# Actaeon and the Calf

## A true account of my (unsuccessful) attempt to get a BJ from a calf

First, I should summarize by saying I was inspired by another zoo's description of a BJ he'd gotten from a calf, and after some trepidation on my part, I decided to try it for myself, if possible:

I went out one Friday night about midnight, wearing brown corduroy jeans, a navy turtleneck, and a black leather jacket. I looked like a biker version of Carl Sagan. :) A pair of dark brown boots and a woolen cap and I was in business. I also had thermal underwear and insulated gloves: it was barely above freezing.

It took about twenty minutes to walk there, which was plenty of time for my eyes to get used to the dark. Even so, with a new moon, I was grateful for some of the yard lights illuminating my path. I never realized how difficult it is to follow a dark gravel road with only starlight to guide you. If it had been paved, I would have been able to follow the dotted white line. But a paved road would probably have meant a larger population and closer neighbors. :/

I _did_ have a flashlight with me, but it was only to warn oncoming cars, if any (I saw only two). A dark figure walking a country road late at night in this weather would have looked awfully suspicious. :) However, everyone seemed to be in bed: the only lights I ever saw were yard lights and Christmas displays.

Anyway, when I got to the field, I waited a minute or so to see if there were any calves in the field. There weren't, and the only sounds I heard were coming from the wooden shed on the far side of the pasture. There were two gates into the field: one at the end near the house, and another at the opposite corner. I chose the latter, of course. :)

I walked slowly and carefully through the field, trying to dodge the round brown spots which liberally dotted the area. At least I assume they were brown: I wasn't going to risk it. The ground was frozen, so I made crunching sounds as I walked. Fortunately, they were quiet crunches, and I reached the shed in a couple of minutes. The only entrance to the shed was on the side facing the road, but I was a good fifty yards from it and the road went straight by the farm with no curves: I was in little danger of stray headlights revealing my presence. The yard light from the house provided scant illumination; enough to let me see where I was walking, but not enough to give me away.

I could hear the calves milling about inside the shed, and I saw in the darkness a brown nose peeking out to look at me. I approached the nose slowly and quietly, whispering to the calf that I didn't mean it any harm (which was true), and gradually felt the earth beneath my feet turn, shall we say, "soft." The entrance to the shed was almost totally mud and manure. I tried to find a way in that wasn't so slushy (these were fairly nice boots), but a solution escaped me for a long time.

Finally I found myself hugging the side of the shed, where the ground was still hard, and I worked my way to the edge of the door frame. The sill was made of poured concrete (at least that's what it felt like), and was relatively free of muck. So I put one foot on it and slowly swung my head into the shed. Some light filtered in from a neighboring yard light, but not enough to help much. I could see (or hear) several calves inside, mostly brown (there was one black & white one), huddled around a feeding trough set against the far wall. At least I presume it was a trough, because they were all facing the wall and making munching noises: that's a pretty good sign.

The calves were _not_ approaching me; in fact, the brown one that had greeted me had retreated deeper into the shed. In the dark I heard a few of them peeing every now and then, and I wished I could see that: a pair of night-vision glasses would have been a big help. I also heard the traditional "plop" of manure against manure, but since I was already stepping in tons of the stuff, that sound was less of a turn-on. :)

I worked up the courage to actually enter the shed, slowly swinging my other foot around to the concrete and twisting myself inside. Once there, I braced myself against the wall, for it was still too dark to see the interior clearly. I used the overhead beams to steady myself as I walked around, still huddling the walls, the only place with relatively solid footing. Again I heard peeing, and sorely wished I could safely shine the flashlight and pinpoint the source.

I found a section that had firmer footing, and inched my way a little deeper into the shed. I held out my hands to feel my way around, and within a few minutes I felt something soft and moist on the fingers of one hand. I looked down and saw that one of the calves was suckling my fingers. :)

The zoo who told me about it was quite right: the sensation is one of power and strength, but also gentleness: the pressure was firm but not uncomfortable. I did feel his teeth against the base of my fingers, but since there were no teeth in the upper jaw, there was only the sense that they were there, not that they were "biting." The tongue and the roof of the mouth were what I felt most, and even as he was licking, I was working my fly open with the other hand. My heart was beating, and not just from the exhilaration of fence-hopping.

I got my penis within an inch or two of his mouth, but at that moment he released my hand and started wandering away. Damn! :(

Not all the cows were against the feed trough, and as I was crouching around trying to find that calf again, I bumped into another one. It moved away, startling the others a little. I suddenly realized I could get knocked over into the manure with virtually no warning, so I retreated to the wall.

I kept sidling around the shed, looking for that calf, and holding out my hand to any calf that would sniff at it, but I only found that one calf one more time, and it only took a token nibble at my fingers before wandering off again.

By this time, the calves were growing tired of my presence, and were starting to head out into the field. I followed slowly and quietly, but none of them would approach me; they all moved away as I got close to them. :/

So, after slowly chasing calves around the field for ten minutes or so, I gave up and walked home, not as stiff-legged as I'd hoped. But at least I tried, and I can now imagine a little better what that huge soft mouth would have felt like. :)

visits since 8/9/97

Experiences -- Updated Saturday, March 15, 1997 -- E-mail Actaeon