Thank you to everyone who commented on my first story. Just to clear up any confusion. I tend to use English (British) slang.
The word 'Fanny' in this country refers to female genitals as opposed to the North American use which means buttocks.
Anyway, here's my second attempt and I hope everyone enjoys it as much.
Part One
My 'Google' search hadn't been very helpful, I was looking for a cottage to rent and my search had unearthed thousands of entries. Perhaps I was going about it the wrong way I thought, dragging a large map of the country from a drawer in the study and spreading it across the desk, I automatically discounted cities and large towns as already living in the suburbs of one city, I refused to substitute it for another. What I was searching for was a small village or hamlet, somewhere out of the way and quieter, somewhere I could think and get my head together. Staying away from what were considered all major populated area's, I found myself looking at the small village names on the map, my finger tracing from one name to another.
'Lower Yockleton', the name caught my attention and I returned to Google, searching for properties to rent in the Shropshire countryside. There were three cottages all within a reasonable distance of the village whose name had so intrigued me. Reading 'Wikipedia', it seemed 'Lower Yockleton was more a hamlet rather than a village, the type that had one main street, a few shops, post office, pub and cottages sparsely spread around that central hub. Noting the telephone number I called the letting agent and made an appointment to view all three. It would be a three-hour drive from my present location, but I didn't care, it would get me out of the house and I needed to escape.
Having sat my final exams and finished college, I had come out with a masters degree in engineering as the summer had finally beckoned, intending to travel around Europe with a few friends before meeting up with mum and dad who were going over to their villa in Spain for the summer. I still remember it was a Wednesday evening and was packing any bits I'd forgotten when the front doorbell rang, thinking it was probably one of my friends calling round.
I opened the door with a huge grin on my face only to be greeted by two police officers stood on the doorstep.
'Adam Judd?' One of them asked.
I nodded my head, looking puzzled.
'May we come inside Sir? 'We need to speak to you,' he continued, his voice taking on a kinder tone.
Showing them through to the lounge, I was unaware that my life and the world around me was about to change. Mum and dad had set off that morning in the taxi taking them to the airport, excited to be on their way at last and I looking forward to eventually hooking up with them.
'Are your parents Thomas and Marjory Judd?' It was all sounding very official.
I felt uneasy, as again I nodded my head.
'I'm very sorry to tell you that they were involved in a vehicle accident today and that sadly, they have both been killed,' he concluded, and for a moment I thought he was going to put his hand on my shoulder.
It was the shock, they gave me more details but I was not really listening anymore even when they asked if there were any relatives locally who could come over. I was an only child as were both my parents, there were no relatives that I had ever met, no grandparents, aunts or uncles, mum and dads parents had already passed away by the time I was born. Eventually, the police arranged for my friend Adrian's mother to come and stay for the night just to make sure I was ok.
The next eight weeks were hard as I attended the inquest and arranged their funerals, mum and dad being buried next to each other, and then I had to sort all their things out and see the solicitors. Everything they owned had been left to me, the house which was quite large, the bank accounts and a small engineering company that dad owned, one reason why I had taken my degree at college, it was going to become 'Judd & Son'.
Cynthia, Adrian's mum came over and helped me sort out their clothes and belongings, some going to charity, others packed away as I couldn't bring myself to part with some items. It was a strange time, Cynthia was attractive and quite fit for an older woman and I got the feeling that there could have been something between us if I'd wanted, but I was still numb and confused and that was the last thing on my mind.
Putting the last of their things in the loft, was when a small box off to one side caught my eye; retrieving it from the dark corner, I was surprised to find my first name written on it in felt tip pen. Carefully carrying it down the ladder, I blew off the coating of dust and took it downstairs to the kitchen, intrigued as to what it could be. I opened it slowly as my world began to crumble and collapse completely.
The box contained letters and papers and two photographs, my real name was 'Daniel Evans and my parents, who weren't my biological parents, had adopted me. There was nothing in there with my real parent's name on it, only the two pictures, one had 'Daniel aged 6 months' written on the back and the other simply said 'Anne' and showed a young girl who was maybe fifteen or sixteen.
Stunned and shaking, I pondered, who were my real parents, did I have a sister and where was she, why had I been adopted, why had my real mother given me away. A myriad of questions bombarded my brain and now there was no one to ask, it was enough to drive someone mad and that was when I went off the rails. I started drinking and lying in my bed all day long, never washing or shaving, only going out to buy more alcohol once I had exhausted the supply at home. I shut myself away refusing to meet anyone or let people into the house; which slowly became a hovel as plates, bottles and empty food cartons piled up in the kitchen and other rooms, a thick layer of dust covering everything. It lasted eight months before Cynthia managed to gain access one morning.
'Oh my God, Adam, what have you been doing?' She asked as she looked at the state of the house and my dishevelled appearance.
'My names, not Adam, its Daniel,' I said, recounting what I had found, 'My life has been a lie.'
Cynthia shook her head, 'Marjory was your mum, she might not have given birth to you, but she brought you up and she loved you.
'And just like any mother, she would be mortified with your behaviour and the state of the place.'
I hadn't been in the mood to listen but she had bullied me until I finally went into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror, not recognising the person who stared back with bleary eyes.
Stood in the doorway she told me in no uncertain terms, 'Take a bath Adam, you stink.....and get rid of the beard, you look like a tramp.'
She was right, I didn't recognise myself, was it possible to sink any lower?
Running the bath full of water, I went and grabbed some scissors, cutting away most of the straggly beard before having a proper shave and climbing into the bath of deliciously hot water. Laying back and luxuriating in the tub, Cynthia returned with clean towels, her eyes taking in my naked form beneath the water as she dumped them to one side, but presently I was to far gone to be concerned.
'Sit up while I wash your hair and soap you back,' she instructed, grabbing the showerhead and spraying water over my head.
With clean hair and a soaped back, she sat off to one side on the loo seat and I got the impression that if I had asked her to join me, perhaps she may have done. But the water was manky after all those months and I felt embarrassed at the scum floating on its surface, st least it helped cover my nudity.
Finished and ready to get out, she appeared to be in no hurry to move, 'Hand me a towel will you?' I asked as I stood, she had already seen me in the bath naked, now wasn't the time to appear prudish.
Her eyes instantly went to my groin as I took the towel from her and wrapped it around my waist, much to her disappointment, before climbing from the water.
'You need a haircut,' she laughed, while I looked at myself again in the mirror.
I'd lost weight and my body's tone was starting to disappear but at least I looked partially normal now, that was except for the hair, before, I had kept it short, now it was down past my shoulders.
'You're a hairdresser Cynthia, fancy cutting it for me, it doesn't have to be perfect,' I asked.
She nodded and picked up the scissors, 'Come down to the kitchen, have you got a comb?'
Sat on a chair in the kitchen, I watched as large chunks of hair landed at my feet, the 'snip, snip' of the scissors causing more strands to follow until finally, she handed me a mirror.
'What do you think, will it do?' She asked as she brushed loose hairs from my shoulders, the touch of her hands on my bare skin sending shivers down my spine and awakening something after all this time between my legs.
