This story, like all Seemly Sex Stories, is pure fiction, an
imaginary concoction of the seemly but mischievous mind of BobbyB.
Any resemblance to any actual person or situation is completely
Published by seemlybobbyb at Smashwords
Copyright 2017 seemlybobbyb
Back in the 1940's
everyone in the valley knew Shorty. He was the son and only relative
of Old Jake. Jake had herded sheep for the Stoddard's Two Lazy S
as far back as anyone could remember. Of course it wasn't polite to
mention their sheep operation to any of the Stoddards, nor to any of
their ranch hands. After all, the Two Lazy S was the
biggest cattle operation in the valley. Hell, in the forties it was
one of the biggest in the state. But the West's old anti-sheep
prejudice runs deep, and nobody associated with the ranch liked to
admit that a goodly portion of its annual income back then came from
the little woolies. In fact, more than a few times in the spread's
almost one hundred year history the sheep operation had kept the
cattle one from going under. But sure as hell, no Stoddard or
Stoddard ranch hand was about to let this fact be bandied about. If
you mentioned their sheep to a Stoddard you could be sure he'd snub
you the next time you saw him. And if you mentioned it to one of
their ranch hands you'd be asking for a fight, a fight you'd damn
well get if the hand happened to have a bit of liquor in him. The
Stoddard sheep operation was one of those open secrets every
community small enough for everyone to know each other always has.
Everyone in the valley knew the Stoddards ran sheep, exactly the way
everyone knew the minister slept with the Sunday school teacher every
time his wife was away visiting family. But nobody was crude enough
to ever mention either fact to the parties involved.
In his younger days
Jake would take an annual vacation. He'd draw his year's salary and
buy a roundtrip ticket to the sin-laden big city. The first thing
he'd do when he got there was to buy whatever clothes he needed for
the next year and stash them in a locker at the depot. Since his
home was a Stoddard herder's wagon, and since the Stoddards provided
all his food, Jake had no need for any of the rest of his salary. So
he'd spend every last remaining penny on liquor and whores. These
ladies always took a charitable delight in seeing to it that Jake,
sauced to the gills with his return ticket pinned to his shirt and
his stash of new clothes strapped on his back, was deposited on the
train to the valley when his money ran out.
But in 1931 when Jake
was in his late fifties he decided it was time to mend his wild
youthful ways. And when he came back from the city that time he was
sober and accompanied by a woman. Nobody in the valley got to know
her because Jake took her right out to the hills to his herder's
From time to time a
rider out looking for strays would by happenstance come upon the
location where Jake was grazing the Stoddard flock. Just to be
neighborly these men would stop in to share the latest gossip and to
accept a helping of Jake's rabbit stew. The stew was widely regarded
as the best eating in the valley, and sometimes these riders had had
to wander over the hills for a day or more before they just
'accidentally' happened on Jake's camp. Everyone always wanted to
know the secret of Jake's wonderful stew, but he was too kindhearted
to share it. The secret was that Jake's rabbit stew was made with
lamb, something any of the valley's cattlemen and ranch hands would
have been scandalized to be told, even though they couldn't help but
have been aware of the fact had they dared to let the obvious creep
into their minds.
At any rate, these
occasional visitors met Jake's companion and learned she was a quiet
woman of ordinary appearance who seemed to be about forty. Jake
never told anyone whether she was his legal wife, and though it was a
matter of great concern throughout the whole valley, even the dumbest
cowboy had more than enough sense, and wariness about getting his ass
kicked, not to ask. But the valley gossip was particularly concerned
about her condition, for Jake's lady was pregnant. Old Jake, rapidly
approaching retirement age, was nevertheless on his way to starting a
family. But her time came in the midst of a blizzard, and though
Jake had had vast experience birthing lambs, he was unable to stem
her post-delivery bleeding. The blizzard prevented him from getting
help, and Jake lost his lady. But her baby boy survived.
