Farm Hand

by DX

Copyrighted, 8/2026, all rights reserved

 At the end of my road, right where it intersected with the highway, they raised a colorful, silken flag, and declared war.

 I saw it as I drove past, heading to my farm.  

 Lesbians!

 I knew someone was moving into the old stead when the seemingly ever present ‘For Sale’ sign changed over to ‘Sold’, and I only scoffed, wondering how long before the For Sale sign returned.

 It was a crappy little space of an Irish acre.  The soil was shit, the layout unworkable, and it was too small to ever make profit.  It was a sucker’s trap, a money pit.  

 Then I saw the flag.

 I saw one of them as they unloaded their rental truck.  She had short, buzz cut black hair stolen from a 1950’s poster, and a slim, curveless body.  She dressed in jeans meant for a bigger person in a style the cat threw up, and boots meant for logging in the North West.  

 She smiled and waved as I went by.

 It was a nice, friendly smile.

 I was so taken back that I made no indication of seeing her, and gave only my hard, wizened, grumpy face and perpetual dower expression as my response.

 We are a farming community; a traditional, conservative bunch, who I knew would not take too kindly to a gay rainbow flag being flown in their midsts.

 It was going to cause trouble unless someone did something about it.

 I elected myself to address the issue.

 I dropped off my feed, checked on my chickens, grabbed a dozen eggs, and drove back.  On the way down, I adjusted my expression to look pleasant, but not too pleasant, and friendly, but not too friendly.  I mean, here was this old, grey bearded grizzled guy showing up unannounced and I didn’t want to scare them to the point they wouldn’t hear what I had to say.

 As I approached the front porch she opened the screen door, her easy smile flashing.  She had expressive eyes and soft lips, and a bit of a ghost mustache, a lesbian thing, I thought.  She had one of those piercings through the nose, like a bull, and another through her tongue.  

 I guessed if she cleaned up a bit she might be pretty.

 Very pretty—wasted on a lesbian.

 “I’m Chester,”  I pointed with a turn and tilt of my head.  “my place is up the road.”

 I failed to look welcoming, but she took it in stride.  “Yeah, I saw you drive by a couple times.”  She had a pleasant alto/tenor voice.  “I’m Chase.”

 “I’d like to give you this dozen eggs,”  I presented the eggs.  “and ten thousand dollars.”

 She looked askance, but never lost her smile.  “And what do I have to do for that dozen eggs and ten thousand dollars?”

 “Listen to me for ten minutes.”  I responded.

 Her eye hinted her suspicions as she stepped back.  “Well, I guess you better come inside.”

 In the ocean of moving boxes we set up a card table and a couple chairs.  Who I thought was Chase’s wife turned out to be her step-sister, and she offered to make tea and began opening boxes and searching for the kettle.  I declined, and set down my phone and started my ten minute timer.  

 “I noticed the Canton Brother’s van was here yesterday.”  I began.  “I’m betting they told you your water is out of balance and you needed an expensive water filtration system or your health is at risk.  I’m also betting you had a home inspection for the bank loan to buy this place, and if you check that you’ll see they tested your water and it’s fine.  So that’s thirty-five hundred bucks you don’t have to spend.”

 “Four grand.”  She said, watching me write down numbers on my note pad.  “But the guy tested the water.”  She protested.  “I saw him do it.”

 I wrote four grand, then tapped on my phone.  “Yeah, their doo-hicky machine seems to run a tad high.  You and I have the same aquifer, and here’s a test from a State certified lab from my water three years ago.”  I brought up a file and showed her.  “Because of my farm animals, we test every five years.”

 I talked about tractors and farm equipment, and crop risk and how to off set those costs.  I offered to introduce her to the farmer’s association which would save her a mint.  Each one I wrote down the savings.

 In fourteen minutes, she interrupted several times, I saved her over twelve thousand dollars.  “There you are!  Free and clear.”  I tore the page out of my pad and slid it towards her.  “Money in your pocket.”

 She looked at it, then her warm eyes looked over at me.  “So you always welcome the new guy?”

 I paused, and sat back.  “No.  I don’t.”  I became grim and I sighed, trying to brush it back.  “After the wife died a few years ago, five years now, I kinda pulled back.”  I looked at her, trying to play off I was in the acceptance phase of grief when I clearly was not.  “I just watched people come down and buy this place to give farming a go, and watch them make the same mistakes, and fail, and quit, and then watch a couple months later someone else falling into the same quicksand.”  I shrugged.  “Let’s be farmers!  Farming is fun!”  I shook my head.  “It is not.  The only one making money out of this property is the realtor.  Farming difficult, and harder to do it alone.  That’s why it’s a community.  You help each other out.  Something I was not doing.”

