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From: "E.Z. Riter" <ezriter@pdq.net>
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Subject: {ASSM} {EZ}The Garden (MF Rom)
Date: Fri, 16 Aug 2002 19:10:07 -0400
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This is fiction intended for legal adults readers. If it is not legal, DO
NOT read.  This is a copyrighted work.  Reposting or any other use strictly
prohibited without the express, written permission of the copyright holder,
except may be posted as part of a review or posted to my pre-approved
archives.

Copyright 1999, 2002 by E. Z. Riter

E-mail address: ezriter@hotmail.com and ezrazanewrites@hotmail.com

Please!        Give me your comments!

The works of E.Z. Riter are archived at www.storiesonline.net and at
www.asstr-mirror.org (http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/E.Z.Riter) and at
www.ruthiesclub.com

The works of E.Z Riter writing as Ezra Zane are archived at
www.ruthiesclub.com which is a fully illustrated pay website.

Hello, Dear Readers, A little romance for you, edited by Gail Zane and by
Ruthie. I do hope you enjoy it. E.Z.

THE GARDEN

Finally. The first warm day of spring. And it was a Saturday. I was eager to
work the garden Barbara and I had planted and tended together. My work would
be a labor of love, preparing the flower beds for planting. The smells of
the rich earth, the feel of the dirt in my hands, the warmth of the sun on
my back, were healing and reinvigorating.

Barbara was thirty-one and I was twenty-three when we married. My friends
thought I was crazy for marrying an older woman. Barbara's eleven-year-old
daughter, Vicki, was additional evidence of my insanity as far as my friends
could see. But I could see much farther. I saw in Barbara what I hoped for
in a wife.

I lost Barbara to a drunk driver. I retreated to our garden to maintain my
sanity. The beauty and order of the plants were stabilizing. The new growth
gave me hope my life could again be filled with beauty.

As I lugged the tools from my storeroom, I thought of Barbara. As I carried
the sacks of mulch from the car, my eyes teared. Barbara would have been
appalled by those tears. She was probably sitting on the white cloud
hovering over me, watching as I leaned on the handle of my spade in
disconsolation. I could see her head gently shaking back and forth in a
silent "tsk tsk."

"Jack," she would say, a hand lifting my chin to make me look at her. "Life
goes on. You need to live each day to the fullest, to relish its beauty and
uniqueness. No pity parties. No gloomy Gusses. Come on, Jack. Get on with
your living."

Yes, Barbara would say that. She faced more than one loss with grace and
serenity I envied. Barbara would be right. It had been seventeen months
since she died. It was time to stop grieving and get on with living.

Saying it is a lot easier than doing it. I had told myself a hundred times
to start anew, but my own advice fell on sterile soil. Maybe it was the
passage of time. Or maybe it was the spring season when life is renewed. I
knew now was the time to start.

I shoved the spade into the heavy soil, driving the blade deep with my foot.
I turned the first shovel full. I began.

By two thirty, the sun was high overhead. The temperature had soared. My
muscles moved easily in the hot sun beating down. Sweat poured from me, its
residue prickling my skin. By evening, those muscles would be sore. In spite
of  jogging and gym time, some muscles always ached from the hard toil of
spring.

Dirt streaked my sweat covered body. Dressed only in shorts and sneakers, I
was on my hands and knees. The earth felt good. I was lost in the reverie of
the gardener, communing with nature a handful of soil at a time.

A shadow passed over me. Ten pink toes sticking from the thongs of sandals
came into view. I fought to still a quiver as I sat back on my haunches,
hands on my thighs. My eyes slowly traveled over the shapely calves to long,
muscular thighs. Perhaps for too long, my eyes hesitated where thighs
widened into hips covered by brown shorts. Continuing past the narrow waist,
I lingered on the swelling under her bright green halter. I finished my
visual journey staring into twinkling, big, brown eyes over a grin bordered
by dimples.

