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Sharp-eyed readers will have noticed the title of this story and deduced that there must be three parts to it and you’d be correct. However, the three parts are not grouped together in one section within the Literotica web library because each of the three stories explores different themes, so if you want to read all three, please be aware that one or other of them may contain content that you find disturbing or disgusting.
Chronologically speaking, Chapter One, ‘Sunrise’, is set sometime in the 1980s. It is listed in Incest/Taboo because that’s what it deals with. Chapter Two, ‘On Location’, is set roughly ten years later. It is listed in the Romance section and is, hopefully, the least ‘out-there’ story. The third chapter, this one, is set about thirty years after Chapter Two. It is listed in the Fetish section and if you’re not into anything that might even remotely qualify as a fetish I would politely recommend that you stay away from it.
All three stories are linked by the simple fact that they take place in, around, or are connected in some way to, the small seaside town of Bowen. Bowen is a totally fictional location, existing only in my head although I have based it on a small town that I’ve visited several times in the north of the country where I live. In an attempt to keep the series a little more relatable I have tried to position it somewhere within the continental US, although I’m not entirely certain where. I suspect it might be somewhere in Florida but I’ve never been there so I can’t be sure.
I hope it feels real.
BBV22
January 2025
Prologue
Funny, the things you remember.
“Fucking whore!”
“Ricky, please stop!”
A piercing scream of pain.
Rage. Pure, blind rage.
And then coming to the realization that I was punching him, blood from his nose smearing his face, trickling down into his goatee beard. Punching him because he’d hurt her. Kept hitting him until the chubby little bastard was motionless on the ground beside my truck, my Tahoe.
The drive up the winding coast road to the medical center at Matten because the one in Bowen was so short-staffed they closed at four on a Thursday, driving as fast as I dared, with Tracey in the passengers seat beside me, cradling her arm with blood trickling from her own nose, congealing on her top lip, her eyes closed and her face white as she tried to keep from grunting with pain at every bump. I don’t actually remember that much of the drive itself, but I do remember the tight knot in my gut getting tighter every time I heard her.
Sitting in the medical center waiting room, trying not to feel anxious.
Talking to the deputy when he came looking for me.
Driving back to Bowen in the dark, Tracey dozing beside me now with the passenger’s seat reclined so she didn’t have to be sitting upright, dosed up on a skinful of painkillers, her broken arm in a cast and wrapped in a sling, the blood cleaned off her face at last.
And the looks on the faces of Fiona and Dennis, who owned the farm next to Tracey’s further up the valley, when I explained what had happened right in front of me.
And their kindness as they agreed without hesitation to take her in for a few days.
Water Baby
It was hot and dusty. We had started work as soon as the last of the dew had cooked off the fields and I was well into my second bottle of water already. I came around the last turn, disengaged the drive to the power take-off and lifted the hay rake on the back of the ancient David Brown tractor I was driving. A quick glance over my shoulder told me the rake was winding down, so I turned and headed back across the field I was in towards the gate that opened into the adjoining field where Tracey was driving her bigger Ford tractor with her square baler hitched on behind it. My sunglasses had a thin film of dust on them and when I reached the gate I stopped short so she would have room to drive through when she had finished baling the first field. I eased myself down off the David and stood in the shade of the large maple that was growing near the fence as I cleaned the dust off my glasses.
This was my first experience of baling hay and it was educational, to say the least. I’d spent my life repairing and servicing earth moving and heavy machinery and until I’d moved to Bowen six months earlier I’d never worked a day on a farm. All that had changed three months ago. Tracey had called the service firm I now worked for and I’d been at her farm repairing the David Brown when her jealous and unhinged ex-partner had suddenly turned physically violent, leaving her with a broken arm and a black eye. Her screams had brought me out of the barn in time to see him grab her and throw her against my truck.
I’d left him unconscious on the ground and we were on the road to Matten when he’d come round from the beating I’d dealt to him, my judgment warped by a fury I’d never known before. The police had gone to pick him up but he had vanished and so had Tracey’s father’s old Ford pickup. They’d found him three counties away and then they’d discovered he was in the US on an expired bursa escort visa. The State Department took a dim view of that and he was being detained, awaiting trial and deportation back to Ireland.
