Lucky Man Pt. 01

I explained that my sisters and almost all my cousins were within a couple of inches or so of six foot tall, while I was the runt of the litter at just five foot six. I must take after my mum, I explained, as she was quite short, but I had the bigger muscles of the two of us! I was short but well-built and was working as a labourer in the building trade. The money was pretty good at that time, comparatively speaking. I wasn't exactly a dunce at school and I could have gone onto sixth form or even college later, but leaving home at sixteen had scuppered any ambitions I may have had.

I used to smoke roll-ups when I first started working on building sites, but it didn't sit well with my football, so I had given up over two years before. I had experimented with a couple of easily available drugs, as a kid, only to see what the fuss was all about and wasn't interested in pursuing them any more. I did enjoy a beer or two and when I wasn't driving enjoyed a few Canadian Clubs and soda but rarely to excess.

I told her I was keen on football, as a junior I had been on Aston Villa's books, but now playing at the lowest semi-pro regional league level every Saturday afternoon from September to March. I was a Villa supporter trying to get to every midweek game I could if it didn't interfere with my training or playing.

She wasn't all that keen on watching sport, but as well as participating in horse riding she enjoyed swimming and playing tennis and badminton, although she was rusty as she hadn't played either racket game since school. She had represented the county at netball and rounders, again at schoolgirl level. She was a little self-conscious about her weight, as she had put on a few pounds since she left school and was considering playing badminton again. She played golf occasionally with her mother and her friends, though the way they played it didn't burn many calories. She was scheduled to play with them today, but had dipped out of it to come out with me. We were holding hands on the bench at that point and I squeezed her hand and stole another kiss, which started out as a peck and developed into a long passionate snog. Breathless, we decided to continue with our walk otherwise we might have stayed there whiling away the morning. I hefted the haversack on my shoulder, tied her discarded green cardigan around my waist to save her carrying it, and we continued walking, holding hands in the warm sunshine.

At the end of the street the shops and cottages petered out. Then we turned off the road and headed up a bridleway path which climbed up quite a long hill flanked by a hedge on one side and an open field of wheat or barley stubble. The crop had recently been harvested, leaving piles of bales scattered around the field awaiting collection. It was warm work walking uphill, the sun virtually overhead, the only shade being the occasional tree among the hedges. The hedgerows were filled with green blackberries plus a few red ones and the odd ripe blackberry which we picked. They were sweet and juicy on the tongue. We discussed that it would be well worth coming back in a couple of weeks and fill up a bag or two, so we made it another date.

A great result, maybe my streak of bad luck was on the turn. I smiled so broadly at swinging another date I thought my face would set in that position. It was exhausting climbing that hill in the heat and our conversation reduced down to a comfortable silence, although we continued holding rather sweaty hands.

We reached the top of the hill and enjoyed the views to the north over fields and woods and isolated settlements and the view southward to the village we had started out from was also breathtaking. There were no seats where we halted, so I took off my shirt and spread it out on a patch of grass. Yes I know, reader, any gratuitous excuse to show off my tanned and toned torso to my new girl, I'm like an open book to you. I placed her cardigan down on one side of the shirt for her to sit on and I squatted down on the other half. I opened up the haversack and handed her a slightly warm coke and broke off a piece of chocolate for each of us. Ruth leaned into me and I put my arm comfortably around the top of her shoulders. She pulled my muscular arm about herself and planted little chocolate impressed kisses on my tanned forearm from the elbow joint to my wrist and snuggled her head and shoulder into my chest, still holding my now rather sweaty hand. She smelt heavenly of fresh meadow flowers, I couldn't breathe enough of her in.

I felt six feet tall and swore to myself that I wouldn't wash that arm for a week. Then it suddenly occurred to me that there was another part of my anatomy which had enjoyed even more intimate contact with the delectable Ruth, yet I had showered all traces away without a second thought earlier that morning. I chuckled at the recollection, the sound shaking Ruth from her own reverie, concerned to know what I found so amusing. With a smile playing on my lips I told her that I had been considering not washing for a week that arm she had kissed so tenderly and stickily. I added that I had then recalled that I had a shower this morning and washed every part of my body ... I paused for a moment for my comment to sink in before adding,

"Are you going to punch me again now?"

