It was, I felt, the ideal start to the day. Radio 3 was being remarkably mellow, my espresso maker had just presented me with an excellent Viennese in one of my travelling bone china coffee cans, and the mid-morning sun had just swung round and clear of the hedge that separated each of the chalets from its neighbour, flooding the lounge area with soft yellow warmth. It was a perfect late summer’s morning in rural Shropshire, nearby to one of the Hoptons though I’ll keep the location to myself as I plan on coming back often.

Chalet.

Such an evocative word, full of a number of different meanings. In my own case, it meant a small wooden construction of almost muscular simplicity, set on its own small square of well-maintained lawn and a tall-hedged border, and being one of several such on a farm where a presumably unprofitable field had been made over as a private holiday location. There was a local pub within fairly easy walking distance – handy if one beer turned into more than a couple – and a small village shop equally accessible if one did not object to traversing a field and following a farm track for half a mile or so whilst carrying a bag of essentials. Aside from this, it was a peaceful location, made all the more so by being late in the season when children were back at school, leaving the site almost deserted and affording no distractions from the joys of a collection of Proust’s short stories which I had been holding back for just such an occasion.

Sighing contently, I fell so deeply into a world of glittering chamber music and painfully exquisite prose that it was not until the knocking on the door of my chalet became sufficiently urgent and out of step with the time signature of the Reger wafting out from the radio that I finally noticed there was someone at my door. Bookmarking my page – yes, it was a real book, and no, I never dog-ear – I opened the door and made a startling discovery. There in front of me stood an attractive a young woman, perhaps her early twenties, blonde hair, brown eyes, more curves that most and none of them out of place, and not a stitch of clothing.

“Er, can I help?” I asked, not really knowing what else I could ask, and trying to maintain eye contact despite the obvious distractions which she was doing nothing to hide.

“Oh God I hope so,” she smiled. “Do you have a towel and a phone I can borrow?”

“Of course,” I said, trying to smile reassuringly. “Would you be willing to risk stepping inside for a moment or would you feel more secure out here?”

“Why? Not going to rape me or anything like that are you?” she grinned.

“Not at all,” I said, relaxing a little in the knowledge that if she was making that joke in this situation, then she was probably not concerned how much of her I was able to see, even if only peripherally.

“Gay?”

“Not since I left boarding school, no.”

“You went to boarding school?”

“Not yet.”

“Hmm, smart. O-kay, I’ll take the risk and come inside.”

“Please,” I said as I held the door wide. “Which would you like first, towel or phone?”

“Neither. Names. Linden,” she said, smiling, her hand out.

“Ted,” I said as we shook hands. “So now we’ve done names, towel or phone?”

“Phone. I’ll need the towel after that, not before.”

“Oh?”

Linden nodded. “To hide my modesty when the Site Manager gets here.”

“And your modesty now?”

“Sacrificed to practicality. I could have squirmed and squished myself up to try an hide these and that but so what, I’m sure they’re not your first tits or quim.”

“Quite,” I said, impressed by her analysis and amused by her use of language as I took out my mobile, unlocked it, and handed it over.

“Thanks,” Linden smiled as she looked around, saw the number on the list of important numbers by the door, and dialled the Site Manager’s number. “Hi, it’s Linden from Number Five. I’ve locked myself out and Ted’s let me borrow his phone to call you. Oh. Not until one? Oh. Er, hold on a minute. Ted? George says he can’t get here before one at the earliest. Can you hide me here until then?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks,” Linden smiled as she turned her attention back to the phone. “George? Ted says he’ll keep me locked in his basement until then so, er, see you then? Thanks. Bye.”

“Basement?” I asked as she handed me my phone back.

“Well if you’re not going to rape me, I just assumed you’d keep me in your murder basement until the time was ripe.”

“Don’t you mean right?”

Linden shook her head. “No.”

“Interesting. Well I’m afraid I shall have to disappoint you again. Not only will there be no raping, but there is also no basement.”

“No rape?”

I shook my head.

“No basement?”

Another shake of the head.

“Don’t suppose I could get a coffee?”

I smiled. “That, I can manage. Also, in lieu of just a towel, could I interest you in a tee-shirt and some shorts, all freshly laundered?”

