[Companions Chapter 32]

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WARNING! The following text contains explicit adult subject matter. It is not intended for anyone under the age of 18. If you are under the age of 18, then you must stop reading now. The author has taken steps to ensure that this story does not appear in any subject-inappropriate or age-inappropriate forum. This version has been posted with the author's permission to Yiffstar.com.

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* _COMPANIONS_

* by Evoquus

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* (c) Copyright 2003, Evoquus, All rights reserved.

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* Feedback is appreciated: [email protected]

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Rating: NC-17 for explicit sex: M/M, Human-Stallion, Anal, Oral

Chapter 32: Growing Pains

Fred spent much of the afternoon doing his own laundry and helping with minor chores that made an honest effort to carry his own weight, if not his Clydesdale's. In contrast, his aunt and cousin preferred to be waited on. Doug, however, was content to work on his muffler in solitude.

Whenever he got a chance, Fred visited his mate, who was being very good about acting like a horse - just standing around and nibbling all day.

"Bored yet?"

"No, Companion."

"Why not?" he kidded. "This place is mind-numbingly boring."

"Fortunately for Hipponaur, Destiny has bestowed the gift of long life to a species that does not require constant external stimuli. I don't bore easily."

"Then you've come to the right place."

"Besides, it is a nice day and there are many things happening all around me to keep me entertained."

Fred looked around and could find nothing to be the least bit worthy of interest. The farm was as dull as his cousin's wit.

"For example," continued the stallion, "during the last hour, a lovely ruby-throated hummingbird has visited those flowers, on average, once every four and one eighth minutes, though your presence now has disturbed that trend. I estimate at least seven minutes before she returns."

Fred coughed at him. That was the most boring thing he had ever heard. "Anything else?"

"A ground squirrel does not appreciated my intrusion into his territory." He pointed to a small burrow under the shed.

"Huh," chuckled Fred, "well tell him he's late with the rent." He patted his horse, and then hugged him once again. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."

"Do not worry about me, Companion."

"No, I can see you have everything well under control in this mad chaotic universe behind my parents' shed. Well I gotta go wash some windows. Have fun."

"You too."

Fred's mother called everyone to dinner promptly at seven. Aunt Rosie and Kirk declined to join them, simply requesting that their dinners be left on a tray outside of Kirk's room, which was perhaps best, since Doug reeked of auto mechanic grime having spent the entire afternoon under his truck. As he and Fred sat down next to each other, Fred smirked, "You can wear some of my clothes if you like."

"I'm selling the truck."

"Excuse me?" choked Fred.

"It's stupid. And community college ain't cheap anymore."

Fred sighed, picked up a fork, held it a foot above his empty plate and deliberately dropped it with an obnoxious clanging.

Doug stared back at him. "What!? You don't think I'm smart enough?"

"No, that's not it at all. I just can't believe I actually heard those sentences come out of DOG's mouth."

"Yeah, well, I've been thinking about it for a long time, and I figure it's now or never."

"That is wonderful, Son," said his father.

"We're both proud of you," said his mother.

"And now with the kids out of the house, we don't have to worry about the squeaky bed springs anymore."

"Dad! That's gross."

Fred chuckled, happy to be so grossed out, but not necessarily while staring at a whole baked chicken spreading its browned and glistening legs before him.

Just then someone honked "Shave and a Haircut" on his green Mustang convertible right outside the front door.

Fred looked up at the clock and turned white. "Oh shit, I forgot!"

He jumped up and grabbed his jacket. "I gotta go. Sorry, Mom." He flew out the front door followed by his father to see what the felony was.

Mark, the off-duty cop, sat in the driver seat with both motors running. "Did ya think I was a no-show?" he chided.

"No... just forgot. Sorry." Fred climbed into the passenger seat.

"I'm hurt. Deeply, I am."

"Is this the girlfriend you were talking about?" scrutinized his father.

Mark raised his eyebrows and looked at Fred, hoping it was true.

"No, Dad, just a few hours of community service."

"Heh-heh," winked Mark. "I promise to have your son home before he turns into a pumpkin, Mr. McHenry."

"Oh God," grimaced Fred.

The cop shoved his pony into reverse and sprayed gravel in all directions as he spun around and peeled off toward the highway, just like any teenager on a hot date.

"What about your horse?" called his father, way too late to have made a difference. "Kids," he muttered, then wandered on back to see that Azgard was taken care of.

The stallion had not moved from the same spot for six hours, the grass around him neatly cropped to a one inch pile.

"You're gonna be hungry tomorrow," said the man. "That was the greenest spot on the whole farm."

The stallion regarded him with a gentle spirit. The man patted him on the neck and smiled. "Take care of my son," he said warmly. "He's a good boy. And I know that he has found a noble and worthy soul."

Azgard whickered and nuzzled him, for the stallion could not allow such a gesture of acceptance to go unacknowledged.

"You can sleep in here tonight." He cleared out a corner of the service shed. "I'll bring ya some old blankets to lie on. But I'm afraid I don't trust you as much as Fred does." He looped a rope around Azgard's neck and secured it to the shed. "Sorry to tie you up, Big Fella, but the door hasn't closed since The Great War."

Then he faced the stallion for a heart-to-heart exchange. "You opened my son's eyes, you did. The young fool might have made a terrible mistake, otherwise." The man's eyes began watering for some reason. He wiped them on his sleeve. "I can't thank you enough. But now he's especially at risk. If you got away from him now, I think it would kill him." He turned to leave. "You'll be okay in here tonight."

He brought the blankets as promised, spreading them out to make a comfy bed, then bid the Clydesdale good night. Azgard appreciated the thoughtfulness of the man, and really really wished he had taken that dump earlier in the day. There was only about eight feet of slack on the rope, severely limiting the radius of his toilet. Finally, he just sat in the corner and emptied his bowel. Only about half of it spilled onto the blankets.

Though somewhat miffed about having to sleep in his own waste, something that even the most brainless of equines avoid when they can, he took it in stride knowing his Companion would return soon and rectify the situation. Then his sensitive ears detected someone outside the shed, and he could tell by their faint footfalls that they were likely up to no good. Whoever it was quietly opened the door to Fred's truck, then carefully pushed it shut again. Then the gate to the trailer slowly swung open until it squeaked, then a pause, and then it too closed as quietly as possible. The footsteps got louder as the intruder approached. Azgard made no sound, but the aromatic mound in the corner gave away his position as surely as a rocket flare. A woman entered the shed, a woman that Azgard recognized.

"There you are," said Sharon. "My four-legged rival."

Azgard REALLY wished he wasn't tied up. As she walked around him, studying him, he kept both eyes on her, making it clear that he knew she was not one to be trusted. She made no threatening moves as she analyzed her opponent, for she was not so dim-witted as to think the beast would not defend itself. Finally she stood in front of him and folded her arms across her chest.

