Jem sat with his back propped against the dry-stone wall as he allowed the sun to warm his rugged, weather-beaten face. Looking out over the landscape he watched his flock of sheep wander from one grazing spot to another as Jess his border collie sniffed along the wall before returning to lay by his side. His real name was James, but ever since he was a child, he had been called "Jem".
In his sixty-two years, he had loved and hated this landscape in equal measure. The farm and the land he tended were miles from anywhere and it had taken time to adapt to this kind of solitary existence. He ruffled the dog's fur as he closed his eyes for five minutes and allowed his mind to wander.
As far as he knew, he had been born on the farm. He remembered little of those first few years, unable to even recollect the birth of his sister who had suddenly come along just before his second birthday. He knew that he once had a father, because his mother would mention him on occasions, but he had no memory of him other than the few photographs his mother kept on the dressing table upstairs in her bedroom.
The farm belonged to his mother and before that, her parents, having previously been passed on by her grandparents. As far as he knew, it had been in their family for generations and would one day be his to manage, his mother had told him.
As a toddler he would follow her around the farmyard and by the age of four, he was already assisting her with small chores, helping to feed the animals in their pens or collecting eggs from the coup. Back then, he loved the land and location. He was free to run wild, to explore the outbuildings and wander the fields, going with his mother as they checked on their flock of sheep or brought in, their small herd of cows.
And then suddenly he was made to leave her each day as school beckoned. In winter she would run him down the mile-long lane in the "Land Rover" to meet the school bus and she would be sat there each afternoon when he had finished to take him back up to the farm. At the time it seemed unfair that his sister Bab's, short for Barbara, was allowed to stay at home while he was sent off each day.
In summer, his mother would drive him down the lane in the morning and he would walk back in the afternoon, kicking stones and rooting in the hedgerows as he made the return journey. Eventually, the time came for Bab's to accompany him, and he remembered her tears on that first morning as his mother drove back up the lane and left them waiting for the bus. It was at moments like those that he hated where they lived.
As he and his sister got older, both of them would help around the farm with the jobs, but overall and especially during the many holidays, they were free to roam across the idyllic landscape. There was always somewhere to go and something to do. Fishing in the several ponds in the adjoining fields, streams to splash and swim in and woods to explore. Those were the times he loved and was thankful for where they lived.
As he and his sister got older still and started secondary school, he hated where they lived with an unbridled passion. At school they had friends, but at home, there were no friends, no mates, no one ever visited, it was too far out of the way. What friend wanted a five-mile hike from town and then another mile up the lane to reach the farm. Buses ran sporadically past the bottom of their lane, if you were lucky, maybe every couple of hours with the last one just before six o'clock in the evening.
Going out with friends in town was something that neither he nor his sister had ever bothered with, it was too much of a chore. Perhaps in a way, it was for the best he realised as he got older because his family lived a lifestyle that was somewhat different from what others of his age did.
There had been slip-ups at school when he was young and would mention something only to be greeted by raised eyebrows. His mother instilled into both of them never to discuss their home life away from the farm, and for very good reason he later understood.
Even at secondary school, there was still the occasional slip of the tongue and other students would look at him strangely. Both he and Bab's finally got used to keeping their home life secret because people did not understand the way they lived.
Growing up on the farm, there had been the normal inquisitiveness, especially when they saw what the animals got up to, but their mother would never countenance those types of behaviour.
And so, their life continued until Jem reached the age of eighteen. He had been in the barn, hidden behind the bales of hay, or so he thought as he beat one out, his hand rapidly sliding up and down his shaft as he masturbated, the sensation in his cock and bollocks growing substantially as his climax neared.
He had no idea how long his mother may have been watching him, it wasn't until she coughed that he realised she was there and by then it was too late as cum erupted from the tip of his cock, spurting out onto the barn floor.
'There is a time and a place for that,' she had told him. 'Anyway, what if it were your sister that had seen you, what then? She is far too young yet to be seeing things like that.'
Despite being embarrassed, he had of course continued with his self-indulgence, secreting himself away in his bedroom as he enjoyed new pleasures. But his mother was no fool, she knew that he continued to masturbate. She had come to his room one night and sat on the end of his bed as she had explained that it was perfectly natural and not something to be ashamed of.
'It's something all men do,' she had said, 'Women as well. I masturbate when the urge takes me, and in all probability, it is something your sister will do at some point. No one is going to tell you it is wrong, not in this house at least.'
With this newfound knowledge, he suddenly saw his mother in a different light, his curiosity piqued as to what she did when she masturbated. He began to imagine her naked and touching herself, his cock growing hard at the images in his head.
Without any embarrassment, he had gone to her room one evening, several months after she had caught him and bluntly asked if he could watch the next time that she masturbated herself. The request to him had seemed the most normal thing in the world to ask and would help satisfy the pervasive imagery that had become part of daily life.
Gwen, his mother had readily agreed, telling him that the next time she had the urge he could sit and watch her. It had been late, nearly a week later and he had forgotten about his request when she had come to his room while the house was quiet and taking him by the hand, she had led him to her bedroom.
There was a chair set up at the side of her bed and he watched as she unbuttoned her housecoat before laying naked in the centre of the mattress. He had been mesmerised as she began to run her hands up and down her body, slowly beginning to excite herself.
