The Fall Ch. 03

'Dylan,' he remarked. 'You're late.'

'Neal O'Sullivan came around. Needed a wheel bearing changed,' Dylan explained for the second time. 'Lydia said you two were going around to Anna and Ed's on Sunday for lunch.'

'Wait, wait, wait,' Lydia interrupted. 'Why is lunch at their house such a big deal?'

Neither man could provide an answer. It just was. Anna was a well-liked woman, and her lunches had become something of an institution. It was free food. The opportunity to catch up with people. A nice, peaceful afternoon away from the stresses of a farm. There were a multitude of reasons, but none seemed to make sense to Lydia.

'Do I really need to go?' she asked.

'Of course not,' Dylan said. 'I can pick up Cyril and take him if you'd rather sit it out. You're doing yourself out of a roast lamb lunch, though.'

She rolled her eyes. 'And let me guess, the dress code is country casual? All the denim, chinos and checked cotton you can dream of?'

'There's no dress code,' Dylan said.

Lydia grinned and lit a cigarette. 'I was only kidding. I'll come along. See how you country folk spend your weekends.'

Dylan finished eating as quickly as he could before his steak was ruined even further by the second-hand smoke he was breathing in. He wondered what Cyril thought of his presence. The man seemed amused, rather than annoyed by, Dylan's relationship with Lydia, but whether that good grace extended to allowing Dylan to spend the night remained to be seen. Dylan's parents wouldn't have allowed it. Sleepovers were for engaged couples only.

Lydia poured herself another drink and offered one to Dylan. He declined. He'd never been much of a drinker. A beer or two once or twice a week was nice, and he might get stoned on a similar number of occasions, but he functioned perfectly well without both marijuana and booze. He liked them, but he didn't need them.

Cyril stubbed out his cigarette and asked Lydia to roll him another one. Dylan assumed he wanted a tobacco cigarette. He was wrong. Lydia went to the cupboard and removed an old pill bottle. It wasn't being used for storing pills. She proceeded to chop a couple of buds, mix in some pouch tobacco, and roll a spliff. She handed it to Cyril who lit it, coughed, and exhaled a stream of smoke.

'Helps with the pain,' Lydia explained. 'Want one?'

'Can you roll one without tobacco?'

'Sure.' She rolled a joint, licked the papers and handed it to him. 'Here.'

Her weed was a lot stronger than his. It sent Cyril toddling off to bed, and made Dylan quiet and contemplative. He leant on the table and stared at Lydia. What did she want from him? Company while she cared for Cyril? Someone to fix her car? Or something else? Their relationship of sorts was already alarmingly public. That was the problem with living out here; there were few secrets.

She raised her eyebrows questioningly. She was a nice piece of arse, no doubt about that. She had a red hot rack and he loved that hairy pussy of hers. She must trim it. It was too neat and tidy to be natural, but it was an inviting little patch of real estate all the same.

'Dylan,' she said.

'What?'

'You're staring at me.'

He shrugged. 'Is that a problem? I like what I'm looking at.'

She tried to pretend she wasn't pleased. 'I've still got my clothes on.'

'We should change that. I remembered condoms this time.'

Lydia laughed. 'Me too.'

They went to her bedroom. The cottage was old, and the floorboards in the bedroom were battered. The VJ walls were rough and painted with what looked to be exterior paint, and the casement window was pushed wide open. There was no proper fly screen, but Lydia had duct taped mesh across the opening.

The bed was only a double, but it was new and the bedding was clean. Dylan remembered what Cyril had said about Lydia pissing herself and wondered if it was true. Probably. Cyril wasn't the sort of man to lie about a thing like that.

In a marijuana filled haze, they slowly undressed each other. He felt large and cumbersome alongside her. She wasn't a tiny woman, but nor was she overweight. He stroked her soft belly and kissed her breasts. He felt displaced, as if he were standing in the corner of the room watching himself slowly seduce Lydia.

'We should turn the light off,' she complained.

'No. I want to see you.'

There was an old-fashioned wardrobe in the corner of the room. There were three sections to it. To the left and the right were hanging rails, and in the middle there was a mirror and drawers. There were keyholes in the cupboard doors, as if the clothing that had once been kept inside needed protecting. Why did old fashioned wardrobes always have locks? Had clothing theft been a legitimate problem eighty years ago?

At any rate, he wanted to watch them in the mirror. He wanted to see them fucking in all their gory detail. He rolled her onto her side so she was facing the mirror. She wasn't happy about the arrangement, but he wouldn't let her roll over.

