My pillow won’t tell me
Where he has gone,
The soft-footed one
Who passed by, alone.
THEODORE ROETHKE The Apparition
Isobel dressed in the clothes she found in the wardrobe - all brand new and the right size. The labels were High street but the quality end. Without giving it much thought she had naturally dressed as if getting ready for some exercise - tight pants, a Lycra tee over a sports bra and running top for warmth.
She had heard nothing inside the cottage so was reasonably sure she was alone but nonetheless carefully explored what proved to be a two bedroom cottage furnished tastefully but with nothing that would give any clue about its occupant.
The real surprise came when she opened the front door. 50 yards away was a shore and water for some distance beyond which rose wooded hills. Behind the cottage was a wood with the start of a path leading into it. She could see no other building or sign of human impact on the landscape. It was breathtaking and she felt an extraordinary surge of happiness at being alone amidst such natural beauty.
She had no idea how long she lingered by the shore drinking in the beauty and feeling her fears becoming smaller until she was able to place it on one side - she was Isobel and this felt like home.
Eventually hunger led her back to the cottage where she quickly found the file promised in her "Welcome" letter. Annotated in the same hand she found the deeds to the cottage and some of the land around it. These told her that she was in the northern part of England, in or close to the Lake District she guessed. There were details of a bank account with a note explaining that her "pension" would be paid into this account on the first of the month, a private health plan and some cash.
The kitchen had a well-stocked fridge and an equally well stocked larder. What she also discovered was that there was no internet connection, TV or phone only a small radio. After a plain breakfast of muesli and yogurt followed by coffee, she again found herself drawn to the full-length mirror in her bedroom. She saw a healthy, fit young woman and were it not for the now hidden scars she would have also said "normal". She felt her body urging her to exercise and instinctively decided to take a run.
Within seconds she knew this was something her body had done thousands of times before. It felt natural and she quickly found a comfortable rhythm. She ran for several miles along the shore line without seeing a living soul before turning back. Her stride was long and while her breathing was faster, she didn't feel as though she was anywhere near her limits.
As she neared the cottage she saw what looked like a hiker and a dog sitting outside. The man came to his feet as she approached. As soon as she saw his face something stirred, deep in her stomach and a sense of warmth spread through her body and seemed to settle in her vagina. She knew that she didn't recognise his face yet her body was screaming "He fucked you - and more than once - and you enjoyed it".
“I am so sorry to disturb you but my dog seems to have hurt his paw. I was trying to ring for a friend to pick us up but there’s no signal here of course. Could I possibly leave him with you for a couple of hours while I go and get the car?”
The dog seemed happy enough and was positively enthusiastic about meeting Isobel. She recognised it as a Yellow Labrador and something in the recesses of her mind said “And that’s a proper dog too”. She told the man she would happily look after the dog and asked if he needed refreshments himself. He declined and left promising to be back within a couple of hours. It was only after he had disappeared from sight that it occurred to her that there was no vehicle access to the cottage yet he had specifically talked about his car rather than a boat?
By the time it started to grow dark she knew the hiker wasn’t coming back not that Dog, now upper case, was bothered in the least. He and Isobel seemed to have developed an instant rapport and being honest with herself having a companion albeit a canine one had made this day that began with near terror into one where she could contemplate going to bed with a book and looking forward to finding out more about who she was in the morning.
There were several bookcases around the cottage with a wide range of books on their shelves. All but a few were brand new but it was one of the second hand volumes she took down. She hesitated before opening it wondering, hoping perhaps, that there would be some clue here to her identity. The book was a slim volume of poetry by Theodore Roethke and when she did open it was surprised to see that it was a library book though closer examination revealed it had been withdrawn from a university library decades earlier. Her disappointment was considerable – this was something bought from a second hand dealer not some relic of her past. And yet he was a poet she knew of and was familiar with some of his poetry how was it that this obscure work was left here for her to find?
