Pastorale.

Sissy.

Aidan McGill © 2005

I met Sissy in early summer, five years after I moved to the farm.

I'm Jack Nichols. I have a small farm at the base of a range of granite hills, in the centre of the state. I'd taught science until I was thirty, saved diligently, come into some money, and used it and my savings to purchase the farm. I'd chosen carefully. In fact I'd had my eye on the place since I was five years old. It's surrounded by pretty rough country, with the hills being State Forest and National Park. However, my section is fairly level, fertile and has permanent water. At 128 hectares or 320 acres, most people thought it was too small and isolated to be viable, which was why I could afford to buy it. I'd sneaked in and taken an option on the place with the owners when I was twenty-five, then bought it when they planned to retire. It never even came on the market. It had been used for grazing and growing lucerne (alfalfa) hay, but I followed a growing trend and put in several hectares of wine grapes, with different varieties ripening over a period of almost two months. I studied viticulture and wine-making. I also put in areas dedicated to apples for cider, pears for perry, and smaller areas of stone fruit dedicated to speciality fruit wines. I added two hectares of mixed olives, some for oil and some for pickling.

I was going to put in a small commercial wine cellar, and hoped to do cellar-door sales, tours, and boutique sales to restaurants and by subscription. You don't make real money just selling your produce. You need to add value. However, much of that was in the future. In the meantime I sold quality meat animals, as many as possible by private treaty to restaurants, speciality suppliers and even private individuals. I also added poultry and game birds aimed at the same markets.

My first priority was to develop the farm, my second to pay it off. Mortgage payments are a killer. Life is so much easier when your money and your land's your own. Every spare dollar I had beyond development needs went into paying down the mortgage.

I still taught occasionally: casual teaching around the area on an ad hoc basis. I could have made that full-time if I wished. Science teachers who are willing to live in small country communities are a rare breed. I also stretched my dollars as far as possible. I'd been raised on a small farm in the same district in what seemed like another era. I'd learned that it's easier to spend money than to make it, but that you can eat well off your own land free of most costs. I had an old house orchard that I'd refurbished and was expanding, and a large vegetable garden. I killed and butchered my own meat and kept my own chickens for eggs as well as meat. I sold the excess fruit, eggs and vegetables by subscription when I could, and otherwise to the local fruit and vegetable shop. I also had a milk cow and goat. I'd time the cow to go dry in preparation for her next calf just after the goat was due to kid, so I always had milk. More milk than I could use, in fact, but I made cheeses and yoghurt for my own consumption. Health regulations were too much bother to comply with for sale of those, but there were plenty of people who benefited when I gave them away. Any excess produce at all went to the poultry and pigs: I kept a few pigs for my own use and local sale, but didn't deal in them in a big way.

I used a lot of grain, but didn't grow any at all. It just wasn't worth the land it would take. Livestock grazing pasture gave me a better return. Instead I bartered some of my produce for what I wanted from farmers on the same road, closer in to town.

I was a born-again bachelor; freed by fate just before the move from a wife who had revealed herself a first-class bitch once we were married. Things had been beginning to look awfully like property settlements would be in my future. Not a good feeling - she'd done nothing to help earn what I had, a lot to detract from my efforts, contributed nothing positive to the marriage, and would ruin my plans if she took half or more of my capital. However, she got drunk one afternoon, drinking with the latest of a string of boyfriends, I discovered later. She was rushing to get home at twice the speed limit and over twice the blood-alcohol limit; and speared off a bridge into a ravine. Instead of a property settlement I got an insurance settlement. You can get lucky sometimes. I'd been on the farm just over five years, I was thirty five years old, and I was still a free agent - a little gun-shy I guess.

* * * * * * * * * * *

It was mid-summer, and school had wound up for the Christmas holidays. Without cereal crops, farm work was steady for me at this time of year, rather than any frantic peaks. I'd been working in the vegetable garden, taking advantage of the cooler morning weather. I was about to toss it in for the morning and take a break when I was hailed from the fence.

There was a cough, throat clearing, and then "Hello". I looked up. A girl was standing at the fence. She was short, dark, with curly black hair, shorts and long-sleeved shirt, small back-pack, hat in hand, and looking rather hot and flushed.

