Pastorale.

Sally.

Aidan McGill © 2006

Sally ran a practise as a therapeutic masseur - or I guess masseuse. Her elder sister Linda, a solidly built but not overweight girl, had been in my class at school. Both of them had tawny-blonde hair and blue-grey eyes. I'd had a bit of a crush on Linda, but I was one or two years younger and very shy. Maybe, I now realised, I should have put a move on Sally. She was still a little more slender, a little more sober, and a little more empathic.

Anyway, I was consulting Sally in her professional capacity. I'd twisted my back, wrestling an almost-grown steer that didn't want to be weaned away from his mother. The pain was making me tense up; the muscle tension was making my back worse. On and on in ever decreasing circles at ever increasing speed until, like the fabled Woozlem bird, I would disappear up my own fundamental orifice, PLOP.

I needed Sally to break that vicious cycle of pain causing muscle tension causing pain causing etcetera. I knew it could be done. I'd done some basic massage courses myself. In fact, she was in the middle of doing a hell of a good job of it. She passed the time chatting with me, catching up on what we had been doing since school.

Sally had been doing a physiotherapy degree, but she'd had both legs broken by a hit-run driver, and she hadn't been financially able to continue the course. What she'd done already qualified her as a massage therapist, but she had no established list of referring practitioners, which meant no business. She'd moved back home where costs were lower.

I told her the story of the bitch-wife, and I could feel her tensing as much as I was. "Jesus, Jack," she said, "you should have come and seen me. I'd have cost you less, it'd have been honest, and at least I'd have cared about you! What a heartless bitch! It's people like her who give cunts a bad name!"

"Uhhm, Sally, I think maybe you just told me something I didn't know before about you."

She worked my lower back for thirty seconds or so. "That's a surprise," she said. "I didn't think there was anyone who didn't know I'm the town prostitute." She had her hands spread on my back, but there was no tensing from me for her to feel.

"I've heard rumours about pros in town," I told her. "Your name never rated a mention. Quite a few people knew I was coming here for a massage for my back. No one said anything. Either the news isn't as widespread as you thought, or your friends are more circumspect than you feared, or you're about to go out of business through lack of word-of-mouth advertising."

"I hadn't meant to do it," she said. "I still wanted my massage business to be as close as I could get it to the physiotherapy I'd originally wanted. You always get that expectation though that massage is the same as massage parlour. I was always getting asked."

"After Mum and Dad were killed in the car crash," she continued," it turned out they'd died in debt. The house had been mortgaged up to the hilt, and they must have poured it all through the poker machines (slot machines). I needed to rent a place to live as well, and I was always under financial pressure. The newspapers published a series then that covered prostitution in the City. I realised that the price of even a couple of hand-jobs or one blow job in a fortnight would make an enormous difference to me. Heck, at that stage I was sleeping on an air mattress in my massage room and taking sponge baths out of the sink. I had some condoms anyway, and the next time a guy I sort-of liked asked I gave him a price. It wasn't the city price I'd read about, but it wasn't that far short of it either. It took me by surprise, but next thing I knew I'd given him a full therapeutic massage; then topped it off with my first professional hand-job. I was fifty dollars richer, and I still had the condoms in reserve."

"Next week he stopped drinking a couple of hours earlier and he had the price of a blow-job. I was down a condom, he'd had another massage, I'd spent some time sucking and working-over a piece of latex with my mouth, and I was ninety dollars better off. I'd also said yes to another hand-job for someone else, and I can tell you the total hundred and forty extra dollars made an enormous difference to me that week."

"A couple of months later I lost my first customer, but I had enough to be going on with. I don't think I've ever done more than five in a week. Oh, except the time the local football team won the area grand-final, and I gave 'em all massages and hand-jobs during the evening. My hands and arms and shoulders were killing me for a week, but they'd played their hearts out that day, and they really needed the massage. I was happy to get the thousand dollars too."

"Roll over," she told me. "The problem's in your back, but you've been tensing-up all over. If we don't get you all loosened up, your front will end up triggering the problem in your back again."

