The City Girl Blues

by Lubrican

Chapter : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6-14 Available On

PLEASE NOTE: This is a preview of this novella. It is available for purchase in its entirety via

Chapter Four

She polished off the baked salmon and asparagus he'd cooked for her. There was definitely a chef behind that dark beard because the food was wonderful. She reached for her third hot roll, which he'd baked fresh just before leaving for the wedding. The outsides were firm, but they were still soft inside, and delicious.

"I'm going to get fat if you feed me like this," she said, leaning back in her chair.

"You won't get fat," he said. "The way you'll be working you can eat like that three times a day and still won't gain an ounce. Not of fat, anyway. You might get heavier, but it will all be muscle."

The next day she knew he was right about not gaining any weight. By supper she was so sore she felt like an old woman, shuffling along. She'd had to use the salve again before going to bed the night before, just so she could get to sleep. Now her still-raw thighs seemed like mere discomfort, compared to her arms, abs, and rib muscles.

They'd worked with hay most of the day. He had traded beef for hay to another rancher in the area. That rancher had paid the youth group from a church in town to bale the hay. They'd used an old baler that spit out rectangular small bales tied with wire. Since most of the workers came from farming or ranching families, he hadn't had to supervise them.

There were hundreds of the dusty bales on the top floor of the barn and Bob wanted to rearrange them so they'd be pre-positioned when it came time to feed the stock during the winter. That meant moving them from the side where they'd been originally stacked to surround the opening that led to the stable below, as well as stacking them in front of the big door on the end of the loft so they could be tumbled out into the truck he'd use to feed the cattle, which didn't get to stay in a nice, cozy barn when the cold winds and snow blew.

Each bale only weighed thirty or forty pounds, and her initial thoughts were that this would just be a healthy workout. By the time she'd lugged a hundred of them across the hay-strewn floor of the loft and then grunted them up onto the new stack, she felt like her arms were going to fall off. It wasn't the kind of endomorphic workout she was used to. Her back was killing her and the last thing she felt was the pain between her legs.

By the time they broke for lunch and she hobbled to the house, she groaned, "I'm not sure I can do this."

"You'll be fine," he said. He wasn't even breathing hard. "Your body will get used to it. Pretty soon you'll be able to do something like that all day and still feel like wrangling cows."

"No way," she moaned. "I can hardly walk. I feel pain in muscles I didn't even know I had."

"Tell you what," he said. "After lunch I'll fix you up."

"I can't be fixed," she complained.

"Nonsense. I promise you'll feel like new when I get done with you."

"How?"

"Never you mind about that," he said. "You just get something in your belly. You need fuel to keep running on."

"I'll never run again," she moaned. "I wasted money on those shoes."

"City folk," snorted Bob. "You're all soft and weak. But I'm going to change that, at least in your case. Now, eat."

Twenty minutes later she leaned back.

"I'm full," she said. "I need a nap."

"There are no naps on a working ranch," said Bob. "What you need is a massage, to loosen up your muscles and work the lactic acid out of them."

"I don't see any masseuses around," said Mandy.

"You don't need more than one," said Bob.

"I don't see a masseuse around," said Mandy, patiently.

"What about me?" asked Bob, sounding falsely injured.

"I'm not sure I want the beast's hands on me," said Mandy. She didn't actually mean that, which surprised her, but she felt like it had to be said.

"I am pure of heart," said Bob. "You will come to no harm in my care."

"No man is pure of heart," said Mandy, who wondered why she was being so uncooperative. She knew a massage would feel good right now.

"Nothing will happen without your express consent, then," he said, not arguing about her slur against men. "And it's not like you'll be naked or anything."

"Of course I won't be naked," she said, stiffly.

"Just a T shirt and those shorts I loaned you," he said. "I should be able to get to everything I need to."

"I don't know," she mused.

"I'll be using the salve," he offered.

She quit being pernicious. She knew a massage would be good for her. And she was pretty sure she wouldn't be able to get through the afternoon unless she did something.

"Okay, but if you cross the line I'll hurt you," she warned.

