3 comments/ 15555 views/ 27 favorites As Time Goes By Ch. 01 By: Maonaigh This is a long love story in three chapters but you'll have to wait for the sex. If you want a plotless quick thrill, then there are plenty of those elsewhere on this site. Some characters from my earlier stories make an appearance later on in this tale (although it is not necessary to have read those stories, it might help to know the characters). Characters in sex scenes are eighteen years old or over. All characters are imaginary—any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Copyright © 2015 to the author. ***** They called me Little Miss Lonely. That's one of a variety of nicknames my fellow students gave me. Nothing hurtful or rude, just slightly derogatory, things like Sally Shy or the Lone Ranger—it seemed like there was a new one every week. They considered me unsociable. I wasn't really shy or unsociable. It was just that I couldn't stand the kind of pub most of them preferred for their evening's entertainment: places like The Mandolin, a modern 'pub' with ear-wrecking music, flashing lights, bland lagers and alcopops or shots. Oh, and big muscle-bound men with shaven heads and tight suits manning the front door. The sort of place with wall-to-wall people three or four deep, jumping up and down in a head-banging dance. I liked The Monk's Head, an old-fashioned inn dating back several centuries, small and cosy with neither music nor ranks of slot machines. A Free House, it sold a wide range of real ales from different breweries, all of them kept in top notch condition. Truth be told, I don't drink all that much but when I do I like it to be something decent. And I don't believe in drinking until I fall over, just for the sake of it. I did that once when I was new to the college. Never again. I didn't like the aftermath. I think I was also considered odd because I had never dated any of the young men at the college, despite having been asked on numerous occasions (another of my nicknames was Goody-Two-Shoes). The chance of me accepting such a date was so remote as to be out of sight. So of course I was alone the evening that I met Dot. As usual I was sitting by myself on an old wooden settle near the inglenook, sipping a pint of Gales bitter. I had brought other students to The Monk at times but they all disliked the very things I loved about the place. Sod 'em, I used to think, if they can't appreciate a decent pub where you can have a proper drink and actually talk to each other... I was vaguely aware of someone sitting down beside me. Whoever it was spoke, a woman's voice. "Now that's what I like to see, a student who knows the difference between a good ale and the fizzy horse-piss that most of 'em drink. Excuse my language." I turned to look at my new companion who was also drinking a pint of bitter. A pair of merry blue eyes gazed back at me. She was tall; even sitting down that was apparent. I'm five-six so I reckoned her to be six feet or so. She was wearing blue jeans, white shirt and a tweed sports jacket, casual but smart. Dark hair, tinged with streaks of grey and cut in a kind of ragged crop, was short but not too short; she looked to be some years older than me but attractive with it. However, her good looks could not have been described as beautiful nor even just pretty. Let's see, she was... handsome. Seeing that she had my attention, she continued: "It's an odd thing, in Germany and other Continental countries, lager-type beer is superb but when it's brewed over here it's absolute shit. Excuse my language." She gave me a big grin and stuck out a hand to shake. "I'm Dot Barrow." From her accent, I guessed that Dot was from somewhere up North, probably either Derbyshire or Yorkshire, thereabouts, although it was softened as if she had lived here in the South for quite a few years. I took her proffered hand which was large and shapely with closely trimmed nails. The palm was warm, dry, a little hard as if she did manual work, and she had a good grip. I didn't feel disadvantaged as I've got a fairly strong grip myself from the years of helping out on my parents' small farm. "Hi, I'm Fran Roberts. What makes you think I'm a student?" "Oh, I come in here from time to time—I've got a place a couple of miles away—and I know most of the regulars. Few of them will see thirty again, or even forty, so when I see a youngster like you in here, I assume that you're from the agricultural college—not that I see many like you in here. Most of the daft buggers prefer shitholes like The Mandolin. Excuse my language." She took out a tobacco pouch and a paper and started to roll a cigarette (this was some time before a caring government—or an interfering one depending on your viewpoint—banned smoking in public premises). "You mind?" I shook my head. "You got it in one, Dot. I'm at the college. Final year. Then it's twenty-one years old and the world's my oyster." Dot stuck the thin cigarette between her lips and struck a match with her thumbnail. I was impressed. I'd seen that trick in Western films but I'd never seen it done in real life before. Blowing out a feather of smoke, she said: "So, what's your aim then, for when you've finished college, I mean?" "My parents have got a small dairy farm fifty-odd miles away, in Wiltshire. I guess I'll go back there for a while. But what I'd really like to do is have a small-holding where I could grow organic vegetables and fruit, perhaps breed free-range chickens and maybe have a few goats. Nothing big scale: I'm thinking farmers' markets, local independent shops, that sort of thing. Not easy when you're starting out, though. I've got to the stage where I find cows boring." "There's a coincidence. My family have a dairy farm up in Yorkshire. Cows weren't my choice either." Dot took a couple of final puffs and extinguished her cigarette-end in the ashtray. "I'm a carpenter. Love working in wood—I'm pretty good at it too. Got my own little business. As for cows—bunch of stupid four-legged twats is my opinion. Excuse my language." "Dot, you don't have to keep excusing your language. I'm not a delicate little maiden aunt. I agree, cows are stupid twats." I put a hand to my lips and widened my eyes in mock-consternation. "Oh dear, excuse my fucking language." Dot stared at me for a moment and then burst into laughter. "I think I'm going to like you, Fran Roberts. Empty your glass and I'll buy you another pint." "Okay, thanks. But only a half—I don't drink much." "Half it is," Dot nodded as she made her way to the bar. I liked that. People of student age tend to pressure you into having more than you've asked for. Dot just accepted it. That's maturity, I guess. I enjoyed that evening with Dot. We didn't talk profound matters or try to set the world to rights, we simply talked about things which interested or amused us. Once or twice Dot started to say "Excuse my—" but caught my eye and laughed instead. "Old habits die hard," she explained. About ten o'clock I said that I'd have to be getting back to my lodgings as I had an early study call in the morning. "I'll give you a lift," Dot volunteered, "My car's right outside." "Thanks, but it's only about ten minutes walk and I'd like some fresh air." "All right, then I'll walk with you, make sure a werewolf doesn't get you." "How do I know you're not a werewolf leading me into a trap?" Dot shrugged. "Moon's not full this week." "In that case let's go," I said. I'd always felt safe enough by myself in this village but there was something reassuring