1000 Words: Dropped Off
#12 of 1000 Words: Picture Stories
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This story belongs to my growing series: 1000 Words: Picture Stories. If a picture is worth a thousand words, can I paint a scene with the same limitation? The stories in this folder are self-contained, and not interrelated, other than the requirement that they contain exactly 1000 words.
The bulky, ancient, family car shuddered as the vehicle accelerated through the intersection, putrid black smog pumping out the exhaust pipe like the dozens of drawings of steam trains that lined Helen's school notebooks. Plastic bags that muted the bright colors of hidden groceries shared the backseat with the 12-year-old, dappled gray filly. Helen leaned her head against the side door, the vibrations rattling her skull.
Suddenly, the car took a wide lurch to the right, pulling the young girl away from the safety of the door. The turn was unexpected. Home had been straight ahead. Helen looked up at her mother, who was straining to turn the old steering wheel, her jaw set. A second later, Helen knew why, as she glimpsed the towering signboard for the strip mall flying past.
Even before Helen could form the words, her mother interrupted, "Helen, don't start." With a high-pitched whine, the car lurched to a stop, shaking and sputtering. Helen knew what words would come next, and just thinking about them made the memories engulf her head like wildfire.
* * * * *
"Look at that big ball of hair," Mr. Ladrick said, holding out a large clump of matted, grey fur for Helen. "You know, you'd be more comfortable if you got your hair cut more often, my dear. I could even give your family a discount. Did you know that me and your dad go way back?"
Helen knew, because the barber mentioned it every time she came to visit. He was a Rough Collie, with long, well-trimmed white, black and caramel fur draping his body, puffing out where his barber's coat ended. The young filly lay on her stomach on the barber's table, her t-shirt laying on a nearby stool to provide Mr. Ladrick access to Helen's back. He always complimented her many white spots on an otherwise gray pelt.
"Alright, almost done here," he said, dropping the wad of loose hair into the disposal bin. "Skirt down, young lady."
This was the part that Helen always dreaded. After brushing the loose fur from Helen's back, the barber always made her drop her pants, to trim and brush the fur on her rump and tail. Her parents dragged her kicking and screaming to the barber every time, even though they tried to patiently explain that Mr. Ladrick was just doing his job. Helen insisted it was more than just modesty on her part, but all she could manage to say in her defense was "I don't like it."
She didn't resist Mr. Ladrick. Once trapped in his closed barber room, Helen just wanted to get out as fast as possible. Clenching her eyes shut, she reached down and unclasped her skirt, grabbing the bands of both skirt and panties and pulling them down. Blood rushed to her face as she lay on the table, her legs dangling over the edge.
Mr. Ladrick said, "You have such a beautiful tail, Helen," as he sat in his wheeled chair, holding his scissors and brush. He rolled behind her, reaching up to grab her tail and being to pass the brush through the thick, dark gray hair. As always, the collie pulled her tail out from between her legs, brushing it from the side. Helen could feel the breeze of the nearby fan blowing gently against her exposed privates. She closed her eyes, her heart hammering at her chest in its effort to escape.
"You've really grown," the man said, casually brushing her tail. "What are you, eleven, now?"
The dappled filly nodded.
"Growing into a budding young woman. Soon you'll be catching the eye of the colts at school, huh?"
Helen nodded again, her guts tying up in knots. This happened every time - the vaguely innocent questions. She felt his hands as he began to snip the errant hairs along her tail, before moving on to brush her rump. His strong left hand held her tail well off to the side as he brushed.
Mr. Ladrick sniffed, saying, "I've always loved the smell of horses. So earthy. Especially you, Helen. So young and full of life." He switched sides, brushing the other side of her rump. Helen's ordeal was almost over.
"Well, that should just about wrap things up, Helen," he said, putting his brush and scissors behind.
Helen started to say, "Thank you, Mr. Ladrick," but the collie interrupted, "But what's that? You smell a little different today."
He'd never said anything like that before.
Sprawled on the table, Helen wasn't sure what was happening as she felt the collie sniffing behind her. Warm air tickled her newly groomed fur. Suddenly, she felt Mr. Ladrick's hand grip her tail once more, pulling it aside, and his breath landed squarely on her black, tear-drop shaped privates. Eyes wide, Helen gasped, "Mr. Ladrick!"
A second later, something firm and wet engulfed her vulva, and Helen whinnied in shock. Wet slurping sounds filled her ears, but she could feel every pulse of the collie's tongue as it slid between her tender, virgin folds. Instinctively, Helen kicked, but the man grabbed her legs and pinned them against the table, lasciviously probing the helpless filly.
He pulled his tongue out simply to say, "Your first heat. You're a woman now." Tears formed at the 11-year-old's eyes at the sheer ridiculousness of that claim.
"Mr. Ladrick, stop!"
One hand holding the filly to the table, the collie use his other hand to slowly unbutton his barber's coat. Helen neighed, "I'll tell my parents!"
With chilling calm, Mr. Ladrick lowered his pants, revealing himself to the young girl. "Go ahead. Who do you think they'll believe?"
* * * * *
"It's time for your haircut," came the dreaded words, pulling her out of her trance.
"No. Mom! No!" Helen cried.
"We've been over this, Helen. Get your butt out of this car. Honestly, it's just a haircut! I don't know what's wrong with you."
The young filly watched her feet as she walked up to the shop, Mr. Ladrick politely holding the door.