The Pig Farmer

The Pig Farmer

Author's Notes: This story is from 2020 when there was nothing else to do during covid except volunteer and write. Don't ask where some of these weird stories come from they just do! It's an erotic Western but could be just as likely today as back then.

Comments, votes and follows appreciated. It's the only payment we get.

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Eberly walked out of their sod hut yawning and stretching, his head pounding from the whiskey he drank the night before.

"Where in tarnation did Thelma get to, and where's breakfast?" he muttered to himself, eyes searching the barn and the pig pens.

Something caught his eye. A flash of dull colour that looked like Thelma's dress lay on the ground beside the pen where he kept the big boars. Walking over, he was startled to realize it was only a skinny leg in a torn remnant of a dress. The leg had been chewed off at the knee.

"Well, tarnation," he exclaimed. "Did that dumb woman git herself et? Now, who's going to cook and take care of my nightly needs?" Disgusted, he picked up the leg and threw it in the pen.

"Might as well let them finish it."

He peered over the railings at the hogs, busy tearing apart her leg. Not a sign of Thelma to be seen except a few scraps of cloth from her dress. Had she gone into the pen or had one of them grabbed her arm while she was feedin them. "Damn, those big boys even et her bones! I told her to be careful around them critters. They eat anything, even a scrawny old woman like her."

He did his chores despite a wicked hangover, cursing his luck that Thelma wasn't there to relieve him and let him take it a little easier. Selfish to the end was his opinion.

He felt a little more charitable toward her that night, picking at the charcoal carcass of the piglet he'd burned for supper. Disgusted, he pitched it out the door for the dogs and grabbed his whiskey bottle.

He needed feeding and lovin. What was he going to do, he mused, sipping at his bottle? After a few drinks, an idea took form in his mind. He looked outside. Maybe an hour of light left. If he left now, he'd be arriving at dark, and no one would turn him away in the night. It was the way of the West.

**********

Amelia heard the clip-clop of hooves coming slowly down the road. That was a welcome sign. Owlhoots and other ne'er-do-wells were usually riding hell-bent for leather to escape the law or a posse. A slow rider meant a welcome visitor. She went to the door of the cabin and peered out.

She shuddered, seeing Eberly, the pig farmer. He stunk to high-heaven anytime she'd met him. A body needed to stand ten feet upwind of him. He was coming toward her. She hoped he was just passing by.

"Evening, Amelia," he called out.

"Eberly."

To her dismay, he pulled up to the hitching post and dismounted.

"I come to tell ya some bad news," he said, pulling off his hat. "Thelma fell in the hog pen while I was asleep and got herself et. Them hungry boars didn't even leave a bone for a body to bury."

"OHHH!" shuddered Amelia, horrified by the news. "May the lord have mercy on her soul." Despite her feelins, she needed to be charitable. Hospitable. The poor man losing his wife like that.

"Please come in. I'll get ya some lemonade."

The whiff of him passing by almost had her gagging. She wondered if he slept with his pigs?

He sat at the table while she mixed him a drink. Already the cabin was gittin close, his foul odour taking over the air. She wished she had a door out the back to open and let some air flow through. For a minute, she wondered if Thelma had thrown herself to the hogs rather than spend one more minute breathing his stench. He was filthy, his nails caked with black grime, his hands and fingers black with...well, she didn't want to think what it might represent. His clothes were unwashed. He didn't shave or trim his beard. She could see pig shit caked to his boots and leaving a trail on her clean wooden floor. She'd have to wash it after he left.

He took a sip, smacked his lips appreciatively and asked her, "You, being religious and all, got me some questions."

"I'd be happy to answer if I can, Eberly. But many questions about God need a good minister."

He looked around and frowned. "Will Charlie be joining us?"

"He took our produce to town to sell. He leaves every Wed and doesn't get back till Saturday supper time. He left first thing this morning." Having told him that, she immediately wished she hadn't. But that was the way of the Lord. You didn't lie. Ever. Lying led to more wickedness.

"Do ya think Thelma's in heaven even after gittin et by hogs?"

"I'm sure she is, Eberly."

'And probably sitting at God's Right Hand for putting up with this man for all these years' she thought privately.

Uncharitable and sinful, she chided herself, ashamed of thinking that while the poor man was grieving the death of his beloved wife.

