Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, .
Desc: Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A Tornado in Kansas ain't got shit on a Thunderstorm in East Texas
CRACK! RUMBLE! "Jesus God! That lightning struck not twnety feet away, and the thunder nearly knocked me off Joe Bob. Shit! The weather channel didn't mention a thing about this. God Damn what a downpour. Shit, the hair on my arms is standing up again just like it was just before that last strike."
"Shit-ola! How'd I end up on the ground? That last thunder clap must have blown me right off Joe Bob's back. Shit, I dropped my Marlin too. Man, we never have thunderstorms in November around here."
"Wait. Where is around here now? Has this fucker blown me to Oz?. Where's the trail I was riding along? Where's the buck I was about to shoot? Where in the fuck am I?"
There were plenty of pine trees around me just a minute or two ago. Where'd they go? Hell, I'm right in the middle of an open field. No wonder the lightning is kicking my ass. How'd I get here? Oh great! Here comes the fucking downpour. Shit, those drops are so big they hurt when they hit, and they feel cold as ice even though I know damned well it ain't hail.
Dammit all. Now that is a little bit of hail, and my ass is killing me where I landed on it. I'd better get up and catch hold of Joe Bob's reins before he runs off. He don't like thunder and lightning much either.
Well, at least my ass ain't broken, but it sure hurts. No doubt I've got a big bruise right on my left cheek. Shit, that's gonna leave a mark. Gonna hell! It's already left one. Fuck me running, I can't even shoot a deer now if one comes around to fuck with me in person. The Marlin hit barrel end first right into the dirt. It'll blow up in my face if I fire it. I know my Super Blackhawk 44 mag has plenty of knockdown power for a whitetail but I can't ride around hunting deer in this fucking weather, especially not with a damned old pair of pistols.
What the hell? I didn't think I'd get one first thing today anyhow. At least I've got my cleannig kit with my other shit packed up on my mule, Mose. I'd better climb my ass back up on Joe Bob and ride over to where I was going to camp.
This fucking deluge coulda waited until I had my tent up for fuck's sake. With a start like this one I'd be better off riding back to my truck, putting Joe Bob and Mose back in the trailer and going home. Damn if I will though. I had to sign up for this vacation six months in advance to make sure it started on the first day of the season, and I ain't going home until I get a deer or the season runs out one. That's for damned sure.
I managed to get my foot in the stirrup and swing aboard Joe Bob's saddle. And that's another damned thng. The saddle was rough-out leather and it didn't shed water worth a shit. At least Mose, my pack mule, didn't cut up from the lightning and thunder so close. To tell the truth I don't even remember if Joe Bob panicked from the thunder and pitched me off or if the damned thunder just blew me outta my seat. I don't guess it really matters now, but I sure as hell took the short way off my mount. That old joke about being on the hurricane deck of a horse makes a lot better sense today.
At least I'm up again but where do I ride to. I don't recognize a damned thing anywhere 'round here. Oh well, what's the difference? I recognize pine trees even though I didn't know this many of them grew exactly here. Hell, there sure as hell weren't no tornado and at least it took one of them to send Dorothy off to never-never land, or Oz, or where ever she got blowed to.
This is a real fuckup deluxe. I didn't even get no ruby slippers outta the deal. I've still got my same old boots on my feet and they're still made outta leather. I guess Ruby Cowboy Boots woulda been too much to ask for.
I rode around a little trying to see where the tallest pine near me was. There, that one. Now I'll just move about a hundred feet or so from it and let it be my lightning rod. I can camp under those shorter Loblollies. They kinda spead out a little closer to the ground anyway and they might even shed some of this rain off me.
An hour later I was feeling much better. I had my tent up and I'd even gathered enough big rocks to make a fire circle. Of course that don't mention the bitch it was to get a fire started with the drenched pine squaw wood being all I could find laying around loose.
It's a good thing I'd never been much of a boy scout so I didn't even try to start a campfire with only two matches. Hell, I was a bic man from way back so I grabbed up a bunch of pine needles for kindling and held them over the bic's flame until I got 'em going. I'd a been fucked for shore if I'd tried that with a couple of matches.
