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Animal Sex Life
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
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From _Easyriders Magazine_
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ANIMAL SEX LIFE
by Don Sharp
Cross-country bikers who travel cuntless usually discover that to
leave one nagging problem behind simply leaves a throbbing one in
front. Fotunately, America's farmlands provide an abundance of
domestic livestock tha can be exploited to reduce the swelling.
The biker who uses such means may know that he is practicing a
tradition sufficiently ancient to have been denounced by Moses.
Unfortunately, sex manuals neglect this dimension of sexual
practice. They tell how it's done in a dozen countries, of
acrobatic positions, of how to use cunt juice as a sauce for
roast squab, but tell nothing of shagging animals. The following
treatise may well be the first of its kind. Hopefully, this
pioneer work will stimulate public discussion of animal-fucking.
Perhaps someone will initiate a monthly journal devoted thereto,
complete with centerfolds, advertisements for helpful apparatus,
and a question-answer column (which the author hereof, being the
only one qualified, volunteers to write). Further, the author
hereof swears on a greasy chop manual that the lore presented
herein has been gathered from years of attendance to the dis-
course of plowboys, mule-skinners, swineherds, chicken thieves,
and others of like ilk, well qualified to instruct. Henceforth,
no biker should begin a cross-country run without taking this
copy of Easyriders along for guidance.
Given the brevity of this guide, only the rudimentary procedures
appropriate to common domestic livestock can be outlined. Exotic
foreign species such as the yak or alpaca and wildlife such as
bears and moose are excluded, as are dogs, these topics deserving
treatises to themselves.
To consider cows first. Cows are basically nervous. They're
like the prick-teasers of the 50's who would bat their eyelashes,
lean over to show their boobs, flounce their skirts to show a
beaver, and then shriek like hell if some bothered dude tweaked a
tit. Cows can be attracted by a handful of cottonseed meal, a
piece of bread (preferably whole wheat), even a bunch of grass.
They will hang around, switching their tails to show off their
cunts, then get jumpy and run off as soon as the cow-screwer gets
serious.
Therefore, to fuck a cow requires that it be immobilized, a fact
long recognized in rural architecture. As long as milk-maids did
the milking, it was done in the open, the cow being kept in place
by a bucket of eating goodies. With the development of large
dairies, men took over and the barns built to shelter milking
were cleverly contrived to assist cow-screwing.
The cow was headed into a stall, its head locked in a stanchion,
and hobbles added according to the disposition of the cow and the
agility of the cow-shagger. Posts ran up to support the roof at
the cow-ass end of the stall, these posts being connected by
horizontal 2x4s. The 2x4 presumably provided a place from which
to hang milk buckets, stools, hobbles, and so on, but was, of
course, carefully placed for cow-shagging, its height indicating
the favorite technique. If about a foot above a man's reach, the
cow-fucker leapt up, hung from the 2x4, and swung in to hook his
heels in the cow's flanks, from which position he could achieve
suitable intromission, regulating the stroke with his legs.
Were the 2x4 only slightly above head-high, the screwer clambered
over and hung by the armpits. He poked the cow in the ass with a
toe and when the cow switched her tail, he grabbed it in both
hands, placed feet athwart hamstrings, and by pulling on the tail
and heaving with the feet, could effectively achieve his purpose.
This latter method lacks the passionate violence of the former,
but suggests the method for the itinerant biker who must make do
without the niceties of dairy barns.
Having found a cow, enticed it into grabbing range, and tethered
it to a fence post, the biker goes behind, removes his boots, and
gets his inner tube out. He grasps the tail, catches one ham-
string between big toe and the next (like a shower thong), heaves
up, catches the other hamstring, and begins to ream properly.
Unfortunately, cows have two serious faults. First, they'll shit
all over you. You can't even fool them into dumping first by
gigging them with a ratchet handle. The cow waits till the
humper starts driving in to finish, then lets out about a gallon
of slurpy, green cowshit. The poor, fucking bastard will splash
it all up his shirt and get his pants full, and be grateful that
he took his boots off.
Second, a cow is an indifferent piece, somewhat like thigh-fuck-
ing a flabby, lard-loaded, ass-drooping fat woman; that is,
hopelessly loose, ill-defined, and unresponsive, like screwing a
plastic bag of warm Jello. Calves are some improvement, but
their common diarrhea-like ailment known as "scours" renders them
totally unfit. Yearlings are best, like median-age women, less
full of shit but not yet become vindictive. As a final note, the
beef breeds, Angus and Hereford, are most tractable. Of dairy
breeds, Shorthorn and Brown Swiss are preferred to Holsteins,
which are especially likely to shit, and to Jerseys, which are
just too damn nervous.
