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Life on the farm carried on as it had for the past couple of months. Eric and Sandra — slowly — grew more comfortable in their skin. Tommy was the outlier however, there was still an uneasy confusion no matter how much time his parents spent with him. Family just didn't feel the same.

Eric enjoyed his life as an anthropomorphic bull. Now that the last days of Spring had passed, he could kick back and relax more, watching the crops grow. With his beautiful wife by his side.

As time passed, much to his surprise, he became less and less interested in all the consumer electronics he could finally afford. They just...didn't seem needed. Sandra too, had lost interest in modern entertainment. She barely watched television anymore, except for several cookery programmes. The natural lifestyle called to them more than ever.

Good food, open fields, fresh air. Nothing beat it. The pair had slept in barns, among bales of hay; outside, in the elements, huddling together for warmth and...other_..._sexier reasons. The last time either of them had used their bedroom, well, neither could quite remember. Their son was the only one making use of the human accommodations afforded to him.

Tommy — on the one hand — liked this newfound free reign of the house, but missed his mom and dad just being around more often. That wasn't the biggest abnormality though. It was his parent's abandonment of any and all clothing. Before, they sported crude, but functional, garments. Like loincloths and wraps worn by some kind of Tarzan-esque character. Now — after several months of living as human-bovine hybrids — they wore nothing, and didn't realise or seem to care how uncomfortable that made their son feel.

No kid should have to see their parents strut about their business naked. The fur helped cover them somewhat, but not enough. Watching his father performing manual labour, his enormous bovine cock and balls on display for the world to see...eugh. His mother too, ass and tits bouncing as she walked, pussy on show whenever she bent over to pick something up...avert your eyes children!

Mealtimes were too awkward. He stopped attending them altogether, simply making do with taking his food to his room and eating it there. He hadn't the courage to confront them about it. It was all too damn weird. He wanted his 'normal' parents back.

* * *

“Hi Tommy."

“Uh, hey mom."

“Watcha' doing?"

Sandra had just entered the dining room as Tommy scribbled away on his maths homework, through the extra-high door frame that connected to the kitchen. Carl had once mentioned to Tommy that by now it had been a waste of money refurbishing the house to fit his parent's height and size, as they don't even bother to sleep indoors anymore. He agreed. Couldn't quite put his finger on why they didn't...

Tommy worked up the courage to turn his head to Sandra. Oh thank God she's wearing an apron! He was relieved. The one exception to his parent's apparent no-clothing rule. Even then, her voluminous breasts jiggled enough as the cowgirl moved to make it awkward.

She bounced over to the table and took a seat next to her son. Even though the furniture was supposed to be reinforced to handle his parent's weight he could hear an audible straining as the chair supported his mother.

He replied to her question: “trigonometry."

“Ooh. That's all about triangles isn't it?"

“Um...yeah, you could say that. I'm on a tricky problem."

“Sorry sweetie...I know parent's are supposed to help with homework, but I wouldn't know a thing 'bout 'triggo-gnome-tree'."

Tommy knew his mother always had a bubbly personality, but lately he noticed more and more that she seemed to forget things. Not hugely important things, but smaller things here-and-there. Stuff he was sure she remembered before. And she brazenly admitted to not knowing, like just now. Tommy took a minute to mull over that worrying thought. What exactly had the transformation done — is still doing — to his parents? Did it affect their minds? Is it still affecting them?

Or...maybe she never paid much attention in school when she was a kid, he never asked how she got on in her formative years. Maybe that's it, he assured himself. Plus, she hadn't needed advanced maths for most of her adult life. So really there was nothing to worry himself about. His mom could be a ditz at times. Dad could testify to that. Nothing new, nothing new.

“That's okay. I'll get it eventually."

“Oh you're so smart sweetie! I'm proud of you," she reached over and pulled him into a motherly hug. Tommy was not expecting this. “Gagh," he coughed as he got a face-full of fur.

“Mom...hack...you're very strong."

“Wha? Oh moo! Sorry," she relaxed her grip on her wheezing son. Once the teenager was no longer being literally crushed he could reciprocate, extending his arms around her. At least he wasn't smooshed between her boobs, he'd never live the embarrassment down.

“Thanks mom."

“Love you Tommy!"

Sandra completed the hug and stood up to leave. “I'm gonna be busy for a while. I've got to put dinner on, how does tomato and basil soup with a pot of mixed veggies sound?"

“Fine mom," he answered with a hint of disappointment. He was never going to have meatloaf again was he?

“Great, I'll start cooking soon. In the meantime I...have to go to the barns to...check all the farm equipment."

Tommy knew what that euphemism meant, she was going off to milk herself. As much as he tried to push that notion out of his brain, every damn time she used that line to excuse herself the mental image returned with a vengeance.

“'kaythanksmombye." he hurriedly responded, hoping to return to his schoolwork as quickly as possible to wash his mind of all things unsightly. His mother left the room still in a perky mood, humming to herself.

