It’s not that things were bad; they just weren’t salacious enough for you. You liked looking normal. The aesthetic of a white picket fence, a suburban condo in a revitalized part of the city near downtown, and a wealthy husband with a partnership at a large law firm. Your own work as a lawyer allowed you to work at home filing paperwork and drafting documents. The occasional trip to the courthouse and to a client’s home or office broke the monotony somewhat, but you needed more than the boredom you strolled through life with.
This was not who you were, at heart. From the moment you lost your virginity at eighteen on the beach with, not one, but two men at the same time, you had cravings. You would build up all this pent-up, carnal energy until it exploded in some way. You aren’t unattractive, but you tended to not keep relationships very long. Sometimes it was their fault. You dumped guys with strange habits, for lacking maturity, or for, ironically, cheating. Sometimes it was your fault. You had been dumped when the guy figured out they were just a rebound and, once, when you were emotionally unavailable.
Most of your relationships ended, however, because you were something of a rampant cheater. It wasn’t that you were ever unsatisfied; your sex-drive was something unmatched. It wasn’t that you got off on cheating either. To you, there was just never a good reason to hold back. If something seemed fun, why not do it?
The irony of losing your virginity when you did, and how you did, was that you never had any interest in sex before that night. Two of your guy friends had gone off to college and seen how boring your sleepy, seaside hometown was. When they returned for summer break, they had a fifth of whiskey liqueur with them and stories from freshman year to tell you. The three of you split the bottle, and the two of them spent time inside every place they could. The sky was lit only by stars, and a towel was spread out on a picnic table in the beachside park. You had no idea something could feel so good before the moment you climbed on top of one of them, sliding your pussy down on his cock. And then the other slid his cock into your asshole, and your world changed. Most people say that anal or double penetrations hurt the first time it happens, but, for some reason, you took to it quickly. When it was all over, and a total of four full condoms had been thrown haphazardly into the sand, you discovered that there would never be too much.
Life went on that way for several years, through your own college experience (including a gangbang in a frathouse attic), law school (including the cliched sleeping with the married professor to ace a class you hated), and your early career at a couple small law firms back home. Then you got caught thrusting a strap-on in the country club president’s wife. The violent reaction of that man truly, and deeply, terrified you. You kept your head down until his trial was over, and then you left that place for the city.
It all scarred you, and living under your parents’ and younger brother’s judgmental gazes didn’t help. It repressed everything inside you like it had been before that wonderful night on the beach. Even meeting the man who would become your husband didn’t open you back up until you had moved into an apartment together in the city. Even then, that flower that bloomed on the beach remained dormant, budded up. Sure, your husband was excited about your experiences (what you’d told him, at least – some things you kept to yourself) and kinks, but you just couldn’t make yourself feel free enough to do the things you used to.
You imagined that this is what normal people were like. They woke up, had their coffee, kissed their spouse, and set about their own work. They went out a couple times per week, fucked once or twice on the weekend, and ran errands around the forty hours per week they spent selling their soul to the company store. Maybe you should take up gardening?
But, seriously. You had the money, and the empty, open lot that backed up to your condo complex was for sale. You had been eyeing for a few weeks after the previous old house had been torn down by the city. You ended up asking about it at the clerk of court’s office, and they told you that the lot was coming up for public sale.
It started off innocently enough. You’d go out onto your balcony when your husband would leave for work. You’d sip your coffee and stare down at the lot, day dreaming of flowers, vegetables, and fruit trees. You imagined heading down there for a few hours each morning to tend to the plants, pull weeds, check for pests, and root through the dirt on your hands and knees.
…on your hands and knees…
Soon, you pictured being ogled at by dog-walkers and summer-breaking college kids while you rooted around with a garden cultivator. You knew you had a great ass, and you knew they’d be admiring the length of every curve. One day, that little day-dream escalated into you doing that in a skirt with a little cheek peeking out. Then it was a lot of cheek peeking out another day. And still another day, it was full-blown bending over at the waist to pull a weed with your short skirt revealing a jeweled butt plug to a housebroken husband needing some excitement in his life. And that day, your daydreams resulted with your hand down your panties while you reclined on the balcony.
Your daydreams only further evolved when you outbid a couple developer/flippers for the lot. You pictured a maze of trellises for climbing roses and muscadines and a tryst with a neighbor on a bench in the center. The fantasies were safe, and the orgasms they led to out in the full sun of the balcony were like bolts from the blue on those sunny, early-spring days.
The work started slow. You had the soil tested, old pipes removed, the ground tilled, and compost laced through the topsoil. Your husband would leave for another 10-hour, or longer, day at the firm, you’d do some of your own paperwork for your clients, and then you’d be off to the nearest home-and-garden store or plant nursery. You’d purchased a few gardening outfits – the kind that catch attention like a cardinal at a bird-feeder. You like the red garments the best, with low-cut tops and midriff showing. If your thong peeked out of the shorts or leather body straps could be seen beneath a white t-shirt, that was more than okay with you.