"What does that idiot see in you?" she said as if expecting an answer from him. "You're a horse. And not only that, you're a MALE horse. You can't possibly give him a family."

Azgard stared back in silence, still keeping a keen eye and an ear for any potential violence that might arise.

"You have a penis. Fred has a penis. I have a vagina. The penis goes in the vagina. Penis into penis doesn't work. Even YOU should know that!"

Azgard couldn't help it. He deliberately rolled his eyes and snorted. Sharon received the brush-off exactly as intended.

"Oh really," she said, planting her hands on her hips. "Then does he fuck you or do you fuck him?"

The stallion thought it best to no longer communicate, but he remained on heightened alert, as any sane equine would.

She dropped her arms realizing this standoff was pointless and turned to leave. Halfway out the door she stopped and looked back. Azgard could see her staring at his privates. She poked her tongue into her cheek and swirled it around, then sauntered back in.

"What's that suppose to be?" she asked, bending over to get an extreme close up of his heavy triangular sheath. "Is that it? That's your horsedick?" she laughed. "Looks an awful lot like a birth canal to me. Maybe you really are a mare."

Azgard's stallion pride could not ignore the inflammatory insult, even if it did come from a jilted woman with a spectacular ignorance of equine anatomy. He wandered over to the manure pile, dropped fifteen pounds of flaccid penis, then drenched the ground with a steaming yellow flood.

Sharon gawked at the masculine sight. The flow slowly sputtered to a stop but the Clydesdale took his time reeling in his pride, just in case the woman suffered from severe short-term memory loss.

"Okay," she relented. "You're not a mare. But you should be with mares not men!" Then an impish grin invaded her face. "Maybe you just don't know what you're missing."

For someone who hated horses, this woman took Azgard completely by surprise. She stepped out of her clothes and stood naked in front of him.

"These are breasts," she said, sensually caressing hers and pushing them together. She lifted one to his nose and rubbed it with an erect nipple. "Mares have them. Men like to suck on them. Maybe you would."

Azgard pulled away from her.

"No, huh?"

Undeterred, she went right for his cock, reaching underneath and pulling it out to his side. He could kick her if he chose, but he wished her no harm, only that she leave. But while she held him, there was little he could do but stand there.

She palmed the cockhead in one hand while stroking its length with the other. "Men like it when women do this... Oh, I see horseys like it, too."

Azgard found himself lengthening against his will.

"My, you're big... and warm... and HARD..."

Whether by accident or not, she managed to stumble upon the combination that unlocked Azgard's DNA vault. Her hand suddenly filled with a heavy spurt of precum. She gasped and stood up to examine it.

"Is this...", she walked over in front to show him, "... what makes baby horses?"

Azgard didn't answer. He saw her swirling a finger around the viscous ejaculate pooled in her palm.

"Fred doesn't want to have a baby with me... but obviously you do."

She slowly reached down and inserted that finger deep inside of her. The stallion snorted in shocked dismay. Didn't she know what she was doing?

She scooped up the rest with two fingers and buried it between her legs, then stood up with her thighs closed to hold the life force in.

Azgard wasn't sure how potent his precum was, but he couldn't allow her to harvest any more. He struggled against the rope to break free, but it was tied too securely to the shed. Pulling any harder risked bringing the rickety structure down. Irrational with baby-lust, the woman grabbed his penis again and forced the nozzle directly into her vagina. Then she rubbed the equine genie's lamp again, and another puff of liquid smoke squirted into her.

"That's right Big Boy, keep it coming. I won't be ovulating forever."

Azgard suddenly swung around, knocking her over while being careful not to trample her. If she was truly ovulating then there was a real possibility of impregnation, and that, to him, seemed a very bad idea. He frantically chewed through the rope, then bolted out of the shed, leaving the would-be mother of his child to lie on his blankets and contemplate the seed he had lovingly deposited inside of her. She ran a finger over her breast while another one diddled her sticky clitoris. Then she felt a sudden warmth from within, and she knew it could only be the spark of new life.

"We did it my love," she cried. Then she called out to her bashful beau, "You can come back now, Darling. We're a family."

The expectant mother sighed in blissful elation, caressing her abdomen that nurtured her young child, then she closed her eyes and cooed, while running her fingers over her breast, imagining Azgard was over her, nibbling and nuzzling her. She pinched a hard nipple as the stallion took it into his mouth, snorting his lust and desire for his mare.

"You just didn't know what you were missing," she giggled in her fantasy. "And now you do. We both do. We're going to have a..."

She opened her eyes and sat up, now terribly worried for her unborn, for she knew nothing of the species she had mated with. With all her heart, she would love the fruit of their union no matter how freakish the larval nightmare might be, but she was unprepared for ensuring the health of the seed furtively growing within. What were its needs? What were its wants? Who could she turn to for advice?

"It needs nourishment," she said to herself. "A seed needs nourishment to grow..."

Her delusion that Azgard loved her was the final nail in the coffin of her sanity. Completely out of her mind, she spied his offering in the corner, and her love-smitten lunacy twisted it all around so that it made perfect sense. She laughed out loud, for it was so obvious, so simple, so wet-shower-door clear.

"Fertilizer!" she exclaimed. "A seed needs fertilizer!!"

She plucked a pinch of steaming filth and examined it. It was warm in her hand and she understood why. It came from the stallion. It used to be inside of him, just like his seed. He drew strength and nourishment from it as it traveled from one end to the other. The powerful chemicals in his stomach had broken down the harsh cellulose into a soft, gentle, easy-to-digest nutrient. Next to breast milk, it was the perfect baby food. And best of all, it came from the father. After all, they were a family.

"What a good Daddy he is," she baby-talked the germinating seed. "He wuvs you so much."

She stuffed it inside.

"This will make you big and strong, just like your handsome father."

She plucked another pinch from the heap and fed it to her womb.

Then she plucked another.

And another...

"So, you got a girlfriend," said Mark, the wind whipping through his hair.

"No not really," said Fred.

"Didn't think so... You know, you're a terrible liar."

"Yeah I know. Where are we going?"

"Someplace local."

They pulled into the parking lot a few miles down the highway.

"Oh shit," groaned Fred. "The redneck bar?"

"I like their burgers," said Mark hopping out.

Inside the smoke-filled dive, Fred saw more tattoos than skin, despite the fact that virtually everyone in there was bald. The newbys drew some attention when they first entered, but the plain-clothesed cop carried himself with an air of authority that told everyone he owned the place. And though the tattooed hominids could smell fear sweating from Fred, he appeared adequately protected by his cocky pitbull.

"What can I get ya?" asked Mark.

"I could go for a margarita."

"You got it."

