After Ron's third week at the Farm, he's lost weight and his health is excellent. She changes him on the floor while he keeps sleeping. He is not interested in sex any more, does not wake her up to at night except to nurse, which he does less frequently and in smaller amounts. She must be with him constantly.
In the business office, the legal team is analyzing reports of Senator Broward's disappearance in equatorial Africa. Soon they will put into play the will and codicil he signed that will transfer much of his wealth to a numbered corporation operated by the Farm. His wife will be puzzled by this, but still very well off. She will never learn what happened to her late husband, or where he was going to get his hair, face, and body worked on. It's one of life's little mysteries.
Ron is moved this week to a special nursery, where there are lots of other guys. He has fun playing with them, and everything is peaceful. They attend daily lectures together, sometimes as many as ten are in the comfy room with small chairs and cushions on the floor. The nice Mommies talk to them about the role women should have in society. This will help them in their future political careers.
Ron still enjoys kissing Marilee, although he doesn't do tongue kisses now. He loves kissing his Mommy, there's nothing like the lips of a little cow, the taste of her mouth, the aroma of their full, moist bodies. The Mommies all have soft lips that in speaking and kissing sweetly mirror the ripeness between their thighs. Mommies are shaped this way for a reason, they are shaped for fucking and sucking. They are shaped that way to intoxicate the brain. The boys love to watch the Mommies move and listen to them talk, they share such mysterious secrets.
As time goes on, young Ron needs a nap after every lecture. He's interested only in nursing and cuddling with Marilee, or any Mommy who's around. He is happy, and he's getting smarter about who women really are.
Six of the Mommy cows Ron had sex with are now pregnant. What red-blooded girl can pass up such a set of alpha-male genes? Soon his regression will be complete. When he is taken off Marilee's special breast milk, he will start growing up again. His sons will be born next year, and they will play together.
The growing boys are still interested in politics, and big business, but they are learning a way of bringing everyone's needs into the solution to a problem. They don't like backroom deals and pork-barrel politics so much, and will become quite effective leaders in the way they do that.
Impatient with herself, Constance Melanie Broward drives yet again past the green lawns and white fences that mark one of the largest, most modern farms in the state. Too jittery to turn in at the long gravel drive, Mrs. Broward, Connie to her friends, surveys the grassy front lawn before the business office. There, tall and well-muscled young men toss a football, running fast and laughing in their low voices. Their shirts are off, they are handsome and masculine. But these young men are not why she's here.
Disgusted with her cowardice, Constance floors it and drives her expensive roadster on down the road. It has taken her months to find this place, and she won't back out now. But she must make the perfect approach. Even with that, she knows she might easily be turned away.
Seven months ago her powerful husband, state Senator Ronald Broward, began coming here secretly for weekly visits, unknown to her. Later he was gone an entire month before vanishing altogether, supposedly on a political trip to northern Africa. Over the preceding weeks, Connie's husband had become younger, more handsome, more virile. Their sex life was as though he was twenty, but try as she might, Connie could not get him to divulge where he was having work done.
It was only through thousands of dollars spent on a private investigator that her husband's trail brought Connie here. And here that trail stops cold. It is up to her, with her new fake ID and a tip from one of Ron's senator friends, to find out more.
When Connie finally heads up the gravel drive and steps from her expensive car, she is a jittery mess. At age 52, she bears shadows of aging. Her once-proud breasts sag, but her hips are good and her face, though lined, is vibrant with life. In her chic Parisian pantsuit, she steps firmly toward the main entrance.
A woman exiting the doorway stops in surprise. She smiles warmly, blocking the path. "Hello, ma'am. I'm Arlene. How may I help you?" Arlene's eyes scan for anyone with the visitor, but see only the low-slung sports car.
"Good morning," Connie Broward says politely. "Excuse me for coming without an appointment. I do have a code."
Comprehension lights Arlene's eyes. "Ah. Will you follow me please? I'll get one of the nurses to see you."
As Arlene turns away, Connie takes in the woman's supple figure, her large, high breasts. Surely she's no younger than I, but so much tighter in the butt. What's her secret? Connie catches a glimpse of distant fields where small forms graze a bucolic hillside beyond tidy red barns.
Arlene leads through a business office where workers sit at desks. Some look up with friendly smiles. At a closed door, Arlene knocks and sticks her head in.
"We have a nice lady visitor. She has a code. I thought she could see you, if you're available."
The woman in her official white smock comes around her desk with a smile to shake Connie's hand.
"Thank you, Arlene. Hello, Miss, I am Nurse Reardon. Please sit."
Seated across the desk from the imposing nurse, Connie has time to take in the diplomas on the wall, and notices the nurse's generous breasts. Her face is quite lovely, for someone not much younger than Connie herself.
"Arlene says you have a code," Nurse Reardon says warily. She tries to hide her confusion. The customers who arrive here to say those words are always men. Up to now.
"I have a friend," Connie says quietly, "Senator Ronald Broward."
Understanding lights the nurse's eyes. "Ah. Then he's given you a code?"
Connie nods confidently.
The nurse thumbs through file folders in her desk. With a smile she says, "I'm sorry, I do not have a referral for you, miss. Can you give me the code please?" Nurse Reardon's eye flickers to the security call button on the edge of her desk. This is most unusual.
"NV 7358," Connie replies, hoping an easy smile masks her terror of being found out.
Nurse Reardon refers to a file on her computer. That is a valid code, but there is no referral. And this is a female! The visitor is casually dressed in a pantsuit that has to be from Paris, hair and jewelry done to perfection. This woman is certainly no reporter from National Enquirer, or any number of similar curious lowlifes who sometimes seek them out. But why is she here?
"Of course, Senator Broward did request we issue that invitation, but left no name for us. A pleasure to meet you, Connie. May I see your identification?"
Trying to hold her fingers steady, Connie passes over the fake ID, in the name of Constance Sheperd. It had cost her six thousand dollars and it damn well better work! She cannot be known here as the Senator's wife.
After a few swift validations on her computer, Nurse Reardon looks up with a relieved smile. "It all checks out, Miss Shepard. I must admit though, you are the first woman who has joined our program, and it leaves me at a bit of a loss. Will you please tell me what you are seeking?"
