Lizzy
- 3 years ago
- 42
- 0
Lizzie free porn video
*Warning!
Dear readers,
In a comment on one of my stories, coinnaisseur29 wrote:
‘I thought the romance a bit too quick. […] I expect one has to make it quick what with so little space and time.’
This story is an attempt to remedy that. The romance is slow, as you may expect from the two main characters. There is not a lot of sex in it (only on pg. 17 or so) but I tried to show a little what the characters are like and how, eventually, they realise their feelings for each other and allow themselves to give in to them.
If you don’t like that idea, or if you think stories should be short and to the point only, please, please, please, give this one a miss.
Unfortunately it proved impossible to post this in another form that would retain the bits in italics present in the original.
Affectionately yours,
Demure.*
*****
I
Lizzie McPriddy was a smallish, sparkling woman in her late forties, with a bright smile and a beautiful head of rather untidy chestnut hair. She worked as an illustrator for a publishing house that mainly dealt in children’s books, and she was really good, people thought. She wasn’t so sure herself, but she liked the job and gave it her best, and the people who bought the books she’d had a hand in were always very enthusiastic about her stuff.
She generally worked in watercolours, or in pencil and crayon when black and white pictures were needed. She loved painting in oils, but she only did so in her spare time, as it was expensive and more difficult to sell. She was too modest to go in for the big exhibitions some of her colleagues seemed to enjoy. Moreover, being told what she had meant in her paintings always came as a shock to her – it felt like an intrusion, somehow.
The big advantage was that she didn’t have to guard her time too carefully, as she could meet her deadlines easily without having to feel stressed or hurried. She lived in the country, in the house she and her late husband had bought and converted a few decades ago. There was a nice, roomy studio with a good north window, and a washbasin to take care of her brushes, and the house was surrounded by a well-kept flower garden.
Lizzie stood in her studio looking at the last of a series of watercolours for a book about a little boy’s dreams. She’d tried to imbue them with a fin de siècle feel and, she thought, she’d succeeded quite well. Yes. She would deliver them to the firm tomorrow and then take a fortnight off to do the riverwalk she’d wanted to do for a long time now. She heaved a deep sigh and took her brushes to the washbasin to clean them.
When she had restored order in her studio, she went to the kitchen. She poured herself a gin and tonic which she took outside where she sat down on a garden bench, smiling contentedly at the lovely flowers of her late summer garden. Her work finished, and with no pressing assignment on hand, her life really felt good.
She slowly finished her drink, just doing nothing for a change – she usually kept herself busy, either reading or sketching or weeding the flower beds, but now she just felt like enjoying the sun on her back and the sound of the bees. It was a nice day, and she was determined to make the most of the afternoon. No cooking, no cleaning, no chores whatsoever. She would have a meal at the Royal Oak, and spend the evening reading. Yes, she thought, that would be lovely!
When she had finished her drink, she leisurely went back into the house and changed from her working clothes into a new pair of mauve jeans and a cream-coloured blouse. She tried to make her hair look a little less untidy, but she didn’t really manage. Not that she cared about her appearance too much, Zeb had loved her the way she was, and that seemed enough.
She never minded anyone’s looks too much. Zeb hadn’t really been Mr Handsome, but he had been all she needed: he was sweet, intelligent, a good musician, good-looking enough and a truly good husband, and they had been very close. They had always done a lot of touching and cuddling. She missed him awfully at times. It had slowly become less painful, but it still assaulted her in those silent moments when the sun hung low over the fields at the back of the house, or when she sat listening in the lamplight to some music they had bought together…
Now, though, she felt happy and at ease. She’d found a lot of B&Bs online – a few might well be the ones she’d stayed at with Zeb, all those years ago – and she’d compiled a list of addresses. As it was the second half of August and a slack time for all such establishments, she didn’t bother with reservations. She had bought new maps, though. After so long, she thought, some paths might well have changed, after all, and she firmly believed in having thpe right means to find your way. The walking boots she had bought in summer were well used by now and so she was sure she’d be alright wearing them. Being well-prepared was what mattered. Zeb had always smiled at her, but he knew she was right, and he had good-humouredly let her have her way.