"Do you know jiu-jitsu or some such thing?"

"I know where your balls are," she growled.

"My balls will not be used in this massage," he said, grinning.

"They better not be," she said.

"Go get ready. We have more work to do."

"You're not Bob Cobb. You're Simon Legree," she moaned.

"I'll take it easy on you this afternoon," he said. "The tack in the tack room needs to be oiled. You can sit down for most of that."

That's how Mandy ended up lying on her bed, clad only in a T shirt and running shorts, with Uncle Bob standing over her.

"Chemistry" is a term used frequently to describe attraction between the sexes. It's a mystical concept in the sense that science can't predict when it will exist or which people it will exist between. Of course men are commonly believed to have "chemistry" with any woman. The old phrase, "If she's ugly, put a flag over her face and fuck her for Old Glory" is a crass example of that. The fact is, that's not true at all, at least not with most men. Men have likes and dislikes, just like women, and the one thing everybody agrees on is that dislikes prevent or reduce chemistry. Examples of that are men who like big-breasted women and others who prefer a woman with very small ones.

Science has hypothesized that chemistry is based on evolution, wherein a man chooses a woman he thinks will be a good mother for his children while he's out hunting mastodons. Women, they say, choose a mate with broad shoulders and muscles that will make his children strong, good mastodon hunters when they mature.

As anyone will tell you, though, it's more complicated than that, especially in a world where 'mastodon' hunting is a very rare situational need.

The fact is, when you ask two people what attracted them to each other, they very often can't tell you. A woman might say, "He was funny and intelligent," but Netflix is brimming over with intelligent comedians, available anytime you want a laugh. A man might say, "She was a stone fox," but there are literally millions of those around. Why did he choose this particular one? Beautiful women end up with and truly love ugly (and sometimes much older) men. Successful businessmen often have and truly love plain wives.

Then there is the phenomenon of having had previous partners or lovers. It's impossible to forget them and inevitable that, when you are "in the market" to find a new one, comparisons are made. The fact you aren't with your previous partner or lover (barring their death) means the bond didn't survive whatever travail there was in the relationship, but there will always be memories of that person that one would call "good." If the new candidate doesn't match up to the old one in some intangible ways, then he, or she, doesn't have much of a chance. More importantly, if the new candidate has some of the same negative character traits as the old one, then there's almost no chance of a pairing.

Mandy had been married twice and almost married a third time. She was no blushing, innocent girl. She'd been up and down some bumpy streets and her heart bore the scars of relationships that didn't last.

Granted, her breakup with Matt had been amicable. They were still friends, in fact. Subliminally, though, her femininity had taken a hit. Even though a psychologist would call it bunk, she couldn't help but think on some level that she wasn't woman enough to keep him. Her short life with Steve had been everything she could hope for, other than the fact that he was gone so much of the time before he was gone forever. But he'd made it abundantly clear she was all woman, as far as he was concerned, and desirable in the extreme.

Then there was Ryan, and her insecurities were back. Her self-image took another hit. She wasn't even woman enough for him to want to take his meds, and he chose five years of almost literally Spartan conditions rather than being with her.

She didn't think about all this consciously, but it was there, bubbling beneath the surface, like a mild acid that was slowly corroding her self-confidence.

At least until she came to the ranch.

She had done amazing things she'd never have dreamed she could do. Just standing next to the horse that first time had made her feel small and insignificant. That it let her climb up on its back had been incredible. That it went where she wanted it to go was even more strange. It would have been fun, had she not been terrified. But she did it. The next time had been better, but she'd ended up so sore she couldn't walk normally. Now, the horse came to her and nickered when she walked into the corral. Her butt was better and the skin on her thighs was no longer angry and red looking.

She had lifted heavy bales - hundreds of them! And she had restacked them, climbing up on tiers of other bales, dragging the recalcitrant dead weight with her. She had helped rebuild a carburetor, of all things. She actually knew what a jet was and what it was supposed to do. Her hands had gotten filthy, but she hadn't cared. She had talents and potential she'd never dreamed of before.

