As Time Goes By Ch. 01

"And just as Emma's still the same person, I'm sure that Fran is. So don't give up on her just because you're disappointed about her sexuality. Make a big issue of it and you'll risk alienating Fran and perhaps losing her." Rebecca started laughing. "Besides, look on the bright side—you won't have to worry about some spotty youth with all his brains in his trousers getting her pregnant."

The image hit Maggie hard and she laughed too, a loud and genuine laugh. "Thanks, Rebecca, you've just put things into perspective for me. I'm glad that we met. You're right—Fran's my daughter and I love her no matter what. Now I have to go home and let her know that everything's fine."

I could have told Mum Emma Wainwright was gay but she would have wanted to know how I knew and that would perhaps have complicated things so I just kept quiet. That's another story and for the moment it was enough that Mum had come round to accepting me for what I was.

* * * * *

The following week the cinema had another retrospective, silent adventure films this time and we went to see the originals of The Thief of Baghdad and The Man in the Iron Mask. Yet another week saw us watching Lon Chaney in The Phantom of the Opera and Charles Laughton in The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Dot was really opening my eyes to how good some of these ancient films are. The local kids who wanted to see the latest blockbusters must have been very frustrated.

Some nights I had college work to prepare and sometimes Dot had to work late to finish a piece of furniture but we were spending more and more time together. I'd had several short-lived affairs in the past and some one-night stands, but for the first time in my life I was falling in love. Over a period of weeks, we became closer and closer. We were accepted in The Monk and not once did we encounter any prejudice or snide remarks there. Of course, Dot had been going there for some years and I suppose all the regulars knew or guessed where her preferences lay. It was just chance, I suppose, that we hadn't met earlier.

For quite some time our physical relationship didn't extend much beyond kissing and cuddling in the old Land Rover. I did notice that Dot was smoking less and less and once she offered a casual explanation. "I know I must taste like an ashtray sometimes—can't be very nice for you. So I'm trying to cut down."

Then one Saturday Dot told me that she was taking me to a lovely old country pub she knew for lunch but first... "...we'll take a walk up Southdown Hill. It's peaceful up there and the view's spectacular. And nobody ever goes up there."

She was right. We reached the summit and little disturbed the quiet save for birdsong and the buzz of insects and a gentle breeze. The view seemed to go on for miles and miles. Down to our right we could see the village and beyond that the blocks of buildings making up the agricultural college. Far over to our left I could make out the Norman castle at Portchester and beyond that the city of Portsmouth and Southsea with the old naval dockyards and the sea glinting in the sunlight. Even the shape of the Isle of Wight could be seen on the horizon.

Dot had brought a large travelling rug which she spread on the ground for us to sit on. We had barely settled when Dot turned my face to hers and gave me a gentle kiss on the lips before reaching out with a finger and drawing the tip down one of my breasts until it reached my nipple. It was a very warm day, bordering on the hot, and I had dressed lightly in a roomy cotton t-shirt and a long Indian muslin skirt. For the sake of coolness more than anything, I had not put any underwear on. I felt my nipple stiffen immediately under the pressure of Dot's finger.

I threw an arm around her neck and pulled her close for another kiss. Our tongues met in a slow and sinuous dance and with my free hand I started to undo the buttons of Dot's gingham shirt. She eased me down so that I was lying on my back and taking the hem my t-shirt, lifted it until my breasts were bare to her gaze. Cupping one in each hand, she said: "They are lovely—real Goldilocks boobs." Bending, Dot licked each nipple in turn.

I couldn't help giggling. "What on earth are Goldilocks boobs?"

In her turn, Dot laughed. "You know, not too big and not too small but just perfect."

We kissed again, a little harder this time, and I pulled Dot close as she continued to fondle my breasts and play with my nipples. I could feel myself getting wet between the legs and I moaned as Dot's tongue laved mine. Dot took one hand away from my breasts and moved it under my skirt to caress my bare thigh, inching upwards towards my pussy. Both of us were breathing a little more heavily now.

And then—

Noises came from further down the hill, getting nearer each second. It sounded like a crowd of excited children. "Oh fuck!" said Dot and we both sat up in a hurry.

"I'll excuse your language," I told her, "I was just about to say the same thing myself."

