(ASS){EZ} The Garden (MF Rom)
E.Z. Riter
adults in locations in which it is legal. If it is illegal in your
location, DO NOT read. This is a copyrighted work. Reposting or
any other use strictly prohibited without the express, written
permission of the copyright holder, except may by posted as part of
a review or posted to free-access, non-commercial archive sights.
Copyright 1999 by E. Z. Riter.
E-mail address: ezr...@hotmail.com
Please! Give me your comments!
Dear Reader, This a plain vanilla, male-female romance. Enjoy.
E.Z.
THE GARDEN
Finally. The first warm day of spring. And, it was a Saturday. I
was eager to work the garden Barbara and I had planted and tended
together. My work would be a labor of love, preparing the flower
beds for planting. The smells of the rich earth, the feel of the
dirt in my hands, the warmth of the sun on my back, were healing and
reinvigorating.
Barbara was thirty-one and I was twenty-three when we married. My
friends thought I was crazy for marrying an older woman. Barbara's
eleven-year-old daughter, Vicki, was additional evidence of my
insanity as far as my friends could see. But I could see much
farther. I saw in Barbara what I hoped for in a wife.
I lost Barbara to a drunk driver. I retreated to our garden to
maintain my sanity. The beauty, the order, of the plants were
stabilizing. The new growth gave me hope my life could again be
filled with beauty.
As I lugged the tools from my storeroom, I thought of Barbara. As I
carried the sacks of mulch from the car, my eyes teared. Barbara
would have been appalled by those tears. She was probably sitting
on the white cloud hovering over me, watching as I leaned on the
handle of my spade in disconsolation. I could see her head gently
shaking back and forth in a silent 'tsk tsk'.
"Jack," she would say, a hand lifting my chin to make me look at
her. "Life goes on. You need to live each day to the fullest, to
relish its beauty and uniqueness. No pity parties. No gloomy
Guses. Come on, Jack. Get on with your living."
Yes, Barbara would say that. She faced more than one loss with
grace and serenity I envied. Barbara would be right. It had been
seventeen months since she died. It was time to stop grieving and
get on with living.
Saying it is a lot easier than doing it. I had told myself a
hundred times to start anew, but my own advice fell on sterile soil.
Maybe it was the passage of time. Or, maybe it was the spring
season when life is renewed. I knew now was the time to start. I
shoved the spade into the heavy soil, driving the blade deep with my
foot. I turned the first shovel full. I began.
By two thirty, the sun was high overhead. The temperature had
soared. My muscles moved easily in the hot sun beating down. Sweat
poured from me, its residue prickling my skin. By evening, those
muscles would be sore. In spite of jogging and gym time, some
muscles always ached from the hard toil of spring.
Dirt streaked my sweat covered body. Dressed only in shorts and
sneakers, I was on my hands and knees. The earth felt good. I was
lost in the reverie of the gardener, communing with nature a handful
of soil at a time.
A shadow passed over me. Ten pink toes sticking from the thongs of
sandals came into view. I fought to still a quiver as I sat back
on my haunches, hands on my thighs. My eyes slowly traveled over
the shapely calves to long, muscular thighs. Perhaps for too long,
my eyes hesitated where thighs widened into hips covered by brown
shorts. Continuing past the narrow waist, I lingered on the
swelling under her bright green halter. I finished my visual
journey staring into twinkling, big, brown eyes over a grin bordered
by dimples.
"Hello, Jack."
"Hi, Beth. Join me. Please."
Gracefully, she knelt and leaned forward to be kissed. She always
did that, offering a cheek to me in greeting. The angle was askew:
our lips touched. We each looked away, but not before our eyes had
met for an instant.
"It's good to see you," she said, a small catch in her voice.
"I've missed you," escaped from me. I looked away quickly. "Vicki's
not here. She went to the mall."
"I knew she'd be gone. She told me you were starting on your
garden. I came to help."
"All the way from college to spend spring break working like a Turk.
It doesn't sound very appealing."
What did she not say? What was the look she gave me? That look
evaporated like my sweat on this hot day, leaving a residue which
prickled my imagination. She was grinning when she answered.
"Hey! Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. I'm a good worker."
"Well, put on some work gloves and let's get after it," I replied,
my own smile matching hers.
Beth was my step-daughter's best friend and college roommate. She
was fifteen six years ago when she arrived at our house for a party.
Even that first time, I noticed her. Those big, brown, eyes and
warm, quick, smile drew my attention. Beth had an easy way about
her, as though being happy and positive was so embedded in the core
of her personality, no other emotion was possible.
As the girls grew, Beth was a frequent visitor to our home, spending
almost as much time there as Vicki. Barbara welcomed Beth with open
arms. I, too, developed a caring relationship with Beth. I told
myself we were like father and daughter. I resisted the thought of
a different relationship, which sometimes required conscious effort.
As we worked and talked, my mind's eye suffered from double vision.
