Into the Woods

For 'David', with love from 'Cassie'. There's no-one I'd rather be in lockdown with.

Thanks to BelleCanzuto for comments and confirming that the British English should be comprehensible to an average American.

*

"Hello, love? Wasn't expecting you to call until this evening. How're you doing?"

"I got the internship! And, David, guess what -- they'll even pay me if I work a whole twelve weeks over the summer! So now I just need to find somewhere to live, nearby."

We'd known I'd be needing to work, somewhere, over the summer vac. And that any job would be unlikely to be near our uni, for someone at the end of her second year of undergrad. I'd resigned myself to three months of tedious temping, staying with my grumpy mother, and only being able to afford a couple weeks' unpaid lab experience, the bare minimum for anyone wanting a lab career after graduating. This summer placement at a prestigious research institute solved both my problems.

Except -- if I was a hundred miles away over the summer break, whilst David was stuck in our university town, trying to get the last few results he needed for his doctorate, we would be seeing much less of each other.

I'd been seeing him for about six months, starting as a kinda no-strings-attached one-night-stand, which just happened to have been repeated a few times. Eventually we'd reached the stage of no longer denying that we appeared to be in a relationship. But... if we were separated over the summer, would David be happy to accept that, even if it was necessary for my future?

Or would he decide that seeing me was no longer worth the effort?

"Oh, Cassie, congratulations! That place was the one you really wanted, wasn't it? And you can use it for your final-year project, if it's that long!"

I let out a sigh of relief. He'd passed the first test.

David paused on the phone. "I guess I'll be driving down every weekend, then."

Passed, and then some.

Him being delighted for me was great, but I was less enthusiastic when David called back that evening.

"I can't find anywhere to live," I wailed. "I've gone through almost all their list of places that usually host short-term staff. They're all full, or have builders in. Just two still to get back to me. I did call a couple of the places advertised in newsagents' windows, but those landlords sounded really dodgy..."

David was reassuring, as usual. "Something'll turn up. Don't you worry, Cassie. You could put an ad up at the institute? Someone probably knows someone going away for the summer."

"I suppose. The lab tech said I could kip on his sofa for a week if need be, but I'd rather not."

David phoned again at lunchtime the next day. "Any joy?"

"No!" I just managed to avoid snapping at him. "One was someone completely unrelated who wouldreally like whoever is giving out her number to stop it, and the other has just given birth to triplets."

"Seriously?"

"She certainly sounded serious. And exhausted! Her mum's living with them at the moment, who did say she'd ask her mum, who's hosted people before but doesn't any more."

"Ah, well. I'm sure an estate agent could find you something."

"I've looked. Loads of rooms, sure, but they cost as much as I'll be earning! Oh, incoming call... excuse me..."

I called him back three hours later.

"Good news! I've got somewhere to live, and it's dirt cheap!"

"What's the catch? Have you seen it?"

"That's what I thought, so yeah, I went along to check it out, immediately. It's the triplets' great-grandma. She's just down the road from the institute, so I won't even need to pay bus fares! But get this -- only thirty-five a week including breakfast and dinner, thirty without dinner. Unlimited tea, toast and cereal, and she makes cake and crumble on Sundays."

"Wow! Why wasn't she snapped up earlier?"

"Well, she's in her eighties, can't do with loud people any more, wanting guests all the time, but she figured I'd be OK given I'll be there only for a set twelve weeks, then going away again. Nice respectable young lady, me! There's no shower, just a rubber hose from the bath taps."

Then I gave him the actual bad news.

"And no overnight guests -- it's a single bed, anyway."

"Ah." He paused. "I suppose, I'll just drive down for the day, every two weeks then."

David's disappointment was obvious, much as he tried to be glad for me. We knew I wouldn't be able to travel to his every weekend, and in turn that would boil down to sex once a fortnight, when I did make it up to visiting his shared flat.

We vowed to make the most of those weekends. If I arrived late on Friday night via the coach, leaving late on Sunday... Perhaps, a couple months in, we could treat ourselves to a night in a cheap hotel?

A month later, I settled into the work. My elderly landlady was a sweetheart, proffering tea as soon as I got in each night, along with a steady supply of biscuits. She would tell me all about her day watching TV and anecdotes about her huge family while I slumped on the sofa, brain-dead from all the new experiences. I let EastEnders and Corrie wash over me while Stella filled me in on years of back-story of both soaps.

