G'day Everyone,
I'm back with another story. This one is set in Australia and does contain some of the local version of English. A ute is the Aussie equivalent of a pick up. A swag is a bed roll used when camping.
The story started its life as a loving wives tale but then it morphed into non consent/reluctance with a little bit of light incest thrown in.
A big thank you to Capt Obvious for his timely help editing.
Hope you enjoy it. Please leave a comment after reading to let me know what you think.
Cheers
CharlieB4
*****
HARVEST
The heat haze shimmered off the bitumen's black top as it stretched away out in front of me. The outside temperature was thirty eight celsius but inside my Landcruiser the climate control kept it at a pleasant twenty three. The cruise control was set on one hundred and ten and the V8 diesel purred along barely raising a sweat.
In the distance a line of jagged hills marked my destination. They were all that were left of what had been a large volcano. Thirteen million years of rain, wind and ice had ravaged it till all that was left was its skeleton. Our farm was just to the south east of the national park which covered the main area of the old mountain. My husband would often marvel at his grandfather's good fortune to have drawn a block of land there in the soldier settlement scheme after World War One.
A quirk of nature meant that the district east of the national park received on average twenty percent more rainfall than surrounding areas. Add to that the volcanic soil and it was the perfect mix for farming prosperity. Not that I knew much about it. I was a city girl, born and raised six hours east, in Sydney.
My family, like ninety percent of Australians, stubbornly clung to the coast. My mum was a relatively recent migrant to the sunny shores of Australia. She'd been one of the thousands of young Vietnamese women who had escaped the uncertainty of life in her strife torn country as a "mail order bride" in the early nineteen eighties. The first marriage had not worked out but then she'd met my dad, a Lebanese truck driver. So I was a like many children of my generation in the multicultural melting pot of western Sydney. A unique hybrid of many cultures. Luckily for me I'd got my mother's French/Vietnamese looks and figure and my dad's olive skin.
The urban zone speed limit signs flashed past as I entered Gilgandra so I touched the brake to turnoff the cruise control and slowed down to fifty. I pressed the phone button on the steering wheel and asked my phone to call my husband, Justin. I had to leave the highway on the other side of town and the mobile service was always dodgy on the other road. Music stopped coming through the sound system speakers, replaced by the shrill ring tone.
"Hello," said a voice barely audible over the roar of the machine he was sitting in.
I imagined him sitting in the cabin of the harvester. One hand on the joystick controlling the forty foot front scything the wheat heads from the straw. His eyes darting backwards and forwards between the myriad of dials and the crop in front of him while the grain ran into the bin behind his head. At least the GPS took care of the steering now.
"Hi honey," I said brightly. "I'm just in Gilgandra so I'm about forty minutes away. Do you need these parts straight away?" I looked across at the large belt folded on the passenger seat and another square steel contraption with pipes poking out of it.
"No, just bring them this evening with the fuel and dinner. They are predicting a weather front to hit in two days so I can't afford to stop unless I have to."
"How much do we have to go?"
"Four days."
"Alright I'll leave you to it."
"Bye." He said and the sound of machinery roaring was replaced by music.
He wasn't much for small talk my husband. He'd always had, what my mother politely described, as an efficiency with words. Others in the family had considered him aloof and rude. At the moment his stress levels were high. He'd been working twenty hour days for two weeks harvesting the barley and chickpeas. The end was in sight but the threatening weather meant his mind was somewhere else.
Funnily enough his quiet nature had been one of the things that attracted me to him in the first place. I was sick of the city boys who just had to tell you how much they earned. How important their job was. How expensive their car had been and just generally how lucky you were that they were bothering to talk to you.
We met on a blind date. He was a friend of a friend's cousin and I was invited to make a group of five become six. I went fully expecting to have sex with my date because that would have been the reason I was invited. I'd lost my virginity in school and loved it so much I made sure I practiced a lot. My friends back then described me as a 'party girl,' my enemies opinion would be closer to slut.
Despite our different personalities we hit it off. He was polite, courteous but just occasionally he showed a flash of razor sharp wit. Justin offered to drive me home and I was waiting for him to make a move. When we turned into my street I remember wondering if he was gay. He walked me to the front door before giving me a sisterly peck on the cheek goodnight. Taking the initiative while he was close I'd grabbed him and given him the XXX version. The look on his face when he'd broken away had been priceless especially when I added in a husky voice.
"You should give me a call next time you're in town."