Mark ordered a couple of beers, then they sat at a table within view of an old TV that was showing what had to be a taped football game, since the start of the season was still several weeks away.

"It calms the natives," said Mark.

"What does?"

"Football. You'll never see the Tour De France in here."

"Heh-heh."

They sipped their beers while watching the manly sport of men lining up to reach between other men's legs and run and jump and chase and tackle each other in a fury of sweat and testosterone. Fred kept glancing over to Mark to see if he really found the TV all that interesting, and though it appeared as if the cop never took his eyes off the tube, his unchanging expression telegraphed that he wasn't really watching it.

"Can I get you another margarita," asked Mark as he finished his own beer.

"Sure," said Fred.

He came back with a couple of fresh heads and sat down at the seat across the table from Fred, football no longer on his mind.

"So," he said, making fresh conversation, "how's the stud?"

"Azgard is fine, thanks."

"Oh, you'd rather talk about your horse?"

Fred chuckled into his mug, then looked up. "He really is my horse, even if I can't prove it."

"I know," said Mark taking a careful sip.

Fred noticed that he took great pains not to get any foam on his mustache. Feeling his face blushing, Fred stared at his own mug some more.

"How do you know?"

"I told you. You're a terrible liar."

"Oh. So you can tell I'm not lying now?"

"That, and the fact that the Clydesdale would have to belong to you, since you can still walk after he fucked you in the ass."

Fred sat up wide-eyed. Mark just grinned and sniffed his mustache again before taking another careful sip. Azgard had indeed fucked Fred in the ass a few hours earlier. Somehow the cop, during his carnal frenzy, managed to get a taste of it.

"I'm impressed," Mark said, evidently not in a hurry to spread the word of Fred's sexual deviance.

"Are you saying that your mustache smells like horse semen?"

"It wouldn't be the first time. I have a mare, remember?"

Fred's jaw dropped, then he laughed into his beer. "Oh Gawd..."

"Yeah," chuckled Mark. "And it wasn't just the mustache."

"I bet your eyebrows were fairly fertile, too," laughed Fred.

"Pretty much... hair, neck, ears... it tends to get everywhere."

Fred slammed his beer down to let loose a gut-busting belly-laugh.

"See? We're having fun," said Mark.

Then Fred looked up at him holding back a grin. "Ever get caught?"

"Nope. Some close calls, though."

"Me, too."

"Tell me about Daniel Racher."

The gape of wide-eyed terror returned. To Fred, it seemed like the entire room went quiet, as all ears, including those of both football teams, perked up to hear his response. It was pointless to deny it.

"He's a... I knew him."

"So you know what he did," the cop said, stating it as fact.

"Well, no, I don't know all the details. I know he got in trouble."

"Do you know where he is?"

That had to be a trick question. "He's dead," stated Fred as undeniable fact.

"What?" Mark's expression of surprise clearly indicated that he did not agree.

"Isn't he?"

"What makes you think he's dead?"

"Well, he was shot by the government."

Mark burst out laughing drawing some real stares from the skinheads. "Are you one of those government conspiracy fruitcakes?" he continued to snicker.

"No... it's just what I heard. He was killed three weeks ago."

"Yeah, well you may want to inform your insider mole that his fingerprints are on the trigger of a murder weapon found in Arizona less than TWO weeks ago."

"Holy shit..." said Fred.

"Holy shit is right. And now I have this FBI Fuck riding my ass for every scrap of information I can dig up on him."

"Did you pull him over?"

"Yes," he said, taking another slow deliberate sip. The cop apparently did not want to go into details.

Fred didn't want to talk about Daniel Racher, either, but that had to be the real reason why he was sitting at this table with the police. Then he thought of a way out and slapped the table to prove it.

"So, Mr. Polygraph, you say you can tell when I'm lying? Then I'll tell you this straight out. I know for a FACT that Daniel Racher was shot and killed by the government over three weeks ago."

Mark sat back and turned his head slightly while squinting at him. "You know more than you're telling."

"I don't deny that. But I swear to Hip... I swear I'm telling the truth."

"That Daniel Racher is dead."

Fred couldn't answer that without lying.

"So he's ALIVE!" said the shrewd cop immediately picking up on it.

Fred sighed and stared back, deciding to keep quiet from now on. He just shook his head.

The cop took a deep breath and loudly exhaled while leaning forward across the table. "I could drag you in for questioning and set the FBI loose on your sorry, overstretched ass, but I won't do it on one condition?"

"Which is?"

"You kiss me."

"What?"

"You lean across the table and give me a big, wet, loud kiss."

"Are you fucking nuts?"

"Yes... about you."

"Mark! We'll get creamed by these guys."

"It's either them or the FBI. Your choice."

Fred glared at him. This was surely suicide. "How about if we do it in the parking lot? At least we'll have a fighting chance to escape."

"No deal. Right here, right now. We exchange tonsils for at least thirty seconds."

"But why!" protested Fred.

"Because I really like you," said Mark as if it were bloody obvious.

"Mark!... Grrrr..."

Fred glanced around. Most everyone else was self-absorbed playing pool or watching old football. The only thing obvious to Fred was that Mark was a danger freak, getting off on tense situations of his own making. If he was going to do this thing of insanity, now was the time.

He leaned forward and opened his mouth to meet Mark's, and they kissed like Clark Gable and Humphrey Bogart. Fred ticked the seconds along in his head, "One Mississippi, Two Mississippi, Three Mississippi..."

Thirty Mississippi was an eon away, but no one seemed to notice or care.

Four Mississippi, Five Mississippi... Maybe this wasn't so dangerous.

At Ten Mississippi, Mark increased the tension all on his own. He moaned aggressively, as if Fred were sucking on his dick instead of his tongue, and since such a passionate grunt was deeply rooted in the primal psyche of the Testosterone Club, it caught the attention of all cavemen within earshot.

"Fuck!" yelled someone who sounded like he knew by heart the exact number of bars on a prison cell.

Wide-eyed again, Fred tried to pull away, but Mark wrapped his hand around the back of his partner's neck to hold him close. "You can do this," he was saying in not so many words. Inwardly, Fred started to feel the thrill, and could distinguish the difference between an adrenaline rush of fear versus one of exhilaration.

Thirteen Mississippi, Fourteen Mississippi, Halfway There Mississippi...

"GOD DAMN FAGGOTS!!"

"GET A FUCKING ROOM!!"

Seventeen Mississippi...

"CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS SHIT! GET YOUR PETER PUFFING SHITHOLES OUT OF HERE!!"

Mark raised his free hand at them and then bent it limply at the wrist.

"DID YOU FUCKING SEE THAT!! THAT FUCKING QUEER FLIPPED ME OFF!!!"

"Is that what that means when faggots do that?"

Twenty-Two Mississippi...

