Gather round, gather round it’s time for the show; ready yourself for a horror bimbo…

Love Line

This is a tale of a young man with a desire to create a short film, and is seeking out material to create a unique and engaging story...

It is a Saturday afternoon and Gaffer finds himself at Qillow’s Bargain Book Bin, rummaging through an unsorted pile of books that customers have recently sold to the store. The air around him is saturated with the subtle stink of musty paper, but to the young man it might as well be the smell of a lead. After all, if a book is old and hasn’t been opened for ages, surely the ideas inside it will somewhat forgotten and seem fresh!

The teen takes a quick whiff of the air and feels his attention drawn, somewhere. It’s an unusual feeling but he follows it anyway and swipes a hand over the pile to find a rather unique looking book. The cover is small, and less rigid than the usual hardbacks, but larger in length and width than a paperback. A strap wraps around the entire book to keep the contents secure, which Gaffer finds out as the book is held shut by a plain but effective seeming lock. Unable to preview the contents within, the boy’s large green eyes search the surface of the cover, before finding the price. A title.

“Diary of Sew ‘N Sow Smith, Canterlot County,” Gaffer murmurs, his eyes drinking in the delicate script of a woman’s handwriting.

Despite the oddity of finding what appears to be a personal diary in a bookstore, there is a certain draw that Gaffer feels to the book. It isn’t exactly what he is looking for, his own interests aligning more with swords, sorcery, science fiction, and similar sensational syndications, but perhaps he could break from the mold for once and do a pseudo-historical piece depending on when the diary was written? At the very least, it might end up being an interesting conversation piece.

With his mind made up, Gaffer takes the book to the front of the store where Quillow, a man olde enough to have as many creases on his face as a well-loved novel, waits for him with a smile. “Find anything interesting, Gaf?”

“You could say that.” The green eyed teen grins, placing the book on the counter. As Quillow squints and looks it over, Gaffer adds, “It looks like someone brought in a diary and sold it.”

“I see, my niece must have bought it without thinking.” the old man grumbles, looking caught between frustrated and concerned for a moment. “A woman’s diary too. I’ll need to have a word with the girl about double checking anything she buys, but I don’t quite feel right letting a young mane read a lady’s private thoughts. It just ain’t right.”

Gaffer’s heart leaps into his throat as he sees Quillow pulling the book away. Internally, a voice booms that he needs to have that book! “Let’s strike a deal,” Gaffer says, his mind as quick as ever. “If I pay for it now, you can hold the book for a week. You can even contact the person who sold it! If it’s important someone is bound to come and claim it. But, if it’s still here next Saturday, I take it home.”

Quillow waffles a little, considering the offer before nodding his head and the two shake on it, exchanging the agreed upon amount. And for the next week, Gaffer waits. And waits.

One week to the day, the green-haired young man has the diary in his possession. The book is laid out on his desk, and Gaffer explores the troublesome lock with a cautious excitement. It would be simple to cut the strap and slide the diary out, but it would be better if the book were kept in one piece, just in case anyone did come calling after it.

However, unlike in the story, Gaffer finds that the lock gives quite easily after a little prodding. Quillow hadn’t provided or mentioned a key, but perhaps the old man had unlocked it prior to handing it over? Wetting his lips in anticipation, he opens the diary and begins to read.

“As we begin our new life in Canterlot County, I must refresh where we have been for any future family members who are reading this diary. My name is Sew ‘N Sow Smith, wife to Pokey Oaks Smith, mother to Granny Smith…”

Gaffer rolls his eyes a little, skips over the genealogy and skims the rest of the introduction. Miss Smith was part of a traveling family, born before the turn of the previous century and traveling westward for most of her life. Her family was born on the road and the whole band was quite adept at gathering ‘good seed’ and selling it for a profit. By the time they hit this Canterlot County, the Smiths were regarded well enough for one of the clerks in the territory to provide them with a great swath of land to do with as they pleased.

The young man’s lips curl into a small smile as he reads about the exchange between Pokey Oaks and this clerk, a woman named Tia.