I shoulda known it was going to be a shitass day when Sally Jan got her panties in a wad last night about me taking off for a week to go hunting and camping. She just raised hell about how it was going to throw her budget off from the loss of income.
"We'll never have enough saved up to get married in June if you do that. You damned sure better not get fired from the steel mill over this either. Remember, you've gotta save up enough for a down payment on our house too," she'd said, right before she went on into her apartment and didn't even invite me in for a slice of cooter pie.
If there's one thing that makes deer hunting even less comfortable it's a hard dick, especially if you're gonna be riding a horse for the hunting part. I'd sure been planning on relieving the pressure before striking out hunting this morning. I guess it's like I always heard about a woman. It's her way or the highway, along with Do Not Pass Go and Do Not collect a shot of pussy.
Well hell, you can't have everything, and from the way things were going this morning it didn't seem like I was going to have anything. Shit, I even had to leave out before J&L Grill opened up so's I could get breakfast.
Never mind that now though, I'd brought enough stuff to scramble half a dozen eggs and fry half a pound of bacon for breakfast. Hell, with that little oven gizmoe I'd bought off the Internet for going on an open fire I could even whip up some cathead biscuits and naturally I'd bought a brand new tub of Country Crock margarin to slather on the biscuits. Hell, I'd even picked up a quart jar of Mary Hattie's Clover Honey down to Whooper's feed store to sop up with the biscuits. I even remembered to buy a box of salt and a tin of McCormick's black pepper so I could douse my eggs real good.
Things were so fucked up I gave up on hunting and went ahead and cooked the breakfast I'd just been thinking about. Funny thing though. I'd grabbed my portable radio and tried to turn it on so I could listen to the local news while I's cooking and the damned thing wouldn't say shit. I mean I couldn't find a station at all on AM nor FM. Nothing but static anywhere I turned the dial. That just wasn't natural.
At least breakfast was good, even if I did have to cook it myself. I made extra too, to make up for the fucked up way my day was going. After I finished eating I just sat on my ass in the lawn chair I'd brought along and drank up the twenty-cup coffeepot worth of coffee I'd boiled. At least I congratulated myself on bringing the lawn chair along even if it did look silly tied onto Mose's pack saddle.
Mose and Joe Bob looked happy enough hobbled out on the tall grass around here. Trouble was I didn't remember this clearing being here at all. Shit, I'd worry about it later, after I finished my coffee.
About half an hour later I finally got up off my lazy ass, cleaned at my skillet and the tin plate I'd eaten out of and packed everything back up on Mose's packsaddle. I mounted Joe Bob, grabbing the lead rope for Mose on the way up.
That was another thing to piss me off again this morning now I thought about it. I'd read several places, well mostly in Western paperbacks, about pack mules trained to follow a horse without the bother of a lead rope.
I don't know if Mose was too stupid or too ornery to learn that trick but he damned sure wouldn't do any such thing. If he didn't feel the lead rope giving his halter a tug every now and then he'd stop walking and start grazing. He wouldn't give a shit if I rode off without him or not. He just didn't care. And he'd sull up worse'n a wet cat if I didn't stop every now and then so he could tear off a mouth full of grass too.
I guess I was bitched out by now though and so I might as well see if I could ride back to my truck, load my stock in the trailer, and go on home to try and get a fresh start tomorrow.
Three hours later I knew something was dreadfully wrong and I didn't even feel a deep burning pain in my side like Mary Robbins sang about in "El Paso." I musta rode six or seven miles all around here and I hadn't spotted my truck and trailer or anything that looked the least bit familiar.
Hell, I knew damned well where I'd pulled off the highway to unload Joe Bob and Mose and park my truck yesterday, and my truck nor trailer neither was anywhere 'roun here now. Hell, even the highway was missing and it just couldn't be. A highway just don't go completely missing. Even if a tornado had come by it wouldn't rip up the asphalt. None of this shit looked anything like I remembered and I'd owned the three hundred acres I was hunting on for ten damned years. I knew what it looked like and this just weren't it.
