“That’s a penis,” Amanda said. She pointed to it. “Big ’ol penis. That’s where we’re going to live, huh?”
Joseph looked left and right, as if there were any other very large apartment complexes rising, suddenly, out of the ground in otherwise unrelieved cropland. “I mean, every building is a little penis-y,” he said, defensive. “Shaft. It’s inherent to the concept of a shaft.”
Amanda was undeterred. There were two outbuildings attached to the front of the high-rise, smooth and uniform and perfectly offset. “There’s the balls,” she said. “Yeah?”
Her new husband slowly nodded his head. “If they were in Manhattan, you wouldn’t notice,” he tried.
“Because there’s thousands of penises?” Amanda said. “My god. Now we can never go to New York.”
“Very horny town,” Joseph said. It was as close as he really ever got to a joke, and Amanda felt his strain. She settled back in the chair and watched the big concrete phallus approach in the windshield. She tried to get the dick metaphor out of her head—she wasn’t in the City, would be among Joseph’ co-workers for months, would be expected to make a home in the cock-building. But it had stuck. There were too few windows, no balconies, just an unrelieved faux-rock exterior that shone a mild pink and grey in the receding sunlight.
She couldn’t help herself. “Pool on the rooftop?”
If Joseph got the precum joke, he didn’t smile. “Well, there’s a pool. Probably not on the roof. This is tornado country. That probably explains at least one of the outbuildings. There’s an exercise center too. All kinds of amenities. We got an e-mail on it.”
Amanda gave him a sidelong glance. She’d been doing it the entire trip. It was their first road trip as husband and wife. She had told herself that moving in together in Pittsburgh had been basically marriage, that their ceremony and the smooth lattice dress and the party were latter formalities. But she had felt a nervous energy ever since. The unreal quality of this being IT—she had acquired a husband, and it was this man Joseph. Sickness and health. Joseph, who treated humor with quiet unease, who looked at the world with an unvarying, confident glare. Joseph with his engineer haircut and bad polo shirts.
Every speech at the wedding had gone with an “opposites attract” theme.
“Calving doesn’t have a wikipedia page,” she said, as they drew near. “Is that weird?”
Joseph gave one of his patented mild shrugs. “Not much need for one.”
“It’s a pretty big town.” Wasn’t it? It was visible on Google Maps, at least, and the town was a frozen snapshot of construction sites. Dusty brown pits along rigid roads. A big new hospital in the center of a quaint downtown, a megachurch right next to City Hall. But no wikipedia entry confirming her strong suspicion that it was 100% white, grimly protestant, tedious.
“You can be a one-girl google maps girl,” he suggested. Joseph tried again. “Lots of blue skies? Cornfields against an azure sky? Is that a thing in photography? Good lighting?”
“Action shot of cows,” Amanda said. “I’ll lie in wait for days in a blind, just hoping to catch the moment when a cow takes a dump.”
They both felt the sourness in the air. It had been a long and trying day of travel. Amanda had woken up in a real city, and dressed for adventure in a white lace blouse, jean shorts, a pair of tan short boots. Then a long flight, then a very long drive. There was, at least, ample parking. A huge, long pool sloshed gently just behind a short gate. There was no one in it.
“Swimming,” Joseph noted.
“Sure,” Amanda said. It was a nice pool. They put the car in the underground lot. It was nearly full of cars, all of them obviously Engineer Cars—sensible, trunk space, no bumper stickers. There was just one with a single, faded COEXIST sticker, and Amanda knew she would have to meet that person.
The entire lobby was nice—too nice, with a vaulted high ceiling and big high windows. Most of it was a huge open area with industrial carpeting, with just a discrete set of elevators off to one side. Enough room to hold a decent game of dodgeball in. The floor was marked with the sunlight through four square windows.
“Why would they make it this big?” Amanda said. She had to speak up. Her voice barely carried. Joseph shrugged. He made a beeline for the elevators. No one at all was around.
They walked down one last long corridor, with closed doors on both sides, and ended up very near the end of the hall.
“I’d carry you through but I’m nearly unable to move,” Joseph said. Amanda found the keys in her purse. They had been mailed last week. The air inside smelled surprisingly outdoors-y, not all like the antiseptic hotel scent she’d been expecting. They were four floors up.
“Huh,” she said, eventually.
It was mildly furnished. Clean birch floors, a table and four chairs, a very large kitchen that Amanda had no intention of ever cooking in. Steel appliances, quartz countertops. A number of rooms. Very empty, very cold—it was hard to imagine the stuff from their tiny apartment coming even close to filling it all up. They walked through each rom, examining them in silence. They both peed in the sparkling bathroom. Looked out each of the windows.
“Oh, damn,” Joseph said, from the living room.
There was an extremely large TV already installed on the wall, on top of a faux-brick interior. They hadn’t even owned a TV back in the city. It was a point of pride. Joseph didn’t seem displeased. And there was a big black leather couch along the far wall, underneath the window. It was cracked open, letting in the cow-scented wind.
“Alright,” Joseph said. He patted the couch next to him. “We did it.”
It took a moment for Amanda to figure out what he meant. But she was old enough to decipher boys, and they only gave that half-smile for one reason. They’d joked for weeks that the first thing they’d do was fuck in the new place. Just a cute sexy piece of banter about claiming their own den.
