7. Stetson
SEVEN
STETSON
March 23rd, 2024
It has been a week since the flowers magically appeared in my kitchen, and I still have not seen or heard anything from my mystery admirer. It’s hard to accept, being both relieved and disappointed by that fact, and I wouldn’t admit it to anyone, even if there was a gun pointed at my head. Being turned on by fear and imminent violence seems like the kind of secret you keep to yourself.
Yes, I have acted on my desires—always anonymously or with one-night stands. I don’t have many people in my life who know me on a personal level, anyway, but those who do, I don’t want them knowing this part about me. I don’t want to tarnish their view of me; I already have enough people who have left my life because I wasn’t good enough.
I wouldn’t have even known this is what I truly like if it hadn’t been for my “monster”, and just as he promised, I can’t escape my need for him and the feelings he tore from me. He awakened the beast inside of me, let it out into the light for the first time and showed me that there are those who relish in the darkness too. It was freeing and beautiful, and oh so tragic, in a way that it scarred my heart and mind permanently. And lately, it’s been harder and harder to leash the beast inside of myself. I don’t even know that I want to.
But I know I have to. Because even if I need release, I need people to love me more. I need Dale to love me; she’s the only real person in my life and I won’t lose her because I can’t control my urges.
I refuse to let my inner demons rule my decisions or my body. Even if it feels like I’m only living a shell of the life I should be. Even if it feels like I am not fully myself. It’s worth it, if it means I have someone to share the half life with.
“Hey, you about ready? It’s already hotter than Satan’s ball sack out here!” Dale bellows from the entryway of the house. I huff, aware of how miserably hot it is going to be outside.
Today, we are bringing in and vaccinating a group of heifers, the young girl cows that have yet to get pregnant or give birth, in hopes that I can keep them for next year. I don’t know anything about what genetics to keep in the herd, or which to get rid of, but these heifers are all black with white faces, and I think they are cute.
What else is there really to consider?
“Yes, just trying to find clean underwear.” I stomp back toward my room, not caring if Dale can see my naked ass from downstairs. I got as far as putting on a white long-sleeve button-down before I realized I have no clean underwear; no underwear, if my search in the laundry room, dresser drawers, closet floor, and bathroom hamper are any indicator.
Which is weird— really weird .
I’m not the kind of girl to go around commando unless it is part of a predetermined fantasy. And I’m not doing that stuff anymore. So, why can’t I find a single fucking pair?
“Hurry up!” Dale whines.
Grumbling, I yank on a pair of dark wash Wranglers and tuck in my shirt. Apparently, I am going to be that kind of girl today, much against my own will. There is nothing sexy about sweating and riding a horse, getting sand in every crack and crevice, and rubbing your pussy raw. But I see no other choice. I will be paying for it later.
“Ugh,” I groan, pinching my eyes closed. I’m going to chafe like a motherfucker—just thinking about the raw, damaged mess that will be my pussy tonight makes me want to sell the ranch and torch the house.
Not fucking worth it!
Stomping toward my dresser, I peek in the mirror. My face, already tanned and leathered from weeks spent in the sun, is covered in a dusting of light freckles that pop up on the bridge of my nose and cheeks. My blonde hair is down and wavy, frizzing in the humidity, and I decide to pull it back into a quick braid. To finish off the look, I plunk an old, stained straw cowboy hat onto the top of my head.
I don’t particularly care what I look like; I’m going to be getting nasty working cows, after all. But Nathan called last night and asked if he could come help me today. I know Dale most likely pushed him into it, but I can’t complain about the help. I am desperate, even if I’m unwilling to say so out loud.
“Are you prepping for a date up there?” Dale chides as I step into the dimly lit mudroom.
I roll my eyes, grumbling about how it’s all her fault, and tug on my worn cowboy boots. The soles are starting to wear through, and I know it is only a matter of time before I have to replace them.
Great, another expense.
I take in Dale’s appearance, noting we are dressed in similar attire—a pale blue long-sleeve pearl snap, light wash jeans, and a white straw hat. Regardless of the impending furnace-like heat and unavoidable sweating, Dale’s face is covered in her signature dark eye shadow, mascara, and plum- colored lipstick. Even though I know she is dressed to work, she also looks like she belongs on the cover of a ranching magazine.
“Do you always look cute?” I head into the blistering heat without waiting for a reply.
Dale’s pleased giggle follows closely behind. “Fuck yeah, I do!”
