lesbian farmers

lesbian-farmer-onebillie took the leap because she loves big checked shirts made from soft hardy cotton.. the able chunky red machinery..the look of a neat freshly ploughed field…  a warm woody farmhouse kitchen where she’d cozy up with her girlfriend helen, a heart surgeon still smarting from the big decision to move here from boston for billie to pursue her newfound passion…it’s a long long way from the lucrative graphic design work she’d been doing with both eyes closed.

the locals were smarting too…big hank, the neighbouring farmer drove by with his equally sturdy wife thumping the wheel of his automobile yelling how does that muff bumpin city girl do that, while glaring at billie’s golden fields, which literally laughed in the face of the bad weather every other local farmer was loosing a battle with. hanks wife wisely answered “maybe because the sweet bitch is new and extra keen for the farming, she’s free of tried and tested ways,and is thinking more laterally when it comes to problem solving……hank told her to shut the fuck up with all that faggit lateral thinking..

the regional UPS driver, in his cute brown shorts and lovely stubby tree trunk legs simply cannot get his head round the girls sexual ambivalence every time he knocks on the veranda door for either to sign off daily deliveries of new medical data for helen…… when he leaves, they slide down the wall laughing their tits off at the way he puffs his chest out, legs astride, yet utterly impotent in the face of such clear skinned mystery girls.

and then there’s rush limbaugh…the overweight right wing radio presenter with all the facial bone structure of a tomato…he’d somehow picked up on the fact that not every queer wishes to work on the lower east side of manhattan or west hollywood, and it bugged him to find a handful of hard working lesbians with the temerity to venture into republican territory …and i quote “I never knew that lesbians wanted to get behind the horse and the plow and start burrowing.”….how the girls laughed at the low base sauciness in his choice of words….in truth the daft pudding couldn’t care less about rural living, he’s just stirring trouble, knowing the ears of the rednecks are listening in to his lowly radio show.

the trouble is billie’s good for business, and helen’s saving the lives of local rickety old republicans who’ve smoked or eaten too many fat burgers, without doing any proper exercise…so…y’know.

talking of exercise…helen can’t get enough of it… stretch exercise to be precise…it’s like the tall thin bird is double jointed.. in the evenings billie harps on about difficult crops, while helen tends to her joints and ligaments in pale blue calvin panties and sports bra after intense days hunched over dying old beer bellies in a brightly lit operating theatre. helen laughs like a lioness at the fast tingling response of her supple living skin when billie reaches out to touch her.

and life goes on…tobacco stained teeth ..uncut nostril hair..beerguts…old bladders on sticks wilfully shooting themselves in the foot till there’s no leg left on them….oppressed housewives forever in need of wheat for plain white bread…..and a good doctor with a clean scalpel for when the shit hits the fan.

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