"How can a body tell?"

"Well," she said, thinking about it. "Did she live a good Christian life?"

"That's what concerns me. Your religion sez ya can't resist someone sinning against ya and have to forgive anyone who does dirty by ya? A pacifi...something or other? Ain't that the truth of it? Thelma didn't believe like that. For her, it was an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Would she still be a good Christian woman believing something different?"

"Yes, Eberly. Charlie and I are pacifists, and our religion believes in turning the other cheek when others sin agin us."

She pointed to a pair of framed hand-sewn needle points hanging on the wall. "We find comfort in Mathew 5:39: But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also." Also, Mathew 5:44: "But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which spitefully use you, and persecute you."

She paused to let him consider that for a moment. "We never get violent or fight back. It's what we believe the good Lord requires of us in life. But not all religions believe that, and many would accept her eye-for-an-eye beliefs. In fact, Mathew 5:38 talks about it: You have heard that it was said, 'An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. The Bible quotes the Law of Retribution that God gave Moses, and Moses gave Israel. Jesus quoted it in his sermon on the Mount, so yes, she can be a good Christian woman and go to heaven."

"That there's a comfort," he said, taking another sip. "So ya don't resist anything at all?" he asked, shaking his head in wonderment, staring at the needlepoint.

"Never, we believe that resistance is as bad as the original sin. We must set a better example to show sinners the way. Live by example. Show them the light of our Lord and Saviour."

He shook his head again. "Say, I didn't git nuttin to eat tonight. I tried to do my own cooking and burned everything to a crisp. Would ya have some fixins ya could spare?"

Amelia cast an eye at the failing light. "I can make ya something to eat while ya ride back. Maybe ya should report Thelma dying to the sheriff in town."

Eberly carried his glass to the door and looked out. "Nah, it's almost dark. I don't want to be riding in the dark. It's a long ways ta town. I'll stay here."

"Sure, ya is welcome to pitch a blanket in the barn," she offered graciously, dismayed inside.

He shook his head, not sayin a word. She had no idea what that meant.

She was gittin nervous. "Eberly?"

He turned around. "Nah, I wants the comfort of a woman tonight."

"I'll be right pleased to sit and talk ya as long as ya like tonight, Eberly, while ya is grieving Thelma."

His stomach gurgled long and loud, and she shot to her feet, happy to have a distraction. "Let me git ya some victuals, Eberly."

Putting together a meal for him, she looked longingly at the open door. She could make a run for it, but wouldn't that be unchristian? Fleeing him for something he hadn't done? That was resistance. She thought so. He had a horse, too, and Charlie had taken theirs. No way could she outrun him on foot when he was mounted. If she tried to take his, she doubted she could get the animal moving before he was on her. No, maybe once he went to sleep, she could flee and hide till Charlie got home. That was the way of it. If he was asleep, he couldn't tell her to stay, and a body didn't HAVE to stay in one place. She could walk away without sinnin.

In the meantime, she needed to be a good Christian woman and suffer what slings he might throw her way. Turn the other cheek.

She set dinner down in front of him. He took a deep sniff and smiled. "It smells delicious, Amelia. Thanks. Would ya have a tot a whiskey?"

"We don't drink Eberly, and Charlie don't keep nothing here, sorry!"

He got up and clomped out, his boots leaving a trail of dried pig shit. At least she thought it was pig shit. She thought about asking him to take his boots off, but instinct told her that his feet would be even worse. No, his boots were definitely preferable.

He rummaged in his saddlebag and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. Back inside, he helped himself to two glasses out of the cupboard and sat back down, pouring a good shot in each. He pushed one toward Amelia.

"To Thelma." he offered his glass up and waited for her.

"I don't drink Eberly."

"Ya is gonna drink tonight to the spirit of my dear, departed wife, goddammit," he demanded.

Dismayed, she took the glass and clinked it with him, letting it just wet her lips.

Eberly tossed his drink down and dug into the meal. Then poured himself another shot.

He forced another clink and told her in no uncertain terms to take a good gulp of her drink.

Holding her breath, she drank half, her stomach roiling and threatening to throw it back up. She'd pray for the Lord's forgiveness later. Two glasses later, her head was spinning something fierce while Eberly carried on talking and drinking.