“You’re not interested in keeping me naked, you know, payment for services rendered?”

“Your being naked is something I leave to you, though I assure you there is no obligation to repay kindness with nudity.”

“Wow, where were you when I needed a boyfriend?”

“Knowing nothing of you, not even how you came to be here like this, I really cannot say. So, clothes? Coffee? Preferences?”

“Clothes, I think. Don’t want the Site Manager getting ideas.”

“But you’re trusting me not to have ideas?”

“You said you hadn’t any.”

“You believed me.”

“Shouldn’t I have?”

“Are you always so trusting?”

“Being locked out and nude, I kind of have to take that risk don’t I?”

“You tried the other chalets?”

Linden shook her head. “I thought I’d try for neighbourly rescue first.”

“It’s been a long time since I was a white knight riding to the rescue of anyone.”

“Oh? What happened?”

“My horse went lame.”

“You didn’t make him into glue did you?”

“No, he went to a farm where I understand he redefined the word ‘stud’.”

“Rampant, was he?”

“You’ve seen a horse’s cock?”

“Not close up. Yet.”

“Yet?”

“It’s only the first day of my holiday.”

“And you had a horse’s cock on your list of things to achieve?”

“No, but never say never.”

“Quite. If you would like to take a shot at making your coffee, might I go get you something to wear then?”

“Not going to let me see inside your wardrobe?”

I shook my head. “It’s a little early in the day for exposing young women to a wardrobe full of well-ironed shirts.”

Linden blinked. “Ooh, kinky.”

“Kinky?”

“A man of a certain age who knows his way around an iron even when he’s on holiday? Please tell me you wore a pinnie as you ironed them.”

“I’m afraid not, nothing more than a shirt and trousers and before you ask, yes, they too were ironed. Before I started.”

Linden shook her head. “So near but then so far.”

“Well, if you’ll excuse me for a moment?”

“Of course. Want to share a coffee with me?”

“I’ve never refused a naked woman offering me coffee yet.”

“Happens often does it? Nude coffee women?”

“Sadly no.”

“Well, you could not fetch me those clothes then.”

“You would prefer to greet the Site Manager like that?”

“Ah. Good point, and I need to cover my good points so, er, meet you in the kitchen?” Linden asked as she looked over to the part of the chalet that wasn’t the bedroom or the living room; the cabins were small.

“I shall return presently,” I said, trusting Linden not to burn things to the ground as I quickly found a pair of shorts I had planned for the afternoons and a duck-egg blue tee-shirt, all in the softest cotton I had, and to which I added as an afterthought some scrupulously clean boxer shorts in case the naked Linden did not ‘go commando’.

As I came back out I slowed a moment to admire Linden’s arse, rounded like that of a Greek goddess. For the moment I regretted she had agreed to dress.

“Your temporary habiliments,” I announced.

“Thanks,” Linden said as she turned, small cups in hand, having obviously figured out how the coffee maker worked. It wasn’t complex, but it was a little more involved than a press. “Blue? My favourite colour!” she gushed as she put the cups down on the table.

“Really?”

“Well, today it is,” she smiled as she took the things from me, put them on the bench seat closest to her, and slipped the tee-shirt on, suddenly seeming oddly dressed, as though being naked was her more normal state. “Boxers, Ted?”

“In case you are not the kind of girl who goes without her knickers.”

Linden arched an eyebrow and smiled.

“Normally, then,” I amended.

“I think I’ll keep you guessing about what is ‘normally’ for me, but thank you, that was very thoughtful,” Linden said as she did indeed pull on the boxers and then the shorts before finally sitting down.

“To naked knockers!” she grinned as she held her cup for a moment in salute before sipping.

“Quite,” I smiled back, returning her salute before I added a cube of sugar from the bowl and stirred it in.

“You don’t trust my coffee making skills?”

“Not at all. I don’t trust black coffee,” I answered.

“Too strong?”

“No, but like a drop of water brings out the flavours in a whisky, I find a little sugar brings out more of the coffee.”

“Hmm, interesting. Sweet tooth?”

“Not really, just certain habits.”

“Like ironing your boxers?”

I smiled. “Something like that.”

“Well, they’re very comfortable. Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome.

“I suppose this is the part where I tell you how this all happened?” she asked, her espresso already drunk.

