tagNovels and NovellasA New Dawn Ch. 01

A New Dawn Ch. 01

bydconrad©

Dawn finished her wine and looked out of the patio windows as the rain streaked across them. Across the river a yacht swayed around her anchor. If it kept on like this there'll be a flood she thought. Another dark evening where the sky and horizon fuse together seamlessly. She could not discern where the autobahn of the river melded with the brooding air. She sighed.

Phillip looked up, "Go on Dawn, tell Lisa about your Europe trip. You haven't told it for ages."

Lisa was quietly drunk, she shifted in the chair and reached across the table to pour another wine. As she did so the full outline of her round breasts appeared briefly then shifted away against the mottled grey of her top. They had told her a few stories of their exploits, and she had come back each time, less shocked, wanting to hear more. Obviously the chance of seeing what lay beneath that grey top was their motivation in telling these stories, but Dawn got a kick out of reliving them too. Lisa was an interesting woman Dawn thought. On the surface a pretty girl with a good career ahead of her and a nice boyfriend. But like the river, there was more than surface there. Dawn was convinced Lisa wanted to find it for herself, had begun to suspect that a life of everything going just as you expected may not be as fulfilling as she had once envisaged. Her bright eyes, sometimes hidden behind the fringe of her carefully cut blond bob were now dulled by the alcohol, but Dawn could see the spark there still, in the distance. A stranger waving from a boat to the shore. Some Russian dolls are empty, the external case is their entirety. Dawn suspected that Lisa had many nested selves, each more interesting than the previous. Telling her these stories was the tool she hoped would at least uncover the join in the first casing.

Phillip rocked back in his chair. His full cheeks slightly flushed by the wine. The game of monopoly or trivial pursuit they had intended as after dinner entertainment had not been started, the opened box lay by Phillip's feet.

"Okay - you sure you want to hear all the sordid details Lisa? You'll never look at me the same again."

Lisa half giggled, "Oh, I don't think I will anyway after what you told me last week. I would like to hear more though, I found them really interesting."

Trying not to seem shocked and sound detached, as if they didn't turn her on. Dawn knew well enough the effects her stories had on people. Pouring another glass of wine she placed the empty bottle with the four others at the centre of the table, the debris of the meal scattered like an abandoned archaeological dig. The sunset finally gave up its struggle and the gloom settled in. Phillip lit two candles on the mantelpiece, the sudden acrid smell quickly giving way to the faint lavender aroma from the wax.

"Before I start I just want to stress, I'm not telling this to show off. It is about what happened to me, but I don't think that is the important part." Phillip and Lisa looked puzzled, to them that was exactly what was important. "Rather I think it is more about the effect it had on me. It was a light which suddenly illuminated the dark corners of a room and meant I never looked at things the same again. But to appreciate the effect you have to understand where I came from.

"It was when I was 19. I'd started university at Birmingham the year before, so this was my first long vacation. Since I was a little girl I'd had a passion for travel books and atlases. I found the whole idea of travel impossibly romantic. And of course I made that pompous distinction between being a traveller and a tourist. So, having left home for University I had planned to go Inter-railing around Europe with a friend from home. I wanted to see all of the beautiful cities, experience the light the artists are always enraptured by and saturate myself in rich culture. I wanted experience, I wanted to stop being young, na ve and innocent and become mature, wise and experienced. Anyway my friend cried off at the last minute, I guess I always knew she would. She wanted to think she could go, without ever actually doing it.

"You've got to understand I grew up in Little Vale - it's a small village in Somerset. Before that summer I'd had the usual sort of travel - some holidays in France and Spain with parents and friends.

None of them counted as travelling though. I'd also had the usual sexual experience - a few semi-serious boyfriends and stuff. I guess I must have had sex with three different men by that time, always in a relationship. I liked sex enough, but like a lot of girls from sheltered backgrounds, I didn't think I should think about it too much.

"Anyway I'd completed my first year at college, where I'd had a three month relationship with a very serious boy. My parents thought I'd be coming home for summer, but I couldn't face it. You know how it is when you leave a small place, you need to get away for good. Plus you get a bit full of yourself at that age. I thought I'd already seen more than my parents ever would, and I was ready to travel the world. An aunt had died and left me some money, so I had some savings, I spoke German fairly well and thought I could get some work, so I planned to stay away for the whole 3 months if possible. I lied to my parents, and said there was a group of us going. They'd never have let me go on my own.