He had finished his sixth glass by her count when he waved her over. "Come here."

Unresisting, she obeyed, standing beside him, knowing that he was going to do wicked things to her. Things no Christian should do to a woman married to another. God was testing her and Charlie, she supposed. After all, it was their marriage about to be sullied.

He yanked her down to sit on his knee. So close to him, her stomach rebelled at his stench. She swallowed several times, focusing on keeping everything down.

"Ya sure are a purty one," Eberly said. "So young, so purty, and a body that a man can't resist breeding. How is it ya ain't got no young'uns skedaddling around here?"

His presence fouled the air with an awful stench. The distraction made it hard to think around him.

But that question was the long and short of her life. She and Charlie had been trying for a long time. They made no attempt to avoid having a baby. Was she barren? That was her biggest fear. Maybe Charlie was; she had no way of telling. If Charlie was, she hated to think that she might get pregnant being forced by Eberly. That wasn't right for a God-fearing family. Sensing what was coming, she said a short, silent prayer that it was her that was barren. Then realized she wuz resisting. Even if a stinkin pig farmer wanted her, it was her duty not to defy him. Instead, she needed to offer him peace and joy. Take his seed in a calm, unresisting manner, showing him the true path to the Lord. In spite of her beliefs, she shuddered again.

Her religion had never prepared her for anything like this.

"Time for a real man to plumb that cunny of yers woman. Give ya some seed that'll make yer belly swell. It's going to waste with Charlie."

She choked back her response. Resistance to a sinner was a sin in itself. She tried to compose herself instead of telling him off. The worst sins were yet to come. She needed to be strong while God tested her.

Perhaps she could divert him. "Can I fix ya a nice hot bath?" she offered.

"After might be right nice, but now I need some womanly comfort," he said, nuzzling her neck.

His fingers found the buttons holding her dress together and started opening them. Her dress gradually gaped open until he could see her chemise-clad titties. To her disgust, his filthy hand reached inside, smearing dirt all over her underclothes.

His hand closed over her breast, stroking and gently pinching her nipple. Despite her dismay, it felt good. That, along with his kissing her neck, made her shiver. However, his stench was making her stomach roil in distress.

"Eberly," she whispered. She had to distract him afore she threw up over him.

"Mmmmm."

"Them hogs a yers carry a rank odour. It'd be right nice if I could wash it off ya."

His head rocked back. "Ya sayin I smell? Thelma never complained."

"I'm not Thelma," she said. "She lived with the hogs and probably didn't notice the smell anymore. There are things I like, and one of them is a clean man."

"That'd take too long," he countered.

"No, I have a couple of buckets of water warming on the stove for the dishes. You could stand on the porch while I quickly wash ya and pour the water over ya after."

Eberly took another sip of whiskey, thinkin about it. "Ya know, that sounds right, nice. Been a few months since my last bath. Let's git on with it."

She winced; she wasn't sure that this wasn't worse, but it was what it had to be. "If ya goes out to the porch and takes yer clothes off, I'll git the soap and water." She got up off his knee, and he let her go.

He finished his whiskey with a single gulp and headed outside.

Amelia got out her wash basin, wash cloth and soap. Carrying them out to the porch, she just about vomited at the stench. She'd been right about the boots. Once off, his bare feet were black with filth, socks barely hanging together by threads. He had his back to her while undressing.

Dismayed, she held her breath, picking up the boots with her fingertips and carrying them over to the other end of the porch. It was a distinct relief to get them downwind.

"A little fussy ain't ya," Eberly sneered.

She ignored him and went inside to get the two buckets of warm water.

Inside the cabin, she realized she could shut and bar the door with him outside. That would be a sin, though. Was it something she could pray to the Lord for forgiveness or not? Seemed like if she planned it, that was resistance...unforgivable. After all, she knew better. If it happened by accident, well, that was a different passel of critters. No, she couldn't bar the door. That was wrong.

She would stay on the Lord's path, true and strong. Show the sinner the error of his ways.

A bit of guilt haunted her. How would Charlie react to hearing about all this? Would he be proud of her for being so strong in the face of evil? Would it be better never to tell him? Could it anger him so much he might go after Eberly and lose his place in heaven by doing something so wicked God would never forgive him? Whatever happened, maybe it was better if she kept it to herself. Men had killed for less than what Eberly had already done to her. She'd have to cogitate on that thought a while.

