Nick Harper wiped his brow on his arm as he looked at the trail of straw bales in front of him. They were the small, rectangular type, each weighing around sixty-five pounds. The trailer he was stacking them on held twenty-five lying flat on the base, and could take them eight high. He stacked them using a step method; building one layer, then stepping up to a second and third level so he could shoulder each bale up to the required height. He had swing-down steps to stack the last few bales at the back of the trailer.
Nick worked alone. He was newly married and new to farming. He couldn't afford help, and the bales were too heavy for his pretty young wife Patricia to lift. She sometimes drove the old Massey Ferguson tractor that pulled the trailer along. The previous night she had done the late shift at the local truck-stop diner, so she was sleeping.
It was six months since their wedding day. Nick looked up at the summer afternoon sun, figuring he had another couple of hours before he could go home, wash up and ravish his wife. He ravished her a lot. They had waited three years for a white wedding and it was the time to make up for all of that.
How endlessly those years had stretched out, and he'd been thankful for the time consuming project of building a home for his bride and equipping it with her selections, which were at the very height of fashion. She'd impressed him with how savvy she was, choosing closeouts and remnants, sewing and matching colours. The extra physical labour had helped distract him from his mounting frustration and longing, until at last the day had come. He smiled at the memory.
Nick lifted another bale and stepped up onto the trailer, leaping to the next and then the next level, heaving with the power of his back and shoulder to set the prickly block into place. He would soon be done there in the lower paddock, and he would be on his way back to the house for some more of the fruits that were no longer forbidden.