“While I am grateful to Miss Tia for providing us with such an opportunity, I do have concerns regarding my dear Pokey. He is loyal, but he is still a man, and Miss Tia has a rather tremendous bosom and a flighty personality. When my husband when to kiss her hand, Miss Tia squished the prodigious shelf of her chest into poor Pokey’s face. She attempted to play it off as surprise, but such coquettish behavior is obvious to a wife’s trained eyes. Going forward it will be necessary to keep tabs on this wanton woman so that she does not try to drive a wedge into our family.”

“I know that Pokey is an attractive man, and that events such as the ‘mishap’ involving her chest have occurred before, but our traveling lifestyle has prevented my husband from being too enticed to capitalize on his good looks. I fear that as we are now putting down roots, Pokey may be inclined to stray. However, the end of our wanderings is also a good time for me to increase the intimate encounters with my husband in order to keep Pokey on the straight path.”

"The planting goes well, although it will be some time before our efforts bear fruit. Around the homestead we have planted tomatoes, barley, corn…”

After such an amusing encounter with the clerk, Gaffer can feel his eyes glazing over as Sow ‘N Sew begins to detail the effort her family put into planting. How could anyone find this entertaining?

“I’ll just skip this part for now,” the teen says, although never intending never to read the planting section in full. Skipping several pages ahead Gaffer’s brow furrows as something catches his eye.

“Pokey has been going out into town every evening and not returning until late for several weeks now. His body smells of beer and tobacco, however his breath is clean of both when he embraces me in our bed. However I can smell another scent on him, a flowery perfume, and on his lips I can taste the kiss of another woman. I have stalked him into the town on more than one occasion, but I have never seen him be untoward with the streetwalkers, housewives and businesswomen who have approached him. It is driving me to madness to think that my dear Pokey might be shirking his role as husband, even for a little while.”

“Still, he comes home to me every night and we satisfy one another until the early hours of the morning. Perhaps it is because the homesteading life is agreeing with me, but I have had to let out the tops of all of my dresses as my bosom has greatly increased in width and girth. Perhaps I might have a mind to complain or begin watching my diet, but my darling Pokey struggles to keep his hands away from them even outside of the bedroom. While I am a far cry from Miss Tia’s tremendous bulk, if it keeps my husband on a shorter leash, I shall bear this burden with pride.”

Skipping a few entries further, Sew ‘N Sow is still talking about how her body is filling in and her attitude has changed a great deal.

“My daughter came to me today and requested I alter her dresses and sew her something that will fit her better, an act I took great delight and care in doing. Our little Granny Smith had always been a sprightly girl, so it is good to see her coming into a woman’s body. While Granny does seem to have a healthy chest developing, her waist is tight and her hips flare out in a most feminine manner. I have no doubt we will have a great many grandchildren to look forward to when she stops being such a tomboy. Though, from the way some of the boys in town look at her, perhaps that wild and willful side of her will land Granny a husband before we know it!”

“Lately, I have been unable to resist my dear Pokey. He was always handsome but with a steady diet of regular, home cooked meals, he has filled out in ways I could have only imagined. I do worry about the extra weight he has begun to carry around his middle, but the rest of his physique is becoming more defined in spite of the additional mass. I would say that he looks like he could wrestle a grown steer to the ground, had he not done just that this morning! Oh how it bellowed in protest as Pokey locked his arms around the creature’s neck and pulled it prone like a hero of old exerting mastery over nature. After he had the ornery beast pinned, his eyes found mine and I was flush with need as he seemed to see right through me. Pokey and I slipped away for several hours afterwards, like young lovers. It was thrilling. I fear that not only may I be becoming a rather indecent woman, but a large part of me is enjoying it too much to stop...”

Gaffer can feel his face heating up and a goofy smile pulling at his lips as his eyes dart from one entry to another, detailing the subtle increase in depravity between husband and wife. It was clear that if the couple weren’t doing it multiple times a day, it was at least five or six times a week.

“I wonder if Quillow knew how valid his concerns really were about Sew’s innermost thoughts,” the teen chuckles, biting his lip and, with a bit of effort, skips ahead several entries. Despite enjoying the descent into depravity, he was more eager to see the end result, or at least one several weeks or months removed. What he finds however…

“My deepest fears have come to fruition. Pokey has come clean to me today that he has had periodic trysts during our past two years in Canterlot County. And not just with Miss Tia, but many of the other women in town. I can hardly blame him, as I have also come to appreciate the beauty and unquestionable attractiveness of every woman who seems to settle in our little neck of the world. He did not ask me for forgiveness, but simply stated that he no longer desired to keep it a secret from me, that it was for the good of our union that he be upfront about his intentions. My heart broke, is still broken, but I cannot remain mad at the man. I am desperate for him as he fulfills me in ways I could never have imagined.”