'You want to watch?' she confirmed.

He nodded and nuzzled her neck. 'Mmhmm.'

He tried to figure out how to penetrate her from behind. He must have been taking a wrong turn, because she made a warning noise and reminded him she didn't do anal.

'Least of all unlubricated and without a condom,' she pointed out.

'I wasn't after anal. I was...lost.'

She giggled. 'Oh, I see. Well, put a condom on and I'll guide you in. Can't have a lost penis.'

They both descended into laughter. Stoned sex was a funny thing. Sex in general was. At least with Lydia he felt safe. Being denied intimacy by his wife had cut far deeper than he'd ever let on. It was the ultimate rejection. This was what couples did together. It was their private little bit of fun.

When they'd stopped with the hysterics, she collected a condom from the bedside drawer and rolled it on. It was yellow and smelt like banana.

'Sorry,' she apologised. 'I went to the pharmacy in Oakey on the way back from Brisbane and they told me they didn't have any regular ones left. I had to buy a mixed pack. I guess banana is one of the varieties they think people like.'

'I went there too! They said 'there's been a rush on. It looks like it was a big weekend'.'

Lydia giggled. 'They probably just forgot to order the regular ones.'

'Probably.'

They laid back down and she told him where and how to lie, and then guided him in. It occurred to Dylan that she knew exactly what she was doing. How many men had she been with before him? How did he stack up? Was he the absolute worst she'd been with?

He moved her leg so he could get a good view of her snatch in the mirror. He gave an experimental thrust and saw his length get swallowed up by her. Hmm. Nice. Very, very nice, in fact. Only, if he kept doing this, her clit wasn't going to get any stimulation, which meant she probably wasn't going to cum. He liked hearing her orgasm.

'Lydia,' he said.

'What's wrong?'

'You're not going to cum in this position, are you?'

'No.'

'Crap.' He pulled out. 'Porn has lied to me.'

Lydia rolled onto her stomach and burst into laughter. 'You sound so devastated.'

'I'm realising how inexperienced I am.'

'That's the first key to being a good root. I'd be more worried if you told me that you learned everything you knew about sex from porn.'

'Oh fuck,' he swore. 'Just about everything I know about sex comes from porn.'

She tugged his arm and rolled back onto her side. 'Go back to what you were doing. I've drunk too much to cum, anyway, and it was nice feeling you against my back.'

He kissed her neck. 'Really? I can't do anything to make it good for you?'

'You're still sounding disappointed.'

'I am. You realise I haven't been able to get you to orgasm through sex yet? I wanted to see if I could do it.'

'Don't worry about it. I barely ever cum from sex. It's not enough stimulation.' She reached for his cock. 'Fuck me. I'm glad you came over. I like being around you.'

He got back into position. He kissed and touched her body as he fucked her, loving the way he could see her front half in the mirror. She was an extremely attractive woman and she made him feel good about himself. Worthy, somehow.

It didn't take him long to climax. A couple of minutes maybe, and it was all done, he was thrusting and grunting and wondering how he got to be so lucky. When he was done, he pulled out, nearly leaving the condom inside her in the process.

'You need to hold the base of it as you withdraw,' she told him.

'Sorry. It stayed on the other times.'

'It's just the positioning sometimes.'

He kissed her again. It was such a novelty, kissing a woman. Michelle had hated him kissing her. He'd always thought his marriage was just lacking in sex, but it was occurring to him that it had also been lacking in affection. They'd been nothing more than housemates.

Lydia reached for a box of tissues and he slid off the condom and wiped up. The room smelt of sex and sweat and banana. Lydia was still naked, and he pulled her close and ran his fingers through her brilliant red hair.

'We should get dressed and get up,' she said. 'I want a drink.'

He didn't want her to drink, but he was still too unsure of himself to argue. They both got dressed, and she drank a G&T while they watched television together.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Cyril glanced over at Dylan appraisingly. He'd known the boy for years, but now that he was sleeping with his niece, Cyril was inclined to be more critical.

He was a big, strong, man. Worked hard, but didn't play hard. No real drinking to be speak of. A non-smoker. Obviously someone who honoured his word, given that he stayed with a pussy-licker for five years of marriage and however long they were together before that, without straying.