A major part of all this was Bob, of course. He was patient and easy-going. He worked at least twice as hard as she did and didn't complain or groan once. She felt like a ten-year-old next to him. At the same time, being around him had restored her self-confidence in being a woman. It was impossible to be around Bob Cobb and not feel attractive, even when your hair was a mess, your boots were filthy, and your hands covered with muck. His eyes told her he liked looking at her. His manner made it clear he recognized her gender on a regular basis. He didn't quite ogle her, but at the same time when she felt his eyes on her, she felt like a girl who bought a bikini, not realizing how very small it was until she wore it to the pool.

As for Bob as a man ... that was complicated. He was older, old enough to be her uncle, but she couldn't think of him that way. First of all if she thought "Uncle" in front of his name, she also thought "Ryan." And he didn't act old. He was strong as a bull and energetic in a way that made her feel even more exhausted than she really was. She'd become accustomed to his face pretty quickly and now the beard didn't look strange. She'd seen other men with beards, of course, but in Bob's case he seemed to have a beard that had a face hidden within it rather than a visage decorated with facial hair.

He wasn't a potential mate. That she did think of on a conscious level. But she liked being around him. He was a man she could relax around, even if his eyes were so intrusive sometimes. Even then he wasn't pushy in any way. The impression she got was that he just liked looking at her, so that's what he did. It wasn't any more complicated than that.

Or hadn't been. Now that burly, bushy man was hovering over her and his two callused hands were mauling the flesh on her right arm. He squeezed and twisted and stroked in a way that felt like it should be tearing her skin off, but all it did was feel amazing. How he could be so forceful and yet so gentle was a mystery.

But it was a mystery she didn't have time to think about at present. Right now all she wanted to do was lie there and soak up all the relief he offered.

Mandy had only had one professional massage in her life. Matt had taken her to a spa one time and they both got the works. It had taken three hours but they'd been side by side the whole time, able to talk. The people working on them had seemed remote, only pairs of hands that had done nice things. She'd felt refreshed and happy when it was finished and then they'd gone to dinner at a fancy restaurant.

The comparison between that and what was happening to her now was laughable. Of course there was no Matt present with her, chatting away, but even if he had been there she wouldn't have been able to pay any attention to what he was nattering on about. The only thing she could think about was the feel of Bob's hands on her body. She could feel individual fingers as her skin came alive under his manipulations.

It was that way when he switched arms, walking around to the other side of the bed. And it was that way when he started on her legs. When he worked over her foot she almost cried out at how good it felt. She did in fact, as his manipulations caused dopamine to be produced in her brain, let out little moans of contentment, though she wasn't aware she did that.

Even when his hands slid up inside the legs of her shorts she didn't rouse from her lassitude. His fingertips moved to the bottom of her bubble butt, but that was all. When he worked the insides of her thighs, which had so recently been raw and sore, his rough hands felt wonderful.

He skipped over her shorts to work on her back and sides. Now she did groan with conscious thought as her complaining muscles got the relief they craved. Particularly her trapezius and dorsi muscles needed work, because they'd been strained by all that lifting and dragging. Then his hands went to the small of her back and she uttered, "Oh fuck," before she could consciously decide to say it. She didn't know the muscles there were called erector spinae. All she knew was that if he continued that she might have an orgasm.

It was her conscious thought of "orgasm" that lifted her out of the pool of happiness his hands were causing. It was the wrong word, but she couldn't think of any other word that fit what she felt when his hands got there.

"I'm not molesting you," he said, his voice startling her, "but you need this."

His hands slid under the waistband of her shorts and suddenly those squeezing, mauling fingers were pawing her ass. Except it didn't feel like she was being pawed. If anything she wanted to tell him to keep doing it. She blinked, confused by that feeling, but then decided there wasn't anything sexual about what he was doing, or how it felt. It just felt good. Her butt had been aching for days, and this felt fantastic.