“He says he does not care for the women, but I know what lies in my husband’s heart. He is a good, kind man and sees a need in them that he has the time, energy, and desire to fill and help make them whole. The answer to this problem is clear.”

“I must be even more lurid to ensure my dearest Pokey is so satisfied that his loins fail to stir when women throw themselves at him.”

Gaffer gawks as the entries continue, going into great detail about the different things Sew ‘N Sow did to keep Pokey Oaks satisfied. Nightly marathons of sex, completely with copious notes regarding what her husband did or did not like, along with a chart midway through detailing the power of his orgasms across various nights in comparison to when the sexual act took place.

Page after page after page of old-fashioned frontier smut, the dizzying scent of sex practically pouring off the diary as Gaffer shakes his head and tries not to lose himself in the text. He skips forward again, this time out of need rather than want. Any longer and he might have started trying to get himself off instead of reading.

After about fifteen pages, the diary settles back into a daily routine with only the occasional smattering of lewd content. Gaffer lets out a sigh of relief and resumes skimming. Granny gets married, grandchildren are born, and the farm expands. But towards the last third of the diary, he finds another life changing event.

“It may be sudden, but many things are in this life. Pokey Oaks Smith, my darling husband, dearest friend and lover, has passed away in his sleep.”

The entry ends there. And it is several months before the next one is written.

“These past months have been a challenge. My family believes that I am still in grief over Pokey’s passing. It is true that I am but it is not grief that keeps me up into the early hours of the morning every night. Perhaps it was because Pokey and I were so compatible, but I never realized that my desire for intimate intercourse is much higher than a normal woman, much less one of my age. I miss Pokey’s embrace, the way he would make my toes curl every night and how his iron rod would burn with a pleasant heat between my breasts. Although my fire of my husband’s love is gone and cooled, the embers still burn ever so bright inside me heart and my loins. I do not wish to stray as Pokey did, but my needs becoming troublesome. I just feel so lonely, so insatiable...”

Later entries become shorter and more focused… “Granny brought home a telephone recently and today I was able to speak to cousins on the far coast who I haven’t seen in going on sixty years. Will wonders never cease?”

“I admit I have become a little attached to this delightful device. It’s an excellent way to keep up on gossip from both near and far.”

“A magazine came for Pokey today, the sort of traditional men’s magazine. I suppose they were trying to entice him to purchase a subscription, unfortunately they are a number of years too late. I did look through it however and noted that all the women inside it couldn’t hold a candle to me, even now, much less when I was in my prime. However there was something that caught my attention; an advertisement for ‘phone sex’. How crass. Still, it does seem interesting, so I shall give them a call shortly, if only for a laugh.”

“The operator was laughable, however her supervisor was a different matter. After I had given the poor woman a dressing down on her poor attitude and acting, the supervisor asked if I could do better. On a lark I decided to give it a try. He offered me a job on the spot. I said I would think about it.”

“I declined the job, in part because they were taking an exorbitant fee and charging their customers even more for every minute of a dalliance. I am not a harlot, and to work for them would be the same as straying from the love Pokey and I shared. There is still a part of me that is curious however, and my need for sexual satisfaction grows by the week. This is perhaps a way around the issue, as it is not actual intercourse so I would still be loyal to my husband’s memory. I know a few girls down at the phone company, perhaps they could help me understand how to set up my own call business?”

“Granny picked up the phone while I was out of the house and one of my regulars called. He was rather crass with her and tried to entice her into phone sex. She was displeased and I agreed to stop using the home phone for business. Thankfully the girls at the phone company are more than happy to set me up with a personal line to my room. They admit to listening into my calls and that it is the highlight of the night shift when they are alone and can really enjoy the act without a supervisor wondering why they are touching themselves. Those little empty-headed darlings are just so cute...”