about Dot and I realised that I'd appreciate her company. "I'm seeing this young lady home, Jack," Dot called out to the landlord, "I'll be back for my jalopy." He waved acknowledgement. As we passed the car-park, Dot indicated a time-battered old Land Rover. "That's the luxury coach you turned down. Not much to look at but a godsend at my place in bad weather." We reached my lodgings and Dot said: "I've really enjoyed meeting you, Fran. Maybe we can do it again sometime." "Yes, that'd be nice." Without warning, Dot grabbed me by the shoulders, pulled me towards her and leaned in to kiss me on the mouth. Her lips tasted of bitter tobacco but they were soft and warm and I found myself starting to respond. Then she let go and stepped back, an odd look on her face.. "I'm sorry, Fran, I shouldn't have done that." I recognised the look—Dot was embarrassed. I started to laugh and embarrassment changed to chagrin. I hastened to make amends. "Sorry, Dot, I'm not laughing at you. Well, I am in a way... your expression was priceless. But I'm not in the least offended that you kissed me. I'm gay, Dot, always have been, always will be." I grabbed her face in my hands and reached up to return the kiss. "That's okay then." Dot's grin was rueful. "That was a sudden impulse and I couldn't help myself. You're a pretty lass and you did look quite kissable. And there is that little something about you... well, I think you'll know what I mean." She changed tack. "Do you like old films, Fran?" "Some, although I haven't seen all that many," I said. "The local cinema has a Bogart retrospective all week. They're showing a favourite of mine tomorrow, Casablanca. Have you ever seen it?" "No." " Would you like to come with me?" "Why, Dot Barrow, are you asking me on a date?" Dot ran a hand through her short hair. "I suppose I am." "In that case I'd love to." A big smile split Dot's face. "Pick you up here at seven. Watch out for my golden chariot." She leaned in to give me another quick kiss before waving goodbye. When I went indoors, Mary Little, one of my housemates, was coming down the stairs, the hall light reflecting from her thick glasses. We were friendly enough without being really close. Mary was tall and built on the comfortable side so you can probably guess what her nickname was. "Not so much of a Goody-Two-Shoes after all, are you?" she said, "All right, Fran, who is he?" "Who's who?" "Prince Charming. The bloke I saw you kissing outside when I was looking out of my bedroom window. I didn't have my glasses on but I'm sure you were kissing some tall bloke who wasn't from the college." "Oh, Prince Charming. A friend. Not from college. Look, Mary, it's fairly new so I'd appreciate your not telling anyone." I knew that I was on safe ground here. Mary could be the soul of discretion when asked. "Okay." She regarded me for a few seconds. "Is it going to get serious then?" "I don't know. It's new. Possibly." Mary nodded and said goodnight. Halfway up the stairs she turned and added: "Good luck, Fran. I hope this bloke's good for you." "Oh, I think Prince Charming might be very good for me." And that was the start of it. * * * * * The small cinema had seen better days. Built in the Twenties or Thirties, it had lost most of its former glory and now looked tired and sad. It had been closed down several times and then money had always been found from somewhere by somebody to tidy it up and reopen it. It wasn't really geared to modern films and I think the current owner must have been quite a film buff for the cinema often showed retrospectives of old black-and-white films. Although I'd never seen Casablanca, my grandparents had talked about that and similar films, you know the line: "They don't make 'em like that any more!" I was looking forward to it. As the lights went down and the film started, Dot reached out and took my hand in hers, lacing our fingers together. I responded by squeezing her hand and we moved as close as the arm-rest between the seats allowed so that our shoulders and knees touched. When the show was over, we left the cinema hand-in-hand. We got one or two odd looks but nobody said anything. I had thoroughly enjoyed Casablanca except for the fact that something seemed to be missing. I mentioned it to Dot. "I thought Bogie was supposed to have said: 'Play it again, Sam'." She laughed. "Everyone waits for that line the first time they see it. It's one of the great myths of cinema but it was never there. It's like believing Cagney said: 'You dirty rat!'—he never did say it. He did sing 'Yankee Doodle Dandy' though." We popped into The Monk for a drink and Jack the landlord raised a laugh at our expense with a lisped quotation: "'Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.' I knew you couldn't resist Casablanca, Dot." "Jack, you sounded more like Lauren Bacall than Humphrey Bogart then," Dot riposted. There was more laughter. I loved it—the pub was so much more friendly than the youth-orientated Mandolin. We got our drinks and sat at the table by the old settle, again holding hands. None of the regulars seemed bothered by this, in fact all looked as if they were ready to accept us as a couple. Dot turned to me and raised her glass in her free hand. "Here's looking at you, kid." I'd no idea that you could get such fun quoting from one film script. Dot took me home again, this time in her old Land Rover. As we pulled out from the pub's car-park, she started to sing the song from the film, 'As Time Goes By'. She had a pleasant contralto voice and it seemed quite romantic. She did change some of the words though. Where Dooley Wilson sang: "...Woman needs man and And man must have his mate, That no-one can deny..." Dot sang: "...Woman needs gal and And gal must have her mate, That no-one can deny..." She finished and said: "My favourite song. Love it." At the lodging house we made arrangements to see another Bogart film later in the week. Dot kissed me again, a little more slowly this time. I threw an arm around her neck and nibbled a little at her lower lip. She looked at me and said: "Do you think this could be going somewhere, Fran Roberts?" I realised then that I wanted to see a lot more of this woman. "Oh, I hope so, Dot Barrow, I really hope so." When I got into the house, Mary Little was practically standing behind the door waiting to pounce. "How was it? Did you have a good time? Did you enjoy the film? I didn't see him because he stayed in the car. What's he like?" All this on almost one breath. "It was brilliant, I had a marvelous time, I enjoyed the film and... I'd better tell you now, Mary, because you'll find out sooner or later. He's not a he and I think she's great." "She? You mean you're—" "I'm gay, Mary. Now you know why Goody-Two-Shoes never dated any of the hunks at college." I waited for the reaction, expecting something negative. To my surprise, Mary beamed. "They say there's a first time for everything and now for the first time I've got a gay friend. Fran, do your folks know?" "Yes," I told her. "How do they feel about it?" "My Dad was okay from the off. My Mum was a bit sniffy at first but she came round in time." * * * * * I had come out to my parents one evening during the college's previous summer vacation, mainly because my Mum was starting to make old-fashioned noises about meeting a nice boy and settling down. As usual I was working on the farm during the vacation and so I waited until after supper when I'd be sure to get the two of them together. I didn't beat about the bush, I