Stella's cooking proved to be terrible -- sardines on toast, baked beans on toast with faintly rancid butter -- so I tactfully claimed my hours were too erratic to commit to dinner at hers. Instead, I would fill a box from the work salad bar, or buy sandwiches, at lunchtime. It worked out well, for scoffing after a few drinks with my friendly workmates, who felt it their scientific duty to introduce a newbie to all the pubs in the area.

"Let's all go to the Cross Keys on Thursday night, for the pub quiz!"

"Where's that?"

"You know how you go north from us, past the Old Red Lion and the Mucky Duck, right, and you get to the Beefy Bastard?"

The Black Swan and the Baron of Beef, I mentally translated.

"So, if you go on past the lake a couple minutes -- about another ten, fifteen minute walk -- you get to the Keys, on the edge of the big nature reserve," Michael the tech explained. He was a biker as well as a local guy, so often forgot the rest of us were on foot.

"Ooh, it's so lovely there in the summer! So many big green areas with little streams, then the woods full of cute little paths. Once you get away from the large trails, you don't see a soul, not even the people walking their dogs," Shannon the Texan post-doc added.

"One of London's hidden treasures, it is. You can get the bus back, after," Roland the chief technician reassured me. He was around sixty and acted like a wise uncle to all of us, but especially those of us younger than his own numerous children.

"Come on! We need youth on our team!" Verity, my hard-boiled boss, made it clear she expected me along. I figured I could leave Stella watching the soaps by herself for another night. Besides, she'd have so much fun filling me in, next time.

We arrived at the pub in time for a table, a warm welcome, and for a round of drinks to be obtained before kick-off.

"On your tables is the picture round... you have until the end of round three and then I'll be collecting them in. First prize is fifty pounds behind the bar, ten pounds for second prize. Usually a fight between our regular leaders, Let's Get Quizzical and... Definitely Norfolk... apparently... Enchants. Round One is Current Events. Who's been reading the papers this week apart from me? Question One..."

It was a good night. The team sternly referred to as Definitely Norfolk won, but our team -- Shoulda Brought The Dog -- pipped their usual competition into third place. Verity bought a bottle of wine with our winnings and the six of us -- Shannon had brought her husband Nick who worked downstairs -- enjoyed ourselves until kicking-out time.

Michael checked his watch. "Bus is in fifteen minutes. You can still see a bit thanks to those security lights -- come see the green! Hop up on that stile -- people think it's private inside, see, but it's not -- lovely, innit? A real secret paradise, this place."

Private. How I wished for some privacy!

The first weekend, David had come down for the Saturday, made polite conversation with Stella; then we escaped. We wandered around town and had an excellent dinner, but certainly no hotels we asked would offer us a cheap rate for a couple hours. David didn't have the imposing physique of Jack Reacher, nor were even small London hotels staffed by laconic locals eager for a backhander, unlike all the motels Reacher visited.

Reluctantly, we limited ourselves to kissing enthusiastically -- making out as much as one can on a deserted station platform without being done for indecent exposure -- and parted.

I called David as I walked the last bit home. We were both feeling the sexual frustration. The sultry warmth of late June didn't help. David had a bright idea for his next visit, but I wasn't impressed.

"No, I've never fucked in a car and I'm not starting now! Way too uncomfortable!"

"They do it all the time in American movies."

"Not in a bloody two-door hatchback, they don't! I mean, where do you even put your legs?"

He conceded the point. A large, lumbering Oldsmobile was nothing like a compact Vauxhall Corsa.

"Also, I'm not from Essex!"

"Aw, ain't yer, Sharon?", he teased. I felt sorry for anyone named Sharon who didn't in fact wash all her brains out with her hair bleach.

Classic Essex Girl jokes:

How does an Essex Girl turn the light off after sex? She closes the car door.

Why does an Essex Girl wear knickers? To keep her ankles warm.

I'm from at least ten miles into the noble county of Suffolk, across the border from Essex, thank you very much.

"Oi! Do you want to get your leg over tomorrow night, or not?"

"Sorry, sweetie. Hey, it's less than twenty-four hours, now! I'll see you tomorrow, love. Can't wait. Love you. Bye!" He'd hung up.

Had he meant to say he loved me? Or was it just a verbal tic?