As soon as the
Stoddards learned what had happened they tried to help. They offered
to bury Jake's lady in the cemetery in town and offered to find an
adoption for the baby. But Jake would have none of it. He buried
his lady at a secret location in the mountains where he had spent his
life herding sheep. When some folks mentioned that they'd heard it
was illegal to bury a human outside an established cemetery, Jake
told them he'd blow the brains out of any son-of-a-bitch who ever
touched his lady's grave. Since there clearly wasn't an ounce of
bravado in the old herder's claim, and also clear that he was much
more to be feared than the law, the topic was never mentioned again.
Jake further vowed to raise his son himself. And he did.
Jake named the baby
Jacob junior, but called him Shorty because the boy was, like every
other kid, short. But the name stuck because Shorty grew into it, or
rather, he never grew tall, so it remained appropriate. Shorty was
always several inches shorter than his age mates, though he didn't
have any age mates, growing up in the hills with only his dad, their
dogs and horses, and the Stoddards' sheep. But though he was short,
in no way was Shorty little. He was built like a battle tank and
stronger than a horse. In this he resembled his father, but as one
waggish cowboy always said, Shorty overdid it. Everyone in the
valley joked that if Shorty's horse ever came up lame it would be no
problem for him. He could just dismount and carry the animal back to
Shorty changed Old
Jake's life completely. The old herder never again took a vacation,
and as far as anyone in the valley knew, he never took another drink.
Instead of blowing all the money he made, Jake now had the Stoddards
deposit every penny of it in the Valley Bank in an account in his and
his son's names. The Stoddards were delighted with the new
arrangement for it freed them of the major difficulty of finding a
temporary replacement herder once a year. Over the years they had
lost several good ranch hands when they had tried to press them into
temporary sheep herding while Jake was on vacation. In gratitude for
this and for their reduced expenses they took to putting a little
annual bonus into the herder & son bank account. They also came
to look on Shorty like a member of their extended family, and they
happily kept him in clothes and in reading and other schooling
The latter was of
particular importance because it would have been impossible for any
school bus to find Jake's camp and bring the boy to town every school
day. Particularly so because there were only rutted wagon trails out
where Jake herded the sheep, and traveling them every weekday would
soon have shaken the Valley School Board's old 1929 school bus apart.
Nevertheless, the board was legally responsible for educating every
child in the valley, and once a board member suggested they fulfill
their obligation to Shorty by putting him up in town, maybe with the
minister's family. When the sheriff heard of this he let it be known
that it was a damn fool idea he didn't intend to have any part of.
No matter what the law said or the school board wanted, by God he
wasn't about to take a slug from Jake's thirty-thirty while trying to
take the old herder's boy from him. Upon mature consideration the
board decided the sheriff had a point, and the topic of boarding
Shorty in town was quietly allowed to die. Instead the board of
education left enough big cracks in their procedures and policies for
him to fall through, and all the education Shorty ever got he got
from Jake and from the books and materials provided by the Stoddards.
When Shorty turned
fourteen Jake gave him a coming-of-age present. Such a gift was
customary in the valley, and the customary young man gift was a
hunting rifle. But this wasn't suitable because, born and raised in
the valley though he was, Shorty had a most un-valley-like quirk. He
never killed anything. He didn't hunt, and he refused to take part
when animals were slaughtered. He wouldn't even shoot coyotes.
Instead he tried to drive them away by throwing rocks at them. As
Jake repeatedly told him, rock throwing didn't work worth a damn.
But effectiveness didn't matter to Shorty. He wouldn't even kill a
Shorty would eat meat,
he just wouldn't kill anything to get it. When the senior Stoddard
once teased him about the inconsistency Shorty pointed out that
Stoddard, like almost every other valley resident, always loudly
damned the government for having too small an army and for not using
it freely enough to keep little two-bit piss-ant countries in line.
Yet Stoddard also insisted that every tax was immoral and should be
resisted to the point of revolution, if necessary. It was just as
inconsistent to stump for a big army but resist the taxes to pay for
it, Shorty argued, as it was to eat meat but refuse to slaughter.
The elder Stoddard decided they'd been giving Shorty too damn many
books to read.
