent suspension by the varnished wood of the original window frames. They'd begun to lose their transparency decades ago, but lingered on, eking out their twilight years, roughly forty percent opaque. Enough light was let in on a sunny day to avoid wasting electricity, but when the clouds came over, and the weather turned...that was when their age showed. Many parts of the house told similar stories.

The hall now entertained a familiar mustang. Older, yes. Wiser, yes. But still the same young colt who leaped and bounded up-and-down the stairs, clattered the cupboards, fiddled with the fireplace...getting up to all sorts of mischief, swimming in the throes of rambunctious youth.

Ruck's mom scurried off to the far side of the house, leaving him to wallow in yet more memories. "Looks like I'm home," he said, the scourge of his homesickness lifting.

* * *

Dinnertime came and his mother had prepared an aromatic meal comprised of mixed vegetables, onions, peppers, spices, and more; its rich scent burning his nostrils. "Smells good Ma," he nickered, taking a seat at the wooden table.

"I hope ya like it honey-pie. Wanted to put on a special meal for your first day back."

"Looks plenty special!"

They dug in.

As the hot food tantalised his tongue, chewing and savouring the sweet taste of home, Ruck peered over at his mother. He noticed her stare a lot; the table, the bowl...never at him. He worried over her, alone in the countryside. Farming kept her mind steady, though it's never been easy for one to avoid the sting of loneliness. With a mild sigh she resumed eating. Her lips smacked, her meal gradually disappearing to fuel her finely-aging body. Working the fields meant she was healthier than most her age, and despite a build-up of fat in the usual places her figure maintained itself well.

She sighed. Ruck looked up at her.

"Not enjoying it? You made it."

"I know that hun."

"It's...it's about Pa, isn't it?"

"Um...I'm okay, really..."

"Hey," he extended his arm, his hand reaching across the table to hold her own, "if you need to talk to someone, I'm here."

"Thank ya honey," she nodded, averting her eyes in a vain attempt at minimising the heavy feelings that permeated the air. "But I've been truckin' along fer months, if nothin' stopped me yet, nothin' will!"

"That's not how it works Ma. Just talk. A little. For me."

Reluctantly, she agreed. His mother spoke, he listened. Concerns about how tough managing the farmstead had been this past year, without her husband, floated between them. Ruck comforted her, bolstering her flagging spirits with eager optimism — his was infectious. Soon she was beaming over his achievements. With assurances that he'd be available to help out all Summer, her grief found itself without purchase. Slowly, it unmoored itself. Cast away as her happiness lapped at the edge of her thoughts — like rushing water against loamy embankment...

"Ruck, ya bein' here means a lot to me. Even if it's just temporary."

"You never know. I might like it enough to stick around."

"Turn down the charm, mister!" she wagged her finger at him, "I know who I'm talkin' to. Y'all may be tall an' handsome, but yer the same boy who gave every excuse in the book to skip fieldwork!"

Ruck made a bashful turn with his head, scratching his fetlocks. "Thought you might've forgot that."

"Time ain't made a fool o' me yet," she declared. "Don't worry honey-pie. I can tell when yer lyin'...an' this ain't mah baby speakin' lies. It'll be great havin' yer help fer the summertime."

Once dinner was over Ruck and his mother gathered the dishes. The house lacked a dishwasher, despite at least one person present in the house making a fuss about it whenever the topic arose. An old-fashioned sink plus faucet was their sole means of cleaning up. That didn't bother them. Ruck stood beside his mother giving her a hand as she soaped the water and began cleaning, working up to a rich foam. The water drenched their forearms, their fur heavy and wet. Still, it needed to be done. What would people think of him if Ruck didn't assist his widowed mother with chores while he could? It would be scandalous!

"Thanks Ruck honey."

"No problem Ma."

Washed and dried, their dishes and cutlery were put away, erasing all traces of their sublime meal. Ruck and his mother hugged, he thanked her for the food. "I knew it was still yer favourite," she cooed.

The time was late, and outside was dark. Hours had flown by during their dinner. Conversation sped things up immensely. Ruck was tired — the long journey had taken its toll, there were bags under his eyes. He yawned. His mother knew how sleepy he'd become, she had a long day as well. Toiling in the fields, gathering fresh produce for sale at the local farmer's market on Sunday, and dusting the house in preparation for her son's return. It was gruelling, but it had all been worth it. To see the smile on his face, his rugged appearance scarcely concealing the little boy she loved without limit. He de-aged a decade or more in her presence, the proud stallion found comfort in his former role. "It was delicious. Though I'm awful tired now."

"Me too." Her mouth opened wide to inhale, and exhale, infected with his yawning. She stretched her arms behind her back and heard the joints pop. She looked ready for bed. Sniffing the air, she turned and trotted out of the kitchen. Ruck followed.

In the hallway she stopped. Her hand gripped the end of the banisters, gliding over the smooth varnish and running down the length of the wooden pole until her fingers merely brushed the textured surface. Another second, and they had separated, her arm dangling halfheartedly as she stared at the worn steps to the upper floor.

"You okay Ma?" Ruck asked, worry in his voice.

"Yeah baby I'm good," she replied, "it's just...this'll be the first time in a long time I won't be home alone."

