tagMatureRebecca's Garden

Rebecca's Garden


Becky and I had celebrated our eighteenth anniversary in April...if you want to call it that. There wasn't much of a celebration. We had grown so distant that neither one of us seemed to care anymore. She had submersed herself in her work. I was between jobs looking for employment in another town not really caring if I had to commute or even relocate. We had little time for each other.

Her birthday had come and gone while I was out of town for my daughter's graduation. This was my youngest daughter from my first marriage and I was determined to make an appearance whether I was welcomed or not. This was probably my last chance to pretend that I had something to do with her success and I was not going to miss it. I couldn't help but feel a little guilty for leaving Becky alone.

Back at home, she must have felt abandoned. Even though we had not enjoyed each other's company for a very long time, being forgotten on her birthday struck a sensitive nerve. She took it out on me when I returned. She was relentless, reminding me of every transgression since the beginning of our time together.

Now, more than ever, I could see no hope for us. I wanted to find a job in another town and walk away. I wanted a fresh start. I wanted to be left alone. I wanted peace.

In all of this turmoil, she had taken a week of vacation from work. Seven days of her at home criticizing my every move, with me not working, would likely be more than I could stand. I was going to have to get along with her for an entire week.

Her plan for the week was to redesign and plant the garden. This consisted of relocating crossties, removing topsoil, and waterproofing the corners of a raised bed that had come with the house when we moved in. Someone else's design that was in desperate need of improvement. Once the bed was readied, she would plant the seeds and plants she selected for the season.

While gardening is not my favorite pastime, I decided to help. She would not be able to do a lot of the work by herself and it's not like I had anything to do anyway. This would be a chance for us to concentrate on something other than our failing relationship. I wanted to sweat and get dirty and hopefully have something to take a little pride in once our job was finished. We both needed the exercise and a little sun certainly would not hurt either of us.

I had moved the crossties prior to leaving for the graduation thinking that this unsolicited amount of effort would help support my cause. My ploy had not worked, but at least that much of the work was done. We would begin by removing the top eight inches of topsoil from the eight-foot by sixteen-foot bed and carting it to another location close by. This, the most physically demanding work we had planned, was to be done on possibly the hottest day forecasted for the week.

I decided to dress for the occasion and wore the worst t-shirt I owned. The sleeves had been cut out and the neck removed long ago. It wasn't much more than a tank top. I am not sure why it hadn't found its way to the rag bin before now, but I was glad and selected it for the day of shoveling and hauling. My shorts weren't much of an improvement. They were an old pair of athletic shorts from my days of working out at the spa. Certainly not appropriate for wearing in public anymore, they were a little short and a little snug for today's fashion standards. They would, however, let in a little more sun and be undoubtedly cooler for the work ahead. Being sexy or appealing was the farthest thing from my mind.

I was already outside and had begun slathering suntan lotion on my stark white legs and arms when Becky appeared. She was wearing a pair of blue jean cutoffs and a loose top. She went back in the house and reappeared with a bottle of sun block suggesting we use it on our face and neck since the lotion I had selected provided little protection. We finished our self-application of the various lotions and headed for the garden.

The forecast was surprisingly accurate, as the mountain sun had warmed the day to eighty degrees before noon. We shoveled and raked and hauled away the topsoil diligently taking numerous breaks to conserve our energy since neither one of us was in the best of shape. Sedentary lifestyles and hours behind a desk had conditioned us for little else.

Sometime during the morning, Becky had removed her bra and changed into a pair of shorts cut from an old sweat suit. I remember her mentioning that the bra and jean cutoffs were "cutting her into". When we broke for lunch, sometime mid-afternoon, she changed into a sports bra of sorts. I had noticed it in her panty drawer when putting away laundry, but really couldn't remember seeing her wear it before that day.

It must have been an hour or so back at work in the heat of the day that we had both sweat through our clothes. When she bent over a dark "V" had formed down the small of her back between her cheeks. I couldn't help but notice, but I was determined not to think about her in that way. It had been months since our last sex together and I had convinced myself that the only way to deal with such disappointment was to not allow myself to want her. If I didn't want sex with her, then her rejection could not hurt me.

