Note: This is the first part of a six-part story. It starts slowly and leisurely, before becoming very intense in especially Parts Five and Six. It was written for a woman I initially met online, who lived 300 kms away, whom I was able to visit every five weeks or so for more than 18 months. In the end, she never made it to my farm.
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You arrive at the farm late on a sunny morning. I hug you tightly and kiss you tenderly, running my hands up and down your back. I discipline myself to do no more. We sit down together and have a quick simple lunch. We talk quietly about small things. We look into each other's eyes and tell each other how happy we are to be in each other's presence.
We touch each other frequently. As we sit eating, I stroke your legs. I run my hand from your calf up to your knee, in behind your knee, then up to your thigh.
After we finish eating, I say "Come with me. I want you to visit my patch of bush on the farm."
You take my hand and follow me out the front door, down the concrete steps and out into the yard. As we pass under the peach tree, we turn left and walk past the sleepout and go between the sheds in the shade under the great oak tree. Instead of going up the track to the right up the hill, we walk along the stream that forms the southern boundary of my farm, the Manuka stream.
There are large poplars growing along the banks of the stream. We walk past the old pig sty, through lush green grass liberally dotted with yellow buttercups, through a gate and along a grassy track towards the pond.
The pond is hidden behind flaxes, yellow irises, lilies, blackberry and other bushes. Up the steep slope to the right are blackwood trees amongst which pine trees once grew (they were cut down to give more room for the blackwoods). Beyond the pond are the tall eucalypts and poplars marking a northwards turn in the stream.