We managed to tidy ourselves with seconds to spare before half-a-dozen or more children stampeded past followed by several adults who gave us a cheery greeting. The party moved a few hundred yards along the crest of the hill and settled themselves down. Unfortunately, we were still within their line of sight. They began to unload picnic baskets and it was obvious that they were there for the duration. And the kids kept dashing all over the place, one or two of them even coming up to us to ask if we were having a nice day out and if we were having a picnic.

I couldn't help grinning. "I thought you said nobody ever comes up here."

"They don't usually," Dot said, "Could've been worse, though, they could've caught you with your boobs hanging out..."

"...and then you'd have had to tell them the story of Goldilocks..."

"...and then some nosy kid would have asked how I expected to get porridge from your tits..."

We collapsed against each other, laughing our heads off. "Oh bugger it," said Dot as we tried to control ourselves, "Let's go and get that pub lunch."

* * * * *

Then something seemed to go wrong. I didn't see Dot for near a couple of weeks following our hillside adventure because I had finals looming, both written papers and practical examinations. We had arranged that the day after my last paper, Dot would pick me up and we would go to a town some twenty miles away where there was a large shopping mall. A bit of retail therapy would do me good after the stress of finals and Dot said that she needed a few things she couldn't get locally.

I saw that something was amiss when Dot pulled up in her old Land Rover and I climbed aboard. I went to kiss her and she turned her face away so that my lips landed on her jaw. There was a grim set to Dot's face and she barely said hello to me, just set the car in motion before I even had a chance to fasten my seat-belt.

"Dot, have I done something to upset you?" I asked.

"Nope!" That was it, just snapped out: "Nope!"

And that was how it continued for quite a few miles. I made a number of attempts to start a conversation, each received with little more than a grunted monosyllable. I was becoming more unhappy the further we went, and try as I might I couldn't think of a single thing I'd done which could have put Dot into this strange mood. I'd had enough, though. I saw a road-sign indicating a lay-by half-a-mile ahead and as we reached it I said: "Pull in here, Dot, please."

She did so and as the Land Rover came to a stop, I undid my seat-belt and started to climb out. "What are you doing?" Dot said.

"I've had it. I'm going to walk back."

Dot's face was a mixture of shock and... almost fear, I think. "You can't, it's nearly eight miles."

"I'm a country girl, eight miles is nothing to me." By now I was out of the vehicle and went to close the door.

"But why, Fran?"

"Why? You want to know why? Then I'll tell you why. Ever since you picked me up you've given me the cold shoulder. I wanted to kiss you, you turned away from me. I've tried talking to you, you either ignore me or snap at me. You've made it painfully fucking obvious you don't want me around any more. Excuse my language! I can only assume that you've decided to dump me and you haven't had the guts to tell me straight out. That's why! So if you're going to dump me, then do it now and get it over with and I'll get out of your life forever!" I felt my face burning and my voice breaking as I struggled not to cry.

"Fran... I'm so sorry, love... I do want you around... for keeps..." Dot had lost her grim look and I could see unshed tears in her eyes. "It's just... Fran... I'm so scared..."

"You're scared? What of?"

Dot held out a hand. After a few seconds and with some reluctance I took it. "Fran, I've fallen in love with you. I love you like that film title, truly, madly, deeply. But I'm thirty-nine, I'm almost twenty years older than you. I'm scared that a little way down the road you'll want somebody younger and ditch me."

"You've been brooding on this, for what...? nine or ten days...?" I said, "And you weren't prepared to give me the benefit of the doubt before talking to me?"

"It's happened to me before," Dot told me, "and there wasn't the same age gap as there is between us. Her name was Ellen and I was five years older than her. We were together for three years. She was a city girl at heart, hated living in the country. Wanted the bright lights and the shops and she loved spending money I hadn't got at the time—my business was quite new then and I was working hard to build it up. In the end she went off to London for a few days, wandered into some gay bar and met a fairly wealthy solicitor who was able to give her what she wanted. So she left me and it hurt me so much, made me feel totally worthless. There's been nobody since until you came along. And I fell for you, almost from that first evening when I saw you in The Monk. And I'm scared that I'll lose you. That's why I've been acting like a prat. For a kind of shield I guess."

"And how old was this wealthy solicitor?"

Dot shrugged. "No idea."

