The owner of the Airbnb that I had been using in the dales sent me an email.
Hello, Mica. I know that you have stayed at the cottage a few times; we rarely have repeat guests, and you are the only one. It hasn’t proved a profitable enterprise for us, and new rules mean that we have to spend a fair amount of money if we wish to continue. We have decided, therefore, to sell it. I am writing to you to see if you would be interested in purchasing it. If so, I suggest we get a valuation, split the difference, and it’s yours. The property is classified as an agricultural dwelling for rates and includes 4 acres of land, which qualifies it as a smallholding. Please let me have your thoughts.
Wow, that was unexpected. I wished I could speak to hubby, but he was sadly no longer with us. The insurance following his death lay untouched in investment accounts; it would cover the costs.
I spoke to Mik about it. What did he think?
“It could be your writing retreat,” he said, “where you could go for romantic interludes with whoever you choose, along with some bottles of wine; that way, I won’t have to listen to my mum in the throes of passion.” I could use it for my girlfriend, but I’ll be fine here while you’re there.
“Will you help me do the work? It needs a lot.”
“Of course I will; it could actually be fun.”
So, I wrote back and said, “Yes, I would be interested.” I arranged a viewing and a valuation; the owner did too. The valuation and the owner’s asking price were actually within a few thousand dollars of each other. I instructed a solicitor, and within four weeks of his email, it was ours. Mik and I went out one Saturday morning to see what we needed to do.
“This will be your room, Mik; feel free to do as you please, but please refrain from anything outlandish.” He smiled and went into the smaller bedroom. There was perhaps room for a double bed, some drawers, and a small hanging robe. In the larger room, it needed a new bed absolutely, and perhaps a robe, some drawers, and bedside tables.
The bathroom needed a new, smaller washbasin, a smaller toilet, and perhaps just a shower cubicle. I would get a plumber to come and quote. I could just leave the downstairs loo as it was, but I would get a quote from a plumber. Regarding the kitchen, I wanted a modern cooker installed, and I also wanted the electrical system to be checked to ensure it was safe. I probably wouldn’t put a new kitchen in, just a new cooker and washing machine.
An issue I was going to have to face was that I doubted I could get any deliveries. I would either have to buy or rent a van or perhaps get a tow bar on my car and buy a trailer. I emailed a few plumbers and electricians and sat back to review my options.
One of the plumbers was much more enthusiastic than the others and was, in fact, almost the cheapest. He suggested gutting the downstairs loo and putting in a high-level Victorian-style cistern and a small loo. There would be room for a small handwash too. He said it would look period correct for the cottage, and the cost wouldn’t rise much with all the other work. I thought, with the other works, plumbing for a washing machine and the bathroom and shower alterations, that his costs were reasonable. He informed me that I would only need to cover the upfront costs for the parts, and only pay for the labour once the work met my satisfaction. I told him to get going.
The electrician said that the wiring did need updating; the consumer unit wasn’t to code. He said the utility company owned the main fuse, which was too small, but I could call them to change it for free. Just tell them you have an electric car and need a charging point; they are very keen on them. He gave me a price, and I said I would let him know what the electric company said.
I spoke to the electric company, and they sent someone a few days later. Yes, the main fuse and connection needed changing, and someone would be along in a few days, no charge. I arranged for the electrician to come back.
So, then I needed to get all the old, unwanted furniture out. I doubted I could get a skip delivered, but I rang a local firm, and they said yes; as long as it wasn’t raining, they could deliver a skip the following day. Excellent.
Mik and I had tremendous fun taking apart all the old furniture and fitting it into the skip. And soon the house was a blank canvas waiting for electrical and plumbing work. I was ready to hire a van, and Mik and I selected the furniture and beds we wanted from Ikea online and arranged to collect them from the store. When I got the email that the goods were ready, Mik and I went, picked up a hire van, and then drove to Ikea to load all the things we bought.
We completely filled the van; there was no room left over. Mik and I drove the van to the cottage, dumped all of the boxes in the living space, locked up, took the van back to the depot, picked up our car, drove home via a chippie, and collapsed on the settee with fish and chips.
Four weeks later, and we were done. Mik and I had built all the furniture, the plumber had plumbed, and the electrician had wired. The electrician had also collected and installed my new oven and washing machine for me. The cottage was modernised and ready, all in eight weeks from thinking about buying to purchasing and updating.
Mik was at home, and I was at the cottage, sitting in my garden—yes, mine, not someone else’s—and a tractor came up the lane. It occurred to me that, now that I own a small holding, perhaps I ought to get myself a small old tractor.
“Hello,” a man said as he jumped down off the tractor and stood by my little garden gate.
“Hello yourself,” I answered.
“I heard that the cottage had changed hands; are you the new owner?”
“Yes, I’m Mica. I will be spending more and more time here now.”
“Pleased to meet you. I am Jacob, and I have been using your land for hay, as agreed with the previous owner.”
