Things can never remain unchanged. In the last few years there has been a subtle shift in the village. The most disturbing thing was the fact that the troubles of the outside world had found their way in. People are not quite as close or get as close as they did before. It took a long time for all my customers to return to the pub.
Somehow, the word slowly spread among the village women that I took an interest in and could be trusted with the secrets of theirs and their forebears sex lives. Ladies, young and old, would tell me their stories.
Mostly, it was fairly ordinary stuff from the past. When they'd been fingered, when they'd been fucked. When they'd been fucked when they should have just been fingered. When they'd been fingered when they'd really wanted to be fucked.
They told me what their husbands did that the women didn't like. What they didn't do that they would have liked. They even told me things that they normally wouldn't want anyone to know they liked.
Every so often I would hear stories that shocked me. In a few cases I would hear stories that excited me. I know you're not really interested in that sort of thing but I may write them down anyway. I suppose that I could also include periodic updates on any other goings on in the village too, if you like?
-
One sunny summer's morning I was making my way back to the pub from the tearoom. Somehow, I'd got myself involved in a sort of improvised coffee morning with Helen, a couple of ladies from the W.I, and the new Vicar's wife. I'd asked for tea. Everyone knows that I only drink tea. I'm not sure how but I ended up taking a mouthful of coffee. I needed a wee. There is a small toilet in the tearoom but no-one uses it because everyone can hear you pissing. I must get my builder to do something about it.
Harry was off playing golf with Gerald. At one time I had absolutely no idea about golf but, during the first lock-down, Harry had spent a lot of hours patiently explaining the whole thing to me. What they were trying to achieve, the history, the subtleties of the game. Now, I still have no bloody idea why people play it.
Just as I was pushing open the garden gate a voice said, "Have you got a minute?" It was Farmer Norman's widow, Dorce.
"Sure, come in and take a seat. I won't be long. I need the loo badly," I replied quickly.
She started to explain that she often had the same problem but I didn't have time to listen.
When I got back Dorce was seated in one of the garden chairs in a sunny part of the garden. "Sorry about that," I said, "how are you doing these days?"
I knew the answer, "Not very bloody well!"
It was a stupid question. Dorce had lost Norman in the first wave.
"You know dear, some days are better than others", was her actual answer.
"I feel happier now that I've given up the lease on the farm and I've settled in nicely with Alice and Lis. Me renting a room with them helps us all out. Norman had a good life insurance and some shrewd investments so money is not one of my problems," she went on.
"That's one of the downsides to living in a little village, when you have your heart broken everybody knows. They try to be kind but that's not always what you need. You just want to be treated normally"
"I'm forgetting my manners, would you like a drink?" I said.
"Lemonade would be lovely, dear," she replied.
Dorce is in her early seventies and still has a natural beauty. By all accounts she had a stunning figure when she was young. That is probably local slang for a fat ass and big tits with an obvious waist.
I put the two glasses on the table. "Anyway, is there something I can do for you?" I asked her.
She thought for a minute and then said, "Well, actually there is. Lis tells me that you're a good listener and that you don't judge women badly.
"I dearly want to share my story with someone. The Alices are lovely but they are terrible gossips. I suspect that if I tell you things that are a little shocking they would be safe with you."
I reassured her, "Village ladies have told me their stories from time to time. I usually write them down and hide them away."
"That's just what I was hoping for," said Dorce.
I think that Dorce is short for Dorothy but I've never heard her called anything else.
"It's quite a long tale, do you have the time now?" she added.
"It's fine, I have at least four hours. I can do us some lunch later if we need a break," I said.
"Well here goes. As you may know Norman and I were married for nearly fifty years. I know that everyone thinks that their love story is unique and special but in lots of ways ours was, I loved him every day that I knew him. Right up until I was in my middle forties our love life was good. Just good.
"Early on we went at it hammer and tongs. We did nearly everything that a couple could do together. The only thing that I wouldn't do was take it up the bum. Eventually, things became more of a routine Saturday night sort of thing. I still enjoyed it but it was a little predictable.
"As I say, when I was in my mid forties and Norman was nearly fifty he was approached by the Agricultural College. Would he take part in a placement scheme they were running? They wanted to give students real life farm experience once they had qualified. The college would send two or three eighteen year olds to spend a couple of years working on our farm.
