"Buffalo Bill" written by K.Rooste
Buffalo Bill
By Kevin Rooste
Series 2006
Two weeks out of each year is what I take as a well deserved vacation. My job is the prime reason to rest and relax, but then comes the wife and two kids, enough to drive a man crazy!
I pack a satchel, my rifle, and two flares, then a friend would fly me north, over the Canadian border, landing and leaving me to fend for myself.
Rest and total relaxation is what I need and there, among the trees and wilderness a stressed man can find relief.
As I stood on the shore of some unknown or nameless lake, I waved and watched the airplane wiggled its fair well and goodbye with its wings. A hearty sigh and I turned to make my camp, erect the tent, find firewood, and have enough time to lay back and listen to all of nature.
Day one through six went past without a hitch, ah, just all of nature and me; oh but it was as if I had died, and went to heaven. Such peace and tranquility, I chuckled of what the pilot said, he telling one dumb joke after another on my flight. He said not to call for the plane until a doe started to look like a favorable lover.
The morning of day seven began with an odd sound, everything was silent, a foreboding quiet had settled over the woods. I noticed the quiet and awoke from a sound sleep, sitting up and listening to a whole lot of nothing!
Quickly, I slipped out of my sleeping bag, and crawled out of the small tent, to stand up and look around. Listening for any bird, or the faintest of sounds, but all I heard was absolute silence.
Grabbing my rifle, I looked for a reasonable spot, or some place worthy to hold and use for my defense.
A small knoll of large rocks offered a good place above the surrounding woodland, like a man possessed I scrambled together my camp and moved everything to that defendable position. The rocky hilltop offered no soft earth to set up my tent spikes, leaving me to lay under the stars and hope it would not begin to rain.
That evening I sat there about in a panic, worried and wondering if my entire vacation would pass with me seated above the lake, nestled in some rocks, and waiting for something to happen. The waiting became unbearable, and with the setting sun, I had a reprieve.
The snapping of a twig echoed the lake. It made me jump to my feet, grab my rifle, cocking back the hammer in wait for whatever was making the forest a place of silence.
Then I saw them, Buffalo, a small herd of thirty or so animals working their way along the lake shore. I kneeled down and from my high lookout, watched as cows and calves began to drink at the shore.
They made little noise other than an occasional calf balling.
The hefty snort alerted me to turn and see this large bull buffalo saunter slowly out of the dark forest. He bellowed his call making the cows look up, as seemingly to take notice having a little caution as he approached.
I watched in fascination as the giant bull nuzzled a small calf, seemingly showing it some sort of bestial compassion. It rather stunned me to see what I had thought about animals, or buffalo in general, the idea they were brutes all the time.
This big bull seemed quite the opposite of my preconceived notion. He looked gentle, showing some sort of consideration or kindness toward the little calf. His action surprised me and I sat with unabated interest, watching and as much learning.
My height above the surrounding shoreline offered me a secure spot which such a huge animal could neither climb, nor threaten my wellbeing.
As if breaking the forest’s respect for the herd, I called out to the big bull Buffalo, making jest of him and talking to the beast as if he were some general passer-by.
The beast snorted and began to become quite agitated. He would paw the soft ground with his one fore hoof, while tucking his chin to the chest, as he made some aggressive posturing.
The buffalo cows and calves went about their drinking and soon walked up on the green grassy shore, turning their attention to calmly grazing.
The bull stood his ground, cocking that enormous head, ogling me with first one eye, while then turning to look at me with other. He did seem after some time passed to ignore my presence; wandering off to graze, oblivious as he turned his tail in my direction.
As the sun set in the western sky the small herd bedded themselves down for a long night of snoring and slumber. This really upset me, as for my canteen was all but dry and I sat watching and waiting my chance to scramble down the rocks and run to the lake; planning to refill my supply of fresh water.
I was standing in the lake and about finished filling two canteens when I heard a soft crunching noise. A slow turn to look around and wishing I would not disturb the sleeping cows, I came nose to nostrils with the mighty bull.
My fear suggested I walk further out into the lake and wait my chance to rush for the rocks and some safety. Instead, as I stood there the big brute began to wrinkle his massive nose, chewing his lips, and trying to make some sort of sound.
A soft grumbling came from its mouth, then turning away the beast sauntered up the beach to stand a few feet from where I would have to run; that is if I dared to make a dash for my rocky roost.
