Tree Preservation Matters Pt. 01bysenwood©
Author's note: Two part story. I decided on the category Romance because it seemed the best fit. The second part will be darker and will be in the group sex category.
It was my mum who got me into all this in the first place. It wasn't entirely my idea although I suppose the initial stimulus came from me. I meant well, you know. My dad always says there's nothing worse. Than people who mean well. Anyway I've no regrets. Not now. Want to find out why?
Well settle down with a drink and a partner beside you and picture this. It's just like a picture book....remember? I write the words and in your mind you add in the pictures. So that in practice every time someone reads the story it becomes a different one, with a slightly or maybe radically different set of accompanying images, dependent upon the mindscape of the reader.
I'm drivelling on, aren't I? I suppose it's because I've decided to write it all down but I don't want to look a complete idiot. Because in many ways I was but in the end, and probably no thanks to me, it turned out... Well, how did it turn out? You'll just have to read the story, won't you?
And the title? Well, it's deliberately ambiguous. It could be a story about affairs to do with the preservation of trees or it could be an ecological mantra. It's the former by the way. It all began with a tree, a bit like Adam and Eve. It's either about my favourite tree or it's about me. You can decide.
Now in so many stories you are told first about the gorgeous wife who at 35 is still drop dead gorgeous with a size something or other figure and lord knows what else. And she's a bit bi or something with long blonde hair and green eyes. Well you'll get nothing like this here. I'm not married for a start. I'm twenty-one, petite and when I look in the mirror I like what I see. And you can just imagine the rest -- or if you really pay attention I'll pop in a few clues as we go along as to what I really look like. To start you off my name is Heather [a name I really like] and I live with mum [Carole] and dad [Ed] in Cromer, near the sea.
'Get on with it!' I hear you muttering. Sorry, I like a slow start to a story. I settle in and get nice and comfortable. Adjust the cushions; pick up that glass of Chardonnay. Ready? All right, impatient reader!
We live not far from the village green and in the north-west corner of the village green there is a field, used for years for grazing by the occasional local pony. In the apex of the corner, if that's the right word, stands a large old tree. A copper beech. The lower branches are all cut off at one perfect level, no doubt by generations of animals grazing on the lower branches and leaves there and the sheep, ponies or whatever seek shelter under my tree from the sun, the rain and so on.
It's not my tree actually. I just think of it as my tree, our tree even, because mum likes it as much as I do. I don't think dad is that bothered about trees but he supports us from a distance. In our campaign I mean. You see the problems began when the field was sold to a local builder who wanted to build 5 exclusive homes in the field. We campaigned against that but we lost. The village has to grow and change, I suppose. We thought the tree was safe because it had a preservation order. But even they can be overturned if profit margins are at stake. Or maybe a councillor received some hidden favour or promise. Anyway, they said the tree would have to go. We marched on county hall, we got on the TV. Mum chained herself to the tree itself. We attracted media attention and became a public nuisance!
And then the builder called. He was very nice and explained how if the tree stayed one of the houses would have to be much smaller and his profit margin on the land and the build would be reduced substantially.
We listened and smiled. And waited. And then he made us an offer. He showed us a plan even, which showed a parcel of land in the corner of the field and a proposed boundary twenty feet outside the perimeter of the tree, drawing an arc if you like around the field side of the tree. Quite a bit of the tree naturally overhangs the field boundary making the tree appear from a distance to be a feature of the village green itself.
'Nine thousand pounds,' he said.
We sat in stunned silence.
'Give us some time,' mum replied.
'Honest, Mrs Simkins, I can only give you three weeks. Take it or leave it -- or the tree comes down. Sorry.'
And he left.
And we started fundraising. Raffles, bring and buy, coffee mornings. We got some grants from countryside organisations - and then mum suggested the auction in the Town Hall. We attracted some good publicity and we received some wonderful lots, such as TVs, dvd players, a hot tub, a motor bike and so forth. Mum hoped for a car or something as the star item but that never came. A car hire firm offered us a car for the day and a couple of smart restaurants offered meals as lots. So it was looking good. By the time of the auction we had raised four thousand pounds but now the momentum was slowing and we realised the final five thousand would be a struggle.
And then mum had her big idea. She told me about it one evening when we were on our own.