"OK," she went on, loosening up my shoulders and pectorals. "I lost my first customer. He was always kind of quiet and shy. A bit like you, Jack, except no brains. He'd been spending too much time in the pub, but when he started cutting back so he'd have the price of a blow job one of the girls noticed, and when he kept cut back she made herself noticeable. After all, he'll inherit the family farm, and he's a magnificent specimen physically. She's a dark skinny little thing: a lot brighter than he is mentally though. Before he knew it he was getting it for free, and didn't need me. She seems to really love him though, and with her in the picture there's a good chance there'll still be a farm for their children to inherit. Both sets of parents thoroughly approved. They got married a year later, and they've got three kids now."

"There you go," she said. "Agent for social improvement, that's me. A lot of my customers have got to like sex more than they used to like beer, and then gone out and married it. I hardly ever did full sex though. Only with two guys, and I really liked them first. I'd only do a full night - no short times; and I'd only charge two hundred dollars for it. Truth to tell, I would probably have done it for free, but I had a business image to protect by then, and I still needed some money. Both of them are married now, too. Here am I, a thirty year-old spinster who's been whoring for six or seven years. Not what you'd have expected of your girlfriend's baby sister back when we were in Sunday school, eh?"

"Hold on a second," I said. "Linda was never my girlfriend. A girl, yes. A friend, yes. We did go out a few times, and I escorted her to a couple of dances, but heck - she's two years older than I am. That was a huge difference back then. I think I probably went out with you as often as with her, and you are my age. Does that mean you were my girlfriend?"

Sally had finished massaging my upper body, and was working on my legs. "Jack," she said, "I was never your girlfriend. I would definitely have remembered. Could have happened, but you'd have had to ask first. I think you were too shy, and I didn't know how to encourage you."

"Darn!" I said. "Now you tell me!"

"Tell you what," I continued. "The one thing I really liked about my marriage was the sex. She should have been good, I now realise. She was getting enough practice. Pity she was having unprotected sex with about ten percent of the male population of the Sydney basin, dogs and cattle and horses included for all I know, and then coming home to me. Lots of things bother me about all that. The unfaithfulness, the lies, the drugs and drink, the theft, but most of all the sheer murderous idiocy of widespread unprotected casual sex. How I lived through what she was doing I will never know."

"Anyway," I continued, "I'm not ready for a long-term relationship; but I do want friendly sex - more friendly than I could get with a blow-up doll. An unknown prostitute wouldn't work for me either. Now, I like you lots, and you're a working girl. Could we arrive at a friendly commercial relationship?"

"Probably", she replied. She ran an oily hand over my testicles and up my cock, holding the shaft just below the head and twirling her thumb over the eye. "Tell you what, Jack. Just as a friendly gesture, I'll give you a free sample - a hand-job."

"Uhh!" I said. For some reason all my blood had rushed to the head that had nothing to do with thought or articulation.

She didn't hurry either. She worked me up slowly and carefully. She could have had me shooting in thirty seconds. Instead she took ten minutes, stopping to let me ease down, squeezing firmly when it was necessary to back me off from the brink. At last she led me over the edge, milked me dry, cleaned me with a warm damp cloth, and then kissed my lips briefly.

"There you go, Jack," she said. "That was just a friendly one. A free sample in our commercial negotiations, and a little bit to make up for what we should have done when we were fourteen or fifteen. Now, you were saying..."

"Uhhm, yeah. That was nice. Much nicer having you do it than doing it myself. I can't really see paying money just for that, though. Now, I'm not made of money, and most of what I make has to go back into the farm. I was wondering if we might be able to negotiate an all-night session once every two weeks? I realise that would place me in fairly elite company, but how about it?"

"Well," she said, "Let's not tie ourselves down to a schedule just yet. However, I will say you're one of the rare ones I'd be prepared to have full sex with. Heck, even more than that - since I've been a working girl nobody has got a freebie until just now. Now, one of the advantages of blow jobs and hand-jobs is that it doesn't matter what time of month it is. For an all-nighter though, next week would be a good time to start - some time after Wednesday."

"OK," I said. "Just what is the definition of an all-nighter anyway?"

"My definition varies," she said. "Blow jobs or hand-jobs from me always involve a full massage first. I guess that's one of the reasons I get the loyal business - I give more. I even give a receipt for the massage part of it, and report that as taxable income. Anyway, even though that's the case, I could do a full-service blow job in an hour, and two of those would earn me almost as much as an all-nighter. Blow jobs and hand-jobs are always in my massage room too, unless the client is injured. Normally an all-nighter is at your place, and it's the only out-call I make."