I’d only met Tracey a couple of times prior to the day of the attack and they had both been because I’d been called to her farm to service or repair equipment for her. After she’d been attacked, I had volunteered to come visit for a few weekends and help her take care of things until she got back on her feet. She had her arm in the cast for just more than six weeks and I visited at least one day every weekend. As a new resident of Bowen I didn’t have much to occupy me when I wasn’t at work so I was glad to offer my help.
I slipped my glasses back on, leaned on the open gate and watched as she swung the big Ford easily through a figure-eight turn so that the baler collected the last of the raked windrow of hay, swallowing it so that the stalks disappeared into the metal innards to be compacted and tied into another hefty oblong before it got dumped out the exit chute. Dennis, Tracey’s elderly neighbor, was helping us out with his own tractor which had a pair of lethal-looking forks on the front that he used to spear each bale and transport to the large rusty corrugated sheet metal barn at the far end of the hay field. Between the three of us I reckoned we made a pretty good team, despite my lack of experience.
A battered red Chevy pickup driven by Fiona, married to Dennis for fifty-three years and every bit the farmers wife, appeared through the access gate near the barn and she drove over to where I was standing. Lunch had arrived. Tracey drove the Ford over and Dennis rumbled to a halt on his shiny red Massey Ferguson with its fully enclosed air-conditioned cab and we all sat on a large blanket in the shade and drank homemade lemonade and ate sandwiches with cold meat, salad and pickles as the others teased me about my tractor driving ability.
“Don’t listen to them Garrett,” said Fiona soothingly. “They both know they’d be stuck if you weren’t here.”
“That’s okay,” I said, keeping my voice friendly. “I’m sure they know that all I need is a screwdriver and five minutes alone with their tractors and neither of them will be able to do anything for the rest of the day.”
That shut them up.
Tracey and I had struck up a cautious friendship. I’m not going to pretend I wasn’t licking my wounds. It had taken a while for me to make the decision, but one of the main reasons I’d moved to Bowen was to get away from a relationship that had soured with breathtaking speed and, although the pain and humiliation was still raw, I admit that from day one I’d thought Tracey was really nice. To other eyes she was probably too short, her hips too wide, her thighs too fat, to use an ugly word. But I thought she was beautiful. She had a quick sharp wit, ruby-red lips that seemed to like to smile a lot and a happy naughty laugh that suited her pleasant face. She also had an amazing head of long curly hair that reached more than halfway down her back and it was red, just the most incredibly intense shade I’d ever seen. I actually realized not too long ago that if you were to ask me to compare it to someone famous my reply would have been that it reminded me of Karen Gillan, the beautiful Scottish actress, which is not to imply that Tracey looked like her. Her face was rounder, freckled, her smile wider.
Every day I spent with her, helping out, following orders and learning on the job, I was coming to enjoy her company. When she pulled that beautiful long curly hair back into a ponytail behind her head it left her face clear and I liked looking at her warm hazel eyes.
What I didn’t like seeing was the pain in them that stopped her laughing. It happened occasionally, when we were sitting on her back porch having a cold beer after a days work or at odd moments when we were out on the land and she was laughing and teasing me about my soft city-slicker ways. There would be a pause and then her eyes would turn sad and she would look away.
That evening, with the second field baled with two more tedded and ready to rake and bale the next day and three of Dennis and Fiona’s fields to do the following weekend, I sat in a wooden chair on the wide back porch of Tracey’s house and looked out across the lawn to the small river that flowed past in its stony bed a hundred yards away. Instead of a railing to lean against, there was a long continuous seat made of the same timber planking and I had my feet up on it, relaxing. The sun was edging closer to the horizon and the heat of the day was beginning to ease. I looked up as she stepped out to join me carrying a couple of bottles of beer.
“Now you’re talking,” I said. Both Tracey and Fiona had warned me to keep my water intake up and I had but I was definitely going to appreciate an ice-cold bottle. She smiled as she handed it over and I grinned back.
I felt completely at ease as the two of us sat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the cold bitterness and feeling it wash the dust away down our throats.
“Fiona’s bursa eskort right, you know.”
Tracey looked out across the lawn as I turned to her.
“About what?”
“I would be stuck without you.”
“No you wouldn’t,” I snorted. “I’m just a fifth wheel. You’d find a way to manage, a different way of doing things. You don’t need me here.”