"So it might not have been an age thing at all but a lifestyle thing," I pointed out. "Dot, I'm not Ellen, I'm happy and at home in the country. I don't yearn for the bright lights, and I certainly don't want to get involved with some lawyer, wealthy or not. And to cap it all, I don't care about the age difference—anyway, it's only eighteen years." I climbed back into the Land Rover and held the back of her hand to my cheek for a moment. "Come one, Dot, let's get to this shopping mall."

When we got to the mall and parked the Land Rover, Dot exited on her side and I jumped out and almost ran round to where she was standing. Throwing my arms around her and not caring who could see or hear me, I damned near shouted: "I love you too, Dot Barrow, like you said, truly, madly, deeply, so just trust me. And if you ever have any doubts at all, talk to me—no more angry silence." It must have sounded as if I was the elder, not Dot. I pulled her face down to my level and kissed her very soundly.

Some woman walking past us muttered: "Disgusting."

A devil got into me. "Don't knock it until you've tried it, lady," I shouted after her, "You might enjoy it."

Dot smiled for the first time since we set out. "That's my girl," she said, wrapping me in her arms and returning my kiss. She hugged me close and for the first time that day I noticed she was wearing some spicy scent, something familiar that I couldn't quite place. Whatever it was, though, it seemed to be absolutely perfect for Dot.

We spent a couple of hours shopping and then took lunch at one of the many outlets in the mall. When not eating, Dot clung to my hand as if still fearful that I might run away from her. I tried to reassure her by sitting as close as possible without actually climbing into her lap. At one point, looking forlorn and with a little crack in her voice, she muttered: "Still friends—despite my stupidity?"

"Still friends--and much more than friends as far as I'm concerned."

At my reply, Dot lifted my hand to her lips and kissed it. "Thank you, Fran. Let's go now," she said, "There's something I want you to see."

* * * * *

"This is it, my place," Dot told me. She had parked the Land Rover on a large paved yard and waved to what lay about us. There was a small one-storey cottage or bungalow to our left, its exterior clean with woodwork looking freshly painted. A series of planters and tubs were settled against the walls with trellises mounted behind them, and I could identify clematis, climbing hydrangea and fuchsias among other plants. Beyond that, forming a kind of semi-circle around the yard, was a series of out-buildings, apparently well-kept like the cottage.

The drive back had been much better than the drive out. Dot looked happy and relieved although she kept reaching over to grip my hand as if to assure herself that I was real and not just a dream. At one point she said softly, almost to herself: "I don't think I ever loved Ellen the way I love you, Fran." Dot hadn't told me where we were headed; she drove straight past the college and then past my lodging house and I thought perhaps she was aiming for The Monk's Head. But she went right by the pub, through the village and out the other side. A couple of miles on she turned into a single-track lane and after another half-mile or so the paved yard of her home. "This is it, my place."

"It looks lovely, Dot."

"Thanks. I wanted to bring you here a long time ago but I was so uncertain and afraid about us." Dot put an arm around my shoulders and we clung to each other for several minutes. Then she took my hand and led me into the largest of the out-buildings which turned out to be her carpentry workshop, fully equipped with work-benches, lathes and other paraphernalia of her trade. Against a far wall I could see a narrow staircase ascending to an upper floor. Everything was clean and cared for and there were a number of completed items of furniture on display, small tables, kitchen chairs, rocking chairs, standard lamps. Nothing like the mass-produced stuff you seen in furniture shops. I guess my pleasure must have shown in my face, for Dot said: "Everything made to order, nothing rushed or skimped."

"Dot, when we first met, you said you were pretty good. You're beyond that—this is wonderful work." I spotted a small side-door slightly ajar and looked in to find a compact home gym. I could see a set of dumb-bells, an exercise bike, rowing machine and... several different types of punch-bag, with pairs of boxing gloves hanging on wall-hooks. "Boxing?"

"Yes, I've got two older brothers, Charlie and Geoff, both pretty good amateurs in their day, and they taught me. Not that I'd fight—it's just good exercise. Keeps me in great shape. But come on, Fran, there's more." She led me past the other out-buildings and suddenly there was a huge area of cultivated land with vegetables and soft fruits growing. There was even a very small orchard with young apple, pear and plum trees.

"This is yours too?" I asked, amazed.

