Badass Farmers

Epilogue

With Cecil gone, it was as though the spell was broken. All through the village street-walkers threw down their candy g-strings and went back to crocheting. Maria stopped fucking Saibara and remembered that actually, she didn't like sex; she liked postmodernist literature. Saibara would have liked to have carried on fucking Maria, but was forced to exclaim loudly, "Wow, it was like I was under a spell. I actually love making tools!" and go grumbling back to his smithy. Terry guiltily tried to put all the small animals he'd blown apart back together, and Kurt was content again just to make passive aggressive remarks. Nina's mother wondered why there was a bottle-opener up her ass, and Nina skipped to the village payphone to call her friend Lyla.

"Hey Lyla! Are you and Nami coming for the flower festival this year?"

And for some reason, she slammed the phone down on her!

Hank, Ellen, Blue and Bob stared at their acres in puzzlement; where were their tomatoes, lettuce, eggplants? And why was there two hundred and fifty acres of hasha?

On the plus side; Basil started respecting women again and Eve got all her trade back. "Look who came crawling back!" she periodically cackled, as she oiled up her creaking hip joints.

Some however, took longer to adapt.

Sat at the kitchen table, the Mayor's cup of coffee rattled in his hand. He sweated and shook all over.

"Daddy?" Maria said. The Mayor splashed hot coffee all over himself. In her flannel princess pajamas, Maria came down the last stair. "Daddy, are you alright?"

"M-Maria," he said, trembling. "You might be able to pretend this was a bad dream. But we can't go back to the way we were. For God sake, girl, I saw you have sex with eight men- at the same time!"

Maria looked at him blankly. "I did what now?"

"Don't lie to me daughter. You had sex. S-E-X."

"What's that?" she asked.

The Mayor grabbed fistfuls of photographs from the table and threw them at her; Maria being ridden bareback, Maria, reverse cowgirl, doggy style; she'd documented it all. Maria picked up the photos and flipped through them disinterestedly.

"Oh yeah," she said. "I remember that sex thing now."

"Then you admit it?" the Mayor said feverishly.

"Sure. Uncle Hank and I did that on the back of his tractor when I was eleven. It wasn't very fun. Now do you want to see my embroidery Daddy? I've done a flower, a woolly sheepy and- Daddy?"

The Mayor, foaming from the mouth, had passed out on the table.

But the biggest change was this; Jamie had gone. The wind swept through his empty house and in the fields, cabbages went rotten.

And at the maximum security prison, Jamie skipped and flounced up the driveway, twirling in a summer dress, wide-brimmed hat flying high. He skipped to the reception, joyously greeting the stony faced guards, and danced into the visiting gallery. Cecil was there, separated by a glass drivider, a turtle-neck sweater over his orange jumpsuit, and with a new nose stud.

"Cecil!" Jamie cried. "I did it! I got accepted into DJ Palooza." He clasped his hands through he small lot in the glass.

"Wow, that's wonderful honey!" Cecil said.

"And look; I made it onto the cover of Hermaphrodite Modelling!" He held up a magazine, which featured Jamie in a see-through white slip, balancing a feather boa, and throwing a sultry look into the camera. The title above declared; "Man, woman, both, who cares! Jamie's the new IT!"

"That's amazing! How did you do it?" asked Cecil.

"I just invited everyone round for a drink, and opened the floor to questions about my genitalia. By being honest and not secretive, people can understand better."

"Really?"

"I think now that I'm more comfortable with me, it's easier for other people to be too."

Cecil raised an eybrow.

"Well… that and planting a bomb in the corporate director's cat helps too."

They laughed raucously and slapped hands through the slot. "That's my girl!" he said.

"But how are you?" Jamie said anxiously. "They aren't making for of you in here for being British… are they?"

Cecil shook his head. "I've found an inner balance between my two personalities. I can finally be the Cecil I was without hiding behind the gansta persona, and I abhor violence- but I can still pop caps in asses if needs be. What I've learnt from this," he placed a hand over his head, "is that my fairy godmother was right; I just never understood him properly. Being black isn't a lifestyle; dressing up in Nikes and acting cool. Being black is something that happens on the inside. And Jamie; if I hadn't met you I never would have understood that. I would have kept on living a lie."

"Oh! And Cecil, if you hadn't screamed profanities at me, I might have been stuck in that shitbucket of a village forever. You know; I couldn't stand those people. They're all such pussies."

And they kissed, French-tonguing against the glass until the guard whacked Cecil with his baton.

"Cecil," Jamie said, tears rolling down his face, "I promise I'll still be here, waiting for you, when you get out in seventy years."

The End

Notes; I hope you all enjoyed this rather... experimental story. It was my chance to be as absurd, as rude, and to take it in whatever direction I felt like at the time. Plus, this section is full of so many self-inserts and lovely-dovey stories about farming, and I just enjoy fucking with fandoms.

For me, the highlight of this story was Jamie on on his combine harvester DJ desk, scratching out, Forget the gender stereotypes, asswipe. Cuz I'm Jamie- Hermaphrodite. Ahh, I do love Jamie. Let me all know what part you enjoyed best.

Love, Nina.xxx