Horses are better than cows. Like some women, if you can get
close enough to talk to them, you can probably screw them. Also,
like women who must be taken to dinner or who get hot giving
head, they can be seduced by edibles, preferably raisins. Sugar
cubes are used only in kids' stories. A horse will stand still
to be fucked, but won't tolerate any messing with its tail or
feet. Hence, cow technique will not work, and a horse-fucker
must have something to stand on. Traditionally, horses were
"stump-broke"; that is, trained to back up to a stump, presumably
to aid a bareback rider to mount and dismount, but, in fact, to
assure cooperation when the plowboy wanted a piece. If biking in
a group, members can support each other in turn. Else, the horse
can be backed up to a parked scoot, provided it has cooled.
Horses don't like hot, greasy metal smells.
A horse gives a good fuck, if a frustrating one. The big ass
interferes with getting in deep, and while it's warm, firm, and
confining, the horse fucker senses a tremendous amount of unused
cunt that he simply can't reach. Guys uptight about their bore
and stroke shouldn't screw horses.
Hasty fuckers will prefer goats, the most convenient of all
animals to screw. An adult nanny stands just high enough for a
bent-kneed fuck and the tail flips up as soon as the goat feels
something poking at its snatch. A nanny gives a good fit and
puts up no objections. In fact, that's what's wrong with goats.
They just don't care. A goat can take on a whole bike club and
chew its cud the whole time. A cow gets nervous like something
wild is happening; a horse gets comfortable, like it digs what's
happening; but a goat, like a Tijuana whore paid in advance,
doesn't care whether anything is happening.
Sheep, though, are one of the choice pieces among quadrupeds, a
fact long known (and kept suppressed) by shepherds. Like the
girl next door, sheep want the fucker to be friendly, kind, and
just aggressive enough to do the job, and they give back a fair
fuck in return.
A cartoon in _Easyriders_ (January '75, page 50) illustrates a
pair of bikers screwing some sheep by a method that would work
only with an oversized Rambouilett ewe or with very short bikers.
Also, anyone who used the naive technique illustrated would spend
most of his time chasing the sheep around the pasture. To prop-
erly screw a sheep, pull your pants legs up above your boot tops,
hoist the sheep by the tail, and drop its hind feet into your
boots. With the sheep thus elevated and secured, the trousers
can be lowered and milady enjoyed.
The sheep will look over its shoulder a lot; hence, the idea that
one must kiss a sheep, a notion that has led some authorities to
urge a sheep-superior position, i.e., biker supine, sheep's
forelegs astraddle his chest, etc. The idea is just plain silly.
A sheep doesn't give a rat's ass whether you kiss it or not.
Sheep do groove on sniffing each other's asses, so a foul-
breathed sheep-fucker can blow some her way. However, it's
hardly a necessary gesture; sheep certainly don't insist on it.
Now, while a sheep is a good piece, it may, unfortunately, have
VD, either clap or syph. Indeed, some medical historians believe
VD came to people from sheep. Sheep-fuckers should avoid any
that are obviously dripping foul stuff, and should carry protec-
tion for others. Rubbers, "sold only for the prevention of
disease," are readily available, and if not, a prophylactic
buffer of grease can be applied to the moving part. Vaseline is
a virtual standard, but wheel bearing grease will do as well.
Some users report gratifying results with coarse fibre grease,
while others say a rapid stroke requires a proper high-speed
lithium-base grease with molybdenum additives, and yet others
insist on vegetable-base lubricants, since petroleum-base lubri-
cants form carbon under heat and pressure, wherefore the sheep-
fucker may withdraw his pushrod to find it coated with black,
carbonized grease that requires repeated applications of Gunk
or, worse yet, steam cleaning to remove. Given the potential
difficulties, a sheep-fucker should carry rubbers.
Though easy to screw, sheep are stupid. You can't develop a
meaningful relationship with a sheep; hence, the notorious pro-
miscuity of shepherds. The animal that demands personalized
cuddling and which returns affection with an excellent fuck is a
pig.
The pig-fucker must enter the sty casually, like cruising at a
party, as if getting laid were the last thing on his mind. He
must greet each sow and give a scratch or two. Once he has
chosen one, he must devote full attention to her. He kneels on
one side and scratches behind ears and down the snout with one
hand while the other hand scratches along the back and sides
until reaching the tail, at which point the first hand works back
and sides while the other hand goes under the tail to rim the
cunt. Thorough courtship involves finger-fucking to assure the
sow is ready.
Meanwhile, the pig-screwer must gently ease the sow into a corner
of the pen, thus to inhibit her lateral movement. Any movements
she can make will be agreeable fore-and-aft motions. Once she is
cornered and finger-fucked into readiness, the biker inserts his
rod. However, he must not slacken his caresses. If the sow
thinks she's being taken for granted, she will sit down. And if
the other sows see that, you'll never get screwed in that pigsty.
A pig will not cooperate with a fucker who thinks she's too easy.
