My house is on the market. One of the pictures we’re using for the listing is one that we took right when we moved here.
That picture shows sheep in what is now the horse field.
I guess I had blanked it from my memory, but that picture brings it all back.
Yes. When I first moved to this farm, there were sheep here. They were here for three months as part of the agreement.
For three months…
…I lived with sheep.
There. I said it.
Now it all comes rushing back.
I don’t think I can go on.
From Handel’s “The Messiah”:
All we like sheep!
It was kind of nice seeing them back there at first.
They were small and cute and cuddly looking. They all had huge, gorgeous eyes, and soft velvety skin.
The sounds they made were so calming.
All that wool covering them left them smelly and dirty, though. Like some kind of farm animal.
When I came home one day it was to find that they had been shorn.
Everything changed.
I beheld…
naked sheep.
Can you make a “ewe” turn, or do you just make her blink?
Though we had settled on the farm and were cohabiting, my wife and I were not yet married.
I would sleep on this wooden futon with a lumpy mattress.
My fiancee who was pure and radiant then as she is now slept in the master bedroom.
Living in such close quarters was a constant temptation. She would come down from her bath dressed only in a lace covered evening gown. The heat and the steam of the bath would still be on her, and her skin would be flushed.
As I would comb her hair I would feel the moist heat radiating off her body. A body that was so close. A divine body that rested ready and awaiting me beneath the sheerest of fabrics.
Even now, I can picture the curve of her thigh, the gentle hint of the swell of her breasts.
And then she would go upstairs.
Our behavior was strictly honorable. My purest one eagerly awaited our wedding as did I. I wish to make no apology or paint an inconstant picture of that woman who is now my wife.
But, I must confess that those evenings often left me tossing and turning upon the futon, as the torture of my own desires and impure thoughts raced through my brain.
Our wedding was still two months off.
I felt as if I would never make it. Surely I would burst from desire.
I was out of my head. What could I do?
http://www.montypython.net/scripts/flysheep.php
[hijack]
Tourist: Good afternoon.
Shepherd: Eh, 'tis that.
Tourist: You here on holiday?
Shepherd: Nope, I live 'ere.
Tourist: Oh, good for you. Uh…those ARE sheep aren’t they?
Shepherd: Yeh.
Tourist: Hmm, thought they were. Only, what are they doing up in the trees?
Shepherd: A fair question and one that in recent weeks ‘as been much on my mind. It’s my considered opinion that they’re nestin’.
Tourist: Nesting?
Shepherd: Aye.
Tourist: Like birds?
Shepherd: Exactly. It’s my belief that these sheep are laborin’ under the misapprehension that they’re birds. Observe their be’avior. Take for a start the sheeps’ tendency to 'op about the field on their 'ind legs. Now witness their attmpts to fly from tree to tree. Notice that they do not so much fly as…plummet.
(Baaa baaa… flap flap flap … whoosh … thud.)
Tourist: Yes, but why do they think they’re birds?
Shepherd: Another fair question. One thing is for sure, the sheep is not a creature of the air. They have enormous difficulty in the comparatively simple act of perchin’. (Baaa baaa… flap flap flap … whoosh … thud.) Trouble is, sheep are very dim. Once they get an idea in their ‘eads, there’s no shiftin’ it.
Tourist: But where did they get the idea?
Shepherd: From Harold. He’s that most dangerous of creatures, a clever sheep. ‘e’s realized that a sheep’s life consists of standin’ around for a few months and then bein’ eaten. And that’s a depressing prospect for an ambitious sheep.
Tourist: Well why don’t just remove Harold?
Shepherd: Because of the enormous commercial possibilities if 'e succeeds
[/hijack]
I want to quote Hannibal Lector, but I don’t quite remember what he said.
OH GOD NO!!! DON’T SAY IT!!! :eek:
“I got plenty o’ mutton…
and mutton’s plenty for me…”
Oh, pretty please, it’s a slow night at work and the suspense is killing me.
What happened??
The nights I would la awake on the futon. By day I would work. When I came home, the ewes would gather by the fence closest to the driveway. They would stare at me with those huge eyes and low at me enticingly.
With their wool, they had smelled, and looked like animals. Without it they seemed as exotic women, moving about on all fours in my barnyard.
Their skin might be pink, like an Irish wench, a mere 18 year old lass, or dark as a nubians.
It was impossible not to notice the play of muscles beneath the flesh. So familiar was it, and their haunches so like a women’s that it was difficult not to be fooled in the soft autumn twilight. They seemed a band of sirens calling to me.
“Bahhhhh. Bahhh.” They said.
I knew what they really meant, of course.
The worst though was yet to come.
I’d stand by the fence as they gathered, pressing against it and me, seeking to nuzzle me and pull me in with them.
I would feel their soft lips against my pants and shirt, and I’d have to fight the urge to rip off my clothes and joing them, frolic with them, become one with them as man was meant to be. How could it be wrong?
I’d run my hands over their smooth faces, lips, and flanks. What was wrong with petting ewe?
Somehow though I’d find the strength to pull myself a way. As if sensing my resolve the sheep would move reluctanctly away. And, that was the horror.
For, walking away from me, I saw that they had the exact form of a woman. The curve of the flanks, the anatomy of their nether regions left no doubt to the imagination in the se unshorn beauties.
I recalled pictures in a book shown to me by an impure acquaintance. They showed women displaying and defiling themselves in vulgar fashion for the amusement of men.
