My cell buzzed at 5:15 a.m. startling me from sleep. I groggily reached over and grabbed it from the nightstand. My dad. I answered.
“Need to fix fences this morning, Will. Tom called. Some idiot drove off the road and crashed through the fence. I can help after I get your Ma ready.”
Damn. What a way to wake up. I’d been in the middle of a shit-hot dream with Kate Upton and Sofia Vergara. Together.
So of course I was hard. And I had to pee.
I rolled onto my stomach, then rubbed my eyes and slurred into the phone, “S’okay, Dad, be right there. Don't worry 'bout it. You take care of Ma.” Tom was a neighbor and old friend of my dad's, but I was the one in charge now.
Looking around my room in my grandparents’ old farmhouse—now my house—barely lit by the early morning sun, I let out a breath. I had to get going. No time for Kate and Sofia, at the moment. Or morning wood. But it wouldn’t go away without me doing something about it.
I rolled to my back and reached down and grabbed my insistent dick—didn't wear clothes to bed—knowing that I had to get out of the house fast, but knowing that I couldn’t leave like this either. I wasn’t gentle with myself. I stroked hard, quickly, gripping tight, and came fast on my stomach, letting out a groan as I stared at the ceiling, for a moment lost in the release. Then I reached for a tissue.
Looked over at Trixie snoozing in the corner.
Time to get my sorry ass out of bed. No sense wishing for more time with Kate and Sofia. I got ready real quick. I pulled on a t-shirt, jeans, and boots, grabbed a ball cap and my jacket, and left with Trix.
The cool, early morning air hit my face and woke me up for real, though yeah, I’d still take some coffee from Cookie. As I walked across the compound to the chow hall, my dog followed me, tail wagging, circling around my heels. I reached down and scratched the soft fur behind her ears, and she licked my face.
After filling up my metal travel mug to go—didn’t use paper shit—I got in the new truck, Trixie in the back, and headed out to where my dad said the fence had been breached.
Driving along the dirt road, I took in the sunrise and the dusky green sagebrush on the ridge. It was gonna be another scorching hot summer day. We’d have to throw water on the berries ahead of schedule.
When I got to the section that needed to be fixed, I got pissed, fast. Tom was right. Some asshole drove through right through the three-strand barbed wire fence, taking out about fifty feet. Cattle everywhere. A mess.
Bigger job than I thought. I called Guillermo to get some guys out to help and I set to, pulling up posts.
When the guys got there, we shooed the cattle back where they were supposed to be and reset the fencing. More shit needed to be done, and I told them—cutting firewood, oil change on the big tractor, irrigating.
We managed to repair the fence before eight and by then I was fucking hungry. Time for breakfast.
When I got back to the compound, I walked over to my folks’ place, which we’d built a few years back to fit my mom’s wheelchair. One story house, so no stairs. Easier on her.
“William,” she called when I came in, her dark eyes bright and her hair all pretty. She smiled at me as usual, and handed me a fresh cup of coffee. Trixie settled in next to Ma. “Sit down, your dad made pancakes.” Dad had learned to cook, although Cookie was better. Still, he’d managed to take good care of her since the accident, even if his pancakes were so-so.
"Sorry I couldn't go out with you today, son," said my dad.
"Don't need to apologize, 'preciate you takin' care of Ma."
He stood at the stove, flipped six pancakes onto a plate, and passed it to me. I sat next to Ma at the kitchen table as she nibbled on her own two pancakes, sitting in her wheelchair, slim fingers holding the fork. I knew, after years of this, that the only way I could eat them was to douse them in syrup, which I did. I reached over, picked up a few pieces of bacon from the plate on the table, and tucked in, hungrier than hell after the morning from hell. Told them about the fence. Ate.
I looked at my mom and saw that mom-look in her eye.
The one that said I needed a woman. Basically the same conversation we had weekly.
“Mijo, you need someone to make you pancakes,” she said gently. Ma had a Spanish accent, but I never heard it, used to the way she talked.
“Dad’s pancakes are just fine,” I muttered. My usual type of answer to this kind of talk.
“When you get a girlfriend, William, you tell your Ma.”
I grinned at her, then leaned over and kissed her temple. “If I ever get a girlfriend, you’ll be the first to know.”
That was what I said every time she brought it up.
She smiled and went back to her pancakes.
You’d think after ten years—ten years since Andrea had left me—Ma would get the hint that I wasn’t the relationship kind. I never brought women home. I just picked them up, had a lot of fun with them, got invited to their places, fucked them, and went home. No sweat.
Women? Easy to get.
The right woman? Hard.
No woman wanted to put up with the fact that I was surly and would never change. No woman wanted the hard work of a ranch. And I wasn’t fucking settling down with the wrong woman just to have a wife. So I yeah, I’d tell Ma if I changed my mind.
Thing was, I wasn’t gonna change my mind.
When I stood up to clear the dishes, my phone buzzed with a call from Guillermo, the foreman. “The circuit breaker is down at the pump by the old tank,” he told me in Spanish. Shit. This morning from hell continued on.