"Well, smartass, I give up. Where are ya?" I asked myself in my head and then I answered my self, in my head again, "I just don't know dumbass, where am I?" but I just didn't know for real, so I couldn't answer back.
The only good thing I knew about my current state of fucked up affairs was I had my horse and my pack mule and everything was packed on the mule, so at least I didn't have to go back and get anything I forgot. Not anything I could find anyway. I'd be glad to go back and get my truck and trailer if I knew where they were so's I could go back, but I didn't. I believe the proper nomenclature for my current situation was 'I didn't know whether to shit or go blind, ' or something along those lines.
To sum things up, I was lost. In Cass county Texas no less. A place I'd lived all my thirty-two years besides. It's just a dipshit little rural county. I mean I know nine-hundred and thirty seven square miles sounds like a lot, especially if you say it fast, but I'd been driving around the place since I was fourteen years old and I was pretty sure I'd been every place there was a place. It didn't matter though cause I hadn't seen a thing I recognized since just befor that lightning strike came so close to me the first time this morning.
In the first place I knew there was no place near me I could ride so far and not at least come up on a dirt road or at least someone's fence. There had been one hell of a lot of barbed wire strung here and there in Cass county. It wasn't like the King Ranch where you could ride for hours and not see anything but grass and cattle. The damned county had been cut up, sliced, and diced into little farms, ranches, and home places for the last hundred years or so.
My Uncle PJ probably owned the largest single block of land in the county held by a normal person. He'd gathered twelve thousand acres of timber land but hell, he owned a sawmill and most people 'roun here wouldn't sell you the timber off their land without you buying the land too. Why would they want to keep it and keep paying taxes on it after the timber was cut. Especially since the land was located back in the woods until his crews came along, cut the woods down, and hauled them off to the sawmill.
I mean I could understand someone holding onto their mineral rights if they could, especially now-a-days, but he'd had that sawmill for forty years and when he started buying timber they wanted shut of the land as soon as they got the money for the timber. This shit didn't make sense to me.
All of a sudden lighting had struck near me and now everything was just gone. Hellfire, I might as well ride back home and look for my truck later. I pulled my little fold up GPS thingy out of my shirt pocket intending to let it tell me exactly which way to ride to get home since the road was still missing, but that was a bummer too. No Signal was all it told me. That was a real shock.
I'd played with that thing for days on end after I bought it an I'd never seen it say that. I didn't even know there was a possibility of No Signal anyplace in the US of A. Maybe you might run into it over in bumfuck Egypt or somewhere, but not right here in the North East corner of Texas. At least the normal compass part was still pointed north, or I guess it was. I decided to get down and dig my Boy Scout compass out of Mose's packsaddle.
I know I said before I was never much of a Boy Scout, but it never kept me from signing up for one while and of course I'd bought the compass when I did.
Sure enough the GPS gizmo had been wrong about North too. I struck out North East cutting right across country with the Boy Scouts, or at least their compass, leading the way.
About four hours later I was well and truly bumfuzzled. I must have made about twenty miles and not only had I not come across a single fence, I hadn't seen anything but the ubiquitoous pine trees. That was the only thing I'd come across that made me think I was still where I thought I was. I hadn't even seen one fucking white faced cow, nor bull neither. White face hell, I hadn't seen a single cow at all.
It reminded me of soomething my Algerbra II teacher was always saying. "If it ain't so there ain't a cow in Saltillo." he'd always say. I didn't know if there was or wasn't, but it looked to me like there weren't none in Cass county this morning.
Hell, I just kept riding. Sooner or later I had to come across something I knew about and damned if I didn't, sorta. About three hours later I came up on a river. I'd crossed several cricks and I'd seen a lake once this morning, but this was a real river. The only trouble was I wasn't sure which river it was.
It was a shitty little river with muddy water. It wasn't really such a much. It looked to be about a hundred feet wide here and so I eased Joe Bob off into it and picked my feet up to try and keep them and my boots outta the water.
Joe Bob didn't have much trouble with it. He only had to swim for about thirty feet right near the middle and then he walked again and then we climbed out the other side. I never even got my feet and boots wet but the stirrups did take a dip