Dylan was also proving himself to be the type of man who wouldn't said 'boo' to a woman, and Cyril pondered whether this was a good thing. Lydia needed reigning in. Maybe Dylan would grow more confident over time. A lot of big men are warned women that find them intimidating because of their size. They need to censor themselves far more than smaller men. A small man is often at an advantage when it comes to seduction, because they look harmless.

Kyle was a good example of that. Anna and Edward's second child and only son was on the shorter side, quite slim, and had no problem attracting the ladies, from what Cyril had heard. Keeping the ladies was Kyle's problem. Firstly, there were the three kids. All grown up now, and if what Dylan had said was true and Neal was flying the nest, none of them would be living at the farm, but all the same, three kids to three women was an issue. Then there was the matter of the weird sexual perversions.

In the back of the Charger, Lydia lit a cigarette. Cyril glanced back at her, taking in the white strapless dress, held in place by her ridiculous chest. She had flowers - hibiscus - tattooed all over one shoulder and down her left arm. That wasn't the only one on display; she also had the girl on the mammoth on her back, the bracelet of stars on her wrist, the ugly, ugly leg tattoos scribbled all over her thighs, and the zebra on one foot and the elephant on the other.

He wasn't a fan of women with tattoos. Why ruin all that beautiful, smooth skin with ink? That was the domain of men. Men were the rough and ugly ones. Mind you, it was more and more common for women to get inked these days. It was almost a rite of passage.

'So who are these people again?' Lydia inquired.

'Anna and Ed are the parents. Their kids are Louise and Kyle. Louise probably won't be there. Kyle lives there, so he will be. His kids are Ali, Neal and Tallen. Tallen won't be there,' Cyril explained. 'Ice addiction. And if any of the men stare at your tits, you've only got yourself to blame. That dress is ridiculous.'

'I thought there wasn't a dress code?' Lydia argued.

Cyril rolled his eyes and didn't dignify that with an answer.

They arrived at the farm and Dylan parked up near the house. The smell of roast lamb wafted through the air and Cyril licked his lips. Lydia was many things, but she wasn't a good cook. She did things to meat that made him realise how she'd managed to stay a vegan for the better part of a year. It was a lot harder to fuck up vegetables.

There was a good turn out, and plenty of the men were plenty interested in his niece, although Lydia, to her credit, stuck close to Dylan. Cyril took a seat next to Matt, one of the long time farmhands, and accepted the offered beer.

'That's your niece?' Matt asked disbelievingly as he stared at Lydia.

'It is.'

'And that's Dylan McGarvey? The mechanic?'

'Yep.'

Matt stared at the couple. 'That'll be a wild ride for him. Isn't his ex-wife a lesbian?'

'She is. Got a girlfriend and all.'

The two men observed the couple. They were talking to Neal and his girlfriend and all four seemed to be getting on quite well. The table was filled with guests who were appropriately attired, but Lydia's dress was noticeably out of place. If she bent over the wrong way the other guests would be getting an eyeful they wouldn't be forgetting in a hurry. Cyril wondered if she'd dressed that way on purpose.

'Did you hear about Neal's engagement?' Matt asked.

'Dylan mentioned something about that. Said the girlfriend bought him a ring so they could move out together without her old man cracking the shits.'

Matt sipped his beer. 'Bet her father's regretting telling them that, him being a Catholic and all. They'll get married, one day. Neal always said he wanted to be married with kids before he was twenty-five.'

'Good on him. More power to him for doing what makes him happy.' Cyril turned his attention to Kyle. May as well look at someone else's problem relative, rather than his own. How old was he now? Thirty-five? Forty? Somewhere in that region. He was one of those men who'd kept his hair and his waistline. 'Anna tells me Kyle is also engaged. Who's the lucky woman?'

Matt gestured to a stunning Italian or Greek girl who was carrying a platter out from the kitchen. She wore white pants, a blue top and her hair was dark and lustrous. Someone spoke to her and she smiled, her teeth flawless and her eyes incandescent. She was a beauty. As they watched, she spotted her beau and caught his eye. More smiles were exchanged.

'Cora,' Matt said. 'Came out to Toowoomba to work as a beautician. Wanted to marry a farmer. Anna figured that as her son was available, and Cora's only five foot three, the two might get along.'

'Who wants to marry a farmer?' Cyril pondered.

'She liked the show 'Farmer wants a wife'. You ever watch that?'

Cyril sniffed derisively. 'Lydia saw an ad for that shit and said that if the men on that show are the best the country can rummage up, no wonder so many farmers are single.'

