Minna

I turned to Bazza and smiled. 'Sure. If that sounds good to you, I'd love to go.'

~~~~~~~~

Bazza didn't have his truck – 'have to have a zero blood alcohol limit when I'm driving that thing' – but his car, an old Ford station wagon. The green paint was peeling, the back seat and wagon was filled with an assortment of takeaway containers, old work shirts and dog-eared paperwork, but I strapped myself in and thanked him for the impromptu tour.

He was an average tour guide, but a perfect gentleman. There wasn't a whiff of sexism or a hint of a seduction. He treated me so beautifully that I was prompted to ask if there was a woman in his life.

'No, they've got more brains than to have a relationship with me,' he said. 'The old pecker hasn't been in working condition for the past five years, and I'm too used to being a bachelor to be fit to live with a woman.'

There may well be an appropriate way to respond to a man telling you he's impotent, but I didn't know what that way was. I blushed bright red and stared out the window.

'I'm only telling you that so you don't get any silly ideas about trying anything on with me,' he added gruffly, embarrassed. 'Not that I'm saying or thinking that you would, but just in case you were starting to think along those lines, don't.'

I wanted to find a hole to crawl into. Somewhere between leaving the bar and spotting the third bull, I'd started to consider the possibility of seducing my companion. Sure, he was no Romeo, but he had a pleasant personality and had made me laugh out loud on several occasions. Jon's affairs with men had flattened my self esteem and I'd thought that perhaps sex with another man might fix that.

'I actually was thinking about that,' I admitted. 'Sorry.'

He chuckled under his breath. 'Any one of those blokes I was with would've jumped at the chance of getting into your knickers. And here I am, no fucking ability whatsoever and I've got a willing woman.'

We arrived at the Holiday Village I was staying at.

'I'm sorry,' I apologised.

'Don't be, and don't for a second think that if I could, I wouldn't. If I could, you'd be in big trouble, girlie.'

I laughed despite my humiliation. 'Well, thanks for the tour. That's my cabin just ahead, with the Subaru parked beside it. Did you want a cup of coffee before you head off?'

'I'd love one.'

We went inside and I boiled the kettle. Out of pure instinct I went to make his coffee the way Jon took his – white with two sugars – but he stopped me just in time and told me black with one would do him just fine.

As we sat down to drink, he asked me about that husband of mine.

'Jon?' I said. 'He's in Brisbane.'

'And you've run away for a while,' Bazza guessed.

'Yep.'

'Are you planning on going back?'

I nodded. 'I just needed some time away. I'm sick of being a wife and mother.'

'I'd be sick of it after two days,' Bazza agreed. 'Screaming snotty kids, a husband off fooling around... don't get me wrong, Minna, I understand why you would have run off.'

'My kids are in their teens,' I corrected.

'In which case, I definitely understand.'

I couldn't help but smile. 'I'm sorry about planning on seducing you. I didn't mean to put you in a spot.'

He snorted. 'I'm still more flattered than you'll ever realise,' he said. 'If the little bastard was even half reliable, I would've had your clothes off by now. If you don't mind me saying, you look like you have a spectacular set of tits. As it is, I'm half tempted to ask you to show me what I'm missing out on.'

'You're more than welcome to have a look,' I offered. 'Do you want to?'

'If you're offering, who am I to say 'no'?' He grinned broadly. 'Get that kit off, love, and show us those cushions. Make an old man's night.'

I was wearing a dress, so I couldn't just show him my tits. I went over to the windows and shut the curtains tight, so no one could see in, then slowly removed both my dress and my bra. I stood in front of him in just my plain white cotton knickers and wondered what he thought.

Bazza didn't immediately speak. He leant his head on his hand and stared at me, up and down, up and down.

'Your old man must have rocks in his head,' he remarked.

'Maybe I'm shit in bed,' I suggested.

Bazza snorted. 'Never met a woman who was bad in bed, Minna. I'm not really sure they exist. Now, seeing as the top's off, would you mind if I had a good old feel?'