She made her way upstairs and hadn’t been in bed more than few moments when she heard a commotion on the stairs. Her heart raced but before anxiety could set in Dog burst through the door and leapt on to the bed. She decided to let him stay though his arrival led her thoughts back to his missing owner and she quickly realised that she would happily welcome the owner into her bed were he to finally arrive. She put the book aside and turned off the light and her right hand made its way down to her stomach and between her legs where she was a little surprised to find she was already wet. She could almost feel the shape of the man’s cock in her cunt, she knew how he would slowly part her labia with it before thrusting deep inside her. And while she knew that he would fuck her hard she was sure he would also take care to help her to orgasm too. How could she know that much about a complete stranger?
A few minutes later she felt her orgasm rise and then fall and turned on her side. Within moments she was asleep and soon both her and Dog began to dream of how their lives might stay properly entwined this time.
Read the third part of Isobel's Story here
This week's Wicked Wednesday prompt was "Elaborate" and as several of you had been kind enough to ask to learn more about Isobel's predicament I felt that "elaborating" on her back story was too good an opportunity to pass up. There isn't a lot of sex in this or the second half to which there is a link at the end but I am working on parts of the story that begin to explain her memory loss and there will be rather a lot in those I suspect!
Even so my sun one early morn did shine
With all-triumphant splendour on my brow;
But out, alack! he was but one hour mine;
The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, Sonnet 33
Part 1 - Isobel's story began one morning as the sun shone.
There was a gap between the curtains and through it the morning sun sent a bright beam that crossed the white bed linen and touched the sleeping woman's face. The warmth woke her and as she opened her eyes and took in the room she thought it was a delightful way to start that or any other day.
Realising that the room was unfamiliar she tried to recall where she was - the room didn't have the anonymous decor of a hotel so perhaps a guest house? Hoping to prompt herself she thought about her plans were for the day but could bring nothing to mind.
It was only then that it occurred to her that not only did she not know where she was but neither did she know who she was. She dismissed the thought as absurd and tried to relax. While she did so her legs moved involuntarily around the bed as if expecting to find someone or something on it but found nothing.
As the beam of sunshine slowly moved away she knew with growing certainty that she had no memory of who she was or of anything she had ever done before waking up a few minutes ago. She felt cold and more than a little frightened but forced herself to move the duvet and swing her legs over the side of the bed. Despite her fear she nevertheless felt certain that she was a strong and resourceful person but could not, of course, offer herself any evidence of this.
She now noticed that on the dressing table by the window there was a cream envelope of the sort used for personal correspondence before email became ubiquitous. She reached for the envelope and saw it had a name written by hand in a flowing script, by a fountain pen too she noted approvingly. The name was Isobel J......
We have endeavoured to fulfil your wishes and you will find a file downstairs containing the necessary documents. We wish you well in your new life.
So she had a name. A name she tried saying out loud which was when she realised, she had the sort of accent that suggested origins in the counties surrounding London. It was pleasant if unremarkable. Having a name didn't take the fear away completely but she was surprised how much better it made her feel.
She was naked and she stood and looked at herself in the full length mirror. Close cropped blonde hair, a round face with blue eyes and full lips. Breasts that would require a good sports bra when running - where did that thought come from, she wondered even as her body started doing stretches in anticipation of exercise.
She ran her hands around her body and it felt quite natural to pause and slowly probe between the lips of her vagina. For a moment she considered returning to the bed and continuing the exploration but as she looked in the mirror, she noticed what seemed to be scar tissue just above her right hip.
A few moments later she had to force herself to breath slowly as she fought the bile rising in her throat. Her back was a network of scars that suggested the flesh had been broken and left to heal by itself. They did not cause pain but she could feel the tightness of them when she moved in certain ways. They would fade in colour given time but the raised welts would be permanent. She tried and failed to think of a way that the wounds could have been self inflicted - this was something that another human being had done to her.
Find the second part of the start of Isobel's story here