 I grimaced, disappointed in myself, but forced myself to smile.  “When I saw your flag, I thought, now there is someone who might need a dozen eggs, and maybe a suggestion from someone who’s made every mistake in the book and then some.  You might fail.  Farming is like that.  You can do everything right and fail, but at least I was a good neighbor and tried to help.  You can tell me to piss off, or whatever.”  I looked at my phone to check the time.  “You’re only out fifteen minutes, and not twelve thousand bucks.”

 I smiled, and pushed the eggs forward.  “And you get a free dozen eggs, free range, maybe organic.  They wander around.”  I dismissed.  “They’re chickens.”

 I then helped her unload the truck and saved her another day’s rental fee. 

 Chase was single and on her own.  She was recovering from some trauma and I didn’t ask what it was.  Bad break up, I mentally decided.  Her sister was only there to help her move in.  

 I fulfilled my promise and introduced her to the farming associations, the planters, the beekeepers, the breeders, effectively giving my endorsement that she was now part of the community.

 Like many who had fallen for the romance of farming, she knew shit about it; but was open and willing to learn.  So, I showed her the ropes, and soon we became a fixture around town.  The old thuggish mentor followed by the eager, energetic, young apprentice.

 As the months passed, she earned her muscle and calloused hands.  She bought goats.  I helped her set up the electric fence and the plumbing for milking machines, and later installed the vat to make cheese.

 She came over to my farm, which I had let wane over the years, and helped be overhaul my big tractor and other equipment.  She brought life back to the land, and to me.

 The old farmer, and his farm hand.

 Over time I couldn’t help notice her ghost whiskers were gone, and I joked to myself she was prettier for it.  When I thought she was flat chested, there seemed to be a few more curves.  I tried not to stare as she helped stack hay, sweating in her tight sports bra, her small, firm breasts against her taught ribs; but stare I did.

 We didn’t talk about her past, it never came up.  Whatever break up she had was her business.  I figured she would be a prime catch, but she didn’t seem motivated to search for Ms. Right.  Farming took up a lot of time, and I guessed she just didn’t have it in her for dating.

 I figured she would find someone when she was ready.

 She flirted with me; however, a lot.

 I joked to myself thinking she had eyes for me, and once when I caught her looking at me, I struck a pose and said something trite, like, ‘Still got it’.

 “Maybe I’m just into mature guys?”  She shot back.

 I smiled, shrugging it off.

 She was a lesbian, and wasn’t into old fucks like me.

 I enjoyed the dream, but didn’t delude myself into believing it.

 It had been almost a year since she arrived, and I invited her to join my annual birthday celebration: a big burger at Rick’s Cafe washed down with a heavily spiked milk shake.

 It had been the first time since my wife died I didn’t spend my birthday celebration alone.

 As I had my after dinner drink, Chase, who didn’t drink, was at the pool table taking challengers.  Before each game she warned them, “I’m a ringer…” but they ignored that, smiling and scoffing at this woman wearing painted on jeans and cowboy boots, and a silken western shirt with too many buttons undone, until the break, and their smiles faded quickly as she cleared the table.

 From my booth I watched her slide around the table, lining up shots.  More than once she had her back to me as she leaned over the table and presented her tight ass in jeans that left nothing to the imagination.

 “Careful where you point that thing!”  I joked, but she only wriggled her butt at me.

 “Come make me!”  She laughed, tauntingly.

 After I finished my second drink, we headed home.  As she drove, I invited her to the second part of my birthday traditions, sitting around the fire pit for a few more rounds of drinking.

 She obliged.

 At the pit, I did my scoutmaster proud by getting the fire going with one match.  As it caught, I moved the lawn furniture, carefully checking for wasp nests, before I sat back on the couch, proud I had made fire.

 Chase came from the house, and handed me a scotch with a little ice.

 Very, little ice.

 I looked at the double, double drink and smiled.  “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

 “Yeah, I am.”  She announced.  “Although I don’t think it’s possible, I’m going to give it a try.”

 I sipped, not fully registering what she had said, and watched the new fire climb the split, dried logs.  “Why would you want me drunk?”

 She leaned forward in her chair, and I could see down the open space of her shirt.  

 She wore no bra.

 “I want you drunk so you will let me suck your cock,”  She said.  “for your birthday.”  She added with a sly smirk.

 It took a long time to register what she had said.  It’s not that I didn’t believe it, it’s that it was unbelievable.  

 I sipped, enjoying the burn, then looked up at her—her face bright in the flickering firelight.  

 “What?”  I managed to mumble.

 She smiled, happy to confess.  “It’s something I’ve wanted to do since the first day we met, when you came to the house to give me a dozen eggs and ten grand.”  She smiled, laughing breathlessly.  “I’ve been trying ever since.”

 Again there was a long pause as my brain refused to work.  When it finally came up with something, it was rather stupid.  “But you’re a lesbian.”


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Copyrighted 8/2026, all rights reserved.
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