And now Joseph really did want to fuck. She was honestly surprised. Really? Now? She was truly exhausted. Men were crazy.
Amanda took a deep breath. She was very, very tired. “Later?” she said.
Joseph looked hurt. “That’s been the only thing keeping me going,” he protested. “After the flight delay. And then I drove. The entire way.” He let his legs slide just a little apart.
He had driven the entire way, it was true. And like a fool she had napped for an hour. Amanda recognized that she was definitely going to have to fuck her husband in the near future. She filed it away in the ongoing list of little marriage compromises she was building in her head. It felt gross to put “fuck” on a to-do list, but there it was.
“Okay, big guy,” Amanda said. She’d have to get this over with. Their sex life back in the city had been mildly exciting. After any number of awful dates Amanda had liked that he actually cared about getting her off. True, he tended to approach it mathematically, turning himself into a machine. But it worked.
His grin spread all the way across his face. She daintily sat herself on his lap. His erection pressed against her. It was a little bit nice—so he wasn’t joking about being achingly horny, at least. It was nice that after an entire day of exhausting travel he really wanted her. They made out.
Amanda ground her butt against his dick, waiting to feel something, and got nowhere.
It was the apartment—too cool, too empty, like they were starting to neck in a Home Depot showroom. The sound of making out practically echoed against the walls. The lube was in a box that hadn’t arrived yet.
“Can we maybe just do a handjob?” Amanda suggested, breaking a kiss. “It’s just too… it’s just a little bit much. I live here now. I didn’t think that’d be a thing.”
Joseph gave her a brief, black look. “You’re gonna curse the room,” he protested. “It needs to be anointed.”
“The oil is in the car.” she slid off him. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry. I will make it up to you. Once we have furniture. I need to look at furniture I own while I have sex, it turns out. I never knew that about me.”
It was a relief to actually see people. The Sex Incident had cast a pall over their arrival. Amanda had busied herself with the arrival of the furniture and belongings in the moving truck, all of which had to be slowly brought up the service elevator and wheeled down the corridor. But it still wasn’t that many trips—four bookcases, hers, one bookcase, his, associated books, the bed, two dressers, their clothes, the box containing the lubricant. Amanda didn’t mention the last one to Joseph, who occupied himself getting the wi-fi set up.
“I’m still not getting a signal,” she said, looking at her phone on the elevator. It was tantalizing, flickering from on to off. She had texted arrival messages to her parents, but who knew if they were getting through.
“I’ll get a cell phone tower put up,” Joseph said. She wasn’t super sure if he was kidding. It was vague and mysterious to her what he did. It was definitely very large industrial work. Power plants and refineries, that kind of thing. She preferred the mystery of it—her heroic engineer husband, toiling with his hands deep inside a humming factory.
The roof was scoured by a ceaseless midwestern wind. It was cleaner up there, but constant, and Amanda felt cold with her legs exposed. Someone had stuck a lot of planters in with high, green plants, but it was still mostly exposed concrete.
“They’re so blonde,” Amanda said, helplessly. She’d seen the other wives.
And they were—they were in all different shapes, and some of them were on the wrong side of 40, but they were certainly blondes. Bottle blondes, for the most part, but quite a few were the real thing, with solid waves of light-honey hair that caught the setting sun. They and their engineer husbands and boyfriends were clustered near a massive grill set into the concrete. It sent up big waves of grey smoke.
It was nice, at least, to see protein. Amanda was achingly hungry. She forced herself to wait while Joseph shook hands with Mr. Reese, the operations chief, who was the man working the grill from behind a big white apron. His blonde wife stood nearby tossing massive hamburger patties onto the wire.
She stood there, eating, while Joseph talked shop with three other men who looked pretty much like him. Amanda wondered idly if she had married a type rather then a guy. Angular faces and rich full beards, very straight postures. The burger was absolutely superb. Juice ran down her chin, and very nearly left a bloodstain on her blouse. She was an on-again-off-again vegetarian, but it seemed unnecessarily defiant in the heart of meat country.
There. Amanda’s eyes caught two non-blondes, inevitably together, over on a planter-free portion of concrete. A very young and every slender white brunette, just like her, with frizzy hair falling over in a sort of curly waterfall, and an asian girl just taller then short and just shy of pudgy. It was easy to pick out their respective partners—the one asian guy and the baby-faced man clearly just out of college.
“The whole thing is just symbolically fucked up,” the asian girl said, giving Amanda a very curt nod. “We’re standing here surrounded by cows on all sides, in our palace where we eat their flesh, sending literal smoke up to the skies like gods as we devour them.”
Amanda gave her burger a long look.
“I’m Justine,” the asian girl added. She didn’t seem about to shake hands.
“Hi, I’m Chloe,” the other brunette said. They had to raise their voices over a guitar line. There had to be speakers built into the entire rooftop. Someone with a twang was singing.
“Amanda,” Amanda considered her options, and decided to risk snark. “Hello, fellow cowgirls.”
“DOCTOR Cowgirl,” Justine corrected. She paused. “Soon. This is my “I can do my dissertation,” rationalization for living out here. Do you know it doesn’t appear on wikipedia? Does that seem strange?”
