The New Ranch Hand Part I
By Zac (kwirtee)
This story is something of a return to form for me. It moves away from the playful, fluffy shrinking stories I've been writing and more towards plausible-size difference romances. I promised myself that I would finish it before posting it, since I have a nasty tendency to just stop writing stories unresolved, and I can happily say that I wrote the final words this story today. Hope you all enjoy it!
_________
I pulled into the driveway of our ranch, my small, mid-80s blue Chevy pickup truck kicking up a veritable cloud of dry, taupe-colored dust as it trundled down the unpaved path. The pedals had extensions on them to account for my extraordinary lack of height. At five foot even, it was difficult for my legs to reach even the pedals of my diminutive pickup truck.
The mountains created a dramatic scene, rising up behind the classic white farmhouse, so close and clear that it seemed as if you could reach out and touch them with your bare hand. Our cattle stood by idly on either side of the road, grazing in the dry September heat; kept in place by an intact, but rapidly deteriorating split-rail fence.
By Zac (kwirtee)
This story is something of a return to form for me. It moves away from the playful, fluffy shrinking stories I've been writing and more towards plausible-size difference romances. I promised myself that I would finish it before posting it, since I have a nasty tendency to just stop writing stories unresolved, and I can happily say that I wrote the final words this story today. Hope you all enjoy it!
_________
I pulled into the driveway of our ranch, my small, mid-80s blue Chevy pickup truck kicking up a veritable cloud of dry, taupe-colored dust as it trundled down the unpaved path. The pedals had extensions on them to account for my extraordinary lack of height. At five foot even, it was difficult for my legs to reach even the pedals of my diminutive pickup truck.
The mountains created a dramatic scene, rising up behind the classic white farmhouse, so close and clear that it seemed as if you could reach out and touch them with your bare hand. Our cattle stood by idly on either side of the road, grazing in the dry September heat; kept in place by an intact, but rapidly deteriorating split-rail fence.