"Hello, Jack."

"Hi, Beth. Join me. Please."

Gracefully, she knelt and leaned forward to be kissed. She always did that,
offering a cheek to me in greeting. The angle was askew, and our lips
touched. We each looked away, but not before our eyes had met for an
instant.

"It's good to see you," she said, a small catch in her voice.

"I've missed you," escaped from me. I looked away quickly. "Vicki's not
here. She went to the mall."

"I knew she'd be gone. She told me you were starting on your garden. I came
to help."

"All the way from college to spend spring break working like a Turk. It
doesn't sound very appealing."

What did she not say? What was the look she gave me? That look evaporated
like my sweat on this hot day, leaving a residue that prickled my
imagination. She was grinning when she answered.

"Hey! Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. I'm a good worker."

"Well, put on some work gloves and let's get after it," I replied, my own
smile matching hers.

Beth was my step-daughter's best friend and college roommate. She was
fifteen six years ago when she arrived at our house for a party. Even that
first time, I noticed her. Those big brown eyes and warm, quick, smile drew
my attention. Beth had an easy way about her, as though being happy and
positive was so embedded in the core of her personality, no other emotion
was possible.

As the girls grew, Beth was a frequent visitor to our home, spending almost
as much time there as Vicki.  Barbara welcomed Beth with open arms. I, too,
developed a caring relationship with Beth. I told myself we were like father
and daughter. I resisted the thought of a different relationship, which
sometimes required conscious effort.

As we worked and talked, my mind's eye suffered from double vision. Beth and
the present overlaid memories of the past that flowed like a disjunctive
home movie. A party Barbara and I chaperoned when the girls were sophomores
in high school. Trips to the beach. Quiet evenings in winter by the fire,
all of us bundled for warmth.

There were sad memories, too. Memories of life after Barbara. Without being
asked, Beth moved into the house, occupying the guest bedroom. What needed
to be done, she did with a quiet and loving competence. She listened and
consoled. After living with us for four months, she left as unobtrusively as
she came.

When she left, I was surprised by how much I missed her. There had been
nothing sexual between us, but our relationship had deepened. Since that
time I talked to her often. I must admit I sometimes called Vicki at school
hoping Beth would answer. With each call, each visit when the girls came
home, our relationship ripened.

I had been blinded by grief to the loving woman near me. The sunlight of
that bright spring day pushed away the shadows letting me see clearly, maybe
for the first time.

She was on her knees, legs spread for leverage. Her brown hair was piled on
her head, secured by a blue and white bandana. She was valiantly pulling on
the stump of a dead bush to extricate it from the soil. Holding it with both
hands, she was wisely using her legs and shoulders to pull. I could see her
muscles flexing under sweat-sheened skin. Her muscles stopped and she was
looking at me.

"Are you going to watch me or help me?" she asked.

"What?"

I was shaken back into the present. Beth had a soft, gentle expression as
she stared at me over her shoulder. Perhaps it would have been easier for
her to turn her body. My view was certainly better with her turning the way
she did.

"Well, Jack?" she said.

A wise gardener would have used a shovel to cut the bush's roots below the
surface, making the task easier and quicker. A wise man would have knelt in
the soil to be next to Beth. I knelt. Dirt covered her calves. Her thighs
were streaked with the same brown color. There was a smudge on her cheek
where she wiped sweat away with her dirty glove.

A rivulet of sweat slid down her throat, caressing the mound of her breast
before disappearing into the halter. Beth watched me watching her.

Kneeling now, facing her, I was suddenly overwhelmed by the sheer feminine
attractiveness of this woman. As I leaned toward her, she moved to meet me.
I saw her lips part and her eyelids flutter. Our lips touched in a soft and
gentle kiss so electrifying I twitched all over. When my eyes opened again,
she was still leaning forward, her eyes closed, a sensual expression on her
face. Her eyes opened dreamily.