“Can you two get a cell signal?” Chloe said. She held out her phone, apologetic. “I tried to talk to a friend of mine and it was just us repeating hello hello hello for a good five minutes before we gave up.”
“I’m going to make the boys build us a cell tower,” Amanda said. She settled in next to them, and took a burger bite when Justine wasn’t looking.
“It’s a nice town though!” Chloe said. “Me and Thomas went for a bike ride. There’s lots of families and everyone was eating ice cream and everyone looks SO… um…. healthy.”
“Do you mean blonde?” Justine prodded. “Just say it. I’ll understand.” Justine wore a black t-shirt with a band name on it that Amanda didn’t recognize. It was probably metal, or an old shirt.
“No! It’s like... “ Amanda wasn’t sure if Chloe was trying to get across something ultimately problematic, or if she wasn’t very good with words. The brunette was dressed more sensibly then she was—jean jacket over a light pink dress. Boots that could be considered mildly cowboy. She finally shrugged.
“Any culture of note? Anything to do?” Justine said. Over in the distance the boss was starting to give a speech. The wind blew it away before it reached them.
“There’s a bookstore. I think it’s a bookstore. It might just be stationary,” Chloe said. “Uhhhhhh. There’s a park. And a movie theater. No, the movie theater was closed.”
“Wow,” Justine said.
“We’ll just have to be the culture,” Amanda said. It was her worst quality, she had long decided. That need to be positive. She just couldn’t break herself out of it. It was detrimental to her art and her follower count on social media. “I brought all my books. We can maybe drive around throwing them at residents.”
“Good. That’s perfect,” Justine said, pleased. “Except maybe at their heads. I told Matt that if we get to ten racial slurs we leave. That’s my limit. And certain of them count double. Chloe?”
Chloe looked mildly taken aback at getting recruited for anti-community activism. “Yoga maybe?” she suggested.
Amanda pegged her as the bumper sticker owner.
The rest of the team had all gone in for a big 1-2-3 Go Team, little league style. The blondes pushed in to get close to their boyfriends and husbands, expertly maneuvering into the small gaps left by their husbands. It was a big glommed mass of three-inch heels and men in polo shirts and oxfords with the sleeves rolled up. Jeans that were too baggy on the men, white khaki shorts for the girls. The three in the corner watched it. Outcasts in a town of outcasts, Amanda thought.
“Arnold Construction!” the cheer went up.
Amanda took the chance to grab another hamburger.
Amanda woke up in the middle of the night and realized that she was deeply, deeply horny.
She couldn’t remember waking up at that level of high-octane horniness. Her first thought was that she had been in the middle of some random erotic dream. But it was gone, whatever it was, leaving her body apparently revved up and aching. Amanda squeezed her legs together underneath the sheets, shocked to feel herself leaking wet underneath her old cotton panties. Her nipples strained against a similarly old t-shirt. Amanda took inventory. She was even breathing hard and fast, and her heart was racing not far from those glass-cutting nips.
“What the fuck?” she whispered.
She checked the clock, wondering if it was at least 6 or something—decent enough to wake up Joseph and go.
He hadn’t suggested sex. They had both lingered at the BBQ, eating at least four burgers and also hitting the chips real hard—some sort of artisanal local thing that Amanda had nearly eaten with both hands. Joseph had spent a few minutes trying to hook up the huge TV, without success. And then they had hauled their exhausted, burger-filled bodies to bed.
Now Amanda wanted to fuck more than anything.
Could she masturbate in the bathroom, or something? Amanda pondered her options. It seemed vaguely unreal to try and just go back to sleep. Like it wasn’t an option, for reasons that were hazy and dream-like. She definitely had to take care of this ache between her legs.
Wake up Joseph, or go cum on the potty?
She couldn’t wake him up, Amanda concluded. He had his first day of work tomorrow. And also it would be insane, to wake her new husband up in the middle of the night just to ride his dick. So it was settled. She’d have to masturbate on the toilet, muffle her own typical moans, and then pretend the whole incident had never happened.
It was hard to walk to the bathroom in the dark. The apartment was barely lit at all, with just a sliver of moonlight getting through the heavy shades. They had placed boxes around without care, certain they’d only see them in the morning. Amanda had a small emergency vibrator somewhere in one of them. Her legs were slippery. She could feel moisture on the outside of her pussy. The entire place smelled mildly like cows—they’d left the window open, Amanda realized.
“Okay,” she whispered to herself, seated. The porcelain was freezing. She tried to relax, but this wasn’t one of those bouts of horniness—it was anxious, nervous, her body damp and excited despite the chill.
She tentatively diddled at her clit. Amanda realized that she hadn’t gotten off manually in ages—definitely after she met Joseph. They typically fucked perhaps a few times a week. Maybe once passionately and furiously, Joseph grunting at her as she slowly extended her legs. And then one morning fuck, affectionate, probably with her on top.
She concentrated on the memory of their last pre-move session. It had been kind of a dud, both of them distracted by everything they needed to pack and do. She hadn’t cum, hadn’t even come close. He had emptied out into her with a methodical grunt, issued a ‘thanks babe,’ and slid out. Another bad omen.