She looked around her garden with satisfaction. It was a riot of colour and, she thought, quite well-kept. She heaved a sigh, picked up her empty glass and walked back into the house. She put her glass into the dishwasher and locked the kitchen door. Then she picked up her coat and walked to the Oak with her coat over her arm. It was a lovely afternoon turning into evening, and there were a few men sitting outside the pub having a pint. They greeted Lizzie when she was near enough, they were old friends, and Lizzie treated them to one of her brilliant smiles.
‘Evening, Lizzie – how’s life?’
‘Everything’s fine, Joe. And you lot?’
They nodded and returned the smile. ‘Great. We’ll be making some music tonight. Three more weeks until folk night but we just feel like it, and it’s ok with Dwight. Will you stay to listen?’
‘When are you going to start?’
‘Seven thirty or thereabouts.’
‘Oh great. Yes, I will for a while. Must be up early tomorrow.’
The men grinned at her. ‘Okay,’ Fred said. ‘We’ll have at least some audience then.’
‘No worries – you will be alright!’ Lizzie went into the public bar and ordered a steak pie with salad and chips and another gin and tonic.
She took her drink to one of the small tables and sat down contentedly, looking at the bar slowly filling up. Her meal wasn’t long in coming, and she tucked into it with an appetite. She felt absolutely good, life seemed rewarding and friendly.
When she had almost finished her meal, the men who’d been sitting outside filed into the bar, carrying two guitar cases and a concertina. They took up their places at one end of the room and unpacked their guitars, and after a little tuning they embarked on their first song. Lizzie didn’t know it but it sounded good, it was by some Irish singer she’d read about once.
She finished her meal quickly and collected one more drink. She took it to a seat closer to the performers. She knew them well. Zeb had often played the guitar as well as the mandolin with them. She had loved listening to him, she thought he was brilliant. She had occasionally done some singing with him, too. It seemed long ago. It was long ago, actually. His mandolin lay collecting dust on top of a bookcase in the study.
She shook off her reminiscences and addressed herself to the music again. The second song was an old favourite of hers and she happily hummed along. The men heard her and grinned at her. It was good to be sitting here listening, she thought. Folk nights were even better. Just like in the old days…
She stayed until nine and then she left with a wave of her hand. Time to go to bed with the book she’d promised herself! She put on her coat – the evening was not quite as balmy as the day had been – and walked home. When she got there she yawned. She felt pleasantly tired, it had been a long but satisfactory day
. She brushed her teeth and went to bed with a novel by Anita Desai – Fire on the Mountain, a present from a good friend of hers who was into India, and travelled to Goa a few times a year. It was a nice book, but Lizzie was too sleepy to keep on reading for a long time, and she switched off her reading light before ten.
She was up at six the next morning. She’d promised to deliver her illustrations at the firm at eleven, and she liked to take things slowly. Moreover, it was an hour’s drive, and she often saw things on the way she’d want to sketch. But she was there at a quarter to eleven, and she walked into the office with her portfolio tucked under her arm.
‘Good morning, Lizzie,’ Kevin, the general editor, said. He was flamboyantly dressed – somewhat like Chaucer’s squier, Lizzie thought, with lokkes crulle, as they were leyd in presse – and a little affected and effeminate, and Lizzie genuinely liked him. ‘You look most wonderful! Done as good a job as last time?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I never can tell, you know. I think l did alright. You’d better have a look.’
‘Yes please,’ he said. ‘But first I’d like you to meet Jane Carlton, the author.’
Jane was a slight woman with red hair and lots of freckles. She looked positively Irish and Lizzie thought she must be in her early fifties.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ she said. ‘I’m Lizzie.’
‘I’m Jane. I’m dying to see what you did – I love your work!’
Lizzie blushed. It made her feel a little uncomfortable, but she just put her portfolio on the big table in the centre of the office.
‘I do hope you’ll like these,’ she said. ‘Do give them a good look.’
Jane and Kevin did just that. They went through the illustrations slowly, without speaking at first. Lizzie looked at them apprehensively. Jane’s face flushed when she looked at the artwork, and when they’d seen all of them once, she turned to Lizzie.
‘Oh my,’ she said. ‘Oh, I’m so glad you agreed to illustrate my book! They’re absolutely wonderful!’