The next day, I ran from work down to the Tube, leapt on a train about to depart, caught a coach which didn't get stuck in too much of the rush hour, and phoned him the moment it left the motorway.

"It's me! Meet me at the roundabout by the big Tesco's, at the bus stop, in about fifteen minutes. Or else!"

He might habitually be late, always finding something to distract him, but for once, David's timekeeping was impeccable. I jumped from the bus into his car, he swept me home, and we spent the entire weekend shagging like bunnies.

With the occasional break for food.

Sleep? Not so much.

Sleep was for Monday night, plus the journey home. Despite the airline-style seats, I zonked out for the whole of the two-hour ride, sore pussy throbbing happily.

We'd taken advantage of his flatmate being out most of Saturday to shag over every possible surface -- kitchen counter, coffee table, back of the sofa, arm of the sofa (those two, I might happily try again), before retreating to his bedroom to give the cheap mattress on his double bed a good workout. And the bed.

"Oops," David commented, on Sunday morning.

"What?"

"See the rail there? The top of the bed-frame?"

Cheap, white, tubular metal. "Yeah?"

"See how it's bent?"

"Oh, yeah. You mean it wasn't, before?"

"No. It wasn't. You're a liability, woman!"

I was defensive. "Well, if you will do things with your tongue that make me have to hang onto the furniture so I don't whack you with a flailing hand..."

"Oh, it's my fault, is it?"

"Definitely."

During that day, I grabbed the bedpost instead for dear life, and he sat on my legs as he drove me to distraction with his hand, then his mouth, then, finally, after much begging, with his good-sized cock.

God, I'd needed this weekend! In retrospect it might have been a bit much, calculating that after tea we had a whole fifteen minutes before having to leave to catch my coach. I'd turned to face away from him, flipped up my long skirt to expose my arse, pushed my pants down, and pleaded with him to shove his cock inside me one more time.

I say pleaded, but really it was just the mildest suggestion. He didn't need any persuading at all to push me over his yellow pine dining table and force himself into my swollen cunt, thrusting like a pile-driver as I spread my legs wide, arms gripping the edges of the table, my chin and tits squashed painfully flat against the wood.

It was brilliant.

I felt it until at least the Wednesday.

A throbbing pussy livened up the monotony of cutting tiny slices of material, microns-thin, no end.

It was my third week in the lab, and I felt I was getting the hang of what I was doing. I'd even argued with the other post-doc, suggesting that my results showed something he claimed wasn't so. Always volatile, he'd yelled at me in his heavy Russian accent until I'd pulled out a set of slides I'd made, put one under a microscope, and asked if that didn't prove it. He shook my hand and said, "That is good. Velcome to your scientific career!", before sighing over his papers as he tried to align his results and mine into a new hypothesis.

"We might get a really good paper out of this," Verity exclaimed, much more enthusiastically. "I'll put your name on it!" This generosity was mere courtesy -- as soon as the paper had grown from her and Alexei's work (to be cited as Chernov & MacDonald; lab heads are always last author) to include Shannon's, it had become 'Chernov et al.' At which point adding extra names of anyone who had made any contribution at all, in descending order, was par for the course. You never see three-author papers in our field, put it that way.

Still, at my nascent career stage, it was an achievement, and I was well chuffed! Though a day later, cutting yet more blocks for yet more slides, trying to pin down the precise start of... I won't bore you -- I'd have happily swapped it for a shag.

The lack of sex was killing me! I hadn't realised how spoiled I'd been over the last year, with David only ten minutes walk down the road.

David arrived in time for lunch that Saturday, prompt again despite the traffic. I'd assembled a picnic, which we planned to eat in the park. I'd assumed we'd wander to the local park, which offered a pleasant enough spot under plane trees, well away from the rec ground or play equipment. We could canoodle, at least. But for some reason -- he wouldn't explain what, the stubborn git -- David insisted on Regent's Park, way into central London.

There were, at least, many fairly-secluded spots there where we could eat a quiet picnic, and we enjoyed our late meal in the corner of a formal garden surrounded by small hedges. Then David took my hand and we went exploring.

It was all beautiful; mature green wooded areas between lawns and flowerbeds. A few parts were crowded, but it was easy to escape the crowds. There were many small copses of trees, some surrounded by hedges, all with shrubs near. Fading pink rhododendron flowers were drying up as roses were in full bloom and jasmine came into bud. We ducked under a branch and through a sort of tunnel of branches to enter one copse, and I realised David's plan.