"That's it! I'm shoving this cue stick up his fucking ASS!"

"Don't fall in, Gus."

The others all laughed, eager to see AIDS-tainted blood spill.

Twenty-Four Mississippi...

Gus marched up to the dandies and snapped the cue stick on his thigh. "One for each of you FAGGOT FUCKS!"

Twenty-Six Mississippi...

Trembling violently, Fred stared straight ahead at his lover, who moaned ever louder with faggot passion.

Twenty-Seven Mississippi...

Gus raised the jagged end of each cue stick in his fists, then bellowed his Neanderthal war cry while bringing the deadly spears down upon their heads.

Mark pulled Fred off the table just as the spikes dug deep into the obscenity-carved Formica. On the ground, Fred hyperventilated in fear for his life while his crazy date snickered. "That was only twenty-nine," he winked at Fred, then pulled out a gun from the back of his waistband and stuck it in the nose of their assailant.

"Fuck!" uttered Gus, in his usual worldly fashion. He dropped the weapons and backed away with hands in the air.

"I don't want no trouble," said the bartender.

"Which is why it took you twenty-nine seconds to say so," said Mark, unsympathetically.

"You faggots come in here like that!" said an acquaintance of Gus', "you should EXPECT to get your asses shined!"

"Is that so?" said Mark, "Well let's just see how shiny your ass is. Strip."

"What?"

"STRIP!" he said, with nice and clear enunciation. "I want to see every single tattoo on that fat pink body of yours. You too, Gus."

The men looked at each other without turning their heads. "Somebody call the cops."

"Too late," said Mark flashing his badge.

"Holy mutherfuck..."

Mark slowly pulled back the hammer on his pistol, making sure that each metallic click reverberated off the walls of the cave. The clicks were lost on Fred, overwhelmed by his own pounding pulse.

Gus and his friend began pulling off their shirts while Mark whistled at them. "Whoo-ee, look at that one, Fred. What do you suppose that is, a dragon or a snake?"

Fred didn't care about the tattoos.

"Now that one there is definitely a naked woman, no doubt about it. And there's a skull, and a knife... or it could be a dagger."

The men tossed their shirts aside and stood there, praying they had satisfied Mad Max's curiosity.

"Full... Strip!"

"Fuck," they both muttered. Lumbering like Tweedledee and Tweedledum, they shifted their weight from one leg to the other while reluctantly unbuckling their pants. As the men pushed faded greasy denim to ankle level, more tattoos saw the dim light of the biker bar. Both men stood up again still keeping their thread-bare briefs in place.

"Now that is just sad," said Mark. "You see the dangers of tattooing your body like that, Fred? All the toxins in the ink injected into your skin. It's just bound to cause brain damage. I SAID FULL STRIP!!"

The men jumped.

"EVERYTHING OFF! BOOTS, PANTS, AND SOILED UNDIES!"

The broken men sighed and sat down at a nearby table, pulling off their boots and everything that they held back. Once buck naked, they chose to remain seated.

"Thank you," said Mark genially. "Now, gentlemen. My friend and I were doing you no harm whatsoever. We were merely expressing our affection, in a manner and in a place that I'm sure you have done many times with your own significant others. So why all the fuss? What's the big deal? Why is this...[pecks Fred on the cheek]... so offensive?"

No one dared answer.

"I'll tell you why: Ignorance. That's all it is. Ignorance."

"O... kay," dared Gus.

"And how do we... Stamp - Out - Ignorance?" Mark stamped his feet three times.

Gus didn't know the answer to that one.

"With experience," flourished the cop. "We learn by experience."

"Fucking-A," muttered Gus' friend.

Mark put on a big friendly smile. "You guys don't know what you're missing, that's all."

"No fucking way!" growled Gus.

"Stand up," said Mark, not smiling anymore. He stuck the cocked pistol in their faces. "Both of you on the pool table, NOW!"

The men did as he demanded, backing onto the table. Then they sat and swung their legs up onto it.

"Now. My partner and I will leave once we see two naked tattooed men gaily sixty-nining each other. It doesn't have to be you guys, but you'd better decide quickly because my finger is cramping up."

The horrified men sat staring at each other like two sows that had both lost a game of spin the bottle. A shot rang out splintering a pool cue hanging on a wall rack in between them. The men flinched and then dove for each other's groin, hunting for little pink salamanders that had retreated under protective layers of blubber. Once pee-pees were orally wrangled, each man held perfectly still, scared to death that the thing in his mouth might come alive.

"Mark, we are in so much trouble," whispered Fred.

"Only if they press charges," he said under his breath. "And that ain't gonna happen."

The tension suddenly vanished for Fred, who smiled and snickered at the insane antics of his friend. The cop was right. No one was going to admit that this happened. The baddest guys in the bar, munching on each other's dickies, would kill anyone who blabbed. Fred slapped him on the back.

"Careful. This thing is still loaded."

"I owe you one," winked Fred.

"One what?"

"One second."

"Oh..." Mark uncocked the hammer and embraced Fred, resuming for another thirty seconds the kiss of two Hollywood legends.

"Psst," said the Bartender to the guys on the pool table. If they acted quickly they could jump the faggots, but he couldn't get their attention. The other cavemen watched in stony fascination as their brethren bobbed on each other's full erection. Though clearly novices at the delicate art of fellatio, the redneck homophobes were an uncommonly quick study, alternately deep-throating for a while, then swirling around the top, nibbling at the base, and jacking off the spittle-slick member with a tight fist, milking a few drops of precum and then starting all over again.

Fred caught sight of them and gasped.

"Will you look at that," grinned Mark.

"Is this how it always ends up?" asked Fred, in astonishment.

"Are you joking?" Mark laughed. "I've never done this before!"

Oblivious to the dumb-struck audience, the huge men sat up and modified their positions, one flat on his back, the other straddling him. Then they snuggled back into place to continue doing what they were told, except that they found better things to do, licking each other's cockroot, then strolling a little further to tongue-box a couple of punching bags, and even wandering all the way down south into the backwoods of bear country.

"Our work here is done." Mark left twenty bucks on the table. "That was a cheap date," he said as they exited the bar.

"Especially since it came with a floor show."

They got into the car and wisely got the hell out of there.

As they pulled up to his parents' house, Fred was afraid that the subject of Daniel Racher would be broached again. Instead, Mark broached another subject.

"We still haven't had dinner."

"I drank mine, thanks," said Fred.

Mark nodded. It was perfectly understandable that Fred might have had enough of him for one night. Still, the next inquiry was worth a try. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Mark," sighed Fred, "your dates are a little too manic for me."

The cop nodded again and smiled. "To be fair, Fred, I wasn't totally in character tonight."

"I should hope not!"