'You could be the star lot, Heather. You know, the social company of a beautiful young woman for a weekend. Together with a hire car and meals in exclusive restaurants. Have an amazing time with Heather Simkins!'
I roared with laughter, and said: 'You must be joking, mum. It might be with some dreadful old man or something!'
'I'm sure only some of the nicest people in town will be at the auction,' she wheedled. 'And we're only talking about going out for meals and general socialising, Heather. Don't be so cynical about people. There's far more decent ones than the other kind.' She finished a bit lamely but once she had convinced me that a lot of people might bid for 'me' and that I would be making a major contribution to the tree's future security, I gave in. I was arrogant enough to believe I might make some real money on the night.
And the night came. Mum had made me dress in a clinging evening gown which showed off my good figure. I knew I looked good even though I was incredibly nervous. Mum was the auctioneer and she had been entertaining the small crowd with her auctioneer's banter as she took the bids and tempted people to spend. She had also been drinking white wine.
'To give me a bit of confidence and liberate my humour gene,' she joked.
She had been funny, I had to admit.
'And now it's thirty-six hours in the company of my beautiful daughter, Heather.'
There were, of course, cheers and much laughter as I stepped forward onto the raised platform of the town hall.
'Just imagine: candlelit dinners, a trip out into the country. A weekend to remember!' Her voice boomed into the microphone.
Bidding was a little dilatory and had only reached thirty pounds.
'Come on everyone,' my mum was exhorting the thinning crowd, 'I'm sure Heather will grant you a weekend to remember. Just imagine, there's no knowing what pleasures she can grant you.'
I wasn't really listening or paying attention to the voice which had become a loud insistent drone. What I did notice, however, was that the bidding suddenly picked up. And my mother was getting carried away.
'You'll be able to do whatever you want together for thirty-six glorious hours, folks. So come on, roll up, open your wallets!'
Now I was listening and I realised what my mother had done. I'm sure it was unintentional but the punters were taking her at her word. There were four bidders now, all men, and I had reached the dizzy heights of three hundred pounds. It wasn't the meals or the hire car they were after. They wanted me, standing there so stupidly while they were trying to buy me!
'Eight hundred pounds,' mother screamed. 'Any increase on eight hundred pounds?'
'One thousand pounds!'
A new voice had joined the bidding. I looked around and I recognised him vaguely. Then I remembered he was the young, well thirtyish, solicitor who had dealt with granny's will last year. Mark something.
'One thousand pounds. Any increase on one thousand pounds? One thousand pounds once, one thousand pounds twice,' she paused dramatically and brought her gavel down sharply on the dais before her. 'Sold to Mr. Delagrange for one thousand pounds.'
And then she even winked at me. 'That's the last wink you'll ever wink... before I kill you,' I thought.
He came over to me.
'Remember me?' he asked.
'Yes,' I stammered, blushing.
'Yes, I remember,' I answered.
'Come round to my house at ten, on Saturday, OK?'
'Yes Mark, I mean Mister Delagrange...ten o'clock on Saturday. Yes. Ok...'
'Call me Mark, Heather, please...'
My mother butted in.
'Heather, we're just three hundred pounds short of our target after tonight, thanks to you!'
I couldn't think of anything to say. My mind was reeling. I heard Mr. Delagrange, however:
'I'll make you a cheque for thirteen hundred pounds, then, Mrs Simkins and then I, or Heather really, will have saved your tree for posterity!' He smiled.
'Saturday, then,' he said to me, turned and left.
I was petrified. For the entire week in fact. I felt my entire brain had turned to impervious limestone by about Tuesday night. The more I thought about it the more I couldn't get the image of me lying there, naked, being repeatedly fucked by a relative stranger, Mark Delagrange. I felt sick with dread.
By Saturday morning I couldn't stop shaking and I wanted to close my eyes, open them and find myself somewhere else. Mum had packed a small case for me with several changes of clothing. I walked round to Mr. Delagrange's house, walked up the gravelled drive, which had clearly been raked that morning and rang the bell.
He answered the door. Come inside,' he said.
By this time I was shaking uncontrollably.
'I'm sorry, Mr. Delagrange, I can't do this.' I started to cry and I felt absolutely pathetic.