One such pose would show a woman, naked on all fours from behind, her womanhood explicitly prominent.
I tell you now, on my honor as a gentleman that had you taken a picture of one of these ewes from a similar angle, it would have been indistinguishable from those vile photos as to which was woman and which was not.
This fact presented disturbing possibilities which would trouble my mind, as I skulked up to our house. There my fiancee would greet with a deep hug and a kiss, and I would be reminded of her womanhood. So similar, yet so different in its nature. Or was it?
As we ate the wonderful dinner my fiancee would always have ready for me and she asked me of my day’s events and regaled me with stories of the wedding preparation, I’d find my mind wandering back to the barnyard.
“Ewe?” I heard. My fiancee staring at me inquisitively, a mildly peeved expression on her face. I snapped back to the present.
“What? No nothing. I was just petting them.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Ummm,” I collected myself. “I didn’t hear what you said.”
“I said I’m talking to ewe. Are ewe listening?”
“Oh ho ho.” I said deeply flustered. I felt dizzy. “I thought you said something about sheep, but you said “you,” Y-O-U, not “ewe” EWE. You confused me.”
“Oh. I see.” We ate in silence for a few minutes.
That night I could not sleep. I brought forth my briefcase seeking to lose myself in the day’s labors, but after two hours I had clearly gotten nowhere.
My failings, and trepidation brought me to the cupboard, and I poured several stiff shots of whiskey. Thus fortified, I finally slept.
Every night, earlier and earlier I would seek the surcease of the cupboard and my whiskey glass.
I was in a spiral, a rider on a runaway train to what destination I knew not.
[Billy Crystal]
Yeah, true love is the greatest thing in the world, except for a nice MLT- mutton, lettuce and tomato sandwich, when the mutton is nice and lean, and the tomato is ripe. They’re so perky. I love that.
[/Billy Crystal]
[sub]Hee hee, I got to the Princess Bride quote first… ;)[/sub]
“Ewes Sluts”
“…Breath taking…I couldn’t leave my seat!”
“…Wow!”
“…Erupts with suspense, nostalgia, heated passion!”
“…If you only read 1 thread, read ‘Ewe’s Sluts!’”
This is getting good… 
I was afraid of this. I dont want to read further, but i’m helpless to stop myself! 
When’s the next installment? Will he or won’t he?
Did those jezebel sheep bewitch Scylla with their wily charms and shapely backsides? MUST KNOW!
Uh, it just occured to me after reading the above quoted post that you people are eagerly waiting to find out if Scylla has committed beastiality! You should be ashamed of yourselves! You can pretend all you like, but if someone were to walk in on you looking a pictures of Scylla satisfying his “animal lusts,” you’d be mortified! Not that you would ever go and look at one of those sites which had pictures of such things on them, but “its okay to read about it because its not porn its on SDMB.” :rolleyes:
That being said Scylla, when ya gonna finish this thing? Oh, and for future reference, next time do the sheep at the edge of a cliff, that way the ewe’ll back up!
As the days went by and I sunk deeper and deep and deeper into my self-made hell of hell of alcohol and repression, I knew I needed help.
One night, when the Ewes had been especially provocative and I was deep into my cups, a demon of lust took over me, and I slunk my wretched way from the futon, up the stairs, and into what was to be our marital chamber.
My dearest betrothed lay sleeping under a comforter of whitest down.
Framed by the hall light, I stared at her form, so like a lusty sheep reclining with unconscious and provocative blase ease beneath a tree in the lazy afternoon’s light.
I went to the bathroom, ran a hand through my hair and partook of some mouthwash to ease my breath which was clearly 80 proof.
Preceding back to the bedroom, I eased the comforter back revealing a tanned expanse of voluptuous thigh potruding salaciously from my fiancee’s evening gown.
My heart beating like a triphammer with my need, I skulked closer as my precious one slept.
I rested my hand, and then my cheek upon that silky thigh which seemed to radiate with a heat of it’s own. I perceived the merest hint of musky headiness beneath the clean purity of my betrothed’s natural scent, and it drove me insane.
Trembling with ecstacy I nuzzled her thigh moving closer to her buttock, a perfect object in and of itself. I pictured her as one of the ewes, those sirens of the barnyard, and I was filled with the urge to take her then, romp recklessly through the clover fields of desire in wanton abandon.
I rubbed her flanks provocatively while she slept on, then, know longer able to hesitate a second more, I ripped off my clothes in a fury. With equal haste I grabbed a handful of my unknowing bride’s evening gown and tore it from her body, heedless of the welt my action would leave upon her perfect skin.
She cam awake all at once and struggled while I held her. Then she saw it was me, she ceased her struggle did not relax, did not submit.
“My God, what are you doi…”
“Shhhhh…” I hushed, my voice thick with liquor and lust.
“Don’t, Oh my, I thought we agreed to wait for the weddi…”
But her words were lost on me. Savagely I seized her hips and hoisted her up on all fours like a common ewe or one of the wanton women of those vile pictures.
This my wife to be!
I was beyond control.
“I am your savage primordial Ram! You are mine to take as I will, you unshorn hussy! Nothing will stop me!” I declared as I thrust savagely forward, and my beatiful pure one cried out.
“No. Please.”
Beyond reason, all I heard was “Bahhhhh! Bahhhh!”
Scylla, nooooooo! Hissssssss!
::throwing popcorn at monitor::
A cold shower! Take a cold shower!
Groundhogs! We want GROUNDHOGS!!!
[SUB]…sorry…proceed…[/sub]