Once, when she stood up to wipe the sweat from her face, I noticed two half moon circles of sweat that had soaked through underneath her breasts. They seemed to cradle her tiny breasts the same way I had cradled them a thousand times. Just above the sweat moons, her nipples were erect and swollen from the heat. Becky was not really what you would call "flat chested", but she had always wished that her breasts were a little larger.

I thought of how sensitive they had always been. At times, she couldn't stand for them to be touched. Other times, she would push her nipples into my face wanting them licked and suckled gently. She had taught me to nibble them with my teeth. She delighted in this pleasure and pain threshold. At first, I was afraid I would hurt her but in rare moments she writhed in near orgasm as I bit harder. I had decided long ago that I would trade the sensitivity of her tiny mounds and perfect nipples for any of the larger breasts I had ever seen or was likely to see.

At that moment I caught myself. It seemed I had been staring at her for a long time since so much had passed through my mind, but it couldn't have been more than an instant for she never noticed. Once again, I pushed the thought away. I was not going to set myself up for more disappointment.

That evening, with the hardest day of work behind us, we were both exhausted. We showered, had diner and settled in to our respective places for some television. The next day would be hot again, but the work would be a little less strenuous. We had tried to pace ourselves, but we both agreed we had almost overdone it. Becky was worried that we would not complete the project before she had to return to work. I assured her that we had plenty of time and she seemed appreciative of my help and support both physically and mentally.

The next morning I felt good considering the previous day of manual labor that I was not accustomed to. Becky, on the other hand, was not fairing as well and mentioned that her legs and shoulders were sore from all the shoveling the day before. Although a little later in the morning than planned, we prepared for another day of dirt. Today, we would remove another eight to ten inches of soil and place it in the new eight-foot by eight-foot section that we had added to the existing raised bed. This soil was softer with no remnants of old plants and we didn't have to cart it away, so the work would be less demanding.

Our attire for the day was pretty much the same. The clothes we had worn the day before were filthy and in the hamper. I dug a little deeper in my dresser drawer and found another ensemble very similar to that worn the day before. Another pair of athletic shorts and an old T that had been modified would serve the purpose. Becky wore the same shorts she had worn a half-day before and a loose crop top. This time she noticed my neck and shoulders were "a little red" and applied the sun block for me. I followed suit and put the lotion on her neck and the middle of her back.

Work was much the same, but we paced ourselves. By then end of the day, we had finished moving the soil and waterproofing the corners. I had fixed lunch for us and she had taken over the task of providing us with ice water throughout the day. We had even managed a short nap in the late afternoon and had still accomplished our goal. Becky seemed relieved that we had made so much progress and would likely complete the week's agenda.

That night we were both tired and slightly sunburned, but shared the satisfaction of accomplishing the tasks we had planned. When we went to bed, I offered to rub lotion on her shoulders and back. She agreed and may have been surprised that I remembered her comment from that morning.

Rubbing Becky's back with lotion has always been a delight for me. I admit I have often lost sight of the real purpose of these sessions and attempted to use them as some sort of foreplay. However, the simple fact remains that I enjoy massaging her almost as much as she enjoys being massaged. I carefully warmed the lotion in my hands before it ever touched her skin. This time I paid close attention to the sore muscles in her shoulders and back going over them several times before moving to a new spot. Then I would revisit the noticeably more affected areas several times. I finished with plenty of lotion and pressure on the small of her back. I knew my lower back could use some attention from stooping and shoveling, so I reasoned that hers could too. She seemed to enjoy this extra attention. I stopped just under her waistline, careful not to go to far. At this point, I was not thinking sex and was hoping to convey that to her without words.

I asked, "Do you want me to rub your legs?"

"That would be nice," was her reply.

