This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “Bridge” Down in the Dirt, v196 (the 6/22 Issue) Order the paperback book:

Order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology The Final Frontier the Down in the Dirt May-August 2022 issues collection book		get the 420 page May-August 2022 Down in the Dirt 6" x 9" ISBN# perfect-bound paperback book:

Order this writing in the book the 2023 flash fiction date book (the 2023 flash fiction and art weekly paperback book)		get the 146-page prose & art weekly planner as a 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Cow Dicks

Andrew Miller

    Emma lay silent while Steven rolled off her. He lay back on the blanket, gazed at the rafters overhead. Usually, his next move would be to shuffle to the other side of the barn and pee out the window, hum a little tune, rip off a fart or two in midstream, interrupting the melody to mutter “Scuse me” loud enough for her to hear. But this afternoon he didn’t get up. By now he should be on his dirt bike heading toward the Highway 61 boat ramp on the Big Sunflower River to meet his uncle and go fishing.
    Stephen cleared his throat a couple of times. “Emma?” he said, scooting up close.
    “Yeah?”
    “Can I—”
    “What?”
    “Can I—look at you?”
    Emma stared into his soft blue eyes. Hair a dirty blond. Muscular torso, played football, but only 5' 6" and couldn’t run very fast, not good enough to be on the track team.
    “What do you mean, look at me?”
    A light crimson seeped into his cheeks. He scratched the top of his head. He kept staring at the barn rafters. The swallows had been streaking in and out of the top window since early morning.
    “You know,” he said, “down there.” His eyes focused on her belly.
    Down there, she thought. Those pictures in the biology book weren’t enough? What about those porn magazines, shaved pussies, and all that?
    She spread her legs. “Yeah, that’d be okay.”
    He snapped around as soon as she said “Yeah.” Probably afraid she’d change her mind. She found herself staring at his penis, moist, wrinkled, going soft. She felt Stephen’s breath on her upper thigh, his fingers wandering through her pubic hair. Emma lifted her head, saw the intent look on his face.
    He said, “You can look at my dick.”
    She felt his hands on her legs, trying to spread them a little more. Evidently could not quite see everything.
    “Look at your dick?” She laughed. “I’ve seen all the dicks I need to see. Man dicks, boy dicks, baby dicks, dog dicks, horse dicks.” Emma flicked a wolf spider off the blanket. She’d even seen a crawfish dick, but Mr. Frederick, their 10^th-grade biology teacher said it wasn’t a dick per se, but a sperm transfer appendage called a pleopod.
    “How about a cow dick?” Stephen asked. “Ever see one of those?”
    Now he was touching her clitoris with his middle finger. This seemed to please Mr. Penis. He started to wake up. Hope Stephen’s uncle wasn’t anxious to cast off.
    “Jesus, Stephen. Cows don’t have dicks. Bulls have dicks. What’s the matter with you?”
    Emma bounced to her feet, stomped toward the window. She had to escape this conversation. She dropped her palms on the wooden sill. The warm air was heavy with cow shit and piss. She leaned far out, didn’t care if anyone saw her. Row after row of cotton—endless bursts of fluff—the distant buzz of a crop duster over Henry Ledbetter’s field behind the sweetgum, then the Mississippi River, ponderous and slow-moving, roiling, dirt brown. Scary if you were crossing in a 16-foot johnboat with a 35-horse motor.
    She’d give Judy a call. They’d go to the drive-in, grab a burger and fries, sit in the car with the AC on and eat. They’d talk about their boyfriends, what the 12^th grade would be like, plans for the weekend. Her shift at the drug store didn’t start for three hours and Judy’s advanced algebra was over at noon. Emma stooped over and pulled a sliver out of her big toe.
    She wouldn’t tell Judy what Stephen did.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...