Beth and the present overlaid memories of the past which flowed like
a disjunctive home movie. A party Barbara and I chaperoned when the
girls were sophomores in high school. Trips to the beach. Quiet
evenings in winter by the fire, all of us bundled for warmth.
There were sad memories, too. Memories of life after Barbara.
Without being asked, Beth moved into the house, occupying the guest
bedroom. What needed to be done, she did with a quiet and loving
competence. She listened and consoled. After living with us for four
months, she left as unobtrusively as she came.
When she left, I was surprised how much I missed her. There had
been nothing sexual between us, but our relationship had deepened.
Since that time I talked to her often. I must admit I sometimes
called Vicki at school hoping Beth would answer. With each call,
each visit when the girls came home, our relationship ripened.
I had been blinded by grief to the loving woman near me. The
sunlight of that bright spring day pushed away the shadows letting
me see clearly, maybe for the first time.
She was on her knees, legs spread for leverage. Her brown hair was
piled on her head, secured by a blue and white bandana. She was
valiantly pulling on the stump of a dead bush to extricate it from
the soil. Holding it with both hands, she was wisely using her legs
and shoulders to pull. I could see her muscles flexing under
sweat-sheened skin. Her muscles stopped and she was looking at me.
"Are you going to watch me or help me?" she asked.
"What?"
I was shaken back into the present. Beth had a soft, gentle
expression as she stared at me over her shoulder. Perhaps it would
have been easier for her to turn her body. My view was certainly
better with her turning the way she did.
"Well, Jack?" she said.
A wise gardener would have used a shovel to cut the bush's roots
below the surface, making the task much easier and quicker. A wise
man would have knelt in the soil to be next to Beth. I knelt. Dirt
covered her calves. Her thighs were streaked with the same brown
color. There was a smudge on her cheek where she wiped sweat away
with her dirty glove.
A rivulet of sweat slid down her throat, caressing the mound of her
breast before disappearing into the halter. Beth watched me
watching her.
Kneeling now, facing her, I was suddenly overwhelmed by the sheer
feminine attractiveness of this woman. As I leaned toward her, she
moved to meet me. I saw her lips part and her eyelids flutter. Our
lips touched in a soft and gentle kiss so electrifying I twitched
all over. When my eyes opened again, she was still leaning forward,
her eyes closed, a sensual expression on her face. Her eyes opened
dreamily.
"Maybe I should get the sharpshooter to cut the roots," I said.
"Maybe," she replied in a low, husky tone. "Or, maybe we can dig it
out with our hands."
Working in the dirt around the dead and forlorn shrub, we used our
hands to scoop away the soil, to pull out the roots. No speech was
necessary. Four hands worked as one to slowly free the bush from
its death trap. We sometimes touched, bumping into each other: a
thigh against a thigh, a hip against a side, an arm touching a back.
I could smell her. She smelled of light perfume and natural womanly
odor heightened by her sweat. Her sweat was sweet, unlike my own.
It was fragrance spewed by a flower: alluring, appealing. I could
hear her ragged breath when she struggled: a little grunt, sometimes
a "humph," as she worked the soil. Heat radiated from her. Not
just physical heat or reflection of the day's glorious sun, it was
energy, a magnetic field drawing me to her.
"Okay. It's loose enough. Let's pull it out," I said.
Shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh, we each took a handhold on the
dead bush. Moving as one, we pulled, our muscles straining. The
roots gave with a pop. Beth squealed as we fell back together. She
landed on her back. I fell over her. I gazed into her face, seeing
a twinkle and the tip of a pink tongue snake between her lips. I
bent to kiss her. Her arms went around me, holding me to her.
We kissed, slowly, deeply, powerfully. Her breasts were against my
chest. Her hands stroked my back. Again, I brought my lips toward
hers.
"Am I interrupting anything?" Vicki's sharp voice rang out.
I jumped, landing a yard away, feeling like a child caught in the
candy jar. Beth quickly sat up, trying to straighten her appearance.
She hoped her blush would disappear before it was seen, but that was
not to be.
Vicki laughed. It was not a girlish giggle. She guffawed. Beth
twittered, covering her mouth with her dirty gloves, smearing her
face with a brown hue. I had to laugh, too. We stood and began
brushing the dirt from our bodies. It was a lost cause.
"Here. You need this for more than one reason," Vicki said.
"No, Vicki!" Beth screamed as the stream of water hit her full
force.
Using her thumb to create a biting blast, Vicki relentlessly sprayed
Beth who danced and twisted under the stinging water. Beth's halter
and shorts were quickly saturated. Magically, the cotton molded to
her shape, treating me to a delicious sight. I was watching Beth
when Vicki decided it was my turn. The water was icicles hitting my
overheated skin. In spite of the distractions, I saw Beth watching
me. She had a sensuous gleam in her eyes.
With a tackle an All-American would be proud of, Beth drove Vicki
into the mound of dirt piled by the beds. Except the pile was not
dirt. It was mulch mixed with composted sheep droppings. Or, as
Vicki shouted, "Beth, this is shit."