I began massaging the backs of her thighs, first the right one then the left, careful not to touch too closely to that spot where massage ends and foreplay begins. As I worked the length of the large muscles in her legs, she groaned from the pain. I decided to stretch the muscles when I was finished massaging them. Placing my hand just inside the top of her thigh against the lateral muscle leading inward, I moved my other hand over the long muscle down her right inner thigh just past the knee. She groaned again. I was careful not to get too close to the lips and opening of her vagina. I repeated this stretching motion several times. She groaned each time.

I moved to the left side and repeated the procedure. She obviously enjoyed this, moaning each time I stretched and pressed her muscles. Anything beyond this deep massage would be her choice not mine. When I finished, we turned out the light and fell asleep. Surprisingly, I did not feel disappointed. I had not allowed myself to expect anything else.

The next morning we slept until 9:30, which was rather late for both of us. I offered to take her to breakfast at a new place I had tried some months back. We dressed casually and went to breakfast. Since we were ahead of schedule with the garden project, we spent a little time meandering downtown and ended up in our favorite bookstore. After several minutes of browsing the new selections, she showed me a book she had found entitled "Aqua Erotica". It was a selection of erotic stories taking place in and around water. I suggested that she purchase it, although I must admit I was surprised at her interest.

We finished the day by going to her favorite greenhouse and picking out plants together. Although we didn't get a lot of manual work done that day, it was very productive in more ways than one. I was given a little hint that she might be interested in a romantic interlude at some point. Not to mention, we had spent the entire day together and had enjoyed each other's company. That evening we relaxed again.

At bedtime, I asked Becky where she had put the book she bought. She was already reading something else and said, "It's over here in the floor."

That was that. She didn't offer it to me, nor did she pick it up to look at it. I let it drop and soon drifted off to sleep, fighting the urge to feel disappointed over what I thought might have been more that evening.

The next day was to be spent mixing manure and laying soaker hose into the beds so we could begin planting. I was running out of old clothes to wear since two days in the dirt had relegated most of my "grubbies" to the clothes hamper. However, I found another home made tank top and dug to the bottom of my dresser drawer and produced an old pair of gray workout shorts. They were definitely too short and too tight for the public, but I figured since we were working with manure and such that day that it really wouldn't matter.

I have always admired Becky's work ethic. Once she makes her mind up to do something, she is hard to keep up with. It was all I could do to carry the bags of manure, open them, and spread them while she mixed the dirt. We finished the entire bed in less than two hours. The weather was somewhat cooler and overcast that day, but we still managed to work up quite a sweat.

We listened to a new CD I had purchased at the bookstore the day before. It was an up tempo selection of greatest flamenco hits from Ottmar Liebert. It tended to keep things light and fun throughout the day even though we were basically working in manure. A couple of times, as I stretched and bent and lifted the bags of manure, I noticed the tight shorts rubbing my dick almost to the point of a hard on. Once again, I pushed any notion of arousal out of my mind and continued working. I thought I caught Becky a couple of times noticing the obvious bulge in my shorts. It may have been my imagination or just wishful thinking. I have never thought women could get all that turned on visually, anyway.

We showered that evening and had dinner and, like so many evenings before, settled in for a little television. Both of us rather tired, we went to bed at normal time with only two days left to complete the planting and ready the garden for the season before Becky had to return to work on Monday.

When we were in bed, much to my surprise, she offered to lotion my shoulders. She said they were a "little pink" from the sun and I had not lotioned them after my shower. I accepted this rare opportunity and rolled on to my stomach. She began spreading a copious amount of lotion over my shoulders and down the upper part of my back. After a few minutes she said, "How's that?"

I said, "Feels great, but would you rub my lower back?" It had been bothering me since the first day, but for whatever reason I had not asked for extra attention.

She began lotioning and rubbing my lower back, venturing just below my waistline in much the same way I had done hers a few nights before. When she finished, I rolled over and said, "Your turn". She pulled her nightgown up, around her neck and laid on her stomach, ready for her massage.

I began with her shoulders and back. Becky has one of the most sensual backs I believe I have ever seen. Something about its shape as it tapers to her tiny waist. Her hips have always been a little larger than she would like, but to me they are very appealing. They have never, to this day, become flabby, but instead are surprisingly firm to the touch. When I finished her back I gently lowered her panties and began slathering lotion on her butt. I was diligently working the lotion in, working her cheeks with my fingertips when I felt a slight twitch from her. I said, "Did that hurt?"