"I don't know what it is. You have this effect on me that makes me do wild and crazy things, and I find I can't get enough of it. I've been a cop for seven years, but it only just now feels like I'm living my life."

"And tomorrow morning you're going to wake up and realize just how damn lucky we both were tonight."

"Probably." He placed his hand on Fred's knee. "I promise the second date won't be so dangerous."

Fred stopped the roaming fingers at mid-thigh. "I may not have a girlfriend, but I do have someone."

The cop sighed in defeat and put both hands and his forehead on the steering wheel. "How can I compete with a Clydesdale?"

"Not possible," said Fred sincerely.

Mark turned to him. "Are you telling me that THAT horse provides your sorry life with more thrills than you experienced tonight?"

"Oh yes," nodded Fred. "Tons more."

Mark squinted again. "There's still something you're not telling me."

"Indubitably," Fred boasted.

It was easily within the cop's power to apply legal thumbscrews, but he liked Fred too much to do that. "Okay," he accepted, clearly disappointed, but able to move on. They shook hands.

Fred got out of the car and handed him back his business card.

"Keep it in your wallet," said Mark. "It's still valid, and as long as I know it's within kissing distance of your ass, I'll always have hope. But I'll tell you right now, the price of freedom just went way up."

"Oh yeah? What does it cost now to get out of jail for almost free?"

The cop started up the engine. "Dinner... AND a movie."

Fred waved good-bye, then walked around back to get his mate settled in for the night. A back porch light provided the only illumination for the service shed twenty yards away. Fred saw no sign of his stallion, but he definitely heard some sort of commotion coming from the shed.

"Azgard?"

As he neared the building, the sounds of human passion were undeniable. He shook his head in disgust. "Damn it, Doug. You're such a pig."

Fred's curiosity took over, wondering just who could be his little brother's girlfriend-of-the-week. It was hard to imagine there were any girls left in the county that would have anything to do with him.

"She must've just moved here."

He crept to the shed to get a closer look, and got it. Despite everything that went on in the redneck bar, this was the shocker of the evening. Fred watched his naked parents on an old blanket doing it horsey style. His mother, on all fours, held still while his father leaned over her, humping from behind, his fists clenched into hooves, and his teeth sunk into her shoulder.

His mother whinnied an orgasm just as his dad threw two strong pelvic thrusts then held still for several seconds before dismounting, a string of cum remained connected between them. Fred half-expected his parents to crawl out of the shed and start grazing. Instead, his mother turned around and gave her mate a kiss and a loving embrace. Then they both giggled delightfully at how silly and naughty they were being.

Fred tip-toed away as happy as his parents. He found his mate at the far end of the orchard.

"You'll never guess what I just saw," he said, giving Azgard his own loving embrace.

"Your parents mating?" he replied.

"Oh man," he chuckled. "You saw them, too?"

"They started while I was in there sleeping."

Fred burst out laughing.

"I believe that shed is haunted," stated the stallion.

That made Fred laugh even more. "It's not the shed, you big dope, it's YOU."

The stallion snorted indignantly.

"Don't you see, Azgard?" laughed his mate, "You have the same effect on me! You emanate an aura of raw sexual energy that others subconsciously pick up on - my parents, for one, and that cop for another. You must have given him a near lethal dose of sex radiation this morning, because he's still hot for me."

"That is very unfortunate."

"Not really. It got me out of a legal jam a couple of times. Yeah, the cop went a little - okay a lot - overboard on the highway and on our date, but thank heavens he was more interested in pursuing me than what I knew about Danny. If you hadn't charged up his libido, I might be staring at the FBI right now."

"And when that charge bleeds off, Companion, what then?"

Fred thought about it. "Buddy, I really don't think he's gonna bother us. If anything, he might be an ally." Fred held up the cop's business card. "You stay close to me, and if he comes looking to cause grief, then we'll just give him a recharge. I may end up having to sleep with him to stay out of trouble, just so you know."

"As long as the sex is meaningless, Companion."

"Don't worry, I promise not to enjoy it," patted Fred. Then he held onto the stud with his gaze. "I think it's great what you've done for my parents. I can't ever remember seeing them kiss like that, even with their clothes on."

"Hmm," shrugged Azgard, "I guess it is okay... if my emanations are a good thing..."

"Trust me," kissed Fred, "they are a very very good th... Mmmph! Mmmmmmmm..."

"Where shall we sleep, Companion?" asked the stud after releasing his mate's tongue.

"I think the shed should be clear by now. You can go back in there. I'm sleeping on the couch in the living room."

"I am going to be lonely."

"Don't worry. My parents'll probably show up around three in the morning to keep you company again."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"Oh, they're perfectly harmless you big baby. Come on, I'll shoo them away for you."

"Companion," said Azgard, refraining from relating his disastrous encounter with Fred's ex, "as happy as I am to bring your parents back together, I still believe it is in everyone's best interest if I stay far away from humans, present company excepted, of course."

"That's fine. You can spend the day in the far end of the orchard. Hardly anyone ever goes back there."

"The grass is not greener back there," he groused.

"I know. I'll bring in some alfalfa tomorrow, if that'll help."

He snorted. "I don't suppose there is a golf course nearby."

"I promise it'll only be for a couple of days. If you're not happy, then we'll work something out."

"I am sorry to be such a burden, Companion."

"Oh knock it off."

The next morning Fred woke up with a minor backache. The couch he slept on was built long before the term "posturepedic" had ever graced the airwaves. He dropped to the floor for a few stretches and rolls to iron out the kinks. Then his ears perked up when he heard the sizzle of bacon coming from down the hall, and they perked up even more when he heard his parents giggling from the same location.

With the stealth of a cat burglar, he crept down the hall to get another peek at the amorous duo, but it turned out that their public affection was G-rated.

"Good morning, Son," said his father. Sleep well?"

"Okay," he said, still stretching out his back. "How about you?"

"I slept like a horse!" he snorted. His mother tittered.

"By that, do you mean," said Fred innocently, "that you slept standing up?"

"No not really," said his Father, "I guess I'd have to say that only part of me slept standing up."

"George!"

"Lydia?"

"Zip it."

"It won't close."

"Okay, that's all I want to hear," said Fred suppressing a grin.

"How did community service go?"

"Fine. Oh, that reminds me, I've got an errand to do for work. I'm heading out to Templeton's, do you need anything?"

"No, Dear. At least have a biscuit for breakfast." His mother tossed it to him.

"Thanks. Shouldn't be too long."

Fred stepped out back to wake his stud. "Good morning."

The prostrate stallion flailed his limbs as he startled into consciousness.

"Whoa, there. You okay, Azgard?"

"Yes, Companion," he said drowsily. "I did not sleep well."

"Bad dreams?"

"No... just uneasy about this place."

"You don't have to sleep in the shed if you don't want to."