At the bottom of that page, tucked in under a paperclip, is a faded calling card. A pair of plump lips and a rather obvious set of boobs tucked into a too small dress top. Off to the side, still visible, “Sew ‘N Sow, Seamstress, Seductress and Seed Collector. 588-2662”

“Well she’s not subtle,” Gaffer snorts, tugging at his collar and biting his lower lip in thought. The card was old, older than he himself by a number of years, but something about the number brought to mind the image of falling face first into a pair of tremendous tits. But surely Sow ‘N Sow has been dead, or at least retired, for several years now. She would be a century old or older after all. And there isn’t even an area code. The number wouldn’t even dial out.

Still, Gaffer finds his finger dancing across the touch buttons while the receiver is held against his ear. His breath is short as he keys the seven digit number and when it rings, he holds his breath.

“Nobody’s going to answer,” he assures himself, working his mouth slowly. “There’s no way.”

On the fifth ring there’s a click. Then silence. As he prepares to breathe out, a drawling, soft voice whispers, “Mn, hello?”

Gaffer’s throat tightens like a vice, strangling his voice as it tries to squeak out. After a couple deep breaths, he manages a simple. “H-hi.”

“Mm, howdy,” the voice drips through the line like honey, a shuffling sound on the other side that brings to mind a big, predatory cat shifting as it lounges in the sun. Not at all fazed by the call, cool, serene, confident, supreme. “Ya’ll looking for Sew ‘N Sow?”

“I, I think so?” Gaffer tries to sound confident, and he is certainly in better shape than the initial squeaky greeting, but he can still hear his voice cracking a little. “I found a card with her name on it. She’s, not actually there, is she?”

“Oh she is here all right; in fact you have her on the line, right, now.” She punctuates the last three words by dragging them out in a slow, intentional manner. And then she giggles. “Mn, it has been a long time since any young boys have given ol’ Sew a call.”

Gaffer’s mind whirs as he struggles to process the situation in front of him. On the line is a woman claiming to be someone who’s nearly a hundred years old, her voice dripping with sexual promise. Logically, this woman is playing a role, just like any other phone sex operator would. But why go to the trouble of hiding the card in a diary that might not end up in the hands of anyone who would bother to use it?

As the teen continues to consider these questions, a small huff of frustration rings in his ear. “Come on now, it ain't polite to keep a lady waiting, boy. And I have been waiting. So very long.” The lurid moan situated on top of the word ‘very’ makes the hairs of Gaffer’s arms stand up. “So quite toying around, boy, and be polite: tell me who I have the pleasure of talking to this evening.”

“Gaffer,” the boy says before even really thinking about it. He bites his tongue for a moment, but having committed already, he barrels on ahead. “My name is Gaffer. I, I found the card in a diary belonging to Sew ‘N Sow.”

There is a momentary pause before the woman on the other side huffs and gives a gentle giggle. “Oh my, a diary of mine? Did you read it?”

There’s a hesitant note in her voice, despite sounding so eager to ask the question. Gaffer gulps and nods his head, despite the distance between them. “I did.”

“And that would be why you called, because you were interested?” Her voice is a little more confident now, words trailing slowly, sensuously through the receiver and nestling inside Gaffer’s head.

“I was, I was just curious,” Gaffer sputters, “You know, the card was there and, it just seemed strange and I wanted to know if…”

“If I would answer?” the woman offers, and Gaffer can hear the sharp, predatory smile on the other end. “Well, I have, Gaffer. I answered and I have all the time in the world for you tonight. So, now that your curiosity is sated, what is it that I can do for you? It has been so long since I had someone to talk to, I think I would be willing to go on about nearly anything you liked.”

Gaffer gulps, unsure of where to go. But the mature voice of this woman playing Sew ‘N Sow’s role seems just as capable of leading as she does following. “Do you like breasts, Gaffer? I imagine you do, being a virile young man, but let me assure you that mine are among the best you could ever imagine. Big. Heavy. Weighty. Breasts. Enough that you would struggle to manage them even if you could use both hands. These girls of mine are just too much to handle for most people; each one is two, maybe two and a half times the size of my head. What about you, Gaffer? Do you think I would be too big for you?”