She decided to say nothing and just enjoy it. Her sense of security returned when his fingers didn't stray into her butt crack ... or beyond. When he pulled his hands out of her shorts she sighed.

"Turn over and take your shirt off," he said, his voice calm.

"I can't do that," she said, her face lying on one side. She felt as limp as a noodle.

"You can drape it over your breasts," he said. "I need to work your pecs and shoulders. I won't look as you get arranged."

He turned his back and stood, like a human rock as she lifted her head.

"Do I have to?" she whined. "Couldn't I just have one, tiny nap? I feel like I could sleep for a week."

"We have work to do, Mandy," he said, patiently.

She groaned as she mustered the strength to roll over onto her back. She didn't think about denying him. She didn't think about how odd that was. As she sat up and tugged at her T shirt, it didn't occur to her that this was out of character for Amanda Schilling - to make herself bare, alone with a man she wasn't involved with.

She did feel a little vulnerable as she darted glances at him, afraid he'd whirl and stare, and then as she lay back and tried to cover her thrusting breasts with the cloth, but she was as sure in her bones she could trust Bob as she could be of trusting any man.

"Okay," she finally said. "This feels weird."

"It will be over soon," he said, turning to look down at her.

There it was ... that look in his eye ... that hungry look. But he didn't jump on her. Instead he dipped his fingertips in the soothing balm and leaned over to work the front of her thighs.

Within seconds she was back on that cloud, floating as the pains the work had caused in her faded away. He worked up both legs, not going quite as high as he had in the back and then skipping over her shorts to her stomach and ribs.

"I can't do much for your abs," he said, casually, as his fingers gently kneaded her flat belly. "The salve will help a little. The muscles there will toughen up, though."

When he came to her ribs she opened her eyes and stared up at him. She wasn't sure, but it felt like no man had ever touched her like that. She could actually feel his fingertips depress the skin between each rib. His hands moved smoothly, lubricated by the salve. When they slid up and pushed the shirt upwards, his fingertips got as far as the point where her breast flesh joined her torso. He didn't say anything, but also didn't repeat that.

Skipping over the shirt, his hands came to her shoulders and she let out another involuntary moan of delight. Somehow it felt like he was able to move every bone in every joint and stretch every muscle and ligament he came to. When his fingers went inwards to her upper chest, she felt them change from pressing to squeezing. His fingertips made the skin above each breast bunch up and she could feel each breast rise in response. She almost giggled as she remembered a video she'd seen of a woman who could make each breast jump upwards, independently of the other. The woman had alternated making her breasts rise and fall and then made them do that in unison. It had been both amazing and a little horrifying, somehow.

She almost complained when his hands abandoned her chest but was startled when she felt them on her face.

"You're not sore here, but the extra serotonin will help when you have to get up and move around," he said.

He stroked her brow and temples, working her jaw like a demented dentist examining a patient. When his fingers got to the sides of her throat she realized there was pain there she hadn't been aware of, just before it disappeared.

"Okay," he said, standing up. "No nap, but light duty this afternoon while you recover."

"One little, short, insubstantial nap wouldn't hurt anything," she complained. "You make me feel so good and then you turn into the beast again."

He grinned.

"What can I say? It's the nature of the beast."

Bob had left her alone to get presentable again. As she sat up, she tested this and that muscle. There were clear memories in her mind of what had hurt before. What seemed crazy, somehow, was that she could still feel pain in those areas, but now it was muted, covered with some insulating "thing" that separated her from the pain.

She felt good. As soon as she sat up she realized she was actually energized! She felt ready to finish the rest of the day. Bed would be divine that night, but she had all afternoon to anticipate that joy. Right now, she felt like her body had been asleep, and only now had it awakened.

As she lifted her arms to drop the T shirt back over her torso she realized that there was only one part of her body that felt odd ... still asleep.

Her breasts.

Only her breasts hadn't felt the rough touch of his hands. The breasts themselves didn't hurt. The bouncing of that initial trot had abused the muscles that supported them, but he'd worked on those. She thought it was odd that they felt so ... dull.

"Crap," she sighed. "I can't want that. Not with Bob."