"Hello", I said. "Can I do anything for you?"

"I wonder if I can beg some water from you, please?"

"Sure", I said. "Come on up to the house".

"Come on in", I said, opening the door and walking through to the kitchen. I put down two tumblers and pulled a jug of water out of the fridge. "There's lime juice in it", I said. "Not much, but just in case you're allergic". She poured a glass, and I noticed her hand was shaking slightly. She drank it off, and poured another, then I poured myself one.

"That's much better", she said. "I stopped for a drink at the top of that big hill about five kilometres out of town, and I must have got a hole in my water bottle then. It was a lot further before I noticed my bum was getting wet, and I was nearer here than there by then, so I came on. The tank in the camping area up at the State Forest is dry, though".

"You'd better stop for a while and cool off, then", I said. "Dehydration and heat exhaustion are not things to play with, and judging by the way you were shaking you must have been skirting the edge of it. Why don't you duck into the laundry there and splash some water over your face and arms? Back of your neck too. There's a towel hanging up there". She did that, and I said from where I was sitting "rub wet hands over your legs as well - it'll help you cool down some more". She did that too. Quite nice legs, I noticed. She came back and sat down again. I'd filled her glass again, and she drank that down, and I filled it again. She sipped.

Quite an attractive girl, in fact. Slim; short dark curly hair; tanned olive complexion; high cheekbones, big hazel eyes; height about 162 centimetres (5'4"). Age anything from late teens to late twenties - hard to tell.

"My name's Jack", I said, reaching out to shake her hand.

"I'm Cecilia Nichols", she said. "My grandfather came from this district, so I came back on holidays to take a look around. I may even have distant relatives here".

"If 'here' is defined as this room, you may be right", I said. "Jack Nichols is my name, in fact".

We sorted through things, and discovered that our great-grandfathers were brothers - we were third cousins. In fact, her side of the family had been quite a bit more adventurous in choice of partners than mine. Her great grandfather had married an Afghan widow - one of the original Afghan peddlers who'd served rural Australia back then. Her grandfather had married a child of survivors from Australia's shameful anti-Chinese riots, and taken so much pressure that they'd moved down to the city. Her mother had a quarter Aboriginal blood, half Italian. All told, there was a lot to account for her exotic good looks.

It was getting fairly close to noon, so I asked her "how did your lunch survive swimming around in your pack?" She started pulling things out, and it became apparent that not much had survived the leaking water bottle well. Sandwiches were a pulpy mess, spread over spare clothes and the inside of the pack. A survey map had been enclosed in a plastic envelope, but was still soaked. She had a pack of macaroni and cheese she'd intended for dinner, and some instant porridge and milk powder for breakfast. The porridge was a loss, and the cardboard macaroni packet had pulped and bled colours all over her clothes, although the inner packet was undamaged.

She was evidently an advocate of lightweight camping. She had a groundsheet, a military poncho, a space-blanket, a towel, spare shorts and T-shirt, a nylon parka, a couple of large plastic garbage bags, some spare rice, a box of sultanas, tea bags, a small aluminium billy can to cook in, a spoon, toiletries, and that was all. "Well, you'd better stay for lunch, cousin", I said, and put some eggs on to boil.

We rinsed out her pack, set her spare clothes to soak, and laid the map out to dry. We went out into the garden, and picked some mixed lettuce leaves, tomatoes, radishes, cucumber, eschalots and carrots. Back inside, I took the eggs off and placed them in iced water. We added a couple of stalks of celery from the fridge, washed the vegetables, and set them in the iced water as well.

I gave her some more water, and she made gurgling noises. While we were waiting for the salad to crisp up, I showed her around the house. When I'd moved in, it was a basic little box - two bedrooms, eat-in kitchen and living room, with an attached "wash-house" (laundry and bathroom in one). I'd spent spare time my first year here taking timber out of the State Forest and sawing it into boards, then stacking it to season. I'd also built a plumbed core - all masonry, with a cellar underneath - to form a new bathroom, laundry, kitchen and en-suite for a yet-to-be-built master bedroom. The second year my spare time had been spent expanding the house. It was now quite a substantial home. While I did everything I could myself, I didn't stint on buying and installing insulation. Other than that, I'd built the new kitchen and family room, formal dining room, lounge room, a study, and the master bedroom with adjoining nursery. I might not need all this, but if I did I'd be glad to have it; and if not then I'd still be glad to have it if I had to sell. I'd relegated the old house to a wing containing four bedrooms, still with the old washhouse as a second bathroom. Deep verandas surrounded the entire house.