A pig is an even better piece than a sheep, and a well-fucked sow
will grunt appreciatively. Opinions differ, though, on whether a
pig is best of all. One ancient declared wistfully, in his
impotent dotage, that "I've fucked just about everything, but I
always liked pussy best." Asked about "second best," he replied
at once: "A chicken."
The old man knew his fucking. If a pig isn't second best, a
chicken is. A hen doesn't need much petting, but she does need
to be talked to. Some authorities view this talk as like that
used on those women who will be divested of garments and shagged
in every position as long as the word "sex" is never uttered.
Others view it as the "sweet nothings" that add their own dimen-
sion to getting laid. Either way, you've got to talk to a chick-
en.
The approach begins with the chicken-fucker getting down on all
fours to establish eye contact (while avoiding inadvertent hand
contact with chicken shit), and saying "kuh-kuh-kuh." That's the
basic line, but it can be varied to "keh-keh-keh" or "kee-kee-
kee," if uttered in tones of sincere passion and devotion.
Don't, however, say "chickey-chickey-chickey," for that's how
farmers call chickens. To a chicken, it sounds like an order,
which is a turn-off.
Once a chicken comes close and begins to respond to the small
talk, a hand goes under its breast and belly and the hen is
lifted up. Once its feet lose purchase, a chicken will sit
still. However, the chicken-fucker must keep talking as he gets
his cock into place. Don't be offended by the thought that a
chicken's asshole and its cunt are functionally the same aper-
ture, of which only one is provided. The chicken isn't going to
apologize for it, and certainly, among humankind, the former has
been taken for the latter often enough and the fucker never the
wiser.
As with a porcupine, a chicken must be screwed carefully. Even
allowing for the exaggeration of bike-club boasting, your average
Rhode Island Red can't accommodate more than half the average
biker's cock, a Leghorn no more than a third. However, as anyone
who has watched an egg being laid knows, that half or third can
enjoy some extraordinary hospitality.
The old fucker quoted earlier added a note on how chicken-screw-
ing could be elevated to the sublime. "Just as you go off," said
he, "you cut its throat. That last, dying quiver..." This
refinement presents the biker with a dismaying choice. To cut
the throat of the chicken he has spoken to so intimately, the hen
he has cultivated so carefully, seems to border on murder; to
kill for mere lust seems gross beyond mention. Yet, one has not
properly fucked a chicken unless one goes all the way.
Rural tradition did not view the matter as morally reprehensible.
Usually, when the family got home from church, the farmwife sent
a twelvish son to fetch a chicken for Sunday dinner. Son fucked
the chicken before killing it, and enjoyed the dying quiver as a
concomitant to obeying his mother's orders. The biker, then, can
resolve the moral dilemma simply by taking the chicken along for
roasting over the campfire. Any further doubts can be obviated
by recalling that to spare the chicken may only mean its ultimate
delivery into the fatal custody of Colonel Sanders.
In cutting the chicken's throat, the knife should be placed
behind the neck and directed forward and down. To cut from under
and upward may result in a facefull of chicken blood that severe-
ly distracts from that exquisite dying quiver. If buddies help,
they can see to the cutting while the fucker concentrates on the
quiver.
More could be said, of course, but as most readers hereof will be
novices at animal-fucking, they should concentrate on mastering
the fundamentals outlined here before attempting creative varia-
tions. Even the elementary level of animal-fucking will provide
the cuntless biker's rigid stroker with solace superior to that
available from a grimy hand.
-------------------------end of article------------------------
-----------------comments by original poster-------------------
My three previous postings make up the full _Easyriders_ article
as published. I have no idea if there were any follow-up arti-
cles or interesting letters to the editor in later issues of the
magazine.
Much of what the article describes I know to be true, based on
testimony from guys I know. For instance, cows will indeed dump
on the guy who's "shagging" them. That's not necessarily a
problem, though -- some people like cow shit. :-) And yeah, a
guy really can hook his toes on a cow's hamstrings and stand on
her hocks. The term "stump-broke" is genuine.
There's lots of stuff the article leaves out. No mention of men
having sex with male animals, probably because of the article's
target audience. No mention of coupling with the animals while
they're lying down, which obviates the need for tethering or
other restraints. No mention of one of the things that horselov-
ers swear by -- the "winking" of a mare's vulva during inter-
course. No mention of oral sex, either.
The author states that his article is meant as a guide to "cunt-
less bikers" -- men who (at least at the moment) have no woman
lover, and who might want to satisfy their sexual desires with an
animal partner. I don't know any animal-lovers who are motivated
in this way. The guys I know do not have sex with animals be-
cause it gives them a warm hole to poke in the absence of a woman
-- they have sex with animals because they love animals and think
animals are sexy. Sex with animals is not, for them, a _substi-
tute_ for sex with another human; it's something they enjoy
regularly in addition to or instead of sex with humans.
I should also say, I don't know (nor do I know of) any animal-
lovers who have sex with chickens or any other fowl. All the
guys I know who are into animals are "four legs and a tail"-men.
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