Unable to speak, Gaffer finds the quiet act of breathing into the phone to be excruciatingly loud. Seconds tick by and Sew drawls out, “Do you want me to stop, Gaffer?”

It was simple, easy, and the green-haired young man shakes his head in protest. “No. No, please.”

“Good boy,” the mature voice murmurs, sending an exciting thrill down Gaffer’s spine. “I know your type, Gaffer. Long, lean, a little awkward, a little ashamed?” As Gaffer’s cheeks start to burn, Sew shushes him. “Ah, stop, you should not feel bad about it. This is a little awkward the first time you do it, so just close your eyes and listen. Listen until my voice is your entire world.”

Unable to tear himself away from the saccharine sound of her voice, Gaffer does as he is told. Eyes closed, his breathing begins to settle and Sew ‘N Sow’s soft tones begin to seem bigger, more important; overwhelming his sense of shame.

“There we go. Just relax and listen. Close your eyes and try to avoid thinking so hard. I know your type after all. So clever, so smart, so prone to overthinking and paralyzed by decisions. So just, stop, thinking.” Sew ‘N Sow punctuates each word by popping her lips. The tension starts to leave Gaffer’s body, and as he unwinds, he doesn’t give a second thought of following the next order, “Slide off your pants, Gaffer.”

He moves to do so and hears Sew’s voice hitch in excitement, as if she was in the room, watching him undress. “There we are. No need to worry about showing off for me, dear. Because unless you are hiding a log between your legs you have no hope of overcoming what I have in mind.”

There’s a small grunt, and a quiet click before Gaffer hears something weighty flop on the other end of the line. “Did you hear that? It was the sound of me unclasping my bra. Mm, these soft, huge breasts of mine are ready to go to work for you. Keep your ears open and your mind empty, and you might even get to see them.”

What comes next is a slick, sloppy sound that can only be Sew ‘N Sow’s lips parting and her mouth beginning to work over, something. What that something actually is, well, Gaffer doesn’t know. But what he does know is that the sounds of her tongue, cheeks, lips and throat are harmonizing together over the phone line to create something that must be reminiscent of a blowjob.

And Gaffer can almost feel the wet heat surrounding his aching dick as he finally relents and begins stroking it.

This drags on for a couple minutes, long enough for Gaffer to feel an orgasm building. But the sounds stop abruptly the woman on the other end of the line giggling and wiping her lips with a series of wet smacks. “Well, I think that would be a good warm up. Are you ready for the main event, Gaffer? My breasts are going to swallow your pride and joy whole.”

Fabric rustles and the teenage boy can almost smell an apple-like perfume in the air, while a warm, soft heat envelops his dick. He gasps as the sounds resume, only this time the wet popping sounds are replaced with the subtle, barely there hiss of skin on skin, punctuated by the soft, feminine grunts and whispered encouragement of Sew ‘N Sow.

“There we go, Gaffer. I told you it would not matter. You are right where you belong: buried under a mountain of soft, womanly flesh. Mm, ah.” She falls silent, focusing on breathing and working her enormous boobs against, well, whatever it was she was using as a facsimile of his dick.

A small part of Gaffer still rebels against this stupid idea. She isn’t actually here, you aren’t actually enjoying a tittyfuck from a old woman who’s probably more dusty bones than soft curves. It’s just a trick.

But logic doesn’t matter to a young man’s dick. And with the accompanying lurid soundtrack, it’s all too easy for Gaffer’s lizard brain to decide that it’s worth shooting his load.

“Ohh, I can feel it,” Sew ‘N Sow giggles as Gaffer makes a strangled, choking sound. “A little quick, but that is what I expect for a first timer. Just relax and let it all out, my dear Gaffer. Until you are completely spent.”

The two callers breathe into each other’s ears for several long seconds afterwards, and Gaffer can feel his face heating up with shame. What had he done? This was supposed to be a joke and he had gone so far with it. What would he even say after all of this?

“Thank you,” he finally mumbles, having settled on something as noncommittal as possible while still being respectful. The woman giggles.

“I told you not to be so hard on yourself, Gaffer,” Sew ‘N Sow whispers, letting Gaffer hear the smile on her lips. “If you go away feeling worse than when you called, it will be the last time we speak. And I want to hear your voice again.”