‘You like them?’ Kevin asked.
‘Goodness, yes!’
Jane didn’t say anything more but went through the lot again, very slowly this time. She seemed to drink in every detail, and now and then she went back to a picture she’d already seen. When she’d seen them all again, she sighed deeply.
‘Exactly what my book needs,’ she said. ‘Brilliant!’
Lizzie smiled broadly at her. ‘Thank you very much,’ she said. ‘I am never sure if my clients will like what I do. I’m very happy to hear they are alright!’
‘They are,’ Kevin said. ‘As always. Coffee, everyone?’
They sat having their coffee and talking for some thirty minutes. Then Lizzie said she had to go home.
‘Oh,’ Kevin said. ‘I have another request for illustrations for you. Shall we have a look at what is wanted?’
‘Sorry, Kev. No time, and I am off tomorrow to spend a fortnight walking. It’s a longstanding promise to myself. I’ll be happy to come here when I’m back, to discuss the work if I’m still in demand for it then.’
‘No problem. Fair enough. I was asked to have you do the illustrations and l’m sure there’s no hurry – well, no big hurry at least. Would two months be alright?’
‘Depending,’ Lizzie said. ‘Suppose so. Is it a big commission?’
‘Not too hefty, I think. Alright then?’
Lizzie nodded. ‘I’ll call when I’m back, okay?’
‘Okay.’
Lizzie shook hands with Jane. ‘Hope your readers will like my pictures, too!’ she said. ‘Lots of success!’
Then she walked out of the office with the empty portfolio. Back home to pack!
II
Next day, to Lizzie’s joy, she woke up to a beautiful morning. The weather promised to be brilliant for a very long time, and it was with a glad heart that she locked the door and took the bus to the station. Friends from the village would take care of her place, so she needn’t worry about things, and Fred had said he would mow her lawn the next weekend. He had a riding mower and, he assured her, it would be no trouble. Much nicer to come home without worrying about the grass!
The train was on time, and as she had chosen to be travelling half way the morning, when the rush hour was over, it was easy to find a seat. She lifted her rucksack into the rack, and sat down with her Kindle. She much preferred paper books – she’d actually brought one along – but on a walking tour e-readers were really okay. She had two hours before she needed to change to the southbound express. She could do a lot of reading in that time. She planned just to go to the first B&B that day, so she could start on the first stretch early in the morning. No sense in wearing yourself out, she thought. She’d arrive at about three. Time enough to explore the town and to get into the right mood!
She sat reading until she had to change. A friendly young man lifted her rucksack from the rack for her, and she descended from the train onto the platform. There was a one-hour wait, and so she went in search of a cup of coffee. She bought a large black coffee in a cardboard cup, and took it to her platform. There was a bench in the sun and she sat down to observe the people that populated the station. After a while she took out her sketchbook and made a few drawings of some children who stood waiting for a train to arrive across the tracks.
She kept herself occupied until the express rolled into the station. She boarded it quickly and found it was rather full already. She had to walk down the aisle for two carriages before she found a seat, and she didn’t see her way into putting her luggage up. Fortunately one of the male passengers noticed her plight and helped out.
She sat back and read for a little while. Then she put her e-book away and watched the landscape swish on by. She loved the hills and the hedges, and the occasional stone walls, and she felt rested and happy contemplating the weeks ahead. It would be very nice, and it would be like keeping a long-standing promise. No matter the one she’d made that promise to was dead, it would give her a feeling of peace and of accomplishing something important.
She looked at her watch. Almost there, another forty-five minutes to go. It would leave her ample time to find a place to stay for the night, and have a rather late lunch, and explore the town. It was a nice town in her memory, but back then they’d been too impatient, and they had started straight away without allowing themselves the time to look around. After a few days they had slowed down considerably, and the rest of the walk was done at a more reasonable pace. Oh dear, it was really long ago!
When the train rolled into the station she got off, carrying her backpack before her. She hoisted it on to her back on the platform, and walked off to the town centre. It wasn’t far to the place on her list, and when she got there she looked at it with approval. It was a Georgian house with a beautiful, well-kept front door and a friendly aspect. Good! She rang the bell and was received by a young woman with a little rose tattoo on her shoulder. The room she was given was small but comfortable, and she put down her luggage in the corner. No, she could come home at any time she wanted – not after eleven, hopefully?