“I had rather gathered it was a ‘locked myself out’ scenario, though how you came to do this naked and so early in the day, that part remains a mystery.”

Linden smiled. “Tan lines. I have them. You’ve seen them. Don’t worry, it’s a fact, not a judgement, but I hate them. I don’t care if I’m tanned or not, pale or tan, but not both. My tan lines have tan lines of their own. So, the sun is bright but not too hot, it is plenty warm enough, so I planned a little naked sunbathing behind the privacy of my hedge. I thought I had put the door on the catch, but it seems I didn’t or I didn’t do it right. I came out, the door closed, I went back for my phone for some music ... and now here I am, enjoying your coffee and trying to think of ways not to annoy you as I wait for the Site Manager to get here later. Simple, really.”

“Indeed. Do you have plans, for the intervening hours?”

Linden shook her head. “Well, since you won’t rape me or lock me in the basement–”

“Not my style.”

“Shame. Oh, not the rape part, but the basement? A kinky little locking up never hurts.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“I would, and it doesn’t,” Linden smiled, making me wonder, not for the first time, how much she said was true and how much was Wildean invention for the sake of sounding clever. Whichever it was, I thought I would rather like to find out.

“I shall keep it in mind.”

“Oh? Planning to dig a basement?”

“Not right now.”

“So planning a little bondage session with me to while the morning away then?”

“I hadn’t been.”

“Would you like to?”

“Plan or execute the plan?” I asked, convinced, now, she was all bluff and bluster.

“Both.”

“Not really my thing.”

“The planning or the executing.”

“Both.”

“So you’ve never had some ripe young maiden tied to your bed and subject to your sexual whims?”

“Isn’t that rather a forward question?”

“I suppose, but I did just confess I enjoy a little handcuffing from time to time. Also, you have seen me naked.”

“True, though the latter is not through choice and the former is a confession that was not sought nor forced.”

“Hmm. Maybe I should be a little more reticent?”

“Is it your nature?”

Linden shook her head. “No.”

“I see. Well, if you wish to fill the intervening hours with literature rather than anything more risqué, there is a small shelf of classics in the main window. If it helps, there are a couple of leather-bound volumes of poetry if you wish to dive into the depths of the gothic.”

“A man of letters?”

I shook my head. “A man catching up on those books I never read when I should, and am now reading when I can, should I be able to resist the lure of old favourites. Call it a recharging of the creative batteries.”

“Ooh, creative batteries and not just normal ones? Creative how, if not in the stocking of basements with nubile young women.”

“I had no idea you were nubile.”

“Would it have made a difference to me being in the basement?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Shame.”

“Why a shame? You seek a position lashed to a basement wall?”

“Not often.”

“But sometimes?”

Linden smiled. “Relax, that was a long time ago.”

“Really?”

Linden nodded. “Three years since.”

“Not so long ago.”

Linden shrugged. “Distance in me, not time.”

“A profound difference.”

“I like to think so. So, what creative batteries are you trying to juice up?”

“Those I use to pay for this break. I work as a soundscape designer.”

“Sounds impressive. Of course, if I knew what that meant, I could be even more impressed,” Linden smiled.

“It’s quite simple, actually. Most of my work is in games, though the same applies to films, television, what-have-you. The basic idea is that silence is usually bad, and so that silence needs filling, be it music or sound effects, to create an ambiance that complements whatever is being foregrounded. I recently completed a three year long piece, and having spent so long working in one particular genre, I’ve found I am somewhat ‘dry’ at the moment, hence this holiday, away from work, away from my computer and synthesiser, with nothing but words and coffee and Rubbra to keep me company for the month.”

“Rubbra?”

“His music is on my cloud. He composed some dynamic symphonies.”

“Ah. Well, you have me beat.”

“I do? In what way?”

“I’m just here for the rest of the month to get tanned. Before that and after that ... work.”

“And not just work but work ... with ... a ... pause?”

Linden smiled. “I was a little dramatic, wasn’t I?”

“Deservedly so?”

“I think so?”

“Might I know why?”

Linden sat back in her seat, her coffee drunk. “It kind of depends, Ted.”

“On?”

“On how much you know about subcultures.”

“Some.”

“Specifics.”

I smiled. “Getting a little forward again, Linden.”