A strangled sound tightens up in Gaffer’s throat as the woman continues. “I want you to call me a lot. I want you to feel so good that you want to call me every day, or even multiple times a day. When you wake up, before you go to bed, whenever you please. Let me satisfy those needs of yours.”

“W-why?” the teen manages to croak out, only the be met with another giggle.

“Because it makes me feel good too, silly boy. I can hear the cute sounds you make and they just make my toes curl thinking about you with a satisfied, tired expression afterwards. Let me do this for you Gaffer; it really has been such a long time since anyone called me… I can even give you the discount I used to reserve for my regulars.”

Gaffer’s heart drops as he remembers that this is, in actuality, a phone sex line. But still he finds himself curious. “H-how much am I already on the hook for?”

“A dime,” Sew ‘N Sow says without hesitation as the boy feels his eyes bulge. “A dime for every call, that is what I charged my regulars. A lady needs to keep her phone bill paid after all. I hope that is within your price range.”

And so begins a rather unusual relationship. Understandably, Gaffer proceeds ahead with some hesitation, but within a week he is calling Sew ‘N Sow every evening before bed. And then often twice a day shortly after that. She is always eager to receive his calls, and his spunk. And she never, ever hung up on him. The calls only ended when he wished them too, and often with affectionate words being shared beforehand. If he weren’t paying, a pittance, for the privilege of speaking with her, Gaffer might have considered this to be an actual, romantic relationship.

If she was the real Sew ‘N Sow or not no longer mattered, because it is clear that the woman herself is real enough, and extraordinarily talented. Capable of coaxing an orgasm out of the boy almost on command, and tapping into a part of Gaffer’s primal brain that triggers phantom tactile sensations, as well as auditory and visual simulations.

A month in and the boy has a vision of a mature, red-headed woman, with breasts overwhelming her torso burned into his mind and on the insides of his eyelids. Every call seems to feel more exciting, more real, and Gaffer’s libido becomes borderline insatiable. He goes for two, three, even four rounds a night, with Sew ‘N Sow more than happy to keep him satisfied. Especially with her breasts.

Gaffer might have been a tit man before, but now he can only be described as obsessed. The girls around school who he would have watched before, they all begin to fall away in his mind. Too small, too flat, too young. On some level the green-haired young man is aware of this, but the idea of stopping his calls with Sew ‘N Sow overpower that concern.

Not to mention Gaffer is dealing with some issues of his own. It started off small, the teen noting that his morning wood seemed to be larger and more aggressively frequent and persistent. That is what started the calls to Sew ‘N Sow earlier in the day, to take it down and let the boy live a somewhat normal life. But the increase in size wasn’t just regulated to his early morning erections. Before long it becomes plainly obvious that Gaffer’s dick has begun to increase in length and girth.

When he brought it up with Sew ‘N Sow, the woman gave a delighted giggle and encouraged him to keep going. So enticed, he did just that. And then he begins to notice other changes. His arms and back begin filling in with muscle and his attitude and posture start to change. Holding himself with a new confidence, Gaffer finds himself attracting more and more attention from his peers. Those who wouldn’t have given him the time of day before for being a nerd, or a dork, are suddenly quite interested in how he is filling out.

A part of Gaffer delights in this. Another part, one that has been squashed again and again during his phone sexcapades over the past month, resists. Recalling what happened to the Smith family in Sew ‘N Sow’s diary; how they began to change over time becoming bigger, stronger, more sexually charged.

Could the same thing be happening to him now?

So it is that one night, basking in the afterglow of an intimate encounter, Gaffer holds the phone in the crook of his shoulder and asks, “Sew, do you know something about the changes my body is going through?”

There’s a pause and the woman giggles. “Oh my dear Gaffer, I thought you said you were drained dry. You should not worry about silly little things like that; it’s just part of growing up. You are a young man after all.”

“Even so, I shouldn’t be filling out this much, this fast. And nobody on either side of my family looks like I do. My mother even asked me if I was taking something and my father warned me it would lead to um, shrinkage if I did.”

