Lovin' Summer's Silver Vixen

Number 5 Paynter's Lane was only just outside the village and yet it was completely surrounded by fields. I stopped the car outside the front gate, picked up the parcel that I had placed on the passenger seat, and walked to the front door. From somewhere inside I could hear loud music so I was pretty sure that there was someone at home. I knocked once, and then twice, and then a third time. But there was no reply. It was a warm, summery afternoon, and there was almost no prospect of rain, and so, for a moment or two, I was tempted to just leave the parcel on the doorstep. But then I decided to follow the narrow path that seemed to lead around to the back of the cottage.

I walked down the side of the cottage, pushing past the rhododendron bushes, turned the corner, and there she was. She was reclining in a rustic fan-back garden chair which had probably once been green but was now almost grey. She was wearing dark glasses and a floppy straw hat of the type often favoured by lady gardeners. But that was all she was wearing. I wondered, briefly, if she was sleeping. I wondered if I should discreetly retrace my steps.

'Oh. Hello,' she said. 'Sorry. I didn't hear you.'

'Umm ... no,' I said.

'The music,' she said, nodding in the direction of the cottage. And she smiled.

Judging by her lack of tan lines, I guessed that it was probably not the first time that she had enjoyed the sun's rays in the altogether. Her whole body seemed to be a more-or-less-even golden colour -- even the insides of her splayed thighs. And, at the point where her toned thighs converged, she had quite a profuse patch of pubic hair, light chestnut coloured, with more than a few not-unattractive streaks of silver that echoed the silver hair peeping out from under her hat.

'I'm sorry to ... umm ....' To be honest, I wasn't sure if I should actually go and hand her the parcel, or if I should just leave it on the edge of the birdbath and beat a hasty retreat. 'I was in the bookshop,' I said. 'Over in Hepton. Duncan asked if I could ... you know ... since I was ... umm ... coming this way anyway.'

'Oh. Yes. A new book. Thank you. Duncan said that there had been some new arrivals.'

I kept half expecting her to at least put her knees together. Close the gap. Or perhaps use her hat to cover her crotch. But no. 'Should I ...?' I held the parcel out in the middle of nowhere. And she held out her hand. What was I to do? I took another couple of steps towards her.

'Are you also lover of dirty books?' she asked.

'Umm ... gosh ... umm ....'

'I know that Duncan also has other books,' she said. 'But it's the books in the backroom, isn't it? And, of course, the ones that he gets in specially.' And she smiled. 'So ... what do we have here?' She unwrapped the parcel and her eyes lit up. 'Ah! Yes. The talented Marcia Smith. The Summer of Silver Foxes and Vixens. An apt title, don't you think? Silver foxes; silver vixens. I do like Ms Smith's sexy pics. Who would have thought that it would be an advantage -- a requirement even -- for the subjects of her arousing little studies to be over the age of fifty? Often well over the age of fifty.'

'We're all getting older,' I said.

'Well, yes,' she said. 'I guess so.' And then she smiled again. 'And cunts are still cunts and cocks are still cocks even as we age.' And she began to leaf through the softback volume. 'Oh yes, I can see that I am going to enjoy this,' she said. 'I do so love summer. Now, can I offer you some tea? Or would you prefer something cold?' But, before I could answer, she said: 'No. I think tea. Green tea. I find hot green tea rather refreshing on a warm afternoon -- strange as that may sound.'

'Thank you. But I probably should ... you know....'

'Nonsense,' she said. 'Oh ... and I'm Suze by the way. Susanna when The Queen comes to visit.' She pronounced Susanna as though it was spelled Su-ZARN-a.

'Mike,' I said.

'Right, Mike. Let's you and I go and make some tea.' And she finally put her knees together. I was almost sad to see her glistening purplish-pink labia retreating into her silver-streaked bush.

The inside of her cottage was quite a surprise. At some stage in its history, someone had removed most of the interior walls. At least they had removed the substance of most of the interior walls. There were still little stands of hand-hewn studs, supporting the ceiling at presumably key spots. It was all a bit like being in a sparsely-planted wood. And there was a staircase. Also hand-hewn. 'Interesting,' I said.

'Interesting?'

'The open plan. Not at all what I had expected.'

Suze smiled. 'No,' she said. 'No. I sometimes wonder if someone simply got halfway through a major renovation and lost interest. Not that I'm complaining. I rather like it like this. I think it was one of the things that attracted me to the place.'

