Game 3Game 3 Outline| Game 3 |
Game 3 Outline |
Being a bull always was a fantasy for many years, even back to when you were in high school, and had to ride the bus through farming contry. Many a time the bus stopped to let off a passenger and you sitting with a window open set just the outside of the barn corral fence. The bovine fragerance turned most of the bus passengers to hold their noses and yell to get the bus moving, but you, you stiffed the country scents, enjoying what other thought of as a stench.
The becoming of form as a bull has you living then on the inside of the fences, rightfully so, lest from your passions and urges you would wander and get into trouble.
Luckily, you think about the fact your mentality and rational thinking brain seems as untouched from the drastic changing differences there is between standing as do humans and now as would a bull.
Considering, thinking as one stands and rather enjoys the breeze caressing the furry body, tickling the long sheath hairs, and from every step, stride walking those now Yam size bovine bull testicles sway and bump at hind hocks, making you proud they are so very big!
Fantasies have both good and fun things to delight, as well some vivid consequences. Fun is the raw as naked sensuality of being a furry animal. Delights aboud with being the one and only mature bull there on the farm. No other bull means for you no need to brawl for the right to mate with the cows, such was something a born bull might do better, or brutally, doing injury to your head, eyes, of body.
You are the only bull and the only choice for the cows when feeling their needy times, as you can still count, so counting the herd there are one hundred and ninety eight cows, sixty-two young heifers, and a host of oddly horny steers.
Those numbers means as for a bull his time by day or night while in pasture shall have him busy. Busy because to mate a cow to making one pregnant, the bull must mount, mate and inseminate three to five times to insure the impregnation is as sure.
Oh, oh, the mind is at work, realizing the ability of schooled learning remains viable, doing the Math, as 196 x 3 mountings each means to mate the herd you need to a sucessful breeding of the cows some 588 times, damn but you pecker might work a callus on the blunt end!
As difficult that seems, what if... as from your lacking of understanding how to manipulate the cows when mating, if for the first season you needed to mate each cow as five time, that...oh wow, 980 mountings, and then if any of the heifers came into heat, what of them?
Something sensual is the tail, it touches and sways, rubbing across the rather leathery, weather tough folds of a bull anus. What before by being human lie burried between to buttocks and never from use saw the light of day, or direct sunshine, the bull anus feels every kind of weather event.
Fantasy fun, being a bull is not what the foolhardy beliefs suggested, there are problems being human, and difficulties from being a common animal. First off is the tail, a thing of sensuality but utility. The utility comes with pro and con, both do something where a bull cannot scrath.
Eating, grazing fills the first stomach, and chewing a cud, re-eating your vomit grinds the grass and weeds you eat into a fine slurry. The high fiber content is mixed going through the bowels making a watery green slime. When comes that urge to vanquish the bowels, what is ejected spits and sputters of gasous anomilies. Some of what fails to eject the distance falls on the lower lip of the anus and spills along the flat bovine shaped butt, giving the swaying tail chasing flies the action of spreading the green crap across the butt and on my furry flanks.
If the numbers of flies wishing to come and enjoy a meal off my bull rump were not bad enough, then to have my tail spread their meal over a wider area, brings on more flies to lick, bite, and tickle me as they grazing, stroll!
I recall those acrid times when having eaten hot peppers and the aftermath of the acidic burning about the anus, a bull cannot use toilet paper, nor does the farmer here offer soothing ointment. Diaper rash on a bull butt, is a hurting personal situation.
That is but the tip of the bovine lifestyle iceberg, the enduring of lingering time, the clock what animal cannot read and no nothing of, as for a rational, understanding human mind locked in a bull skull, the boredom weighs heavily, making life not so exciting as did the fantasy help me imagine.
Written by vaulthurst
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