Most of your time down at the garden lot had been in brief stints, not long enough to meet the neighbors. You had a fence installed by the home-and-garden store. You had been down there with them at first – four, young, muscled day-laborers, but after an hour of flirting and barely containing the urge to slip one, or more, of them your phone number, you left. You weren’t ready to take that leap yet. Instead, you went back to the condo and watched them work up a sweat while you worked out a few orgasms on the balcony and a few more from the bedroom window. When you went back down, more-or-less satisfied, you still hoped one of them would give you their number, but you ended up disappointed.
When you and your husband fucked that night, you held your eyes closed imagining that he was the foreman ravishing you in front of the other three laborers. When he had fallen asleep, you masturbated to three more climaxes – one for each laborer taking his turn in your imagination.
The day the first plants arrived was the day you were looking most forward to. The lot faced north, and you opted to plant a row of privacy shrubs along the street-side that would hide the fence on that end. The lot had been devoid of any trees, shrubs or shade. There would be an opening for the gate in the privacy shrubs, and smaller shrubs would line the rest of the fence, mostly native azaleas. You had worked extra hours the preceding three days so that you could spend the rest of that Thursday with the auger and shovels. You also opted for a loose fitting t-shirt and no bra for the top hoping it would catch some local attention.
You didn’t have to wait long before something caught your attention instead. You heard a car door slam hard in the neighboring lot following by a muffled, shouted “Goddamnit!” You looked up to see a woman pulling her four-door sedan out of the driveway into the street like it didn’t cost ninety-grand or like children never played in the street in front of her house. She saw you as she drove by, noticed that you were looking at her, and shot mind-your-business look back. When you heard a trashcan rolling down the driveway she’d left, you looked back to see a man wheeling the garbage to the curb.
You had no idea how he and the woman were related. He looked too young to be her husband, but too old to be her son. She was maybe in her late thirties or early forties, and he was maybe twenty-five at the oldest. He was cute, but not immediately intriguing. When you looked over at their house after drilling the required holes for the privacy shrubs, you found a reason to be intrigued.
You heard a splash in their pool and looked up to see the young man swimming. You could only see his head above the water, and he looked like he was just swimming in the late morning sun. Thinking little of it at first, you walked to the first hole you’d drilled, and, as you lifted the arbor vitae out of his plastic planter, you glanced back over to the pool.
The young man climbed out of the pool completely naked. You paused, transfixed on his slender muscular body. He shook his head, and his long, blond hair. Then he turned around and you dropped the arbor vitae back into the planter with a thud. His cock was the longest you think you’d ever seen. His body, and groin, were perfectly groomed like he shaved regularly. He wiped some of the water off of himself and walked over to the recliner where he put on a pair of sunglasses and laid down to tan.
How had you not noticed this man before? You wondered why you hadn’t been spying on this neighborhood so clearly visible from your balcony and bedroom window. You could imagine yourself masturbating while scoping the neighborhood with a telescope hunting down afternoon delights, babysitter affairs, and lusting housewives. However, now that you knew he was there, your mind immediately wandered to the thought of him laying in that recliner after a quick dip and touching himself. You lifted the arbor vitae back out of the planter and dropped it into the hole you’d dug for it.
You looked up once more to see him doing exactly what you had just imagined. He surely had a technique he perfected. He started slowly, twisting his hand below the tip of his cock. You could see his body writhing with anticipation, and you could feel a flood of tingles in your panties. He began stroking faster. You felt your eyes fixing to the sight. He stroked faster. You felt your mouth watering. Faster. Harder. You imagined climbing naked out of that pool and crawling to him. You could see his balls tense up as the strokes built to their inevitable conclusion.
A thought of your lips engulfing the tip of his long cock popped into your head just before you could see the cum fly out of his cock, spraying up onto his chest. You wanted to taste it, to lick it off his body. Another rope of cum fired up, followed by another. He arched his back and a third rope shot to his stomach. You could feel your panties, soaking with lust, sticking to your pussy. You could hear him breathing heavily as could see the last bit of cum flowing out of his cock, onto his thumb, and down his shaft.
Your jaw was open, and you needed to cum yourself. You watched him get up, lick the cum from his own thumb, and jump back into the pool to clean off. You had to think quickly. You ducked behind some of the shrubs and moved others to form a circle around you. You rapidly undid your pants, pulled them down and sat on the ground in your makeshift private garden. You touched yourself with a fury you hadn’t felt in years – not since before you met your husband. Your squirt soaked the dirt beneath you, sticking some of the soil to your butt. You came so hard that you felt light-headed and nearly fell through the wall of shrubs. You trembled imagined licking his cum off of his hand and kissing him after. You took several deep breaths and the orgasm subsided.
You were now resolved: you needed to plant this garden, turn it into something special, and you needed to meet that young man.
[To be continued]