It was May and as she pushed she rubbed her chest against me. She took a bottle of Australian white and showed it to me. “Is good?” she asked. An ...valanche of fear and trepidation fell from my chest to my bowels as I realised she was being nice to me. Not just polite, but friendly, sympathetic, encouraging, trying to atone for the recent incident which had not been her fault anyway.“What are you going to drink it with?” I asked, suddenly the expert and trying too hard to help.“My own recipe,”. Doris reminded me of what to do and how to do it. Measuring the feed sometimes became a challenge, since Doris had changed quite a bit. If you read the first part of the Doris story, you remember how her breasts had just begun to bud. Well, the buds became more like little bulges.We busied ourselves, and finished the chores in what seemed to be no time. That left us time for fun. Doris took me on a tour of the farm, as some changes had taken place since I was there last. As we walked, we also. More

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