Amanda leaned back, frustrated. She wasn’t anywhere close. She felt a deep ache. Her body really wanted to get filled up. She needed Joseph’s cock. It was the first time she’d really felt that way. It was just a penis. It wasn’t particularly special, although it was nice and straight and there was a bit more there than you’d expect. Just like Joseph.
“Crap,” she said, pulling her fingers free. She wanted his dick in her. What the hell was wrong with her?
Amanda slid back into the bedroom and regarded her husband. She viewed their marriage as basically a partnership of complementary pairs. All her friends thought the same. Not exactly opposites attract, but not far from it—artsy and engineer, left brain right brain, boy and girl. Practical to her adventurous. Sex was also essentially a shared project in getting each other off. An enjoyable part of a fulfilling relationship.
It wasn’t anything like this NEED she felt. This was practically medical, definitely animal. Her thighs were dripping. All masturbation had done was rev her up further, make her hyperconscious of her body. The bony, under-fed ass she had so many conflicting feelings about. Her okay bust, the way her nipples drooped down. She was slim, with wide, melting eyes that were her obvious best feature. She liked to rim them in mascara and be a sexy semi-goth. All of her felt alive, wet, needy.
Couldn’t overthink it. Just go with how sexy she felt. Amanda pushed away the covers. Her partner sprawled out, wearing just boxers. His body was lean and taut. He had a lot of adorable stubble. What was this burst of greedy desire? She hadn’t ever felt anything like this for him, and she had married him. Amanda reached into his fly and pulled his dick out.
He startled awake. Amanda decided to play it Penthouse. “I woke up wanting you,” she murmured. He pulsed in her hand. If he said no Amanda had no idea what she’d do. Beg. Plead. “Just lay back.”
The sleep drained away fast. She played with his dick, which was hard right away. It was pleasantly warm in her palm. She lost focus for a moment, examining it closely in the moonlight. Penises were so strange. Red and quivering and intent. Joseph was already sputtering precum from his tip, which surprised her. Amanda slipped on top of him and pushed him in.
They both groaned, satisfied. He felt huge inside of her. It was perfect. Amanda closed her eyes and rocked her hips, just to feel every inch jostling around. She was so wet, it made sex an entirely different experience. There was no sense of getting into it, the friction slowly catching on. It was just waves of hot fun sexy pleasure right away. Joseph started to get more involved, arching his hips way up. Amanda only vaguely realized she was whimpering. She rarely made any noise, and now it was panting, moaning, all sorts of things.
He started to pull at her boobs. Not just gently fondling like he usually did—and she liked it—but intensely, like he was learning her tits for the first time. It should’ve been painful. They rocked together. Amanda could feel her own orgasm approaching. Her entire body started to shake, until Joseph dug his hands into her ass and guided her. He treated her like a glove, sliding her entire body up and down with his mitts. He didn’t even ask her before he came too, both of them loud and full, a spasm of jizz spilling into her.
They looked at each other. Usually Joseph made some cute comment after sex. They were both breathing too hard to do anything. Eventually she slid off of him. She was still chock full of his cum. She waited for him to say something like “now the place is broken in,” to defuse the attention, to make it less strange, their sudden burst of fierce, harsh sex. But he didn’t say anything, just stroked her thighs quietly.
Amanda was still a little horny when she fell back asleep.
The next morning she found the coffee in very nearly the last box she unpacked. Breakfast had been trail mix and other snacks they had packed for the road. Amanda carelessly dumped in half the coffee grounds, filled the water to the brim, and hit the button. She’d spent an hour after Joseph had left for work unpacking. It was mindless, which was what she wanted.
“Wow,” she said to the silent TV. She had to keep her hips elevated or a big load of spooge would surely slide out of her. Two loads. One from their mad sex session in the witching hour, and then again when they both woke up.
It was hard to say which fuck session was more memorable. Last night’s was crazy and spontaneous, but also a little dreamy, a little hazy. Easy to pass off as passion, clinging to each other in the darkness, alone with each other in a new place.
The morning fuck had been pure porno.
They had woken up to Joseph’ erection. Amanda had giggled at it, watching her husband bobble around with a full-mast dick. “He likes it here!” she had teased, still in bed. Her panties were still damp, and she could still feel sticky residue between her legs.
“He’s just not going down,” Joseph said, peering down with his hands on his hips. He looked mildly aggrieved, and Amanda had giggled again. For the first time since they arrived she felt relaxed. Post-fuck hormones still coursed through her. “What did you do to him?”
“I emptied him out!” Amanda protested. “You put like a quart of spunk in me. I didn’t know you had those kinds of balls. My birth control is working overtime.”
“Yeah, well, now he’s all woken up,” Joseph said. He went and brushed his teeth. Amanda stumbled out of bed and checked her phone, plugged in on the kitchen counter. Still a weak, single bar of service. She sent another “are you getting these?” message to a few close friends. No response so far.
“And now you’re bending over?” Joseph said, in the doorframe to the kitchen. “Come on, Amanda. I have work.”
“I’m like, barely bending!” Amanda protested. She leaned forwards a little bit more. Joseph just stood there, admiring her ass. Amanda had never considered it anything special. A spare little butt just barely girly. A bit of padding added at the very end of puberty was the only saving grace. It was nice to have Joseph staring at it, she found. She was just wearing boring sleep shorts. She arched her back.
“Bending is bending,” Joseph said. He shook his head. “What are your plans today?”
