Summer Lawns Ch 01

Sex was the only thing Charles was interested in. It was the only subject he thought about and the only thing he really wanted to do. Life would have gone on as normal if not for the strange vision that past before him.

Charles was walking through the village of Ampstwell, a quiet little Leicestershire hamlet when the car drove past. Through the open window, he saw the woman. She had those cat-like eyes which spoke of mystery and passion, with high cheekbones and the sharp features of beauty and refinement. Here was a woman born to the highest order in life, and someone used to money and power.

Standing there on the side of the road, Charles knew he was a world apart from a woman like that. They would be from completely different classes and the young man felt small and out of place just looking at her. The car stopped and the door opened for the beauty to step out.

Her long slender legs could be seen first, as she stepped from the car and stood up. The small tightly fitting dress just moulded itself to her hourglass figure. But she pulled it down over her hips, in case the hem had ridden up her pear-shaped bottom. She pushed her pointed breasts out and walked like a cat past the young man.

He felt the hairs on his neck rise up, as she passed, giving him a sideways look and a slight smile. At that moment Charles made up his mind to possess a woman like that. One day he too would step from a big car and follow that beauty. Then, when they were alone, he would slowly peel that dress from her slender body, feeling every curve and mound.

For now, she simply posted a letter in the village post box and got back in the car. But she had put the hook deep inside the young man and the fever would not go away. He had to become better. How else could he ever win a girl like that?

Walking to the village pub that Sunday lunchtime, Charles past the landlord clearing glasses from the beer garden.

"Who was that Fred?" Charles asked the man, as they both watched the sleek car drive away.

"That, young Charlie, was Mrs Draper; the new owner of the Manor House. Don't get any ideas young man, you're well out of her league. She might keep you as a toyboy, but that's about all." The landlord laughed as he carried the glasses inside.

"I know, but it doesn't stop me dreaming," replied Charles

"That's all you'll ever do Charlie. That sort of world isn't for the likes of you and me. Those money people would never welcome us in, except as slaves." Fred the landlord struggled to balance glasses and bottles together.

"Maybe you are right Fred, but I wouldn't mind being her slave."

"You be careful of women like that young man, you might get burned." The landlord shot him a warning look as he went inside.

Of course Fred the landlord was right. He was a simple country-boy, struggling with poverty, in a dead-end job. He held no qualifications, and had up till now, no experience of the big world. Shaking himself out of this self-pity, Charles thought about his good side. He was young; single; lean and fit. The village girls found him attractive, and he knew he liked sex! What more could he want?

The young man looked out across the Leicestershire countryside and knew the seasons would be turning. Charles did not want to end up rotting into the ground like the dead leaves from those golden trees.

The village of Ampstwell was trapped in the past, and nothing ever changed. The people never even wanted change, but Charles desperately wanted to get out. He was growing up and wanted to spread his wings and fly. It was not so much that he wanted to find out what lay beyond those fields, he wanted to find out what lay inside him. What made him think the way he did? And why did he lust after that Mrs Draper so? The people of the village were good to him and his family, and he hated turning his back on them.

Was this all there was? Life and death in a little backwater village? He wanted the countryside exploding in a fireball of adventure and new life. Full of sexy women that would show him everything he had ever dreamt of.

The glass weighed heavy in his hand, as Charles sat in the village pub that night. All around him could be heard the same drab talk. He wondered if they ever knew what lay beyond that lattice of motorways which cut through the countryside? As the stream of cars and lorries upon those roads, life was passing him by. The pub had not changed in years, maybe as far back as the war, when the visiting American army had scrawled their names upon the dark oak beams. The other men just sat there looking into their glasses, for them, there was only the past. They had wasted their chance to escape and now they were paying for it. The pain showing in their eyes.

The pub was called The Steel Helmet, after the battles which had been fought around the village, in years gone by. Sadly there was little steel in the men, as they watched their pub change for the worse. The brewery had their own ideas about what a village pub should look like, so the plastic and the machines were forced on the locals, like it or not.

Maybe things would be different if he had a girlfriend? Someone he could perform regular sex with? The thought of frolicking in the fields with a young girl warmed the young man and gave him a little more heart. Things were never so bad, as long as you could look forward to sex.

The people in the pub talked about the same old boring things. You would think they had never had sex, or never enjoyed it. Charles knew that his generation had not invented sex, but really! Now and again they would discuss a darker subject.

The local Manor House had always cast a dark spell upon the village. Having always been the centre of attention, many ancient battles had been fought around it. Now the only battle was with the money needed for its leaking roof and overgrown garden.

No local family could afford such a huge property, so only people brought in by the motorways could match the money needed for expensive slates, and hardwood window frames.

The present couple were the typical property moguls who kept to their own circle and lived another life altogether. But recently things had changed, and with it, the mood had grown darker. Reminiscent of the days when the local gentry held wild wicked parties, where young girls ran around the house wearing only a smile.

But these new owners had committed a far worse crime in the eyes of the villagers, for they had become very rich. Not just the wealth of country gentlefolk, but the crass riches of new money. Of sports cars, and helicopters on the lawns, and the riches of full-breasted; long-legged glamorous sexy women; the worst sort.

For Charles, the talk centred on the prospect of a job in the gardens. Only the bravest must dare to tread inside the dragon's cave, but he just felt he was the man to take up just such a sword.

Now Charles never really believed in anything. He certainly did not believe in anything supernatural, but the old house had a bad reputation for crazy events that could not be readily explained. Things did happen and people were scared of it. Nobody had ever taken a photo of a ghost coming up to grab them, but the stories were there. Charles had always dismissed these stories as just more folk tales to tell children on dark and stormy nights. The whole village was filled with these nonsense tales, of elves; witches and magical goings-on. Sadly none of it could be proved, and worse still, none of it could be used to make any money. And that interested Charles.