"So exams finished at the end of May, and within forty eight hours I was off.

"My first week or so was pretty uneventful. I travelled down through France, spending a few days in Paris. I was relieved to find it easy to get cheap accommodation. I also found I didn't feel threatened.

Europeans are more gregarious than us Brits, so I found it easy to chat to people on trains. I had an interesting journey down from Paris to Nice in an overnight train. I was in a cabin with two old women who knitted furiously, and a young German chap who seemed hyperactive. He said he hated travelling by train since he was a sleepwalker, so would fall asleep and then find himself in the bar or dining room. I didn't believe him, but the old women nodded sympathetically, although I don't think they understood English or German. They gave me a small square of their knitting when I left. I don't know what I was supposed to do with it, being about the size of a handkerchief. It was mainly yellow with red weave. `Bonne chance' they said and I waved the knitting at them. Still this was the type of encounter I thought I was after. When I was in Paris I had joined a group of French people my own age for a few drinks. They'd made me feel welcome and we'd spent a nice day around the Louvre. By the time I entered Italy, I wasn't worried that I'd be frightened, or lonely and end up back home with my tail between my legs. I was feeling confident and ready for experience.

"It was in this frame of mind I sat in a carriage heading towards Florence. We'd just pulled away from the station and it wasn't due to stop for another two hours so I thought I'd get some sleep.

"I was just nodding off when the door slip open, and two chaps entered, one about 50, and the other about 25. They were dressed casually, although I thought the younger one looked a bit of a mummy's boy, with a smart jumper and shirt underneath. They nodded politely and sat at the far end of the carriage. Like most trains in Europe this one had a corridor down the side and small compartments from that. Each seated about 12 people. I had already learnt that if you pulled the curtains closed people were less likely to come in, unless all carriages were full. As it wasn't yet holiday season, most trains were still half empty.

"I was trying to sleep, but I kept getting the feeling I was being stared at. I looked up a couple of times and the old man looked away hurriedly. But then I would feel his gaze on me again, very intense. I looked up a third time and this time glared back defiantly. The younger man spoke hurriedly to the older one, chastising him. Then he turned to me, `Please, I'm very sorry. Do not be angry. He does not mean any harm.' He spoke with a heavy Italian accent, obviously, but his English was pretty good.

`Well it's not very nice being stared at,' I said, although not too angrily as the old man looked sheepish and kind of sad.

"The younger one continued, `Please, let me explain. It is just that my uncle, he thinks you remind him very much of his wife. She died ten years ago, and he still mourns her.'

`Oh,' I didn't know what to say. Seeing the uncle shaking his slowly, I said `that's okay, you can look then.' I tried to offer him a smile.

"The nephew spoke in Italian to his uncle again, who looked up and smiled back weakly, `Grazi Signora.' He looked at me again for a few minutes, which was quite uncomfortable, since I didn't know what to do with myself. I pretended to look out of the window, but you know how it is when you know someone is looking at you, it's very hard to be natural.

"Eventually I thought I couldn't just sit there and be stared at, so I introduced myself. The uncle was Franco and the nephew Mario. I asked some more about his wife, and the son translated for me, `she had deep, rich red hair like yours, with soft curls. About the same length. It is very unusual for an Italian to have red hair, and all the men in the village wanted her. But she chose my uncle, and they were married when they were 19. How old are you?'

"I told him, and the nephew sighed, `You see, you are the same age as when they were married, and that is how he remembers her the most. I have seen the wedding photographs and it is true, you do look like her very much. Your hair, face and body are all the same.'

"The old man spoke some more, getting quite excited. `She was tall like you, what are you 1.8 metres?'

I had to do the conversion from feet and inches, but he was about right.

"Then the conversation died away, and I resumed looking out of the window whilst being occasionally stared at. The two of them had a short exchange, and the old man seemed to be arguing. The nephew sighed with resignation and turned to me, `Dawn, excuse me, I am most embarrassed, but my uncle, he has begged me to ask you. So I have said that I will, but please just say no, then he will be quiet.'

