Zombie apocalypse fiction – Ruth’s story #93 End of first day on the farm SHTF & TEOTWAWKI

We police our trash after lunch. The lads return to felling and cutting trees. Shack kisses me lightly on the lips his hands on my ass, then returns to work with a sly grin that I love so much. Most of the lads are fulfilling some of the colonel’s tasking before any official work plan is promulgated.

Used to obeying orders, the lads are nonetheless able to think for themselves. The convoy members, most of whom are previous military, also know that it is far better to look busy rather than sit around doing nothing. Sitting around giving the appearance of having nothing to do is a sure way to get assigned a shit detail. Some things in the Army no matter the nationality never change.

Most of the lads have a fair grasp upon what our needs are on the farm. They are able to see what needs to be done without having to tell them. These quality personnel are the kind that you want to surround yourself with during a zombie apocalypse. Self-motivated workers that do not need to be led by the hand are the kind of folks who survive.

I stand guard over them for a while longer enjoying the display of male prowess. But I get bored after a while. After a moment’s deliberation, I decide that I need to check on the radio tent. Catching Shack during a water break, I kiss him lightly and make my goodbyes. I start walking towards the radio tent.

It has started to rain lightly, mixed with fine hail. I wish that I was wearing a hoodie underneath my O.D.  green field jacket. Good quality heavy and warm clothes are at a premium and demand top trade. Cheap imported cotton clothes have not held together and fall apart far too quickly.

Our harsh lifestyle and the rough treatment our clothes must survive dictate only the best survives. Even to survive the harsh lye soap, clothes have to be hardy. Cotton should not be your first choice for the outer layer anyway as when it is wet it will not keep you warm.

Cotton against the skin underneath another warm layer is acceptable as long as you stay dry. Cold, wet cotton can kill. Wool or wool blend, if you can stand it against your skin is better than killer cotton.

Even better clothing is the newer lightweight synthetic blends like the Under Armour (UA) gear so popular with American soldiers. After UA reblended their clothing incorporating nonflammable and non-plasticizing materials, the Army authorized its soldiers to wear UA gear.

Most of the newest UA gear is lightweight, water wicking, fast drying and warm. It is a shame that we have not been able to locate any UA gear that is in my size. Any of the outdoor supply stores like REI and Sports Authority has long been looted of any cold weather gear. I shudder in the cold. I pull the collar of my jacket up, protecting my neck from the cold rain and hail.

I hate getting my hair wet in the field when there is no possibility of drying it. Wet, cold hair is fucking miserable. When you possess as much hair as I do, it takes forever to dry. I was never much of a hair salon whore, but I would love some decent hair conditioner. Taking care of my extremely long hair and keeping it is my vanity.

I can adapt, however. A fucking zombie apocalypse is no place for a voluptuary. Thinking of voluptuaries, I light a cigarette while walking back to the radio tent. Ah, sweet fucking nicotine!

I might as well stick my head inside because maybe someone needs a break. I have not been given a task, but I too want to look busy. Everyone has to earn their keep. I need to speak to Nikola about establishing a radio watch bill. We need to be manning radio 24 hours a day while we remain on the farm.

Not really thinking about what my feet are doing, I step into the tent. I did not notice Carol’s pleasurable moans until too late. I catch the amorous couple in flagrante delicto. Clad only in her unbuttoned camouflage blouse flapping around her arms, Carol is astride Nikola. Slouching in a creaking folding metal chair, Nikola is happily pinned underneath Carol.

If I had been paying attention, I would have heard and recognized the rhythmic thumping of that poor folding chair. Not to mention Carol is not exactly quiet while making love as she proves with a piercing wail of pleasure. Sounds of wet flesh fervently slapping together echo loudly in the suddenly too small tent.

Carol is riding Nikola hell-bent for leather. Carol’s dainty bare feet and toes dig into the floor of the tent; her discarded clothing strewn on the floor around them. I am fascinated watching Carol’s taught calves flex as she thrusts against the pinned Nikola. Watching the pale arches of Carol’s feet as her toes scrabble for purchase on the tent floor I am struck by how beautiful Carol is in the throes of passion.

Damn but the woman has fine legs! If only my legs were so long and finely proportioned. Carol’s creamy white flesh contrasts starkly against the dark floor of the tent. Despite the rough conditions, most of the ladies in the convoy have maintained Western grooming standards. I am fortunate that I had most of my body depilated eliminating the necessity of shaving my legs and armpits.

A straight razor and leather strop were given to each convoy member as they became available. Shack’s and my straight razors are both fine Solingen German stainless steel. Shack has used his razor alone a few times with disastrous results. Most of the time, I have become a fair hand at shaving Shack’s face every other day or so.

The lack of suitable mirrors creates a situation where it is better to have someone you trust shave you than butcher your face, legs or arm pits. I have come to enjoy those intimate moments where I have Shack to myself. Some of the other couples, like Rick and the Princess have arranged mutual shaving as part of their bathing schedule.

Obviously the frantically fucking lovers have not gone for any of the most intimate grooming. Both Nikola’s blonde ball fro and Carol’s hip bone spanning fiery bush in my mind need some serious trimming. Thinking of which, Shack could use some manscaping too. Handily, the straight razors can even double as a secondary weapon if needed.