“Gotta go, Ma. I'll let you know if I see any possible girlfriends.” I kissed her, waved goodbye to my dad, and left, Trixie hopping in the back again.
This time, driving out to the irrigation pump, I got a call from fucking J.T. from fucking Hamilton Development. Those fucking bastards. I let it go to voicemail.
No way was I selling my land. Liked it too much, even on days like this. If I got out of here, yeah, no more fucking early morning calls about escaped cattle. I could sit on a beach and drink piña coladas all day.
Nah. Not my thing.
As I drove, I looked around at my land. This time of year, early summer, the hills weren’t quite green from winter storms and weren’t the brittle brown of summer. Still, it was home—the avocado orchards and the low plains of truck crops and the rolling hills dotted with livestock. In my family for generations. Now it was my job to take care of it.
Even if that job on some days was a pain in my ass.
By the time I fixed the circuit breaker at the pump on the east strawberry fields, I’d soaked my boots, my Wranglers, and had mud up to my elbows. Finally time for a shower.
I whistled to Trixie, who came running to me, having explored up and down the berry fields. My muddy arms were even too dirty for her to lick. She climbed in the back of my truck and I spun out of the irrigated field getting mud on the side. Damn, that didn’t stay clean long. I headed back to the farmhouse.
Got home, let Trix out of the back, and shucked my boots on the front porch. I went into the bathroom, stripped, and turned on the shower, thinking it would take a miracle to get all of the fucking mud off of me.
As usual, I started thinking of my to-do list. We had a serious arundo problem and needed to get the guys in to pull that bamboo shit out of there before it choked up the irrigation channels. Needed to order new avocados from L & M for planting next season. I needed to tell that jackass J.T. from Hamilton Development to stop eyeballing my land. He wasn't getting it.
And I fucking needed to get laid.
It had been, what, a month? Eternity. Too fucking busy these days to go into town.
Where were my dream girls when I needed them?
The water warm, I stepped in the shower and soaped up, my dick again twitching to life as I touched it. I could pretty much go any time. No problems there.
Going from a semi to hard, I propped my hand against the shower wall, pumping, stroking, fast, hard, using Dove soap for lubrication.
Thinking of all the things I’d like to see Sofia and Kate do.
And I could come up with a lot.
With a release, I let go, God, so good, and rinsed off the soap.
I turned off the water, stepped out of the shower to reach for my towel—
—and got hit from behind like I was tackled by a linebacker. My breath was forced out of me making me grunt. “The fuck?”
For fuck’s sake, a lot of people are in and out of my house, but was there no privacy?
I turned around and there stood the prettiest girl I’d ever seen.
At first, all I saw were big brown eyes, soft, intelligent, and lovely. Then I looked down and saw supermodel legs stretching down from teeny tiny short shorts.
She was hot. Combo of Kate and Sofia. Long blonde hair, straight and sexy. Soft brown skin and the craziest tatts. As I looked at her, I saw more and more of them.
What the fuck was she doing in my bathroom?
“Ohmigod, I’m so sorry,” she said, hands up, little white tank top wet, showing me her huge tits, and she had the sultriest voice. Kind of raspy. The kind of voice you felt.
And then I saw her fucking hippie shoes.
Oh no. No, no, no. No fucking hippie supermodels.
No lazy-ass, entitled, save-the-planet-while-I-drive-my-Prius princesses with their fucking noses in the air. No Hollywood, Hillary-voting, kale-drinking, gun-hating liberals. No I-save-the-environment-while-I-drink-from-paper-cups hypocrisy. Fuck no. Stay the fuck away.
Who hired her?
“Janine told me I could use this bathroom.”
Ah. Janine. Have to have a talk with her.
“Ever think of knocking?” I snarled as I grabbed my towel. Yeah, princess, get a look. You clearly have no problem with treading on others’ rights.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, “It’s been a long drive and I really have to pee.”
Too fucking bad. Get out of my house.
“Go down the hall, there’s another bathroom. I’m using this one.” And I pushed her shoulders, feeling the warmth of her skin and the softness under her thin-strapped tank top.
Damn, she smelled good too. Like some sort of flower. And I'd bet that pussy was sweet.
Truth be told, I kinda liked hippie chicks. If she was a liberal, she’d be fucking fun to tease. She’d hate me. I’d admit it, I get off on the conflict.
Bring it on, babe.
I put on my clothes. When I stepped out the bathroom, there she was again still all sexy-pretty.
Well, why not? Could be kinda interesting. I stared at her for a moment.
Bad idea, Will. Don’t fuck the staff. Don’t fuck commies except at the polls. You can get any snatch, any time you want. Get the hell away from her.
I pulled out my can of dip and took off. “Another fucking liberal,” I muttered.
“Hey!” she yelled. “What’s wrong with that?”
I grinned to myself and turned around.
“Darlin’, life’s too short to list all the things that are wrong with being a liberal.” I went to leave. She needed to know how it was here, on my property. “This is Reagan Country, and don’t forget it.”
And I walked out to my truck.
Copyright 2016 Leslie McAdam. All Rights Reserved.