I chuckle, knowing as much, and come face to face with a prettily dressed Nathan. His creased hundred-and-fifty dollar jeans with a tucked-in green polo and a tan cap covering most of his faded blonde hair seem to be his uniform, and I try not to look annoyed. His boyish smile falters a second, and I know I’ve failed.
I can’t help it— is he planning on working in that? I can’t fathom walking outside in the dust in jeans that expensive, much less pushing calves in an alley and getting covered in shit.
Unwilling to make it worse by sounding like an ungrateful bitch, I stride past him without a word.
My mom never told me, “If you have nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at all,” but I know the saying and practice it often. Dale awkwardly huffs behind me, but I ignore it. I have too much shit to worry about to give a fuck about Nathan’s feelings.
“Well, don’t you look nice,” Dale says to Nathan, effectively cutting through the growing tension. I peek over my shoulder at them, and the smile on his face is similar to a rodeo queen who just got crowned at the county fair. And then he bows at the waist.
Fucking bows .
I whip around. Nope, no fucking time for this shit. I want no part of it. He can fuck right off for all I care.
“Thanks, Dale! Always trying to look my best,” comes his reply, and I hear the pleased smile in his voice. My eyes are going to get stuck permanently if Nathan keeps this act up all day.
Mine and Dale’s horses are tied up and saddled, ready to put in a long day’s work as I walk into the corral. The sun is only just above the horizon—it is only seven-thirty in the morning, after all—but my shirt is already starting to stick to my back, and the crease between my ass and leg already itches.
“Did you bring a horse?” I don’t see a trailer attached to Nathan’s truck, but no one would be stupid enough to volunteer to help without bringing their horse. He does know what we are doing today, doesn’t he?
“No horse. I will hang out here until you get them gathered, then help sort and vaccinate. Not much good on a horse, never did really like them,” he states matter-of-factly. He then pulls out his phone, and props a hip against the corral railing, ready to settle in, it looks like.
I slice a menacing glare toward Dale, and she has the audacity to smile sheepishly and shrug.
“Alright.” I swing my leg over Winston’s bowed back and kick toward the golden fields. I don’t bother waiting for Dale, even though I can see her rushing to swing over her horse to keep up.
Nathan being here, helping but not really helping, feels like a waste. A waste of time, a waste of space, and a waste of my quickly dissolving kindness. I don’t need someone to come watch me work—no doubt judging my inexperience—but rather, someone who’s not afraid to get dirty and teach me what I might not know. Why is Nathan even here? What is his end game with all of this?
Winston fidgets beneath me, his ears twisting back and forth, sensing my turmoil. I lean forward, patting him on the neck reassuringly, and readjust in my seat. I have to bite down on my cheek to keep from yelping as my jeans pinch painfully at my pussy lips without the fabric of underwear between my skin and jeans to protect me.
Fuck ! Why can’t anything just work in my favor? Just once?
I inhale through my nose and out through my mouth. Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen…
Dale trots up beside me, as good in a saddle as I am, and sighs. “What is your deal? You’re acting like you’re sitting on hot coals.”
“I couldn’t find any underwear.” I unashamedly push my hand in my pants to readjust the fabric and my skin.
Dale barks a laugh. “Maybe your mystery man hid them.” She says it with a waggle of her dark eyebrows before turning forward. I pause, my heart picking up speed at the thought. Dale meant it as a joke, but now that the words are out there, I can’t shake the truth ringing in them.
Had someone taken all of my underwear?
Not wanting to freak Dale out with my revelation, I switch topics.
“So, Nathan. He’s a real catch.” There’s more venom in my voice than I originally intended, but it’s no use trying to disguise it now.
“He has a penis. And he, no doubt, keeps it very clean and tidy. Use it, and then lose it.”
I will never get used to Dale using such crass words. When had she gotten such a dirty mouth? She hadn’t always been this way. Not that I mind, but it’s something I definitely need time to get used to.
“Do you talk to your students with that mouth?”
“Oh, Stet, I say everything I want and need to now, because I have to repress so much of my thoughts and feelings teaching. It’s torture, really. These kids think I’m just an old lady who lives under her desk and has no social life,” Dale says, slumping forward in her saddle .
“Little do they know, you drink like a fish, cuss like a sailor, and talk about fucking like a pimp.”
Dale smiles wide, her eyes glittering at my observation. “You get me. You always have.”
