Anthea s baby 1
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The SmallholderChapter 18 free porn video
Sunday 5 April 2009
Joseph let himself into his cottage mid-afternoon on that now sunny Sunday. Angela had understood that he needed to get back to feed the animals and relieve Elaine. Rain had accompanied his journey, but the cloud was beginning to break as he entered the cottage.
Bob went wild with delight, running to him, skirting his legs being too well trained to jump up, his tail lashing in his excitement. Joseph bent down and fondled his ears and neck, and the dog whimpered.
He straightened and went to the kitchen to make some tea. It was good to be back home and its simplicity welcomed him. He sat at the kitchen table and listened to the kettle singing as the water came to the boil. A note from Elaine assured him that all was well with his little kingdom, and that she had washed and dried the sheets of the upstairs bed.
He felt comfortable and relaxed, enfolded by the silence and the familiarity of the place, realising that this was the first weekend since he had arrived at the then semi-derelict cottage all those years ago, that he had been away for the weekend. He remembered conversation on Friday turning to questions as to where each of the folk had booked their holidays and smiled at their amazement that he had never been away on holiday for years. He had never felt any need to escape the life he led: he had wonderful hills, peaceful countryside, ever varying weather and above all, peace and quiet.
He made tea and sat again while it brewed. Perhaps, he thought, not all that quiet: there was the croaking of the rooks, the bleating of the sheep and his own goats, the clucking and triumphant cackling of his hens as they deposited another egg, and the birds, especially the skylarks and the curlews. However there was little of the incessant roar of car tyres on roads and the din of traffic.
He took the mug of tea with him and walked round his livestock and checked the turbines and the water screw. He looked over the fields. Everything was in order. It was good to be back.
As he went about the evening rounds, blessing the light evenings, he remembered the weekend and smiled. Angela was so eager to make him comfortable, so keen to entertain him. The concert they attended on Saturday evening had been delightful. The visit to her parents on Sunday had gone well; they seemed to like him and he them.
He had lived for so long without any music at all, that the richness and variety of sounds touched him deeply, and he wondered if he shouldn't set aside some time to listen to music. If there was to be music it would be music to listen to, rather than to have on in the background. She had put on the TV for the news, but he found he preferred the radio, to which of course he realised he seldom listened. Should he keep more in touch with world events? Was there a moral obligation to share in the troubles – and it seemed it was mainly troubles which were reported – of the wider world?
He wondered that he knew about most of the news items, and remembered that he usually read the newspaper in the pub of an evening. Of course, that was enough, he needed neither radio nor TV to keep abreast of the news.
She had taken him out for breakfast on Saturday, and he had to admit he found the noise and bustle of the café at once exciting and annoying. It was fun to watch the other patrons and see them deeply engaged in conversation. It was good to see people in relationships as varied as they were: old couples sitting contentedly by one another not needing conversation beyond the odd remark, while younger folk seemed intent on filling every moment of silence with talk. He wondered what they found to talk about at such length.
There was the noise of the coffee machine, the smell of coffee and cooked food, the clatter of crockery and the raised voices, almost shouts of the hidden kitchen staff, all of which was novel for him. The concept of going out for breakfast was also new to him, even though on his trips to town he had passed cafés such as the one they frequented, without ever venturing inside one, indeed he never felt any need to take refreshment there, preferring to go home and make his own.
Angela had asked him if he wanted to go to church on Sunday morning. He asked her if she used to go to church on Sundays before she began to spend weekends with him, and on receiving a negative response, said he felt no need.
However, she had invited him to do his meditation on both mornings, and he had agreed to that. He found the experience of a plush carpet under him very luxurious and told her so with a laugh, and she looked a little uncomfortable until he assured her it was simply different and did not affect the meditation at all. He joked that after the experience he might go and buy a thick pile rug. He had a twinkle in his eye and she laughed.
He laughed to himself as he remembered her brazen stripping on Saturday morning when they returned from breakfast, and the intensity of their love-making as a result. Suitably energised by the food and the sex, they went for a long walk in a local park, which again surprised him, seeing how many other people were jogging, or pushing pushchairs in family groups, or playing football on the open fields. He was aware of how crowded it felt living in a large town or city. Lunch was a salad and they dined out before the concert.
