The Garden

"We all have our faults," I said.

We finished our champagne and let dinner settle a bit. It's fairly rich, that sauce, so it was good to give it time. We spent the time talking.

I found out her ex was something of a jerk. I knew he had become violent when life didn't turn out like he wanted, and I knew about the infidelity, but she gave me more information about the cruelty. He would find her buttons and push them, hard. She winced a time or two when she gave me details. I agreed with her it was good he was gone and expressed sorrow that she had to go through that. No one should have to put up with assholes, but it seems many of us do. Helen certainly did.

Then she started asking questions about me. I was reluctant to say anything. Annie was dead and my run with her was over, forever. It hurt and I tried to get Helen to understand how much. I think she did. She expressed sorrow over my plight, but didn't push me beyond what I wanted to discuss. I think, in fact, I wanted to tell her more, tell her how much I enjoyed her, tell her how much I looked forward to seeing her, but I couldn't. It didn't feel right somehow.

We continued to chat about this and that, movies, books, places we've been, places we'd like to go to, just idle chatter to use up the evening and give us excuses to stay close to each other. I eventually asked her if she was ready for sorbet.

"I thought you'd never ask," she said. "I was beginning to think you had forgotten about it."

"Never," I said. "It's one of my proudest achievements."

I scooped out some sorbet into a bowl and handed it to her. "You can have as much as you want," I said, "but I thought I'd let you try it first."

She put a small spoonful of sorbet into her mouth, swirled it around, then looked up at me and said, "How much more do you have?" I laughed and told her as much as she can eat. "I don't know," she said, "I can eat a lot."

It's nice when someone enjoys what you've done. It's nice to get appreciation, something I have been missing. I like doing things for people, particularly Helen. She seems to be always so optimistic, always so cheerful. As long as we don't talk about her ex or my dead wife.

The evening slowly wound down. "I have to go," she said, as she got up to leave. I took her to the door and she turned around. "I can't begin to tell you how great an evening I have had. I like talking to you," she said, "and I certainly like eating your food. Thank you." She leaned in to give me a kiss. I pulled back.

I regretted it immediately. "I'm sorry," I said, "I guess I'm still a bit gun shy." She nodded her understanding. I leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips.

Oh, my, those lips were soft and warming and embracing and I didn't want to ever let go. I couldn't help myself; I pulled her into my body, her breasts pressing against my chest, and matched the want in her own kiss. It had to end, I knew, each of us would have to come up for air eventually, but I was willing to suffocate if that was what it would take to keep the kiss going.

But we didn't suffocate. Helen and I pulled apart, each a bit shallow of breath. She smiled. "That was a lovely end to a lovely evening," she said. "Perhaps we should do that more often." I couldn't agree more.

She said goodnight and strolled down the walkway to her car. I watched her ass sway side to side. What a wonderful sight. She turned, caught me watching, and smiled. I think that was permission.

As she drove off, I felt guilty. I had just enjoyed a wonderful evening with a woman who wasn't my wife. She was pretty, appreciative, complimentary, and completely desirable. It just didn't feel right. But I couldn't wait to see her again.

I invited her to dinner again, this time making chicken. She loved it and hung on every word as I droned on about cooking the chicken sous vide so that it was cooked perfectly all the way through. With sous vide, you don't have to worry about varying thicknesses of chicken, I said. No spots get overcooked or undercooked; everything is perfect. She nodded with rapt attention. Champagne worked well with this dish, too, although I toyed with the idea of a sauvignon blanc. She laughed about how I temporized over the wine selection, saying absolutely anything would be fine. She was right, of course; I could be eating mud and I would be happy to do it with her. At the end of the evening, I got another of those devastatingly enveloping kisses. I couldn't help being aroused. I'm sure she noticed, but she didn't say anything.

Over the next few months, I had Helen over for dinner several times, trying different things and talking about how I made them, or what I would try next. She was always a good listener, something I needed.