At any rate, instead of
a rifle Shorty's coming-of-age gift was a purebred, registered Morgan
Horse gelding, with matching saddle, bridle and martingale. Shorty
named him Amigo, and Amigo was perhaps the finest example of
horseflesh in the valley. He was as tall for a Morgan as Shorty was
short for a man. Therefore, the pair looked a bit odd until they
moved. Then they looked like an equine ballet. Shorty had literally
grown up on horseback. It was about the only kind of play available
to him growing up with only sheep and horses. He rode better than he
walked, and the sight of him riding Amigo at a quick walk gladdened
the eye of every person who knew anything about riding, which, of
course, included everyone in the valley.
Jake was in his
seventies when Shorty turned of age, still trying to work the way he
had all his life. But he couldn't keep it up. Slowly he slowed
down. Shorty picked up the slack, but one day his dad just couldn't
get out of bed. Shorty helped him into the old pickup the Stoddards
had passed on to Jake after WWII when rationing was lifted and they
were able to get a new one. It was their way of helping Jake cope
with his advancing age, something that was making it harder for him
to run down a team and hitch up a wagon every time he needed to get
supplies from town. When Shorty got Jake to Doc's place he was told
there wasn't anything to do but put the old herder in the hospital
over in the county seat and wait for the end. It came a little more
than a week later.
Shorty would have liked
to bury his dad next to his mother's grave at the secret place in the
mountains. But he was only sixteen at the time, and didn't command
either the respect or fear that had enabled Jake to bury his lady up
there. So Jake was buried at the cemetery in town. Shorty also
assumed he would take over his dad's job, but that wasn't feasible.
Not only was he young, but his refusal to slaughter meant he couldn't
feed himself. What was worse, a herder who won't shoot coyotes is as
handicapped as a preacher who won't beg. So the Stoddards asked
around and found a job for him at the Marcek place.
The Marcek place was
small, less than forty acres, not big enough to be the only support
of Stan and Helen and their two daughters. Stan Marcek supplemented
their income by working on cars and trucks and every other kind of
mechanical equipment. But the Marceks had excellent water rights, so
they provided most of the family's food with the biggest garden in
the valley. The only thing they didn't grow that could grow in their
climate were grains. There simply were no reapers or threshers in
the ranching valley. Also the biggest acreage they could have grown
was much too small and the valley was too far from the wheat belt for
the new itinerant combiners to bother with. But Helen Marcek
minimized what she had to buy by making her breads and other baked
goods in part from potatoes, which they grew in abundance. The
Marceks kept a couple animals mainly for their own needs, steers,
pigs, and even a couple sheep, but their principal agricultural
income was from a small mixed dairy herd of about two dozen mostly
Holsteins with a couple Guernseys and Jerseys and even one Swiss
Brown. Like so many rural families with small holdings, the Marceks
survived by hard work. That's why they needed a hand. They had been
struggling to get by with drunks and drifters, so the chance to get a
hand as sober, strong, hard working and as committed to staying in
the valley as Shorty, well that was a blessing for them.
Shorty fitted the
Marceks as if he had been custom designed for them. The only job he
wouldn't do was slaughter animals. He wouldn't even kill chickens,
so Helen or her girls had to do that. For everything else that had
to be done around the place, Shorty was willing, eager and able.
What is more, the whole family liked him and enjoyed his gentle,
easy-going company. They soon decided he should have the attic room
in the house rather than bedding down in the shed Stan had build for
the other hired hands the Marceks had had. But before too long Helen
became concerned that Shorty might be too likeable, especially to her
oldest daughter, Liz, who was just passing puberty. Liz and Shorty
were showing a strong attraction to each other. This alarmed Helen.
remarked to her husband one night as they prepared for bed, "I'm
worried that Liz and Shorty are taking to each other too much."
"I guess that's
only natural for kids about the same age" Stan answered, showing
little awareness of what his wife was getting at.
"Natural or not,
I'm not going to have any baby born to my daughter when she's still
almost a baby herself."
"Oh! I get your
point" Stan answered, as he caught on to Helen's concern. "But
the girls aren't in any danger. Shorty's the kindest, most gentle,
harmless kid I've ever known. He won't even slap a mosquito. He
sure as hell ain't going to rape Liz."