She had long lists of plans. This was, in one sense, her big opportunity. Nothing but time, time to do art, create, write, draw, take pictures. Create. Generously bankrolled by her boy, who was making excellent money. Her thighs started to glow very warm. “Set up the apartment, go buy food, maybe take some—what are you doing?”
He had pressed his dick into her butt. It slid up and touched the small of her back. Joseph’ hands touched her boobs. She steadied herself on the countertop. Her pussy was getting hot again.
“Saying good morning,” Joseph said. He snuck his hands underneath her shirt.
Amanda thought only briefly about pulling away. Last night had been so good. They were a young couple in love. This was what was supposed to happen. Bunny love, enthusiastically humping each other. It was a little weird how fast she was turned on, how readily she set her feet. It took her conscious mind a second to realize that she was getting set to be penetrated right there, if he wanted. She wasn’t even sure how it worked—they’d never fucked like that.
“Lets hurry. Get in the bedroom,” Joseph had ordered.
Amanda didn’t really remember the rest of it, but Joseph had been very late for work. She’d come out of a haze to the sound of the door slamming shut. It was 8:55. He’d put on one black shoe and one brown one, by the looks of what was left. Oh well.
She turned on the TV. There was no cable signal, but the ridiculously sized thing somehow had, it turned out, an antenna hooked up somewhere. Or that’s what it seemed like, as the only source she could find was a fuzzy farm report going over the weather. The anchor wore an ancient brown suit and had big red cheeks.
“We’re gonna see some sprinkling,” he said, ominously. “This cold front should snap today, and then it’s nothing but growing season for Calving and the entire community. I think we’re all excited for that to start.”
She watched it for way longer then she had intended, half-reliving the last two sex sessions. Joseph had been so explosive, so hot. Her fingers tightened on her coffee cup. What should they do when he got home? He was all hers, she could fuck him at any time.
Amanda shook her head. She checked the clock. It was 10:00 a.m. Half the morning had slunk by, and all she had to show for it was a quart of jizz and a trail mix breakfast.
Chloe had been right. The town was—healthy. There was no other word for it, with the possible exception of “fuckable.”
Amanda wasn’t sure what she had expected. These were mostly farmers and farmer-adjacent, right? So you’d expect big rosy-cheeked people with strong arms. Certainly you wouldn’t expect wan city girls with little, lithe bodies, slender thoughtful boys with glasses on. So perhaps it wasn’t a surprise that there were oodles of well-fed ladies strutting around tit-first. At least half, if not more, were pushing strollers around. Maybe she should’ve expected cow analogies, although the tits on display were impressive even so. All the pedestrians seemed to have at least a half-foot of cleavage.
She had dressed in a dark blue printed dress and her largest pair of sunglasses, and a straw hat. Cute and sedate. But the dress code here was—it was wild. There was so much body. Amanda could see butts spilling out of the back of shorts, sports bras as t-shirts, and barely holding it all in. Everyone had the glossy, shiny hair of people in excellent health, and they were primarily blondes. There weren’t many men around on a weekday morning, but those that were all had the same rough-cut chins, biceps in short-sleeve shirts. Thick male bodies with tufts of heavy hair all over. Everyone on the street outweighed her by at least forty pounds, and she wasn’t short.
Not to mention—Calving was in the middle of a population boom. Girls everywhere pushed strollers about. And they were mostly pregnant—which perhaps explained the big tits. The entire town had to be 3 months preggo, on average.
Amanda had never really felt that itch. But it was too front and center not to consider, with all these heavy bellies about. It was the logical next step after marriage, right? And if she kept getting morning loads like the current one—still sticky inside of her—she’d be pushing her own stroller.
She put the thought aside with real effort.
Amanda had planned on taking a long walk through the middle of downtown. She scotched the plan—it was almost intimidating, all the men and women, in their tanned, expansive bodies. They all seemed to know each other, too. Lots of smiles with nice white teeth. Instead she found the grocery store and ducked in.
“Good morning!” the checker said, waving. He had to be 17 from the cracking voice and gangly neck, but still managed the same ripped physique as every other male. “Welcome to Calving Markets!”
“Hi… hi,” Amanda said. She had kept her sunglasses on. It felt comforting to have a little gauze between her and this odd midwestern world. What did she say to this guy? “Hi.”
“Welcome to Calving!” the boy said. “You moved in with the other new people, right?”
“What was the tell?” Amanda said. She finally removed her sunglasses. This wasn’t the city. It’d be impolite.
The boy wasn’t sure how to answer that. His eyes roamed up and down her body, answered for him. She flushed, surprised herself with how demeaning it felt. So she wasn’t half-tit and achingly pregnant, that was it? “Anyway, welcome to Calving, miss,” the boy said, eventually. “I’m Hiram.”
Amanda resisted the urge to make him spell it. Was that from the bible? Hiram. Alright. “Amanda,” she said, taking off down the aisles. “Thanks for the welcome!”
It was—different. Mostly because most of the items in the store didn’t bother with labels or fancy packaging or things like ingredients. The milk aisle—and it was a huge milk aisle—simply held plastic jugs with a barcode on the side and a stamped expiration date. Amanda took a gallon, then checked something out on a hunch. No fat-free versions. Full fat. All fat. Alright.