"Maybe I should get the sharpshooter to cut the roots," I said.

"Maybe," she replied in a low, husky tone. "Or, maybe we can dig it out with
our hands."

Working in the dirt around the dead and forlorn shrub, we used our hands to
scoop away the soil, to pull out the roots. No speech was necessary. Four
hands worked as one to slowly free the bush from its death trap. We
sometimes touched, bumping into each other - thigh against thigh, hip
against side, arm touching back.

I could smell her. She smelled of light perfume and natural womanly odor
heightened by her sweat. Her sweat was sweet, unlike my own. It was
fragrance spewed by a flower: alluring, appealing. I could hear her ragged
breath when she struggled: a little grunt, sometimes a "humph," as she
worked the soil. Heat radiated from her. Not just physical heat or
reflection of the day's glorious sun, it was energy, a magnetic field
drawing me to her.

"Okay. It's loose enough. Let's pull it out," I said.

Shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh, we each took a handhold on the dead
bush. Moving as one, we pulled, our muscles straining. The roots gave with a
pop. Beth squealed as we fell back together. She landed on her back. I fell
over her. I gazed into her face, seeing a twinkle and the tip of a pink
tongue snake between her lips. I bent to kiss her. Her arms went around me,
holding me to her.

We kissed slowly and deeply. Her breasts were against my chest. Her hands
stroked my back. Again, I brought my lips toward hers.

"Am I interrupting anything?" Vicki's sharp voice rang out.

I jumped, landing a yard away, feeling like a child caught in the candy jar.
Beth quickly sat up, trying to straighten her appearance. She hoped her
blush would disappear before it was seen, but that was not to be.

Vicki laughed. It was not a girlish giggle. She guffawed. Beth twittered,
covering her mouth with her dirty gloves, smearing her face with a brown
hue. I had to laugh, too. We stood and began brushing the dirt from our
bodies. It was a lost cause.

"Here. You need this for more than one reason," Vicki said.

"No, Vicki!" Beth screamed as the stream of water hit her full force.

Using her thumb to create a biting blast, Vicki relentlessly sprayed Beth
who danced and twisted under the stinging water. Beth's halter and shorts
were quickly saturated. Magically, the cotton molded to her shape, treating
me to a delicious sight. I was watching Beth when Vicki decided it was my
turn. The water was an icicle hitting my overheated skin. In spite of the
distractions, I saw Beth watching me. She had a sensuous gleam in her eyes.

With a tackle an All-American would be proud of, Beth drove Vicki into the
mound of dirt piled by the beds. Except the pile was not dirt. It was mulch
mixed with composted sheep droppings. Or, as Vicki shouted, "Beth, this is
shit."

Laughing and teasing, the girls struggled to stand in the loose pile.
Without pretense (can one be dignified when covered in manure?), they hosed
each other off. Arm in arm, they went into the house to shower. They needed
it. They neither looked nor smelled like ladies at that moment.

I cleaned up the mess we made and put away the tools. It had been a long day
of work, but it had been a delightful day. I realized how much I enjoyed
being with Beth. I was thinking of her in a way I had never allowed myself
before this spring day. To say my thoughts were salacious would be an
understatement.

After my shower, I slipped into shorts and a pullover shirt. When I went
downstairs, Vicki and Beth were talking on the couch. They stopped when I
entered, following me with their eyes.

Vicki was wearing a blouse and skirt, I think. Beth was wearing one of Vicki
's cotton sleep shirts, the kind that hangs to the knees. It was the blue
one with the red piping. She was to Vicki's left, legs tucked under her. Her
hair, still damp, lay on her shoulders. Her eyes were soft, like twinkling
stars. Her smile held a secret.

"Well, Jack,  you wore out poor Beth. If you don't mind, she wants to stay
here while I hit the hot spots."

"Mind? No. Are you sure, Beth?" I asked, looking at her.

"Yes. I'm sure," she replied.