He took my case and my hand and led me back outside. He told me to get into his car. Once we were both in the car he said:
'Look, Heather, I presumed you were happy about this weekend. I'm certainly not going ahead with it when you feel like this. I'm going to take you home; if you want to we can try again next weekend -- but only if you want to -- get your mum to change the bookings. Otherwise just return the cheque and we can forget it ever happened.'
He paused. 'I would never do something you weren't willing to do. I thought it would be fun.'
I must have frowned.
'With you, I mean. Tell your mum I have had to cancel until next week if you want. And please start calling me Mark -- not Mr. Delagrange, all right?'
I nodded and tried a smile.
He took me home and I did as he said. I still don't really know why but after talking to Mark in the car I felt better about him and about being with him. By Tuesday night I was imagining how he might look naked as I went to sleep. And the cheque had been banked and I wanted that money to do what we had intended it to do. I couldn't lose my tree now. I had rationalised things even to the point of saying that I had not been in any kind of relationship for nearly two years and a thorough workout with an attractive man would do me good.
Then I began to wonder if he actually was attractive. Quite average really in most ways. Clever I suppose and relatively well off. Polite, charming. And he had been kind on Saturday. I felt better.
Saturday came and I set off again with my little case and walked round to Mark's. I had confirmed with him on Wednesday that I would be coming.
'Good. I'll look forward to seeing you,' he had said.
I rang the bell and he opened it moments later.
'I saw you coming from upstairs,' he said. He smiled: 'I was looking out for you. I hoped you would come. Come inside, Heather,' he added.
Mark led me into the lounge. I put my case down. Mark was looking me over in my jeans and t-shirt, which showed off my good figure well. I had worn tight clothes to look good for him.
'Would you like to undress now?' he asked.
That took me by surprise but I had envisaged all sorts of scenes in my mind during the week. Undressing had been one of them. I just hadn't expected it so soon. I didn't panic however and began to strip. I tried to look really sexy.
I kicked off my trainers so I was barefoot. I wasn't wearing socks. Slowly I lowered the zipper on my jeans and pushed my hand inside them, on my crutch. Then I moved my hands to lower the jeans off my behind, bending to wiggle my bum as they slipped lower. Soon I was wearing just black lace panties and a pink t-shirt.
My eyes locked on Mark's.
'Are you all right?' he asked.
I nodded. 'Fine,' I said. Then more confidently since, as I was going to strip down completely, it made no difference to me but, somehow, I did want to please him, to excite him even. 'What do you want off next, Mark?'
'Your panties...please, Heather.'
I pushed them down and then with my left foot deftly picked them up and tossed them to Mark. He caught them and held them in his hand.
'Walk around a little,' he said. I walked around, my bum and my cunt clearly visible. I don't have pubic hair, I have always liked to stay smooth even though it makes me more on show to a partner: I like it that way. I knew Mark was staring at what he could see.
'Show me round the house, please,' I said.
He didn't say 'Like that?' or anything. He accepted it and we set off. I didn't feel silly as I walked around -- in fact I enjoyed knowing he was watching me. Upstairs we passed one door without looking in.
'What's in there?' I asked.
'The main bedroom; it's so big I find it cold -- I prefer my smaller room. I don't usually use that one,' he concluded. He never opened the door.
In his bedroom I knew he would ask me to take off my t-shirt and then my bra.
'Only if you are comfortable I'd like to see all of you now, Heather.'
I pulled the t-shirt over my head and dropped it. Mark picked it up. He was still holding my panties. He looked at me, waiting.
'You unfasten it and take it off, Mark, if that's what you want,' I told him. I was just a little turned on, suddenly.
Mark came round behind me, unfastened my bra and then moved in front of me, taking the bra away. He could see all of me now. My nipples were erect; I wanted to be touched. Mark took me in his arms and held me.
'You are very beautiful,' he said quietly. His hands were on my back; he hadn't tried to touch me anywhere intimate; he hadn't attempted to kiss me. He just held me.
Then he led me back downstairs to the lounge where my other clothes were. Mark handed me the bra and panties.
'Get dressed, Heather, all right?' He left the room for a couple of minutes. When he came back I was fully dressed again. I was running a comb through my hair.
Mark picked up my case.