One Saturday, I met her at the garden and we chatted. "Hey," I said, "would you be up for making some ravioli with me today? I have a hankering for good shrimp ravioli."

She laughed and said, "I'll help you, but I'm not sure I can guarantee I won't mess it up."

"In your company," I said, "cardboard would taste good." She blushed at the compliment. "It'll take a while to make it, so we'll have to start soon. In about an hour?"

"I'll be ready. See you at your house," she said. "I just need to change into something a bit more alluring." She smiled and waved at me as she drove off.

She showed up on time, of course. We had a ball making shrimp ravioli, something that goes a lot faster if there are two, one to roll out the dough and the other to fill the pasta and cut the ravioli to size. I showed her how I make the dough, then showed her how to roll it out. I made the filling by cooking some shrimp, then running it and some spices in the Cuisinart to get a good texture. As she rolled out sheets of pasta, I put little balls of shrimp filling down, then folded the sheets over the balls and cut the little pillows to size. I made a bisque to go over it. It took us several hours, but it was worth it. It's one of my favorite recipes.

We were finishing up a glass of champagne when she reached over the table and held my hand. I know it wasn't electricity, but that's what it felt like. She was so beautiful. Her lips invited me to places I wasn't sure I wanted to go, but was sure I would like. She bent over just a little bit to show me cleavage that suggested breasts I could easily get lost in. Her hand was soft and warm, her eyes pulling me in. I felt desire and discomfort at the same time.

"John," she said, "we've been doing this for quite a while." She paused. "Tonight, I was hoping that we could end the evening a different way." She looked at me expectantly.

I shifted a bit uncomfortably in my chair, unwilling to let go of her hand but feeling guilty for holding onto it. "Helen," I started, "you must know how much I care for you. I enjoy your company, I like your wit, and you're beautiful beyond belief, but it's still too early for me."

She nodded. "Annie," she said. "Yes, I know. But John, she passed on. We've been going out for months. Isn't it time to move on? Don't you and I deserve that? I'm strongly attracted to you, John, and I want more from this relationship. How much time do you need?"

"I don't know," I said, looking down at the table. "I just don't know when I can move forward. When I do, I want it to be with you." I looked up and saw tears in her eyes. I felt horrible.

"John," she said softly, "how long has it been since Annie was alive?"

"She died ten years ago, this coming Friday," I said.

Helen sat there silently. I looked up at her and saw something I hope I never see again. "What?!" she yelled. "Ten years, John?" She said it like it was a warning. "Just exactly when did you think it would be appropriate to move on, John?" She was emphasizing my name to make it clear she was boiling mad. "I'm not getting younger, John, and neither are you, John." Each time she said my name, it stung.

She stood up from her chair and started pacing. "Jesus, John, how long were you going to string me along? Am I to wait until you finally get around to doing something about us? How long is that going to be? What's the matter, John, not sure you love me?"

That last part really hurt, so much that I simply exploded. "I DO love you, Helen!" I shouted. "I love you more than I can say, more than I should love anyone." I got quiet. "I'm afraid that I might love you more than I loved Annie, Helen."

She stood there, shock replacing the anger. "What's wrong with love, John? How could you be against love?"

I looked straight into her eyes and challenged her. "Do you know what it's like to love someone and lose her?" I yelled. "To have her die in your arms? Well, do you?"

"No, John, I don't know what that's like," she said quietly, looking down at the floor.

"And," I continued, " do you know what it's like to love someone and fear you might lose her, too?"

"Yes, John," she said softly, "I know exactly what that feels like."

She walked over to me and caressed my head, pulling me into a kiss. She melted into me while she kissed me to my very soul. "John," she said, staring deeply into my eyes, "I'm not going anywhere, not unless you kick me away, and I'm not even sure about that. I love you, John. Nothing will change that. But John, what you're doing is wrong. You lost your wife because she died. Well, there were two deaths that day, hers and yours. Do you really think that's what she would want? Really?"

