Into the Garden Ch. 10-12

CHAPTER10

By noon the next day, Belinda had finished the painting in the kitchen. She ran over to her father's local warehouse and picked up the hardware and fixtures Janie, her father's secretary, had ordered at her request. She loved Janie. Totally devoted to her father and to the business and sharp as a tack, she made things hum along smoothly. Belinda picked up lunch from her Janie's favorite restaurant as a treat, and although they were old enough to be mother and daughter, they spent Janie's break chatting like girlfriends.

When Belinda returned to the house, she found a state of affairs that was almost unheard of...no one was around. She knew her father was at work; she had seen him there. Her mother was likely off at some Ladies Auxiliary of Something meeting, but there was no sign of Mr. or Mrs. Sims. She checked the back of the house; everyone's car was gone except for hers and Sam's. She phoned Sam and told him she needed help with a project and could he please come up for a moment. When he came up the hill, she took him to the shed and kissed him, then told him, "There's a tool here I've been using. It gets the job done, but I've never seen it used with any speed." Sam looked at her, not understanding what she was getting at. "Everyone is out of the house, she told him. "I don't know how long until they get back, but you've got five minutes to make love to me and get back to work."

He didn't need to be told twice. Grabbing her hand, he hustled her across the back patio, through the kitchen and into his room in the servant's corners. Seconds after the door was closed, he had pulled off her skirt and panties, dropped his own work shorts and briefs, rolled on a condom and lubed up. He picked her up and almost tossed her onto the bed, diving in and beginning to fuck her with no kissing, no foreplay. "Is that fast enough for you?" he asked. He was hot with sweat from the sun and hard work and Belinda loved the manly, funky smell and sweat dripping onto her as he pounded her ass into the bed. Belinda dug her nails into his ass as he fucked her hard and deep, not stopping until he had unleashed his orgasm into her waiting channel. He rolled off her. Without a word, she was up, replacing her skirt and underpants.

Looking back at him, she blew him a kiss, and with a "thanks, lover," she was gone. He glanced at the clock. Exactly eight minutes had passed since his phone rang.

When the Sims returned from their errands less than an hour later, Sam was back at work on his construction site, while Belinda was in the kitchen mounting wrought iron drawer pulls and cabinet handles. Belinda and Mrs. Sims in an out of each other's paths as the housekeeper worked to put away groceries and start dinner. "Two more days and I'll be out of your hair, Mrs. Sims," Belinda told her. A few times, she thought she saw the older woman looking at her strangely, but she chalked it up to her imagination. She had cleaned dropped her clothes, muddied from Sam's construction work into the washer, and Mrs. Sims hadn't been to the bedroom to see any evidence of their romp.

That night after dinner, Belinda showed off her work in the kitchen to her mother and father, who loved what she had done. "I still have to re-cover all the chairs, put in the new lights and mount the new faucets, but it's really coming along. I'm hoping to be done in a week or two. Of course, that means lots of nights studying. I'm becoming such a homebody," she said.

"Oh," interjected Susannah, "Dierdre Higginbotham says her son is just dying to take you out to dinner. It sounds like you could really use a night out. I'll make sure he calls you." Belinda felt like a bug trapped in a spider's web. She knew she was going to have to endure an evening of Peyton Higginbotham talking about his stock portfolio and his tennis serve or face the wrath of two angry, aging Southern belles very used to getting their own way. She sighed, and her father gave her an encouraging smile and pat on the back. He knew how she felt, but wouldn't interfere with his wife.

Sam had his own uncomfortable conversation after dinner. Hank, somewhat unusually, offered to walk him back to the house after he had enjoyed a nice evening of dinner and cards with the Sims. Hank cleared his throat a few times, and Sam could tell he was trying to say something. Finally, he came out with it. "I don't want to know anything about who you are romancing and how, young man," Sims said, "but you best remember this is still Mississippi. And you best make sure it stays a secret."

"Yes sir, good advice, sir," was all Sam could say, knowing all the while that there was no way he could stay away from Lindy, but also knowing his friend was right. They would have to be more careful.