She didn't need me to say any more. I told you she was bright, I'm the only stupid arsehole in this story. Instead of replying she moved her hand up to grab my ponytail and pull my head down to her waiting lips. We didn't speak for some time, when we did I suggested we move on so we could collect our lunch before it was spoiled by the warm weather. We walked along the ridge with our hands and fingers entwined. Again we were comfortably silent for a while as we walked, except where I spotted a kestrel and nightjar almost level with us on the escarpment hovering in turn over a field of potatoes and a meadow full of wild flowers below; and she pointed out and picked a couple of unusual wild flowers to press later as fragrant souvenirs of our very first date.

Back at the car, I removed a carrier bag from my boot, containing my sandwiches and drinks, still relatively cool although most of the ice had melted into cold water in a separate bag. I stuffed the bags into my knapsack and slammed the boot of my old car shut. Ruth had the tiny boot of her sports car open and there, filling virtually the whole space, nestled a magnificent straw hamper, the sort you see in films of the upper classes enjoying what they would call a spiffing day out in the country.

I could only say, "Wow! That is a quality picnic hamper, makes my Spar Shop carrier bag look a bit common, m'Lady." I mockingly touched my forelock in the accustomed manner, my servility only spoiled by the broad smirk on my lips. Her sparkling laugh was worth the soft punch I absorbed on my bare upper arm.

Ruth actually looked a little embarrassed when she regarded the basket again, saying quietly, "This is my mother's doing, she insisted on packing everything for our picnic. I think I've got enough food for a starving school party".

She stood there chewing her lip, uncertainly. Although the English class system was breaking down gradually, the differences were more noticeable back then. I put both arms around her and gave her a squeeze.

"This is great, Ruth, you make me feel that for just this day we are living on the set of The Great Gatsby." I kissed her cheek, "Come on, let's get into those woods and find somewhere to spread out our picnic, I'm absolutely starving!"

The basket had rope handles at each end and I grabbed one end, Ruth taking the other, it was surprisingly heavy. She locked her car boot and we carried our load across the rapidly filling car park of drinkers waiting for the pub to open at noon. We were the focus of some attention as we traversed the tarmac with our feast fit for five thousand.

We were soon walking in the cool shadows of the woods and decided not to stop in the first couple of clearings. The first had a lot of noisy kids climbing and swinging on ropes and rope ladders from trees, the second was too small a space and walkers would have come across us without warning and we preferred seeking out a little privacy. The third clearing was the one I had in mind from memory, it was large, with plenty of long dry uncut grass and we set up our picnic on an edge of the clearing far from the central path, with a thick hedgerow as a back-screen behind us. There was some dappled shade from the trees at the back of the hedges which afforded a little welcome relief from the hot afternoon sun, so we could eat in relative comfort.

We set down the basket and I took off my haversack. I had my thin waterproof camping groundsheet rolled up and strapped to the bag; I spread this out first on a flat dry piece of grassland. Ruth opened up her woven basket and pulled out from the top a small thin gingham cloth and a large thick soft woollen rug, which we placed on top of the ground sheet.

I unpacked from my haversack a couple of bottles of lemon-flavoured sparkling water, wrapped in a bag of now-melted ice cubes, I thought these would be more refreshing than the cola we had taken earlier. I took out a box of chopped mixed salad, with shelled and quartered boiled eggs, and several separate parcels of crispy bacon, cheese and ham or strawberry jam sandwiches. I had included a pack of Mr Kipling's iced fancy cakes, which had become a little crumpled in the bag. Also wrapped with the cool drinks were a couple of bars each of Galaxy chocolate and Cadbury's Flakes. Not bad, I thought, for a first effort, I had never invited a girl to a picnic before.

Then I looked at Ruth's hamper and my jaw dropped. I remember what I packed for the lunch because I thought about what to include and prepared carefully. I can't remember every detail of the contents of that bloody hamper, though, but you will get the gist. For a start, the lining of the basket was insulated and filled with freezer blocks, so everything was still as ice cold as when it was packed. There was not only a bottle of Champagne with a pair of flute glasses in that Pandora's box, there was a second bottle of red wine, with separate wine goblets! There were proper china dinner and tea plates, silver cutlery, and folded cotton cloth gingham napkins which matched the table cloth. Packed in boxes were several different kinds of sandwiches, although I can only vividly remember those classic cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off! There were potato crisps, cocktail sausages and pickled onions, and separate containers of salads. Fruit too, apples, oranges and bananas. There were even tiny packets of mayo and sauces. Spectacular! The contents were a mystery to Ruth, too, her mother had packed them early in the morning.

Apparently, Ruth being an only child, her parents always stayed up until she got home, and the previous night had been no exception. When her mother heard Ruth was invited to a picnic, she took over and packed everything up ready, seeing Ruthie off before going to the golf club for her game. It made my picnic fare look a little sorry, but hey, the thought was there and I had none of the advantages that Ruthie's mother had. I decided I would leave my jar of Branston in the carrier bag, but Ruthie spotted the label through the semi-transparent plastic and insisted I hand it over, with a school-marm-ish look on her face and her elegant hand outstretched. I felt like a school kid who'd been given an apple to take to the teacher and tried to keep it for himself.

Ruthie dived into my packages of sandwiches, selected a bacon one and pounced on the jar of Branston but, try as hard as she appeared to, it was too stiff for her to open.

She looked at me like an adoring pet might and tried one more time. I grabbed it and opened it with sharp twist and held it out to her.

"Here you are, sweetheart," I said.

"Thanks, honey," she replied with a sweet smile.

She picked up a spoon from the cutlery and took two heaped spoonfuls to liberally coat the crispy contents before munching away enthusiastically. Some pickle squeezed out of the corner of her delicious mouth, I reached across with my index finger to wipe it away and let her suck its tangy sweetness off my fingertip, which she did very theatrically and audibly. We grinned at each other, nothing more needed to be said, we were both already very comfortable in each others company. She opened a bottle of water and drank lustily. I copied her, we were both quite thirsty.

It was hot and, in my eyes, so was she.

It was then that she took out the delicate glass flutes and expertly opened the cold Champagne with a satisfying pop! At this stage in my young life I had never opened such a bottle and would have probably used a couple of thumbs to launch the potentially damaging missile into the air, like I'd seen in the movies, but Ruthie wrapped an experienced hand around the cork and released it safely without fuss by a sharp twist, and no gushing of wasted liquid either. Easier than pickle jars, apparently, or had she been playing me like a fish on a hook?

If she was, I was beyond caring, I was hooked already and I wasn't putting up much of a fight.

Holding the two flutes in her other hand she poured with care, filling each little by little until nearly full. The liquid was ice cold and the glasses were soon covered in a frosting of condensation. The effervescent wine with its heady flowery bouquet, tasted better than I expected, like no other sparkling wine I'd experienced before. Ruthie topped up our glasses again and again until the bottle was exhausted. I felt quite giddy almost immediately and found my appetite insatiable, I yearned for food to stuff my stomach with and for Ruthie to fill up my heart and soul.

We munched our way through an enormous amount of tuck, although we barely scraped the surface of that unbelievable hamper. Once we had eaten to our satisfaction we tied up the detritus in the table cloth and cleared a space on the soft rug to lie full length, very comfortably close to one another. We were soon cuddling, kissing and becoming increasingly more adventurous in our petting, looking up and around regularly to ensure we had a reasonable degree of privacy. I discovered that without her prescription sunglasses she was extremely myopic; she had worn some hard contacts the previous day and night for far longer than she was used to and needed to rest her eyes today. Therefore as a lookout she was effectively useless and I spent more time surveying the surroundings and she spent more time exploring me.

Look, I wasn't complaining any, there was a lot less of her than me to get around to, although her little hidden treasures were of far more interest than anything I felt I had to offer her.

Several couples, individuals with dogs and larger parties went through that public clearing, which curbed our more adventurous romancing, sometimes holding us up for several frustrating minutes at a time. The odd dog also decided to investigate us up close, I think they must have a sixth sense that we were trying to do something far more interesting than anything their walker had planned for them to witness!

Eventually we had some time to ourselves where I could access both her delicious nipples with my mouth and tongue within her unbuttoned blouse while she managed the extraordinary feat of jacking me off whilst keeping my trousers on. While trying to kid you here that this was no mean feat, in honesty I was putty in her hands and to my shame she really didn't have to work very hard to get me into a state of overexcitement. We were both enthusiastic and tender at the same time in our exploratory courtship. I think it was that very afternoon that reinforced the feeling that I had already fallen in love with this delightful girl. I wanted Ruth to be all mine and soon. Once we were relaxed with a nice romantic buzz about us, we lay back on the rug, with our arms around one another looking up at the clear blue sky, the sun by now threatened to disappear behind the trees. My lucky star was definitely in the ascendancy.

In the distance, we could just hear children enjoying themselves, climbing and jumping off trees, and the splashing of dogs and children alike cooling off that hot afternoon in the various pools dotted about the forest. Immediately around us was the chorus of flies and buzzing bees, with a background harmony of fiddler grasshoppers and wooing songbirds. We were laying in a paradise on earth.

Ruthie's face was buried in my chest, the rhythm of her breathing hot on my taut tanned pectorals, alternately laying flat the fine short dark hairs, which had only in recent years attempted to populate my otherwise smooth breastbone, with each divine exhale, then springing up again as she drew cooler air into her lungs. It was at the same time both relaxing and invigorating. We were innocent young things, 18 and 20 respectively, and as far as I knew, experiencing the towering intensity of true romance for the very first time.

The sight of her back rising and falling in tune with her delightful breathing across my chest was a wonderful experience. It was also heaven to have my nose enveloped in the meadow-sweet aroma of her fine ripe corn-coloured hair. I pressed my lips through that thick thatch feeling the heat of her head and I kissed her deeply, moistly, lovingly. She responded by burrowing her petite frame impossibly closer to me.

I felt we were like the first two corner pieces of a life-sized jigsaw, triumphantly conjoined by fate. The first two pieces perhaps, hopefully, of a long life together, sorting through the multicoloured and many faceted interlocking elements that make up a shared experience. A long-term relationship, like the one my parents endured? No, that was not at all what I wanted. I was filled with hope that lucky chance had thrown me an opportunity of sharing something unique and exclusive, lifelong, a fulfilling existence in equal partnership with someone who appeared to be so special.

I couldn't muck this up, could I? I realised I had no track record which I could draw on or emulate. I had no loving relationship with any of my family, with the singular exceptions of my mother and cousin Bob, but was that my fault? Did not the blame fall on my father for betraying my innocence by beating up my mother and me? I knew perfectly well, however, what a messed up, unequal, unhappy relationship was. With that experience behind me, surely I could pick out a path through life with my eyes and ears open? Could I sustain my being receptive to the feelings of a partner equal to me in every sense of the word? Was it in me to both lead the woman of my choice yet follow her choices wherever this vision of loveliness presently clutched in my arms wanted to go?

Fate had brought us to this point in our lives. We could be meant for each other all along and our future history already written up in the stars. Were we destined to tread the same path together, or were we fated to fumble around for a while before diverging into completely separate lives. It had been a chance glance through a crowded dance floor that attracted me first to her tall friend. The die had then been cast in Ruth's favour, however, my luck put me in the passive role of designated driver, reducing my options and impossibly lengthening any chance I had of landing my initial choice. It was odds on from the outset that the tall redhead Carol would opt for the favourite, the tall dark Bob, and poor runt Mark would be left with the other also ran, the comparatively diminutive Ruth. Even odds of 50/50 simply weren't on offer. The trump card appeared to fall into Bob's hand as Carol converted all her tricks, while I seemed to be dealt the Joker of the pack, being in the right place at the wrong time of the month. Bob cheerfully scooped Park Lane in the back of car, while I collected Old Kent Road in the front - I was in Jail held up for a turn while Bob passed Go with a resounding spurt finish.