His meditation that evening, back in front of his tiny altar in the company of his parents and wife and daughter, and also of the silhouette of Gerard, centred solely on Angela. She would not go away, and eventually he surrendered and allowed her to fill his mind and rest there.
He saw how nervous she had been on his arrival, and indeed how edgy she had been over the whole weekend. It was a side of her he had not seen when she was at the cottage. He knew, and indeed she told him when he commented on her state of mind, that she wanted everything to be perfect for him after all he had done for her. He tried to put her mind at rest, and indeed she did relax to some extent, but he had been unable to resist the comment as he left that 'now you can take a deep breath and relax!'
She was so beautiful, so keen to entertain him, and give him a good time, which indeed she had done, and he told her so, seeing the relief on her face. He was well aware that he desired her and now accepted that he longed for her presence each weekend. The cottage, which had always seemed so full, now seemed empty and lonely during the week. He knew he was becoming dependent on her.
That realisation provoked another train of thought, and it arose from the weekend. Her home life was so radically different from his that his previous misgivings arose again, that he could not see her being happy in his world for very long. At that moment she had the best of both worlds: her city life during the week and a weekly holiday with him at the weekends.
He accepted that she could keep coming weekend after weekend, but knew that relationships never stand still: already they had passed from being friends to being lovers. Then came mental images of them making love.
At this point his meditation became agitated and he abandoned it. The thought of the future and the problems it would pose as their relationship progressed now dominated his consciousness. She was in his life and was in love with him, he knew that, as he was in love with her, he wondered about his responsibility to her for her future happiness.
Could she be happy in their isolated life? Well they had discussed it before, but the problem did not recede for the talking about it. He knew she was certain that her love for him was all that mattered, and the place or situation she was in was very much secondary to that. Women were like that, he thought, they were person- rather than place-centred.
Then he thought again. Susan also was ostensibly person-centred, but moved to another man when the going became tough and it killed her and little Sonia. His relationship with her had seemed complete and fulfilling, but her love for him was clearly not enough to sustain her loneliness while he worked through his tragedies and coped with the business. He knew he still felt responsible for her death.
It was loneliness, wasn't it? Susan was lonely while he was in the middle of his crises. Of course in his distress he had not felt like having sex. She needed more than a physical presence: she needed a more attentive one centred on her. Would Angela be the same, have the same needs but in a different way?
There were weeks and months when he had to work long hours out in the fields, basically all daylight hours, and they were long in summer. She would be alone with no one to talk to, no one to confide in. Would she end up getting in the car and going back to her friends and gradually needing them more than she needed him?
That was it. It wasn't the isolation in itself, it was the need for her female friends and in fact for the whole of her friendship circle. He could not compete. Then there was the unrelenting routine of farming life, the early rising every day, year in, year out. He recalled the conversation about getting away for holidays. He never went away for holidays. Elaine was very good and could keep things ticking over, but she was nearing the end of her schooling and would be leaving home. Who would look after the smallholding then? He knew of no one with the time and expertise, no one. He could hardly ask Mary!
As he locked up the house and made his way to his own bed, he felt a growing certainty that this relationship was doomed; it would not survive the change in her way of life.
As he lay in bed he began to wonder what he should do about it. He had been the listening ear to so many people over the years, but who was there to listen to him? How could he finish things with her with as little suffering as possible? Buddha was right: desire brings suffering, it cannot be avoided.
There was always tomorrow. Tomorrow he could think some more, and perhaps make some decisions. Perhaps Barry would know what was best to be done. He slept.
"What's up mate?" asked Barry as they sat in the kitchen lit by the grey day outside.
Barry always surprised him with his perception of Joseph's moods. "Summat on yer mind?"
"As usual you read me perfectly. Yes, you're right."
"Spill it lad. M'be I can help, m'be not, But's better out than in."
"Elaine not too tired after her hard work?"
"Nay, mate, her latest squeeze was good enough to stay with her the whole weekend!" and he laughed at the innuendo. "If 'er were going to be tired it'd be 'im doin' it, not t' animals."
Joseph laughed. Elaine was a real farmer's daughter, rudely healthy, sensuous and sexy. He hoped she was careful.
"So it's yer lady fair? Got problems?"
Libbie
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