simply told them straight out I was gay and there wouldn't be any settling down with a boy, nice or otherwise. I suppose their reactions were more or less what I had expected. Dad, who was sitting beside me on the sofa, looked up from his local newspaper and said: "Are you happy about it?" When I nodded he leaned over, kissed my cheek and added: "Well, that's all right then, isn't it?" before carrying on reading the farming news. I don't think anything perturbed Dad. If I'd come in and told him a blue-skinned multi-tentacled alien from the planet Zog was at the door wanting to buy the farm, Dad would probably have shrugged and asked how much the alien was offering. Mum, however, seemed to go into a state of shocked displeasure. She didn't throw a tantrum or berate me but I certainly felt her disapproval. Tight-lipped, she asked: "Is this something new with you—something fashionable in college maybe?" "No, Mum, it's not new and it's not something fashionable in college," I told her, "I've known exactly what I am for years." After that, relations between us were quite strained for a couple of weeks. She just... well, she didn't stop talking to me but she talked as little as necessary and then only about essential matters. I'm sure that she had several goes at Dad about it because one evening while in the kitchen brewing us some tea, I heard lowered voices in the sitting room and edged a little nearer to the door to eavesdrop. I heard Dad say: "Look, Maggie love, if Fran is a lesbian, then she is what she is and your being upset about it won't change a bloody thing." Then one morning Mum went into the market town several miles away to do some shopping and when she returned she came to me, gave me a big hug and kiss and a tearful smile. "It's okay now, love, I'm sorry I was such a miserable cow. I think I understand now—you can't help what you are and what nature made you, so live your life any way that's best for you." Snuffling a little, I hugged her back. "What's changed your mind so suddenly, Mum?" She told me. * * * * * Maggie Roberts had just left the fishmonger's and was heading for the bakery when she heard someone hailing her. Turning, she saw a casual friend, Rebecca Wainwright, coming towards her. They hadn't seen each other for some time and spent a few minutes in idle chit-chat. Then Rebecca said: "Hope I'm not being nosy, Maggie, but you look worried about something. Can I help?" "Not really, thanks. It's just something about Fran—a family matter." "Well, it never hurts to confide in a friend," Rebecca said, "Look, we're right beside Caffè Nero—come on, I'll buy us a coffee and if you want to talk about it, I'm a good listener. I might even have the answer." She took Maggie's arm and tugged her towards the coffee shop. A reluctant Maggie allowed herself to be led. When the two were settled at a table with their drinks, they talked about things in general for a while then Rebecca said: "Now, do you want to tell me what's bothering you?" Maggie hesitated, looked around carefully to check that they couldn't be overheard, then half-whispered: "It's Fran... she's... she's told us that she's... she's a lesbian..." "Oh, and I take it you're not happy about that?" "I'm not sure how I should feel," Maggie admitted, "She said she's always been that way but perhaps she's just going through a phase. It does make me wonder where we went wrong, though." "How does your husband feel about it?" "Dave? Dave's okay with it. Nothing worries Dave." Maggie's mouth turned down a little as if disapproving her husband's laid-back attitude. Rebecca leaned forward and put a hand over Maggie's. "How old is Fran now... twenty odd? At her age I doubt it's a phase. And don't blame yourself—you did nothing wrong. If she's a lesbian, then it's something in her, something she was probably born with. Call it fate or nature or whatever you like. And if she's happy with it, why should you worry?" She smiled. "Maggie, you're not alone. Our Emma's a lesbian too. She told us a couple of years ago. 'Coming out' she called it." The Roberts family had looked after Emma, who was a little younger than Fran, for a week several years previously when Rebecca had a stay in hospital. "And how did you and Thomas feel about it?" "How should we feel about it? Maggie, she's still the same person she always was—being gay hasn't changed her nature. She's our daughter and we love her. Just because she'd sooner have a girlfriend than a boyfriend doesn't make us love her any the less. Everyone deserves to find love in their own way. As Time Goes By Ch. 01 "And just as Emma's still the same person, I'm sure that Fran is. So don't give up on her just because you're disappointed about her sexuality. Make a big issue of it and you'll risk alienating Fran and perhaps losing her." Rebecca started laughing. "Besides, look on the bright side—you won't have to worry about some spotty youth with all his brains in his trousers getting her pregnant." The image hit Maggie hard and she laughed too, a loud and genuine laugh. "Thanks, Rebecca, you've just put things into perspective for me. I'm glad that we met. You're right—Fran's my daughter and I love her no matter what. Now I have to go home and let her know that everything's fine." I could have told Mum Emma Wainwright was gay but she would have wanted to know how I knew and that would perhaps have complicated things so I just kept quiet. That's another story and for the moment it was enough that Mum had come round to accepting me for what I was. * * * * * The following week the cinema had another retrospective, silent adventure films this time and we went to see the originals of The Thief of Baghdad and The Man in the Iron Mask. Yet another week saw us watching Lon Chaney in The Phantom of the Opera and Charles Laughton in The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Dot was really opening my eyes to how good some of these ancient films are. The local kids who wanted to see the latest blockbusters must have been very frustrated. Some nights I had college work to prepare and sometimes Dot had to work late to finish a piece of furniture but we were spending more and more time together. I'd had several short-lived affairs in the past and some one-night stands, but for the first time in my life I was falling in love. Over a period of weeks, we became closer and closer. We were accepted in The Monk and not once did we encounter any prejudice or snide remarks there. Of course, Dot had been going there for some years and I suppose all the regulars knew or guessed where her preferences lay. It was just chance, I suppose, that we hadn't met earlier. For quite some time our physical relationship didn't extend much beyond kissing and cuddling in the old Land Rover. I did notice that Dot was smoking less and less and once she offered a casual explanation. "I know I must taste like an ashtray sometimes—can't be very nice for you. So I'm trying to cut down." Then one Saturday Dot told me that she was taking me to a lovely old country pub she knew for lunch but first... "...we'll take a walk up Southdown Hill. It's peaceful up there and the view's spectacular. And nobody ever goes up there." She was right. We reached the summit and little disturbed the quiet save for birdsong and the buzz of insects and a gentle breeze. The view seemed to go on for miles and miles. Down to our right we could see the village and beyond that the blocks of buildings making up the agricultural college. Far over to our left I could make out the