But a little voice somewhere in her head whispered, "Of course you can, silly."

As intimate as he had just been with her, his attitude that afternoon was distant. He wasn't unfriendly, he just didn't act like a man who had just touched practically everywhere on her body.

"Except your breasts," the little voice in her mind whispered.

She frowned, looking down at the bridle she was oiling. She'd been less than enthusiastic about getting her hands covered in slippery oil that released dirt and grime from the leather as it was manipulated. What she was doing to the leather seemed a lot like what he'd just done to her.

But she realized within fifteen minutes that the oil was as good for her dry, cracked hands as it was for the tack she was working on.

And she could sit down while she did it.

And it wasn't on a bouncing, scary horse!

There wasn't much talking. They worked in companionable silence, making little noises. Mandy could hear the clink of buckles, and the soft shifting of hay under their feet. At one point she could hear Bob's breathing.

She was startled and jumped as something furry brushed up against her bare elbow.

It was a cat!

"That's Mister Whiskers," said Bob, breaking the silence. "He doesn't usually take to strangers, either."

"He's beautiful," said Mandy. She wanted to pet the animal, but not with oily hands.

"She, actually," said Bob. "She produces all the mousers who keep this farm free of vermin."

"You named a mamma cat Mister Whiskers?" Mandy cocked her head.

"I thought about Maude, but that didn't seem appropriate," said Bob, quite seriously. "Sounds old fashioned, don't you think?"

"How about Lucy?" said Mandy.

"That's a horse name," said Bob.

"Well you could have done better than Mister Whiskers," she said. "I mean at least you could call her Mrs. Whiskers."

"She's not married," said Bob. "She's had litters by half a dozen different daddies. I suppose I could have called her 'Welfare Queen' but that seems a bit politically incorrect." He grinned.

"It is," agreed Mandy. "It would also be mean."

"She doesn't exactly come when called," said Bob. "You can rename her if you want."

"Where are all her babies?" asked Mandy.

"Almost never see them. I found her having kittens one day up in the hay loft. I saw them then, but she made it quite clear I wasn't welcome. They grow up feral, assuming they don't end up as coyote food. She likes being around me, now and then, but I don't see her for days at a stretch. I put food out for her and it disappears, but that about covers our relationship."

The cat, meanwhile, had been rubbing up against Mandy, almost pacing as it did so. She could hear it purring.

"I wish my hands weren't oily," she said.

"I don't recommend trying to pick her up," said Bob. "I have to say, though, you're the only other person I've seen her act that way with. You must have passed some kind of examination."

"Great," sighed Mandy. "A cat thinks I have value."

"I do too," said Bob, his voice rising into the tenor range.

"Great," said Mandy again. "A cat, a dog, and a beast like me."

"You've been married before, right? I seem to remember Ryan saying something like that."

"Yes," said Mandy. "What about it?"

"Well, obviously some other man liked you. And Ryan did, too. He brought home half a dozen girls over the years, but he never asked one of them to marry him."

"Great," said Mandy. "A cat, a dog, a beast, and a mentally ill man like me," said Mandy, feeling pernicious.

"And your former husband," said Bob. "Who was obviously insane to let you get away."

"He's dead," said Mandy.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"He died in Iraq."

"I'm really sorry, Mandy. I didn't mean to be flip about him."

"It's okay. I think about him almost every day, but the pain has dulled."

"I can't imagine what that's like," said Bob.

"Actually, I was married twice," she said, feeling an uncharacteristic desire to bare the details to this odd man. "My first marriage was to a guy who was gay and thought getting married would cure him."

"Shit, Mandy. No wonder you're so down."

"Yeah. Ryan was my third pitch and I struck out."

"That's not fair. You were happy with your ... um ... soldier ... right?"

"Desperately, but we were only married a short time before he died. I got just a taste of what they say marriage is supposed to be like. Apparently the cosmos doesn't feel like that's the thing I should have."