"Back to your question," she continued. "An all-nighter starts when we both have arrived, and ends when one of us deliberately leaves. It's been as short as midnight to six a.m., when he and a friend had to drive 1,600 km to start a new construction job the next day. It was, once, the entire weekend - from Friday evening to Monday morning. It's normally between twelve and twenty hours.

"OK," I said. "Can we set a date for Friday week? Not tomorrow but the Friday after? I'll meet you here at...well, why don't you give me a call during the day? Any time after 3 p.m., unless you're prepared to help with the farm work.

"OK," she replied. "One more thing. Tomorrow we should get medical tests - together. We'll be using safe sex practices; and I always have. I can't avoid kissing someone I'm having all-night sex with, though. You and I both deserve to know there's some chance we won't kill each other. Oh, yes - you pay up front for both tests. I discount the cost of my test but not yours off the second night's fee - not the first."

* * * * * * * * * * *

That's the way we did it. I marked my diary with the date - as well as the appointment. After all, I thought her periods would be significant to me, and she'd more-or-less told me now was one. I prepared a weekend's worth of magnificent meals and took her out to "Ballindean" on Friday night. I wined and dined her then we had sex - repeatedly. Heck, I'd have said 'made love' if it weren't a commercial transaction. She appeared to enjoy it too. Part of my turn-on was turning her on - somewhat a power trip for me, I guess.

I invited her for a drink in the pub the following Friday afternoon; then left her there while I went home. The next week I had lunch with her - sandwiches in the park on Tuesday.

The next Friday she came out again; and again spent - well, 22 hours this time. My stock-horse, Lady Grey, had foaled, and I set Sally to making friends.

We had sandwiches together again mid-week. The following weekend she'd be sexually unavailable to me on my terms. She'd have her period, although she could still make money from others with hand-jobs or blow jobs. I invited her out for Sunday though - just social. She accepted, then spent the day feeding chopped carrot to Lady Grey and her foal. Sally's ring finger was about the size of my little finger, I noticed.

I ramped up quail production drastically. Sally was costing me at least a hundred dollars a week I hadn't expected to spend, and might cost more in the future. I could get the quail numbers up quickly, and they didn't cost much extra in time, effort or even money, since I was already raising them anyway. Where they did cost me was time and effort marketing them, whereas things had more or less sold themselves before. Oh, well - I needed to do that anyway if I was going to grow the business. I increased pheasant and partridge numbers a little later. Pushing to sell those quail had me stumbling across other opportunities just in passing, and if I didn't fill them I risked losing the business altogether.

I had Sally coming out every Sunday by now, just for a day out, and to keep playing with Nimbus, Lady Grey's filly foal sired by a stallion called, so help me, Hot Rod. We'd spent a day tossing grey connections around before we'd come up with a name we could both accept. Probably as bad as naming a baby.

I gave Sally some food to take back with her each weekend. After all, I had more than I could eat. Fresh fruit and garden produce in season, milk, cheese and yoghurt, a dozen eggs, a little meat and poultry, even tank-grown freshwater fish and crayfish. I'd bring a few extra fruit and vegetables and even some milk in when we had our mid-week picnic. It cost me almost nothing, but it was money she didn't have to earn to buy food. It was probably all worth an extra hand-job to her.

Sally had even stayed overnight on Saturday and Sunday a couple of times, making it a three-night 'all-nighter'. Normally she'd go back on Saturday afternoon though, just in case she picked up a bit of business that night; even though she'd be coming out again the next morning.

I was trying to learn as much as I could about Sally, and I spent one Sunday morning - one of the nights she'd stayed over - in bed talking about our studies and courses. I scribbled some notes when I took a bathroom break so that I wouldn't forget any significant details.

During that week I did some web-surfing on the Internet. I made some telephone calls to several of the universities and colleges that offered physiotherapy courses, and surreptitiously checked some details with her during our mid-week picnic.

Next Sunday, a non-sex period-Sunday, I spoke to her about my findings.

"O..h, S..a..l..l..y," I said.

"Oh, oh," she said. "Yes, Jack - what are you going to drop on me?"

"Sally," I said again, "I thought you wanted to be a physiotherapist?"

"Yes!" she said. "Don't tease me with it. They never found the bastard who broke my legs. If he'd even just abandoned the car and said it was stolen his third-party car insurance would have covered me. Without the car, I could get nothing."