Norman castle at Portchester and beyond that the city of Portsmouth and Southsea with the old naval dockyards and the sea glinting in the sunlight. Even the shape of the Isle of Wight could be seen on the horizon. Dot had brought a large travelling rug which she spread on the ground for us to sit on. We had barely settled when Dot turned my face to hers and gave me a gentle kiss on the lips before reaching out with a finger and drawing the tip down one of my breasts until it reached my nipple. It was a very warm day, bordering on the hot, and I had dressed lightly in a roomy cotton t-shirt and a long Indian muslin skirt. For the sake of coolness more than anything, I had not put any underwear on. I felt my nipple stiffen immediately under the pressure of Dot's finger. I threw an arm around her neck and pulled her close for another kiss. Our tongues met in a slow and sinuous dance and with my free hand I started to undo the buttons of Dot's gingham shirt. She eased me down so that I was lying on my back and taking the hem my t-shirt, lifted it until my breasts were bare to her gaze. Cupping one in each hand, she said: "They are lovely—real Goldilocks boobs." Bending, Dot licked each nipple in turn. I couldn't help giggling. "What on earth are Goldilocks boobs?" In her turn, Dot laughed. "You know, not too big and not too small but just perfect." We kissed again, a little harder this time, and I pulled Dot close as she continued to fondle my breasts and play with my nipples. I could feel myself getting wet between the legs and I moaned as Dot's tongue laved mine. Dot took one hand away from my breasts and moved it under my skirt to caress my bare thigh, inching upwards towards my pussy. Both of us were breathing a little more heavily now. And then— Noises came from further down the hill, getting nearer each second. It sounded like a crowd of excited children. "Oh fuck!" said Dot and we both sat up in a hurry. "I'll excuse your language," I told her, "I was just about to say the same thing myself." We managed to tidy ourselves with seconds to spare before half-a-dozen or more children stampeded past followed by several adults who gave us a cheery greeting. The party moved a few hundred yards along the crest of the hill and settled themselves down. Unfortunately, we were still within their line of sight. They began to unload picnic baskets and it was obvious that they were there for the duration. And the kids kept dashing all over the place, one or two of them even coming up to us to ask if we were having a nice day out and if we were having a picnic. I couldn't help grinning. "I thought you said nobody ever comes up here." "They don't usually," Dot said, "Could've been worse, though, they could've caught you with your boobs hanging out..." "...and then you'd have had to tell them the story of Goldilocks..." "...and then some nosy kid would have asked how I expected to get porridge from your tits..." We collapsed against each other, laughing our heads off. "Oh bugger it," said Dot as we tried to control ourselves, "Let's go and get that pub lunch." * * * * * Then something seemed to go wrong. I didn't see Dot for near a couple of weeks following our hillside adventure because I had finals looming, both written papers and practical examinations. We had arranged that the day after my last paper, Dot would pick me up and we would go to a town some twenty miles away where there was a large shopping mall. A bit of retail therapy would do me good after the stress of finals and Dot said that she needed a few things she couldn't get locally. I saw that something was amiss when Dot pulled up in her old Land Rover and I climbed aboard. I went to kiss her and she turned her face away so that my lips landed on her jaw. There was a grim set to Dot's face and she barely said hello to me, just set the car in motion before I even had a chance to fasten my seat-belt. "Dot, have I done something to upset you?" I asked. "Nope!" That was it, just snapped out: "Nope!" And that was how it continued for quite a few miles. I made a number of attempts to start a conversation, each received with little more than a grunted monosyllable. I was becoming more unhappy the further we went, and try as I might I couldn't think of a single thing I'd done which could have put Dot into this strange mood. I'd had enough, though. I saw a road-sign indicating a lay-by half-a-mile ahead and as we reached it I said: "Pull in here, Dot, please." She did so and as the Land Rover came to a stop, I undid my seat-belt and started to climb out. "What are you doing?" Dot said. "I've had it. I'm going to walk back." Dot's face was a mixture of shock and... almost fear, I think. "You can't, it's nearly eight miles." "I'm a country girl, eight miles is nothing to me." By now I was out of the vehicle and went to close the door. "But why, Fran?" "Why? You want to know why? Then I'll tell you why. Ever since you picked me up you've given me the cold shoulder. I wanted to kiss you, you turned away from me. I've tried talking to you, you either ignore me or snap at me. You've made it painfully fucking obvious you don't want me around any more. Excuse my language! I can only assume that you've decided to dump me and you haven't had the guts to tell me straight out. That's why! So if you're going to dump me, then do it now and get it over with and I'll get out of your life forever!" I felt my face burning and my voice breaking as I struggled not to cry. "Fran... I'm so sorry, love... I do want you around... for keeps..." Dot had lost her grim look and I could see unshed tears in her eyes. "It's just... Fran... I'm so scared..." "You're scared? What of?" Dot held out a hand. After a few seconds and with some reluctance I took it. "Fran, I've fallen in love with you. I love you like that film title, truly, madly, deeply. But I'm thirty-nine, I'm almost twenty years older than you. I'm scared that a little way down the road you'll want somebody younger and ditch me." "You've been brooding on this, for what...? nine or ten days...?" I said, "And you weren't prepared to give me the benefit of the doubt before talking to me?" "It's happened to me before," Dot told me, "and there wasn't the same age gap as there is between us. Her name was Ellen and I was five years older than her. We were together for three years. She was a city girl at heart, hated living in the country. Wanted the bright lights and the shops and she loved spending money I hadn't got at the time—my business was quite new then and I was working hard to build it up. In the end she went off to London for a few days, wandered into some gay bar and met a fairly wealthy solicitor who was able to give her what she wanted. So she left me and it hurt me so much, made me feel totally worthless. There's been nobody since until you came along. And I fell for you, almost from that first evening when I saw you in The Monk. And I'm scared that I'll lose you. That's why I've been acting like a prat. For a kind of shield I guess." "And how old was this wealthy solicitor?" Dot shrugged. "No idea." "So it might not have been an age thing at all but a lifestyle thing," I pointed out. "Dot, I'm not Ellen, I'm happy and at home in the country. I don't yearn for the bright lights, and I certainly don't want to get involved with some lawyer, wealthy or not. And to cap it all, I don't care about the age difference—anyway, it's only eighteen years." I climbed back into the Land Rover and held the back of her hand to my cheek for a moment. "Come