It`s time for Tuesday Tales.
Today we have an excerpt from The Easter Redemption, a Laurel Holidays serial that will be debuting on my website in spring.
Please do bear in mind that these snippets are unedited so please be kind if you find any mistakes.
This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!
There I sat at one in the morning, pajamas and work boots, with a piggy snoozing in my lap. Okay cool. I toed off my boots as gently as I could, wiggled myself back into the bed, and stuffed a pillow behind me. Frank the Third snuffled at me in annoyance but dropped right back off as soon as I was settled.
I spent the next hour searching for pig house training tips. There were a few on YouTube but the internet was such crap they kept buffering. If I were ever rich again I was going to make sure every home in every rural town in America had high-speed internet. I must have nodded off sometime in the night because I startled awake to my real alarm at five am. Frank the Third – I really needed a nickname for the piglet – woke up and peed on my leg. Right. Well, that was an ominous start to my first day at my new job.
“Okay, house training begins when I get home,” I told the pig. He squealed and ran around the bed then looked at me in hunger. Man, I never knew pigs had such expressive eyes. I might not ever be able to enjoy a pork chop again after getting to know Frank the Third.
Within an hour I had changed my clothes, the bed, and had handed my porcine namesake off to Decker. They’d arrived with baby bottles for goats and one pig.
“No, you go with him,” I told the pig as I tried to leave for work. I had about twenty minutes to walk to the maple farm and find the main house. In the dark. The piglet was following me everywhere I stepped. “No, you go. Go, no, you go.”
“Come here Hugo,” Decker said then bent down to fetch the piglet.
“Hugo?” I asked as I pulled on a winter coat that someone – Acosta or a farm fairy – had left hanging on the doorknob to my room.
“That’s what you were calling him, right?” Decker dug out a small bottle of milk and the pig was suddenly all about breakfast. Suckling noisily I had to smile at the darn little stinker.
“Well, no, but Hugo works.” I buttoned the quilted flannel coat, nodded at Acosta across the way, and took a step. “I’ll be home sometime. Make sure the goat kids are nice to him. That white and brown one knocked him ass over ham hocks last night and he had to sleep with me to avoid bullying.”
Decker gaped at me. “You slept with a pig?”
“I’ve slept with far worse,” I tossed out then, using my phone as a flashlight, stepped out into the incredibly brisk and dark morning.
©Copyright V.L. Locey 2022