"He won't have to
the way she's been acting with him. You should have seen the way she
was hanging onto him when he took her bareback riding on Amigo today"
Helen solemnly informed her husband. "She can ride. She
doesn't need to hold onto Shorty so tight. We've got to do
something, Stan, before those two start fooling around together!"
"What the hell can
we do? We can't fire him just because Liz likes him. And God, I'd
hate to loose him. He's better than any of the hands we've ever had.
Hell's fire! He's worth more than all the rest of them put
together. There ain't a damn thing I ask him to do he doesn't get
"Why don't you
talk to him. Let him know we won't stand for him fooling around with
going to do no good" Stan answered. "I've never known of
any man you could talk out of a hard-on."
"Then we've got to
do something so he can scratch his sexual itch before he brings Liz
into heat. Why don't you take him down to the Buffalo Wallow?"
Helen suggested. "That's what it's there for."
The Buffalo Wallow was
the valley's co-op whore house. It was located about four miles down
the road from the Marcek place. It was founded in the early 1930's
when the depression made travel to the county seat for occasional
rest and recreation too expensive for the valley's hands and helpers.
And though the co-op was against state law, the depression and then
WWII kept the state authorities so occupied they never found out
about it. Or if they ever did, they never let on. As for the county
sheriff, he was one of the founders. Law and order, experience had
taught him, is a lot easier to keep when drunken cowboys have a
natural outlet for their excess energy.
Since The Buffalo
Wallow was tolerated by the valley's law, a person could consider it
almost an official institution. But even if it was semi official, it
was completely illegal, which is why the sheriff supervised its
operation as a kind of ex officio duty. The only illegal
activity allowed there was prostitution. Nothing else illegal was
permitted, and the sheriff made damn sure this rule was followed to
the letter. He didn't want anything going on at the Wallow which
might attract the attention of anyone who might cause trouble over
the valley's technically illegal pleasure house. Since it would have
been impossible to get a liquor license without letting on what kind
of place it was to the licensing people back at the state capitol,
not even alcohol was allowed. Condom use was required, and Doc came
by once a week to examine the gals to make sure no diseases were
being spread. All in all, it was a sensible solution to a problem
the elite people in the big city, people who didn't have much if any
knowledge of the laws of biology, had presumed they could abolish by
the laws of man.
So the very next day
Stan told Shorty to saddle up Amigo and put him in the pickup. Then
he drove the young man to the Buffalo Wallow. As he did he explained
what the Buffalo Wallow was, and that it was there for him to get the
satisfaction nature was demanding. Then he bluntly said the Marcek
girls were not, under any circumstances, for that purpose. He
finished by letting Shorty know that if he ever fooled around with
the Marcek girls Stan would make him a perfect match for his gelding
horse by removing the offending orbs which otherwise would be a
source of Shorty's lifelong pleasure.
When they reached the
Buffalo Wallow they took Amigo from the pickup and tied him to the
rail where a couple other customer mounts were waiting to carry their
tired but happy riders home. Then Stan took Shorty in and introduced
him to the deputy in charge that afternoon. It was the first time
Stan had been inside since before he was married. He laughed to
himself when he noticed the old motto still painted on the lobby
wall. "All businesses screw their customers" it said.
"Only here the screwing is why you come." He still
remembered how, as a naive teenager, it had been necessary for his
first Buffalo Wallow server to explain the double meaning in the
second line. The sight of the business gals in their business attire
immediately caused a swelling response in Stan. Handing Shorty his
wages and then leaving him to the services of whichever gal he might
select, Stan hurried back to his place where, their daughters being
at a Four-H meeting in town, he immediately engaged Helen in an
extensive investigation of the decor of their bedroom.
Helen's plan worked.
Shorty's relationship with Liz immediately changed from goo-goo eyes
to the tolerant but condescending affection of a worldly older
brother for a kid sister.
The next day Shorty was
in a particular rush to get all his chores done. When Stan couldn't
think of another task to assign him, Shorty saddled Amigo and was
off. The same thing happened every day for the next three weeks.
Shorty had found the meaning of life, and he was proving himself a
dedicated student thereof. Once again Helen was alarmed. But this
time it wasn't for her daughter's chastity. It was for Shorty's
In yet another pre bed
conversation she shared her new concerns with her husband. "Stan,
do you know Shorty is riding down to the Buffalo Wallow every day?"