Nothing was fat-free, once she started to check. There was barely anything familiar at all, a nearly uniform display of store branded stuff with all the fat left in. Barely any advertising. It wasn’t until she got to the fruit snacks that she found anything familiar from back home. She got two boxes, relieved. Brands she knew! Thank god. And to think, her a good online brand-basher, thrilled to see regular packaging.
The store itself was odd—it actually had big windows, for one. Homey wooden floors. And no signs on the aisles. Evidently people in Calving knew what went were. But most of all, it smelled good. No, great. Like a sugar-cinnamon swirl in the air. It was relaxing, calming, and far from subtle. There was a vaguely country singer on the background loudspeakers. She sniffed. Why didn’t all supermarkets smell like that?
Even the cola was unbranded. Huge plastic jugs of black soda, with ‘cola’ written on the same little white label. This time she confronted Hiram. “No coke?” she said, arching an eyebrow from behind the sunglasses. “Everywhere has coke. Everywhere. This is AMERICA. Heartland. Right? Isn’t that what you call it? The heartland of America?”
“Ours is VERY good,” he said, solemn. She was close enough to see his name tag. It read “Manager.” Manager?
But the oddest incident was in the bread aisle.
Amanda couldn’t deny that the shelves looked extremely good, if unfamiliar. Part of it had to be lack of recent nutrition plus two active fuck sessions. She ached for food, and the omnipresent scent didn’t make it easier. But especially in bread there were custard filled pastries piled high on each rack, icing dripped over every puffed tart, a hundred types of glazed confections in clear packaging. She paused in front of one set of danishes that came in seven different flavors, three of which she could only guess at.
“Come on, Henry,” a girl purred. A blonde with her hair piled in a high ponytail, her tits swinging in a pink heart-shaped top. She wore the jean shorts Amanda had come to expect. “Please? Pretty please? It’s been oh my god how long has it been?”
“Just a few hours, baby” Henry said. He towered over her. The blonde was attached, remora like, to his side. “You can’t wait five minutes to get outside? The Pastor talked about this. We have visitors.”
“No one cares. He’s just upset how out of hand the Dance got,” the blonde said. She tucked her hand in her boyfriend’s jeans. “Did you hear Caroline nearly died when she got too sticky to breathe? Henry, c’monnnnnnnn. Hours!”
“Fine,” the boy said, rolling his eyes. “Make it quick.”
Amanda turned towards the twosome. She caught her breath. The blonde was starting to—could she—she was getting on her KNEES?
“MISS! MISS WOULD YOU LIKE A FREE SAMPLE! SINCE YOU’RE NEW!”
Hiram nearly bellowed it from the far end of the aisle. He strode towards her with an entire danish dangled on the end of a dainty toothpick. Amanda turned towards him, then back—and the couple were retreating, the girl’s ass spilling out of both ends of her shorts.
“I—” Amanda paused. “Uh.”
Hiram stuck the danish right underneath her nose. It was the size of his palm, which was enormous by itself. A number of flaky pastry layers generously drizzled with white goo and then ladled with something strawberry. She was starving. Amanda took the little toothpick. She tried a tiny bite. It was amazing.
“What—” but the couple was gone. The only person left was Hiram’s expectant, friendly face. “Thank—thank you. It’s… oh god it really is good.” Amanda couldn’t quite hold on to dignity. She ate the entire thing in front of him. It wasn’t until she got to the car, completely overloaded with sweets and pastries of all sorts and four gallons of mystery local milk, that she realized her face was totally coated with icing drizzle. And then she spent the next few minutes carefully licking her face clean.
She very nearly missed the book store. It was huddled very discreetly across the street from the town Church. Amanda had slowed to gawk at it—an enormous palace of glass and steel that loomed over every surrounding brick building. It extended back along the block as far as she could see, and, despite it being early afternoon Monday, was buzzing with men and women. There was a huge sargasso of strollers just outside.
The book store read “BOOKS” in very small white letters, and only on the single glass window. Amanda hesitated, and pulled into the parking lot. It was perhaps too much to hope this was a brilliant underground cell of local artists. She’d settle for a few grouchy grandmas in caftans who had read first edition Didion. The groceries would keep cold—there were at least three gallons of homemade ice cream in there, after all.
She’d broken down and hit up another danish in the car. That was one was blackberry. She could still see Hiram handing it to her. Except maybe she didn’t hold it, maybe she just lowered her mouth—
Amanda slammed the door shut, hard. She walked firmly into the store. There wasn’t even a tingling bell. It wasn’t clear anyone was there at all. The ceiling was low and stifling. Up front was a disappointment—bibles and childcare manuals in roughly equal measure, and mixed up with other.
“Oh! Hi!” A girl appeared from the back shelves. She was, Amanda was relieved to see, not a blonde. She was sporting a large pair of Town Tits, as Amanda was starting to think of them, but they were relatively demure under a t-shirt, and the girl was stocky besides. And she was even wearing pants, of all things. Pants that had a heroic waistband, and that were threatening to burst under her well-developed butt, but still. Pants. “A customer!” her chirpy voice was a way too high for the bookish nerd Amanda was hoping for. “Oh my goodness! Oh, wow!” She gawked at Amanda.