"The cosmos doesn't give a crap about what you should or shouldn't have, Mandy," said Bob, seriously. "Fate doesn't exist. You make your own path in this world and what results comes from the decisions you make."

He frowned.

"That came out differently than it sounded in my head. It's not your fault that you've had such a hard time. I mean things do happen you have no control over and they affect your life, but how you respond to that is what affects your future."

"I don't feel like I'm responding to anything," said Mandy. "I feel like I'm just trying to get up each day and make it through that."

"That is responding," said Bob. "You could have just given up, descended into depression. A lot of people do that when things hit them like you've been hit. But you are getting up every day and moving forward."

"Thanks to Simon Legree," said Mandy, not wanting to wallow in self-pity.

"I live to serve," said Bob. "I'm glad I can do some small part in helping you get through."

"The massage helped," said Mandy. "You said it would, and it did."

"I am wise beyond my years," said Bob, sagely. "You should listen to everything I say, and do what I suggest without question."

"Yeah, I don't think that's going to happen," said Mandy, smiling. "You're a beast and a man. Doing that could get me in hot water."

"I suppose so," he sighed, not even pretending he didn't have salacious thoughts. "The only hot water you need to be in right now is in the bathtub."

"You know, I have to say I've had hundreds of baths, but none of them felt as good as the ones I've had here. And I had a professional massage one time, but it wasn't nearly as effective as the one you gave me."

"I'll happily give you a massage every day," said Bob, who looked like he was trying not to leer.

"That wouldn't be a good idea, either," said Mandy.

"Why ever not? You just said it felt good."

"There's good ... and then there's good," said Mandy.

"Ahhh," he said. "I understand completely. In my defense, though, I really only did your butt because you needed it."

"I know. And you behaved yourself. I appreciate that."

"I try to be a man of honor," he said, sounding meek. Mandy couldn't possibly think of this man as meek, though.

Quiet descended on them again, and over the next three hours they finished oiling all the tack.

After dinner Mandy went to bed early. She understood now why she'd heard all those stories about agrarian people going to bed at sunset. She'd never understood how that could work, but it made all manner of sense to her now that she'd participated in that life. Still, as she lay there reading a book before turning out the light, she marveled at how, prior to this, she rarely went to bed before midnight.

"Maybe my city girl days are in the past," she mused to herself.

That led to her thinking about what she was going to do in the future. Working with Bob had caused pain and a little fear and even some terror. Despite that, though, she felt more alive than she had in a long time. The things they did were mundane, and yet she felt like they were worthwhile. What she'd done had produced change, and it had always been change for the better. In the midst of her aches and pains she'd thought about giving up and going back to school. Now, though, she felt like staying the whole month. It was, after all, only a month.

Another massage would feel good. She knew Bob would give her one. But her feelings for Bob, if one could call them that, had undergone a bit of a shift since he'd touched her so intimately. She kept imagining those big hands mauling her breasts. Her nipples crinkled and came erect as that thought crossed her mind again. Why did she want that? Did she want that?

Her own hands came up to cup and squeeze her orbs. It felt good. But she knew it would feel better with his hands on them.

That was crazy. All that would do would be to lead him on.

And feel wonderful.

She loved intimacy with a man she liked. She always had. But it wouldn't be fair to Bob to let him do that and think there might be more. There couldn't be more. Those thoughts had flitted through her mind, too, but they caused discomfort and she pushed them away. He was so big! And hairy! Not that he wasn't sweet. He tried to be gruff, but his concern for others was obvious. She remembered the way his female relatives had danced with him at Christmas. They'd pressed close, and he'd pressed right back against them. They weren't frightened of him.

"I'm not either," she said, out loud. Then, since she'd spoken, she went on. "So why does that idea make me feel so ... nervous?"

She closed the book. She couldn't concentrate on it. Turning out the light she reached to squeeze her nipples. He had neglected her breasts. Now she had to make up for that. The girls were unhappy.

That led to someplace else on her body being unhappy, too.

Again she decided she had to find a way to order a dildo.

If she didn't, she was going to go nuts.

<< Previous Chapter | Next Chapter >>