He made no a single threatening move, so I steeped out of the lake and slowly walked toward the rocky steps to my stone loft. As I placed one foot on the first stone, that bull stirred, moving his right front cloven hoof and scratching something in the sand.
I stood peering down, looking in the dim light of a setting sun and to my surprise; what I gawked at in surprise were what appeared as if two letters, “An H, and I,” as if he wrote Hi!
Stunned at this a mite, I spoke the written greeting and stood there watching and waiting as the animal again began to scrawl in the sand.
“B-I-L-L” the fore hoof slowly made four letters in the sand.
Now I had seen trick horses that write in the sand, and dogs that could understand very intricate commands, but out in the wild I never would have expected to see a Buffalo in the wild doing tricks.
“Hi Bill,” I said, making it sound authentic and almost like someone might great a person along the street. My captioned phrase met with a response from the animal, he lifting his head, while then offering me a toothy big grin. He curled back his black lips showing those gigantic front teeth.
A stepped forward toward me, few prancing quick steps obliterated his first writings, and stopping to begin again, he wrote more in the sand.
Slowly as before he used great mental thought, moving the cloven hoof, making his letters, this time writing the word, “Y-E-A-R”.
“Year,” I said aloud, “what year is it now?” I repeated and filled in that what he did not write, but I anticipated he might have meant.
“2006,” I spoke out in a clear and rather precise mouthing of the words.
The big bull became suddenly angry, snorting and then turning his face toward the night sky, he let loose this screaming bellow, it echoed the forest and canyon walls, arising his herd from their slumber.
Tramping in circles as if aggravated by my response, he calmed down and returned to stand closer to me. Snorting and the snot running from his huge, black nostrils, the bull Buffalo began once more to write upon the sands.
This time he wrote more, it had me thinking this was no ordinary sort of trick bull, but it suggested of it self being as if the living Einstein of bovines!
I watched with great interest as this massive animal wrote in the sand with such grace and movement, it had me thinking my penmanship was worse off then his.
Stepping off my safe rock, I began to read aloud what the bull wrote in the wet sand.
“TEN…YEARS…SINCE…MEETING…HIM…LIKE…YOU…HUNTER…AND……NOW…BULL…FATHER…LEADER…”
Then, from out of thin air comes this voice, a bold voice, speaking with authority, as if everything around me were his to command. It spoke of the herd, and its bull, seemingly then as once was a man, and from his trespass; he became as one of the animals he sought to kill.
Announcing his name as Kalliah, he proclaimed this as his land and all that lived there in was his to do with as he did please.
His voice echoed the farthest hills, shaking the ground and making the buffalo herd mill about looking anxious.
There, before me stood a mountain of one man, seven feet tall, exceptionally built of stout bone and exceedingly strong muscles. Standing with a sort of pride and boldness, dressed as would be some king from the middle ages in chain mail and glistening armor.
As he looked directly into my eyes, I felt his mind reaching into mine. Like unto ants crawling around inside my skull he probed my every thought, opening memories of past ill begotten situations and the like. From the depths of my mind, he dragged to the surface long forgotten moments, those I once cherished and others I wanted and tried hard to forget.
Smiling, he withdrew from my mind, sighing as if relieved, knowing my coming was to save myself from the stress and insanity of daily life. He stood with a grin or smirk, seemingly delighted I came to his realm of peace and in peace.
Speaking again, he offered me his charity and the hospitality of all within his realm. He said I could sleep easily knowing that I was free from harm, as none there would dare consecrate his wish for my safekeeping.
Finding myself in his good graces, I became bold and asked to know why he made the hunting man a buffalo.
Laughing, this strange man said that if I wanted to know why, it would be easier if the bull buffalo told me his story.
I was about to ask if the buffalo would write it in the sand, when the kingly man drew out his sword from the sheath, and reached toward me, he placed it softly upon my forehead. Speaking in some rare old language, his words first had some meaning but that began to fade.
Fade too did my humanity, I gasped seeing my hands turn a deep brown and then become as cloven hooves. My wrists began to sprout brown hairs, as skin turned a deep black in color.
I wanted to speak, to beg or plead less I too would become as a buffalo, but this seemed already decided.
The blackening change of human skin to bovine hide spread quickly, growing with it was a coat of hair, surging up my arms and over my entire body in only seconds.
Shivers and shudders from terror and a strange tingling chill racked my frame. I watched in silence as a male human body became bovine of species and buffalo in form. Once arms had become my forelegs, shoulder a mass of muscle, neck thickened, and my hips forcing me to stand on all fours, I could do nothing but watch feeling terror and then a strange sense of euphoria.
