I Violated an Icelandic Lamb

        Some where in the Atlantic Ocean, there is an island called Iceland.  In the middle of Iceland, there is a remote farm.  On this farm, I, a lost city boy, became a man.

      It was a brisk Icelandic summer.  I had been shoveling manure for three days straight.  I had just finished dumping my last load for the day.  Rainey, the young Icelandic farmer, invited me to call in the cows.

      Rainey left for the barn as I tried out some cow calls. 

      “Aaaah,” Rainey called from the barn.

      The cows didn’t give a hoot about my call.  Rainey yells and the cows immediately turn their big fat heads.

      “Aah, come quick!” yelled Rainey.

      I was being summoned.  Ol’ Rugged, the senior on the farm, came drifting behind me.

      While on the farm, I had shoveled shit, roamed the farm hillside, ridden a tractor, and tried calling the cows home.  As far as a farm experience goes, I had had quite a tour.  Now, I was staring down at a lamb, which was, at that very moment, giving birth.  It is the truth, I swear.  I could not have paid PBS for a better farm experience.  Yes, I was going to watch a farm animal give birth for free!

      As Rainey looked a little overwhelmed,  Ol’ Rugged came in and went to work.  Ol’ Rugged grunted at my city-boy astonishment at this current situation.  Ol’ Rugged went on to grab the lamb by its legs and without any emotion, presto, he flipped the lamb on its back.  Okay, all the romantic magic in regards to birth was lost when I saw the lamb’s stretched crotch--“meat shot”!

      There was a baby lamb’s head and one leg poking out of the mother lamb’s genitalia.  All the mucous was like congealed Vermont maple syrup.  There we were, all three of us, staring at this poor lamb’s privates.

      “Hmmmph,” was the last thing Ol’ Rugged said as he simply stuck his hand up into the lamb.

      “Arryeeek,” went the lamb. 

      Did Ol’ Rugged stick just his fingers up into the lamb?  Did he stick just his hand in to the lamb?  Try his whole forearm!  I could see the shape of his hand against the lamb’s stomach wall.

      “Grackarrrk” went the lamb as its entrails were twisted and knotted. 

      Sloop, out came Ol’ Rugged’s hand, along with a mucous flush.  Ol’ Rugged couldn’t quite get a good grip on the other limbs of this baby lamb.  Ol’ Rugged nodded and Rainey, obediently, dropped to his knees and dove his hand into the lamb's uterus.

      Slosh went the lips as Rainey’s lubricated arm went into the vulva.  Rainey wasn’t enjoying himself.  He dug deeper into the cavity.  Rainey was moving and twisting to get a better angle.  As Ol’ Rugged was wiping his arm off, he was directing his intern, Rainey.  Rainey was becoming frustrated.  Though, surely no one was more frustrated as the poor mama who was still making it clear with her death cries that she wasn’t having any fun.  Then something happened. 

      “Can I help?”

      Out of surprise, we all turned around.  Rainey and Ol’ Rugged turned around.  I turned around.  I didn't see anyone one behind me.  I didn’t need to turn back around to know whom Rainey and Ol’ Rugged were looking at.  They were looking at me.

      Damn you mouth.  Rainey withdrew from the hot spot.  Ol’ Rugged stepped back.  They were both behind me now. 

      Defeated, I approached the lamb and dropped to my knees.  I realized that my body, especially my mouth, was set on destroying me. 

      It was just the vagina and me.  I stared right at the vagina.  The baby lamb’s head was somehow wiggling.  Each wiggle would allow for more vaginal mucous deposits to come squirting out.  What was I doing? 

      Somewhere else, I wasn’t really there in that barn.  No, I was somewhere else.  I was up in the mountains.  Yes, I was surrounded by red woods.  I was walking around with some beautiful hippie girl.  We were gathering berries for our post-snuggling snack.  Somewhere else, I wasn’t in a barn about to violate a sheep with my innocent city-boy hand. 

      I made my hand into some pointed, hand puppet shape and inserted my hand between the baby lamb and the vaginal wall.

      Maybe I had created a vacuum.  Maybe some muscles contracted, but the lamb’s cavity instantaneously swallowed my arm up to my elbow.  My lower arm was caught for a minute.  I sat there forgetting what my task was.    

      “Arrrhk,” shrieked the Mother Lamb.

      “Gak,” started the baby Lamb.

      “Aaah,” cried the city boy. 

      All Creatures, great and small, my ass!  I felt things that no man should ever feel.  I felt the baby Lamb moving inside.  I felt a rippling uterus, a ribbed cervix and a whole bucket of mucous.  It was hot, it was tight and it wasn’t good.

      Black berries, raspberries, cranberries, and blueberries, what a nice snack my beautiful hippie girlfriend and I were going to have.

      “Ah,” I let out as I pulled on the baby lamb. 

      I had succeeded in pulling out the baby lamb an inch more.  Ol’ Rugged sized up the new status.  Ol’ Rugged grabbed the baby lamb by the skull and just pulled.  The baby lamb came slowly, like a cork slowly being pulled out of a wine bottle, until finally everything cascaded out, baby lamb, mucus, and after birth.

      I was noticing the webbed effect the mucus was giving my hands when I spread my fingers.  I also noticed exactly how deep I had ventured to wedge my arm into the lamb--it was right where the mucus ring on my arm was.

      You really don’t slap a newborn on a farm.  To get the baby lamb breathing, Ol’ Rugged grabbed the lamb by its hind legs and then, like snapping freshly washed sheets in the mountain air, he whip-lashed the baby which effectively dislodged the plug in its mouth.  After much snorting, the baby was breathing.

      We stood around watching the mom licking all the molasses off its kid.  Ol’ Rugged looked at me and, out of character, made a rather funny looking face.  He mumbled something in Icelandic and started chuckling.  Rainey translated for me and said that Ol’ Rugged was making fun of the face I had made when I stuck my hand up into the lamb.  Yes, I had earned more Icelandic brownie points.

            I spent the rest of the evening trying to wash the smell of lamb mucous off my arm and hands.  This was, of course, just a small price to pay for my new label of Experienced Man.