“Hello, Jacob. He didn’t mention any agreement.”
“No? Well, it was just a shake of the hand. That’s all.”
“I see, and I presume that you want to continue? Only I haven’t decided what I want to do with the land yet. The only thing I know is I want it to be organic, no chemicals.”
“You will not get certification for several years.”
“Oh no, I understand that; I just don’t want any chemicals used on my land. I have no problem with natural resources, such as muck spreading.”
“Fair enough.”
“How much were you paying to use the land?” I asked.
“Oh, I wasn’t paying; it just meant the land was resourced rather than wild.”
“I see. I am not sure what I want to do with the land yet.”
“What tools and equipment do you have?”
“Absolutely none,” I laughed. “Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?”
“Well, that would be mighty kind of you. Yes, please.”
He came through the gate and then followed me in, slipping off his Wellingtons at the threshold. I flipped the kettle on.
“Do you still use the AGA? They can be a struggle.”
“Oh yes, I love it, and it gives me my hot water, but a kettle works better for a quick cup of tea.”
“I see you have a stove too.”
“Yes, I have modernised a little but tried to keep as much of the character as I could.”
“I think you have done that. “Restomod, I think they call it.”
“On a budget, I call it,” I said, laughing. “How do you want your tea?”
“Just milk, please.”
I made the teas and then passed him one and sat at the table with mine.
“I just have this massive pile of cardboard in my front room that I have to get rid of, and I mean massive.”
“The burnt ash mixes in well with compost.”
“I don’t really have any compost on the go yet.” It was true; I don’t. It was something I needed to think on. All the vegetable scrapings and flower heads and the like – a compost could work for me here. “Nor do I have anywhere I could do a fire.”
“Well, I tell you what, I could take it away and burn it at the farm.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, I’ll mix it in with muck and spread it later. No charge.”
“Oh, okay, yes, then, please.”
“Oh, and you will hear gunshots occasionally; I go rabbiting for the pot. Would you like me to leave you a rabbit? If you’re here, of course.”
“Gosh, no, I am not keen on rabbit; the bones are too small, and no guns on my land, please.”
“The previous owner had no problem, that is all.”
“Well, sorry, but this one does. I am not that finicky, really, just no chemicals and no guns. I am sure that the grass will grow fine, and as far as I am concerned, you can carry on harvesting the grass for hay, and when I decide what I am going to do, I will talk it over with you first, and we will work out a timescale that suits us both.”
“Fair enough. It will be nice to have a pretty face around once more.”
“Thank you, and it will be nice to know that there are other people around; this place was empty more often than not, as I understand it.”
“Yes, the people who owned it before you inherited it and just rented it out. It was empty every time I came past. Let’s have a look at this pile of cardboard, then, Mica.”
“You can’t miss it; follow me.” I got up and opened the lounge door.”
“Gordon Bennet, you weren’t joking. Fair enough, I’ll come by tomorrow with my trailer and pick it up.” As he turned to leave, we sort of collided, and my mouth was by his. We stood silently, unmoving, and then he leant down and gently kissed me. I reacted; my heart skipped a beat, my breath was held, my mouth opened and my arms embraced him, pulling him to me.
“I’ve been working,” Jacob said between kisses. “I am in need of a shower.”
“No, not that I can tell,” I said as I undid his belt and tugged his zip down. After all, he didn’t smell to me, and a bit of honest dirt never hurt anyone. His hand went up my top, and he found my bare right boob, squeezing it, tweaking my nipple between finger and thumb. Electricity began in my groin.
The room was cramped, filled with an immense pile of cardboard that left no space to lie down, but he did not seem to care. His hand slipped out of my top and up my skirt, two fingers slipping along my valley and then pressing at my entrance. Oh gosh, that felt so good. Why was this happening? How was this happening? I had no intentions of having sex with this man. Why did I have his fingers inside me, and my hand around his dick?
He pushed me back against the pile of cardboard, and then, I knew not how, he must have used his other hand. His fingers slipped out of me, and his dick pressed in their place. Not long, but he had some girth, and he really stretched me. I was rutting. In my clothes, against a pile of cardboard with a rustic farmer in the middle of the countryside.
His movements were steady, my fanny stretching as he thrust inside me, his balls slapping against my thighs, and his pubis crushing against my clit as he pushed me back against the cardboard. The stretch was giving me a wonderful feeling; feeling myself opened up was something I hadn’t felt in a while. Very different from being pounded at my depth. My fingers dug through the denim of his jacket and held onto his back, my pressures building, my electrics increasing, and small jolts shooting from my crotch.
He was grunting as he shagged; I was gasping as he filled me, my skirt bunched up between us, my top rubbing my nipples. I hadn’t had a clothed shag in a long time; it almost felt primaeval. He thrust hard, lifting me, the cardboard moving behind us, and he held. He gasped loudly, and I felt him spurt inside me, filling my fanny with unexpected man juice.