"But," I said, "I've been making enquiries. If you did some on-line courses first, you'd only need a half-year of on-campus time to complete your degree."

"What?"

"True. I checked."

"TELL!"

"OK. OK." I said. "Western Sydney University is willing to make some allowances, considering the circumstances that ended your study there. I'd done some Internet surfing beforehand, and there are a lot of courses available through distance education from Charles Sturt University that are designed for nurses. However, you could do them here and they'd be acceptable to Western Sydney."

"I did a lot of dancing around privacy rules and regulations," I went on. "In the end, their answer was that if someone like you did a fill-in half-year of certain distance education courses from Charles Sturt, then did a full-time for-pay vacation course that's normally only for students from overseas, you could finish your degree in half-a-year after that. Ten and a half months time starting four months from now, in February. Five months distance education, then only five and a half months away from home, and you're a qualified physiotherapist. You want to give it a try?"

Sally broke into tears. "I can't," she sobbed. "I can't afford it."

"Trust me," I told her. "You can afford it. The distance education stuff from Charles Sturt is not a problem, OK?"

"OK", she said.

The tuition and the books for half a year at Western Sydney aren't a problem. You can do Austudy - you even get a fortnightly allowance. OK?"

"That's right!" she said.

"OK. The only problem is that for-pay course in between. I'm convinced you've been saving You wouldn't be a prostitute if you weren't saving, would you? You could get by on unemployment benefits if all you had to do was live from week to week. Pay for it - use your savings. If you need a bit extra I'll lend it to you, and you can work it off two hundred dollars at a time."

She threw herself at me and kissed me thoroughly. "You darling!" she said. "But what about living in Sydney for half a year? I don't really think Austudy will cover it all. Anyway, finding student housing mid-year is not going to be easy. I don't want to be a prostitute in Sydney. I'm just a small-town girl."

"It just so happens," I told her, "that I know a lady who is travelling through Europe at the moment. She's camping, and staying with relatives and friends and former boarders all over. She'll be back about May. My great-aunt - my grandfather's youngest half-sister - routinely boards students, and the price is reasonable. She'd love to have you, particularly if she thought there was a chance you were my girlfriend."

"I'm not your girlfriend," she said. "That's silly! I'm a prostitute."

"Kiss me and call me 'darling' again," I said. "If I want my prostitute to be my girlfriend, you ought to at least respect my wishes."

"I don't have to!" she said. "You're not paying me this weekend."

"Oops," I said. "I forgot. OK. This weekend you're just an ordinary friend..."

"That's better. Due respect, IF you please."

"...who happens to be a pretty girl. A pretty marvellous girl. Whom I didn't know enough to ask to be my girlfriend when we were fourteen. Whom I'm asking to be my girlfriend now. I'm asking, Sally. Please will you be my girlfriend?"

"Prostitute, Jack. Nice guys don't have prostitute girlfriends. Nice guys don't have girlfriends half the other guys in town have had for money."

"Prostitute's client here, Sally. You're selling; I'm buying. I may or may not be a nice guy, but I have certainly paid for sex, even if only with you. Come to think of it, that was what I was doing with the bitch wife. I was paying, everyone else she was giving it for free. You're about the exact opposite. Everyone pays, but I'm the only one getting full sex, I'm the only one getting free extras - and you like me too. Anyway, that all definitely doesn't make me too proud to associate with my prostitute. I'm assuming 'yes', Sally. You spend at least one day every weekend with me that's not paid for. We have lunch during the week. We go for drinks every Friday night now, whether you're coming out here or not. Even your other customers know that you're my girlfriend."

"Come to think of it," I continued, "what about your other customers? What other customers have you had recently?"

"I'm still in business, Jack. Don't worry about that."

"To the point, Sally! Don't wriggle. What business - what whoring, other than with me - have you done recently?"

"I did a hand-job for Frank Bestic."

"He left for the mines at Lake Cargelligo five weeks ago, Sally. Do you mean that's the most recent? You've been getting along on your remedial and therapeutic massage, and my two hundred dollars a fortnight?"

"Yes, all right, Jack, yes."

"Sally, you know you're my girlfriend too, don't you? I may be slow, but I'm glad I asked at last. You should have pushed me - we're not fourteen any longer."