'Be my guest,' I said, walking over.

Bazza stood up and slowly, reverently, ran his hands over my tits. His hands were rough and the knuckles stained with grease, and he'd rolled his shirt sleeves up during the tour of Rockhampton, revealing a series of black-ink tattoos. The feel of his rough hands on my breasts made my nipples stiffen, and between my legs I felt a familiar tingly sensation.

'Have you been to a doctor?' I blurted out.

'About what, love?'

'About not being able get hard.'

Bazza snorted and shook his head. 'Nah. Far too embarrassed about it to do that.'

'You probably should,' I suggested. 'Something else might be wrong with you, and that could be causing the impotence.'

'There's nothing else wrong with me. I need to get regular medicals for work. I'm fit as fiddle.' Bazza's hands ran down my body, settling on my hips. 'It's just the little fellow that I have troubles with, and all I can say is that the little traitor is lucky I need him to piss, otherwise in a moment like this, I'd be tempted to cut his useless self off.'

'Do you find me attractive?' I asked curiously.

'Bloody oath I do.' He massaged the cheeks of my arse. 'How's about we lay down in bed and I'll see what else I could possibly offer you?'

'What would be in it for you?' I asked, perplexed.

'I like the smell of pussy. Always have. Been a while since I've had my nose buried in one.'

We went to my bedroom. Bazza took off his boots, and I took off my knickers. We laid down on the bed and I dared chance a kiss. I'd never kissed a man with a beard before, nor felt a man's shaved, bald head.

Despite his impotence, Bazza seemed to quite enjoy the affection. He let me strip off his shirt and touch and kiss his torso. He didn't seem very interested in having his nipples played with, which left me floundering as Jon loves that. Nonethless, Bazza soon had me lying on my back. He nestled himself between my legs and began to kiss and nibble the area around my vulva.

Bazza very slowly worked his way inwards. At this point I was dripping wet and desperate for more. I ran my hands over his bald head and tried to pull him closer to my clit, but he made me wait.

Maybe it was because he was impotent and couldn't rely on his penis, or maybe it's because his sexual attraction was directed solely towards women, but he did an outstanding of teasing me. By the time his tongue finally connected with my swollen clit I'd been whimpering with desire, and when he started to work his magic, I realised I'd come into contact with a master of cunnilingus.

He took me to orgasm in record time. He gave me a minute or two to recover before bringing me to a second climax, and then to a third. That was when I kicked him away, desperate to stop the assault. He'd be able to bring me to climax all night if he wished, such was his talent with his tongue, but there was only so much I could bear.

Bazza didn't make any immediate move to get up and get dressed, and nor did I try and kick him out of bed. Instead, we just cuddled, him in his jeans and me still completely naked.

His tattoos fascinated me. They were something else I hadn't come across previously, and I traced my fingers around the black patterns.

'Do they hurt?' I asked. 'Tattoos. Do they hurt?'

'Depends how big the tattoo is, where it is, and how sensitive you are to pain.'

'I've always wanted to get one, just to see what it's like, but my husband hates women with tattoos.'

'From what you've said, it doesn't seem like your husband is that fond of women, period.'

I ran my fingers through Bazza's auburn-and-pepper chest hair. 'That's not entirely correct. He says he still loves me, and he still seems interested in me. That's what confuses me.'

'Does he have a foot in each camp so to speak?'

'It would appear so.'

'That's tough.'

'It's killing me,' I admitted.

My lover didn't respond. We just lay there for a while, in each other's arms, not saying a word. I could hear his heart thumping. He had a faster heartbeat than Jon's, and he was heavier and sweatier and hairier. Not horrible, not that at all, just different.

After an hour or two, he muttered something about needing to be off. We both dressed and I waved him off, knowing I'd never seen him again.