It tipped me over; his spurts unleashed my orgasm. I screamed as I clamped and squeezed his dick, my fingers pressing hard into his back, my hips thrusting against his. My orgasm exploded through my body; my electrics were shooting, pleasures were coursing, and slowly my body relaxed.
Jacob stepped back, his dick sliding from my fanny; a dollop of his juices fell to the flagstone floor. He pulled his jeans up and tucked himself away.
I slipped past him to the downstairs loo and rolled up some toilet tissue to plug my fanny.
“Well,” he said.
“Indeed. Do you have any idea,” I said, trying to get my breath and my composure back, “what time you will be here for the cardboard?”
“About eleven, if that is okay?”
“Perfect.”
Jacob left, and the sound of his tractor trundling down the track was the last sound I heard for a while, until the hawks came back later, screeching and calling. After Jacob left, I went up and showered, the plug of tissue going down the loo. That had been an unexpected and pleasurable interlude, but his width had left me sore—sore in a different way than usual—sore in my fanny, not at the end of my fanny, where I usually get pounded. I wondered if I would get bruised there.
After showering, I spent a couple of hours stacking all the cardboard outside ready for Jacob tomorrow. I hadn’t yet decided if I would go out and greet him; perhaps there may be an opportunity for more rutting, but did I want that? I didn’t think so. Yes, it was lovely, but I didn’t want him to think he would have sex with me every time he came around.
At the back of the cottage was a small beck. It was low enough below the cottage that I didn’t think I needed to worry about it overflowing and flooding my home, but it babbled and had a pleasant tone. I took a cup of tea and a chair and sat watching the bubbles and eddies as it flowed, wearing just my top and skirt; it was warm enough.
It was odd; I was sure I could hear someone speaking. I cocked my head this way and that, and it was there – words – but I couldn’t really make them out.
“Hello?” I said.
It all went silent; the voices stopped; even the beck seemed to quieten.
“Oh well, if you don’t want to speak, then fine,” I said to no one.
“You can hear us?” A voice came back. I was surprised; I thought I was alone. I couldn’t see anyone, just voices.
“Well, yes, of course, but where are you?”
“We are here.” And a shimmer in the light, and what looked like small flying people appeared just above the beck.
Oh my god, had I taken some mind-altering substance that I wasn’t aware of? Had Jacob somehow drugged me?
“Oh yes, there you are. Hello, I am Mica.” I didn’t know whether to be scared or not. I guessed I would find out soon enough.
“Humans don’t usually see us. Not these days.”
“Well, I am pleased to see you.” And indeed I was. There were two figures, small and female in shape, with wispy clothing and small fluttering wings.
“I am Elvina,” said one of them, “and this is Fay.”
“Well, hello, Elvina and Fay,” I replied, pretty convinced I was going slightly insane. “You are welcome here.”
They laughed and fluttered around, at times seeming small and at other times as big as myself. It was certainly turning out to be an intriguing day.
“We don’t like the man,” Fay said. “He kills, and he puts stuff down that burns.”
“Oh well now then,” I said to her, “he won’t be doing that on my land. He will still cut the grass to make food for his animals, but no chemicals or guns; I have told him no.”
They fluttered around and giggled and laughed, and then I felt a kiss on my lips; Elvina was holding me and kissing me. It felt odd to be kissed by a, a? I didn’t know, a fairy? It was exceedingly pleasant; as she kissed me, waves of delight and happiness washed through me. It was a euphoric moment.
Fay flew around, and I felt her hands on my breasts; again, almost overwhelming feelings of delight washed through me, and I could feel my pressures growing. As Elvina kissed me, I reached out and embraced her, running my hands over her body. Her breasts were small yet perfectly shaped, fitting my hand precisely. Fay had her fingers on my thighs, running up to my crotch, light gossamer touches that had me opening my thighs in expectant hopes.
Elvina pressed her tongue into my mouth; waves of pleasure washed through me, and then my back arched in my seat. Fingers had penetrated me; they were inside my fanny. Tingling sensations shot from my core to my extremities. My breath had stopped. Elvina gasped pleasure into my mouth, and Fay into my core.
I was transfixed; I had never had a dream so intense, for I must have dozed off in the chair; this must be a dream.
“Oh no, Mica, this is no dream,” Fay whispered as she plundered my depths, fingers filling me with width and length, as if her fingers grew to dominate. Fay bent down, my skirt pushed up, and her tongue found my clitoris and sucked it into her mouth. I think my body exploded. My scream was quiet as my orgasm erupted, massive waves of pure pleasure washing through my body as I half sat there convulsing.
I half stood and then collapsed onto the grass, my hand pressing at my groin, my mouth opening and closing in my raptures.
I came, too, a little later. Later than what? A dream, an experience? I didn’t know. As I went back to the cottage to compose myself, I was sure I could hear voices. I hurried in and shut the door.
