Well hello there me dears! How are you? All well I hope! Well as we've had some good news about Quentin I thought I'd take the time to let you all know a bit more about little old me.
I was born in a stable in Burrowbridge, in the summer of '79 to my dear old parents, my mother Welliminia Vandyke and my father Studley Bullcock, they named me Winnifred, and due to Cowish naming conventions I was Winnifred Bulldyke! Well, what's in a name? Quite a lot it turns out! Well, as you all probably know Winnifred was the Patron Saint of Virgins, and I am technically a virgin, never having had my lady garden plowed by an obtrusive male phallus, because, I am a lesbian! Or dyke for want of a better word.
Well, how did I know I was a lesbian, you all ask? Well, as a calf I always knew I wasn't like the other young bovines in my field. I never wanted to grow up to be a butter cow like all of the other girls, and the young bulls never interested me either. I couldn't care less about big bulbous bull testicles, but the other girls udders did use to make me feel all funny. The other young calves noticed this, and used to make fun of me and talk about me behind my back. Well, it was then that I realised I was destined for a life away from the fields and the farms, and was headed for the big city.
I moved into Bristol because, well, because it was the nearest big city really. And I couldn't afford to travel too far, especially as I had to hitch a ride on a milk float because public transport was always prejudiced towards cows. Well, seeing all the poor deprived people in Bristol who had to survive on Special Brew and couldn't afford food because their benefits couldn't stretch to cover both, I knew that Social Care was where I was headed.
At first, getting by was difficult. I took a low paying job at a local Asda whereby I just had to stick my head through a hole in the wall in the milk section and say "moo" whenever someone walked past, but that barely kept the green (grass) coming in, and my bedsit was ridiculously over-priced, so I started moonlighting in a local fetish club.
I had to hang from the ceiling, bound and gagged, whilst sexily dressed women would beat me with sticks, like a pinata, and dirty fat old men would pay good money to watch whilst touching themselves. Well, luckily I soon had saved up enough money to pay for a Social Care degree at the University of the West of England (UWE), and so I quit. Asda that is. I kept the fetish club job as it kept me in grass and textbooks, and paid the bills to boot! well, I mean, the thing was, I loved it! I mean, you would too if you worked with women like this:
Not only did the job pay well, but it really helped me come to terms with, and explore, my sexuality. I no longer felt like a freak, I had countless flings with so many women, and I learned all there is about teasing and pleasing the clitoris. Well, eventually I graduated with a 2:1, well I probably would've got a first if it wasn't for the night job, but without that job I wouldn't be the cow I am today. I quit the job at the fetish club with no regrets, I knew I couldn't make fetish work my life, and really, as I got older what work would there be for a saggy-uddered old dyke? And besides which, I always knew social care was my calling, my raison d'etre, or, you know.
SO I got a job running a halfway house for disturbed and troubled farm animals. PERFECT! I love my job and the satisfaction I get working with my tenants. And then there's my neighbour, Fanny, well, I know she's just a friend and she's not interested in me because she likes men. But well, you never know, one day, maybe..... !
Thanks for reading this, and if you ever fancy chatting just leave a comment on this post and I'll get in touch!
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