one, Dot, let's get to this shopping mall." When we got to the mall and parked the Land Rover, Dot exited on her side and I jumped out and almost ran round to where she was standing. Throwing my arms around her and not caring who could see or hear me, I damned near shouted: "I love you too, Dot Barrow, like you said, truly, madly, deeply, so just trust me. And if you ever have any doubts at all, talk to me—no more angry silence." It must have sounded as if I was the elder, not Dot. I pulled her face down to my level and kissed her very soundly. Some woman walking past us muttered: "Disgusting." A devil got into me. "Don't knock it until you've tried it, lady," I shouted after her, "You might enjoy it." Dot smiled for the first time since we set out. "That's my girl," she said, wrapping me in her arms and returning my kiss. She hugged me close and for the first time that day I noticed she was wearing some spicy scent, something familiar that I couldn't quite place. Whatever it was, though, it seemed to be absolutely perfect for Dot. We spent a couple of hours shopping and then took lunch at one of the many outlets in the mall. When not eating, Dot clung to my hand as if still fearful that I might run away from her. I tried to reassure her by sitting as close as possible without actually climbing into her lap. At one point, looking forlorn and with a little crack in her voice, she muttered: "Still friends—despite my stupidity?" "Still friends--and much more than friends as far as I'm concerned." At my reply, Dot lifted my hand to her lips and kissed it. "Thank you, Fran. Let's go now," she said, "There's something I want you to see." * * * * * "This is it, my place," Dot told me. She had parked the Land Rover on a large paved yard and waved to what lay about us. There was a small one-storey cottage or bungalow to our left, its exterior clean with woodwork looking freshly painted. A series of planters and tubs were settled against the walls with trellises mounted behind them, and I could identify clematis, climbing hydrangea and fuchsias among other plants. Beyond that, forming a kind of semi-circle around the yard, was a series of out-buildings, apparently well-kept like the cottage. The drive back had been much better than the drive out. Dot looked happy and relieved although she kept reaching over to grip my hand as if to assure herself that I was real and not just a dream. At one point she said softly, almost to herself: "I don't think I ever loved Ellen the way I love you, Fran." Dot hadn't told me where we were headed; she drove straight past the college and then past my lodging house and I thought perhaps she was aiming for The Monk's Head. But she went right by the pub, through the village and out the other side. A couple of miles on she turned into a single-track lane and after another half-mile or so the paved yard of her home. "This is it, my place." "It looks lovely, Dot." "Thanks. I wanted to bring you here a long time ago but I was so uncertain and afraid about us." Dot put an arm around my shoulders and we clung to each other for several minutes. Then she took my hand and led me into the largest of the out-buildings which turned out to be her carpentry workshop, fully equipped with work-benches, lathes and other paraphernalia of her trade. Against a far wall I could see a narrow staircase ascending to an upper floor. Everything was clean and cared for and there were a number of completed items of furniture on display, small tables, kitchen chairs, rocking chairs, standard lamps. Nothing like the mass-produced stuff you seen in furniture shops. I guess my pleasure must have shown in my face, for Dot said: "Everything made to order, nothing rushed or skimped." "Dot, when we first met, you said you were pretty good. You're beyond that—this is wonderful work." I spotted a small side-door slightly ajar and looked in to find a compact home gym. I could see a set of dumb-bells, an exercise bike, rowing machine and... several different types of punch-bag, with pairs of boxing gloves hanging on wall-hooks. "Boxing?" "Yes, I've got two older brothers, Charlie and Geoff, both pretty good amateurs in their day, and they taught me. Not that I'd fight—it's just good exercise. Keeps me in great shape. But come on, Fran, there's more." She led me past the other out-buildings and suddenly there was a huge area of cultivated land with vegetables and soft fruits growing. There was even a very small orchard with young apple, pear and plum trees. "This is yours too?" I asked, amazed. "Yes, there're quite a few acres. It was an inheritance." Dot stood behind me and put her arms around me, one hand resting casually on a breast. I covered her hands with mine and pressed them against me. "An old cousin of my father's willed it to him, then Father went and died only a few weeks later. On paper, Father had left everything to Mother to get round inheritance tax, but it was understood that the farm be divided equally between me and the lads. We had enough between us to cover the tax on this place. Anyway, the lads weren't interested in moving South and I wasn't interested in cows so I got this and they got my share of the farm. "It was a right bloody mess when I got here, close to derelict. Nothing had been done to the cottage and the out-buildings for years. It took me a good few years of effort to bring it all up to scratch while trying to establish my business as well. As for the land..." She planted several small kisses on my neck and gave my breast a loving squeeze. "...I couldn't manage the land as well so I sold some off and rented out what you see to an old lad called Joe Brownlee. He's responsible for this. "Fran, Joe wants to retire now and asked me to find someone to take over. He's asking a reasonable price for produce already planted and growing. He's also willing to work a couple of days a week for whoever comes in. You've seen that there are several spare out-buildings. I could easily convert them to hen-houses and goat pens although the goats would have to be kept away from the crops. What I'm saying, Fran, is this seems to be what you wanted and it's yours if you still fancy running your own smallholding. Mind you, it would have to be run as a serious business, no amateur buggering about. Why am I saying that—you're a farmer's daughter so you know the score. What do you say?" I could feel happy tears flowing as I spun round in Dot's arms and hugged her, burying my face in her shoulder. I can't recall what I mumbled but she got the message that I'd love to take over from Mr. Brownlee. "Come on then, pretty lass, I'll show you the cottage now," said Dot. The front door led into one huge room, a combined sitting room and a kitchen with not only a modern electric oven but a large, old-fashioned range. The kitchen area was paved with tiles while the sitting room area had wall-to-wall carpet. I could see a couple of central-heating radiators but the sitting room also had a huge fireplace with small stacks of logs and kindling. "This place used to be an old farm labourer's cottage, four pokey rooms and a scullery," Dot said, "It wasn't all that good as it was and it needed modernising anyway, so I had a wall knocked down to make one large area. I did much the same at the back of the house, converted it to one big bedroom plus bathroom with shower and toilet. It cost a fair bit but I had money from the land sale plus a small bank loan and was able to do a lot of the work myself. Come on." We went through to the back