For the first time, there’s a note of concern in Sew ‘N Sow’s voice as she laughs again. “O-oh? Well, maybe you should have told him that will not be a problem for you-”

“But it is a problem, Sew!” Gaffer insists, his voice hardening a little. “I read your diary. I know that something similar happened to the Smiths, including you when you started homesteading. Now the only reason I can think I started changing like this is because I’ve been calling you, and I want to know if you can confirm that’s the cause!”

There is a long pause before Sew ‘N Sow speaks again. Her voice is slow, and there’s a hint of danger underneath her words. “If it were true that your physical changes were due to our calls, would you stop them?”

Gaffer flinches, not having expected both the question and her tone. “Would I-I don’t know.”

“I see. Well, then let me make this easy for you.”

The receiver clicks, and a low, droning sound follows, indicating that the call has been dropped. As the sound continues, a pit opens up in Gaffer’s stomach as he realizes Sew had hung up on him.

His fingers fly over the touch buttons, the number second nature by this point. The line rings once and then picks up. “Sew, I’m so so-”

“The number you have dialed is no longer in service. If you believe you have received this message in error, please hang up and try again.”

Gaffer’s face tightens in confusion and he does just that. The phone comes off the hook, the number is dialed, and the message repeats. “The number you have dialed is no longer in service. If-”

Hanging up, Gaffer scrounges around for the calling card that set him on this path. With the number in front of him, he dials again, mouthing off the digits intentionally as he goes. “588-2662.”

Ringing. And, “The number you have dialed-” Gaffer hurls the phone across the room.

The next few days are a blur. Waking up each day with a monstrous hard-on. Stumbling through classes trying to situate the bulge in his pants in a way that it isn’t so obvious. Avoiding interactions as much as possible, and burning entire afternoons and evenings in pursuit of an orgasmic release that just won’t come.

Every night and every morning he tries the number, and the result is always the same: the automated message telling him the line is no longer in service. By day three Gaffer understands the only way he will get relief is from actual intercourse, or at least something close to it. All he has to do is find someone willing, and there are no shortage of interested partners.

“Gaf, hey Gaf!” a perky voice snaps Gaffer out of his daze as he turns to face a pretty girl with minty colored hair. Lemon something or other, one of Shining Armor’s girlfriend’s… girlfriends. “Gawd you’re like totally out of it, huh? Something big on your mind?”

Gaffer lets his eyes roam over the tanned girl. While cute she’s just, so very small. Slim, practically nothing to her. The only saving grace is that he would be able to manhandle her tiny body; toss her around and-

“It’s been a long week,” Gaffer grumbles, turning his eyes away from what would probably be a willing partner. She just couldn’t measure up to the specter of Sew ‘N Sow that lingers behind his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh. Uh, cool. Maybe later then,” the tanned girl says with a forced smile before retreating back to wherever she came from.

As Gaffer takes some time to look over his female classmates it dawns on him that none of them will measure up. Neither will the teachers, or the streetwalkers, or anyone else in this town. One way or another he needs Sew ‘N Sow, either the woman playing her role, or the truth that she never really existed.

It doesn’t take much work to locate ‘Canterlot County’, as the county is now home to Canterlot City, and it’s close enough to be a day trip. Finding the Smith Family Farm takes a little more doing, but eventually he gets a name for that too: Sweet Apple Acres.

The weekend finds Gaffer driving up the long, winding road to the farm. As he pulls up near the farmhouse, and older woman steps out onto the porch and the teen’s eyes widen to drink her in. Tall, mature, with big hair and even bigger curves. The woman’s breasts strain against her tied off red and black checkered top while her ass cheeks threaten to slip out of the cut off jean shorts if she steps in just the wrong way.

Sauntering over to the car with a sway in each high heeled step, the woman dons a curious, cautious smile on her overfull green-painted lips. “Well howdy youngin, I ain’t seen you around before. I hope you’re not here from some our quality jam because we’re right out.”

“No, I,” Gaffer struggles to pull his eyes out of the canyon of cleavage in front of him. His fingers twitch in anticipation, begging his mind to let them reach out and sink into the firm yet yielding orbs in front of them. But steeled through days of denial, Gaffer keeps himself focused on the goal, tearing his gaze away and up to the woman’s face. “I want to talk about Sew ‘N Sow Smith.”

The woman raises an eyebrow, but as Gaffer pulls out the diary and explains some of the story, her expression softens to one of mild frustration. “I see,” she says at last, motioning fog Gaffer to get out of the car and follow her.

