Thank you for reading my story, I hope that you get some pleasure. Love Mica xx
I live in the depths of the dales. My husband had passed some years ago during the pandemic. We never saw anyone, we were in the middle of nowhere, yet he still caught it and died. His dead body lying in my spare room for two days before they came to collect him. Now he is just in a jar on the mantlepiece. I suppose I am pretty bitter about the whole experience, but what could I do?
My nearest neighbour is many miles away, Post comes occasionally, letters only, only small parcels, there is no such thing as home delivery for any shopping, so the only time I ever get to speak to someone who isn't the Vet or the various other farm visitors like the milk driver is when I go and get my essentials from town which is eleven miles away. Believe me, I don't do that very often.
Milk comes from my cows, I keep back about two pints a day, some I use for butter. Water comes from a spring up the hill along a long blue pipe that my husband installed many years ago. Have a box full of fittings that I use when it gets a leak, I usually just cut the pipe where the leak is and re-join it. I have electricity, that comes on poles over the dales, but disappears for hours on end during bad storms, sometimes I must milk using a generator when the main power is out.
I get a delivery of diesel occasionally when the tank is low enough to pay the cost for remote delivery. It is a gamble, how low can I let it go so that the tank is almost empty when they come. You never get a date when they will come, and it can be as much as ten days after the order goes in.
My only income is from the milk, which is hardly anything, a few pounds a day on average, and interest from the insurance after Paul died and a small widows pension. I kill a cow or a sheep occasionally, butcher them myself and that keeps me in meat over the year, stored in my old freezers. I have apple and quince trees, plenty of brambles and they all keep me in fruit, but it is seasonal. I grow potatoes, I have about an acre of well tilled soil, it is good for potatoes, and I feed it with manure from the beasts.
There is no telephone, they cut it off when they converted the exchange to digital, apparently, we are too far out. I do have an old mobile phone that we got when Paul was alive, I can use it to order diesel, call the vet etc. I have taught myself to maintain the vehicles, an old land rover, which I use to go to town when I have to, and a Massey Ferguson 465 tractor. It is old, but is very simple, all mechanical, no computers and things like that, so unless something physically broke, I could keep it running. In the barn I had an old welder that Paul had got, and I had taught myself to use it, and on occasions when bits broke, I could weld them back together. Functional, not in any stretch of the imagination, neat.
I barely see a soul, there are weeks when I don't see anyone but the milk driver, and he and I don't usually speak, he just connects up to the tank, collects the milk, and is gone.
It was a balmy day, temperature in the high teens, fluffy clouds in the sky, the cows lowed, and the sheep bleated. I grabbed my crook and went for a walk around my property. I have a favourite place to stop and rest, it is just on the sun side of a spinney down off the edge of one of our tracks. The grass here only grows to about four inches tall, the soil is nicely drained and is always a pleasure to sit on. I rested my crook on the fence, slipped off my wellingtons and took my jacket off and hung it inside out on a post. I pulled my shirt out of my jeans, unbuttoned it and added it to the post. Next my bra, although I don't know why I wear a bra, I am only a B cup, seems pointless somehow, but a bra does remind me I am a woman. I undid my belt and then my jeans and pulled them and my panties down, stepping out of them and adding them to the post.
Naked I sat and then lay back looking at the sky, feeling the grass on my back and between my legs. A finger traced around my left nipple, I felt the hardening and smiled. My other hand traced around my navel and down through the neat forest of my hair. I used to shave, but these days, with only me, there was little point. I just keep it short. Being blond it wasn't hugely apparent anyway.
In the forest I find my hidden jewel, the little button of pleasure at the top of my valley. I widen my knees, allowing the soft breeze to waft over me, feeling the kiss of the wind at my entrance. Gently I circle my button, my breath holding as the pleasure waves dance. I slide my finger down, the valley between my lips open and are slick as if I had a valley stream. My lips fold around my finger, encouraging my journey to the core of my essence.
My finger circle and my legs widen, naturally opening and inviting me to enter my entrance, I dally and gently touch my opening, the muscles relaxing, encouraging me inside, I need no encouragement. Two fingers descend my depth, tickling my hymen scar, bumping my ripples and ridges, each a tickle of pleasure.
My fingers are as deep as they could go, my palm flattening my lips, spreading my valley, my slickness increasing, everything becoming slippery. My fingers slowly move back, curling within me, enlarging, widening, ready.
I leave my warm chasm and slide along my wet valley and come back to my button, a gentle throb inviting attention. I rest my finger on my button then slowly I press, then release, my body cries out, I stroke, I touch, my pulse grows, my temperature rises, and my throbbing intensifies.
I know I am close, the grass tickles between my thighs, but I don't notice, my button commands my attention, throbbing, pulsing, demanding release. I touch it. Electricity flows through my body, an eruption of pleasures shoots everywhere and then pangs of pain as my overloaded nerves react. I rise, my back arching as my muscles contract and my mouth screams as my orgasm releases.
Spent, I lay on the grass, once more aware of the grass as it absorbs the juices that flowed from my body in my arousal. I sit up and listen to the nature around me and then slowly I dress and walk back to my house.
I had been home from my walk for a couple of hours and had just finished milking when I heard a car pull up. This is such a rare occurrence; I had to stop and think what the noise was that I could hear. I opened my door and looked out.
"Jack," I cried, what a lovely surprise.
"Hello mum. Can I come in?"
"Of course baby."
I hadn't seen Jack for months, he popped over for my birthday with a gift of chocolates and welding rods. But that was ages ago. I went into the kitchen and waited for him to follow, he wasn't long and had a bag with him. Interesting.
I put the kettle on, this deserved a warm drink and then turned to face him. His face looked 'set', not quite grim but certainly not full of warmth and happiness that I usually see.
"Mum, look, the thing is, can I come and stay for a while?"
"Of course you can baby, what's up, is Sue okay?"
"We have split up mum."
"Oh baby, that is sad." I didn't ask for details, he would tell me what he thought I needed to know in his own time. He just looked lost.