Lizzie explained that she was going to do the riverwalk, and that she had to be up and going quite early.
‘That’s wonderful, then. What would you like for breakfast?’
They arranged things quickly, and then Lizzie took her money bag and a light coat and she set off to go and explore. The town centre was near the river, with a beautiful old bridge crossing it on the main road, and she stopped there for a while to draw. Then she walked on, noting the position of a few restaurants on her way. There was an Early English church with beautiful stained glass and some interesting effigies, and there were quite a few well-preserved medieval town houses. Lizzie spent a few hours contentedly roaming up and down the narrow streets.
She popped
into the local Red Cross shop for some minutes and bought a CD, which she almost immediately regretted, as it meant more weight to carry. Then she went into a stationary shop to buy a lined envelope, and she addressed it to herself and put the thing to the post. Problem solved, she thought with a grin.
When the afternoon turned into evening she went to a small Indian restaurant she’d passed on the way and sat down to a very nice North Indian meal. Good, she thought. Just what a woman needs.
She went back to the B&B just before dusk and the young woman let her in, smiling broadly.
‘Had a nice afternoon?’ she asked.
Lizzie nodded enthusiastically. She talked with her for a while, and then she climbed the stairs, satisfied with her first day.
III
The following day she started out on her pleasant task in earnest. Armed with a couple of good maps, and a sunny mood that was reinforced a lot by the lovely weather, she walked down the road to the start of the long distance path she’d set out to complete this time. It wasn’t long before she came to a signpost at a gap in the hedge. She thought the hedge had been a lot lower when she first walked here, and the way it was now she had to squeeze through. Rather to her surprise the somewhat forbidding entrance led to a path that was very well-kept indeed. It ran alongside a field of maize for a long time, going slowly down until she hit the river at the bottom of the slope. The fast-flowing water sang over the small stones and splashed into the occasional bigger rocks, and the sun sparkled on its ripples. The path ran quite close to it, but not too much so, there was no chance of getting wet.
She’d fallen into a medium pace, not too slow – nothing to get you good and tired like dawdling – and not too fast either. She was a good walker, and she wasn’t going to get too tired. She felt no need to prove things to herself, and there was no one to check on her. She grinned. They’d learned to be economical with their energy, walking together back then, and ever since then they had gone their way without any troubles. Walking together had been great, and they had been a good team. Zeb would have loved this… She nodded. He would.
The path was fairly even and it ran between fields and along the river for most of the morning. When the map showed it would branch off into a little wood soon, she sat down on a rock to have her lunch. There was a nice view of a large stretch of grassland on the other side of the stream, and there were a few cows stolidly grazing. The farm she supposed they belonged to was just visible in a clump of trees in the distance, there was a thin wisp of smoke coming from the chimney.
She took out her sketchbook and worked on a couple of drawings for some time. Then she got up, put her stuff back into her rucksack and went on her way. It was hotter inside the wood, and there were a lot of insects. Fortunately it’s not far, she thought. It had been much nicer out in the open, with a light breeze and the sound of birds in the distance. But the path was good and dry, and she quickly made her way through the trees.
When she came out into the open again, she sniffed the cool air and grinned. There was another beautiful vista – time for a drawing break. She put down her rucksack and had a swig of water before she tried to capture the view on paper.
She quickly drew the view in a few fast lines. Then she added a few notes about the colours and sat down on her haunches for a different perspective. She smiled at the beauty of the surroundings. It had been a bright idea indeed to go and do the walk again!
Okay – she’d better move on. She didn’t want to arrive late at the next B&B. She enjoyed being able to look around before she had dinner and turned in, and it was still quite some way to go. Manageable enough, though – she’d started off early enough. She was looking forward to the next stretch. She remembered it as a wonderful walk from last time, with a lot of variation.
Actually it was even better than she remembered. The winding river and the hillsides sloping down to meet the cold, fast water and the wisps of high cloud, and occasionally a farmhouse in the distance – what more could a person want! She went her way beaming at the world in general.
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