Close at hand the couple’s pistols I notice are laid readily on the table top. Even in the midst of lovemaking, a zombie apocalypse is no time to be caught weaponless. No one no matter the situation is ever weaponless.

Nikola’s pants, bunched at his ankles, rattle upon the floor as the couple energetically makes love. His pale blue boxer briefs and white socks look out-of-place underneath Carol’s ass. The light brown toes of Nikola’s combat boots stick out from the pile of clothes around his ankles.

With a sudden and frantic effort sending the poor chair that, the entwined couple is using scooting across the floor the couple increases tempo and volume. Slightly embarrassed, I try to retreat and slip quietly out of the tent unseen. Unfortunately, my timing could not have been worse as with a happy scream and grunt the couple reach climax together ending in a panting finish.

I am treated to a front row seat watching Carol’s beautiful muscular legs and ass clench as Nikola shoots his seed into her. With a slap, Nikola’s large hands grasp the creamy, meaty globes of Carol’s ass. He pulls her tight against him leaving deep finger impressions as he grunts his release and pours his pleasure into her body.

Breathing hard, the sweat dampened couple relaxes in the chair enjoying their post coitus bliss. For a few moments, the tent is silent except for the panting couple. Remaining still I have a slight hope of slipping out of the tent unseen.

Nikola says something too soft for me to hear as I reach the doorway. Carol’s giggling response, though, I hear quite clearly. Shit! She knew I was there! Just as I am about to clear the tent doorway, Carol rises a little and looks right at me with a happily flushed smile.

Nikola cannot see me as he is buried underneath Carol, blinded by her hair and upper body. Carol, seemingly unconcerned with her nudity and current state gives me a knowing smirk. Placing her hands upon Nikola’s shoulders, Carol leans back sitting upright and flips her mane of red hair out of her face.

“Shit Ruth I am sorry. I thought you were going to be gone for a while. I thought that we had the tent to ourselves. We need to develop some code or signal.”

Carol rises off of Nikola, whose relaxing penis flops out of her landing on the chair’s seat. A flood of chunky, slimy, white fluid follows Nikola’s penis, dripping from Carol.

“Damn, honey you really flooded my pussy. Could you please hand me those paper towels behind you.” Carol gestures behind Nikola at the table.

Still clad only in an open, long-sleeved, BDU desert tan camouflage blouse, Carol starts wiping at herself with the paper towels seemingly unconcerned with my presence. Nikola, for his part, does not seem overly concerned by my presence either. Standing Nikola starts buttoning his pants as if nothing happened at all. The tight, blue and white horizontally striped, wife beater style, tee-shirt is molded to Nikola’s finely sculpted chest.

Pulling a spray bottle of 409 from underneath the table, Nikola cleans up the drippy mess on the chair while Carol dresses. I suppose that in the current environment; we need to be less insecure about our bodies. But, I cannot imagine Shack and I making love with such reckless abandonment.

I find myself intensely jealous of Carol and envious of Nikola. I am jealous of Carol’s ease with her body and sexuality. I watch the beautifully sated woman dress, noting the pleasurable blush slowly fading from Carol’s face and chest. With her pregnancy, Carol has outgrown all of her bras. We have so far failed to locate any maternity clothing.

Nikola kisses Carol with a long lingering kiss that tempts me to run outside, find Shack, drag him into the bushes and fuck his brains out. I step aside from the doorway where I have been stuck the past few moments. Nikola chuckles at me and slips outside. Carol flops into the chair that the lovers used putting her boots on.

“Damn I am still dripping. I swear to God that man shoots more come than any other man I have ever been with.”

“Ugh! Carol! TMI! It is bad enough I walked in on you guys. Do you have to torture me?”

“Sorry Ruth, I am just so horny right now. If Nikola could not keep up with me I would be tempted to chase a few of the other guys, but Nikola would kill them. Have you fucked Shack yet?”

“No, not yet. Could you please not describe it so crassly? But after a performance like that I am tempted to run outside and pull the poor boy into the bushes.”

“Why don’t you?”

“I do not know. I am not as comfortable with sex as you are. I envy your freedom and how relaxed you are. I am too reserved. I have never been very demonstrative. Outside of the bedroom it is very hard for me to be amorous especially when other people are around. Sex for me is very private.”

“I’ve always been a bit of an exhibitionist. I’ll tell you sometime how I lost my cherry. My parents were nudists. As a kid, we would go to nudist resorts on vacation. I went to Hedonism II in Jamaica when I was barely 18. I flew down with a rich 34-year-old man I met during spring break in Tampa.”

“What is Hedonism 2?”

“You don’t know? Oh, girl have I got some wild stories to tell you!”

Just as Carol inhales to regale me with her tales of debauchery, one of the older Johnsen children ducks into the tent. The young boy carries a battered pump-action Remington .22 caliber rifle with open sights. The boy loads the rifle’s tubular magazine with CCI hollow point bullets from one of the distinct blue plastic ammo boxes taken out of his pants pocket.

Next chapter: We learn why the boy is loading the rifle and will Ruth and Shack finally make love?