Total pages in book: 248
Estimated words: 236036 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1180(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 787(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236036 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1180(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 787(@300wpm)
Though I had to agree, I was still so tired my bones screamed for me to get horizontal again. Besides, I wasn’t going to give him an inch or he’d take a few miles. “Hate to break it to you, but if your definition of a little one joining our family means a calf, then you must have taken a catnap during the vital parts.”
He chuckled and slapped my hat on top of my head. “Nope, those were the best parts. I can still remember how he almost swallowed his tongue when we started asking questions and I’m not talking about birth control.”
When his eyebrows began to wag up and down, I chuckled. “Yeah, that was a moment for sure.”
We’d been raised on the ranch and knew all about reproduction before we were in kindergarten. Now about to enter high school, we simply gave the occasional nod as if our father was revealing the secret of the universe. As teenagers we’d thought we were way ahead of the game. When he finished, he’d looked at both of us and asked, “Any questions?”
Oh yeah, I’d had a few and none were about the mechanics. Dad hadn’t seemed concerned when Luther had asked if there was a brand of rubbers he’d recommend—"ones without holes unless you’re ready to be a parent”—was our father’s answer by the way.
But he’d been puzzled when I’d asked where the best place would be to start my collection of toys.
“Toys?”
“You know, like paddles and ropes—”
“Ropes? Son, you do understand I’m talking about women and not livestock, right?”
I’d ignored my brother who was having a difficult time not chortling like the annoying rooster who ruled the chicken coop.
“I’m not talking about farm implements, Dad,” I’d said, “I’m talking about the toys real men use to keep their girl interested and, well, you know… satisfied.”
Luther had jumped up to slap his hand in the middle of Dad’s back when he’d stared at us with eyes wider than an owl’s while our mother had simply strolled in to hand him a glass of water.
“I told you we needed thicker walls, Liam,” she’d said and then strolled right back out of the living room again.
After Dad had drained the glass and told Luther to quit beating on him, he’d looked at us for a long moment, straightened his shoulders, and then spent the next hour making sure we understood the differences between fucking and loving. How to be a protector of women versus using them. How keeping them satisfied had more to do with what we did outside of sex than the actual act itself. It was a far more educational lecture and one we’d both taken to heart. Our course in sex education ended with my dad pinning me to the couch when I’d started to stand.
“Whatever you decide on, do not embarrass yourself or your mother and go into town to shop. Order your toys online. At least that way, they’ll come in plain brown paper and no one need be the wiser. Understood?”
“Sure, Dad,” I’d assured him flippantly, the memory of seeing several such packages on our front porch over the years blooming in my head.
He’d leaned forward and wrapped his fingers around my thigh and shook his head. “This town might be far more accepting than most, but if you ignore every other damn thing I’ve said, remember this. I guarantee the quickest way for a real man to lose the respect of any woman he loves is to embarrass her in public. Do. You. Understand. Me. Son?”
It had been my turn to swallow hard. “Yes, sir, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a jackass.”
It wasn’t so much his grip or even his stare that had imprinted into my soul as much as it was the sight of my mother standing in the threshold of the door leading into the kitchen. Her eyes shone and a smile played at her lips, her expression one so full of love for her husband that I understood that while I might be taking steps into becoming a man, my father had been one for decades.
“Good, now there are chores to be done. You boys get to them.”
“Yes, sir,” we’d chorused in unison and though we could smile and joke about it now, our respect for our father had only grown over the years as we strove to emulate his example.
And our mother? We’d adored that woman from the moment that single cell in her womb had divided into two and would until the day we died.
The memory improved my mood until I took a sip of the coffee and almost spit it right back out. “How old is this?”
Luther shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s what was left in the pot.”
“From this morning?”
“Well, technically from yesterday morning. I just threw the pot in the microwave. Be grateful I didn’t drink it all myself.” He took a large sip and closed his eyes as if savoring it before swallowing. “Ahh, nectar of the gods.” He opened his eyes and added, “I’ll meet you in the barn.”