“I like forward. It saves time.”

“True. For what it might be worth, I do venture from time to time into the more niche musical genres, more for interest and a change of aural landscape than for anything else. My particular favourites are the soft porn film soundtracks of the sixties and seventies; some of the associated imagery can be quite ... provocative.”

“Provocative? Wow, that’s a word for it.”

“It is?”

“Definitely. Well, surprisingly I may not be all that far away.”

“Oh?”

Linden nodded. “When I’m not temping in some ghastly office somewhere I work as an artist’s model, sometimes for them to draw from, and other times for them to drawn upon.”

“Ah, you mean body painting?”

“I do, but not just any kind.”

“A specific kind?”

“Very.”

“But you’re not telling?”

Linden shook her head. “No. Showing. Later, once I get back into my chalet.”

“You have some of your work with you?”

“A few things on my phone, in case I ever meet someone I need to share with.”

“And today that means me?”

“Fishing?”

“Perhaps, or perhaps simply trying to learn a little more.”

“About?”

“About the young woman drinking my coffee and verbally fencing with me.”

“Why the curiosity?”

“It seems we shall be neighbours for the next few weeks, and I would rather our conversations be more than about the weather.”

“Planning on seeing me again?”

“And now who is fishing?”

Linden smiled. “Can’t blame a girl for wanting to be sure you’re interested in more than my body.”

“And if I weren’t?”

“We can just fuck and get it out of the way, then get on with our holidays.”

“Sex is casual for you?”

“Not usually, but it’s been a while so maybe it could be this time.”

“So no partners?”

“Comparing numbers?”

I shook my head. “I was meaning might I be treading on the toes of another?”

“I’m here alone.”

“Not what I meant.”

“Now who’s being forward?”

“Or discrete, or, perhaps, respectful of another’s position.”

“Hmm. Which would you prefer?”

“The truth?”

“Over-rated.”

“But sometimes necessary.”

“Like now?”

I smiled.

“Like now it is, then. Yes, there have been lovers, but no, there are none at present, and haven’t been for a little while now. Nothing dramatic, simply that I’m choosy who I fuck.”

“And yet you choose me?”

“Didn’t say I’d chosen you, Ted, just that if all you were looking for was a quick fuck, I’d think about it.”

“Ah. And if I were not to be looking for a quick fuck, as you put it?”

“Then maybe you’d get to bang me the whole of the time we’re here together, maybe even after, depending where you live.”

I named the city.

“Ooh that’s interesting.”

“It is.”

“It is. If you can keep my quim moist and happy while we’re here, you might get the chance to keep it happy after we get back, too. You’re not far from me and definitely close enough for you to drive.”

“Who says I drive? There’s no car out front.”

“But there are a couple at the Site Office Car Park and the Manager’s not here, so...”

“Very observant.”

Linden laughed softly. “If I really was observant, Ted, I wouldn’t have locked myself out.”

“Touché.”

“But back to, after I’ve seduced with my feminine wiles - or spent a few weeks fucking you - I’m thinking you’ll be more than happy to drive over to my little place and fuck me some more.”

“You have a high estimation of yourself,” I said, pitching my words carefully so as not to offend so that Linden knew I was pulling her leg.

Linden smiled. “Maybe, but nobody asked for a refund.”

“You charge?” I asked, equally carefully.

“Doesn’t everyone? Me, I want a nice meal and a good conversation at the very least, plus personal cleanliness and a nice smell. Tick those boxes and the fucking can go on all night. Or day. So, interested?”

I chuckled. “Linden, you make a delightful invitation.”

“Thanks. Means little, but sounds nice, so thanks.”

“Meaning I’m not used to moving so quickly.”

“Ah. Age thing or morals thing or just habit?”

“Good question.”

“Uh-huh. Easy question. Try this, then. If the offer of quim was after the ‘proper’ number of dates, what then?”

“Allowing that I don’t really know you well–”

“Yet. Stop hedging?” she suggested.

“Quite. All things being equal, however, you certainly fit what passes as my ‘type’.”

“Ooh, you’ve got a type. Tell me?”

“Naked women who knock my door and don’t pretend to be modest for the sake of false ideas of ‘properness’.”

“Wow. Not what I was expecting.”