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This story is a true account from years ago of how I met lovely wife Katherine, who deserves some of the credit in recollecting the details. It is not a read suited for everyone, and is dedicated to those who have open and free minds.
Another hot summer’s day and as always Petey my faithful 2 year old English Mastiff was excited to go for his daily swim in one of the irrigation ponds on a 500 acre farm in our small town. Petey at 180 lbs and always looked forward to cooling off by wading in the ponds, and today being over 90 degrees he was especially ready.
Being so hot and humid, as Petey was very prone to overheating; I decided to walk along the edge of the farm where the nearest pond was. This pond was backing off a large old farmhouse perched on a hill top protected by overgrown trees, unkempt bushes, and thick underbrush. It was the type of place that I as a kid would avoid, rundown, hidden amongst the trees well off the beaten path, and a tad creepy.
As we approached the pond I let Petey off his leash and predictably he immediately sauntered in and plunked himself down into the water. As is his custom he started grazing on the Duckweed floating on top. I sat down and watched him splash around and frolic in the pond trying to catch any bug large and close enough to warrant his attention, I loved watching his sluggish attempts at this, most times the bug would win but that didn’t keep Petey from trying, what a dope!
Suddenly, a yelping bark came from the house on the hill, Petey immediately froze his head cocked toward the sound, his muzzle wrinkling, trying catch a whiff of the source.
“Staaaaaay,” I warned.
Damn! Too late! Petey was off like a shot, uncharacteristically running at high speed up the hill.
“Shit,” I thought to myself, the last thing I wanted to do was negotiate my way through that jungle to retrieve him, even at 42 years of age I wasn’t too keen on trespassing onto this creepy property.
After 5 minutes of a harrowing ordeal fighting the overgrowth I approached the yard of the house, not surprisingly the grass was long, littered with junk, old window frames, rusting appliances and other refuse strewn all over the place. A short but sturdy older woman was struggling to keep her excited Doberman from approaching Petey, who conveniently was laying on his stomach 3 feet away from the end of the Pinscher’s 20 ft lead. What a coward Petey was, teasing the poor dog by keeping just out of reach.
“Soooory” I hollered, picking up the pace to help out this poor woman.
“Is ‘e friendlay?” The women panted out between breaths, it was obvious her dog was overpowering her and she was running out of steam.
“Oh ya Petey is a big suck, wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
I quickly snapped on Petey’s leash and tried to pull him away to a safer distance.
“What’s your boy’s name?” I asked
“Shamus, he’s a bit of a rogue, it may not be a guid idea to let him off his lead. He’s had it out with the dug down the road.” She blew out, seemingly with her last breath.
“Awww, he looks harmless enough.”
I crouched down and let Shamus sniff my hand; his stubby tail started wagging as I started petting, then rubbing him under his chin.
“Brave Lad,” she smirked, maintaining her iron grip on Shamus’ lead.
Petey started submissively rolling on his back all fours upward and limp.
“See, Biiiiig Suck, it’s embarrassing.” I quipped looking up at her trying to get Petey to sit up and be a man.
“Let’s see if they can get along.” I offered,
I slowly led Petey toward Shamus they began with a timid Mexican stand-off; they brought their noses closer taking in the scent, tails at attention. Shamus started growling posturing dominance so Petey obediently backed off and wagged his tail. Shamus acknowledged this and relaxed, when the raised hair they on his neck returned to its natural position, it I knew they’d be OK with each other.
Seeing that the dogs were getting along the woman slowly relaxed her grip and crouched down to speak to her dog, exposing long and deep cleavage;
“Noo, you be a guid boy and PLAY NICE,” she commanded, finally freeing Shamus from his tether.
Her sturdy 5’2″ frame straightened up, her face was attractive but appeared worn and sweaty. She was an older woman probably somewhere in her mid 50’s, her heavily freckled arm and shoulders beet red from the sun. She was wearing a sleeveless tank top which nowhere near covered her sun burned freckled chest, nor the bright orange tufts of hair under her arms. Unhampered by a bra, her large and cone shaped breasts set neatly over a slight belly, her nipples were outlined against the light sweat stained fabric. Her belly didn’t appear flabby, but it did protrude in a way that made her look 5 or 6 months pregnant. Her nicely arched back flowed into her deliciously wide hips accentuating almost a cartoonish curvy look; her waist was not small, however in relation to very wide pelvis it appeared to be tiny. Her mid-thigh length light sun bahis firmaları dress failed to completely hide her deliciously plump butt, framed by saddle-bagged hips that faded into a pair of opulent and thick thighs. All this was supported by proportionally thick calves that disappeared into a pair of very small pair hiking boots that seemed incapable of balancing her stocky frame.