Suze filled an old-fashioned whistling kettle and placed it on the hob. Then she picked up a neatly-folded piece of colourful cloth and, in what I guessed was a practiced move, she turned herself into a woman from a painting by Paul Gaugin, or perhaps Henri Matisse. 'It's still slightly cool out of the sun, isn't it?' she said.

I just smiled. But then I was wearing a shirt and trousers.

'Now ... where were we?' Suze asked. 'Oh yes. Dirty books. You didn't really answer, did you?'

'Did I not?'

'I don't think so. I think that I would have remembered. So ... are you? A lover of dirty books, I mean.'

'Erotica?'

'If that's the term you prefer.'

'I have been known to dip into the odd tome designed to speed up the circulation,' I said.

Suze nodded. 'And do you have a preference?'

'A preference?'

'Yes. Professionals or amateurs? The subjects -- not the photographers. Although I must confess that some amateur photographers seem to have almost missed their calling.' And she smiled and lined up two ceramic beakers and a Japanese-style tea pot.

'Well ... it can sometimes be difficult to distinguish,' I said. 'But I do think that there may be a certain something about depictions of some of the more ... shall we say homely? ... models.'

Suze nodded again. 'And is it the girls or the boys that quicken your heartbeat?'

'The girls. Yes.' And then I added: 'Well ... mainly.'

'But you are not beyond the occasional glance in the other direction?'

'Umm ... occasional glance,' I said. 'Although I don't know why I'm telling you this.'

'Probably because I asked you,' Suze said. 'And are you married or otherwise spoken for?'

'My wife died. Last year. Cancer. She woke up one morning with a sore back; six weeks later we were bidding her farewell.'

'Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.'

'She had never smoked or anything like that. But ... well ... there you are.'

'But you have the photographs.'

'The photographs?'

Suze tapped her new book -- The Summer of Silver Foxes and Vixens -- which was now lying on the kitchen table. 'I presume you have photographs. You seem like the sort of chap who might have photographs.'

'Umm ... yes. Well ... some. Sally sort of insisted,' I said.

'And you were only too happy to comply with her wishes.'

The kettle began to whistle and Suze put two tea bags into the teapot and poured on some boiling water. Then she turned the teapot three times in one direction and three times in the other direction, and then, almost immediately, she poured a splash of the pale green tea into each of the beakers. 'See what you think,' she said, handing me one of the beakers.

I took a cautious sip. It was hot. Very hot. But she was right about green tea and warm afternoons.

'Have you heard of Fifty Plus Sun?' Suze asked.

'Umm ... no. I don't think so,' I said. 'Should I have?'

She smiled. 'Those who need to, seem to discover us,' she said. 'Those who don't ....' And then she said: 'Over the summer months, we meet out at Sandwick Hall. Every second Tuesday evening. Early evening. You should come along. Bring your camera. Or just bring yourself. Up to you.'

I was none the wiser.

'As a matter of interest,' Suze said, 'do you use a proper camera? Or do you rely on a smartphone?'

'For phone calls I rely on a smartphone,' I said.

Suze laughed.

'But, yes, I do have a conventional camera,' I said. 'I guess I'm a bit of a traditionalist.'

Suze nodded. 'And what is your weapon of choice?'

'A Nikon,' I said. 'Yes. Ever since my Nikon F2, way back when. Although these days I use a DSLR. With an 18 to 55 zoom lens. I have other lenses, but the 18-55 is the workhorse.'

Suze nodded again. 'Then it sounds as if that's the lens you should bring.'

The lens I should bring? I must confess that I was having a certain amount of difficulty following the conversation. I took another sip of my green tea.

'Sandwick Hall has a large walled courtyard at the back,' Suze said. 'At this time of the year, it is a pure delight: warm and beautifully lit. Perfect both for those who show and for those who would capture what is being shown.'

And then Suze returned to her new book, opening it more or less at random. 'Will you look at this vixen. Seventy, would you say? Certainly heading that way. And she has the proud body of a life well lived. A few wrinkles, more than a few blemishes, and flappy labia that no longer retreat when done. But isn't she gorgeous? Wouldn't you just love to hug her?'

Suze held up the book for me to see. And, yes, I could see what she meant. Karin -- which may or may not have been her real name -- was gorgeous. Gorgeous in a way that only an older woman can be.