On the phone that night, Sam told Belinda about the conversation, and she shared Mrs. Sims' strange behavior in the kitchen. Nothing in the house, they both agreed. Nothing ever. They had made some sort of slip up. At least it was the Sims who had suspected it; Belinda knew neither of them would ever do anything to hurt her. Sam was so wound up he didn't even complete his now nightly ritual of rubbing himself to climax to thoughts of his sweetheart. Instead, he slept a night full of scary dreams of losing Belinda in a forest, calling her name with no answer.

CHAPTER 11

Belinda had done enough rewiring that all the new light fixtures, which paired the wrought iron of the drawer pulls with a warm copper that drew in the new paint colors, were up in half a day. Mrs. Sims and her mother fussed as she flipped fuses to allow herself to work safely, interfering with their daily activities. "Really, Belinda," her mother exclaimed as she came into the kitchen to find out why the TV in the family room wasn't working, "the Higginbothams have all of their remodeling done when they go on vacation. So much more civilized." Belinda gritted her teeth and smiled.

When her mother had left, Mrs. Sims, who was being put out to a much better degree by her inability to use the kitchen and sometimes the laundry room, squeezed Belinda's arm and said, "You keep on working. It looks right special and it's good for a woman not to have to wait around on a man to get a thing done." By just after lunch, the fuses were all set back to on and Belinda was poised to start on the chairs in the eat-in breakfast nook and the barstools that flanked the large kitchen island. The three faucets would wait. She had worked out a deal with her mother's favorite local upholsterer to let Belinda help do the work on the seating, as long as he received his full fee. Belinda was excited to learn a new skill. She just had to find the right fabric.

After catching a belated lunch, Belinda went down to visit Sam. Mr. Sims was nowhere in sight, so she felt able to open up with some things that were on her mind. First, she explained about the date with Peyton, and why it was necessary to keep any suspicions at bay. He didn't like it, but understood. And the utter disdain in her voice assured him there was no danger of competition. She told him she hated condoms and that she would investigate other options until she could get back to school and get back on the pill. At that, Sam's heart almost pounded out of his chest. They hadn't really talked much about what would happen after the summer, and here she was stating that their continuing relationship was a given. He was over the moon. For a moment, Belinda sat silently on the stone bench near where he was working. He could see from her face that whatever else she had on her mind wasn't making her happy. He worked as quietly as he could, giving her the time and space to say what she needed. Finally, in a quiet, unconfident voice that was so unlike the Belinda he knew, she asked, "Do you think your parents will like me? I mean, will they accept me as your girlfriend?"

Sam pulled out his iPhone, scrolled forward to a picture of his parents and handed it to Belinda.

In the picture, she saw a handsome black man, built like Sam, but a touch thinner and much darker, and next to him, a brunette with shining green eyes and skin was that was as pale as Belinda's own. "No," he said, watching her study the photo, "I don't think they'll have a problem. My brother Sean might have something to say; he's all about a bruthah stickin' with the sistahs," Sam's voice took on an exaggerated accent. "My parents are going to love you." He put his iPhone back in his pocket and answered Belinda's unasked questions. His parents met in college, sort of. Dad had overworked himself finishing up his M.B.A. and wound in the hospital with exhaustion, dehydration and who knows what else. Mom was here from Ireland on a medical fellowship. She nursed him back to health and they fell in love. With her dark hair, she jokes that it makes sense they would marry...she's Black Irish." He chuckled at the family joke.

They decided not to meet that night given what the Sims had said, then Belinda said goodbye and told Sam she was off to the library and her father's office. First, she picked up a few books on plumbing basics. Plumbing had always been her nemesis, and she had always allowed her dad to hire a plumber to do that portion of any remodel she took on around the house. Then, she dropped in on Janie, picked up her faucets, visited for a few minutes then went off to poke around in the vast warehouse for the plumbing parts she thought she would need to finish the job. She knew it pissed Chip off to find her there, so she tried to be quick, asking for help from various workers, but she didn't manage to escape.

"Really, Belinda," Chip sneered, sounding like her mother in one of her worst moments, "can't you place an order like a normal customer? How am I supposed to run things with you in here distracting everyone?"