Back to the lunch. I shook and roughly dried everything in a clean tea towel, then tore the lettuce leaves, cut the tomatoes into wedges, and cut everything else into disks. All in one bowl, first some olives and a crushed garlic clove, fresh mint and chervil, a touch of olive oil and limejuice, then added the rest. Cecilia had peeled the eggs and cut some slices off a home made cheddar; I grabbed two bread rolls out of the freezer and nuked them for thirty seconds, then threw everything on the table along with a bowl each of home made ricotta and butter from the fridge. I added a bowl of fresh fruit, another jug of water, two tumblers, two wineglasses, and a bottle of my dry white wine.

I bowed with a flourish and said, "Luncheon is served, milady".

She responded with a curtsey and said "Thank you, milord".

We talked some more over lunch, of course. She was a teacher herself. She was twenty-five years old, and had just completed her third year teaching economics and geography. She'd had two hell postings in the city's outer suburbs. Now that she'd seen some of the country, she was realising that she should have opted for rural postings instead.

About halfway through lunch I got up to check the weather. It was clouding over, and I came back and asked, "how do you feel now?"

"Much better, thanks. Ready to fight my weight in wild cats and spit out fur".

"Okay. It's clouding over now, and it won't be nearly as hot. In fact, the weather forecast says thunderstorms and rain tonight and tomorrow. I assume you wanted to hike up to the lookout at the peak and get the panoramic view of the district?" She nodded. I said, "Okay, why don't I drive you back up to the State Forest, and we hike up from there? I can show you things you wouldn't notice or know about otherwise. When we finish you can come back here and decide where to go next. Believe me; tonight is not one you want to spend camping out. The lightning and rain during summer thunderstorms up there is scarcely believable".

She agreed, and that's what we did. Fed and nicely relaxed with half a bottle of wine apiece, we started hiking about 1pm. It wouldn't be dark until after 8 and the walk up only took about two hours, so we had plenty of time. As we hiked, I showed her native plants and their uses, and talked about our family's history in the area. I was even able to show her, high on the mountain, crumbling stone walls our great-great-grandfather had built to restrain his stock when he'd leased land this far up into the mountains. I'll confess I was becoming quite smitten with her. She listened to me, which is always flattering; and she showed it by asking intelligent questions or making comments that showed she'd been thinking about what was said. I returned the favour - I was interested in learning about her.

We spent about forty five minutes at the summit admiring the view, taking photos, correlating what we could see with my own survey maps, and with me filling her in on more local history and happenings from our eagle's eyrie vantage point. In fact, that's always been part of the attraction for me - sitting on the edge of the cliff looking down on the eagles far below as they soared high above the ground. Then we made it back down to the vehicle in less than half the time we'd taken to get up.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Back at the house comfortably before five, I served us a celebratory round of my home-brewed ginger beer. To be fair, I warned her. "This is not a soft drink. It's stronger than ordinary beer, it's chilled and tasty, stimulating and it goes down easy. Leaves just a bit of a prickle and a bite at the back of your throat that has you wanting something more to drink. About the fourth round of this, you may realise that you can't stand up any longer. But it is very nice. There's the water jug as well".

After the second round, I hauled her to her feet, and led her into my bedroom (mind out of the gutter, folks, we're not there yet). I rousted out an over-large sports shirt and some drawstring shorts of mine that could be forced to stay up on her. "Here", I said. "You don't have many clothes with you and what you do have need cleaning. Find some way to make enough of these stay on you to maintain modesty, and we'll throw your clothes in the washing machine". She did, came out in shirt and shorts that fit her like socks on a rooster, and we washed the clothes she'd been wearing and the ones from her pack and hung them to dry.

I had left a Muscovy duck to thaw while we were out. Muscovies are one of my favourites: lean, firm-textured - not at all like ordinary ducks, more like lamb or chevon, maybe beef or pork. I nuked it to complete the process while I peeled some potatoes and washed and chopped some pumpkin, then set the vegetables to nuke until they were half-cooked. Next I stuffed the duck and put it in the oven. Then we went outside to the courtyard next to the swimming pool, and enjoyed another couple of ginger beers. After the second of the second round, I caught her gazing wistfully at the swimming pool.

"Would you like to go swimming?" I asked. She nodded. "Well, okay". I said. "Just one first rule. The swimming pool isn't a bath. You get clean before you use it. There's the old wash-house right there, and there's towels in the cabinet".

She wandered off and showered, then came out wrapped in a towel. "What can I wear?" she asked.

I shrugged. "I confess I can't fit you out from the cast-offs from my hordes of female guests, because I don't have hordes of female guests. The only guests I've had out here in the last year, other than business, was my minister and his wife. You could get some of your stuff off the line. Or you could do what I usually do, and go skinny-dipping". I looked at her for about two seconds, then said "I'm going to have a shower and hop in myself, and I'll be skinny. If you like you can slip in while I'm showering, and I'll pretend I don't see you when I come out".

I wandered into the washhouse, showered, and came out wrapped in a towel. She was in the pool. At the bench we'd been sitting on, I dropped the towel and turned around. She definitely wasn't pretending not to see me. I didn't mind - I strip fairly well, and I still do enough light workouts and some heavy weights to maintain form and definition. I had hopes for this evening. I was with a girl I was becoming infatuated with, and I was feeling things I hadn't felt since seven years ago, a couple of years before my marriage ended.

The pool was one I'd quarried out of a dense shale bed and then concreted. It had one long arm of 25 metres, and I dived in and started swimming laps, trying to concentrate on good form. After a couple of minutes Cecilia joined me, and she was good - faster than I was; which probably meant she'd qualify for state championships.

We swam side by side for about twenty minutes, then I pulled out into the main body of the pool and sat on the steps. With the ice broken, she unselfconsciously joined me, her body from the waist up above water, the rest plainly visible below. We chatted about swimming for a while - she had been a state contestant at school and university - and then I asked her if she wanted another drink. She said "Sure" and we climbed the steps and walked across to the bench. I sat down, not bothering with the towel, so she sat naked beside me and we continued chatting as we drank.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Twilight was falling now, so I went and pulled a few silver beet (Swiss chard) leaves, then we collected the clothes we'd left in the washhouse and went into the house.

I rinsed the leaves, disked another couple of carrots from lunch, and set them aside. "Come on", I said, taking her hand. "Let's get this chlorine off".

We showered together. I soaped her down, not giving her a chance to argue, back first then hair then front, then rinsed her off with a hand-held shower head. Thoroughly but no nonsense - just breaking inhibitions. See, dear, it's perfectly normal, friendly and harmless for us both to be naked and have me touching you all over. Then I asked her to do my back, and she moved on to the rest without further comment.

When we'd finished we dried each other off, and then I stuck my index finger in her navel and said, "Hands up!" She raised her hands and I slipped that oversize T-shirt onto her again, fitting her like a short shift. I put the shorts on myself though. Then I led her out again, and we put the parboiled pumpkins and potatoes in with the duck to roast. I sautéed the carrot disks with a heaped teaspoonful of melted butter and a few slivers of onion, then set them aside. I roughly chopped the silver beet leaves and stalks, then tossed them with lemon juice and a quarter teaspoon of sesame seed oil for its toasted nutty taste, and put them in a microwave dish.

I slipped some plates into the warming oven of the wood stove. Next I did a fruit and nut tray, with almonds, walnuts, pecans, macadamias, hazelnuts and pistachios; late cherry and mulberry, the current crop of apricots, early plums and peaches, some brambles and blueberries and currants. Went back to the silver beet and microwaved it for three minutes, then left it to cook further in its own heat.

Cecilia took time out for a toilet break, and I rushed out to the clothesline and collected her clothes. They were just a trifle damp from the evening air, but otherwise dry. There was quite a wind now. I just dropped them in a clothes basket in the laundry. I didn't want her to go getting any ideas about getting dressed. I took time to select a prime bottle of white wine from the cellar to account for my absence. Opened the wine to check it and let it breath, then poured a small glass each of dry sherry to sip as we chatted in the kitchen.

When the time came, I slipped the duck and the vegetables out of the roasting pan and browned some onion rings in it on the stove-top. No excess fat on a Muscovy, so I simply browned some flour in the pan, then de-glazed the pan with the last of the wine from lunch, and added some ice-cubes of chicken stock to make up an onion gravy. I nuked the silver beet, carrots and roast vegetables for a minute to reheat them. Carved the bird then served it all up and we sat to dinner at 8pm.

* * * * * * * * * * *

We lingered over dinner as dusk fell and night came on. We'd finished and were enjoying a post-meal muscat with the last of the fruit and nuts when there was a crash of thunder like an explosion. Cecilia was so startled that she spilt some of her drink. "There we go!" I said. "That's the start of what you'd have been trying to sleep in. I think you'd have ended up trying to enjoy the night huddling in the public toilets up there".

I dealt out a couple of tea-light candles on saucers and lit them. "Comes times like this, we get power blackouts", I said. I pocketed a mini MagLite torch and the matches, then held out my hand. "Come on", I said. "Let's sit on the veranda and enjoy the show. God's fireworks. If you haven't watched a proper thunderstorm then you've never seen anything like it". I took the bottle and our glasses, we went out, and I got her seated on a hanging porch-seat. "Hold on a second", I said. I slipped back inside and gathered a couple of quilted shirt-jackets. Little use for them normally in summer, but the temperature was going to drop as the storm came over. I slipped on a T-shirt myself too, and as a final thought I grabbed a light blanket.

Back with Cecilia, I sat beside her on the swing and topped up our glasses. There was just a tinge of twilight left in the west, and we could see the storm clouds billowing up as the storm raced in from the north, tumbling up and over a standing mass of still air over the mountains, rising higher and higher. Night fell. Flickers of lightning were now almost continuous, lighting the black clouds - flashbulbs behind their cover. Frequency built up, and there was an almost continuous "crackle, pop" of thunder in the background, and lightning you could have worked by, so continuous was it.

"Look", I told her, "this is nothing yet. Things are going to get really spectacular as the night goes on. Don't be worried when the bangs get big and the flashes get bright. It's going to be like the whole thing is happening back behind your eyes and between your ears. Don't worry - just enjoy the show". My talk was pointed up as a spear of lightning flashed down from the clouds to strike near where we'd been walking earlier in the afternoon, followed five seconds later by an incredible "CRASH" of thunder. She jumped. "Did you know" I said, "that the speed of sound in air is about 1,100 feet per second? If you see the flash then start counting, when you hear the thunder it's about five seconds per mile or three seconds per kilometre until the sound from the lightning gets to you. Try it".

There was another flash, further off but very big - I guessed on the peak of the mountain. I could see her counting, her fingers ticking out, and about ten seconds later the thunder crashed over us. "What was that?" she asked. "About twelve kilometres?"

"Uhmm, no" I said. "About half that. You're counting fast. Has anyone taught you how to count seconds?"

"No", she said. "What's to learn? You just count, don't you?"

"No", I said. "You've got to count at the right rate. Here's the torch. You've got a digital watch. Put it on stopwatch mode, start it, then count thirty and stop it. See how many seconds have gone past".

She did that. "Wow", she said. "That was only fourteen seconds".

"Okay", I said. "Now let's try it again, but just count to ten".

She did that. "Uhmm, that was only three and a half seconds".

"Okay", I said. "Right there you've got the two main problems of estimating time. You count fast, and your count varies. Low numbers run through quickly, big numbers take longer. What you've got to do is stretch the count, and equalise it. One popular way is to count thousands. One one thousand, two one thousand, eleven one thousand, twenty-seven one thousand. Try that for a count of thirty with your stop watch, and see how you go".

She did that, and smiled at me. "Close. I took twenty seven seconds".

"Good", I said. "A little practice and you'd have it spot on. Personally, I prefer chimpanzees though".

She snorted her drink out her nose. She was gasping and spluttering, and I pounded her on the back. After a minute or so, she settled down a little. "Geez, Jack", she said. "I thought I was in with a chance here. I thought I could handle kinky, but chimpanzees... How can a girl compete?"

It was my turn. The drink went everywhere, and I'm not sure my sinuses will ever recover. I settled down a little, then thought about it and lost it again. And again.