"Jack, I'm not good enough for you."

"Sally, let's redefine our commercial relationship. You want money from me; you're getting money from me - and only me. True?"

"True - at the moment, Jack."

"How much are you paying for rent for your flat (apartment)? Not the massage room - just where you live?"

"Eighty-five dollars a week, Jack."

"Sally", I said, "You're my girlfriend. I know it, you know it, and the whole world knows it. Here's my offer. You move in here. You become my mistress. I'll pay you a steady one hundred dollars a week. Your rent is covered, so you're eighty-five after-tax dollars a week better off. I'll provide fuel, so the extra distance won't cost you anything. I'll also cover your costs for the distance education - that's probably another hundred dollars a week, taking into account textbooks. I'll even let you seduce my filly foal every day of the week, if you like."

"OK," I said. That's the offer. I'm still paying you for sex, but I get more of it. The deal is monogamy. I've never two-timed anyone, even when I was paying this here prostitute for it. Now, I'd expect you to do what you've been doing recently anyway, and stay faithful to me. You be my mistress, plus run your purely therapeutic massage business. The sex-for-money part of your life you reserve entirely for me. You study to complete your qualification as a physiotherapist, and I pay for it. And I get to introduce you to my great-aunt as my girlfriend. Or my mistress - she'd be happy either way."

"Uhhm. Let's run through that again," she said. "You're already paying me two hundred dollars a fortnight. You now offer one hundred dollars a week. Right?"

"So far," I said. "Pretty close to the status quo."

"Then you'll pay for tuition and books. I'm not getting that money now. I won't be getting it later - as money. Just the same, you'll be spending an extra - let's say - hundred dollars a week. I'll be getting that much extra value in education."

"Yes. That's tax-paid dollars too - if you paid it yourself you'd have had to pay at least some tax first, to get the hundred dollars left over."

"Then I live here for free, instead of paying tax, then paying $85 of my after-tax money for rent?"

"That's the way I read it, Sally. Don't forget the food if you're adding it all up. I reckon you'd need to spend nearly $50 of extra after-tax dollars to buy the food I give you. That'll still be the case after you move here. You'll probably even save a few extra dollars a week on food. I'm not pushing because of it - just saying if you want to add everything up. There's electricity and gas and water as well."

"OK. Then basically I'm a little over three hundred and fifty - well, I'd need to earn more than $350 per week after tax - say roughly $500 per week before tax - to equal what you're offering?"

"Roughly right, I think. You'd still be getting any income from therapeutic massage as well."

"And this is guaranteed to give me a shot at my degree, and nothing else would?"

"Maybe not quite that strong, but it will sure make it a lot easier, Sal."

"And this would be guaranteed to give me regular sex with the greatest man in the world? And lots of regular cuddles too?"

I grinned. "Count on it!"

"Jack," she said, "you have just bought yourself a girl. Never mind rent-a-mistress. You OWN me."

"I OWN you?"

"Whatever you like. I'm yours."

"Oh, goodie!" I said. "I always wanted a sexy blue-eyed blonde all my very own."

"Tell you what," I went on. "I should put up a sign. 'Personal property of Jack Nichols. Trespassers prohibited.'" I reached up and pulled a leather thong - a bootlace - from around my neck and over my head. There was a small wash-leather bag hanging from it. "It just so happens," I said, "that I have such a sign on me. Let's see." I opened the bag and slid a diamond ring onto her finger. "Yep!" I said. "It fits too."

She froze for about thirty seconds, staring at our engagement ring, lips quivering, eyes as big as saucers, tears tracking down her nose, then she went chalk-white and fainted.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Sally came to a couple of minutes later. "I can't..." she mumbled. "I can't!"

"You can't back out of your commitments," I said. "You said - I accepted. The question now is whether your word is good, or whether you lied and will break my heart. I love you, Sally. Will you break my heart, or will you keep your word?"

"Well?" I asked. "Is your word good?"

"Uhmm - yes, Jack. I'll live up to it. I'm not good enough, but if you'll have me I want you. My God, I want you!"