She momentarily removed her sunhat that revealed shoulder length fading red hair with streaks of grey framing a round, virtually unwrinkled face which was as heavily freckled as her chest. It was obvious she was making little or no attempt to keep nature from taking its course, she reminded me of an old hippy that had spent too much time in a van trying to find herself.
“A’m fair puckled.” She giggled;
“Been trying to make a silk purse out of this sow’s ear of a garden all mornin’, then your wee coo of a dug comes along exciting my Shamus and heating meh oop.”
Having visited Scotland many times I recognised the accent and dialect immediately, then laughed;
“You wouldn’t happen to be a Scottish Las would ya, Glasgow perhaps?” I asked, facetiously.
“Aye, Glasgae she confirmed, arching her back placing her hand on her hip in pride,
“What’s it to ye?” She challenged, giving me a full up and down check out, then with feigned disgust she sneered;
“You are NOT from Glasgae.” She gave me a look making me feel I wasn’t worth her time.
“Tough town,” I knowingly nodded.
The women looked over at the dogs; Petey had his nose in Shamus’s butt which remained there for an awkward amount of time;
“Aye can be,” she breathed, then added, “Yer boy Petey there wouldn’t last a day there be’avin’ like that.”
I managed an uncomfortable chuckle; Slightly embarrassed I desperately tried to break a tenacious Petey away from Shamus’s backside. I tried to lighten the mood and blurted;
“I think humans could learn a lesson from dogs, maybe we would all get along better if we would greet each other their way rather than a simple handshake.”
My face reddened, realising how overly familiar that must’ve sounded given that we only just met, I then extended my hand to her, in an attempt to recover;
“My apologies, my name is Bill, I hope a handshake will do!”
Demurely setting her head toward the frolicking dogs, the woman studied them chasing each other and tearing around her yard. Finally she put my anxiety to ease;
“None needed, there might be something to it, look how well they’re getting on now.”
“Guid tae meet ye William, m’name’s Katherine but you may call meh Kate, Aye: a handshake will do fer now.” she added with a nervous giggle.
“Hot day,” I continued with the standard small talk.
“Aye ’tis at that, for the life of my A cannae git used tae it, A dinnae ken howfur ye Canadians put up with the humidity.”
Kate lifted up her straw sunhat, and wiped some sweat from her brow with her hand, unceremoniously flicking it to the ground;
“Whew, look and meh, A’m gey sweaty ‘n’ het, care for a pint William?” Kate invited;
I attempted to impress her with my rendition of a Scottish accent;
“Aye, I cuid uise a heavy; but please, call me Bill.”
“Ooo very guid ‘William’, sounds if yer familiar with our Scootlund, have ye been?”
“I have, many times, I like it there, as a matter of fact Glasgow was a favourite stop of mine,” I replied smugly, having accomplished my mission to impress her.
Kate smiled and looked me straight in the eye;
“Well then, there may be hope for ye yet.” She then turned her attention to the dogs, and placed her thumb and index finger between her lips, producing a sharp whistle, within seconds Shamus came bounding around the house, Petey not far behind. Tails wagging they obediently sat next to her.
“Guid boys, Guid boys, Kate sang out giving them both a rough scratch chin. To my horror a big glop of Petey’s slobber drooled onto Kate’s hand and arm. Un-swayed, Kate unceremoniously flicked it the ground then swiped off whatever was left over with her skirt. I began to like this woman!
Then she got to business;
“Right, let’s get yehs a nice cool drink of water then.” She spoke to them as if she expected them to fully understand, then with a wave of her hand she commanded;
“Get yehs to the barn where it’s nice and cool, Goo on noo!” Shamus instantly started trotting to the barn, Petey in tow.
“Come along William.” she commanded me in the same tone she used on the dogs.
Man she was a spitfire, all 3 of us obediently complied without a single hint of protest, this woman was in control! Well she sure knew how to handle us ‘boys’ anyway.
I was immediately attracted to this woman, not only because I’m a sucker for a Scottish accent but more-so by the shy confidence along with a saucy aloofness about her. She gave me the impression that she had had her fill of men and could take them or leave them which may present me quite a kaçak iddaa challenge! I was intrigued by this and also by what I would refer to as her ‘Glasgow charm’. It was obvious that she had been alone for quite some time, as she was completely at ease with her dishevelled appearance, not caring about how she looked. I was really looking forward to digging in and finding what made this unique woman tick.