'Somehow none of this has been what I thought it would be,' Mark said. 'I'm not sure about things. I think what you did was wonderful and worth every penny I paid. Consider the debt paid, Heather and I hope we can become friends.'
He sort of led me towards the door.
Next thing I knew I was outside on the doorstep and the door was closing behind me. I walked slowly down the drive towards the gate. And then I stopped, turned and walked back to Mr. Delagrange's front door. I rang the bell firmly and for a good few seconds. Mark answered it of course. I didn't wait for him to speak. I marched in.
'Look, Mark. I know you are trying to be honourable and to be a gentleman, which I think you are. But you can't make up the rules all the time. To you I may be just a slut for doing this but I contracted in and my honour of paying my debts and keeping to an agreement is also at stake. I want you to use me for your pleasure until four o'clock tomorrow afternoon so that I can look at my tree with my head held high and know that I did it. I did it good and properly. And if you want to do something to make all that work just a little then you'll go along with it and you'll...' I caught my breath; I realised I was almost panting and that Mark still hadn't said a word; I had been shouting so I softened my tone somewhat and continued: 'you will at least make it enjoyable and fun for me. If you want to, that is.' I stopped and stared at him.
'Come here,' Mark said. He folded me in his arms, for the second time that day, and kissed me. I responded and our kissing became more intimate, more exploratory. Then he moved his face away a little and looked into my eyes.
'That was amazing,' he said.
'I have kissed before,' I said.
'No, the speech, I didn't know you had so much fire, so much pride. You're not just beautiful, Heather, you're a force.'
He smiled. I'd never been called a force before. I said: 'So the kiss was no good, just the speech,' I teased.
'No, I didn't mean that,' he said, clearly flushing. I took his hand.
'Do you accept what I said then?' I asked him.
'Yes, I promise I will try to please you while you honour your promise. And I don't think you're a slut at all, Heather, honestly.'
He seemed so nice, vulnerable even, at that moment.
'I'm going to leave now. I will return in a few minutes and we can start the day again. All right?'
'Yes, yes, that's fine,' he replied.
I picked up my case and left. I heard the door close behind me.
I walked down the road a little. I actually felt good about myself again. Not just about my appearance but about how I felt and about what I had said to Mark. I stopped and turned again. I walked back to Mark's door. It opened as I reached the top step.
'Hi, Heather,' Mark said. 'Come on in.'
He took my case. I sensed he was a little nervous but excited too. So was I.
I liked it when our eyes met and held each other's gaze.
'Undress, Heather,' he said.
I undressed again, completely this time. I turned to face him. I sensed the tautness of my breasts, the cool air on my cunt. I was aroused.
I walked over to Mark and began to unbutton his shirt. I took it off and pressed myself against his chest. I lifted my face to his and we kissed again, more deeply, more sure of each other's willingness, I suppose.
Now don't go all gooey and romantic on me, it wasn't love or something, it was mutual acceptance of a sexual encounter. That's all it was.
I fumbled with his belt as we kissed and opened his trousers. I felt inside and found his cock, all hard, hot and turned on. His trousers fell away and he was just in his shorts, socks and shoes. He looked a bit silly but I smiled at him.
'Let's have another look at your bedroom,' I said.
He took the lead and swept me into his arms and carried me, a bit like a sack of potatoes, partly over his shoulders, up the stairs. He put me down on his bed and I lay there watching as he undressed.
I moved under the duvet, pulling it nearly fully over me.
'Come to bed,' I said. He got in with me.
I pulled him to me. My hand moved to his cock and I touched it for the first time. Cautiously he moved his hand to my nipple and began to play with it, barely pinching it.
'Hurt it a little more, if you want to, Mark,' I told him.
I squeezed the tip of his cock and then moved my fingers across his scrotum. I felt the prickly skin tighten and he whispered: 'God, Heather, this is good.'
He pinched my other nipple quite hard and I squealed.
'Sorry,' he said.
I said: 'Don't keep apologising, Mark. You're here for what you want. It doesn't mean I don't like it or don't want it if I squeal or moan at you.'
'You said I had to make it fun for you. I want to do that, Heather.'
'Ok. I'll tell you if I don't like it. But that won't mean stop it. I'll also tell you if I want you to stop. Otherwise you'll carry on. Deal?'