“Yeah… hello,” Amanda said. “I’m new in town. I’m Amanda.”
“Oh, I’m Beth, oh, you’re from out of town! Oh, in the new development over on Downing Avenue!” Beth put her hands on her cheeks. “That’s great! We never get anyone from out of town! Do you all really like books as much as I’ve heard?”
Amanda was at a loss to answer that one. “Sure,” she hazarded.
“Oh wow. Did you bring any with you?” Beth said. She was eager, intent.
“I mean, yes, but I was… hoping you had some?” Amanda said. “I don’t normally bring books to a book store.” She started to walk through the shelves. It was immediately dispiriting. Childrearing. Bibles. A bunch of blank books. Devotionals. Childrearing. She reached fiction. “I mean I guess you have… these.” Dusty airport trash. Clancy upon Clancy. Koontz. And all of it very dusty.
“Um, yeah, sorry,” Beth said, apologetic. She trailed behind. Her boobs preceded her. It wasn’t like Amanda to normally consider, but the entire town was tremendously busty, and even what passed for nerds apparently had honkin tits. Big boobs lingered in her head. “I mean we normally just carry what people need for Church.”
Amanda stopped. They had reached the far end of the store, and into a very surprisingly large sexuality section. It was jarring. Big, full-color books with cheerful labels like “HOW TO FUCK YOUR KING!” and one just entitled “BLOWJOBS!” The books were no longer dusty.
“Huh,” she said. She opened one up. Yes, that was a girl blowing a guy, alright. She turned back. Beth was blushing. Her entire cheeks were bright pink. “I’m a little surprised. For Church?”
“Ummm,” Beth didn’t seem to know what to say.
“I’m not judging or anything,” Amanda added. She could be sophisticated about this. Beth definitely wanted her to be the city aesthete. Why not? “I’m sure it’s what sells. Not a lot of big time readers, I guess, out here?”
“But YOU must have LOTS of books, right?” Beth persisted. She backed out of the porno section, and Amanda followed. “And do you have science-fiction stuff? And all the people that won nobel prizes? Those?”
Didn’t they have amazon out here? To what extent had she stumbled into a Footloose situation?
“Sure,” Amanda temporized. The question was coming so she simply answered it already. “Sure you can come over and see.” She had questions of her own, in particular what kind of odd churchyness she was going to have to deal with.
“Ummmmm… can you…” Beth’s eyes darted to the closed door. “Can I ask you one other thing, miss?” She dropped her voice. It made her perky trill even more cartoonish.
Miss? “Sure,” Amanda said. Was that the door opening?
“How do you keep from getting…” Beth’s already squeaky voice dropped to a barely audible whisper, until it was pure cartoon. “Distracted. While you read stuff. Like after I read like a PARAGRAPH I get SOOOOOO HO—”
“Hello!” a crisp, deep, thick, male voice. It filled the entirety of the dusty shop and explored the back rooms. The door slammed shut behind it, trapping them in with whoever it was. “Hello hello!”
The speaker was tall, and wore a cheap black polo with a shepherd’s crook initialed over the pocket. He had it tucked into a pair of oversized khakis which piled over the top of white and blue running sneakers. His beard did its best to make up the poor impression—it was a piercing gunpowder grey, flecked with steel brown. Beth cringed at the sound.
“I saw the car and thought, bumper stickers and Pennsylvania plates, I know exactly who this is going to be!” the man said. He put out his hand. Amanda half-expected a crushing grip, and braced for it, but it was crisp, appropriate. “Welcome to Calving! I’m Michael Flynn.”
“Pastor Flynn,” Beth said, still in her whisper.
Flynn shook his head. “Only to the congregation, Beth.” Amanda wrinkled her nose. There was something in the air. Cologne? It wasn’t anything that obvious. She wanted to sniff without being obvious about it.
“Hi,” she said. She was pretty sure she had nothing else to say to the man. What was that scent? It was distracting.
“Welcome to town,” Flynn said, stepping back. “I’m glad your team is here to upgrade the plant. It’s decrepit. Is my understanding, not being an engineer myself.”
“Thanks,” Amanda said. She decided she had nothing to say to a man that made Beth try to crawl into herself. Her boobs were getting in Beth’s way.
“Don’t think we’re all old-school Church Country doom and frowns,” Flynn assured her. “It’s all very modern stuff. Community. Family. You know. Being your best self. We have yoga at the church on Tuesdays if you’re interested.”
Did all the big-boobed girls fall over in certain positions. She smelled—was it cedar? Tobacco? Leather? What WAS it?
“Not really me,” Amanda said. He filled the doorframe.
“No? I thought everyone from the big city was into yoga? Too bad. Well, welcome to town. I think you’ll enjoy it. It looks like your husband will.”
He glanced down. Amanda followed his eyes, to where her hand was still clutching a copy of “GIVE THE BEST HEAD TO YOUR MAN!” The cover had a picture of a girl on her knees, looking up, expectant, to something just out of the shot. It was in black and white, which made it a little more classy. Amanda’s cheeks burned. She dropped the book and let it clatter to the floor. She didn’t remember picking it up.
