It was like the weight of a mountain came off my shoulders as we seven goats were trucked away from that Bachannal Glade. I for one was watching for a chance to escape but also felt so relaxed as not to be under pressure then to mount, hump, thrust, and mate. You might not believe it, but I having been made first into satyr, then into goat and forced into a mindset for sex, sex, sex, hour after hour, days on end, never stopping for long before another horny one would beckon.
I, me, this one here was tired of having sex, it had lost its desire feeling, and the passion I felt originally. This big goat crumpled down into a furry lump and laid there much to the trip from Park to Farm.
That's when something else began which baffled me some. As I laid there watching th scenery fly by the relaxed feeling of uforia began to make enroads, What personal memories and that fond hope which kept me from slipping as these others from what little humanity was left inside us to being a common goat, mindless and instinctive of action, I remained yet still me!
Those wonderful memories what I grasp and held to for comforts were now slipping. It was as if the loss of my responsiblities as a mate for the satyr fauns was letting my mind wander into senseless babbling, or just a reactive sort of bleating my feelings to others.
As the others in the truck milled about in an uneasy state of mind I'd get stepped on as I lay there. My normal response would have been to rise up and stand my ground. Now though I laid there letting those others step and kick me while I responded with thoughtless bleating sounds.
Was it that ritual of conrinued sex which kept me as me, and moreover kept me going and thinking, wishing to be free? Time to relax, brings time to reflect, time to think of where your headed, for us, for me, I'm going to the Farm!