"I'm just on my way out. Last stop this summer, I promise!" Belinda answered with a sunny smile. On the inside, she was seething, wanting to remind him he was a salesman not a supervisor, and maybe he should get back to making some money and get off her back, especially since he wouldn't even have the job he did if her father didn't own the company. She'd overheard her father groaning enough at Chip's sales figures to know that for a fact. For her last errand, she got on the freeway and drove a bit to a town where she hoped no one would recognize her. There, she purchased a spermicidal gel that promised 98% effectiveness—just as good as condoms, she thought—and with the advantage of not having a latex barrier between her and her Sam.

When Mr. Sutter came home from work, he found Belinda at the kitchen table, surrounded with beginner plumber books and faucet parts. "Daddy, can you explain a few things to me?" she asked. "I want to get this right so I don't flood the house."

"Why don't I ask Sam Greene to help you with the plumbing?" her Dad answered. "He really knows his stuff. And he's been taking on some extra projects around the house on Saturdays, so I think he'd be willing."

Belinda was torn; while she would love the extra time with Sam, she really wanted to finish this project on her own. "Maybe I'll use him as a consultant to answer questions," she told her father, "but I really want to do this myself."

That night at the cabin, Belinda attempted to use the new spermicidal gel, with disastrous results. Waiting for Sam to come down from the house, she spread the gel around her lips, then prepared to insert the filled applicator. Before she did, a burning sensation warned her that something was wrong. Sam found her crying in the bathroom, splashing water onto her very delicate, very irritated bits. Through her tears, she explained what she had tried to do, and how it had gone so wrong. "Oh baby, that was so thoughtful. I hate condoms too. But this is terrible!" Belinda kept splashing, then washing with soap as Sam suggested. The burning subsided somewhat and she remembered he cortisone cream she kept in her backpack for bug bites. It was soothing, although she was still red and in no shape for sex. She cuddled up to Sam, and he kissed her, but when she reached for his crotch, he pushed her away. "What kind of guy do you think I am? I can wait until you feel better, and I'm certainly not going to get my rocks off with you in pain."

"In that case," Belinda answered, "what do you know about statistics? I'm bogged down in plumbing at the house and I may be asking you about that tomorrow. My history and my cost accounting classes are going great, but this advanced statistics course is giving me fits."

It wasn't quite the evening of passion the two had planned but, hunched over the textbook and the computer screen, they still enjoyed the chance to spend time together, holding hands and talking, even if it was about complex equations.

As if the damage to her nether regions wasn't bad enough, Peyton Higginbotham had indeed called for a date, which was scheduled for the coming Tuesday. He was taking her to their families' country club...really pulling out all the creativity stops. And just to keep the misery coming, she still hadn't figured out her kitchen plumbing questions and had decided to avoid the issue for a day by agreeing to a shopping trip with Hailey. Talk about out of the frying pan and into the fire...

Hailey wanted to drive to another town over to try some new shops, and as they drove the extra 20 minutes with Hailey's non-stop torrent of exclamation points, Belinda was wondering if there was some bad karma she needed to rectify. By the fourth shop, Belinda had successfully found a dress she deemed matronly enough not to make her mother demand she change for the date but dowdy enough to hopefully make it clear to Peyton she wasn't the least bit interested. Hailey was still trying things on, even though Belinda had already bought her an outfit as well. She left her purse beside the chair Belinda was sitting in as she waited, and as Belinda glanced down at the floor, she spotted in the purse a familiar pill case with her own initials embossed on the top...BJS. That thieving little sneak! That's where her birth control pills had gone!

When Hailey came out of the dressing room, Belinda had gained her composure. She noticed her brother's girlfriend give her a scared look when she saw the open purse, but Belinda acted as if everything were normal and even offered to pay for a second outfit. Maybe she could turn her karma around. Then it was off to prepare for her oh-so-exciting date.

Peyton picked her up for dinner and dancing at the club in his Maserati, paid for by his "daderati," as the most labor he did was dabbling in the stock market and serving as a part-time tennis pro at the club. Too many girls to count had flipped on their backs for his Southern charm, or more precisely, thought Belinda, his charmingly large trust fund. He was shocked that Belinda Sutter, who, according to town gossip, was free as a bird and hadn't had a date in the almost three weeks she had been home from college, seemed to be oblivious to just how good-looking and utterly desirable a catch he was. She was polite but not warm during dinner, not offering any of the hair tossing, or "Oh, Peyton, that's so fascinating..." he was used to from his dates. She declined to be pulled too close on the dance floor and turned down both the offer to stop at his place for nightcap and the proposal of a drive "the long way home." Belinda told him it was still too soon after her breakup to consider dating anyone.