"OK," I said, and kissed her very thoroughly. "We're engaged, then. I asked you to marry me, and you accepted. You noticed that, didn't you? Or maybe it was that you accepted and then I nominated the question. Anyway, the next question is when. We'll show the ring from now on; we'll announce the engagement as soon as we can get it in the local paper. I'd suggest that the wedding be after your exams about a year and a quarter from now. Here," I put the leather thong around her neck and carefully nestled the empty leather bag between her breasts, then kissed its resting-place. "You may have to take the ring off your hand when you're doing massage, but I don't want you to ever take it off you except maybe for bathing. Even then, when you slip it off your finger, always slip it into the bag. Harder to lose that way."

"One more thing that ring is good for," I said. "It's a reminder. You have been doing sex-for-money for seven years. It's got to be a habit. It would be easy to slide along in, or even be argued back into, the same pattern occasionally. That's not the deal. Use the ring as a reminder that you've contracted an exclusive deal now. If you're pushed to act like you have been acting in the past, focus on the ring to support you in saying 'No!'"

"Now," I said, "early lunch. After that we'll hitch up the horse trailer and use it to start moving your stuff out here. You pick some chives and parsley. Chop them and mix it into some ricotta, and we'll have it on barley loaves for lunch. I'll get us ready to move."

We did that. I had one of those three-wheel-triangle stair-climbing refrigerator trolleys I'd picked up at an auction. All I'd really needed was a simple wool-bale trolley, but this did that job too, and the price was right. Now I hitched up the horse-float, which had high walls, low floor, roof as well, and a built-in ramp. I loaded the furniture trolley and pulled up to the house.

I moved a wardrobe and dresser from a spare room to the master bedroom. That would keep the styles consistent, then we'd put her old furniture in the spare room. She had a few clothes in my wardrobe already. I moved them across to fix the spot in what had now become her wardrobe in our bedroom; then we had lunch and went to town.

She could pack clothes, but not much more. "Greater love hath no man than this," I told her, "that he move his girlfriend in when she's having her period." We gave her landlord the word, packed the horse-float solid, moved it all to "Ballindean", went back for another load, and we'd emptied her flat. I was surprised but we'd done it all - except unloading the last load.

I reckoned we'd earned a reward. More than that, I wanted to expose her to the world as my fiancée. The more we nailed that down the happier I'd be.

So we went to the pub for a drink. "Look," I said. "Julie's on duty. We may be able to economise on that newspaper engagement announcement."

"Be nice!" Sally told me.

"OK." I told her. "Why don't you go and buy us a drink? Make sure she sees the ring."

"Not necessary," Sally said. "She's seen it. Pretty soon she'll have a private word with you, just to make sure you know what you're getting into. She's a nice girl really, and she's a friend of mine; but she's a friend of yours too."

Sally was right. Five minutes later I was coming back from the gent's and Julie called me over to the bar. "Uhm, Jack," she began, "is that an engagement ring Sally's wearing?"

"You got it, Julie. I'm proud to say that she and I are engaged to be married."

"Look, Jack," she went on, "I really hesitate to mention this. She's a friend, but so are you, and you ought to know..."

"Don't worry about it, Julie," I told her. "I've been her best customer for quite a while. Now I've managed to negotiate an exclusive contract. I think I've loved her since we were all in school. I guess I missed my chance back then, and in a way whatever happened since then has been my fault. I'm not blaming her for any of that, but I've gone to a great deal of effort to ensure we won't miss any more chances. I won't let her go now, and there won't be anyone else in the future. She's convinced, and I'm firmly decided."

* * * * * * * * * * *

It was great having Sally on a full-time basis. The best part of it was that we got to know each other better. That might have been because I was still wearing rubber raincoats while we made love, so we had plenty of time to talk. We'd had tests the Monday after she moved in, and we were looking forward to a time six months from then when we could have final tests and chuck the condoms. With what the bitch wife had put me through, plus Sally's basic professional caution, we were still playing safe even though we were fairly sure it was unnecessary.

Sally used the time before her distance education courses started to ease back into study mode. She picked up second-hand texts for all the courses she would be doing: the later Western Sydney ones as well as the immediate Charles Sturt ones. She read ahead, working up a little more each week, and writing up what she'd read to give study discipline as well. By the time she started, she would probably have been able to scrape bare passes in most of the courses. After all, she had a lot of time for study in between her massage clients.

I'd decided to do some distance education study as well. I already had a degree in agriculture. If I picked my major subjects carefully I'd be able to add an agricultural economics degree in just two-and-a-half years of part-time study. I did what Sally was doing too, and picked up second-hand texts cheaply and studied ahead. There was always the danger they'd change the texts, but the study wouldn't be wasted anyway; and second-hand textbooks late in the year were cheap.