rooms which were light and airy. The bath was one of the biggest I had ever seen and there was a separate, roomy shower stall. While the bathroom was tiled, the bedroom floor was of highly-polished wood scattered with rugs. The room was fitted with a row of built-in wardrobes and the focal point was a beautifully-carved wooden bed, at least king-size, covered by a superb quilted spread . "Made the wardrobes and bed myself," Dot told me, "I wanted a little luxury and there it is." She sat on the edge of the bed and drew me down beside her, holding my hand in both of hers. "Fran, I'd like you to move in with me. But the old store-room above the carpentry shop has been converted to a small flat. It's got a bed-sitting room along with a kitchenette and a shower room. If you'd prefer that, then it's yours." She watched me, expression anxious. "What do you think?" I put my free hand to her cheek. "I think we ought to try this bed out for size right now, see if it can handle the two of us together. What do you say?" I was used to Dot's toothy grin but now she smiled, the sweetest smile I had ever seen, and that gave me my answer. She pulled me close, her lips crushing down on mine, her avid tongue searching. She pulled my t-shirt up and off, baring my breasts. "There they are, my Goldilocks boobs, my gorgeous Mummy Bear and Baby Bear." I fluttered my eyelashes, feigning innocence. "What about Daddy Bear?" "Fran darling, we're gay, Daddy Bear doesn't get a look in." There was a mischievous twinkle in Dot's eye. "But Pussy-in-Boots might come into the story a bit later." She took one nipple into her mouth, sucking and licking, while playing with the other between finger and thumb, sending tremors through my body. "Oh, I almost missed this—" She loosened the ties on the side of my long Indian skirt and pushed it off, leaving me naked. Dot sat back for a moment, gazing at me. "Oh God, Fran, you are so lovely—my own little country girl." She kissed me deeply again before returning to feast on my nipples. As Time Goes By Ch. 01 "This isn't fair, Dot," I complained. "What isn't fair?" "I'm naked and you're not." "I'll soon fix that—give me a second." Dot stood, kicking off her sandals and stripping her shirt and denims. Like me, she had gone commando and stood there naked. I caught my breath as I looked at her. She was... well, I thought wow! long, lean and spare, fit and muscular but not heavily so. Her breasts were small and firm with large brown areolas and chunky brown nipples, the size of large blackberries, which stood out hard, begging to be sucked. What did surprise and delight me was that Dot's body was hairless, legs, underarms and pubic area being shaved smooth. I think that perhaps because she was a carpenter, I had half-expected her to be a hairy butch type. I guess I was guilty of stereotyping. "Oh God, Dot, I love your body, it's gorgeous," I whispered, "Come here, I want those lovely tits of yours." "And I want yours. Shall we fight for it or toss a coin?" Dot threw herself back onto the bed and pulled me to her in a close embrace. And then I was able to identify the fragrance she was using. It was sandalwood, very appropriate for my lovely carpenter. She added: "Christ, my beautiful Fran, I do love you. You can't imagine how much I've been longing for this." Holding each other tight, we kissed again, our tongues exploring and sucking; this time the kiss was more tender, slower, more sensuous. "Me too," I gasped when we came up for air, "I love you too, Dot. Don't ever doubt me again. I'm yours, now and always. I'll never let you down." Dot turned me onto my back, spread my legs and lowered herself so that our mounds were pressed together. She claimed my mouth again and for an age we did nothing but plant all manner of kisses and licks and gentle bites over one another's lips and faces and throats. I could feel my trimmed pubic hairs getting soaked by our mingling juices and I wrapped my legs around Dot, locking my ankles behind her back as she started to gently hump me. Head lowered, Dot began to work on my breasts once more, holding and caressing the mounds, sucking, licking and playing with my nipples so well that I swear they swelled to more than twice their usual size. That's the way it felt, anyhow. Dot pulled back and gazed between my legs. "What a beautiful pussy you've got. She can definitely come into our Goldilocks story." She put out an exploring hand. "And you're soaking wet. That's lovely." I've said that Dot's Yorkshire accent had mellowed but she could still lapse into broad dialect when she wished. Still stroking my slit with a long forefinger, she said: "Ee, lass, tha's gradely." I took her other hand and kissed the palm and the inside of her wrist. "Gradely—what does that mean?" I asked. Again Dot gave me that sweet smile. " 'Gradely' means everything that's fine, perfect, brilliant, excellent, what you like. In your case it means gorgeous. You're gradely my wonderful Fran." Kissing me again, Dot straddled one of my thighs and rubbed her pussy against it so that I could feel her slippery juices spreading over me. At the same time, she slid one and then two fingers into me, bending them into a 'come hither' hook and rubbing against the upper part of my vagina, finding my g-spot very quickly. Her hand half-clenched so that her thumb and the heel of her palm rubbed against my clitoris and I was aware of my pussy gripping and relaxing against Dot's fingers. I could also feel those deep-down indescribable sensations that told me orgasm wasn't far off. Dot's face slowly flushed and her eyes glazed over as she rubbed herself harder and harder against my thigh. Her breathing became laboured and so did mine as she finger-fucked me faster and faster. I pulled Dot towards me again and held her tight as we came, more-or-less together. I could hear myself whimpering and Dot emitted little cries. We hugged closely as our bodies calmed down and then we fell apart to lie side-by-side, holding hands and exchanging tiny kisses. After a while, Dot said: "Well, do you think the bed's up to handling the two of us?" I pretended to consider. "Perhaps, but I'm not too sure. I think that I'll have to try it again to be certain." I rolled over so that I was lying on Dot and took her lower lip between my teeth to lick it gently. "Now you just stay where you are, Dot Barrow, and behave yourself—don't make any sudden movements. This is going to be a very important test and I don't want you distracting me." An amused Dot grinned at me. "Well, aren't you the bossy little Pussy-in-Boots. Okay, my lovely Fran, go ahead, do whatever you want. I'll just lie here and enjoy it." "Oh, you will..." Cupping Dot's face, I gave her a lingering kiss, my agile tongue exploring her mouth freely. I licked all around her mouth and chin, jawline and ears, and then settled on the hollow at the base of her throat. My nostrils were filled with the heady scent of sandalwood and I buried my face between her breasts, inhaling deeply. Her nipples called out to me for attention and I fastened my mouth on one while playing with the other. It was certainly the thickest nipple I've had between my lips, not that I've had all that many. I licked and sucked as hard as I could, swapping one for the other every now and then, drawing lazy circles around her areolas with my fingers. I knew Dot was enjoying it because she sighed and moaned almost without cease as her nipples swelled in my mouth. As I worked on her breasts and nipples I moved one hand down