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Goat Girl
by Goat Girl (goatsmate@yahoo.com)

***

My introduction to Goat Passion (g/beast, 1st)

***

Goats are passionate. I know.

I was twelve and a virgin. And you have a dirty mind if 
you think I lost my virginity at twelve. I didn't! 
Exactly.

Dad was a delegate to an international conference on 
atomic energy that summer. Mom had never been to 
Europe, though dad had many times. His company paid for 
mother's ticket, but they wouldn't pay for mine. I was 
bundled off to aunt Charlotte's for two weeks.

I'm a city girl, or I was then. Oh, not a big city 
girl. More of a semi-city girl. We lived in a middling-
sized city in the great Pacific Northwest. The most 
exposure to the country I got was a drive past farmer's 
fields or a twelve-mile trip to a small outlying town 
where it was common to see horses and goats in front 
yards. The only reason we ever went out there was to 
visit one of my parent's friends or to hit the yard 
sales. Mom was a great yard-saler, but she wasn't an 
animal person. Neither was I, really. I had a fish. 
That's the start and finish of my creature experience 
until aunt my two weeks at aunt Charlotte's.

Aunt Charlotte raised goats. She had a small flock of 
French Alpines and another smaller group of Nubians. I 
like goats. A lot. I have my own. They make cute 
babies. The babies are fun to hold. I'm sure they're 
fun to make too – from the goat's perspective. I like 
goat milk. I like goat cheese. I like goat ... Well, 
before I finish that sentence, let me tell you about my 
stay at Charlotte's.

There were the usual goodbyes. Mom hugged me and cried. 
Dad kissed my cheek and said, "Be good for your aunty."

I didn't say much of anything. I didn't know my aunt 
very well. I didn't want to be left behind. The truth 
of the matter is, I was feeling a bit abandoned. 

I watched them leave, staring after dad's car until I 
saw only the flash of tail lights in the dust the car 
stirred up as it pulled out onto the gravel road that 
led to my ... prison? New life, maybe.

Charlotte is a very nice person, but my first day was 
not fun. She tried to cheer me with chocolate cake and 
milk. I ate it, enjoying every bite. But I let her 
carry the conversation.

She reached across the table and patted my hand. 
"You'll do fine, honey. I'll keep you so busy you won't 
have time to miss them." She kept that promise, mostly. 
The first thing we did was feed the animals.

We made sure the goats had plenty of hay. She kept a 
pile of dried leaves in their pastures too. "Roughage," 
she said, as if I knew what roughage was. I did, 
actually, after I thought about it. But the idea that 
goats needed it was new. 

"Sort of, 'a leaf a day keeps the vet away'?" I 
quipped.

Aunty laughed at that. As she chuckled she scooped a 
nearly knew Alpine kid from under the manger and pushed 
it against my chest. I had no choice but to hold it. 
And I fell instantly in love with the little thing.

"What's his name, Aunt Charlotte?" I asked.

"It's a she, and she doesn't have a name yet."

"Tammy. Her name is Tammy."

"Unusual choice." Charlotte winked.

We tended the Nubians next. They're a larger breed of 
goat than French Alpines, and not as elegant looking. 
Charlotte had three Nubian bucks. She kept them 
separate from the females, putting two or three tail-
wagging does in with them. 

This was my first up-close and personal with a Buck, 
and note the capital "B." The largest of the bucks was 
as tall as I was and am. At four feet, ten inches, I 
could look him in the eye. Now, in what little goat-
porn fiction circulates on the web, the buck is usually 
mean, aggressive, practically a rapist. I suppose that 
adds spice to the story, and the idea may come from how 
goats mate. But Bucky was a friendly cuss. He nibbled 
my shirt until it was saturated with goat spit. I'd 
pull it out of his mouth, and he'd find it and nibble 
some more. Finally I just let him slobber while I 
petted him. 

Goats have very unusual eyes. My best friend say they 
have "evil eyes." They aren't at all evil. Just goatie. 
Bucky had no horns. All the males were de-horned at 
birth. He let me rub his coarse but still soft hide, 
and I decided Bucky was a fascinating if not too large 
creature. 