"Yes, there're quite a few acres. It was an inheritance." Dot stood behind me and put her arms around me, one hand resting casually on a breast. I covered her hands with mine and pressed them against me. "An old cousin of my father's willed it to him, then Father went and died only a few weeks later. On paper, Father had left everything to Mother to get round inheritance tax, but it was understood that the farm be divided equally between me and the lads. We had enough between us to cover the tax on this place. Anyway, the lads weren't interested in moving South and I wasn't interested in cows so I got this and they got my share of the farm.

"It was a right bloody mess when I got here, close to derelict. Nothing had been done to the cottage and the out-buildings for years. It took me a good few years of effort to bring it all up to scratch while trying to establish my business as well. As for the land..." She planted several small kisses on my neck and gave my breast a loving squeeze. "...I couldn't manage the land as well so I sold some off and rented out what you see to an old lad called Joe Brownlee. He's responsible for this.

"Fran, Joe wants to retire now and asked me to find someone to take over. He's asking a reasonable price for produce already planted and growing. He's also willing to work a couple of days a week for whoever comes in. You've seen that there are several spare out-buildings. I could easily convert them to hen-houses and goat pens although the goats would have to be kept away from the crops. What I'm saying, Fran, is this seems to be what you wanted and it's yours if you still fancy running your own smallholding. Mind you, it would have to be run as a serious business, no amateur buggering about. Why am I saying that—you're a farmer's daughter so you know the score. What do you say?"

I could feel happy tears flowing as I spun round in Dot's arms and hugged her, burying my face in her shoulder. I can't recall what I mumbled but she got the message that I'd love to take over from Mr. Brownlee. "Come on then, pretty lass, I'll show you the cottage now," said Dot.

The front door led into one huge room, a combined sitting room and a kitchen with not only a modern electric oven but a large, old-fashioned range. The kitchen area was paved with tiles while the sitting room area had wall-to-wall carpet. I could see a couple of central-heating radiators but the sitting room also had a huge fireplace with small stacks of logs and kindling. "This place used to be an old farm labourer's cottage, four pokey rooms and a scullery," Dot said, "It wasn't all that good as it was and it needed modernising anyway, so I had a wall knocked down to make one large area. I did much the same at the back of the house, converted it to one big bedroom plus bathroom with shower and toilet. It cost a fair bit but I had money from the land sale plus a small bank loan and was able to do a lot of the work myself. Come on."

We went through to the back rooms which were light and airy. The bath was one of the biggest I had ever seen and there was a separate, roomy shower stall. While the bathroom was tiled, the bedroom floor was of highly-polished wood scattered with rugs. The room was fitted with a row of built-in wardrobes and the focal point was a beautifully-carved wooden bed, at least king-size, covered by a superb quilted spread . "Made the wardrobes and bed myself," Dot told me, "I wanted a little luxury and there it is." She sat on the edge of the bed and drew me down beside her, holding my hand in both of hers.

"Fran, I'd like you to move in with me. But the old store-room above the carpentry shop has been converted to a small flat. It's got a bed-sitting room along with a kitchenette and a shower room. If you'd prefer that, then it's yours." She watched me, expression anxious. "What do you think?"

I put my free hand to her cheek. "I think we ought to try this bed out for size right now, see if it can handle the two of us together. What do you say?"

I was used to Dot's toothy grin but now she smiled, the sweetest smile I had ever seen, and that gave me my answer. She pulled me close, her lips crushing down on mine, her avid tongue searching. She pulled my t-shirt up and off, baring my breasts. "There they are, my Goldilocks boobs, my gorgeous Mummy Bear and Baby Bear."

I fluttered my eyelashes, feigning innocence. "What about Daddy Bear?"

"Fran darling, we're gay, Daddy Bear doesn't get a look in." There was a mischievous twinkle in Dot's eye. "But Pussy-in-Boots might come into the story a bit later." She took one nipple into her mouth, sucking and licking, while playing with the other between finger and thumb, sending tremors through my body. "Oh, I almost missed this—" She loosened the ties on the side of my long Indian skirt and pushed it off, leaving me naked. Dot sat back for a moment, gazing at me. "Oh God, Fran, you are so lovely—my own little country girl." She kissed me deeply again before returning to feast on my nipples.