She was quiet for a couple of minutes.
“I don’t like to think about you not being here. We’ve only known each other for a few months but I’m so grateful for your help, especially with my arm after…you know. Are you thinking that you don’t need to help me anymore?”
Ricky was something I tried to avoid talking about. My position was that it had happened and we needed to move on. Of course, I wished that it had never happened but it had brought me closer to her and I was thankful for that.
“Tracey, I’ll help you with anything you want me to help you with. You should know that.”
I looked at her sitting in one of the other battered wooden outdoor chairs. I’d noticed early on that she studiously avoided sitting in the third chair, which she’d told me had been her father’s favorite, right up until he’d died and she and her younger sister had become owners of the family farm. With her sister married in Ohio, Tracey had quit her job in the bank at Matten three years ago and become a farmer. Her father had spent the last of his years raising calves but Tracey was looking to diversify. Rearing animals wasn’t the most lucrative of uses for the land, she’d told me and she was interested in horticulture. Every time I looked at her I was filled with a sense of admiration. She was a hell of a lot braver than me.
Now, the sad look returned to her eyes.
“Why are you looking like that?” I asked.
“Like what?” There was a defensive tone to her voice and I smiled to take the edge off my words.
“I dunno, like you’re thinking about something sad. What is it?”
She shrugged and took a sip of her beer.
“Like I said, I don’t like the thought of you not being here. But I can’t ask you to stay.”
“Why not?”
“Because…”
“Because why? I’ll stay if you ask me too.”
And just like that we were there. I felt as if we’d been dancing around the topic for weeks, if not months. She looked at me quickly, looked away when she saw I was watching her and then carefully her eyes returned to mine. I watched and waited quietly.
“I can’t,” she said eventually.
“Why not?”
“Because of what happened.” Her voice was quiet. “With Ricky.”
“What’s he got to do with it? Far as I’m concerned there’s no need mention that bastard ever again.”
“Garrett, it’s not that I don’t want to ask you. I just feel so ashamed.”
“Ashamed?! Why the hell would you feel ashamed?”
“Don’t you see? How can I ask anything of you after you’ve seen that?”
“Seen what exactly? Seen you getting beaten up by that shithead because he saw you smiling at one of my jokes? Tracey, what happened wasn’t your fault. You have no need to feel ashamed. He’s the asshole and you have nothing to apologize for.” I might not have wanted to talk about it, but now that the subject had come up I wasn’t going to let the opportunity to have my say slip past. “I never want to see anything like that happen to you ever again.”
She had her eyes squeezed tightly shut and tears were beginning to trickle down her face.
“Oh God. No, no sweetheart, don’t cry, please.”
I put my bottle down quickly on the wooden decking beside my chair as I slid out of it and knelt beside her. Aside from getting her into and out of my truck after Ricky’s attack, I’d never touched her and now I hesitated, unsure how she’d react. I reached out tentatively and placed my hand on her arm.
“Tracey?”
She sobbed and put her hand over mine and I turned mine to enclose hers in my fingers as I lifted my other hand and gently stroked the wetness from her soft cheek. My heart skipped a beat as she tilted her head and leaned against it, seeking to increase the contact. When she opened her eyes she looked at me and smiled crookedly and I smiled back, trying to soothe and reassure her. She took a deep breath but when she spoke her voice was tight.
“I know what you want Garrett and…and I think I want it too but I’m scared.”
“What are you scared of?”
“I really like being with you but I really liked being with Ricky, at first.”
“I’m not Ricky,” I said firmly.
“No, I know you’re not.”
“So…”
She smiled faintly.
“Listen Tracey.” I gently took her half-empty bottle from her and put it on the deck as well. She watched me with soft wet eyes as I took both her hands in mine and then she smiled her beautiful smile again with more emotion as I lifted them and kissed each one softly. “I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do but if you want to move things forward I’ll be ready when you are.”
She looked at me. With the height difference, me being just on six-two and her being barely over five feet, our eyes were pretty much level.
“I want to ask you to stay but…I haven’t done anything physical…properly…for over a year. Do you think you’d like to? With me?”
I frowned.
“A year? But what about Ricky? He was living here with you…”
She made a funny kind of half-shrug.
