Pity the Beast by Robin McLean

Author:Robin McLean
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Feminist;Ecofiction;Western;West;American West;Montana;Rape;Revenge;Posse;Horses;Cormac McCarthy;Pynchon;Rifles;Revolvers;Mules;John Wayne;Howard Hawks;John Ford;Roy Rogers;Red State;Deplorable;Rural
Publisher: And Other Stories Publishing
Published: 2021-09-30T19:37:33+00:00

Horses were erotic for him back then, when they first married and before. He was content with life and she never was. That was always the basic problem. He’d do equine-talk when horny:

“The first horse arose here sixty million years ago, on these very plains.”

She’d nipped him like a cat.

“The Dawn Horse was born here.”

“Right here?”

He moved her hand where he wanted it. She pawed him like a bear. She didn’t know she was a horse yet.

“The Dawn Horse at dawn was the size of a modern fox.”

He had a jelly donut on his upper thigh. “The Dawn Horse arose,” he said, “same time as the First Primate, and each had five toes. The horse lost his toes one by one, ten million years later had only four, and in twenty only three.”

“Where’d they go? The toes?”

“They retreated up the leg.” He moved her hand again. “As the leg stretched out. As the grass evolved. The tall grass was farther off and required more walking.”

“Ah.”

“A longer neck to compensate for the legs.”

“Ah.”

“To reach and eat.”

“You should have been a professor or something.” She reached the donut. “Wasting your talent in this cow town.”

She mounted him like a horse.

“Don’t get sappy.”

“Not sappy. Just fact.”

She wasn’t weak at all back then. Nothing was weak in her.

“The Dawn Horse developed a firm but flexible back to suit the Dawn Primate’s round, small, fine little ass.”

“All his travel plans.”

“Yes.”

“The horse obliging him.”

“Yes.”

“And the tiny man found wide purple leaves.”

“What for?” he said. Why ask? He’d lost control of his story now.

“For saddle blankets, of course.”

“Of course,” he laughed and jelly spewed.

She licked the jelly off his chin, a lizard. “The little primate dug earthworms, cut them down into long strips. Strong material.”

“And the saddle?” he said, always giving in.

“Good question.”

“For a saddle,” he said, retaking the reins, “he slashed a scale from a spotted lizard’s wing.”

“Pretty nice saddle,” she said.

“The best.”

“The lizard let him cut his wing?” she said. “Why would he?”

This was the messy part, the bodies making a third thing together, the non-sense of sex, animal collusion.

“He’d been bitten badly before,” he gasped. “He could take it.”

“Bitten when?”

“A fight to the death with the first bird.”

“Ah!” she said and she’d laughed and fucked him and fucked him and that’s what she was doing now.

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