Eventually I settled down. "The count, dummy!" I said. "I count chimpanzees. One chimpanzee, two chimpanzees, three chimpanzees. It doesn't take too much practice to get that running through at almost exactly one count per second. On a night like tonight, I'll be hip deep in chimpanzees in nothing flat". I thought about it a second. "Although", I said, "now that I think about it, Cecilia would make an adequate substitute for a chimpanzee. One Cecilia, two Cecilias, three Cecilias... Yeah, that would work. Greedy though. I'm not sure anyone could adequately handle more than one Cecilia at a time.

She snorted again. "Yeah, right. Hip deep in chimpanzees he is, voluntarily, eagerly even, then he discovers a use for one Cecilia. Thanks a lot, fella. After tonight's little revelation about our primate cousins, I'm not sure you're going to get the chance to handle even one Cecilia".

Well, I couldn't leave it at that, could I? I leant over and kissed her forehead, then cupped her head in one hand as I leant down and made a thorough job of kissing her lips. A long slow thorough job of kissing her lips. A little licking as well. Then mouth open, inviting her tongue to come and play - which it did. I slid down, taking a cushion from the swing-seat, and knelt in front of her, parting her legs and cuddling up close as I knelt on the cushion between her legs. Back to a long deep kiss, gently rocking her on the swing with my now-rock-hard erection rubbing against her sexual centre. Her naked sexual centre, with that T-shirt not impeding things at all. I slipped my shorts down to my knees and picked up the action again. She was as wet and slippery as a cupful of sugar syrup.

"Uhmm, Cecilia", I said. "Ceci. Sissy. What do we need to do about protection? I'm disease-free. I haven't had a chance to get any other way in seven years. I'd take my chances with you. I'd like our first time to be full-feeling, but what about pregnancy?"

"Go ahead, darling", she said. "You're about to find out that I've had no chance to pick up diseases either. I only finished my period the day before yesterday, so we can take our chances there. Jack, this is my first - you're my first. Go ahead and show a girl what it's all about - if you can forget about your damned chimpanzees".

The situation was incredibly erotic. I skinned the T-shirts off and we went back to rocking against each other on the swing. She was naked; as was I except for a puddle of shorts around my knees on the cushion I knelt on. I rocked her gently on the swing, my wooden staff sliding between her slick and slippery labia and massaging her clitoris. I kissed her deeply, running my hands up and down her shoulder-blades, then moving my hands down to pull her hips forward, more firmly against my own hips.

"Oh, yes", I breathed into her ear. "Chimpanzees don't count. I count chimpanzees, but what I want now is my very own curly-headed monkey. I flicked her curly hair with my forefinger, then cradled her head. Will you be my monkey? My monkey on a stick, like the toys we used to get at the district shows? I've got the stick, my little monkey. Let's put you right on it". I kissed her again, and rocked her back. She was as slippery and sloppy as a handful of shampoo. I positioned her with my erect penis at the entrance to her gates of heaven, and slowly let the swing slide forward. I penetrated her - so tight, so hot, so sopping wet and slippery - then swung her back, then let her forward. Back then forward, to and fro, half-an-inch at a time, as I kissed her deeply, my tongue penetrating her mouth as my cock penetrated her cunt. At some stage we'd got past her maidenhead, but it was scarcely punctuation on the entire trip.

"Darling", I breathed. "My darling Sissy. I love you so much. How can I love you so much? We met just today, but I want it to be forever. I have you now". I let the swing fully forward, and her groin mashed against mine, her weight driving the last of her onto me, pubic hairs rubbing, she fully engulfing me, I fully penetrating her. "I have you now", I said. "I want you forever".

She bent her legs, locking her ankles behind me, then leant back, her nipples sliding up my chest as she gave herself space to look at me. I leant forward, kissed her, then leant back again. "Uhmm, yes". I said. "I don't know where that came from, but it was most sincerely meant. I do love you. Mad impetuous fool I may be. Heck, no question. I love you; I want you - for all time. I can't help it. Sissy, Cecilia Nichols, I love you. Will you marry me?"

"Of course I will, silly" she said. "Who else could let me keep my monogrammed underwear? Now can we fuck? If you're in me and I'm round you, we ought to be able to do just a little bit more than get engaged, neh?"