“Do you think you could jump back here for a bit, Nathan? I’m getting beat to shit, and I don’t want to risk permanently damaging the local hero Ag teacher more than I already have today. We only have like ten left.” My voice sounds much calmer than I feel, and I mentally pat myself on the back, not for the first time today.
We have been working for hours, the sun past its peak in the sky, and Nathan has done little more than open a couple of gates, run in the house to get more vaccines, and ask me a hundred times if I have lunch planned afterward. During that time, I have flipped the chute over what feels like a hundred times to administer the vaccines, and when Dale got kicked for the fifth time, I demanded we trade.
I know without a doubt, tomorrow, my legs will be covered in dark round bruises and welts, and my arms will be so sore I won’t be able to push out of bed. This is more work than I have ever done in my life, and not for the second time today, I question if it is worth it.
I also question if Nathan will fall and break his pretty neck if I push him hard enough off the top pole of the fence.
Is it bad to say, I hope so?
“I need to run in and grab more vaccines. You only have a dosage left. You know, if you just step back a little, they wouldn’t kick you so much.” And with that, Nathan jumps off the fence and saunters toward the house, his dark jeans still perfectly creased.
How is he exactly what I expect, and yet every time he opens his mouth, I’m surprised by what comes out?
I turn toward Dale with another withering stare. It is because of her I’m in this mess, and I am seconds away from explaining that she will have to be the one to tell the cops why I killed Nathan.
She stares back at me, shrugging, and mouths, “Maybe it’s a really nice penis.”
“There isn’t a dick big enough in this world to make it worth it,” I yell over the bawling calves, hoping he hears me. Dale’s eyes widen and then she smiles— always a good sport.
I push the last couple of calves through the chute, collecting only two more bruises in the process. All things considered, they are the least of my worries. My pussy is beyond raw and aching from the sweat and sand rubbing in my jeans, and I have to keep myself from walking bow-legged toward the porch. All I want now is to take a cold shower, with an even colder beer, and climb into bed.
“Thanks for your help, Dale. I couldn’t have done it without you.” I wince, putting my foot on the bottom step of the stairs into the house. Dale is close behind me, wearing a similar shade of pain on her face. Nathan huffs, his clean and undamaged appearance becoming more frustrating by the second, but I bite down on my lip, trying to remain civil.
“And you, Nathan. Thanks for coming today.” Fuck this southern hospitality shit.
“You can thank me by giving me a cold beer and letting me use the shower first this time.” Dale’s shoving past me before I can argue.
“You know, most people buy their help lunch for helping without pay,” Nathan states, a too-forced smile on his baby face. I stop, whirling around to glare at him, my braid whipping Dale in the process. She grabs my elbow with a squeeze.
“Uh, Nathan. My girl here didn’t have any underwear today. And although that doesn’t seem like too big of a deal, you can’t imagine the chaffing that’s happening right now. I’m going to insist she goes and takes a shower, or she might just bite our heads off.” Dale’s forced chuckle does nothing to calm the spiking rage in my veins. Fuck him.
I couldn’t care less that Dale just told him about my lack of underwear or the pain I’m in. We both know it’s a crock of shit, anyway; that’s not why I’m vibrating with the need to fly off the handle.
He’s a fucking prick. A lazy, worthless, pretty boy, prick .
His mouth drops open, his eyes blowing wide. My hand twitches with the need to shove the calf shit plastered to my leg into that worthless hole.
“Oh.” He shuffles his feet uncomfortably, a pink stain climbing his neck. “I understand. Another time maybe.” Not waiting around a second longer, he turns on his heel, climbs into his freshly washed truck, and pulls out of the driveway.
We watch him go, flies buzzing around our heads, but make no move to go in or swat them away. I’m dumbfounded, and Dale seems similarly stumped.
“Huh. Maybe he doesn’t have a penis. I thought for sure he would have offered to help clean your cracks from all the dirt.” Dale’s words finally break the silence.
“I wouldn’t let him touch me with a ten-foot pole.” I scrunch my face in disgust. “He might get dirty.”
I’m sprawled out on my bedroom floor, my filthy white button-up covering an embarrassingly small amount of my body; Dale helped me peel my jeans away from my raw flesh the second we got to the top of the stairs. Exhaustion, the awkwardness that is Nathan, and naked girl camaraderie caused us to fall into a heap of giggles on the soft brown carpet.