* * * * * * * * * * *

We enjoyed studying together. We weren't studying the same things, but we were spending hours quietly in each other's company.

Six weeks into the study year we held a ceremonial burning of the condoms and things got even better. That was good, but it also pointed up the fact that in about three months she'd be going away for half a year.

I'd managed to get in touch with my great-aunt travelling in Europe by e-mail, and she'd been delighted to hear I'd be remarrying. She was also delighted to accommodate Sally for her five months of on-campus time.

* * * * * * * * * * *

We drove down to Sydney to check out the room that my great-aunt would be renting to Sally. Her daughter showed us round, as my great-aunt wasn't back from Europe yet. It was basically OK, although we weren't enthralled with the desk and chair. There were no other boarders, and Sally might very well be the last ever, so we dug through two other rooms and came up with an acceptable desk. The chair still wasn't the best, so we'd bring hers down when she came. At least we knew what we had to work with in advance. We also took the time to drive around the Western Sydney campus she'd be attending. That way I could see it; and she could see what had changed since she was there, familiarise herself with where she needed to go, and introduce herself as a non-standard attendee to the faculty office.

Time passed quickly now, and exams were upon us. Sally wouldn't have her exam results when she started her for-pay vacation course, but they'd agreed to accept her on the basis of her interim marks through the semester. I suppose the fact that it was fully paid-for so they couldn't lose even if they admitted chimpanzees might have had something to do with it too.

We completed our exams. Sally took all the time off she could - three days. Three days of lust, three days of passion, three days of tender love, then on Sunday she drove down to Sydney. She wouldn't let me come with her. She told me to save my efforts for driving down in a fortnight, so I could spend the weekend with her then.

As it happened, she warned me off. The vacation course was very intensive. It catered for well-prepared Asian students who were the very top of the crop, and couldn't afford to fail. Nevertheless, some of them did fail. The course made no effort to do anything except present the subject matter well in the timeframe available, then test who had managed to keep up. Unlike some normal courses, there was no mandatory percentage of passes - just a mandatory pass mark. Sally needed every bit of her prior study and every second of current study time to keep up. However, she did keep up, and in fact was one of the few who managed a Distinction.

After that three-week ordeal was over, she dragged herself back to "Ballindean" for a three-day weekend. Well, rather she allowed a train to drag her halfway, and I met her there. She didn't feel up to handling the drive herself. There was no wild passion this time. She was as limp as a wet dishrag. I cherished her and loved her, and we had occasional gentle loving sex. On Sunday afternoon we reversed the travel, I drove her to where the interurban electric trains started, and she returned to Sydney.

She reported that the regular courses were much easier. I drove down a fortnight later, on Friday afternoon. My great-aunt, who'd lived long enough and stayed young enough to see attitudes change radically, put me up in her spare room with double bed. She told us she needed her sleep, so she'd be visiting her son, but she'd be back for lunch on Sunday.

That bed was horrible! We ended up with the mattress on the floor, but after that things were just fine.

After that we alternated - every second weekend one of us would visit the other. After all I was studying as well. For her study break - a week before her final exams - she returned to "Ballindean". She and I got marvellously relaxed, many times, and then settled down to study. Under those circumstances even study time was good, because it was time spent together. We'd had too little of that lately.

Sally returned to Sydney for her exams, while I sat mine at a centre in a nearby larger town. I intended to do something about that. While the larger town was obvious, our small town was more centrally located. The university could eliminate an examination centre while actually reducing mean distance to travel if they used our town as one of their exam centres.

A fortnight later she'd finished. I drove down and we took my great-aunt out to a high-quality restaurant as a celebration, then Sally and I returned to "Ballindean". She was confident she'd passed her exams - heck, she'd got 35 out of 40 already in work during the semester. However, she didn't have a good feel for just how well she'd done on her finals.

She spent the time getting re-acquainted with Nimbus. The filly was eighteen months old now. I'd kept handling her, and Sally had kept in touch every four weeks, but she wanted to renew her friendship on a solid frequent basis. Besides that, it was time to start working her a little more. We'd acquainted her with a halter, then reins and bit, and with carrying a blanket. She was too young to be ridden, but not too young to work in harness. We'd start her carrying saddlebags; then pulling logs, then a small gig. We'd lead her at first, then drive her from the gig. By the time she could be ridden she'd be fully used to working in harness and answering the reins.