Outside, she busied herself, pouring the two buckets into her wash basin, then filled the buckets, setting them back on the stove. She had a feeling this was going to be more than a two-bucket bath.

She got a cup and, standing behind him, poured warm water over his hair and some over his shoulders. Taking the soap, she lathered his hair up, having to do it twice; it was so thick with oils before rinsing it off. Washing down his back, she noted his strong muscles while her hand ran the washcloth over him. Like his hair, it took a couple of washings to clean him. Whatever Eberly's flaws were, it was obvious he worked hard, and his body showed it. Hard-bodied, muscular and tall. Maybe over six feet by her reckoning.

"Turn around," she ordered, finished with the back of his legs.

Rising up as he turned, she froze, her mouth gaping open. She'd only been with Charlie and thought he was normal down there, although she had nothing to compare it to, but this?

Nothing in her sheltered life had prepared her for this!

"What's the matter, girl? Never seen a real man before?" His hand dropped and clutched his penis, waggling it at her, even soft, a handful hung over the edge of his palm.

"I...I...!" She was red-faced, trying to tear her eyes away but drawn back to look again with a horrid fascination. She had no idea what to make of this.

"Thelma was a good-looking woman once, afore life wore her down. She loved this, and if ya wonder why she stayed with me, she loved having it stuck up her cunny whenever the urge struck me. And it struck me often. Just like yer gonna love it when I stick it up yers."

"That's not a Christian thing to do, Eberly," she tried talking him out of it. "If Thelma is in heaven, ya won't get to spend eternity with her. Doing that will send ya to hell."

"And will ya go to hell, too?" he asked.

"Maybe," she ventured, not entirely sure of the outcome of all this.

"Yer a good-looking woman, Amelia, better than Thelma these last years. So if I'm going to hell, I choose to take ya. Thelma can have heaven."

'Tarnation,' she thought. She hadn't expected that reaction from him. "So how long were ya and Thelma...?"

"Enough. I want to git on with it. Finish the bath."

She dutifully washed down his chest until she hit his groin. Skipping over that, she headed for his legs.

"No way," he exclaimed. "Do it all."

Asserting her own will, she shot back, "Let me finish here first."

Her eyes kept fearfully flickering up to that large appendage. Surely he wasn't planning on sticking that in her? No way it would fit. But then she thought of Thelma. A bone rack, skinny as a rail. If she could...! Heaven help her!

With his legs and feet now clean, the stench gradually dying off, she washed his arms and hands. Once that was done, she faced her greatest test. Lathering the washcloth up, she palmed his rapidly engorging erection, rubbing up and down with the soapy cloth. After a few strokes, she pushed his legs apart and washed around his plum-sized ball sack. So much bigger than Charlie's! It made her think there'd be a lot of young'uns patiently waiting in there for a womanly egg to chase. It'd be hers if someone didn't happen along soon and rescue her.

With his massive prong stiff and pointing straight at her, she rinsed it all, tossing some cups of water up and under those massive balls until she was satisfied he was clean.

Looking at him critically, she decided it had been a vast improvement. He almost looked human. His nails were still filthy, and that gave her an idea. "Just a minute," she told him and went back into the cabin.

Carrying a chair back out, she plunked it down. "Sit," she commanded.

"What fer?"

"Cause I said so. You ain't touching me with those dirty nails." She amazed herself, ordering him around. She realized that while she couldn't resist, she could try to set standards. If he refused, well...! John Wesley had said it himself in his famous sermon of 1748. She couldn't stop herself from quoting it to Eberly.

"Cleanliness is next to Godliness! John Wesley said so!" she informed him.

Eberly sat gazing at her with a slight smile on his face as if amused by her resistance. She placed the tub of leftover water on his lap.

"Stick yer hands in there and soak 'em so we can clean 'em up," she ordered. To her amazement, he obeyed without questioning it. Deciding it wasn't the only thing she wanted to do, she headed inside and grabbed her scissors and Charlie's shaving gear. If this slovenly drunk was going to force his evil intentions on her, he was going to be a clean slob.