Still not dissuaded, he made his move in the Sutter's driveway, but Belinda was prepared. She had sent a text to Mr. Sims when Peyton was focused on a tricky stretch of road, so her family's handyman just happened to be out in the front driveway rolling up a "forgotten" hose when the pair pulled up. He even beat Peyton to the car door, greeting her with an "Evening, Miss Belinda." She could have kissed him.

By Sunday night, she was able to answer Sam's query about the state of her delicate bits with good news. "I've been walking around without underwear. That and the cortisone seemed to have done it." Sam was glad not to have known that she had been naked under her skirts and dresses for the past few days. He might not have been able to stand it ... or stand up. When they met that night at the studio, Sam was dressed in a suit and tie. He explained that he had given a talk to the young men of the Sims' church, talking about the need to get an education to break out of a life of dead-end menial labor.

"Who you to talk?" one of the young men had asked. "You up there digging ditches on the plantation."

"That's true," Sam had replied, although he didn't tell Belinda this, "but this time next year I'll be starting an executive training program at one of the biggest banks in the country. I'll be wearing a suit every day in my air-conditioned office and earning just under $75,000 a year to start."

He did tell her that he had told them any kind of education was important; that a plumber billed as much per hour as a lot of counselors, and you didn't have to deal with crazy people. The point was to learn how to do something people couldn't live without. Working with some local agencies, he had also put together a packet listing local community colleges and trade schools, as well as grant and scholarship opportunities. And, with the help of the pastor, he had lined up a few successful local businessmen who agreed to serve as mentors for boys who were interested.

"Plumbing," Belinda groaned. "Don't mention plumbing. I'm getting nowhere."

"Twenty questions," Sam said, out of nowhere. "Why won't you let me help you with the plumbing?"

"Because I'm stubborn and I want to do it myself. That's one."

"How do you keep your skin so pale?"

"Big hats and lots of maximum coverage sunscreen applied early and often. Susannah is convinced that tanning is the gateway to becoming a stripper or, more likely, a prostitute. That's two."

"What are we going to do when we get back to school?"

"No clue. Make it work. I don't intend to be your summer fling, mister," she answered with a grin, poking him in the ribs, as if he had even considered the thought. "That's three."

"Can I kiss you?"

"That's four, and most certainly" she answered.

And that was, mostly, the last of the 20 questions game. The pair stretched out on the rug, kissing passionately, exploring each other's mouths as if it had been months, not days, since they had been together.

Sam's hand ran up and down Belinda's arm. "I love your pale skin, Lindy. It's not some jungle fever silliness. I think it reminds me of the way my mother and father look together."

"I have a question for you," she said, ducking the compliment. "How many times a week do you get mistaken for Shemar Moore?" He laughed out loud.

"Exactly zero times in the state of Mississippi, but it does happen occasionally in an airport," acknowledging his resemblance to the famous actor. "Let's say three times a year." He had stripped off his shirt, and Belinda lay atop him, kissing his neck and chest, but also driving her pelvis into his, making her desire all too obvious. With the meeting today, he hadn't had time to get release while alone, and he hoped he wouldn't disappoint her. In minutes, they were totally naked, still on the floor but now with the cotton sheet below them, making their romp more comfortable.

"One more question," Sam asked. "You said you didn't want to use condoms, spermicide is a bust, and for some reason I don't understand, you didn't take your pills out of Hailey's purse. So what are we going to do for birth control?"

"Well, my love, I guess the only option is that of all horny 15-year old Mississippians who are too young to buy condoms...we pull and pray. That's five."

"Are you sure?" Sam asked; she nodded. He should be terrified, he told himself, taking this kind of risk, but her answer put him into a frenzy to get in between her legs, to feel her around him with nothing between them. He ditched his foreplay plan and moved directly to sliding her panties down her legs and pulling her dress up over her head. He ducked his head between her legs and gave her a few quick licks, but found her already wet and ready for him. As he entered her, he realized he had forgotten how tight she was. Without the condom between them, the sensations for them both were new and exciting.