We both took another sip of our tea, and then Suze leafed through a few more pages. 'And look at this foxy chap,' she said. 'Reminds me of my late brother. Kenny. He was ten years older than me. I was only eight when he joined The Navy. I didn't really see him again for the best part of twenty years. Well, I saw him. Occasionally. The odd Christmas. The odd funeral. Things like that. But I didn't really see him. Not until he left The Navy and moved to East Marley. He had a cottage there. And his own little beach. Well, it was a public beach, but it might as well have been his own. There was nobody else around. That was where I first started taking off my clothes. "Just you and me, Kid," he used to say. "And if anyone else comes along ... well, that's their problem, not ours."'

I don't know why, but I got the distinct impression that Suze's relationship with her brother may have gone beyond merely taking their clothes off. Just a feeling.

'So ...,' Suze said. 'Tuesday. Can I mark you down as a yes?'

'Yes what?' I asked.

'Yes you will be attending.'

'I'm not sure that I understand what I would be attending.'

'Our little get together. Fifty Plus Sun. Just an informal gathering of like-minded friends. A chance to relax, enjoy an early evening glass of wine, perhaps take a photograph or two. No pressure. But I think you'll find it a more-than-agreeable event. Perhaps I could drive you. We don't need both of us driving.'

'Well ....'

'Good,' Suze said. 'That's settled then. I'll pick you up at about four-thirty. Although, of course, I shall need an address.'

I had visited Sandwick Hall a couple of years earlier when it had first opened to the public. I think, at the time, it could best be described as 'a fine country house fallen on hard times'. A couple of the main reception rooms had been refurbished, and I gather that the kitchens had been brought up to modern catering standards as a condition of serving teas to the visitors, but the major emphasis had been put on the gardens. As Suze and I pulled into the carpark, early on Tuesday evening, it was evident that the renovations of both house and gardens had continued apace.

'Oh, good,' Suze said, as we parked next to a sixties-era Jaguar Mark 2. 'Jasper's here.'

I think that I may have frowned. Not disapprovingly, but enquiringly.

'Jasper Tolman,' Suze explained. 'The life and soul of any party he chooses to grace.'

Yes. Jasper Tolman. The name did ring a bell.

From the carpark, I followed Suze through a gap in the yew hedge and then around to the back of the hall where we came to a high brick wall of some antiquity. There was a stout-looking door in the wall, and beside it there hung an equally stout-looking length of cordage. Suze tugged on the cord and, from the other side of the wall, a bell could be heard. A few seconds later, the door was opened by a rotund chap of less-than-average stature. He was wearing a navy blue peaked cap of the variety that bus conductors used to wear. And he was wearing navy blue Roman sandals. But that was all.

'Ah, Suze,' he said. 'Come on in, my dear. Come on in.'

'Timmy, let me introduce my new friend Mike,' Suze said. 'Mike, Timmy. Oh, and Tammy,' Suze added as we were joined by a female version of Timmy. Timmy and Tammy could almost have passed for twins. Although not identical twins, obviously.

'Ah, another snapper,' Tammy said, nodding in the direction of my camera. 'Excellent. Excellent. When you're ready, give me a bit of a warning, and I'll fluff my bush for you and encourage my nipples. I do so love summer.'

There were about a dozen or so people in the walled courtyard, chatting, drinking, laughing. There seemed to be quite a lot of laughing. I took the laughing to be a good sign.

'We'll just go and disrobe,' Suze said, 'and then I'll introduce you to some of the others.' I followed her into the hall, through the kitchen, and into a room off to one side.

I'm not sure how, but I had somehow formed the impression that only some of the people would be naked. I hadn't expected that everyone would be naked. I certainly hadn't expected that I would be naked. Oh well ... when in Rome ....

And then, as Suze and I headed back outside -- Suze looking like a golden goddess, me looking more like a pale something-or-other that normally lived in a dark burrow -- who should we run into but T P Dombey. 'Michael!' he said. 'What a surprise! I hadn't picked you as one of our number.'

'Umm ... no,' I said. 'No. You can ... umm ... probably blame Suze.'

'Blame Suze? Oh no. I don't think so,' T P said. 'Applaud her perhaps. But not blame her. Just let me make myself a little more comfortable and we'll have to catch up.'

Terrence Percival Dombey -- known to one and all as T P -- ran a successful architectural salvage business. He had helped me no end when I had been doing my barn conversion. And then, when he had decided to convert of his barns into a retail business, I had helped him with some of the engineering work.

'What should I do with my camera?' I asked Suze. (I was suddenly conscious of the fact that I seemed to be the only person carrying one.)

'Take pictures,' Suze said. 'This lot just love showing off.'