The two men laughed. Cyril wanted to ask if anyone had filled Cora in on the reasons why a man in his prime, with a full head of hair and a lean body, who was getting set to inherit one of the most profitable farms in the area, was still single. To say he didn't act like the man in bed would be the polite way of saying it. To say he was a sick fuck who liked women to beat him was more accurate.

'Does she know about him?' Cyril inquired.

'I doubt it. Anna was the one who introduced them.' Matt shrugged. 'Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe he's changed his ways'

Cyril thought back to Lydia's remarks about men getting dirtier as they aged. She was spot on with that statement, not that it surprised him. Lydia could be remarkably insightful at times, and remarkably dense at others.

Lunch was, as Cyril had predicted roast lamb. They ran sheep here, and not on a small scale. What was put on their plates had probably been running around a paddock the day before. It was beautiful; crusted with herbs, pink in the middle, and such an incredible change to the overcooked rubber that Lydia served up that Cyril thought he might have died and gone to heaven.

The wog girl, Cora, had made lambs brains and it was in a pot on the table with thickly buttered crusty fresh bread. Cyril dove in. He understood why Anna had matched the girl with her son. Not only was she beautiful, but she could cook. If Kyle couldn't make it work, he had rocks in his head.

Lydia didn't appreciate it. She neatly swapped her roast lamb for Dylan's peas, and ate a plate full of vegetables.

'What's wrong with you?' Cyril demanded. 'Don't you like properly cooked meat?'

'I don't like the way lamb smells,' Lydia pointed out. 'And I like peas.'

'Can't take you anywhere, can we?' he grumbled.

'I like how you say that as though I've spent my whole life looking forward to living out here,' Lydia retorted. 'And you might want to start appreciating me, before I stop humouring you when you go on hour long rants about city voters and gun control and people who drive automatic cars.'

'You're the one who admitted she voted for the Greens in the last election,' Cyril snorted.

'Oh, excuse me if I put a social conscience above owning six guns so I can shoot a non-existent rabbit that may one day knock on the door of my flat,' Lydia argued. 'And even you don't have rabbits. You only have the dogs, the cows and the pigs.'

Cyril ignored the fact that she was still referring to cattle as 'cows' and instead said; 'I don't have pigs.'

'Sure you do. They're in the back paddock.' Lydia scooped a forkful of peas. 'They're kind of cute. I go down and watch the piglets.'

Cyril was dumbstruck. It wasn't often he was lost for words, but Lydia managed to do it to him. Pigs. Jesus fucking Christ, he had wild pigs on the property and there she was, thinking they were cute.

'Is she for real?' Matt whispered.

Lydia overheard the remark, and reached for her handbag. She removed her phone, found the photo she was after, and held it up.

'There,' she said triumphantly. 'Pigs.'

~~~~~~~~

Lydia had identified the other alcoholic mid-way through lunch. They were now sitting out the front of the Queenslander smoking together. He'd bummed a cigarette from her and had in exchange gifted her with a G&T. It was made with Gordon's, but in the circumstances, she wasn't complaining.

'So how are things going with Dylan and Michelle?' Kyle asked congenially.

He was sipping a rum and Coke with practiced speed and determination. They both knew that if anyone realised how much they were drinking, eyebrows would be raised. Best to get it down before anyone noticed.

'They're still arguing,' Lydia said. 'I haven't really met Chelle yet. I keep thinking I should introduce myself. I mean, she and Dylan are living a hundred metres apart. It seems rude to ignore her.'

'How long have you and Dylan been a couple?'

Lydia wrinkled her nose. 'Couple isn't the right word. Eight days ago we had lunch together...'

'He still needs to be on his best behaviour,' Kyle acknowledged. 'And he doesn't want Chelle rocking the boat.'

'He shouldn't worry about that. I'm hard to upset. I managed to survive the remains of lunch, plus dessert, are having admitted to not caring about gun rights.'

Kyle laughed. His skin was darkly tanned and crinkled at the corners of his eyes. Lydia liked him, and not just because he was a fellow soak. He wasn't like the others. He may have grown up here, and he may dress like a farmer, but he wasn't what they were. He was something else, something altogether more intriguing.

There had to be more to his story than the others were letting on. All they'd said was that he had three children to three women and lived in what they called the 'little house' on the farm. He worked the farm, too, although he wasn't the farm manager. That role had been given to Alan, another of the workers. She'd found that curious. Why was the son not in charge? His alcoholism didn't seem that bad. He was functional, at least.