The Walled Garden

I.

I was driving home from work when my phone rang. Rosa Flores. Crap. I'd been avoiding her, but I decided to answer and get it over with.

"Go for Christina." I put on my work voice. Keep it impersonal. That would make it easier when I told her I was kicking her out. If I have to listen to one more week of her sexual moans floating across the garden at night...

"Tina!" Her voice was hushed in my ear, like she was whispering. "You have to see him. Puta de madre, he's so hot!"

Her words threw me. The speech I'd been preparing for the last few weeks slunk back to the basement of my mind. I was intrigued. Despite my resolve I found myself responding. "Who?"

"The new gardener. He's gorgeous! Curly dark hair, enormous eyes, pretty lips. Dios, Tina, you have to see him!"

I'd barely seen Rosa for weeks. She rented my guesthouse, on the far side of my walled garden, and when she first moved in we'd spent most evenings together. She came round after I got home from work and we drank wine and gossiped and laughed.

Rosa had a filthy mind, and she was bold about what she wanted. I was just coming out of my last attempt at a relationship, and she'd regale me with tales of her sex life. About men who made fools of themselves, or about nearly getting caught - or about actually getting caught. And she never hesitated to go into detail.

Often after our sessions I'd draw myself a bath, or just crawl into bed, and play with myself as I recalled Rosa's adventures. I'd picture her riding a stranger in the back seat of his car, or sucking an unknown cock in some alley, or letting unseen hands slide up her skirt in the club or on the train.

What aroused me about her stories wasn't just the acts she described, but the idea of not caring about what people thought. Rosa was unashamedly sexual. She enjoyed sex, too much to let anyone dictate the terms, and she did what she wanted, when she wanted. And who she wanted.

How had that all ended? When did we stop being friends?

It was the memory of those stories that paused me now. Instead of telling her I wanted her to move out, I found myself saying, "I'm nearly home. How long has he been there?" I paid the gardening firm for an hour.

"He just got here. But hurry, you don't want to miss a second."

"I'm nearly home," I replied, turning the last corner into our street. "Let me call you back in a minute."

Rosa had been a breath of fresh air when she first moved in. She was everything I'd wanted to be when I was younger: confident, uninhibited, full of life. In appearance, she could have been the baby sister of my closest friend at uni, but Rosa was wilder, more passionate.

Not that my youth had been all prim and proper. I'd had my share of excitement - well, nearly my share. But it had become hard to balance a career with a love life, and more and more I'd found myself preferring my career. It was more interesting, more challenging, more fulfilling.

I hadn't had sex with anyone besides myself since Rosa moved in. My last lover had been enjoyable, and we'd had fun, but there was something missing. Not love, as I'd thought at the time. Something more ephemeral. Respect, perhaps. He hadn't respected me for who I was, and so I couldn't respect him.

In the end I'd cancelled a dinner date - we'd been together for seven months or so - and neither of us had bothered to reschedule. The void it left had been filled with self-respect, so I wasn't unhappy about it.

I thought having a lodger for the guesthouse would give me some company while I enjoyed being a successful single woman. And for a while it had worked out. It was as if I'd outsourced my sexuality to Rosa and she reported to me on the highlights.

But I'd started to come home later and later, and I'd been tired, and I had little energy to drink wine and laugh with Rosa. Then my consultancy firm tendered for a big contract and won it, and after that I had no time or energy at all.

For the last few months, I'd heard her more often than I'd seen her. I'd lain awake at night, listening to her moans and cries as she experienced yet another adventure, until I'd had enough. She had to go. No room for sex in my life, even if I wasn't the one having it.

Today had been another long day at the office - a long week, in fact - and I'd promised myself a break from being the boss. If there was an emergency, my team could handle it.

All I wanted was to get home. Kick off my heels, free my boobs. Pour myself a glass of wine. Park myself on my lounger and let the late afternoon sunshine melt my problems away without anyone talking to me.

So I parked the car and went inside. A few minutes later, barefoot, I'd grabbed a bottle from the cooler. I was about to walk to the garden when I remembered Rosa, the gardener, and how I'd felt for those few seconds in the car. I changed my direction.

Taking a glass and the corkscrew, I climbed the stairs to where the back room overlooked the garden. Living by myself, and working six or even seven days a week, I rarely came up here anymore. It felt odd now, like I was revisiting the town where I'd grown up.