“I don’t know much about my mother’s escapades in the last few years of her life, and didn’t bother to ask, but I can assure you that she has been dead for quite some time. Likely before you were even a twinkle in your father’s eye.” The woman gives a giggly snort and flashes Gaffer a smile. “Granny Smith, by the way.”

“Well, thank you Granny, but I can assure you that I spoke with your mother, quite a bit over the past month. Or, at least someone claiming to be her.” Gaffer rubs a meaty hand through his hair and sighs. “I know it doesn’t make sense but, I just, I needed to come out here and see her or, or see that she was never really, there.”

Granny nods her head as they move into the house. Gaffer has to duck to get through the entrance, and again as they head down into the basement.

“I understand, and you aren’t the first one who’s come by here saying they spoke with her. Granted it’s been a few years but, I think once you see her bedroom you’ll understand.”

Pulling a key from her pocket, Granny Smith stops in front of a door at the end of the hall. She wrestles with the lock, and the door creaks open. The light flicks on, and Gaffer feels a tight pain in his chest.

The room is filled with the scent of stale air and dust covers every surface. Even at a glance, it’s obvious that this room has been unused for a very long time. There is a plush bed in the corner and next to it, a black rotary phone that looks nearly gray from years of disuse. The poignant moment is broken by a sharp sneeze at his side and Granny huffing as she brushes a finger under her nose.

“Lands sake, I didn’t realize it had been locked up for so long. I should probably get this room cleaned and dusted at some point, now that the ache of her loss is finally subsiding.” Placing a hand on his shoulder, the older woman offers a conciliatory smile. “I don’t know who you were talking to youngster, but I hope this proves it wasn’t anybody round here.”

“Yeah, I suppose it wasn’t,” Gaffer murmurs, wetting his lips. “Do, you mind if I take a moment to collect myself? I know you don’t know me very well but…”

“Take your time, youngin’, you’ve been through quite an ordeal it sounds like. Make your peace and then you can move on with your life.” Patting his shoulder again, Granny turns gracefully on her high heels and minces up the stairs. “Just c’mon up when you’re done. We can have a nice mug of cider before you head out and you can ask me whatever you like about my mother.”

The basement door closes leaving Gaffer alone with an empty room and his thoughts. He enters the dusty bedroom and walks around, trying to get a better grasp of who Sew ‘N Sow actually was at the end of her life. There are numerous photos of her family, and even the woman herself. Redheaded, busty, and often without even the trace of a smile on her lips. The way it matches his mental image is almost scary, although the Sew in his mind always seemed eager to flash a grin, if it meant she could wring another cumshot out of him.

His travel across the room eventually leads him to the rotary phone. Aside from the obvious layer of dust, the phone itself doesn’t even have a cord, either having been disconnected or having fallen apart due to age. A small, bitter puff of laughter escapes Gaffer’s lips.

“I must be mad,” he whispers, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath of the aged air. As he exhales, he releases all the tension and fears he had about this event. He might never be able to explain it to anyone, but perhaps it’s better that way. Some encounters are just better left forgotten.

“Maybe I’ll go back and see that girl, Lemon Swirl,” he mutters to himself as he turns for the door. A dopey smile pulls at the corner of his lips. “Or maybe Granny Smith would be open t-”

A shrill ringing sound interrupts Gaffer’s thoughts, causing his feet to stick in place. The sound echoes out again and the young man turns his eyes back towards the bed. There is a momentary pause before the ring comes again, and Gaffer can see the black rotary phone kicking up dust as it rocks in place.

Ringing. Ringing. Ringing.

His eyes are locked on the old phone as he crosses the room and picks up the receiver. Slow, uncertain motions bring it up to his right ear. He can only breathe and strain to listen to the silence on the other side.

“You found me, Gaffer,” a familiar voice says at last, purring in contentment while a chill runs through Gaffer’s body. Rather than going from his neck to his toes however, it seems to center and linger around his rock hard dick. He hears the door slam and lock into place behind him.

And then, in his left ear, another whisper, “And I will never let you go astray…”

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Pub: 21 Nov 2023 03:46 UTC
Views: 2369