"I think I will take that advice," he said, climbing to his feet. "If you want me, I'll be in the back."

The exhausted stallion lumbered out into the orchard.

"I'll be back in a couple hours," he called after him and then cringed about forgetting to do that in public.

Azgard waved his tail at him.

Templeton Stables was the veterinary clinic's most important client, specializing in the breeding of thoroughbreds. The only reason Templeton did business with Fred's employer was because the clinic was local and provided an adequate service. But the clinic needed Templeton far more than vice versa, so whenever the stables said "jump," the clinic always leapt to the moon, never daring to ask "How high?"

Fred drove through the arched entryway which was just off of the highway. Lined with mature Eucalyptus trees, the driveway was flanked on either side by idyllic fenced-in pasture where a dozen horses grazed peacefully.

Driving the trailer up to the stables, Fred was promptly greeted by the owner tending a healthy, but lethargic stud.

"Morning, Zack."

"Hey, Fred, thanks for coming out so early. I'm at my wit's end with Malabar. Tell Kyle I need a complete blood work-up and semen analysis if he can manage to extract any."

"What's the problem?"

"Beats me. The guy just doesn't have the urge, you know? He's got the breeding but refuses to even try to pass it along. If he doesn't start producing, I may have to put him out of my misery."

Fred smiled at the horse. "I've got someone you should meet," he silently communed.

"Okay, Zack," said Fred taking the horse's lead. "I bet we can recharge this guy's libido." He gave the horse a wink, and the stallion suddenly snorted at him.

"Easy there, Fella," said Templeton, trying to calm the antsy stallion. "Better get him in the trailer. He knows he's going to the vet."

Together the two men tried in vain to get the stallion to cooperate. It was abundantly clear that he did not want anything to do with the trailer.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" cursed Templeton, "What is your prob..." The man let go of the stud and backed away, gasping like he'd seen a ghost. "No... way..."

"A little help here, Zack," said Fred, now finding Malabar twice as unmanageable.

"Harris!" shouted Templeton. "Bring the mare in fourteen, PRONTO!"

"I'm on it," said the employee, also jumping without asking.

"Bring him down, Fred," said Templeton, "looks like I'm gonna get a break."

"What?" Fred caught a glimpse of the erection that briefly swung out to the side and then back under again. Based on the obvious state of arousal, the stallion was seconds away from climaxing whether or not a mare was present.

"Oh my God," said Fred, under his breath. "It isn't Azgard."

The stallion tried to maneuver around Fred, ready to mount him if he could get the chance. Fortunately, Fred had handled horny horses before, and managed to stay safely off to the side while holding him.

"I think he's in love," grinned Templeton.

Fred didn't say anything. His red face said it all for him.

Harris came running back with a frightened mare in tow.

"All right, Fred, let's see who Malabar finds more enticing."

Harris held tight to the estrous mare while Fred led the stud behind her. Malabar jumped on her in a second, and in another, she was pregnant.

"Well done! Ha! Ha! Haaaa!" gleefully shouted Templeton. He slapped Fred on the back.

"Uh, Mr. Templeton, sir," said Harris, "something's going on over there."

The man followed the index finger of his employee then gaped in astonishment.

"Son-of-a-FUCK! Go, Harris! Get everyone out there and separate 'em before they hurt themselves."

"Holy shit," muttered Fred. Every mare in the pasture had a gelding on top of her, and the few geldings that were unpaired sparred amongst themselves to determine who would dominate and who would submit.

Templeton stared at Fred with dollar signs in his eyelids. "Whatever Kyle Lockwood is paying you, I'll triple it and add thirty grand!"

"Uh..." gulped Fred.

"On the condition that you tone it down just a bit, Cupid."

"Mr. Templeton, I don't..."

"... Deny that Fred McHenry is some sort of fertility god? My boy, I have a screaming hard-on in my pants right now that a whole bottle of Viagra couldn't resurrect. You are a horse breeder's gold mine and the fact that Lockwood sent you out here tells me he either doesn't know or doesn't care who he has working for him, or maybe he just has the world's worst business sense."

"Uh..." he gulped again.

"Fred, horse breeding is a lot harder than it looks. You'd think the randy bastards would do all the dirty work on their own but they don't. There's big money to be made for breeders who can produce consistent reliable results. You've got a talent that I can exploit and I will gladly pay handsomely for it. Think about, okay?"

"Okay," said Fred.

"Now if you'll excuse me," he said, heading for his office. "I've got some immediate exploiting to do while I have the chance. And you'd better get going. I don't need any heart attacks today."

"Okay," said Fred. "Thanks, Mr. Templeton."

"Call me 'Partner.'"

"I promise to consider it."

Fred drove back to the highway past a half dozen employees fruitlessly trying to separate a half dozen copulating couples. He wondered how long it would take for all of those batteries to discharge. Then it finally sank in.

"Oh fuck. It's me! I'm the one making everyone horny! What the fuck am I supposed to do now?"

He drove home fuming. Being a fertility god definitely had its "downs" as well as "ups." He just wanted to have a normal life. Lots of people with horses had reasonably normal lives. But it looked like he would not be so lucky.

Fred pulled up behind a black sports car that wasn't speeding fast enough for his liking. He needed to get back to Azgard to figure out what to do next. Seventy miles an hour wasn't cutting it.

"Come on, Pokey, the unposted speed limit's ninety along this stretch."

The car slowed down to fifty-five.

"God damn it!" Oncoming traffic prevented him from passing. "Pull over, jerk!" he honked.

The car slammed on its brakes, and Fred jackknifed the truck to keep from rear-ending it. Spewing obscenities, a large driver stormed out of the car, and for a moment, Fred feared it was one of the rednecks from the bar last night.

"Get off my tail you fucking asshole!"

"I wasn't on your tail."

The man kicked in his fender.

"Hey!"

He went back to his car and pulled out a tire iron.

"Oh shit," Fred freaked, getting out of the truck. He raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry for tailgating. I swear it won't happen again."

Fred noticed a fair assortment of tattoos escaping from underneath the angry man's muscle shirt. He stood gripping the tire iron in one hand and making a fist in the other as he considered Fred's apology. "Come here," he demanded.

Fred nervously complied, stepping around to the front of his truck.

"What's that?!" the man asked, pointing to the truck's headlight as if it were mocking him.

"It's a headlight?" Fred posited.

"No man, it's your SKULL!" He smashed the tire iron into it. "... the next time you honk at me."

The man tossed the weapon into his car and screeched away.

Shaken, Fred got back into his truck, then carefully straightened out and drove the posted speed limit back home, thankful that the damage was less than the deductible on his insurance.