From behind she felt her son's firm hands lay upon her shoulders, squeezing (not pinching) her body through the shirt. A braver woman would stem the tears...she could only hold back so much. Her husband's memory, her son here at last; it was overwhelming, and it hurt.

"Hey hey Ma, s'okay...s'okay." Ruck rubbed her shoulders. "I feel as bad as you do." His words were a comfort to her, knowing he felt the pain of loss as vividly as she.

She sniffed. And composed herself.

"Let's get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow is a new day," her son said, his voice quietened.

They ascended the stairs. Ruck first, then her. The boards creaked with familiarity as each sombre step carried the two horses upstairs. The ache in her limbs picked up. She looked ahead of her, to her son's large frame rippling with muscles. He would be such a great help. Big and strong. And clever too, just like his father.

Reaching the top, Ruck took a moment to drink in his surroundings. This was probably the first time he'd seen up here in years. In darkness save for a single window letting the moonlight in, he saw it as vividly as when he was a child. The same doors, the same frames, the same paint, the only difference being the proportions from his perspective, a lot taller than he'd been when last he stayed at home. He moved into the centre of the landing, joined by his mom, who absentmindedly shambled towards her bedroom.

Ruck went the opposite direction, arriving at a very special door. His.

The grown-up equine turned the knob, slowly opening the door, unsure of what he'd find. He flipped the light switch. The room, now illuminated, had no bed for him. Packed instead, were boxes and boxes of papers, miscellaneous household items, and in the middle of it all was a writing desk, once belonging to his father. He groaned, the sand building in his eyes. He just wanted to go to sleep!

Hurriedly he went to find his mother. She'd entered her room and was in the process of letting her hair fall loose and free. He watched the shiny black mane flow, and dance, long and beautiful.

"M-Ma," he whispered, wanting to not disturb her too much, "my room..."

Embarrassment crossed her features. Her jaw dropped, which was quickly covered by her hands, and a simple 'oh gosh-darn it' told all. She rubbed her head.

"I'm sorry Ruck. I forgot all about yer room." She rose and walked past him, coming to the area in question. "Everthin's been so busy lately, I hardly had time to put this stuff away."

"What's it doing here anyway. You need Pa's old desk for somethin'?"

"I needed a place where I could put all 'em kinds o' bills, taxes, an' paperwork. Yer Pa always did that fer me. He was the one with the smarts to do it." There were traces of shame in her explanation, as if she wanted to hide the fact she was struggling...as if her son thinking she wasn't capable on her own was a particular fear of hers. She cursed her forgetfulness. How could she have dropped the ball so easily?

"C'mere, c'mere," Ruck brought his arm around her, speaking softly, "no need to get upset. I can do it for you."

"Y'mean...ya will?"

"Well I have accountancy training, be a shame not to put it good use. And what better use is there than helping my Ma with the family business?"

"Thank ya, honey-pie," she kissed him on the cheek, causing him to blush.

"We can clear this out tomorrow, and put my bed back in," he said, "not in the mood to try it tonight."

"An' ya can bunk with me!"

"You sure?"

"Uh-huh. Bed's big enough fer two." The unspoken fact that it had been their late father sharing the bed with her was ignored by both, lest it brought up bad memories. They had it hard enough without reminders.

"Won't this be weird?"

He looked at his mother. Her sculpted figure. Her pensive eyes. She was an image of mature beauty, were they not blood related he was sure he'd fall for her. It wasn't peculiar for anyone to be weirded out a little at the prospect of spending the night with their single mom whose body was a vision hardened by farm labour.

"I know, I know, sweetness. Yer a bit old to be sleepin' in momma's bed!" she giggled.

"Uhhh," he groaned. The same groan he made many a time his mom came out with an embarrassing remark. "Let's just go to sleep."

"Agreed." She took him to his new bedroom, his reluctant agreement bringing her a step closer to hitting the hay and getting some well-earned rest.

"Give me a sec hun, gotta change." The equine woman rushed inside, slamming the door shut. Ruck obeyed, like a good son. He loitered by the closed door, waiting for when he was permitted entry.

"Come in!" he heard through the timber panelling. He entered.

His mother sat wearing a comely pink nightgown, the kind one might see adorning a fair country maiden in the old days. Sequined, with white buttons and red edges — in a paler hue than the pink colouring the rest of it. Her arms and legs were bare, the end of the gown approaching her mid-thigh, and not much else, where — if not for her tightly-pressed-together legs — one wayward cad might spy more than intended. Two straps held the gown, scaling her shoulders. Her bosom pushed the fabric out, exposing some cleavage. A modest amount, but enough to drive any hot-blooded male crazy. The material was thick enough to hide her nipples, reducing the impact on any onlookers.

Cushioning her wide hips and rear was the double bed they would be sharing tonight. To someone watching this might be construed as something...entirely different than what was happening. His mother must've realised this, as she adjusted her pose, the attractive older mare 'look' fading once pitted against the knowledge she was his mom. Ruck was too much of a gentleman to entertain thoughts of that nature anyway. He knew it. She obviously knew it. Best not dwell.

"I'll change once I'm under the sheets," he said, not letting her appearance get to him.

"Ya sure? Don't wanna embarrass ya."

"Naw it's fine." Ruck bit his lip, fighting the urge to compliment her sleepwear. It was just a compliment, right? 'What's the harm?' you might ask. He fought it anyway.