Dogs put away, Kate and I started back toward the house, my eyes were fixed on her generous backside the whole way. Each full cheek alternately jiggling under her dress causing the hem of her skirt to flow up and down with each step. By the time we got to the door where was significant activity going on in my pants.
We entered the house and the first thing I noticed was the clutter. By no means am I a neat freak but I was taken little aghast by the chaos. The decor was that the 70’s with a paint job to match, accentuated by the heat it had that old house smell. Many improvements were started but not finished, much like the yard outside.
“Mind the Mess.” Kate chirped, “A’m quite certain the kitchen’s around here somewhere.”
I followed her through the maze of boxes and entered into an unorganized yet relatively clean kitchen. On top of black and white checkerboard tile was classic tubular chrome white with red metal flake laminate table, with the matching fire engine red vinyl upholstery: the exact set I ate cereal on as a boy. The fridge a round edged Kelvinator complete with a buzzing overly loud compressor, another classic! I had almost the same model in my garage; put out to pasture long ago to house and cool my beer, WOW the memories. The cupboards were painted white, 1950’s contractor grade wood with chrome knobs, I felt like I was in soda shop in some kind of Norman Rockwell painting commissioned by my Mom.
Wasting no time Kate tugged on the handle and opened the Kelvinator’s sticky old door, Yup – it had to be the twin sister of the one in my garage.
“A keep the good stuff in the crisper.” As she bent down her short and light dress clearly was unable to fully cover her deliciously wide and prominent butt. Instinctively I adjusted my neck to sneak a look, her red panties were straining to appear between her thick thighs, a hint of red-orange hair peeked out of the sides. Not seeing a razor in months, shorter and curlier hair ran down her strong thighs, then thickened all the way down to her boots – Awesome!!
She grabbed a couple of bottles and suddenly turned;
“‘Ere we goo,”
I quickly straightened up, but I knew it was too late for her not to notice;
“See anything interesting down there – William?” she smirked.
Shamelessly I lied;
“Umm, I was admiring this table, my parent’s had one just like it, you know retro- geeks would pay big bucks for this set.” I bent down again;
“Even still has the original rubber feet stoppers – NIICE!”
Kate didn’t shot me a look of disappointment,
“Well that’s a shame, for a moment there A thought ye wur stealin’ a keek at mah bahookie, are ye making meh an offer William?”
I stammered not quite knowing what she meant;
“Eh, Excuse me?”
She turned and grabbed the bottle opener from the side of the Kelvinator expertly popping open the bottles without even looking, she then leaned toward me her freckled round face moving into mine, then teased;
“Are you willing to make meh an offer?” She paused looking straight through me with her quizzical pale blue eyes, pursing her lips, clearly enjoying watching me squirm;
“Well I, hmm”… I had nothing.
“Fer the table, ye dope, A’m in the process of clearing out some of this ol’ junk, are you willing to make meh an offer?” She slyly smiled;
I nervously laughed, somewhat relieved;
“Oh no, no. I’m no retro-geek besides, I know better than try to get a good deal from a Scot, outta my league, and that’s saying something given my Dutch heritage.” I woefully admitted.
Kate heartily laughed,
“Dutch, aye, ye may have given meh a good run!” Her face tightened;
“But we all know A would ‘ave left ye mooch lighter in the end.”
“Sooo, yer a dyke plugger.” Her face loosened, then her finger poked sternly into my chest;
“Wooden shoes, wooden heid, WID NAE LISTEN!” She snorked, slapping my shoulder proud of her barb; (Like I haven’t heard that one before.) In my standard smart assed fashion, I could not allow such an insult without rebuttal;
“Well I’ve heard many wed Scottish women have plugged a few dykes in their time, no doubt to pass the time while their husbands take comfort from tending the sheep.” A sobering wave of anxiety suddenly pierced through me, that was a tad boorish even from a lug like me. I could feel my ball sack harden and my penis retracting deeply into its foreskin in embarrassment. Kate let out a belly laugh, thankfully un-phased, and then chuckled;
“A cannae argie that, there’s triple the sheep than women in Scootlund and all!”
We both laughed heartily kaçak bahis at that, it was funny because it was true, there are flocks of sheep roaming freely everywhere throughout most of Scotland.