Suze was not wrong. I had expected that I would have to ... well ... let's say be discreet. Hiding in the bushes almost. But no. My new friends were almost queuing up to have their pictures taken. And that's pretty much how I spent the next hour and a half. Snapping. Chatting. Occasionally sipping. And wondering how it was that I had never even heard of Fifty Plus Sun before.

As the clock on the wall over the door to the kitchen approached seven, people began to gather their clothes and say their farewells. 'Well, until next time, eh?' T P (who was one of the last to surrender his nudity) said.

'Next time? Oh? Does this mean I've passed muster?' I said.

'Oh, yes. With flying colours, old chap. With flying colours.'

As Suze drove me back towards Eastfield, I suddenly felt a tad peckish. 'Look, I have some steaks in the fridge,' I said. 'Could I interest you? We could throw them on the barbeque. Toss up a bit of salad. Open a bottle of something. I don't know. Up to you.'

Suze frowned. 'Oh.' And, for a moment or two, I thought that she was going to decline my invitation. But no. 'Umm ... yes. That sounds lovely,' she said. 'Perhaps we could stop by my place on the way. I made some potato salad this afternoon. That might be quite nice with steak. Meat and potatoes? What do you think?'

We stopped at Suze's cottage to collect the potato salad, and then we continued on to my barn. It was almost sunset when we arrived. We took the potato salad to the kitchen, and then I took Suze to what had originally been the cart dock. That was where I had the barbeque set up.

'Gosh, this is nice,' she said. 'And it's so warm.'

'Warm? Oh. Yes. The flagstones,' I explained. 'At this time of the year, they absorb the sun all afternoon, and then give the heat out again in the evening.'

'Oh, perfect,' Suze said. And, for at least the second time that day, she began undressing. 'You're not going to pass up this opportunity, are you?'

To be honest, it wasn't something that I had ever thought about. But now that I did ... well ... yes ... I could see what she meant. Why not? I had, after all, just spent the best part of a couple of hours wandering around the courtyard at the back of Sandwick Hall wearing nothing but a camera. 'Umm ... yes. I'll join you,' I said. 'Why not?'

As we both undressed, I noticed that something had changed. When I had first seen Suze in her garden, several days earlier, I had been ... well ... frankly, I had been a bit shocked. Who would not have been? Coming around the corner and suddenly seeing a good-looking woman of a certain age wearing just sun glasses and a straw hat. And, yes, there was something sexual about the encounter, but it was all bundled up with so much else that it wasn't really sexual at all -- if that makes sense.

And then, at Sandwick Hall, everyone had been naked. Being naked had just been the norm. Suze had not been any different from anyone else. But now ... now I found myself looking at her in a completely different way. Now it was just the two of us. Now it was just her and me. And now there was something very sexual about her.

'I ... umm ... I'll go and find us a glass of wine,' I said.

As I stood in front of my wine cupboard, I found myself thinking: steak, salad, possibly vinaigrette. So probably red. But nothing too heavy. Perhaps a Pinot Noir? I also wondered about a little blue pill. Or was I getting ahead of myself? Decisions, decisions. One had to be prepared. And the little blue pill did need the best part of an hour to do its work.

'A New World Pinot Noir,' I announced when I re-joined Suze, bottle and glasses in hand. 'Red, but not too red.' I didn't mention anything about the little blue pill.

Between us, we managed to cook the steaks just about perfectly. Although I was a little disappointed in the beef itself. It could have benefitted from a little more marbling, I thought. A little more fat. A little more flavour. Suze's potato salad, by contrast, was a real flavour treat. 'OK,' I said, 'I give up. What's the secret ingredient?'

'Well, there's potato and mayonnaise -- lemon juice, olive oil, egg yolks, mustard. And there's bacon. And garden peas -- as you can see. And capers. And salt and pepper. Oh ... and there's a cupful of vodka.'

'Vodka?'

Suze smiled and nodded. 'Well ... a lot of vodka starts its life as a humble spud. I just thought I'd put them back together. Re-introduce them, as it were.'

Inspired.

'Not a large cupful of vodka,' Suze assured me.

'So ... what now?' I asked.

'I don't know,' Suze said. 'I had rather hoped that you might want to fuck me. Or am I presuming too much.'

'No. I don't think that's presuming too much,' I said. 'I think that's ... umm ... yes.'

'It's just that I know that some chaps have a preference for younger ladies. And I can understand that.'

'Yes,' I said. 'And I know that some chaps have a preference for brown sauce in their bacon sarnies -- which I can't understand. Not even for one moment. Bacon sarnies should be made with English mustard.'