When I was about 14, we moved to a new home. It had happened quite regularly, ever four of five years. My father was a Farm Manager, which meant that he didn't own the farm, but organised the labourers, who planted and harvested the crops, and looked after the livestock etc.
It was a pretty important job, because if you got it wrong, the farm wouldn't make any money, so the actual owners of the farm would get pissed of, and you'd be out of a job. A bit like a soccer manager, I suppose. The good thing was that my dad was actually pretty good at it, and when we moved it was because he'd been offered a job on a bigger farm.
That was what happened when I was 14. Dad was offered a job running a 1400-acre estate in Dumfries and Galloway, south west Scotland, near Stranraer. It was actually five smaller farms which had been amalgamated into this one big one.
The owner was Mr. Blythswood-Carter, we'd call him 'The Laird'.. He was the Carter part of the name, and his wife was the Blythswood, as her family was the more better off, he had been forced to double-barrel the name and come second in order, in order to get the funds to buy the place.
There had been a bit of a scandal when they had wed as well, due to the difference in ages, as he was in his mid-thirties, whereas she was just nineteen, and five months later when she gave birth to their twins, all became apparent.
When my dad moved in to take charge of the running of the farm, the twins, George and Edward were twelve, two years younger than me, so I sort of became the plaything for the little rich boys.
But they weren't really that bad, and in their eyes, we were really all the same so there was no 'them and us' as we played and fought around the estate, and we had plenty of space to roam.
In some ways I was a bit of a godsend to their parents as I got them out of their hair, especially during the school holidays, when we used to disappear of hours on end. Although, Sandy, short for Alexandra, their mother used to enjoy making us sandwiches and drinks when ever we turned up to the 'Big House' when we were famished or thirsty.
The Big House, really was big. One of those old baronial 'castle' style buildings, with turrets and crenelations etc., with a long driveway and manicured lawns around it, and what looked as though it must have had fifty rooms, most of which would never be used.
Then, when the twins got to about fourteen, their parents decided that they should get a bit of a better education and send them off to boarding school. So that was the end of that, they also didn't appear home much during the school holidays.
I got to eighteen and moved up to Glasgow to university, although I came home pretty frequently, when I used to help out on the farm as well. All that outdoor work, and fresh air had certainly developed my physically, genetics might have played a part as well, and I had become quite a strapping young man.
On one trip home from uni, my dad grabbed me saying that Mrs. Blythswood-Cater had phoned to say that a tree had fallen near the house, and could he come up and get rid of it. They didn't have a gardener, so this was one of the things dad and the other men regularly got lumbered with, mowing the grass and keeping the grounds tidy.
We took the power saw up and a tractor and trailer, and as dad cut up the tree, I loaded it on to the trailer. It was a warm day and sweaty work, so after an hour or so, we were both topless, although the sawdust stuck to our sweaty bodies which wasn't too pleasant.
Another hour or so later, Mrs. Blythswood-Cater came strolling across the lawn towards us carrying a pitcher of juice and two large glasses. I had to motion to dad to let him know as he hadn't heard her approach due to the noise of the power saw.
"Hello Gordon," she said to my father in her sing-songy voice, "Who's this new chap?" She obviously didn't recognise me and thought I was one of the farm labourers.
"It's David," he replied, and she took another look at me in complete shock. It had been a couple of years since she had last seen me, and I had grown a bit, but I didn't think I looked that different.
"Oh, my goodness!" she laughed, "Haven't you grown!"
I had been looking quite attentively at her as well.
Alexandra, or Sandy as she preferred, had always been a looker. No doubt that was why Mr. Blythswood-Cater had fallen for her in the first place, but now that I was now nineteen, females were of far greater interest to me now.
Sandy was almost like you archetypal 60's chic, but in the 90's, skinny, almost flat-chested, but long slim sculptured legs, and a little tight bum. She also had her light brown hair cut in a bob, which with her sunglasses perched on her head pushed it back from her face and her sparkling blue eyes.
Today, because of the warmth, she was wearing a thin, tight, blushing pink T-shirt and a pair of baggy cut-off jeans. She looked very hot and sexy.
My dad thanked her for the drinks, and she poured us each a glass, and we stood and chatted for ten minutes or so while we rested and drank the juice. She was interested in what I was doing and where, and she spent much more time talking to my than my father.
At one point, she lowered her sunglasses back over her eyes, and I'm sure her eyes dropped to my crotch for fifteen seconds or so before she lifted them again and was looking back into my face.
My eyes were doing a bit wandering as well, but only really as low as her breasts. As I said, Sandy was almost flat-chested, but her nipples, when erect, where like organ stops, totally unavoidable. And while she had been talking to us they were most definitely poking out, wanting to say hello.
My dad brought an end to our little break, thanking Mrs. Blythswood-Carter for the drinks as we handed our glasses back and she headed back towards the house. As she walked back, I was sure that there was a bit of an exaggerated wiggle to her walk that hadn't been present earlier.
Another hour or so and we were finished and headed back to the main farm building to dump our load which when it dried out would make great firewood.
"It's a real shame about Mrs. Blythswood-Cater. She's left in the big house on her own these days, and has taken to drinking," my dad explained, as we tidied up the equipment.
"What do you mean?" I queried, not sure just what he had said.
"Well, the twins are away, and the Laird, is often away on business, so she sits in the big house and drinks. There's been several times she's called me up to the house and I've found her drunk," he added for clarification.
"God!" I thought to myself, "What a fucking waste, I'd be screwing her everyday given a chance!"
I didn't see her again for almost another year. It was the following summer; I was now twenty and just completed my second year at uni.
I was working on the farm again but was in the house having my lunch when the phone rang. No one else was available so I answered.
"Hello, Gordon?" came that recognisable singy-songy voice.
"No, Mrs. Blythswood-Carter, It's David," I replied, "Can I help you with anything, or take a message."
"Oh! Wonderful! It's actually you I wanted to talk to," she replied, in a rather excited manner, "George and Edward are back home from Boarding school, they've passed their A Levels and will be going to uni after the holidays. I can't believe they're eighteen now, you've all grown up so quickly!"
"That's great news, Mrs. Blythswood-Carter," I responded, thoroughly delighted, "Please pass on my congratulations!"
"Well, you see that's what I wanted to talk to you about," she continued, "They're a little unsure about what uni is like, and I wondered if you could explain to them what they might encounter?"
Suddenly all sorts or drunken scenarios, orgies, gigs, hangovers, girlfriends, flashed through my mind and I wondered if she really wanted them to know all that.