"That's what you
wanted, ain't it? He's getting all his work done, and in record time
too. And he ain't hanging around here anymore for Liz to play with
after his chores are done. So there's no problem" Stan
"Stan, if this
keeps up that poor kid is going to squander every last penny Jake
left him. We've got to do something. Talk to him!"
Helen! I can't tell him not to enjoy the Buffalo Wallow. Not after
being the one who introduced him to it."
"Well why don't
you go and talk to the deputy in charge and see just how much money
Shorty's spent down there? We can work something out better when we
know how big the problem is."
"I guess I can do
that" Stan answered. That much he was glad to do for his young
hired hand. And he wasn't opposed to the arousing effects and
subsequent bedroom pleasantries that had resulted the day he had
introduced the kid to the Wallow. So the next day after Shorty had
been gone long enough to be occupied and therefore unaware Stan was
checking up on him, Marcek drove down and spoke to the deputy in
"Our hand, Shorty,
seems to be visiting down here a lot lately" Stan started.
"A lot?" the
deputy repeated with a laugh. "Hell, that kid's in here every
day! What an appetite!"
worried he might spend every last cent he has" Stan told the
"No need to worry
about that" the deputy answered. "The girls are letting
him have it for free."
The deputy knew this
because besides protecting the establishment's gals and maintaining
law (well, all but one law) and order at the Wallow, his duties
included receiving and keeping all the money. The place was a
strictly cash operation, and on a busy day there might be close to a
thousand in the till. With an armed deputy sheriff on guard, the
founding fathers sought to eliminate the threat of robbery this
bundle might otherwise provoke. So all "service" fees were
paid directly to the deputy who appropriately credited each gal's
account. The Buffalo Wallow was a co-op, not a profit making
venture. The only thing the valley bigwigs who set it up wanted was
to provide for the reasonable wholesome recreational needs of their
cowboys and hired hands, with perhaps an occasional bit of discrete
honey for themselves. As a co-op each girl paid a rent to cover the
cost of her living while at the Wallow, her professional supplies,
Doc's care and her "service" room. As long as she paid her
bill, what she charged her customers was her own business. If there
was someone she didn't want to charge at all, that was entirely up to
her. In fact, each out-of-town gal who had a local boyfriend always
entertained him in her room at the Wallow, without charge, of course.
And none of the gals charged Shorty.
"Why are they
letting him have it for free?" Stan asked in considerable wonder
and not a little jealousy.
"Beats the hell
out of me" the deputy answered. "Let's ask." He
called across the lobby to one of the providers who was lounging in
her professional garb, waiting for a customer. "Hey, Prudy,
come on over here. I want to ask you something."
Prudy, perhaps the most
inappropriately named woman in the valley, got up languidly, and
slouched across the room to where Stan and the deputy were talking,
popping her bubble gum as she walked. She was fully dressed. She
had on a black lace bra that covered just about all of her breasts
except for her nipples. Black lace panties covered her bottom, and
an elaborate black lace garter belt around her waist supported long
black lace stockings. The foot end of the stockings were slid into
furry black slippers. And everything was covered by a long black
lace negligee made of some kind of material that was as easy to see
through as a politician's promises. In addition to the arousal her
outfit provoked in Stan, it also caused a major degree of incongruity
in him, for the pattern of all the lace garments seemed a perfect
match for the pattern he remembered from the white lace curtains that
always covered the front windows of his grandmother's house.
"Yeah, what do you
want?" Prudy asked.
"Why ain't you
gals charging Shorty? What's his secret?"
"It ain't no
secret" Prudy answered. "It's the size of his prick. It's
big! And it's so-o-o-o-o satisfying!!"
"How big it is?"
the deputy asked in awe.
inches" Prudy answered.
the deputy shot back "nobody's giving me any for free and mine's
a damn sight bigger than that."
Prudy looked at him
with a big lecherous smile. "Yours is bigger than three
inches?" she asked playfully.
"You're damn right
it's bigger than three inches" he insisted.
She blew a particularly
large bubble then popped it with a bang. "In width?"