~~~~~~~

I didn't see him again, but the next day I went to Yeppoon, and when I came home I found a parcel on my doorstep. I carried it inside and unwrapped the newspaper. There, in cast concrete, were the testicles of one of Rockhampton's bull statues.

I spent my final night in Rockhampton with a smile etched on my face, wondering which bull was now a steer.

~~~~~~~

With a few days left to kill, I headed not to Brisbane but a few hours West. My mind kept playing over what had happened with Bazza. Was it cheating? Should I tell Jon? Why had I done it? And why, most importantly of all, why did I not feel guilty?

The affair and it's emotional impact on me sucked away any and all logic and common sense. I forgot to check how much petrol I had, and when the fuel light started flashing, I barely acknowledged it until the car also started beeping to let me know I was about to run out of petrol.

I pulled over onto a side road and tried to figure out where precisely I currently was. Unfortunately, neither my phone nor GPS could pick up a signal.

I started to get worried. It had been quite some time since I'd seen a town, and I had no idea where I was. I was nearly out of fuel. I could drive back the way I came from and hope I made it to a petrol station, or alternatively I could keep going and pray that I wasn't far out of town.

I looked around. I was in the midst of farmland. There were rows of crops on each side of the road, though I couldn't possibly hope to tell you what they were growing.

The alternative option to driving either forward or back would be to head to the nearest farmhouse and ask for directions. But would that be safe? In a land with strict gun control, the controls were lessened slightly for primary producers. What if I knocked on the door of some mad, crazy farmer and he shot me? What if the person whose door I knocked on was not a farmer of legal things, but a marijuana farmer, or producer of amphetamines?

I got out of the car and walked about, trying to pick up a phone signal. While I was desperately checking to see if I had internet access, I became aware of a large dog heading in my direction. I froze in panic. Fuck the farmers, I thought. I'm going to be killed by a stray dog.

Before I had a hope of reaching my car, the dog approached, it's mouth open and displaying sharp white teeth, and it's thick, bushy tail wagging furiously. It seemed friendly enough, but I was still worried.

'Hi boy,' I greeted nervously. 'How about you just move a bit and I'll get back in my car?'

The canine had no idea what I was saying. Rather than 'move a bit', it approached me and leant against my thigh.

Holy fuck it was a big animal. It was the size of a greyhound but with a much heavier build, slanted eyes and a thick leather collar. It was shaggy and had had one blue eye and one brown, and when I cautiously patted it, it licked my arm enthusiastically.

I patted it some more, until I felt confident enough to tug it's collar around to check for a tag. Sure enough, a council registration tag was attached, along with a stainless steel dog tag that listed the name and address of a farm. This was what a farm dog was? I always thought they had kelpies or border collies, not monstrosities the size of small ponies.

There was no use trying to phone the farm because I had no reception, but having realised the dog wasn't going to bite me, I walked past it and towards my car. I opened the door and said 'good-bye' to the dog, but it again misinterpreted me, and jumped inside.

I wanted to laugh at the stupidity of my situation. Here I was on a country road with no petrol and a strange dog that probably weighed more than my eighteen year old daughter. What to do? Well, what could I do, rather than try and find the farm the dog lived at, return him to his owner, and perhaps see if the farmer minded if I called RACQ so they could bring me some petrol?

I slowly started the car and crawled along the road. Less than a kilometre ahead I saw a letterbox and by some blessed, blessed stroke of luck, the address on it matched the address on the dog's collar.

The gate was open so I drove in. Up along a gravel path I went, until I reached what seemed to be the hub of the farm. On one side of the track were four cars, which I presumed belonged to employees, a small demountable type house, a huge shed, several silos, and a series of smaller sheds. A little further along and to the right stood an amazing Queenslander farmhouse.

The dog yelped excitedly and scrabbled at the door. I parked my car next to the employees' cars and got out. The canine jumped around gormlessly than let out a bark and raced towards the shed. I shut the car door and followed after it.

I was expecting to run into a crotchety, grumpy, sixty or seventy year old man, but was instead greeted with the non-too-melodic strains of a woman belting along to the lyrics of Faith No More's 'Easy'. She was somewhere around thirty, and wore boots, a flannelette shirt rolled up to the elbows and shorts, and her skin was tanned a beautiful deep honey colour. Her hair was cut short and dyed blonde up top, but the underside remained a more natural dark brown colour.

She continued to sing to herself as she detached something from the back of a tractor. I was entranced. I was used to seeing woman as pretty little dollies, assistants, helpers and mothers, but this one seemed to be quite at home in a giant shed on a none-too-small farm.

The woman heard the dog and glanced up.

'Fred, you bad boy,' she scolded, stopping what she was doing and ruffling the dog's shaggy fur. 'You've got out again.'

She hadn't noticed me, so I took the opportunity to speak and alert her to my presence.

'Sorry,' I said. 'I got a bit lost and pulled over to the side of the road. He came running up to me.'

The woman's blue eyes locked on mine. She was quite pretty, and the smile she gave me was kind and welcoming.

'I didn't see you,' she said. 'What were you saying? You're lost?'

'And low on fuel,' I added ruefully. 'I don't much mind where I end up, as long as there's a petrol station.'

'We've got more than enough on site to help you out,' she offered. 'I'm sorry about Fred. The boss's son's wife died a few weeks ago, so the son's moved back home. The dog isn't used to being here yet. He keeps running off. I think he's trying to find the dead wife.'

'I, uh, I'm sorry to hear that,' I apologised. 'I appreciate the offer of the fuel. I'm just using unleaded. Would you have that?'

'Tons of it.' The woman stood up and wiped her hands. 'Where are you heading to?'

'I don't know. I've kind of run away from home for a while,' I explained. 'I've got two days to kill before I'm due back home, so anywhere with a bed will do me just fine.'

'And where's your car now?'

'Out the front, next to everyone else's cars.'

The woman told me her name was Leah. I introduced myself, and together we went to my Subaru.

Twenty minutes later I had half a tank of fuel and instructions on how to reach the nearest town. While Leah was refuelling my car her boss had come over and curiously asked us what we were doing. He'd seem nonplussed by the whole situation, and when I'd tried to pay him for the petrol he told me not to worry about it. He said they'd be down at a local pub that night, to celebrate Leah's birthday, and I could buy her a birthday drink to save him having to do it.

I followed the directions they gave me, located a motel, and checked in for two nights. I thought it would be the last place I'd lay my head before I returned home.

I was wrong.