It was a simple moment, one I imagine girls have been sharing all their lives with their friends. But it did something weird to my heart—it was like a thousand little needles pricked the charred exterior of the organ, making it feel buzzed and achy. If Dale noticed my sudden silence or the hand rubbing my chest, she didn’t comment. Instead, she left the room with a shimmy of her hips and a snarky comment about “who needs boys when you have best friends, anyway”. Which only sent me into a greater spiral.
What had it meant? Am I really her best friend?
There’s no question that she is mine, but how can I possibly be hers? She’s so widely loved, and with good reason. How can I, the broken and damaged, be the person she considers her best friend?
I close my eyes, breathing deeply through my nose in an effort to calm my racing mind. I focus on the sounds of water splashing, and the unintelligible tune Dale is humming through the bathroom door. My phone buzzes, pulling me from my trance.
I don’t bother getting up—probably couldn’t if I tried—as I read over the message.
UNKNOWN: How many?
I stare at the text, not sure who it is or what the hell they are talking about. Am I delirious from exhaustion? Am I getting punked?
ME: I think you have the wrong number.
I set the phone down, closing my eyes again, expecting that to be the end of it. Almost instantly, it buzzes.
UNKNOWN: I said, how many?
ME: How many what?
UNKNOWN: Bruises, Stetson.
I sit up, my head spinning from the speed, alarm bells blaring. I re-read the words, my heart instantly racing. Not only does this person know my name, they know how I spent the day. They know I am covered in bruises.
UNKNOWN: How many bruises do I need to give Nathan?
UNKNOWN: He should have been pushing the calves, not you. He should be covered in bruises, not you. How many bruises do I need to give him?
What do I say or do here? Is this the same person who left flowers? And if it is, who is it? What do they want from me? How do they know so much about me?
My heart is an erratic beast in my chest, my forehead instantly clammy. Rationally, I know the conversation makes no sense. But the beast inside of me is yawning awake, and mixed with my growing panic is another emotion.
Arousal.
I don’t know who it is, obviously. But the life-preserving part of me doesn’t care as I fire off a reply.
ME: They’re just bruises. Everyone gets them.
UNKNOWN: I will never let you have bruises.
UNKNOWN: Unless they are in the shape of my open palm against your ass. Unless you disobey me. So, don’t make me ask again. How many, Stetson?
Fuck! My first instinct is to do as I’m told and count my fucking bruises. That twisted, black part of me craving dominance and the promise of retribution. But I stop myself, rational thought taking over again as I trace an especially large one on my thigh.
Who the fuck is this person?
ME: Who the fuck do you think you are? Who is this?
I sit, the room filled with Dale’s humming through the bathroom door, and wait. I don’t notice I’m holding my breath until my fingertips start tingling from lack of oxygen.
Different possibilities run through my mind—a previous fuck that I didn’t know liked me, my masked monster, a nerdy guy hiding behind the screen, Nathan? I scrunch my nose. Definitely not Nathan, even if he’s weirdly inserting himself in my life.
The shower clicks off, and I look back at my phone. Still no reply. Maybe I scared him off. But I can’t stop from feeling disappointed at the thought. If this is the same person who left me flowers, how do they know me? Where are they? Are they watching me now? The thought shoots equal flares of fear and desire through me.
I scramble up and look around the room for cameras. It’s improbable that there would be cameras, but I’ve seen too many stalker movies to not at least consider it. Pissed off by his lack of reply, I fire off another text.
ME: Did you take my underwear?
As the text is speeding through space, I groan. That was probably stupid. If he didn’t, and he is a stalker, he will probably go into a fit of jealous rage based on the aggressiveness of his messages. Just what I need.
The thought sends heat to my core, and I squirm, rubbing my thighs together.
I am so fucked up.
Dale pushes the bathroom door open with a flourish, and I stifle a yelp of surprise as my phone dings at the same time. I shakily place my hand over my flushing face, trying to hide my turbulent emotions from Dale’s prying eyes.
“Geez, Stet, haven’t you ever seen a naked lady before?” Dale saunters into the room and reaches for the clean shorts and t-shirt I laid out for her.
I hate that I wonder if he is watching Dale, and if he likes what he sees. I really hate that the thought makes me jealous.
This is insanity.
“Uh, sorry. Just tired and didn’t realize you were done.” I rush into the bathroom, my phone clutched to my chest. Dale looks at me, clearly confused, but I don’t even shoot her a reassuring smile. I can’t .
I slam the bathroom door shut and lean against the cool wood, my heart racing. I look down at the message.
UNKNOWN: Flowers and punishment, just the way you like it.