Teaser Rams

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I’m spreading super on the forty acre,
The dust and the phosphate blowing ahead,
When up comes Joe in the old bone-shaker.
‘I’ll take her over from here,’ he said.

‘The Old Man’s ordered me up to spell you.
Trust me to land this lousy job;
It’s a soft cop for you, though: he said to tell you
You’re to get them teasers down to the mob.’

Up to the ram paddock, shifting them over,
The poor bloody teasers into the ewes.
Their job tonight—and they’ll think they’re in clover—
Will be stirring them up so they won’t refuse.

Day after that they’ll be ready and willing;
With whole rams to serve them they just can’t wait.
So I drives in the teasers churning and milling,
Saying, ‘Go for your lives, boys!’ and shuts the gate.

Then it’s up to the house where the young missus greets me.
I say, ‘Where’s the Boss?’ She says, ‘Gone off to town,
Buying more ewes, though why he should beats me,
But you won’t see him, Johnny, till after sundown.

‘Why don’t you come in? Could you do with a cuppa?
You’ve been half the day on that foul phosphate job,
And I’ve just made a fresh batch of scones for his supper;
The kettle’s just boiled and the pot’s on the hob.’

She laughs as she puts some more wood on the fire:
‘It’s just as you like it, sweet, hot and strong!’
But I notice she’s taut as an over-strained wire,
And the tone of her voice is like something’s gone wrong.

So I asks, ‘What’s up, missus, you sounds a bit funny?’
And she laughs once again, though it sounds like a sob.
‘O, I can’t stand no more—God, I’m needing you, Johnny!’
And she comes up real close and then, so help me Bob,

She’s into my arms and she’s laughing and shaking
And crying and hugging as hard as she can;
And she says, ‘Sorry, Johnny! I’ve come close to breaking,
But I can’t make a go of it with the Old Man.

‘He’s a good man, Johnny; he’s honest and kind too;
I’ve tried hard, so help me, done every damn thing;
But I can’t bring it off, even when I’ve a mind to,
And he does it all right, but it don’t mean a thing.

‘It’s not he’s too quick, it’s not that he’s aging;
I’ve helped all I can, but it won’t do the trick.
He was at me all night—O Johnny, I’m raging,
Do me over, Johnny, get it into me quick!’

So I pushes her back on the bare kitchen table,
With her legs hanging down and her tuft at a tilt;
And I pulls out John Thomas as quick as I’m able
And shoves him right into her up to the hilt.

There’s a gasp and a cry and she’s coming already,
But she soon quietens down, though she writhes and she moans;
Then she flings her legs round my back, just as I’m ready
And I feels all the marrow drain out of my bones.

Then she gives a great shriek as we both come together,
And she clutches me down and I know she can’t stop:
Great shuddering climaxes one on the other
Till it ends with me lying there stupid on top.

I’m feeling John Thomas get slacker and limper
And I thinks, ‘The poor bitch, how she needed that ride!’
And I stirs but she breathes, half a sigh, half a whimper:
‘Don’t go away, Johnny! Leave him inside!’

So we lays there awhile and she says, ‘Thank you, Johnny.
Undo me! This dress opens up down the front.’
And she’s naked as Chloe and sure she’s a honey
And I feels old J. T. stiffen up in her cunt.

‘O how marvellous, Johnny, I feel him recover.
I’ve not known, I swear it, such pleasure before.
Please, Johnny, please do me over and over!
Do it again but this time on the floor.

‘And take off your things; I must have you completely,’
So we’re down on the rug now, skin against skin,
Each fitting the other so snugly and neatly.
Then she opens her legs and I’m up and I’m in.

Back in the shafts now, he’s steady and willing;
‘O keep going, Johnny; you make it come right!’
So the hours pass unnoticed. Then shadows come stealing,
And I comes to myself thinking, ‘Soon she’ll be night.’

Then she kisses me hard, saying, ‘Better be going!
I hear the dogs bark, so he’s opening the gate.
And when we shall meet again, love, there’s no knowing,
But each needs the other so wait, Johnny, wait!’

So I weaves me way back, half in shock, half in wonder,
And Joe’s got the tucker up, poured out the rum.
I asks myself, ‘Did I do right? Did I blunder?
Was I hit on me head or just land on me bum?’

Joe hands me a mug, but I’m not set for drinking;
I should feel real mean, but I don’t give a damn,
Just lays there all night with the smell of her, thinking
Of that poor bloody girl with her old teaser ram.

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