Fifty Rashers PART ONE

One - I arrive at Chequers

I knew there was something different about this farm, that it was going to change my life in ways that I could never have imagined; not even in my wildest dreams. When I arrived at the farm I was just like any other pig, no different to the two dozen others who were driven into the pen besides me, but when I left there I was a very different pig. Gone was my innocence -  replaced with a cynicism that no pig should carry around.

            The first day at Chequers Farm was spent mostly meeting the other pigs and talking about the master, a man known as Farmer Giles. I discovered that the farmer didn't actually own the farm himself, but was simply the manager. He lived in the large 12th century farmhouse with his partner, or husband rather, a middle aged man who went by the name of Nigel Deranged. By all accounts they were a lovely couple who treated the livestock on the farm with kindness and respect. I was pleased to hear the latter as my previous farm had been run by a Mr. Murduck, a man with evil looking eyes who was prone to kicking out at any animal as he walked past. I myself had been on the receiving end of several well aimed boots, usually followed by a string of Australian accented curses, that turned my ordinarily pink rump into an angry shade of blue.

            'On a fine night they often sit out on that bench there,' Rasher, an elderly pig, who claimed his family had been connected to Chequers for more two centuries, told me as we rooted about in the dirt by the fence. 'They call it their love seat and when the weather's nice they sit there for hours, holding hands and watching over the farm.'

            I snorted as I chewed on a thick worm that I pulled from the ground. The worm seemed to be made of elastic and it clung to the dirt so that I had to yank it viciously into my mouth.

            'That's nice,' I said, and swallowed the worm. 'I think I'm going to like it here.'

            'You will,' Rasher nodded so fiercely that a fine mist of snot was sent onto the air. '

            I sniffed the air and watched as a car came up the lane approaching the farmyard.

            'That's Dave Hameron,' Rasher said, pointing his snout in the direction of the approaching vehicle. 'He's a friend of the master and a very important man. A politician, I believe.'

            'Politician?' I looked at Rasher. I don't think I'd ever heard the word before.

            'Yes,' Rasher nodded. 'A politician.'

            'What's a politician?'

            Rasher's ancient features wrinkled into a frown. He was silent for several moments, before snorting and looking me directly in the eyes.

            'You may very well ask,' he said.

            'I am asking. What's a politician?'

            'Well, I don't rightly know,' Rasher admitted. 'But one thing I do know is that they are very important.'

            'I see,' I said and watched the car pull up into the farmyard. The car certainly  looked like a vehicle someone very important would drive. I continued watching as a man stepped from the car. He was well dressed, looking comfortable in a smart lightweight suit and open necked shirt. He glanced in the direction of the pig pen and I feel sure that our eyes met. For just the briefest of moments he seemed to be looking directly into my eyes and I felt a warmth deep down in my very soul, my inner goddess had been aroused.

           

Two – Forbidden desires

It was my third day at the farm before Dave Hameron approached me. He had been walking about the farmyard with the master for some time, deep in conversation. I’d watched him from the pen while several other pigs rooted about in the dirt, looking for the particularly tasty worms that thrived in the soil beneath us. I did like a good worm myself, but when that man was about I could think of nothing else. I knew that mixed species relationships rarely worked and indeed, outside of Wales, weren’t very common but it was no good telling my inner goddess that. She had become a nymphomaniac deity and I lifted my snout into the air, sniffing to catch just the merest whiff of the man.

            ‘What you looking at?’

            The voice came from behind me and startled me. I turned and looked into Rasher’s aged features.

            ‘Nothing,’ I said.

            ‘You are looking at him,’ Rasher accusingly pointed his snout in the direction of the master and the man, I now thought of as, sex on legs. And we both watched as the men entered the farm house.

            ‘No,’ I said. ‘I was just enjoying the sunshine. It’s a lovely day.’

            Rasher snorted with derision, said: ‘I’ve seen that look upon your face before. I’ve seen it on other faces.’

            I shook me head, my ears flapped as I did so.

            ‘Don’t be silly,’ I hated myself when  I stammered over the words. My inner goddess had been discovered, and she was doing cartwheels within my soul. ‘I’m a pig! Why would I be interested in a human?’

            ‘Why indeed,’ Rasher said, rather cryptically I thought.

            I snorted and turned on my feet, burying my snout in the dirt. A moment later I pulled out a particularly juicy worm and swallowed it whole.

            ‘It’s forbidden,’ Rasher said, firmly.

            ‘What is?’ I asked. The worm had helped me regain my composure and I felt better as if my desires for the man were not so obvious.

            Rasher shook his huge head, sadness evident in his eyes. For a moment he too rooted about in the dirt but he soon looked up, looked at me.

            ‘It does happen,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen it happen before, many times before. And it always leads to heartache and madness. Don’t do it.’

            ‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,’ I said and walked away. I didn’t want to talk about it any longer, though deep down I knew Rasher was right. Any relationship between man and pig was doomed from the start. Though still the thoughts persisted – it wasn’t my mind that was leading me, no something much more primal  guided me. My inner goddess had desires, and forbidden or not she was going to act upon them.

            Several hours went by, I spent them rooting about in the dirt but my thoughts constantly went back to Dave Hameron. In my mind’s eye I saw him naked, felt him holding me tight. These thoughts scared me, but at the same time they excited me and no matter how hard I tried to shake them off they returned to taunt me.

 Later that afternoon the master came into the pen, slipped a collar around my neck and led me from the pen.

‘C’mon piggie,’  he said and yanked on the lead.

            I didn’t know where the master was talking me and I was scared. I didn’t think I was big enough for slaughter, but where else but the big house could the master be taking me? The big house, that was the place where many pigs had gone but none ever returned.

            Big house, big house, big house – the words bounced around my mind, creating a panic that took on the physical form of a fever. I sneezed, my head pulling at the leash.

            ‘Bloody pig,’ the master said and pulled me even harder, so hard in fact that I stumbled and he dragged me several feet on my side. We reached a large barn at the far northern point of the farmyard before I regained my feet. And all I could do was stand there shivering as the master released the heavy lock and slid the doors open.

            ‘Get in,’ the master said, giving me a swift boot to my rump as he forced me inside.

            The master closed the door.

            Then there was nothing but darkness.

            I’m not sure how long I sat there terrified before there was a tugging on my lead. I peered into the darkness but I could  see nothing.

            ‘Hello little pig.’

            It had been a kind voice, a warm voice and I felt some of the fear draining from me.

            ‘Come on babe,’ the disembodied voice said and there was another tug of my lead. ‘Come on. Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.’

            Suddenly I felt a hand upon my back and then another hand. I turned my head and saw him, Dave Hameron, standing behind me. He was naked, his pink sausage like penis standing perfectly erect.

            ‘My desires are unconventional,’ he said, smiled and then pushed his sex into me.

            I squealed, at first with shock but then with pleasure as the man pushed deeper inside. He kissed the back of my neck, nuzzling into my flesh as he pumped in and out of my sex with his pleasure pole.