between her legs and slipped a finger into her sopping folds. I brought my finger back up and wiped the juices over an erect nipple which I sucked and licked clean. I kissed my way down to her belly button to run my tongue round and round and into it. I could hear Dot's breath growing heavier and her occasional moans becoming more frequent. Shifting on the bed, I made my way down to one ankle and inch-by-inch kissed and nibbled my way up her leg right into the hollow where it joined her torso, reluctantly by-passing her pussy with it's very strong smell of female musk. I kissed across her belly and worked down the other leg. When I had finished that, I at last allowed myself to have a good look at Dot's pussy. It glittered with the moisture trickling out of her and she had a fairly large clit protruding a little from the upper lips. I laid my face and chin against her, rubbing so that I was smeared with her juice. That's the way a cat establishes ownership and I was now her Pussy-in-Boots. I opened Dot up a little and slowly lapped with the flat of my tongue from the bottom to her clitoris. Dot let out a loud gasp and her hips gave an involuntary jerk. "Oh my God, yes!" she gasped, twitching a second time as I thrust my tongue as far as possible into her vagina. I licked all around her dripping folds, mumbling at her inner lips and finally fastening my lips on her erect clit. As I sucked, I slid two fingers into her—she was hot and clinging and slippery wet. Dot's hands pulled my head close and her thighs clamped against me as she came off, crying out several times, her cries gradually diminishing to a rapid panting. I cleaned her pussy as best I could with my tongue and hauled myself up so that I could embrace her. The look on her face is best described as one of pure joy and she started giggling like a kid. Then she tried to speak, her voice gasping and disjointed: "Oh God, Fran... that... wonderful... I never... anything like..." I guessed what she meant. "Ellen never did that for you?" For a few moments Dot worked to bring her breathing under control then said: "Fran, love, nobody ever did that for me before." It made me feel strangely proud that I was the one to introduce Dot to the pleasures of cunnilingus. I gathered her in my arms and snuggled in close. "You'll be pleased to hear that the bed has passed my most stringent test." "So you'll move in with me?" There was longing in Dot's voice. "As soon as you like—as soon as you'll have me. Tomorrow?" Dot said nothing, just pulled me against her more tightly, her face pressed into me. After a moment I felt something wet against my shoulder. I looked down and saw that Dot was weeping. "Dot, darling, why are you crying?" She smiled through the tears. "Because I'm so very fucking happy. Excuse my language..." * * * * * My parents met Dot and approved. Oh, Mum had a few misgivings when I first called to tell them about us. While she was fully reconciled to my sexuality, she worried now that Dot might be too old for me. I explained that Dot had expressed the same concern and we had sorted the matter out. Anyway, Dot very cleverly won Mum over. Some time before we visited, Dot had casually asked if Mum had any hobbies. I said she was a skilled needlewoman and knitter and then forgot about it. Without saying anything to me, Dot made my mother a beautiful little cabinet complete with all the drawers and compartments a seamstress could need. Mum was thrilled. As for Dad, Dot was able to speak cattle with him; I think she avoided mentioning that cows were stupid twats. At a later date we went up to Yorkshire for a few days for me to meet Dot's family. A while before we set out, Dot told me about her mother and brothers. "Look, at first you'll probably think they're unfriendly but they're not really. They're all naturally quiet and not given to saying much unless they think there's something worth saying. I'll be honest with you, Fran, none of them got on well with Ellen but then she made no effort to get on with them or with anybody else I knew at home. I think she believed that Northern community farmers weren't worth bothering with. You're different. You're from a farming family. I think you'll manage to find some way to win them over." From what Dot said, I wasn't too sure about that but said nothing. Instead, I asked: "Obviously they know about you. What was their reaction when you came out?" Dot smiled. "Father was still alive then and I told all of them together. There's an old Yorkshire saying and Father came straight out with it. 'Well,' he said, 'there's nowt so queer as folk!' Then he and my brothers fell about laughing and when they stopped laughing they all hugged me and everything was okay." "And your Mum?" "It was fine with her, too, for a different reason." Dot laughed and added: "You'll probably think this is a bit weird but Mother's religious, not a fundamentalist or a fanatic but you'd still think she'd disapprove. But she believes that everything that happens is part of God's great plan. So if I was a lesbian, obviously it was because He wanted me to be a lesbian and who was she to question God's motives? Nothing more to be said about it." "Dot, will you teach me some Yorkshire dialect so that I understand people and don't need to keep asking you what they mean?" Dot looked at me, love shining in her eyes, then put a hand behind my head to pull me in for a small kiss. "Of course I will, my gorgeous lass. But you'll not hear too much dialect in towns these days, mainly in rural areas." When we were approaching the farm, I was surprised at how gentle much of the landscape was. Turning to Dot, I said: "I thought Yorkshire was all bleak moors, you know, like in Wuthering Heights." "Oh, there's plenty of those," she told me, "I'll take you to see some before we go home. They're not so good for cattle though. There's a lot more to Yorkshire than moors. We've got almost every kind of scenery you'd want here. We're almost home now, just over this rise." I'm glad Dot had warned me about her family. They all greeted me pleasantly enough but did look a dour lot—they could almost have had bit parts in Wuthering Heights themselves. Her brothers seemed a good deal older than Dot, Geoff being the little one and Charlie the big one. This business of their size is relative, little Geoff being about six-three or so, with Charlie topping him by a couple of inches. Mrs. Barrow was a tiny, skinny scrap of a woman with a forbidding air about her so I guess that Dot and her brothers must have got their heights from their father. Another thing that struck me as odd was the way all three addressed Mrs. Barrow as 'Mother' and not 'Mum' or 'Mam'. And yet because of their accents, it sounded nowhere near as formal as it might have done elsewhere. I noticed that from the time we arrived, Dot's accent grew broader. When we went to bed that night, Dot said: "Don't worry Fran, you'll find a way to win them over. Right now they'll address you as 'you'. When they start calling you 'thee' or 'tha' you'll know you've cracked it." Then she gave me a kiss and we slept cuddled up. I broke through with Geoff first. I got up very early the first morning, dressed and went down to the kitchen where Geoff was drinking tea and eating a huge slice of bread. We exchanged a few words and then he said: "I can't sit here gossiping, I've got cows to see to." "Can I come with you?" Geoff looked doubtful. "It's not a tourist attraction. Milking a herd's hard work. And we haven't got any gum-boots to