So we did that too. As we were set up, simply rocking the swing did nothing for her clit, but I was touching her G-spot every time I penetrated, sliding up and along the front of her vagina. I rocked the swing gently, penetrating her while I spread my palm across her belly between us, thumbing her clit. It was strange, but in fact I was using no muscles that pertained to our sexual congress, and while I retained an iron-rod erection I was not getting further aroused. She reached a screaming orgasm, then two more, while I simply swung the swing, moving her to and fro and thumbing her clit. It wasn't until she was sobbing in helpless agony or ecstasy that I started moving my hips and then joined her in an orgasm that like to turned me inside out.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Sometime during our intense session the power had gone off. I recovered my shorts and used the little torch to light our way to bed. I took the tea-light candles on their saucers in as well. I called the electricity authority and let them know - as isolated as I was, half the time the power outages I had were mine alone. Then I set the alarm clock for tomorrow morning. I used two clocks - an electric clock radio, which was useless at the moment, and a little battery-powered travel alarm clock as backup. I was rostered to do the prayer at church on Sunday morning, and I had some truly genuine thanksgiving to do.

I woke in the morning - before the alarm went off. The power still hadn't come back on, so I started some porridge in a saucepan on the wood stove. Phoned the electricity supply again - yes, they hadn't forgotten about me. Rousted Sissy out and we showered. Wood-powered hot water - a wet-back on the kitchen stove - and an overhead tank for water pressure. I convinced her to come to church with me. She'd have just shorts and shirt to wear, but that was okay - they were clean. Couldn't iron them, but I suspected there'd be a few others who were less formal than they'd expected this morning too. It was surprisingly chilly for mid-summer, but I lent her a jacket of mine as well.

We started church at 9am, and I was most fervent in my prayer of praise and thanksgiving. Hey, we can't hide from Him, can we? He knew what we'd done, and I was grateful it was possible. Just (heh!) being very careful to avoid the word "just". Have you noticed how often that gets used in prayer? Ridiculous!

Colin, our Session Clerk, had spoken to us before the service, and he welcomed her by name during the announcements, as someone whose family had come from here. After church I spent a minute or two speaking to Sissy to make sure she still meant what we'd said the night before, another couple of minutes kissing and hugging her, then we spoke to Peter (our minister) about setting things in motion for a marriage. Normally he'd be conservative about these things, but he seemed to think that if it would get me married he'd be prepared to take things at a flat run - and since he'd been a state-finalist sprinter that meant something. I also spoke to one of our congregation who just (that word again!) happened to be the High-School headmaster, and then left Ross and Sissy to speak in private. I suspected she'd be able to find a position for the coming year, if not at our school then at one of the surrounding towns.

* * * * * * * * * * *

That's the way it happened - the beginning of our affair. We picked up Sissy's goods and chattels from the local camp-ground and caravan park after the service. It was simply assumed that she was staying with me now. She nailed down a few arrangements during the next week. She'd do casual teaching for the first term. After that she'd be able to fill in for someone who'd be on maternity leave for the rest of the year. Since she wasn't paying for accommodation, the income was more than ample.

...and we lived happily ever after.

Well, not quite that simple. It took constant attention to our relationship, and we had to work at it, but it was good, and we make sure it stays good.

We married at the end of that first year. She followed up with another year of maternity leave fill-in at a neighbouring town, then a permanent position at our local high school. We've been together for ten years now. It hasn't always been simple, but we're both willing to work at making our relationship work. Great sex is not enough - it never was. Since the rest is working though, the sex stays truly marvellous.

The wine cellar is well and truly established now. We're not making a fortune, but we're very comfortable indeed. Particularly since, living on the farm, our living costs approach zero. For some reason many farmers don't do that these days. To us nothing else would make sense. Our income exceeds $100,000 per year, and we re-invest as much of that as we need to in tax-free or tax-deferred ways. Neither of us needs to work off the property at all, although we still fill in casually at the local high school.

Things just keep getting better all the time for the six of us. That's including big brother, our gorgeous twin girls, and then our little man, who's just turned two.

* * * * * * * * * * *

All material is copyright of the author, © 2004-2005 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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