`So, what is it?' I asked cautiously. I thought this was getting a little odd now, but I didn't feel threatened or worried.

`He wants to know if he can stroke your hair.' I obviously looked surprised.

`I know, I know, but he used to do it to his wife, and says it was his favourite thing. He says it would make him very happy, but he knows it may be offensive to you.'

`Well, not offensive. Oh, okay, he can, just for a minute or so.'

"Franco didn't need translation. He nodded vigorously, `Grazi, grazi.'

Dawn looked up from the table, she had been staring at the last of the cheese on her plate, not making eye contact so she could concentrate on all the details. "You'll have to forgive me, I don't speak Italian.

They probably said more than this, but I can only impart clich s on them. So just pretend there is a flow of seductive Italian dialogue surrounding any of quotes."

She then returned her focus to the table, and recommenced the story, "He came and sat on the seat next to me. I inclined my head towards him. My hair was longer then, just below my shoulders. I must admit I was rather proud of it, it attracted a lot of attention. Because I'd been travelling I hadn't washed it as much as usual, and this had actually improved its colour. It was very rich with a nice lustre to it. Franco placed one hand underneath it, and stroked downwards, very softly, saying things like `Bella, bella.' It was quite soothing actually. He never touched me, just my hair. After a minute or so Mario told him to stop, and he did. I looked at him and smiled, and he again offered his profuse thanks.

"After a while Franco spoke to Mario again and there was more disagreement, this time more vociferous, but it ended the same way, with Mario sighing in resignation. I knew it involved me, so I waited for Mario. `I am sorry, my uncle, he misses his wife very much, and it makes him sad to see you. He knows he is wrong to ask, but he knows he will never have this opportunity again and will regret it forever if he does not. So, he has asked me to ask you - would you take off your top for him?'

`What?' Although I acted shocked, from the first hair stroking request I was suspecting this. Franco's gaze had not been entirely confined to my face. It was still a shock to actually hear it though. One often thinks or fantasises but there is a definite line between that and the actual act. Having those words spoken crossed that threshold. The words seem to occupy the carriage as the Tuscan scenery passed by, unaffected by my dilemma. It was a purely internal dilemma. It was whether I wanted to cross that threshold or not. And not just then, not just with these men, but ever.

"Mario was hurrying to explain `He loved his wife's breasts very much, and they would spend many hours walking in the woods near his village. She would often take off her top, to feel the sun on her skin and the sight of her used to make him cry. He says you are just like her, and he thinks your breasts would be the same type. It would make him feel as though she has never left him.'

"Of course I should have slapped him and walked out, or called the guard. But I didn't. And in that one pause then they knew what my response would be. The debate I was having with myself was with the daughter of my parents and the new, adventurous girl who would experience the world. I thought this was the type of experience the new me would not shy away from so I said, `okay, just a quick look, then I'll button back up.' I was wearing a baggy, short sleeve shirt, tied around my waist, and long shorts. I undid my shirt and opened it up. My breasts were firmer then, still large though, a C cup probably whereas now they're a D. Unlike now they could stand upright on their own, and the nipples pointed upwards. I was wearing a black bra, which forced them together slightly, giving a long smooth cleavage. I don't want to be immodest, but they were nice breasts, and as I looked down at them then I realised it for the first time ever really. When you're young you take these things for granted.I swivelled towards them leaning back in the chair so they could appreciate them too. Franco just whispered, `Mamma mia' and Mario nodded slowly. The uncle spoke some more and Mario translated, `He says they are beautiful, perhaps more beautiful than his wife's even. He had never thought he would see such beauty again. He thanks you for making an old man believe in beauty once again.'

"I blushed, his compliments had embarrassed me more than my semi-nakedness, `why, thankyou.' I made to do up my shirt again. The two men had not taken their eyes from my breasts. As I moved the old man spoke rapidly and Mario translated, `please, can you just sit like that for a while. He cannot bear to be parted from them just yet.'

`But what if someone comes?' I asked.

`Oh, no-one will come now. The train does not stop again for hours, and the guard has been round once. This is the quiet stretch when everyone sleeps.' `Okay,' I said and sat back. What do you do when you're sitting there with your shirt open and two men staring at your breasts? If it was difficult to look out of the window before and pretend I wasn't noticing it was impossible now.