fit you." "That's okay, I've brought my own." He gave a grudging nod. "Come on then." I followed him out to the milking sheds where two farm-hands were already setting things up. I threw my first dart and think I scored a bull's-eye. Pointing to the cows in their milking stalls, I said: "I see you've got a mixed herd--Friesians with some Shorthorns and Ayrshires by the look of it. Let me help you." I pushed past the farm-hands and started to work at one of the milking machines. I heard one of the hands say, "Looks like she knows what she's doing, boss." When all the morning's milking was finished, a suddenly-grinning Geoff said to me: "Tha's done this before, lass." I shot back with a Yorkshire comment that Dot had taught me. "Happen." He put an arm around my shoulders. "Come on, lass, I'll make thee some breakfast." I dealt with Charlie in another way and it was fun. He took Dot and me down to the local pub, The Shepherd—me, I think, with reluctance. It was just the sort of place I love, almost a carbon copy of The Monk's Head. And it was a Free House. Charlie introduced me to the landlord, Alan, as Dot's friend from 't' South' and ordered pints for himself and Dot. Turning to me, he said in a condescending way: "I suppose you'll want some sort of girly drink." I looked at the floor, pretending modesty, and put on a helpless little girl voice. "Well, usually I'd have a very small sweet sherry, but perhaps I could try one of those beer things you've got." I could see Dot, standing behind her brother, face reddening as she struggled not to laugh. I looked at the range of beer pumps and lighted on an old friend which happened to be one of the strongest real ales there. "Oh, that's a pretty name, The Old Speckled Hen. I'll try that." Charlie winked at the landlord. "Aye, right—give the lady a half of the pretty one, Alan." "Oh, no. Could I have a big one like you?" Dot was shaking with suppressed laughter. "Okay, pint it is." Charlie and Alan watched closely as I lifted my glass and took a tiny sip. It was good beer, well-kept. "Well?" asked Charlie. Still maintaining the little girl lost voice, I said: "It seems nice, but I'd better have another sip to be sure." I raised the pint to my lips, tilted the glass and drained it in one go. I turned to Alan and said: "You serve a gradely drop of ale." I stared hard at Charlie's untouched glass. "What's holding you? Come on then, sup up." Charlie stared, open-mouthed. "You've been having me on." "Happen." He turned to Dot who was now chortling out loud. "And tha knew she were having me on. And tha's taught her some Yorkshire." "Happen." Charlie let out a huge guffaw. "By heck, our Dot, looks like tha's got thissen a good 'un this time." He turned back to me. "As for thee—" he patted my shoulder with a hand the size of a shovel, "—well, happen I deserved that. Welcome to t' family, lass." I broke my general rule that night, having two or three more pints with them. It was worth the mild hangover the next morning. Two down, one to go, so Dot and I hatched a plot. One morning Dot announced that she was going to take her mother to York for the day. She overrode Mrs. Barrow's protests, pointing out that the old woman rarely had a day away from the farm. While they were gone I made a substantial casserole with small herb dumplings and a selection of vegetables and a large apple pie to follow. When the two returned that evening, the first thing Mrs. Barrow said was that she'd better prepare supper. "No need," I told her firmly, "it's all ready for you." When we had finished the meal, Mrs. Barrow said: "That were right tasty." Her lips twitched in a smile as she turned to me. "Tha's a grand cook, lass." Across the table, Dot winked at me. The wink said 'You've cracked it, kid.' When we were leaving, a day or two later, the old woman came to me and said: "From now on, lass, you can call me Mother Barrow." I swear there was a small tear in Dot's eye as we drove away. "Mother would never have said that to Ellen, not in a thousand years." * * * * * From the outset of our living together we explored all ways of pleasing one another sexually. It was odd that despite being far older than me, Dot seemed much less experienced and yet I certainly wasn't any female Casanova. I don't think Dot had met all that many gay girls and as time went on, I gathered that Ellen had been quite strait-laced about sex, unwilling to try much other than mutual masturbation or the very occasional bout of humping and neither all that often. Well, I hoped her wealthy lawyer was getting her money's worth. Dot was thrilled beyond words that I was adventurous in bed... and in the sitting room... and in the giant bath... well, you get the picture. It was a great progression for her. And a little progression for me—to please Dot, I started shaving my pubes, something I would never have considered before. She went for oral sex as if it was going out of fashion and couldn't get enough of my pussy—when I first suggested sixty-nine she had me upside down before I could blink. Sometimes Dot enjoyed watching me masturbate, saying she loved my expression when I came. She would take my hand when I had finished so that she could clean it up with her mouth and tongue. In turn I loved using a finger-sized vibrator I had on Dot, teasing her puss until she went off like a firework. And she enjoyed me taking her clitoral hood between thumb and finger and playing gently with it, as if her clit were a tiny dick. In the same Southampton sex shop where I bought the vibrator, Dot found a special toy for our occasional use. It was L-shaped, one arm being about four inches in length, the other an inch or two longer. It also had a couple of little projections to rub against our clits. She would insert the shorter arm into her pussy and shag me with the other. Mostly we climaxed together when using the dildo. On occasion, of course, love-making was off the agenda for various reasons; at such times I slept soundly in bed, feeling so safe and so cherished and so very much loved as we cuddled our bodies together with arms around one another. We did have other entertainment apart from sex. We built up a fine DVD collection of old and classic films and an equally fine selection of music CDs. And of course we had our visits to The Monk's Head. When the new legislation came into effect, Dot and I became civil partners, although we kept the occasion fairly low key. We went to Portsmouth Register Office for the ceremony where we exchanged simple eternity rings: Mary Little had stayed on in the village, having been offered a teaching post at college, and she came with her then boyfriend to act as our witnesses. In the evening, we held a small party in The Monk's Head where Jack and the other regulars presented us with a large framed poster of Bogart and Bacall in Key Largo. It took pride of place in our sitting room. As Time Goes By Ch. 01 I loved my small business—although I'd given up the idea of goats for the time being—and within a couple of years was building very well on the foundations established by Joe Brownlee. Sometimes, when we weren't working or sleeping or making love, Dot would take me into her little gym and show me the rudiments of boxing. Although unlikely that either of us would want to fight anyone, it was good exercise. Before long, what with that and my work, my body was as lean and fit as Dot's and I felt great on it. We were so happy, and all in all we had twelve wonderful years together... The story continues in Chapter 2