As he pulled around to the back, he groaned at the most unwelcome sight of Sharon's white Camry taking up his parking space. He sighed and got out of the truck to confront her, but she wasn't in her car. Figuring she must be waiting for him inside, he continued on back to discuss things with Azgard, first. Every twenty or thirty yards, someone had dropped a white strip of plastic on the ground, and they seemed to lead directly to Azgard. He picked one up. It was a pregnancy test. And it was positive.

He wondered who in their right mind would collect used pregnancy tests, and then he found her, cornering Azgard against the fence, petting him lovingly on the nose.

"Sharon, what are you doing here."

"Oh hello, Fred," she said, as if she couldn't care less whether he was there or not. "Just visiting the darling father of my child."

She turned slowly around so that Fred could get a good look at her full-term profile under a brand new maternity dress. Fred shook his head at her blatant insult to his intelligence.

"Sharon, I'm not stupid. You're not pregnant. I don't care what the pillow under your dress or all these fake tests say. You're not trapping me into anything. We're through."

She giggled cheerfully and returned her attention to the stallion, kissing his nose tenderly while caressing his cheeks. It stood Fred's and Azgard's hair on end.

"He's so arrogant," she whispered to the stallion. "I bet he's insanely jealous."

Fred pulled her away from Azgard, who then quickly escaped the corner of the property line. "Get lost, Sharon."

"I have every right to be with my mate," she said slyly.

"I AM NOT YOUR MATE!"

"And who said that you were?" she laughed.

"What!?"

She walked over to Azgard with her arms held out to him. He continued to back away in retreat. It was easy to see how he had gotten trapped in the corner.

"Sharon, STOP IT! This has gone far enough."

She turned back around to Fred, wearing an expression that said she held all the cards along with a few extra aces up her sleeve. "You don't believe me, Fred? Then maybe you'll believe your own eyes."

She pulled off the long, silky dress, revealing her nakedness underneath, no bra, no underwear, and to Fred's horror, no pillow. She was pregnant - very pregnant, and just then, whatever was inside of her, moved.

"Oooh!" she said delicately, grabbing her swollen abdomen with both hands. "That was a big one."

"Azgard, what the hell is going on!"

"I fear she is pregnant, Companion," he said, lowering his head in shame. "From my seed."

"We made love, he and I," she said romantically. "And he gave me his child."

"Sharon, listen to me. You can't make a baby in one day! This is... something else."

"You see, my love?" she smiled to Azgard, "Granny Smith apple green with jealousy."

Suddenly she doubled over in pain. "Oh... the baby's coming!"

"What?! NO!! Sharon!"

"The shed! Take me to the shed! My baby was conceived there. My baby must be born there!"

Fred escorted the naked howling woman back to the shed as she demanded. Azgard followed behind with head still bowed in shame and remorse for the tortured life he helped to create. Doug came outside wondering what the screaming was about.

"Call nine-one-one," shouted Fred. Sharon's in labor."

The paramedics arrived to find a man, a Clydesdale, and a naked woman in the dusty structure. She sat propped up against a box of greasy tractor parts on a tattered horse blanket with her legs pulled apart, puffing away just like all the child-birthing manuals instructed. Her vagina had crowned to ten centimeters. There was no time to transport her.

"Are you the father?" one of the paramedics asked Fred.

"No."

He didn't ask Azgard the same question, but he did ask Fred to remove the stallion.

"The father STAYS," she insisted.

"Look,... what's her name?"

"Sharon."

"Sharon, we need room to work. We can't have a horse in here!"

"HE STAYS!!"

"Okay, okay, the father can stay... Chuck, get the horse out of here."

"NO!! NO!! NO!!"

A smooth gray membrane forced her vagina open even further.

"Shit! Forget it, Chuck, I need you here! Sharon, we need to break the amniotic sac. It will release the fluid and allow your baby to come out more easily."

"Don't hurt my baby!"

Chuck peeled open a sterile scalpel for his partner.

"I'll be very careful not to hurt your baby, but you mustn't push right now, do you understand?"

"Don't hurt my baby!"

The paramedic felt around the membrane. "Damn. I've never seen one this thick. I can't make out the head."

"Just cut it, man!"

The gray bulge suddenly pushed out several inches. The paramedic flinched and dropped the scalpel. Sharon shrieked in bloody agony as her baby announced to the world that it was going to be born whether or not its water broke.

"ANOTHER SCALPEL!"

"DON'T HURT MY BA-AAAIIEEEEEEEEEE!!"

"Fuck it!" He picked up the contaminated knife and sliced the sac open. In the next two seconds Sharon gave birth to twenty pounds of festering dung.

The paramedics fell backward, coughing and gagging at the sight, while the maniacal woman screamed, "MY BABY! MY BABY!"

Fred pushed backward into Azgard, unable to turn away from the horror. Azgard pitied the woman, but was secretly relieved to know that an innocent Hipponaur had been spared her misery.

The paramedics stepped out of the shed and radioed that they were bringing in a severely disturbed patient and to alert the straight jacket brigade.

Sharon bellowed for her stillborn child as her body continued to eject the muck she had inserted the night before. The last of it oozed out punctuated with a final splut, as a large purplish blob plopped onto the ground.

"What - is - that," said Fred, covering his mouth.

Chuck the Paramedic poked at it with a tongue depressor. "Oh Christ," he said. "It looks like a placenta."

Fred turned to Azgard, who simply shook his head.

"So are you the father or not?" asked Chuck.

"No, I'm not the father of the little shit," replied Fred indignantly.

"Look, man, I'm not trying to be funny. She was definitely pregnant, but the best I can figure is, she had a partial miscarriage and in her grief, replaced the baby with... that. Do you know where she lives? We might find the fetus there."

Fred gave them her address knowing full well that they would find nothing except a brand new nursery and drawers full of wishful thinking.

The ambulance took the grieving mother away strapped tightly to a gurney. Accompanying her was the entire rancid mess wrapped up in the horse blanket and bagged for the lucky folks in forensics to dissect at their leisure.

Fred's parents and brother went back inside, shaking their heads at the awful tragedy. Fred stayed behind to take responsibility.

"What's going on, Azgard?" he asked sullenly.

"I don't know, Companion. What happened to your girlfriend is beyond me. It is truly tragic."

Fred watched as the ambulance disappeared out of sight.

"I did it to her," he said with a lump in his throat.

"No, Companion. It was I who made her pregnant."

"I don't think so, Azgard. I don't think she was really pregnant. But somehow I made her as pregnant as possible without actually involving a fetus."

"Why do you believe this, Companion?"

"Because I know that she wanted it so badly. It was always in the back of my mind, and in the front of hers. ... And because you were nowhere near that stud farm today. It happened there, too."

Fred bowed his head in resignation. The stallion flared his nostrils.

"I hadn't been there three minutes before all of the horses started humping each other just like my parents in the shed. And at the bar last night - those guys on the pool table - you had nothing to do with that."