`So was his wife very beautiful then?' I asked, just trying to avert their eyes.

`Yes, he says that she was beautiful and sexy. Her lovely breasts, like yours, were coveted by all the men, but only he ever played with them. He treated them like religious objects, caressing them every night. Now he says he still goes to sleep caressing his pillow imagining his wife's beautiful breasts, but the years have dimmed the memory.'

`That's very sweet.'

`He says his wife had very large round nipples, a soft red colour. Are yours like that?'

"I laughed, but they expected an answer. `Yes, I suppose so.'

`He says he knows you have done more than any sweet girl should have, but just one last request. Can he see your breasts in full? Then when he sleeps tonight he can imagine his wife like it was the first time again.'

I didn't even argue this time. `Keep a look-out then. Just one look and then all this goes back on okay?'

`Yes, we understand.'

"I reached behind and undid my bra. It didn't fall off immediately, just slipped forward. I shrugged my shoulders and the straps fell down and I slipped my arms out. My nipples were slightly distended, having had two men stare at me for twenty minutes had aroused me a little.

`He says you have the body of an angel. It is truly a gift that you should share it with us. You are an angel of mercy and he thanks you for your goodness. Please can you stand up, so he can get a full view.'

"I stood up, and leant forward just slightly, so the undercarriage of my breasts pulled away from my ribcage. They swayed slightly with the rhythm of the train. Then I leant back again, so my breasts sat upright on my chest, tumbling softly to the side."

As she told it, Dawn mimicked the movements, leaning across the table, then back in her chair slightly.

Under her jumper little movement could be seen, but both Lisa and Phillip gazed with affectionate smiles at her chest as she did so. Lisa took one of Dawn's cigarettes. She only smoked when drunk.

"I can't believe you're stripping off in front of these two strangers. Didn't it scare you?"

Dawn didn't like to be interrupted during her stories. She was a strictly questions-at-the-end speaker. She almost had to refocus on Lisa.

"Hmm? No, not at all. I felt strangely empowered actually. I mean I know it can get out of control, but from the start I felt very peaceful about it all. I didn't really describe Mario and Franco. If you'd seen them you'd know they might be horny, but they'd never be violent. You can spot it easily, well I think you can. I've done all sorts of things, but never had any trouble like that. You set the ground rules in the first interactions, the movements. I never let men get carried away. I detest filthy talk, so if one starts saying things like "suck it you bitch" I walk away. Most of them are only trying it on, they've read about it, and they've heard some girls like it. If you claim the territory then they're quite happy to go along with it. I don't pick hunks, army types or blokes who spend hours in the gym - they are the ones whose ego will get you in trouble. They need to be in control, need to show you they're in control. The soft types I pick are nearly always grateful.

"I said Mario was a mummy's boy. He had that thick black hair Italian men have, greased back. He had gorgeous big brown eyes, very doleful, and a soft mouth. When I took of my bra he sighed with just utter happiness. Franco, although fiftyish was a smart man still, with nicely greying hair around the sides. He had an intense but sorrowful look, sort of like Omar Sherif. You wanted to cuddle him and tell him it would all be okay. That's why I went along with it first of all, I felt like I could relieve some of his pain." "Yes, but you were hardly in control were you? I mean they were telling you what to do."

"Sort of. I know I could have walked out at anytime. After the hair stroke I knew it was going to progress, and I wanted to test myself, to see how far I would let it go. I was surprised that I took my bra off. But when I saw their adoring faces I didn't regret it."

"Let her continue Lisa, it gets really good now." Phil was smiling at Dawn, he then looked across at Lisa, and watched as she sat back, the smooth glide of her breasts like turtles threatening to break the surface. Dawn knew he wanted to see them, as did she. They had talked about it and for the past three Fridays Lisa had come for dinner, each time getting drunk and they had become more daring in the stories they'd told her. Dawn had also noticed that each time Lisa had dressed just a bit sexier. Nothing obvious, but the first time had been a baggy jumper and jeans. Then it had been a slightly hugging white blouse and tight trousers. Tonight it was a cotton and latex top, which hugged her ample chest, and push up bra underneath which seemed a size too small, since Dawn could detect a bulge at its lip. A knee length skirt and calf-high boots gave an overall sense of her being almost on the pull.

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