* * *

Later that day Tommy was dispatched by his mother to find Eric and bring him in for dinner. He found his father in one of the barns, which he'd converted into a makeshift gym using materials available around the farm. Water-filled barrels for weights, steel piping overlaid with a stitched-together belt of rubber tyres for a treadmill, etc...

Eric had decided that — in his spare time — he would keep in shape, partly for his own benefit as it made hard manual labour all the more bearable, and partly for Sandra's sake because his mate deserved a sexy hunk of a bull fucking her senseless.

Groaning under a weight that no human could ever lift, muscles rippling as he pumped iron. Gotta be strong for Sandra, gotta be strong for Tommy, make this work...

He took his bread-winning role very seriously. Make no mistake there was nothing he wouldn't do for the good of his herd. Herd? We're a herd now , he realised, me, Sandra and Tommy. Well...Tommy only half-counts, he ain't a cow. It all made a lot more sense to him now. He didn't just have a responsibility to his family, but a responsibility to his herd! Which right now was quite small and...wait...did Tommy count? Can a human even be part of a herd? Those sorts of philosophical questions would keep Eric up at night.

He smiled to himself. I'm a bovine Plate...no, Sock Tees...uhh...Nostradamus? He didn't know any names of philosophers.

Tommy hadn't made a loud enough sound to alert his father to his son's presence, and so was confronted with the sight of the nude, eleven-foot herbivorous titan in the middle of an intense exercise routine. He was especially (un)fortunate enough to get a full view of his dad's junk, shamelessly on display as he lay down on the bench.

What good deed in God's green Earth did his father do to be rewarded in life with that endowment? Save an entire bus full of kids? Cure cancer? That thing was huge! Well, these days the rest of his dad was equally huge, so it made sense. Nooo, he screamed inside his head, stop making sense of this shit!Oh crap he's looking at me now, say what you need to say!

“Hey dad."

“Yeah son?"

“Mom says dinner's ready."

“Cool," he dropped the barrel-weights over his head. Sitting up he grabbed his shoulder and rotated his other arm. “Ahh, that'll start to hurt tomorrow," he joked as his homemade dumb-bell rolled across the barn to the other end of the structure, hitting a pile of metal rings with a clang.

“What's cooking?"

“Soup. And vegetables." As if that was a surprise, he mentally bitched. Whenever he left home Tommy was sure he'd be an expert on every kind of soup, stew and vegetable-based cuisine ever created by Mankind. Curry was nice though.

“And will you be joining your mother and I at the dinner table?"

“Eh. I think I'll pass."

Eric raised an eyebrow. “Young man. You can't keep blowing off being with your family during meals. It's rude."

“I...uh...get that." Unlike your naked ass which doesn't seem to fucking understand it's weird to not wear any fucking clothes! Wow...where did that come from? Tommy felt glad he didn't accidentally make that outburst out loud.

Eric walked over to his son, kneeled down and placed a hand on his shoulder. To an observer, this looked comical as Tommy barely came up to his father's neckline even as he was kneeling.

“Son. I don't want to put you under any pressure or stress or anything. I know these past few months have been hard on you. I get it, our...appearance is still...y'know. You can eat wherever you want, and join us when you're ready."

Tommy was taken aback somewhat by his father's earnest talk. He was expecting to be chewed-out for not sticking around for dinner, but no, he got instead genuine concern. It was like he read the boy's mind. He now felt bad for having that curse-laden rant, even if it was just in his head.

“MOO!" his father roared after standing back up, “let's get some food."

* * *

Tommy — although from a poor family — found he had the good fortune to have not one, but two sympathetic ears to his issues. Carl, for as much as the man feigned aloofness, did listen and advise the teenager, acting as a kind of therapist on the Bovinex side of things. On the other hand, there was his school-friend Nick, who still maintained that Tommy was welcome to stay over with him should there be any trouble at home. He cherished their school bus chats.

“Mom's on meds now. She does nothing but bake cakes. It's great!"

“You and I might have a different take on the word 'great' Nick."

“You know what I mean! I'm not cheerin' me parents havin' to get help. Say," he changed the topic of conversation, “have you joined that study group you were talking about before?"

“No. I haven't..."

The bus hit a pothole, and the students all cheered as they were flung about their seats in the discount roller-coaster. When normalcy resumed, so did the chatter.

“I thought you wanted to?"

“I did. But I've been doing better now that my parents bother me less."

“Uh-huh."

“I mean. They still freak me the fuck out. But I think I'm getting better at dealing with them."

“Cool, dude. You're uncle Carl is a really good therapist!"

“I told you, he's not my uncle."

“Well, it's an easy mistake t'make. He hangs around your parents, he's old, he looks like an uncle."

“Why do you keep thinking he's my uncle!?"

Nick still knew very little about Tommy's true situation, but had the tact to not press the matter. He couldn't hurt his friend asking too many personal questions. In return, Tommy kept his inquiries about Nick's life to a minimum as well. They shared vague stories to maintain that privacy.

Some people would call that a strange friendship. It was. And it kept the pair of them sane.

Sane-ish.