“Ricky wasn’t really one for intimacy. I mean, it happened but…there was never really any connection. Not at the end there wasn’t, anyway.”
‘Not one for intimacy’? What a fucking idiot!
“Tracey, I’d like nothing better than the chance to be with you.”
She looked at me again and then, as if it was against her better judgment, she nodded.
“Okay.” She was quiet for a moment. “We need to have dinner. And I need to have a wash, a shower. I’m all sweaty and dusty from driving the tractor all day.”
“Me too.”
It was gone eight o’clock by the time we finished the simple meal we’d prepared. It wasn’t the first time I had eaten with Tracey and we slipped into the routine easily. I cooked some steaks on the little gas barbecue out on the back deck and Tracey boiled some potatoes and made a salad. After we’d eaten she gathered the dishes and took them to the sink but when she turned on the faucets and picked up the dish brush I stepped over and turned the water off. She turned and looked up at me.
“We don’t need to worry about this now,” I said quietly.
She nodded uncertainly and dropped the brush into the sink, then took my hand and led me out of the kitchen. The passage ran the length of the house, which wasn’t large and the bathroom and master bedroom were at the end, not that I’d ever been in there. The bathroom was snug, with a bath, a shower and toilet shoe-horned into a room that was barely three yards on a side.
She turned to me.
“So…?”
“Well, I think we need to be naked if we’re having a shower, don’t you?”
She took a deep breath.
“Okay.”
We stood and looked at each other for a long moment and then I gently took her face in my hands.
“I’d like to kiss you,” I whispered as I leaned forward and pressed my lips to her forehead.
“I’d like that too.”
I kissed her eyelids and she sighed quietly. I smiled to myself as I felt her hands move slowly, tentatively, up around my waist and then up higher to my shoulder blades, her grip getting tighter as our mouths finally met for the first time. Her lips were wet and warm but I kept a firm grip on myself. I wanted to hold her as tight as I could, to feel as much of her against me as possible, the soft plumpness of the body in my arms so pleasing, but her kiss was shy and I could feel her trembling so I kept my movements slow and predictable.
My hands moved from either side of her face and caressed their way down her back. I’d watched her for weeks now as we worked and I’d become entranced by little things like the way she moved, the sway of her hips, the way she tilted her head when she was thinking. I didn’t want to move too fast for her so I just held her against me as the kiss continued but when I slipped my tongue carefully into her mouth and heard her moan, I felt a thrill of excitement as hers began to play against mine and her body began to respond. Her hands moved to hold my face now and her mouth became more eager and I made sure to keep my own excitement and enthusiasm in check so that they rose at the same rate to match hers.
The kiss changed, no longer shy and relief flooded through me as I realized she really did want me. My arms tightened around her and she moaned again. When we parted she looked up at me, her hazel eyes fixed on mine.
“That was nice,” she whispered.
I couldn’t keep from smiling.
“What about that shower then?” I asked quietly.
Tracey swallowed nervously.
“I’m not…Garrett, I’m not…y’know…”
Confused, I looked at her.
“Not what?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Look at me.” She stepped back slightly, her arms outspread.
And then I understood.
“I am looking, Tracey. And I’m liking what I’m seeing. And I want to see more. A lot more. Do you think I’d be here if I didn’t think you were beautiful, if I didn’t find you attractive?”
I saw my words hit their target. She blinked and looked at me again and I saw a faint blush appear on her cheeks.
“Do you really think so?”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “Of course I do.” I pulled her close again. I was missing the feel of her mouth on mine and this time I felt her match my need immediately. This time she held me tight and this time I didn’t try to keep my hips away from her. She moaned again and I smiled through the kiss as I felt her hands move down to my waist, gripping me, pulling my groin against hers and I pushed forward, willing her to feel the growing hardness inside my dusty work shorts.
I pulled at the hem of the light blouse she was wearing. The desire to have her naked, to see her that way, was becoming irresistible and my hands worked independently of my mind. We had to break the kiss so I could pull the garment over her head. I dropped it on the floor and turned back to her. The contrast between her tanned face, neck and arms and the pale skin of her torso was stark, the swell of her ample breasts in her brassiere milky white in the light. I couldn’t help but smile again as she looked up at me, the same nervousness as before.
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