My Garden of Earthly Delights Ch. 03

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Chapter 3 It had to happen

Four days later

The bittersweet frustration has faded just enough to let me focus on other things. If anything, I’m a bit peeved that he led me on. If I ever see him again an appropriately disinterested communication will have to be formulated, not rejecting or huffy, just neutral. Business like, which is what I always would like to be.

I will tell him it was cruel, explain that no one has made love to me in years (technically correct) and that part of me had gone into hibernation. But he woke me, and now men my own age don’t interest me. (damm true) But I can’t have him, and …whatever, you can’t always get what you want. He is an itch I can’t reach for scratching. He holds all the cards now.

Thinking about it in those terms made me sad, never angry, because he wasn’t intentionally unkind. A little blubber came out, and I felt better. What lesson have I learned? Probably none.

Four months later

Garden guy has resurfaced, claims he is coming to see me on Thursday, when I return to Canberra for more comedy. He wants some pics, gently begs me. Quote from texts

But by this time a lot has come to pass, and I’m in love with an old swinger who is also a true country gentleman.

I won’t tell garden guy that’s what I’m doing, but as Joan Didion said, “a writer is always there to sell someone out.”

Over the months his texts would pop up on an almost cyclical basis. I should have noted the data set of our communications.

I decided he’s just a tease, and told him so. He hasn’t got the courage. He begged for a shot of my ass, and I obliged. Then I sent it to some of the others…

I was starting to understand the currency of sexual seduction. Men get turned on by visuals, women get turned on by touch. My son told me that, and it seems true. I crave caresses.

Two years later

At last! I’m grinning like a Cheshire cat, because atakent escort he finally came into my lair and laired me. Good and proper. But it took a ridiculously long time.

Again his texting resurfaced. I told him when I would be back in town, with no real belief that he would act out his long-stated intentions. This has been going on a long time, with no resolution. I’d forgotten about our latest exchange when I arrived home after dinner and Christmas drinks with friends.

This sounded more definite: “What’s your address? Will you be free for a few hours?”

“Sure.” Believe it when it happens. But I scurried about, fresh lippie and perfume, kept my party dress and heels on. The white louche fake fur coat was enough for the cool evening although it’s summer.

I opened to his knock. He wore just shorts and a footy singlet. Oblivious to the chill or wanting to show me his muscles? Of which there is no shortage. He’s more handsome than I remember or his photos show. A flash connection to Joe Delassandro, from Warhol movies, but without the strong whiff of decadence. Clean cut and sure of himself. All the wonderful confidence of youth, no scars of life clogging his plans. Who could say no to such a positive grin, the hint of a leer just enough to warm me. Nostalgie de la boue and all that.

His teeth very white and strong, his smile so happy and youthful. A little chat and a few kisses on the couch. His hands already exploring and he suggested the bedroom. I know that if I had just continued the tease and told him no way he would have accepted that and gone home disappointed. And disappoint myself? No way, I wanted this Christmas treat.

I coached him only slightly to undress me slowly, but not so languid as might call into question our underlying urgency. I helped him pull off the shorts and singlet, nice skin. Not very hairy except on his head.

For both of us, a grateful amazement that we were finally touching, ataköy escort naked, tossing about on a warm evening. Good when covers not needed in cold Canberra.

He licked me and fingered me, my body responding, my moans revealing my pleasure. I could feel myself opening, getting wet. Then I was sucking him, he pushed my mouth down until I backed off a bit. Choking not fun, and he didn’t insist.

He sighed “I’ve been wanting this for so long”…as he entered me. Lots of strong thrusting, changing me around as if to a check list. For sure he’d been imaging all the positions he would have me in. No shyness in his instructions:

I gently enjoy his sexy boyish ways, the feel of his muscles and his strong hands, turning me over. There was a good going over in a range of positions. I would have hated for him to cum quickly, I wanted to relish every thrust.

‘Turn over.”

‘Get up on your knees.”

Then my legs over his shoulders, they all like that. In a charming way he was going through his mental list of what he’d been wanting to do when he finally got his hands on me.

“Sit on me.”

“Go on your back.”

“Don’t move.”

Then my legs over his neck, me all jumbled and being pushed up towards the bedhead with each thrust. My noises a mixture of groans and some laughter. He was able to hold back moaning “I want to come so bad.” When he did it wasn’t with cries but calmly.

I had to ask, “Was it as good as you’d imagined?”


He’d wanted to for so long but had been so busy. Now finished his degree in sport therapy, about to enter the adult work force. Not doing garden work anymore, but still training for his footy. Worried that he won’t be able to get there at 7 in the morning.

“Yes, but you’ll have a smile on your face.”

We chatted a bit more as I wiped myself, the smell of his semen mingling with my Chanel No 5. He has plans for his future. He toured my atalar escort garden with me by the full moon, even asked about my electric lawnmower. He picked up my meagre weights in the living room and we went through my arm exercises. “I should charge you for personal training,” he joked.

What a shame he hadn’t taken advantage of me sooner, we could have been doing this for all this time. I hope next time he’ll grab his opportunity with less hesitation.

He is a together young man. No tats, not into drugs or even much booze. Currently girls don’t rate high on his agenda. “They are too expensive and too much work.” He is too busy. Of course I know I’m in a different category, less effort and perhaps more thrill.

And last month…

That was over a year ago. Every few months he prods me again with his texts, asking for more photos. Having breached the divide into sexual intimacy we are now somewhat more open in our exchanges. He asks for ever more explicit photos. Sometimes I just send neutral pics, cheerful fully dressed photos suitable for friends. Then I hit him with one of the nudies, or the one that is almost arthouse of me from behind riding my satyr in a suit (the subject of a forthcoming story, faithful reader).

Our texts are endless nonsenses about when I will be available, and endless cul de sacs of thwarted lust. It would be good again, if he actually shows up for seconds. He must know I consider him mere entertainment. He asks if he can do a video. I have to think about that, the risk of it being passed around. Wouldn’t like that. But most sex shots don’t show the face, so might be ok. I have little concern about photos, maybe a misguided nonchalance about secrecy. I like the way I look in the photos, be it pride or vestigial vanity.

Can’t help but feel it as a notch in my belt, a handsome sexy man boy close to 50 years my junior. It was playful fun, no harm in it. He even started to pick up my clothes from the floor, I can tell he is a responsible sort, his life about to unfold according to his efforts and goals. He could be my grandson. I won’t be around when he is a middle aged dad or husband. For a brief hour we entwined. Perhaps there will be a reprise, maybe not. Without making it more than it was, it was human and it was good. So there.

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