Thanks and acknowledgements to lindseymarsh for the input and for editing this story
Rain
Ann and I had been living together for two years when, just over a month ago, she walked out on me and went home to live with her mother. I didn't know whether it was me or the lifestyle in our village or both which had got on her nerves, but whatever it was, she had taken her possessions and some of mine and headed back to Nottingham. At first I'd been upset, but the longer she had been gone the easier it had become. I missed her in bed; she'd been a good fuck; but I certainly didn't miss her constant whining and the temper tantrums when things didn't go her way.
I liked village life. I liked the local pub, shopping in the village shops and living amongst people whom I regarded as friends and most of whom I'd known since I was a child. As usual on a Saturday morning, I was walking into the village to see my mother, to visit the local shop and to buy a few groceries and a few bottles of the local beer, when I espied the sexy and voluptuous Lynn Blackstone wiggling her beautiful, round bum as she strutted along the pavement, like me apparently making her way to the village shop.
I had liked or, more accurately, had lusted after Lynn since we were at school together, even though she had been younger than me. We had lost contact for the twenty years I was working in London, but in the three years since my return to the village, my interest in her had rekindled. Now in her late thirties, other than putting on pounds in all the right places, she had changed very little; although the same cannot be said for her personal life. When I left, she was single and fancy-free; when I returned she had two teenage children and was married to Andy Blackstone, a former classmate of mine, who was a pain in the arse then and the same now.
When my mother told me she was married, I had been astounded; I couldn't understand what was a good-looking girl like her was doing marrying a man like Blackstone. The answer came in my mother's next sentence.
"You know she was expecting?"
I didn't know and couldn't believe she would have let Andy Blackstone sully her cunt with his cum and not just sully her cunt, but also her womb. Fortunately, childbirth didn't appear to have marred her appearance, if anything it had improved her, in that both her tits and bum were just the right size; not too big, but more than enough to get hold of in bed - or anywhere else.
Walking down the high street wearing a tight pair of jeans, it wasn't a good thing to be harbouring lustful thoughts of the delectable Lynn; my cock had responded to mental images of her lying on my bed, her legs spread, her voluptuous tits draped against her chest, her glistening cunt waiting to receive my iron-hard cock. I wanted to catch-up with her and talk, but prudence demanded I slow down and wait until the outward manifestation of my enthusiasm for her body had subsided before engaging her in conversation.
As she reached the shop, a mousy-looking, middle-aged woman came out and they started to talk. She was relatively new to the village, but I had seen her before and had heard she was a gossip and thus likely to engage Lynn in extended conversation as she poured out her 'news' of the latest village scandals. Hoping to wait her out, I stopped and to pass the time, looked into the butcher's window. The lamb chops looked appetizing, but not as appetising as Lynn's tits and bum. I was rescued from the threat of ten minutes spent feigning interest in the arrays of sausages, pork pies and hams by Lynn who, seeing me, excused herself from the clutches of the gossip who scuttled away, her lips apparently pursed in disapproval..
"Hello, Bob."
"Hi, Lynn." I wanted to say, 'How about coming over to my place for a fuck?', but discretion proved the better part of valour,
"What are you doing?" I wanted to reply, "I'd like to be doing you", but, once again, discretion won out.
"I've just come from my mum's and now I'm just going to pick up a few things from the shop - and you..?"
"Just buying a few things."
The conversation was banal; the sort of conversation casual acquaintances would have, which, on my part at least, was not what I wanted. I opened the door to the shop and let her in and was rewarded with a smile and a very obvious jiggle of her tits – perhaps our banal conversation was not what she had in mind either. I watched as she bought a few things and watched intently as she left, hoping for her to show further indication of interest in me. I was disappointed, she smiled again, but this time left without the erotic manoeuvering of her mammaries she had volunteered at the shop door.
I bought a few groceries, beer and the local paper and headed for home, stopping on the way to sit on a bench on the edge of the village green where I read the paper and indulged in my usual Saturday morning treat; a bar of Cadbury's Fruit and Nut. I had been reading for about ten minutes and savouring my chocolate infusion, when I realised the sky was getting darker and as I looked up, there was a flash of lightning, followed in less than ten seconds by a clap of thunder. From what I knew about electrical storms, the lightning was less than two miles away and it was time to take shelter.
Looking for cover, I ran across the green towards the bus shelter and as I did, the rain started and at almost the same time, the eleven o'clock bus into town pulled in at the bus stop. I usually walked the mile or so home, but if I could catch the bus, it would provide both shelter and transportation and if I failed, the bus shelter would protect me from the rain and lightning. I nearly made it, but the bus-driver was clearly in a hurry and as soon as Lynn and a second woman, who had both been waiting in the shelter, had boarded the bus, he took off, leaving me twenty yards from the bus stop and mad, both at missing the bus and missing the opportunity to flirt with Lynn.
The next bus was not until one o'clock, but the bus shelter was a welcome port in a storm. I sat down on the bench and started to read the graffiti on the wall. According to the hieroglyphics, Scott had fucked Emma, as had Dave. I wondered who Emma was and whether she would she like to add Bob to the list of her lovers. It was fanciful and I knew it; Emma was probably half my age and since I was neither rich nor handsome, would be unlikely to be interested in me.
I looked around the shelter. Modern; with perspex walls and steel seats; with the exception of the graffiti, it contrasted markedly with the shelter of my youth. The old bus shelter had been made of brick, with wooden benches at the front and back, their use dictated by the direction of the rain or wind or the amorous intent of the young people using them. The seat to the rear of the shelter had been hidden from the road and in my day, a number of the village girls had surrendered their maidenhood on the hard wooden bench.
Raised from my reverie by running footsteps, I peered through the rain-streaked, transparent walls to see the mousy woman, to whom Lynn had been talking, running towards the shelter. As she was about to reach its protection, a large, black SUV – the embodiment of a 'Chelsea Tractor' - driven by a blond haired woman at a speed well in excess of the speed-limit, ploughed into a puddle, splashing water over her. Soaked and looking something like the proverbial drowned rat, she let forth a stream of invective.
"Damn that woman. Thinks she owns the road and her husband's not much better. Still what do you expect from someone brought up on a council estate, whose mother was little better than a prostitute and whose father spent most of his life in gaol. She's had all sorts of plastic surgery and her tits are pure silicone."
I looked at her and thought; it probably doesn't pay to cross this woman – ever.
"Are you OK?"
She looked at me and surprisingly, smiled. It was the first time I'd seen her smile and it changed her face dramatically. I had thought of her as a termagant and her diatribe had not done much to disabuse me of my position, but the smile was something different and out-of-character. I looked at her more closely. I had always thought of her as being indeterminately middle-aged; closer to sixty than fifty, but a closer look at her face indicated I'd been wrong and fifty, even late forties, was a far more reasonable approximation. I looked at her figure – she was short and slim, but the water had soaked her dress and it was clear, from the way it hugged her figure, she was neither bereft of tits nor, from the way they were tenting the fabric of the dress; nipples.
"I am - and how are you Bob Miller?"
She had the advantage on me. She obviously knew who I was, but all I knew about her was her reputation as a gossip. Seeing the look of consternation on my face, she laughed and continued.