Unless someone happened to be lying on the grass outside, looking between the trunks of the shrubs, we were completely invisible to anyone in the park. It was summer; the earth was dry with a sprinkling of leaf litter, and we had the picnic blanket to lie on.

Perfect. A private sex den.

I couldn't wait to get David lying down and his cock out.

Only one problem.

Someone else had had exactly the same idea.

"Oh! My god..." the nude woman moaned, followed by shrieking, much less happily, "Oh my god!"

The man lying on top of her, mid-fuck, his arse pistoning up and down like a brown mechanical mushroom, was less easily distracted. He kept thrusting, grunting, until she screamed at him, no sexiness at all, "Oh, for fuck's sake, Pierre!"

He stilled and turned his head grumpily to us.

We did the obligatory English thing.

"Sorry, sorry! Didn't mean to disturb you! You carry on, we must be going... Don't mind us!"

We reversed, stepping awkwardly over tree roots, and eventually back into the open.

I'd never seen other people fucking before, not naked. The odd student party ended up with couplings, but usually rooms were found before they got quite that far. Or if not, clothes remained in place, and a blanket would be going over to enable plausible deniability. Well, deniability.

I rather liked the idea of watching a couple having sex, I decided. Only these two had made it very clear they didn't, which made them an instant turn-off. The woman's bare leg leading to the curve of her bottom, his muscled firm back and bobbing bum, all very nice to look at -- but me the observer being unwanted had ruined the view completely for me.

David did look somewhat sheepish once we were back out in the grass.

"Are there more bits in the trees?" I asked him.

"Must be," he replied confidently.

We walked around for the next couple hours. Most of the clusters of trees had brambles or nettles round their bases. Those that didn't were too open at the bottom to hide anything happening behind them.

Finally, reluctantly, we gave up.

"What about going to the nudist beach tomorrow? Should be possible there." David had another bright plan.

"Too windy, full of weird men in their eighties, and seriously, how much privacy can you get behind a windbreak?"

"Yeah, true. And getting to Brighton would cost, too."

"And I really don't want to wander around nude on a beach in England!"

"You've sunbathed topless," David argued.

"Maybe, somewhere warm in France where everyone's doing it, but on a couple hundred yards of manky town beach of pebbles, being stared at from the pavement and by all the old men? No. Forget it!"

We went to the cinema instead.

Even that proved too crowded for anything sexual beyond a bit of wandering hands.

And the movie was crap.

"Sorry. It's been a bit of a washout of a day," David apologised.

"Not your fault," I assured him. "It's been great to see you. But yeah, next time, I choose the film." We grumped back to mine.

David came into my room. We chatted for a bit, then he came to give me a cuddle goodnight. It wasn't that I didn't want to turn that into more, but while Stella might be practically deaf and asleep, the couple on the other side of the wall presumably weren't.

"Serve them right," David suggested. I'd had to put up with their bed thunking into my wall most nights.

"No! Also, the bed creaks like anything." I shifted on it, to demonstrate.

"It'll be fine! Go on!"

He was trying to give me a kiss that could be transformed easily into something inappropriate, when Stella walked in. Stella was a real darling, but I could really do without her kindly bringing my laundry into my room without knocking. Even if she had folded it all for me.

"Oh, sorry to disturb you, dear. I found these socks mixed up with my laundry. Oh, not yours either. Oh. I wonder, whose they could be? I don't remember Denise having blue socks. Maybe she does? She might have bought them, recently. I'll have to ask her. Goodnight, dear, and you, dear."

The fact that she was half-blind was also handy. But even so, there was no way I was trying sex in that room!

"I gave you a door wedge!"

"The gap's too big! It didn't work! And, no way!"

He didn't push the idea any further, thankfully.

David was kipping on a sort-of mate's sofa so as to be around the next day. More of a friend-of-a-friend whom David certainly wouldn't deem more than an acquaintance, just a guy with a conveniently-located flat. No, I wasn't going to go round to have sex at Barry's, either. I knew the guy would eavesdrop. He was that kind of slime-ball.

At least David realised that would be the case, so didn't even bother suggesting it. I bet he didn't really want his sex life to be the subject of Barry's bedtime wank, either. So we parted on good terms.