In a quiet, sleepy, picturesque corner of Essex, right on the border with even sleepier Suffolk, there lies a small village called Dedham. Its is an appealingly beautiful place, and very famous with tourists because it is the centre of the part of England most associated with John Constable, one of England's most famous Victorian painters, and Dedham church one of his best known paintings.
Dedham has a small river, The Stour, which runs through it, and on that river, one can hire old fashioned rowing boats and just drift up and down in warm sunlight, soft breezes, and on each side on a busy day, sometimes you will see fishermen - and women, I have done it. In the fields there are herds of cows, which roam freely. Dotted all along its length, there are huge ancient oaks, which, if they could talk, could tell such tales of the sights and sounds of things that have gone on around them. The river twists and turns sometimes gently, sometimes sharply, and occasionally there is an overgrown side stream, which beckons the inquisitive.
Today, we are going for a boat ride on that river, in the warm sunshine. We have a picnic basket, with delectable nibbles, a bottle of wine, which I hang over the side of the boat to chill, a soft blanket, and a couple of pillows. We also have a bag with a few extras...........
You are wearing a very thin, almost transparent white summer dress, with a tight fitting bodice, pre-formed bra and no straps, we don't want strap marks on your shoulders as the sun lightly tans your skin. White suspender, and white stockings and high-heeled shoes, not too high. You insisted "....it is never too hot for stockings," and that you wouldn't feel dressed properly without them.
Before we left the house, we had made love, soft and long, several times actually. I cannot resist you when we first awake, or in the shower, or while you were in the kitchen preparing the food, and then you had to go and bend over the sofa 'trying to find something' (well you found what you were looking for, and how!). While you were still soft and amenable and wet from your cumming, I fitted a pleasure belt to you, not the panties, I thought it would be too warm today. Of course, we had to try out the remote, just to make sure it was working. It worked. It worked on me too, and I'm not wearing them. I am, however, already harnessed up. Although I have not told you this but you have probably guessed it.
I am also wearing white. Thin cotton pants, a t-shirt, not tight, but not loose; comfortable, with the sleeves to my elbows, and my usual beads, black and white this time, and matching band around my wrist. And sandals, sensible, sport sandals. Each time I look down I see my painted toenails, and just shake my head, chuckling at my weakness in allowing you to do it. But at the time, you had left me so limp and weak from your loving I had no strength to argue, just let you do it. At least it was subtle, a sort of pale coffee shade. Thank god it wasn't red.
We had loaded the car and enjoyed a pleasant drive through the Essex and Suffolk countryside, through narrow winding back roads, the sun dappling through the high trees lining much of the route, and then glinting on ripening wheat and barley which was dancing lightly in the breeze, as we emerged from the trees into occasional flat areas. Dipping down the final hill, we emerged into Dedham village, and I slowed so that you could take in the pleasant sight that it presented. The Village green hiding behind the church, where the sounds of a cricket match could be heard. At the far end of the main street stood the towering church of the famous painting. In the middle of the square, just before the church, the old horse trough and the more modern war memorial, a reminder of more recent follies and their cost in human suffering. The sides of the main street lined with ancient cottages, Georgian and Regency houses, and on the corner a traditional tea shop. And finally, inevitably, the village pub. I had booked a table for later for a romantic dinner for two. If we made it.
I was pleased to see the smile on your face, and knew it pleased you by the soft movements of your hand on my thigh. An absent movement as you absorbed the atmosphere of old-English calm and slowness.
Finally, being impatient to move on, I turned off the main street and took the short side road down to the boat-house. Parking the car, we gathered the basked, blanket and bag, and made our way down the path along the side of the river, your arm through mine, in a way that gave me great pleasure. I noticed a few looks which came our way, from other visitors. I'm sure we made an interesting sight, this silver-haired woman, accompanied by a much younger woman with the flaming red hair tumbling over bare shoulders and onto an almost transparent dress. I thought I could see your nipples through the dress, but that may have been wishful thinking, I knew what was and was not underneath that dress.
You stood on the jetty, under the shade of an old gnarled oak, as I made arrangements to hire one of the boats for the rest of the day. Most people were just hiring for an hour, but I had other plans. It was now just before lunch time, I did not intend to have us back here until 6, when the boathouse closed. With that much time we could get away from the throng of tourists that filled the first part of the river. After that? Hmmmmmmmmm.
I turned to talk to you, and simply stopped in my tracks. What a wonderful sight. I think that is the biggest part of your attraction, the fact that you do not see it. You had moved to the railing and were leaning over watching the ducks on the water, smiling softly at them. For a few minutes I simply watched you, until you must have felt something, and looked round to me, and smiled, that smile which just had me singing inside. I held out my hand to you, and without a word you walked to me and took it, briefly squeezing it. Without caring about who was watching, I lifted your hand to my lips and kissed your fingers, my eyes never leaving yours. How could I feel shame at such a gentle love.
I moved myself into the boat, stowed the basket and bag, and placed the folded blanket on the seat opposite me where you would be sitting. I wanted you to be comfortable, you would be there a while......................... The boat handler held the boat in place, I held out my hands to you to help you in, thinking your heels would impede easy movement, but no, you took my hands and elegantly and easily stepped into the boat, turning to thank the handler for his help, smiling at him in that way that guaranteed prompt attention if we returned again. I do think the sight of you in that dress, and the brief glimpse of your thighs and stocking tops may have had something to do with his assiduous attention to our needs.
