Just over a year ago I took an early retirement from my job in the city. I wanted to write in a peaceful, pastoral setting. Somewhere quiet and somewhat isolated, but not too far from necessary services. In other words, a place where Id be able to work in peace, but not far from town in case I needed groceries, gas in my car, or a bite to eat that I didn't have to cook myself.
My realtor came up with several scenarios that fell inside of my price range, but the longer she looked, the more populace the areas she found were. Then, one day she called with a place in a little wide spot in the road that she thought would be perfect for me. It was a three bedroom, one bath hundred-year-old farm house, sitting on a half acre plot with a very nice barn alongside. I agreed that it sounded good but what about the location.
It turned out that it was in a small country settlement, ten miles from a small city. There were only eight houses in the nameless little grouping of dwellings, and three of them were for sale. The three bedroom house she had in mind for me turned out to be just what I wanted. There was a fairly large bedroom for me, one I could use as a guest room, and the third had tall windows with a panoramic view of the surrounding hills that provided amazing natural light. My idea of an ideal work-space for my writing.
I moved in as soon as the deal was settled, and for a few weeks barely saw any of the neighbors. I didn't see any children playing in the other yards, and caught only an occasional glimpse of a neighbor family grilling in their back yard, or coming and going in their cars.
A few weeks after I moved in, one of the other houses that was for sale in the berg was sold. I admired the young woman I saw unloading a small U-Haul van, and thought that she must have a very happy husband. She was blonde, petite, and gorgeous. After a few days, it occurred to me that I only saw her little blue VW Bug come and go, and there didn't seem to be a man around the place. I really thought no more about it, and went about my business, converting the room I'd designated as my writing den into one.
In another month or so, I'd settled into a pretty mundane routine. I'd write for about four hours every morning, then sit out on my covered back deck with a cup of coffee and a book by one of my favorite authors. When I got hungry I'd either cook myself a burger on my grill, heat up some soup, or drive to a nearby village for a bite to eat at a mom and pop diner. There were several little villages within a short distance from my home, and each had some kind of place to eat. Things were good, and the living was easy in my no-name settlement.
Things took a big turn one day as I was enjoying coffee and a book on my back deck. It was a beautiful summer mid-day in the country. I could hear sheep bleating and cows mooing on a nearby farm, and the occasional bark of a dog greeting a woodchuck or mail delivery person. Then, around the corner and onto my deck strolls a vision of paradise.
The young blonde girl who had moved into the neighborhood shortly after me, bounced up onto my deck with a big smile and a cheerful greeting. When I say bounced, I mean bounced. Her very large breasts were barely controlled by the skimpy halter top she wore, and when she moved they really bounced. I forced myself to look at her face, and found her smiling from ear to ear. "That's okay," she said. "Everybody seems to notice my tits first. I'm not sure how many people I know even know the color of my eyes."
"Green," I said.
"Congratulations," she replied. "You're a rare gentleman, indeed."
"Aw, shucks," I said in my best country bumpkin voice.
"I suppose you wonder why I came over to see you," she said.
"I guess I could tell you that, " I said. "But truthfully, I'm so glad you did that I hadn't thought to wonder why."