~~~~~~~~

I can't quite explain what captivated me about Leah. Perhaps it was because she was both young and pretty, and yet managed to work in an all-male workplace in a physically tough environment. Maybe it was because I admired her competence and friendly nature. Hell, maybe it was because after two weeks on the road I was craving the gentleness and intimacy of female company, and I wanted to talk to a woman who wouldn't judge me for running out on not only my husband, but my children.

Any woman who has procreated knows about 'those mothers'. The ones who will give you a sweet as pie face and tell you that they could never do anything as ghastly as send their children to childcare, or that they would never merely enrol their children in the local school without researching the alternatives, or that they might be a 'mean mum' but they would never, ever let a prepubescent child sample soft drink. I had no wish to go near those women, not while on my road trip, not ever, really.

I just knew Leah would be the perfect sort of woman to talk to, the kind who wouldn't out and out judge you for anything, the kind that would just laugh and throw back another drink. That doesn't explain why I dressed carefully before I met her and her colleagues in the bar, though, does it? It doesn't tell you why I meticulously shaved, moisturised and perfumed myself, and filed and buffed my nails.

Did I know she was a lesbian? I don't rightly know. Perhaps somewhere, deep down, I sensed she was, but I didn't consciously acknowledge it. It wasn't like with Jon, whereas I was genuinely flabbergasted to learn he wasn't straight, with Leah the confirmation – a comment made by one of her colleagues – didn't strike me as at all surprising or out of place.

Everything about her just struck me as natural, and beautiful and tranquil. There was no fear, no uncertainty, no worry. Long after her workmates had left, she and I stayed, drinking soft drink and talking. Her presence permeated my soul, reaching out and acknowledging a desire and longing I hadn't known that existed until that evening. We spoke about Jon and my reasons for running away, about the sales rep in Newcastle and the truck driver in Rockhampton. We spoke about anything and everyone.

The attraction to her wasn't just about a hidden, secretive longing for lesbian sex. It was a desire for intimacy and connection.

I didn't end up sleeping at the motel. She invited me back to the house on the farm that she lived in. She was the second in charge, one step behind the owner, and with that rank came accommodation.

The cottage was old, over a century in age, but it had been recently renovated and it was incredibly welcoming and cosy. Small, though. Leah told me it had once housed up to five farm workers at a time. I found that hard to believe; the place was tiny, but the builder who had renovated it had found a stack of old photos and records, and these had been framed and hung on the hallway walls.

'It was a hard life back then,' she remarked.

'Is it still a hard life now?'

Leah shrugged. 'Maybe? This is all I've ever known. I grew up on a cattle property. I left school at sixteen, after my father found out I had a girlfriend and kicked me out. I got work on a cropping farm, did a traineeship, and kind of worked my way up from there.'

'Is it hard working with men?'

'Depends on the workplace. Some places I've worked at the guys took everything to be a dick measuring contest, and they'd go out of their way to break me. They just couldn't bear to work alongside a woman, so they'd tamper with things, or adjust settings, to put me in a bad spot.'