"No," I said, "I know she wouldn't. In fact, the day she died, she told me I should find someone else and get married again. I just couldn't do it."

Helen shook her head. "Let me get this straight. Your wife gives you her dying wish and you decide to ignore her? That's a hell of a way to treat a lady, John."

"That's not the way I treated her," I complained.

"I wasn't talking about her, John," she said, "I was talking about me. You may be fine with wallowing in your grief, but have you thought about how it affects me? Have you considered that you are denying me the most wonderful man I have ever met? A man who seems to know everything worth knowing, a man who is caring about everyone except himself, a man with wit and kindness and so much to give. A man I want to give everything to, if only he would let me. Why are you doing this to me, John?"

I had no response to that. She was right. I was ashamed of what I had done. I was a fool And I would continue to be a fool if I didn't change. I unleashed the desire and love that had been building up in me for months. I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her as passionately as I could. She responded in kind. I felt her tears mingle with mine. My throat tightened as I pulled her body into mine. I nibbled her ear, to the sounds of her moans. I moved my hand from her back down to her ass, that lovely ass, and gave a gentle squeeze. I kissed her neck, and massaged a breast, and was rewarded with more moans. I reached back to her zipper and released her from her dress. As I slid her dress down her magnificent body, she unbuttoned my shirt. She saw my erection and rubbed it through my trousers; I closed my eyes to concentrate on the feeling. She smiled at my response and worked on my belt, loosening it to allow her to drop my trousers to the floor. I moved forward to undo her bra, releasing two perfect breasts. I played with the nipple of one while I reached down to the wetness of her panties. She stroked my cock, as hard as it has ever been, and I licked her nipples, switching from one to the other. Her moans, soft in my ears, encouraged me to continue. My groans of pleasure mixed with hers. I kneeled down and looped my fingers around the sides of her panties. I pulled them down around her feet and she stepped out of them. I stared at the shaved pussy before me, telling her how beautiful it was. I smelled her desire and licked her; she groaned and pushed her hips forward, begging me for more.

"The bedroom is this way," I said, leading her down the hallway. I felt that lovely hand hold on gently, knowing that it was mine for the asking. When we got to the bed, I pulled her into a kiss, our tongues dancing. I gently sat her down on the side of the bed.

"Spread your legs," I said, "I want to taste you." I kneeled down before her, a goddess in my eyes.

She gave me access and I gave her pleasure, licking her pussy and playing with her clit. Her moans of delight were music to me. I gently lowered her onto her back and sucked on a nipple while I rubbed her pussy. I sank two fingers into her and rubbed some more; her wetness and writhing told me she was ready. I placed myself between her legs and angled my cock toward her pussy. She guided me in and I slowly and easily slid into her, she was so wet and hungry. She greeted me with more moans of approval. I slid in and out of her, creating the ancient rhythms of man from when the race began. Her pussy on my cock sent waves of incredible feelings through me.

As I continued to rock back and forth into her, her hips arched up to give me more access, to allow me to dive deeper. I made my thrusts deeper and faster, matching her heightened sense of pleasure. I could feel my own body reaching a peak as I rubbed, sucked, and pressed my way to her climax, and mine. I felt her body tighten as she screamed her orgasm; I screamed mine in return. I continued my motion while she came down, dragging out my own feelings in her body. I collapsed when we were both finished, exhausted from the effort and overwhelmed by the love I felt for this woman. We laid together, savoring the finish to a perfect evening. I wrapped my body around hers and we became one.

We had more dinners, of course, and we enjoyed each other as a man and woman in love should. In time, the pain of death subsided and I became more free with my feelings. Helen helped bring me back and I am forever grateful. We continued to garden, battling weeds and white flies, and brought home our bounty to serve on the table. I wrapped my soul around that woman, always fearful that I would lose her but always confident that, if I did, it was fate and there was nothing I could do about it. Take what life gives you and be happy, Helen said. I finally agreed she was right. And I finally agreed that she felt right. That's probably why I married her, although I still have no idea why she married me.