Unlike the giant bull buffalo, I found myself becoming more like one of the yearling calves. My gender had remained male, but not to the matured extent of the mighty bull, my gazing at his genitals made me a little jealous.
The wired sensation of one growing a tail brings on separate passions. First off, comes the realization how a tail differs men from the animals. The other is a particular delight, knowing that many happy hours of sensuality can happen by having a tail.
An inner passion began to engulf myself with bestial sensations, the sensuality of being naked, while this is acceptable, as I would be but an animal.
When legs took to their new positioning, hunched down, heels high as my hocks, and feet grown much longer, leaving me standing on cloven hooves, I found this a very comfortable way to stand and walk.
My one concern came when I felt the growth and changes begin to affect the skull, even my eyes spreading wide apart, as I could actually feel them grow to large bovine size. Then came the nostrils expanding, lips thickened, and my mouth grew enormous. Teeth and tongue asserted stranger sensations, loosing the ability to speak I began to bellow like a calf searching for its mother.
The Kingly man gave a wave of his hand and unbelievingly a cow buffalo sauntered to stand with her huge rear near my changed face. As I stood there the motherly beast let loose a waterfall of yellow stench, her urine becoming to my nostrils, as thoughts and mannerisms within my brain changed, and knew she stood there willing and offering me her udder to suckle.
I tried to fight the natural urge but fighting this instinct seemed as impossible as the realization of this whole situation. My head ducked low, lips reaching for a teat, I could do nothing but see myself grab a swollen teat and begin to suckle.
The warm milk quelled away all of my fears, helping me to adjust mentally, as then I accepted my new form, cherishing it and longing to be a part of the herd.
The bull buffalo came to stand by my flank. He dipped his great head and as a horn touched my temple, he began to speak directly into my mind.
Buffalo Bill is what he and the Kingly one called him. He came to the lake to hunt and kill for the sport, and leave the dead to rot in the sun. As if the love of killing was, his joy for sport, once he pointed his gun at Kalliah his life and form found a new purpose.
He, like me, felt the body and one’s mental attitude change. The fear of being an animal faded and after his first season in rut, he could not bring himself to leave his herd.
Decidedly, he knew he had to stay, his mind ceased to waver, as he let go his past life and those he cherished then; all that meant so much became to fret him so little, it was then his duty to repopulate that which he had killed.
Hearing his story I looked to Kalliah, my mind linked quickly with his, and like Bill, I asked to stay on and learn the happiness of living as would a buffalo.
I suspect his answer made a binding agreement, as since my body matured. The herd split into two herds, Bill took most of the cows, while I had need of only a few.
Bill was correct in his statement, as form the sensation of a bull in rut I too gained such a sensual delight, my past faded and I felt the need to be a Buffalo bull.
Ah friend, to be in rut drives one to take desperate chances, as I mated by day and night, in rain or dry, and often standing for long times, buried deep, enjoying the nature state of being a bull buffalo and leader of his herd. I chuckled when remembering the odd saying of the larger the sock the longer the cock, and it is true!
(Picture)
The telling of time has slipped my mental ability and I am sure the bull that I am has seen several seasons of rut. Those here who depend on me replaced all my memories with the need of their concerns, my human family is but in another place, a different world, and more than able to defend for themselves.
I am content, as the bounty of the earth is but my daily bread. My herd grows in accordance to the size of my bovine maleness; to this I cherish the wonderful times of rut!
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K.Rooste also wrote these stories:
Where I Am King / Tf Story
Safe & Secure
An Epic Of Lust
Buffalo Bill
Over Done
Pinned With Excitement
Just A Visit (tf Story)
The Graduating Class (transfromation Story)
“perfect Anonymity”
Last Time As A Man
An Epic Of Lust Part Ii
Actions & Beginnings (a Tf Story)
"if You Dare"
Ever Feel The Urge
All From A Blind Date
"memories"
The Curse Of Chastity
A Thing For Greed
"power Of Persuasion"
Early Damnation
Enjoying The Time Of His Life
A Business Trip To Hell
All In Good Time
My Final Story For B.f. "sensual Enough"
Just For A Visit
"just For A Visit" (for My Good Friends
Truely Permanent
Getting Prepared For Hell
With Time To Kill
Married Dreamer
Enhanced Security Helps
A Profound Experience
A Matter Of Appreciation
Red Neck
Feeling Cocky
Membership Of One
Screwball Prank
Secure And Safe
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