My Garden of Earthly Delights Ch. 01

Ch 1 a flirtatious young man

"I hope so". Even as those three words slid out of my mouth I knew I'd stepped in it. A bare foot, softly sinking into a slippery silken pond. My inner libertine chafing to get out again. Oh no, she's still there.

We'd been talking about my house across town, that I might move into. I said my son lives in the garden flat out the back.

"You'll have boys visiting." My response above, given as a matter of fact admission of desire, a spontaneous and dead give away. Or maybe I gave it away long before.

When he arrived today, I was on the phone with a clearly male voice. It's always on speaker.

"Date night?" he asks, smiling, as I say good bye: "See you at 5:30 at the press club..."

"A friend," I say with a hint of amused indignation. "He's a friend, and he's married and his wife is my friend, too." My totally disingenuous claim to the moral high ground.

Over a few months his assistance in the garden has taken on a certain leering quality that frankly I found quite appealing. A tall and handsome footy and fitness fellow, earning a bit doing yard work while finishing year 12. I was on the brink of leaving a 27 year monogamous relationship that had become disrespectful and devoid of sex. I'd slipped into a sexual coma.

Heaven knows much of my past is incomprehensible to me now, but today showed that is all likely to resurface, already is.

I'd already accepted the nil hypothesis regarding the garden help. Who cares, the flirting alone put a bounce in my step and a smile on my face. Maybe he's not just kidding around.

His smile was always just a bit over friendly, happy to tackle whatever task I set him. Not always with great success, judging from his attack on the periwinkle. Reminded me that lust is like a weed, always popping up again, hardy and persistent.

Later I confide to my son, who fancies himself a grand strategist of sexual politics and a minor Lothario. He brought me back to earth with his disdain: "Mom, lots of people live with their delusions. He only wants you for your gardening work."

The few friends I told just referred to Lady Chatterley's Lover as a template. Politely agnostic but knowing my proclivities.

It was giggle territory for me, flattered and amused. As the fog of my sexual coma lifted I heard the distant call of sex. Bringing back memories of my wet pussy in Sydney that lasted days after some of the more outrageous encounters. Like the Newtown cemetery on a drizzly Saturday morning, with that wicked B but that's another story. Stirrings.

Something in the part of my libido that still had a faint pulse told me to put him to a little trial...

Without great hope I automatically went through my own homework of seduction. Mustering as much subtlety as I could. I hoped my perfume wouldn't give the game away. Driving all the way back to the city, and lining him up for a solitary morning.

"Sure, I can come over then." Can you hear a smile in a voice?

Test A: will he offer to bring his friend to double the garden accomplishments? He didn't suggest that. I would have immediately agreed, because that would eliminate the possibility of him thinking that I wanted to have him alone with me.

Of course that was exactly what I desired. I dyed my hair, every little bit counts. I did extra pushups, tried to whittle myself down by at least a few hundred grams on the same premise. All the while preparing myself to be nonchalant, a word whose etymology implies 'indifferent, not warm.' Would I be able to conceal that I am hot to trot?

Right on time his big pick up truck arrived. His first words: "You're all alone here."

His grin again just the slightest bit too cheeky, his teeth just a bit big and me thinking of a wolf. But I am no Little Red Riding Hood. More like a spider in a web, he's a young fly promising a delicious bite...

Test B: Will he continue his usual line of interrogation. The state of my break-up, the whereabouts of the dismissed spouse.

"He's as far away as he can be, half way around the world."

"How long is he away for?"

"Won't be back until the 30th." More such banter. He listens to my legal woes.

"But has this turned you off to men?" So glad you asked...

"Hardly, I love men." They all have pricks in their pants. "Men have been a great distraction in my life." One of my throw away lines, but it doesn't sound right with him.

Me shrugging what can I do. Later as he again mentions the lonely weekend coming up, I joke about going to Woolies' to bring one home. A man that is.

With a sigh, thinking this flirting is going nowhere except to make me feel frustrated and deprived. Although I'm itching to get my hands on him, my sense of pride will not let me make the first move.