Over drinks we continued our conversation, I learned that she was 52, and raised by her father in a small hamlet on the Isle of Skye. She left home at age 17, made do taking odd jobs, later she made her way tending bar in several working class Glasgow pubs. She moved here 5 years ago to take care of her Father, who was suffering from late stage Alzheimer’s, and he eventually passed away 2 years ago leaving her the sprawling 150 year old house on 6 acres of land. She paused, sedate inflection now moving to that of frustration;
“A dinnae ken where to start, the place is in such a state, frankly A’m a bit overwhelmed:” She looked down at the table, her first crack of vulnerability emerging. I tried to be supportive;
“I’ve been to a few Glasgow pubs in my time, surely you’ve dealt with a big mess or two, a spirited gal like as yourself could manage, just take it one step at a time. Besides, if you need help I’m sure you can wrangle up a man or two who can use a hammer and help.”
Kate lit up, her contained fiery side making a grand entrance;
“Pugggh! Yer aff yer heid! All the mehn A know would rather swing a boatle of whiskey than a hammer! Look at meh mahn, A’m a pure nick; haven’t washed up in over a week, what mahn would give me a second look.”
Looking uneasy she nervously started picking at her nails, maybe she opened up a little more than she wanted to.
Kate’s tone then softened;
“My Dah was all A had; and I him,” she said solemnly, and then quickly straightened up in her chair. I couldn’t help being distracted by the hard nipples that pressed against her shirt, and felt mildly ashamed for it.
“Aaugh look at me boring ye with meh life’s story,” she brightened up her demeanour, flipped her hair and folded her hands on the table then asked;
“Sooo, ye say ye’ve been Scootlund, whits pray tell brought ye there?”
“Sorry about your Dad, both business and pleasure.” I responded, and then explained to her that I was a marketing executive broker for a large liquor store chain and have visited many distilleries throughout Scotland and Europe. Being a history buff, I especially enjoyed the slam-bang rich history and castles of Scotland, so I vacationed and travelled through the Highlands, Orkneys, Inverness, and Edinborough; My work involved extensive testing and sampling wares in the guise of due diligence. I especially loved Scotch so, naturally have tippled a few whiskeys and witnessed a few good old fashioned bar fights in Glasgow.
Kate interrupted, straightening up exultantly in her chair;
“W’ur kent fer that ye know!” Oh aye, A’ve thrown many whiskey soaked mehn out in meh time, and as fer the dugs putting the moves any of th’ gals or meh, to wit – boot to their arse; then off they went awaaay – back to their wives!”
“I bet you ran the place with an iron fist.” I laughed.
“Aye, iron fist mostly, boot at times with velvet glove, depending on the amount of drink involved. Once they understood that A’d have none of it, they behaved as gentlemen soon enough. All men are dugs, bit with a wee bit of training and some gentle persuasion most kin become guid an’ loyal dugs.”
Kate threw out a long seductive look, her grey eyes once again looked me up and down with a boldness that wanted me to notice, then heartily announced;
“A prefer dugs of the four legged type, loyalty is then guaranteed, old Shamus is actually Shamus the 5th”. She then broke her gaze practically dismissing me like used Kleenex.
I’m not entirely sure but I think I have just been insulted.” I suggested then lifted my beer;
“To Shamus 5, and to the Scots, may Kate live long to boot arse first and live to negotiate later.”
Kate let out a rather untoward chortle and clinked my beer;
“AYE actually we are a peaceful lot at heart, and are willing to negotiate…the trouble only starts if terms dinnae go our way – entirely that is: CHEERS!” She nodded her head exuberantly, then threw back the rest of her beer slamming it down, I followed suit in camaraderie.
There were now 4 empties on the table and we were loosening up a bit, Kate’s street demeanour was now explained; on your own at 17 in Glasgow at best would be a bumpy ride, it all fell into place! It wasn’t the least bit hard for me to picture Kate throwing unruly men twice her size out of bar, especially if they became fresh with her. I was fascinated with this woman, no doubt being raised by her Dad she grew up a Tomboy and used those skills successfully handle herself.
Kate got up and went back to the Kelvinator;
“Last two, what is one to do” Kate announced snapping the heavy door shut with a flick her hip, empty handed;
“Sooo, ye like whiskey do ye, A may have a wee bottle around here somewhere; wid ye lik’ a dram?”
“You may twist my arm on that.” I eagerly accepted. Kate went to the cupboard grabbed a bottle and a couple of glasses, she carried all in one hand and plunked them on the table, I instantly recognized the label, I picked up the bottle bewildered;
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