Laughing and teasing, the girls struggled to stand in the loose
pile. Without pretense (can one be dignified when covered in
manure?), they hosed each other off. Arm in arm, they went into the
house to shower. They needed it. They neither looked nor smelled
like ladies at that moment.
I cleaned up the mess we made and put away the tools. It had been a
long day of work. But it had been a delightful day. I realized how
much I enjoyed being with Beth. I was thinking of her in a way I
had never allowed myself before this spring day. To say my thoughts
were salacious would be an understatement.
After my shower, I slipped into shorts and a pull over shirt. When
I went downstairs, Vicki and Beth were talking on the couch. They
stopped when I entered, following me with their eyes.
Vicki was wearing a blouse and skirt, I think. Beth was wearing one
of Vicki's cotton sleep shirts, the kind which hangs to the knees.
It was the blue one with the red piping. She was to Vicki's left,
legs tucked under her. Her hair, still damp, lay on her shoulders.
Her eyes were soft, like twinkling stars. Her smile held a secret.
"Well, Jack, you wore out poor Beth. If you don't mind, she wants
to stay here while I hit the hot spots."
"Mind? No. Are you sure, Beth?" I asked, looking at her.
"Yes. I'm sure," she replied.
Her voice was soft was a hint of a promise. Her smile was loving,
her eyes hot. Our eyes met and held. A tingle went down my
shoulder, racing to my fingertips. They were twitching when Vicki
cleared her throat.
"Well, I see neither of you'll mind if I leave now," she said
sardonically.
"No. Go ahead," Beth and I replied in unison before laughing
self-consciously at our eager anticipation of Vicki's departure.
"Dad, can I talk to you?" Vicki said with a faux lightness as she
headed toward the door.
I followed her. Calling me "Dad" meant she had something important
to discuss. Normally, she called me by my name. On the front steps,
she took my hands in hers. I felt her nail points dig into my
palms.
"She loves you. She loves you very much. And...."
The serious expression gave way to a mischievous twinkle.
"If something happens, you have my blessing. You would have Mom's,
too, I know."
"Nothing will happen," I assured her.
She snickered.
"Oh, Jack, you're going to get laid tonight."
A quick laugh, a peck on the cheek and she was gone, leaving me in
the quiet of a spring evening. The air was crisp and clean. The
stars were particularly brilliant in the calmness. I was euphoric,
every nerve poised, every sense alert.
When I returned to the house, Beth was in the kitchen. The bread
was in the toaster. The smell of ham came from the frying pan. She
was humming to herself as she cracked eggs into a small bowl by the
sink.
As I watched her, I realized how I had missed having a loving woman
in my home. More than that, I realized how much I had missed Beth
with her dancing eyes and smiling face and, most importantly, kind
and loving heart.
"Do you like watching me?" she asked softly, her back toward me.
She was still, poised for my answer. Balanced on one foot with the
toes of the other pressed into the floor, she turned her head
slightly to better hear me.
"Yes."
It was all I needed to say. I saw the corner of her lips turn up in
a smile. She turned back to dinner, her humming just a little
louder. Dinner was a lively affair. We gorged, replenishing our
bodies after a hard day. We laughed and talked. We shared. We
finished with a glass of wine as I did the dishes.
"What will you plant where we dug out that dead bush?" she asked as
she stood sipping the wine.
"I've always wanted a rose bush, a Queen Elizabeth rose. It's
beautiful, with a large, pink blossom. The scent is mild, but
definitely rose. Besides, I like the name."
"That sounds nice. Can I help you plant her?"
"That sounds very nice," I replied.
Somewhere in the very special time between Vicki's departure and
that moment, apprehensions had left me. Beth sensed it. She set
the wine glass on the table. She offered her hand. When I took it,
she winced. Then, I saw the blisters her hard work had raised.
"Labors of love cause pain sometimes," she said softly. "I don't
mind. Love is worth it."
I kissed her, a soft, loving kiss. An anticipatory grin crossed her
face. Without a word, she led me up the stairs. At the entrance to
the bedroom, she stopped abruptly. I bumped into her.
"Second thoughts?" I asked, my heart in my throat. She turned in my
arms.
"Never!" she whispered.
She kissed me then, hot, hard, demanding, her body crushed into
mine. She stepped away, holding my hands.
"Come on, Jack. I've waited long enough."
Brightness and heat. Ferocity and gentleness. Lost in passions, we
began that deepest of all relationships until we lay spent, our
bodies entwined, her head on my chest.
"Jack," she whispered. "When it's time, I want to bloom from your
seed."
"That sounds wonderful," I replied before I kissed her again.
We had drifted to sleep when I heard the front door closing. Beth
stirred against me. We listened to the footsteps coming up the
stairs and down the hall. They stopped outside my bedroom door.
"Goodnight, Vicki," I said.
"Goodnight, Jack," was the soft reply from the hall.
Silence.
"Goodnight, Beth," Vicki sang out.
We heard her chortling as she went down the hall to her room.
The End
Please! Give me your comments!
E-mail address: ezr...@hotmail.com