We'd headed up north for a spell, getting away from work, the south, and the rat race. The children were growing up and we were growing older. Right now, they were off at school summer camps and no longer wanted to go holidaying with us. Suddenly, we'd found we were trundling headlong through our forties and didn't seem to be able to find the brake. A common enough reality, but still a surprise to find it was happening to us. Delusions of immortality get shed like snakeskin when you find you've stumbled into the second half of life without spotting any warning signs. So, open spaces, fewer people, and a change of pace for a while seemed the prescription. And the medicine was going down well, no sugar required.
We were based at a country pub cum hotel on the edge of the dales with a big comfy bed in the room and good food on hand. The bar featured a massive roaring fire which seemed to be lit all year round on the grounds the weather could turn nasty anytime so it was best to be prepared. Just now, though, it was mid summer. There was a big high-pressure system sitting atop and the appropriate gear for the bar would have been birthday suits. So, we had packed a picnic and gone off exploring. We picked our way through villages and hamlets, took narrow side roads, stopped off to look at churches and noted the starting points for walks we might try, of which there were too many, and pubs we might lunch at another day, of which there were not nearly so many, then circled back to the main road only to set off on another loop and do the same again. By lunchtime we were nearing our objective, a wooded area off a side road with parking and short forest walks. Jo was navigating from the OS map.
"Turn left here," she instructed. We were off the main road again.
"The small side road we need is about two hundred yards ahead on the right."
We were now in a typical country lane flanked by those high hedges between which you spend your time wondering who's going to come hurtling round the corner, whether you'll manage to stop, and how you are going to pass each other. After a mile or so of twisty and disorienting progress without mishap the road suddenly widened, sprouted a broken white centreline in parts, and a forestry sign appeared pointing left to a big gap. We took the gap onto a good gravel track which circled gently to the right through open mixed woodland before straightening and continuing for about a hundred yards to a tree hemmed meadow with the occasional picnic table. We had it to ourselves. And a few million insects.
"This would appear to be us," said Jo, tossing the map onto the back seat.
"Magic! Let's hope the wasps are busy elsewhere," I replied.
We parked on the edge of the meadow under some shady trees and set about making ourselves comfortable. Out came the rug, a couple of folding chairs, and a makeshift table I'd knocked up which folded out from the back of the car, an estate wagon, and was anchored to the boot floor forward tie-down points on the cantilever principle.
The meadow was overgrown, with knee-high grass and thigh-high wild flowers. The picnic tables poked up like wee atolls in a green ocean with coloured flotillas everywhere braving the waves. The rug might be for later. But for now, we sat either side of the fold-out to enjoy lunch. The million insects hummed away in the background, birds twittered every now and then, and the sun blazed down from an unusually blue cloud-free sky. I poured Jo a portion of chilled white and cracked a can of Pepsi myself.
"If no-one else turns up to gate-crash our idyll I might do a bit of sunbathing on the rug," mused Jo. "I'm afraid you'll have to rub some sunscreen over the exposed bits if I do."
"How much are you planning to expose to the assembled throng?" I waved an arm at the empty meadow.
"I'll just take the dress off. My bra and knickers can stay on. One wouldn't want to appear indecent."
I smiled. "I look forward to my anointing duties. Then I'll leave you cook gently while I do the crossword in the shade."
"Did you leave the reading material in the car?" asked Jo.
"Sure." We'd packed a few issues of Search and Relate, long out of print but a good read from the seventies, before the readers' letters sections in the well-known top shelf magazines caught up. Twenty years later they still stood up against the modern stuff. Soft core erotic pillow books in a handy A5 format.
We tidied up the bits and pieces, folded away the table but left the chairs out, and Jo spread the rug a short distance from the car in the long grass, slipping off her sandals and treading it out with bare feet until it was sitting on a cushion of springy vegetation. She slipped out of her dress and tossed it to one side, standing in pure white knickers and lace topped bra both of which shimmered in the sun. She looked magnificent and I was immediately hard. But I had an anointing job to do so I went and knelt by her side as she lay down and I got to work, front first and then she rolled over so I could cream her back.
"Hmmm. This is very nice," she purred. I took the opportunity to fondle her backside and stroke down between her legs. She wiggled appreciatively. "Later. I'll just read for a bit first." So, I handed her a couple of magazines and took my place in one of the chairs. From my vantage point she was visible, but you wouldn't have spotted her for the grass if you approached from a distance.
I hadn't settled for that long before I heard what sounded like a distant car engine. "It sounds as if we may have company soon," I observed.
"Really? I need a pee. Better get on with it." Jo knelt, then stood and walked off the rug to the edge of her trodden patch, slipped down her knickers and squatted facing me. She smiled as a stream of pee splashed the broken and bent grass stems. She knows I love to watch her pee outdoors and she had made sure I got the perfect view. My cock paid immediate attention to proceedings as the sound of an approaching vehicle became unmistakable. Jo whipped her knickers up and resumed her position on the rug just as a white hatchback came round the corner and rolled to a stop at the edge of the track about forty yards away. A chap wearing shorts and a white t-shirt with some kind of artwork on the front got out, opened the tailgate and rummaged around out of view for a spell. He emerged with a couple of bags slung over his shoulders carrying a folded tripod and started towards us down the track. He was medium height, looked lean and fit, and had curly dark hair and a hint of stubble. I put him in his early to mid-thirties. He smiled and I raised a hand in greeting.
I waved to the empty seat, as several things happened almost at once.
"Join us for a drink if you're not in a hurry," I said.
He stopped dead saying "I'm dreadfully sorry. I didn't realise you had company!"
I let this pass as if I was normally in the habit of picnicking alone while leaving empty seats out for strangers. The t-shirt artwork had materialised as two woodpeckers, a green and a spotted, facing each other on opposing sides of a tree trunk, above which was the declaration "Woodpeckers - forever boring". I realised the machine-gun tapping of woodpeckers had been part of the background noise and made the obvious connection.
"You'll be a pecker fancier then?"
And Jo surfaced properly from her grassy enclosure, sitting up and smiling happily. "Hi! I'm Jo and this is my Guy." She flicked a hand in my direction.
"Very nice to meet you Jo. I'm Bill. Does your guy have a name too?"
"It's Guy," I explained.
"Ah," he replied. He didn't move to take a seat. Nor did he look like he was going to rush off to film woodpeckers. He just stood there and took in the view.
The view was Jo, who was sitting with her knees up and together and her arms clasped round them. Her feet were splayed apart. The combination had the effect of squeezing her lace adorned breasts together while affording Bill a clear view of her knickers creasing between her legs. Bill looked like a man who thought this was a pleasant view he could take some time savouring while he waited to see what happened next.
"We're on holiday. We haven't seen a soul all day and you're not interrupting anything. Do have a seat and tell us your life story if you've got a moment before you go chasing your quarry," I offered, deciding on the spur that he looked a nice chap and we were in no hurry to go anywhere or do anything. To the contrary, this chance meeting might lead somewhere. "We've got cold Pepsi, white wine and Carlsberg in cans in the chilly."
Bill, probably thinking something along the same lines, grinned widely. "Best offer I've had since my wife Sal suggested I might like a printed t-shirt for my birthday! I'll allow myself one Carlsberg, thanks very much." He sat down and I cracked a can for him. "The strapline and artwork are all hers. Perhaps she's trying to tell me something." He'd pulled up his seat opposite mine, fortuitously allowing him to maintain his perfect view of Jo.