Sally had a marvellous Christmas. I gave her Nimbus as my gift. However, that was overshadowed by her exam results. She'd topped all subjects except one, and was second in that. She wasn't eligible for most of the standard awards because of her broken study, and the facts that she hadn't done all her subjects at Western Sydney or studied the full final year there. However, in view of her previous injury problems, her good results before then, outstanding results in her fill-in units at Charles Sturt, and exemplary results in her final half-year at Western Sydney, she was awarded a rare Dean's Special Award for outstanding merit. They'd even arranged for it to be co-signed by the Dean of her faculty at Charles Sturt.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Sally didn't have the pieces of parchment yet, but she did have the letters that said she was entitled to them. Now she needed a job. There was a vacant part-time physiotherapy position at the local health service, which also allowed private practice from the provided rooms. The position had been vacant twice during the last two years, for over half the time. Some people just can't stand the personal contact of small towns. They prefer the anonymity of cities, where people are only noticed when they're particularly unpleasant.

Sally wanted that job. It would provide her with premises and equipment she'd otherwise have to purchase or lease, and a guaranteed minimum income. What she needed was for the position to be advertised, so she could apply. I'd kept my eyes open and nothing had happened while she was away. She contacted the Health Department regional office, referred to the vacant position, told them that she was newly graduated at a high level, had nine years experience as a remedial and therapeutic masseuse prior to that, lived locally, and would definitely respond were the position to be re-advertised.

In due course the position was advertised, she made an interview list of one, attended and met all criteria, then heard no more until the position was re-advertised, saying previous applicants need not apply. Of course, she enquired about her previous application and was told she'd been rejected. 'Why hadn't she heard?' she asked. They didn't know - the letter of rejection was on file. 'Could they please forward her a copy?' Very well, she was told, in a long-suffering voice.

Of course, we knew what was happening. Someone had raised the fact that she'd been a prostitute. They hadn't raised it to her, and she'd had no chance to address the matter. It certainly wasn't in the selection criteria. She'd been silently stabbed in the back. That might well be good, in the long run. We retained a solicitor (lawyer), he obtained a warrant and then marched in with a police officer and obtained the entire original file, letting them retain copies. This was too important to give them time and opportunity to bodgie up false records under "Freedom of Information" requests.

The idiot had even done a poor job of falsifying things. There were records of interview, recommendations to hire, and then a copy of a letter of rejection - no reason. They'd even had a minor re-organisation in the interim. One office moved from one region to another. The letter was dated two weeks before the stationery it was printed on was put into use. There was also, caught between the pages, jotted notes of a telephone conversation, telephone number and first name.

In brief, Sally got her job, and an award for damages. Fair enough - the clerk who'd victimised her lost her job and paid damages. The judge stopped short of recording a criminal conviction though. The Health Department made Sally an "ex gratia payment, without prejudice". The clerk's sister, the matron (or "nursing director" these days) of the local hospital, took early retirement - they couldn't prove conspiracy - she might have just been passing on information.

Somewhere in the middle of all that she graduated. We had deferred our wedding. That little set-to had ruined many plans - we deserved damages payments.

* * * * * * * * * * *

We married a year after Sally started the job. She had leave accrued by then for the honeymoon. She asked my delighted great-aunt to be her matron-of-honour.

A year after the wedding, she gave birth to our first child, a son. Five minutes after that she gave birth to our first daughter.

We've been married for six years now, and we have another son and daughter. Sally says she's found out what causes it now, and there are modern medicines she's using which will ensure no more children for now. What an amazing concept!

Her official job is part-time, and she isn't pushing her private physiotherapy practice as hard as she could. Instead she likes to spend time with the children - some in at her practice, some at home. She has what she wanted for so long, and it looks like she can keep it as long as she wants. She also has what she didn't dare to hope for - a happy family - and there's no reason she won't have that for life.

* * * * * * * * * * *

All material is copyright of the author, © 2004-2006 Aidan McGill, and may not be reproduced in any form without prior written permission. Individuals are hereby granted permission to use one copy for private reading, not-for-distribution and not-for-profit.

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