Azgard cogitated silently for a moment. "I concede that these incidents of sexual excess might point to you as the common denominator. However, your girlfriend did not seem obsessed with the act itself. She was far more interested in the ends rather than the means."

"I know. Which means it's not just about wild impulsive sex. It's about maternity, and spousal love, and road rage, and growing up, and... and... Oh no..."

Fred bolted into the house interrupting a tender moment on the love seat. "Where's Kirk and Rosie!?"

"Upstairs in your old room, Dear," said his mother. "They haven't come down this morning."

Fred leapt up the stairs skipping three to four steps at a time, then swung around the corner and burst into his room.

Aunt Rosie sat upright against the headboard of his old bed, her naked breast feeding her twenty-five-year-old diaper-clad infant."

"Shhh" she whispered. "He just fell asleep."

Lost in peaceful baby slumber, Fred's cousin released his suckling grip on her nipple, allowing fresh milk to dribble down the sides of his mouth. Fred's presence exacerbated the tableaux, much to the delight of his Aunt, who collected into a glass the renewed pale flow from her glands.

Then the absurd dissolved into more horror as a replay of what happened outside now happened again. Something inside his cousin's belly moved, something that was alive, something that waited for this moment to be born. It erupted from the sleeping man's navel riding on a wave of slime as it stretched and contracted like a gigantic earthworm escaping its host. It's eyeless head probed and searched and then disappeared under the sheets while its endless body continued to emerge. The mother inhaled deeply and smiled when the deformed snake made contact. In a few inches more, it found its old bedroom, and the connection solidified, correcting a mistake made long ago. The mother brought her lips to the sweet forehead cradled in her arms, and kissed her firstborn.

Fred left the house. Azgard observed his Companion haphazardly tossing his things into the truck and didn't need to be asked. He climbed into the trailer on his own, and the two of them sped away as fast as possible.

Twenty miles out of town they pulled off the road onto an empty field. Fred let Azgard out and then paced back and forth to get his head straight.

"How do you feel!" he demanded to know.

"I feel fine, Companion."

"Would you know it if you felt different or odd or completely fucking nuts somehow?"

"That is difficult to say. I suppose it would depend on the symptoms."

"What if the symptoms were that you grew an umbilical cord that re-attached to your mother!"

The stallion studied him to determine if he was being facetious, but the man was obviously scared out of his skull. "I would find that... abnormal."

Fred paced some more while rubbing his temples. "My aunt didn't."

"You witnessed this?"

"It happened right in front of me."

The stallion looked away and thwacked his tail in conflict. "I think I know what might be happening to you, Companion. It sometimes occurs in young Hipponaurs, but the effects are not nearly as dramatic. I believe that you may be unconsciously linking with others, especially when you are under extreme emotional stress."

"Oh great! Is this what happened to Danny?"

Much more thwacking this time. Out of concern for his mate, Azgard had approached Daniel the day before to learn of the details that had lead to his mortality. In confidence, Daniel had reassured him that Fred was not likely to have the same problems, because Shianna was not likely to accompany them and empathetically link with the cops. Azgard understood and promised to keep Daniel's confidence for the sake of Shianna's honor. Now all of that was in doubt.

"WELL??"

"Yes and no."

"What the fuck does that mean!?"

"I cannot elaborate, Companion. I have sworn an oath."

"Fuck your oath, Azgard! Tell me what you know!!"

"I don't KNOW anything, Companion. I thought I did, but now I'm not so sure. There just isn't enough evidence to draw a conclusion."

"How's this for a conclusion?... This weird shit is what got Danny killed."

"His situation was different, but yes, I agree that your well-being is at risk if these episodes continue."

"Did his life turn into a fucking freak show?"

"Not that I'm aware of, Companion. These startling events are entirely unique to you."

"Oh that's just GREAT!" he shouted in hysterics.

"In addition to emotional responses, your linking evidently induces rare physiological manifestations in some individuals. I have never witnessed such a phenomenon before."

"You mean young Hipponaurs don't have the ability to 'think people pregnant'?"

"No. You are a young Hipponaur, but you are also an adult human. It is possible that your emotions are more refined and focussed, and therefore more effective, unfortunately."

Fred curtailed his raving and crossed his arms, rubbing the bridge of his nose to think things through. Azgard pitied him, but also saw this as nothing more than temporary growing pains for this child of Hipponaur.

Fred couldn't be sure of anything anymore and his deepest fear stared back at him. "Am I affecting you, too?" he asked sadly.

The stallion smiled. "If you are, I hope you never stop."

The words were small comfort to the distraught man, so Azgard volunteered more thoughts.

"But I don't think so, Companion. It is possible that I am immune to your emanations, as I suspect most people are. You don't affect everyone you meet, just those you have a strong emotional bond with. And your family may be doubly susceptible from a genetic aspect as well."

The stallion hugged him. "There is good news, Companion. You can learn to control it as Hipponaurs do."

"How long does that take?" he said, allowing some hope to dilute his despair.

"It varies. It could take weeks, it could take years."

"Years... I can't live like this for years. Danny didn't last a week. And if I survive, look what one day of my life did to Sharon and to my cousin and aunt."

"And to your brother and your parents," reminded Azgard. "I think the beneficial effects on them will far outlast the detrimental effects on the others."

"You think so?" he asked, grasping that ray of hope.

"Yes," he said emphatically. "And it will only take weeks in your case, Companion, because you want it so badly."

Fred hugged him and thanked him for being there for him and for not getting fucked up by him like everything else he touched. Then his momentary cheer evaporated into anger. "That fucking Jeremiah! He knew this was going to happen."

"Companion..."

"He could have said something!"

"It is my unfailing recollection, Companion, that he did."

Fred looked down and ground his teeth. "Yeah... I guess he did."

"You need to seek help."

Fred shook his head, resigned to his fate. "There is no one that can help me."

"No one here, perhaps. But you still have friends you can go to."

Fred looked up into the eyes of the smartest Clydesdale in the world, and he allowed inside that tiny sparkle of hope reflecting from them. "I really do, don't I."

They drove to a truck stop and parked, then unloaded the gear onto Azgard. Calling from a payphone Fred told Erica where to pick up the truck and also explained the need for more extended soul-searching which he conveniently blamed on Sharon. Then he called his parents and gave them the same story. The paramedics were just leaving, radioing ahead for two more straight jackets.

Fred gave his parents his love, and told his brother he was proud of him and not to accept the first offer on his truck. Then he mounted his steadfast steed and rode off into the wilderness, a lonesome wandering spirit, desperately in search of his soul.

#

[End of _COMPANIONS_ Chapter 32: Growing Pains]

[This concludes Part 11 of the series. Take a break.]

[Next in series: Chapter 33: What Mares Know]