“I’m sorry, a bad joke on my part. And to think! it’s my only job to make people comfortable,” Flynn said. He picked it up and put it in her palm. Amanda grasped it. The big man stepped aside. “Have a great night,”
Amanda fled. Flynn examined the curve of her ass with professional interest, from the window. He turned back towards Beth, who was still being very quiet. He smiled at her.
“Beth!” he said. “Hello! Lets talk!”
Amanda stopped near the apartment complex. Just came to a halt. The road between it and the town was a two-lane road, freshly paved, with rows of some crop she didn’t recognize on either side. Wheat? The plants were high enough that she couldn’t see too far off into the horizon, outside of the big concrete building she now lived in. It always smelled, mildly, like vegetables and manure.
Her phone buzzed, and she hurried to pull it out. Somehow a few texts from Joseph had come through—“working late” and “sorry babe.”
She huffed. Fine. Amanda half-heartedly tried to text back. No signal.
The lobby was still empty, although the pool just outside seemed to be where the action is. Amanda caught glimpses of pink skin and brightly colored bikinis behind the fencing.
On the door she found a “lets meet up tomorrow. Chloe. Room 948. Sorry I should’ve gotten your number before” note.
Amanda pulled the last bag of groceries inside and deposited them on the counter. She sat down on the couch. It was 4:35 p.m.
So that had been her day. She went grocery shopping.
She looked over at the bags. They were groaning with pastries and all sorts of other things. Already the room smelled pretty good.
Well. She was pretty hungry. Really, really hungry.
The next time she looked at the clock it was 8:45 p.m., and the sun had gone down entirely.
She groaned and sat up from the couch. Crumbs waterfalled off her. She felt heavy, stuffed. Her mouth was a sticky mess of sugar, and tasted strongly of milk. There was an empty half-gallon on the floor. It didn’t seem possible that she’d drunk an entire carton, but then, she’d needed to wash down crullers, donuts, tarts, and all sorts of other things.
Amanda looked down. A hand had somehow made its way up her dress, which was rucked up around her waist. She felt disconcertingly wet. For the time being she left the hand where it was. It seemed comfortable, lingering on top of her clit. Of course it would be gross to do something with that hand. It had to be sticky with sugar.
What had she DONE?
The TV was on, and loud, blaring the exact same farm report from that morning. The same eager pale pink men talked on and on about cows and sorghum or whatever it was. Amanda clicked it off.
How much had she eaten? What had happened? At first it had just been methodical, easily attributable to mild lonely depression. And then she had gotten into the pints of ice cream and something more primal had taken over. Three pints were scattered together like bowling pins. The air was heavy with the scent of cream. Amanda picked up the whipped cream and pressed the nozzle experimentally. Air hissed out. Was an entire thing of it all in her? The air still smelled—no, SHE smelled like spun sugar. Her pores were sweet. God.
Her boobs felt big, and she cringed to think about her butt. At least exercising it all off would be something to do, tomorrow.
And she had to admit that it had been GOOD. Clearly Calving had an army of talented bakers and very special dairy cows. The creamery had to be award-winning. It helped to explain why people stayed, not to mention all the big firm bodies and well-sized butts. These were people with calories to spare.
Amanda staggered about the apartment. The girl in the mirror had a big silly smile pasted on. And there was the matter of the hand underneath her panties. She gave a little stroke. It felt very good. And why not another?
She staggered back to the couch, half fell on it. Was she drunk? She felt slurred, definitely, junked up and high. Like a mild dose of excellent drugs. No doubt because her body was saturated in every single positive hormone sugar could pump out. So, unsurprising that she had mistaken it for horny. No reason not to ride it. Right?
Amanda slid her panties down. Had she already done this? She had vague memories of eating a chocolate donut with one hand, jilling herself with another. It was mildly worrisome that four hours had gone by with her mind only half-involved. Amanda pushed it away. This beat minor sadness, for sure. Tomorrow she’d see new friends and exercise. Today she’d get off. Jilling was a fun, natural way to beat a blue funk.
Her body was wet. Too late she thought—I should wash my hands. Too much sugar-gunk. But she was already on top of her clit and starting to feel it, and besides, getting a UTI would be another thing to do. Her legs inched up in the air. Everything felt good. Her mouth hung open. The TV was somehow back on, and she masturbated to the sight of friendly farm boys.
The door cracked open.
“Hey, Amanda, sorry—oh.”
Joseph watched in. He looked at the mess of half-empty bags and cups and dishes with just mild interest, compared to the sight of his wife with her legs up, stroking her pussy.
“Damn, you read my mind,” he said. He already had a hard-on, Amanda could tell. She discreetly turned off the TV, just before he could get there. Masturbating to the farm boys would raise uncomfortable questions. “How’d you know that’s what I was thinking of.”
“Hi honey,” she crooned. What luck, that a penis was here. This would be their third fuck of the day. Maybe moving was the right thing for the relationship. She suddenly needed his dick more than anything. Maybe she should’ve gotten that book on oral. Not that he was looking at anything but her very wet, very ready slit. “How was your-ooh.”
Joseph pulled his pants down. Amanda watched his dick bob up. It made her glow, just looking at it. Her husband grabbed her legs to steady himself and pushed his penis all the way inside of her. They both sighed, contented.
At some point the damned TV came on, again, and Amanda had really no choice to watch it, while Joseph roughly plowed away. But she found that she didn’t mind.