Her voice was soft was a hint of a promise. Her smile was loving, her eyes
hot. Our eyes met and held. A tingle went down my shoulder, racing to my
fingertips. They were twitching when Vicki cleared her throat.

"Well, I see neither of you'll mind if I leave now," she said sardonically.

"No. Go ahead," Beth and I replied in unison before laughing
self-consciously at our eager anticipation of Vicki's departure.

"Dad, can I talk to you?" Vicki said with a faux lightness as she headed
toward the door.

I followed her. Calling me "Dad" meant she had something important to
discuss. Normally, she called me by my name. On the front steps, she took my
hands in hers. I felt her nail points dig into my palms.

"She loves you. She loves you very much. And...." The serious expression
gave way to a mischievous twinkle. "If something happens, you have my
blessing. You would have Mom's, too, I know."

"Nothing will happen," I assured her.

She snickered. "Oh, Jack, you're going to get laid tonight."

A quick laugh, a peck on the cheek and she was gone, leaving me in the quiet
of a spring evening. The air was crisp and clean. The stars were
particularly brilliant in the calmness. I was euphoric, every nerve poised,
every sense alert.

When I returned to the house, Beth was in the kitchen. The bread was in the
toaster. The smell of ham came from the frying pan. She was humming to
herself as she cracked eggs into a small bowl by the sink.

As I watched her, I realized how I had missed having a loving woman in my
home. More than that, I realized how much I had missed Beth with her dancing
eyes and smiling face and, most importantly, kind and loving heart.

"Do you like watching me?" she asked softly, her back toward me.

She was still, poised for my answer. Balanced on one foot with the toes of
the other pressed into the floor, she turned her head slightly to better
hear me.

"Yes."

It was all I needed to say. I saw the corner of her lips turn up in a smile.
She turned back to dinner, her humming just a little louder. Dinner was a
lively affair. We gorged, replenishing our bodies after a hard day. We
laughed and talked. We shared. We finished with a glass of wine as I did the
dishes.

"What will you plant where we dug out that dead bush?" she asked as she
stood sipping the wine.

"I've always wanted a rose bush, a Queen Elizabeth rose. It's beautiful,
with a large, pink blossom. The scent is mild, but definitely rose. Besides,
I like the name."

"That sounds nice. Can I help you plant her?"

"That sounds very nice," I replied.

Somewhere in the very special time between Vicki's departure and that
moment, apprehensions had left me. Beth sensed it. She set the wine glass on
the table and offered her hand. When I took it, she winced. Then, I saw the
blisters her hard work had raised.

"Labors of love cause pain sometimes," she said softly. "I don't mind. Love
is worth it."

I kissed her, a soft, loving kiss. An anticipatory grin crossed her face.
Without a word, she led me up the stairs. At the entrance to the bedroom,
she stopped abruptly. I bumped into her.

"Second thoughts?" I asked, my heart in my throat. She turned in my arms.

"Never!" she whispered. She kissed me then, hot, hard, demanding, her body
crushed into mine. She stepped away, holding my hands. "Come on, Jack. I've
waited long enough."

Brightness and heat. Ferocity and gentleness. Lost in passions, we began
that deepest of all relationships until we lay spent, our bodies entwined,
her head on my chest.

"Jack," she whispered. "When it's time, I want to bloom from your seed."

"That sounds wonderful," I replied before I kissed her again.

We had drifted to sleep when I heard the front door closing. Beth stirred
against me. We listened to the footsteps coming up the stairs and down the
hall. They stopped outside my bedroom door.

"Goodnight, Vicki," I said.

"Goodnight, Jack," was the soft reply from the hall.

Silence.

"Goodnight, Beth," Vicki sang out.

We heard her chortling as she went down the hall to her room.


The End

Please!  Give me your comments!
E-mail address: ezriter@hotmail.com and ezrazanewrites@hotmail.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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