I removed the cork from the bottle and poured myself a glass. The tart liquid filled my mouth before it slithered down my throat like burning ice. I took another sip, smaller this time, and put the glass down.

By this time my boobs were reminding me of my promise. Pulling my blouse from the waist of my trousers, I slipped my hands round my back and undid the clasp. My boobs gave a sigh of relief as they fell free. Careless of my sweater's stretch I pulled the lacy prison through the sleeves and tossed it onto the floor.

The smooth wool of my sweater felt good on my skin. It brushed across my nipples, reminding them that it had been an age since anyone but me had played with them. They sent a memo to my brain, and to my libido, to do something about that.

Taking up my glass again I placed the bud in my ear and called Rosa. "Is he still there?"

"He is," she whispered back. "But his shirt isn't. You're just in time."

The guesthouse stood across the grass and flowerbeds, beyond the apple tree that lived by itself in the centre of the lawn. Careful not to disturb the gauze drapes, I positioned myself by the window to get a good view. And what a view it was!

I could only see the boy from behind, but he was as pretty as Rosa had promised. The curls fell across his back, which rippled with muscles under his olive skin. The arms were long and sinewy, gleaming with a sheen of sweat in the late afternoon sun. And the arse...!

Despite his slender form, he filled his cotton shorts with a shapely roundness. The material hugged his cheeks and highlighted the firm thighs beneath. To my surprise I found myself wondering what they looked like from the front.

"Very nice," I murmured. I took a sip of wine, and a sudden thought struck me.

The cupboard in this room held a box of holiday gear. Including a pair of small yellow binoculars. A moment later I had them pressed to my eyes, running them over that tanned, toned body like a lover's fingertips.

Rosa was still whispering in my ear. "Yes baby, reach for that branch."

He was stretching up to prune a rosebush. I let the binoculars caress his legs, noting the short curly hairs and a drop of sweat running down his thigh. Without looking away I groped around with my free hand until I found my wine glass.

"How old is he?" I asked, taking a sip.

"Twenty, according to his profile on their website. Name's Roberto." Rosa's whisper was sounding decidedly breathy. "Mama likes Roberto."

The old me surfaced from its deep hibernation to tell me that I liked Roberto too. He had a scratch on his arm, presumably from a thorn, and it just highlighted how perfect his skin was. He was wearing a pair of heavy gloves that hid his hands, but I could imagine his fingers: strong, agile, capable.

He bent down to pick up a roll of string. In my ear I heard Rosa moan. "Look at that arse! Have you ever seen anything so perfect?"

I didn't reply. I was busy staring through the binoculars. My tongue, I discovered, was licking my lips. What would it feel like? I wondered. How does his skin taste?

I imagined running my lips over his back, from his neck to his crack. Sliding my hands over his thighs, up and down to feel the muscles-

"Tina? Are you still there?" Rosa was whispering in my ear again. I returned to the present and hastily searched through the binoculars until they filled with bronze skin. A gasp escaped me before I realised it was there.

Roberto had turned round, and my sight was filled with his stomach and chest. It was an athlete's body - a swimmer, perhaps - all defined and toned without being excessively muscled. A light covering of curly hairs rose from his shorts, reaching for his navel like I wished my fingers were.

"He's... delicious." I could hear the hunger in my voice. A hunger I'd forgotten about. Rosa must have heard it as well. "Easy there. I saw him first." There was something of a smirk in her voice.

I dragged the binoculars up to Roberto's face. It was everything Rosa had promised. A slightly pointed chin, full red lips, a straight nose, and a pair of dark eyes filled with a soulful gaze. I watched as he pulled off a glove and brought his hand to his face to brush his hair back. His hand was just as I'd imagined it, but with a long pale scar running along the back, almost to his wrist.

In my ear I heard Rosa hum approvingly. "Can you imagine what it would feel like to have those hands on your body?"

I pictured it in my mind. I had to recall what it was like to have someone else touch me, but then it was easy enough. Calloused fingertips, with a delicate touch, warm and insistent, exploring my skin, seeking out the sensitive areas and lingering there... I needed another sip of wine.

But instead of reaching for the glass, my hand came up to squeeze my nipple through the material of my sweater. A thread of electricity shot down and ended up in my toes. How long has it been, anyway?

But fuck! my body ached for someone's touch. Sex would be good, but so would a massage - a real one, a personal one, from someone who cared about me. It didn't even have to be a very good one, just a pair of warm hands on my shoulders. Or someone's fingertips brushing the naked skin of my arm.

A sense of connection, that was what I was missing. Surrounded by people all day I was still alone.

Lately I'd been so wrapped up in work that I'd barely even taken time to treat myself properly. It was great that my consultancy firm had just won that big contract, that I was becoming a name in the industry. Someone to be reckoned with.

But sometimes it was hard to remember that my name wasn't "Boss". That there was a Christina beneath the designer sweaters, a human with a human's needs.

In fact, I realised as I gazed at Roberto's lean body, I couldn't remember the last time I'd looked around and really seen anything. I'd scoffed often enough when people talked about mindfulness, and told them that just looking up from their phones would do the trick.

But now I thought I understood what they meant. Experience the moment. Savour it.

Well, I was savouring this moment alright. I imagined how the sweat on Roberto's chest tasted. How his skin would feel under my tongue. How his breath would sound in my ears. How-

"Tina? Are you still there?" There was a note of amusement in Rosa's whispered voice.

"Still here," I murmured back. "Just imagining... Well, you know."

She giggled, sounding like a schoolgirl instead of the grown woman she was. "Don't I just? Poor boy, being molested by two older women and he doesn't even know it!"

Despite myself I found myself grinning along with her. Rosa had always known how to bring me out of the darkness. I raised my glass in a silent toast to her, and took a sip. "He looks like he could handle us both."

As soon as the words left my mouth I was astonished at myself. Besides my girlfriends at school and uni, I'd never really talked about sex to anyone I wasn't fucking. Rosa was less inhibited, but I'd always let her carry the conversation.

Is it the wine? I wasn't feeling lightheaded, not from the few sips I'd had. Maybe I just don't care anymore. Maybe that's it.

Whatever it was, now that I'd begun I found myself almost eager to continue. "Do you think he's experienced?"

I heard Rosa scoff in my ear. "Looking like that? He'll have been on every father's watchlist for the past half-dozen years."

"And most of the mums too," I whispered back, and was rewarded with a laugh from Rosa.

"No kidding! I bet he's had plenty of experience with women our age." I was flattered that Rosa put me in her own age bracket. The fact was that she was in her late twenties, and for me that was almost a dozen years ago. It felt like a lifetime.

Outside Roberto was reaching up to tie back the wisteria. Rosa's sigh came through my bud. "I like it when he bends over, but this stretching is nice too."

I agreed. The sight reminded me of the joy of running my fingers over a lover's back. Feeling the muscles play under his skin, savouring the heat that radiated up through my fingertips, listening to his gasps as the nerve endings came alive under my touch...

A faint moan brought me back to the present. For a second I thought perhaps it had been me, but then I heard it again, coming through the bud in my ear. "Rosa?" I asked. "Are you playing with yourself?"

She didn't reply immediately, but a grunt on the other end of the line told me enough. "Not going to lie," she whispered after a moment. "I'm thinking about licking his chest. Biting his nipples. Rubbing my face in those hairs."

I almost choked on my wine. Even knowing Rosa, knowing her sexual confidence, it was a shock to find out she was masturbating. Right in my ear, as it were. It was exhilarating too.

My body was responding. Not just from the sight of Roberto, or from hearing Rosa's whispered gasps in my ear. The excitement went deeper. It was as if I was entering into the world of sex for the first time.

In a sense I was. It had been months. Nearly a year. I'd retreated into my mind and forgotten about my body and its needs.

In an impulse I set aside my glass and unbuttoned my trousers. As I pulled them down and kicked them from my ankles I wondered, Trousers and sweater. When did I start dressing like a man?

The movement set my boobs swinging against my sweater. For a second I could imagine the material was Roberto's calloused fingers brushing my nipples.

A glance down almost made me blush. I hadn't given up on looking after myself, but my knickers had seen better days, and my bush was bushier than it used to be. I could see the dark mass pressing against the thin material and peeking out along the sides.

A thought flashed across my mind. What would Roberto think if he saw me like this? It made me feel old and dowdy. Then I gave an inward laugh. A gardener is just what I need down there.

My stomach was still smooth and feminine, though. I knew my arse was a good shape, thanks to the office gym. And my breasts were firm under my sweater. Give me ten minutes and he'd be drooling at the sight of me. It was a comforting thought, and a slightly intoxicating one.

Feeling naughty I slipped my hand beneath the waistband of my knickers. The elastic wasn't as tight as it should be. Definitely time to throw them out.

The thick curls felt strange beneath my fingers. Besides that period at uni when I wanted to save the planet I'd always kept everything neat and trimmed. Not shaved, except once for a boyfriend who'd nagged me. I decided I was fonder of my pubes than of him.

It took a bit of digging, finding my way between material and flesh and getting the hairs out of the way, but then I felt my slickness. I was surprised by how wet I was. My finger pressed against my entrance.

In my ear I heard Rosa give a gasp, then another. She wasn't just rubbing herself while she watched, I realised. She was going for it.

A second finger joined the first. I felt my arousal coat my fingertips, and I rubbed it along my slit. I avoided my pearl for now. Somehow I felt that would be crossing a line. Like I was committing to pursuing my orgasm.

For now, I could tell myself I was just teasing.

Rosa didn't seem to have that reservation. Her breathing was heavy in my ear. "Yes, yes," she was murmuring. "Puta de madre, I'm going to make you enjoy me." This was followed by a soft moan.

Outside Roberto had kneeled down and was bending forward. He was doing something with the roots of the honeysuckle, I thought, but mostly I was interested in how the late afternoon sun was making the sweat gleam on his back.

It felt like an age since I'd felt the sun on my skin, let its warmth seep inside me and soften the knotted muscles. My excuse for drinking wine as soon as I arrived home was to relax, but it hadn't really helped. Even now, I could feel in my entrance how tense I was.

Gently I ran my fingers round in a circle, as if I was a massage therapist working away at a client's stressed muscles. The idea helped to distract me from what was really happening.

"A young boy like that," Rosa whispered between gasps, "he could go all night. Fill me every way I wanted, and come back for more."

The idea was interesting, and I gave it some consideration. Tease him with my mouth, I thought, until he's twitching, until he's ready to burst. Let him swell, so big his cock stretches my mouth as far as it goes.

I put the binoculars down to drain what was left of my wine. Putting them back to my eyes, I ran the tart liquid around my mouth, swirling it around and remembering what it felt like to pleasure a cock.

Rosa's breath was ragged now, interspersed with moans and grunts. "Si, si... yes, give it to mama!" Suddenly she gave a choked gasp, then a grunt, followed by a whispered wail.

She just came! Right in my ear, she came in my ear!

One finger was buried deep inside me, I realised, working in and out like a tiny cock. Roberto had risen to his feet and was gazing up at the honeysuckle. I wondered how much time was left of his hour.

In my ear Rosa gave a laugh. "That was good," she whispered. "Ah, I needed that!"

"You sounded like you were enjoying yourself," I said. I wasn't sure whether I wanted to sound sensual or sarcastic. In the end it probably came out neutral.

"I was," she replied. "How about you?"

"Still enjoying the view." It was true. Roberto was gathering his tools, and through the binoculars I watched the play of his muscles every time he moved.

"I'm going out for a drink," Rosa said. There was still a breathless edge to her voice, but her tone was matter-of-fact. "Want to join me?"

A sudden panic seized me. I can't face her now! I thought. I just heard her orgasm. And I had my finger inside myself, and it turned me on!

My mind raced. Would it be so bad, though? She didn't seem to mind. It could be exciting...

For a second that seemed to last an hour I hesitated. Then I replied. "I promised myself a soak in the tub. How about some other time?"

Part of me hated myself as I removed the bud from my ear.

II.

"Tina!" It was Rosa's voice coming through my car's speakers. "He's here again!"

A week had passed, and I was driving home from work. A strange week. At times I'd felt detached from reality, while at others I felt more alive, more present than I ever had before.

The days had dragged by, second by second, and yet all of a sudden it was Friday, and here we were again.

"Nearly home," I replied. It was still home for Rosa as well. I'd never had the talk I'd meant to have with her. In fact, I'd been avoiding her. I was afraid to be face-to-face with her, afraid of how I'd react. Afraid of how things had changed. Afraid of how much I wanted to see her.