Your waiting for the sex, aren't you? Well, there 
wasn't any just then. Charlotte called me over to the 
water trough, and I filled it using one of the biggest 
garden hoses I've ever seen. Filling a nearly empty 
water trough is boring. I let the water run and watched 
Bucky. 

He was ignoring the does, nannies to you. Isn't 
confusing that "does" as in 'he does it" and does and 
is "doe a dear, a female dear," are spelled the same? 
I've always found it so.

He wasn't ignoring himself. Male goats do some unusual 
things. They have talents in the area of flexibility, 
and they have a pee fetish. They can extend their penis 
and reach back an lick it. Bucky did that. I was 
fascinated. He tasted his own pee, and sprayed his 
beard with it. It was a tad gross, and totally 
interesting. I watched. Watched, nothing! I frankly 
stared. 

I stared at his long, very pink, skinny "thingie." It 
was about as big around as a man's thumb and maybe 
seven or eight inches long. It flared a bit at the end. 
It was ... not what I imagined at all. I guess I 
imagined this huge fat thing. It's not like that at 
all. "Goat's ain't horses or donkeys," my best friend 
will tell you.

"He wants to smell nice for the ladies," Charlotte 
said.

"Smell nice?"

"The ladies like it, Hun. It's part of mating 
behavior."

"Oh," I said, and continued to stare, open-mouthed, I'm 
sure.

Charlotte shrugged. "That's life on the farm," she 
said. "Now, go clean up, and we'll fix dinner. Or would 
you like to eat out?" 

Eating out we did. She took us to a little place called 
the Baire Hut, and we had some homey but really 
delicious breakfast food, even if it was dinner. 

She was faithful to her promise. I thought little about 
mom and dad until we got home. I declined a movie and 
went up to my room. I knelt at the window and stared at 
nothing, wishing I had gone with them and wondering 
where they were at that minute. "Probably in New York," 
I muttered.

Jolly old Bucky was licking himself again. I watched 
that. He and another of the males decided to head-butt 
each other. I watched that. I notice now what I failed 
to see then. Guys are a lot like male goats. They have 
questionable hygiene, they would all like to lick 
themselves if they were that flexible, and they head-
butt in one fashion or another... and they think a lot 
about sex.

As their play progressed, I though less about my 
parents. I was engrossed in their mating ritual. I 
didn't know that's what I was watching, of course. I 
found out fast enough. Bucky was the largest male. 
Bucky won the ritualized contest. And Bucky got the 
girl.

Have you ever watched goats "do it"? It's not the stuff 
of goat-porn. Goats don't hump. They're not like dogs. 
Bucky herded the female. He bumped into her side, 
shoving her some. He laid his head on her rump. Decided 
things weren't just right. He shoved her aside again 
and rested his head on her back. He did a kind of 
stamping dance, and he made a sound that for all the 
world reminded me of a turkey gobble. I giggled. And 
then he was up and on her. He sprang up, was in, and 
was right off. The whole process repeated, and repeated 
and repeated. He had her ten times, at least.

I could see the slickness. I was enthralled by it. Each 
mounting was quick, but it went on and on. My stomach 
burned with an adrenalin rush. I felt embarrassed. I 
was sexually excited, and I wished Bucky was doing it 
to me.

Now if you think I plotted, at twelve, to go down and 
have sex with a male goat, you really are a pervert! Of 
course I didn't have sex with Bucky. But, let me tell 
yo what I did.

Bucky and his girl friends became my focus. I watched 
their matings, though a surreptitiously as possible. I 
mean, who wants to demonstrate to the world that 
they're made horny as heck by watching a goat lick 
himself, head butt his friends, taste girl-goat pee and 
his own pee, and stick it to the lady goats? Would you 
admit it? Okay, so I didn't either. But, I found myself 
wet and full of desire. 

I slipped my fingers into the spot that matters and 
wondered if the girly-goats liked Bucky as much as I 
did. 

I made feeding Bucky and the other males my job. On 
Tuesday of that first week, Aunt Charlotte left me 
alone while she went grocery shopping. And I was 
delighted. I didn't have a plan. I certainly didn't 
plan to have sex with Bucky. What I did was stand at 
the gate to the pen and pat him in the same fashion I 
had every day. I enjoyed rubbing his neck and he liked 
it. 

I had never been in the pen. My aunt warned me not to. 
I saw why once when she went in and one of the males 
tried to mount her. He reared up and dropped his 
forelegs over her shoulders. She just shrugged him off 
and called him a "bad boy." "They'd mate with a rock if 
they could," she said.

Okay, so I ignored what she said. I let myself in with 
Bucky. I was tired of petting through the fence. I 
wanted more contact. Now you're thinking, "ah ha! She 
did have sex with him" or "I bet the goat got her!" No. 
I told you no.

What did happen is that I petting his flank, and I 
enjoyed the soft feel. He lifted his left rear leg and 
licked himself, as he did often enough. I bent down to 
watch and impulsively touched that long, very warm, 
pink thing. He jumped a bit, and I jumped back. He eyed 
me, and for a moment I was afraid. But, he made no 
aggressive moves. In fact, he leaned into me quite 
gently, and I took that as an invitation to resume my 
petting. I did.

I was shaking with an overflow of hormones and 
adrenalin. I wanted to belong to this goat! When he 
extended his penis again and licked, I touched him 
again, more gently, more slowly, and he let me. He 
arched his back for a moment, and then stood with his 
hind legs spread and his penis extended and resting in 
my hand. I rubbed it as gently as I had stroked his 
fur. He grunted, and my hand was covered in goat-goo. 
He was still quite hard. And I continued to stroke him. 
He let me, only shifting his weight. 

I gently touched his testicles. They're really quite 
large, you know. He seemed not to like that, so I 
confined myself to his very warm penis. Goat 
temperature is much higher than human body temperature. 
It is noticeable. I know in more ways than one. Goats 
are hot.

More goo and a bit more grunting and he broke it off. 
Some people hate the smell of a rutted goat. They are 
nauseated by male scent and by the scent of goat sex. 
I'm not. I like it. I like the feel of goat-goo. I like 
the smell. And, I found out right then and there, I 
like the taste. Yes, I did. I sniffed at it, cautiously 
at first, and then fully. This is nice. I tasted it 
with the tip of my tongue. Just the tip mind you, 
nothing more. There wasn't much taste at the tip, but 
when I retracted my tongue, I got the flavor of it, and 
I licked it off my hands. I think, if I could have 
figured out how at twelve, I would have given him oral 
sex.. 

Instead I became conscious of the time, and was worried 
that my aunt would return soon. I ran off to the house, 
and took a quick shower. I was still shaking for 
excitement, and I used the shower to relax and to make 
the wet between my legs go away. And I wondered exactly 
what it would be like to be Bucky's Doe. 

Though I brought him to climax almost daily, given the 
chance, I never attempted sex with him. I never got 
past touching and licking the result off my hand. But 
Bucky entered my fantasy life. My primary sexual 
fantasy all my teen year and into adulthood was Bucky.

Is that all, your asking? Oh, heck no! I grew up, 
thankfully. I wasn't especially wild. I never did 
drugs. I was a virgin when I married. We made babies. I 
dreamed of Bucky! Along the way I acquired a girl-
friend who introduced me to lesbian sex. Now, that's 
part of a different story. I'll tell you that later, 
maybe. It's enough to tell you that with her I tasted 
girly-pee for the first time, and found out why Bucky 
liked it. I experienced a bit of bondage. I became the 
joint property of my husband and my girl friend.

Now my girl friend and I fell into a game we called 
"what would you do for me." Perhaps others play this 
too. We felt as if we invented it. We snuggle and one 
asks, "would you (fill in the blank with the outrageous 
act of your choice) for me?" You're free to say no, but 
if you say yes to any thing, your partner can require 
you to do it. So we're getting more and more wild. I'm 
blithely agreeing to almost everything. I've said no to 
robbing a bank. That seemed extreme. 

I've said yes to toe sex (hey, I like it!), to being a 
pony girl for the day (done that), to running through 
the park naked (with the mental reservation that it has 
to be at 2 am) and almost everything else she's 
suggested. Finally, she paused with deep thought. She 
was seeking the most outrageous thing she could find. 
"Well, will you have sex for a goat for me?" she 
finally asked.

All the sexual excitement I had nurtured with fantasy 
and with my two-week love affair with Bucky came back. 
I felt dizzy. I felt hot. And I said yes.

"Good," she said. "Let's find a goat."

She expected me to back out. Instead I went to the 
phone and called my cousin. She had goats. 

"Jane, it's me! Yes, Jane, we'll have to do that? 
Friday? Sure, bring the kids and we'll make a day of 
it... Uh, Jane, I want a goat... Two of them? Why? Oh, 
I see. Socialization? I didn't know goats had 
socialization issues... So how much? Oh that's nice of 
you... Two females? Oh, no. I think we want a pair. 
Male and female... You will? Okay. This afternoon. I'll 
meet you out there."

Now we own some property along the river. It's fairly 
isolated out there. There's an old barn, a small stone 
house, a few out buildings. We had no animals other 
than a stray dog we'd adopted. My husband used it to 
fish, and we had picnics and such out there.

Now, it would be home to my goats. When Jane showed up 
she only had the male. He was and is beautiful. He 
isn't any particular breed. He's got a bit of angora in 
him, I'm sure. He is fairly large, though not as big as 
Bucky was, though he probably weighs 70 lbs. I was in 
love. Call it love at first sight. 

"Where's the female?" I ask.

"I'll bring her later. He was bothering her. You watch 
out for him; he'll try to mate with anything."

I'd heard that before. And it was just what we wanted! 
So we got him off the truck. He strutted around as if 
he owned the place, and in a real sense he did take 
ownership of his new surroundings. We left him munching 
the sweet green grass, and said our thanks and goodbyes 
to Jane. Then we looked at each other and burst out 
laughing. 

"Now what do we do?" my girl friend asked. I shrugged. 

"Well, I guess we're going to get acquainted with the 
goat," I said. "Really well acquainted..."

I said earlier that I liked goat scent. But this goat 
was just nasty. He had peed on himself so much that he 
was crusty. He smelled like something died, rotted, 
came to life again, and re-died. Yes, it was that bad.

"You need a bath!" I said.

Have you ever bathed a reluctant goat? This was 
difficult, but we finally got him tied up, sudsed up 
and rinsed. He decided he liked the hair dryer. And he 
took to brushing rather well. This consumed a lot of 
time, but it was worth while. Not only did he smell a 
lot nicer, but I found he liked his nether regions 
washed. He was a tad jumpy. But we fell into it. So ... 
what next? What next indeed. I got naked.

He did nothing. Except he ate grass. My girl friend 
tried to coax him onto me. That didn't work. I patted 
my bare butt and wiggled it. That didn't work. I was 
becoming frustrated; he was content with grass; and my 
girl friend was giggling.

"Pretend you're a goat. Go Baaaaaaa," she said.

Now that was an idea. I didn't go baaaaaa, but I 
dropped to my elbows and I peed. Female pee attracts 
male goats, and girl-goats do it on their knees. He 
noticed. He sniffed. He licked where it matters. If I 
wasn't hot and horny before, that lick did it. 

He bumped my side, hard. I staggered a little to the 
side, if one can call being jostled to the side when on 
one's hands and knees staggering. He laid his head on 
my butt and he was up!

Okay big goat passion scene now: He missed. We didn't 
connect. I raised my butt, and he tried again. He made 
it in. He gave a little jumping sort of trust. I felt 
his hot cum. It's a very pleasant warm feeling. It's 
slick, very hot feeling and it's pearlescent in 
appearance. It still smells wonderful to me. Receiving 
it where it is meant to be received is better than 
getting it all over your hand, that's for sure!

My girl friend says, "That's it?"

Before I can say, "Just watch," he's up and on me 
again. I lost count, but about ten, maybe eleven times 
later, he gives me a shove aside. It's his "I'm done, 
but I'll be back" notification.

We mate at least twice a day. We have for four years 
now. If there were a way for me to have my goat's 
babies, I would do that too.

Oh, and I no longer lick it off my hands. I've learned 
to suck it from the source. That was a bit of an 
adventure. It made him nervous the first time, though 
he settled down fairly fast. Now he herds me. When he 
seems me he starts shoving me where he wants me. If I'm 
not undressed quickly enough, he head butts. He treats 
me as if I'm a doe. I am a doe. His. 

The female goat duly arrived. I'm not jealous at all. 
Besides, given a choice between us, he always picks me.

END

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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.

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