She replied, "No, that feels nice when you massage my ass with your fingertips like that."

This was the first encouragement I had received from her in over five months and I must say I was a little fearful. I didn't want to ruin what might become a good thing. A thousand thoughts rushed through my head. Would this be one more time of massage Becky's back, play with Becky's ass, lick Becky's clit, roll her over, eat her pussy, then fuck until we were exhausted?

She has always said that once Polly, her affectionate name for her pussy, was started that we shouldn't stop. We didn't want her to "go to sleep". I must say that after years of being deprived of as much lovemaking as I would like, I would usually go along. I can't count the number of times we had sex and she never even touched my dick. I would put it in. If it came out, I would put it back. This is something that, in the heat of the moment, one may not notice, but in reflection, it would occur to me that I had been left out.

I decided then and there that no matter how long it had been, I was not going through that again just for a piece of ass. I continued massaging her cheeks moving slightly in and out of the crease that lead to her butt and the infamous Polly. Soon I moved past her pussy and began working the muscles on either side at the top of her thighs, giving a little flick back in the center once and again.

She responded wonderfully. With a deep, guttural groan she dropped her back and stuck her lily, white ass high in the air, inviting me to play as much as I wanted. At this point, I removed her panties completely. She took her gown off over her head and dropped it on the floor next to the bed. She was totally naked before me.

I moved my hand to her labia and massaged each side with my index finger and thumb rubbing them softly at first then applying increased pressure. Another groan came from her. I slide my thumb into her pussy and began massaging her "G" spot while, at the same time, stroking her clit with my wet index finger. Gently at first, then more forceful as she got hotter and hotter writhing under the sensation of my determined fingers. I began stroking the crease of her cheeks with my middle and ring fingers on the same hand. She was completely drenched. She moaned her approval. In a circular motion, I stroked the muscle around her ass and gently eased the tip of my smaller ring finger into the opening. Another deep moan came from deep in her chest.

At this moment, she came, yelling, "Oh, Jay...ooooooh". I wanted to drop between the cheeks of her ass so badly and eat her pussy at this point, or "kiss Polly" as she often refers to it. I held back and decided to wait. She flipped over on her back. I removed my boxers and started licking and kissing her nipples. She was ecstatic wanting me to suck and lick more and more. She reached out and grabbed my dick and I thought for a moment she was going to put it in her wet, hungry pussy, but she rubbed it against her clit instead. She was moaning the entire time. I continued to lick and nibble her tits, one then the other. It was intense.

We drifted to the side and I pulled her on top of me, kissing and licking and biting all the way. I was on my back propped up somewhat against one of the pillows and she moved down and began licking and biting my nipples. She bit so hard that I was sure she was going to bite them off. For me, the threshold between pleasure and pain was intoxicating.

We were like animals, licking, sucking, and biting. It had been too long for both of us. She rose up and straddled my chest thrusting her dripping cunt into my face. I buried my mouth and nose deep into the warm, sweet mound before me. Then, with my tongue as wide as I could make it, in one long, sweeping motion I licked all the way from her ass to her throbbing clit and finished by sucking her juices from its tip. "Ohhh." She came again and slowly collapsed, sliding down my chest. She grabbed my face and plunged her tongue into my mouth, licking and savoring every drop of her salty fluid left on my tongue. I wanted it back and slide my tongue into her mouth sucking and searching for that distinct taste. She finished by sucking my tongue up and down like a wet dick crammed into her mouth.

Report Story

byJjcooll© 4 comments/ 110368 views/ 4 favorites

Share the love

Report a Bug

2 Pages:12

Forgot your password?

Please wait

Change picture

Your current user avatar, all sizes:

Default size User Picture  Medium size User Picture  Small size User Picture  Tiny size User Picture

You have a new user avatar waiting for moderation.

Select new user avatar: