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From: alison.whitehead@tiscali.co.uk
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Subject: {ASSM} A Lovely Man [MF 1st cheat]
Date: Tue, 28 Oct 2003 21:10:08 -0500
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A Lovely Man    [MF 1st cheat]
------------
by Alison Whitehead (c) 2003


Gran climbed slowly up the steep field towards the road. 
Eighty-two years had taken their toll. The large bucket 
that she'd carried to the pigs was heavy even now that 
it was empty. Still, there would be pork and bacon for 
the family at Christmas time. 

She glanced up as a motorbike slowed and stopped in 
front of her cottage. By the time she reached the road 
and opened the gate the young man and woman had climbed 
off the gleaming machine and were waiting for her. 

"Hey up, you two." Gran grinned at them, showing pink 
gums and a shortage of teeth. "Have you come for some 
cake?"

The girl took off her helmet and let her hair stream in 
the wind. 

"We've come to show you Mick's new bike. But I can 
always eat some of your cake. Shall I put the kettle 
on?"

"You know where the things are." Gran stared at Nell and 
she responded as she always did by stretching to show 
how flat her stomach was.

Gran chuckled and looked at her grandson standing with 
his helmet off. "I don't know what you men are coming 
to. You've been going with Nell for two years now and 
there's no sign of my great-grandson." Gran said to the 
girl, "Is he no good?"

"Oh! He'll do." Nell looked fondly at Mick and laughed. 
"There's plenty of time for kids yet. You'll have to 
wait a bit. Mick couldn't have afforded that bike if 
we'd started a family."

Gran prowled around the big bike. "By heck!" she said to 
Mick, "I'll bet that can shift, even with a great lump 
like you on it. Not like when I was a lass. Harry and me 
thought we were going well if his old Norton did sixty." 

She chuckled again, "Mind you, the roads were that bumpy 
you didn't half get a thrill. Harry could do anything 
with me after five miles on that old bike."

Mick looked at her and she straightened herself. "I 
didn't always look like this you know. When I was a lass 
I could pick and choose. Now then, how about a ride for 
your old Gran?"

"Where do you fancy?"

Gran scratched her whiskers and thought. "How about up 
on Morridge? You can see half the world from there. And 
the road's straight and quiet. You can give me a 
thrill."

"Do you still get a thrill?" the girl teased.

"I should be so lucky," the old woman retorted. "When 
you get my age it's only your memories that get stirred 
up. Just you wait. Make sure you've got a good few 
remembrances for when you're old."

"Are you right?" Mick was getting impatient. "You'll 
have to wear the helmet or the cops'll have us."

"Don't be daft, lad," she grumbled, "There's no cops up 
there. Half the fun is having the wind blowing your head 
off. You just leave the cops to me. Give us a hand, 
lass."

Mick was on the bike, canting it so the girl could boost 
the old woman onto the back, her ancient jodhpurs 
stretching across the seat. She settled herself with her 
arms round her grandson and nodded to the girl. 

"You get the kettle on while we have a spin. There's 
flapjacks as well as cake. Get stuck in. You're thin as 
a lath."

Nell went into the cottage and Gran's eyes followed her. 
"You don't deserve that lass. She's too smart for a daft 
sod like you. But you're a handsome devil; I'll say 
that. Just like your dad. He was handsome and brainless, 
but the women all went for him."

"Come on, Gran! Just because Dad never took to farming 
like Uncle Jim and my aunties, you've always been down 
on him."

"He never took to farming or ow't else. Breeding tells, 
whether it's pigs or people. Your dad took after his 
father. "

"What do you mean?"

"Never you mind. Come on, now. Let's have this spin."

The bike started with a roar and Mick drove up towards 
the ridge. 

This was the rough country of the East Staffordshire 
moorlands. The dry walls of brown gritstone were tumbled 
down and patched with cracked posts and rusty barbed 
wire. The fields were small and going back to sedge and 
bracken. Black faced sheep ignored the boundaries and 
made a living as best they could. The farms were 
surrounded by ranks of rusting machinery abandoned by 
successive generations. 

Despite it's unthriftyness the moor had character. The 
light was like mother-of-pearl beneath the grey clouds. 
On the ridge, twelve hundred feet up, the rough fields 
were scattered among skylark-haunted moorland and the 
view opened up before them. As Gran had said, they could 
see half the world and from this ridge the Potteries 
were a smoky blur and the Cheshire plain stretched 
endlessly to the hills of Wales. It was a place of light 
and singing air and freedom.

Mick turned the bike along the ridge and accelerated to 
ninety. He felt Gran's thin arms tighten round him and 
the shift of weight as she peered round his shoulder. He 
sensed her pleasure and opened the throttle further 
until he had to slow to cross the main road. 

 "Not so fast on this bit," she said. "I'll tell you 
when to stop."

She was looking intently to the left as he cruised along 
the ridge and then she squeezed his arm. He stopped the 
bike and turned off the engine. There were tears in 
Gran's eyes that weren't caused by the wind.

"What is it?" Mick wanted to know.

"Just remembrancing," she murmured, hardly audible above 
the singing wind. "We came up here, Harry and me, that 
first time. When I'd picked and chosen my man."

They'd stood beside the old Norton, hearing the engine 
ticking as it cooled and Harry had gestured towards the 
bright grass of the little field. She'd let him help her 
over the wall for the pleasure of his touch. 

They walked hand-in-hand until the fall of the land hid 
them from the road. This time, their kiss was different 
from any previous one. She didn't hold back and he had 
no need to urge. With that kiss, they offered each other 
everything they had.  They stood as equals at the edge 
of a mystery. Their hands were slow and gentle on each 
other, tentative and a little nervous. She let him 
undress her and warm her body with large rough hands 
unused to tenderness. His nakedness delighted her with 
its contrasts. The white, hard smoothness was sunburned 
to mahogany at arms and neck and his powerful limbs were 
roughened with dark curling hair. At the centre, always 
drawing her eyes was his urgent maleness, threatening 
and promising at the same time. 

They hovered on the edge of love, caressing each other. 
For a little while they delayed the mating that was the 
only way the tension between them could be resolved. At 
last she lay with parted legs and he knelt between. 

"Are you ready?" she asked him and he understood. Not 
ready for the act of love, for they had been impatient 
for ten months already. It was readiness for all that 
the act implied. They would likely make a child and that 
would bind them into a new life of commitment to each 
other. Growing up on these moorlands taught them early 
that life was hard and serious and best lived with 
someone you could love and trust. 

They became adults as he entered her. The pain was sharp 
and fitting to that moment of transition to adulthood. 
His sudden ecstasy amazed her and touched her deeply. It 
was her triumph that the scalding softness of her body 
could reduce his strength to trembling gratitude. 

And later, her triumph became gratitude as his strength 
returned. This time their lovemaking was prolonged as he 
sought a second release. Suddenly his penis was no 
longer threatening but rather promising to be the 
instrument of her own ecstasy. To her joy, he understood 
and was fascinated and then delighted by her increasing 
pleasure. He helped her to the brink of release and as 
she cried out in her climax he joined her. They slid 
together towards completion and contentment. 

The wind keened through the wire that topped the wall.

"Are you warm enough, Gran?" Mick had seen her shiver a 
little.

"Warm enough," she answered. "I was remembering. It was 
lovely."

She grinned at him. "Do you keep that little lass 
pleased?"

"I think so. She's keen."

"There's now't better. Just think on. If you keep her 
pleased she'll do anything for you. Now then! Take us 
down to the other end of Morridge. Where you look over 
the rocks. You can crack on. This bike doesn't half 
shift - I enjoyed that. How fast will it go?"

"It's new yet. One-twenty."

"Go on then - we should be there in next to no time."

"Hang on!"

--------------------------------------------------------


"What's this place?" he asked as they looked over the 
end of the ridge.

"This is where your dad was started."

"Bloody Hell! Did you always do it out of doors?"

"Don't be daft. We had a bed. It was just your dad and 
your Uncle Jim."

"You had six, didn't you?"

"Ay. Two boys, then the three girls and then little 
Dan."

"I suppose you couldn't stop them?"

She thumped him in the back.

"Pah! You mean them rubber things. Or them pills. No. We 
did it better. I had the kids when I wanted them - 
except for Dan - I thought I'd finished. But that was 
grand - a baby to enjoy just when I thought I was 
getting old."

"Go on! You mean looking at the moon and that."

"Like clockwork. My mum taught me. And when it wasn't 
safe I still gave Harry what he wanted. By heck - he was 
always ready for that time of the month, when he could 
have his wicked way in all the other places. It kept us 
keen. We'd try anything. Is that lass of yours willing?"

"Gran!"

"Ah! I thought she might know what she was at. She's a 
smart little thing. You just look after her."

Gran was pensive and Mick didn't care to interrupt. 

She murmured, "Only the war came. And Harry was abroad 
for two-and-a-half years."

She'd been patient and waited for a long time with 
Harry's child to live for. But the Observer Corps 
detachment had come and the corporal was a lovely man. 
He had a sweet, soft way with words and a body that sang 
to her even under the rough tunic. He'd brought her up 
here on his bike - a Norton too. On the end of Morridge 
he'd lifted the dress over her head and her body had 
counterpointed his song. He had entered her and 
satisfied her and that had finished the affair - except 
for the child growing in her womb.

It was just as well that Harry had got long leave and 
couldn't count too well. He'd never questioned their 
second born son.

But she had only to look at Mick to see the nose and the 
lips of the corporal - the genes passed through two 
generations. 

He'd been a lovely man.

========================================================

This story was workshopped at:
http://www.desdmona.com/fishtank.asp
Thanks to all who contributed.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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