His Green Fingers

Her husband had only just a few minutes earlier left for work when the hired gardener arrived. He pulled up at the front of the house in a small white Transit van, and made his way up to the front door. Abby watched him approach from behind the curtain of the front room. The young man was extremely handsome she noticed. She gave him the once over as he stood at the door after ringing the bell. His jet-black hair was brushed back with grease, his muscular frame wrapped in a tight white T-shirt and he wore an old pair of equally tight jeans. He looked, she thought, about five ten and she guessed his age around mid-twenties.

When he turned from the door at one point she gorged herself on the sight of his rear. Abby scolded herself for ogling him so much, and felt herself blushing as she eventually made her way to the door and opened it to him.

‘Gardener, love,’ he announced with a trace of a Northern accent, she guessed originated from somewhere Manchester way.

‘Yes I’ve been expecting you,’ she told him.

Later in the afternoon as the sun was high in the cloudless sky and beating down with a vengeance, she stood watching the hired gardener work through the kitchen window. He ceased his labours for a moment, mopped his brow with the back of his hand and peeled off his T-shirt. Abby feasted her eyes on his hairless chest and perfect six-pack. He caught her looking at him and she pretended to be busying herself at the sink. When Abby looked up again she was sure she caught him smiling to himself. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks again.

Her husband, Richard, had ordered the plants and roses some days earlier, and their arrangement in the garden had been discussed with the man Abby was now stealing glances at whenever he wasn't looking in her direction. He had called when she’d been out on that occasion, but she was glad she‘d been there for his return visit. She wouldn’t have wanted to miss this fine specimen of a man for the world. Abby continued to view him as he held up a large sheet of paper which he had unfolded; she guessed it was a plan of how the garden would look when it was completed.

She made the decision to go out to him and ask him whether he would like a cup of tea or a coffee, he agreed to coffee. As she made small talk with him, she couldn't help running her eyes over his bare chest, which was spattered in beads of sweat that glistened in the sunlight. Her eyes lowered momentarily to the crotch of his jeans, until she realised he might see her looking. She brought her eyes upwards and found him grinning at her.
Abby looked into his eyes; they were as blue as the sky that day. He had caught her looking. She felt herself blushing once more and turned away from him, hoping he wouldn't see her reddened cheeks. Without turning round as she walked towards the house, and before disappearing inside, she shouted to him: 'Come in, when you’re ready for it!' Then she bit her bottom lip as she realised how the phrase could have been misinterpreted.

Some minutes later the kettle boiled, and she began to empty the contents into the cup she had placed ready for him. Abby heard the man enter the kitchen behind her. With her back still to him she said: 'I'm just pouring it, take a seat.' She finished filling his cup. He didn't say anything but Abby felt his presence immediately behind her. She wondered if he was admiring her like she’d done with him when he’d been standing at the front door that morning. Perhaps even now he was eyeing up her bottom. She felt a rush of excitement at the thought.

Then he took her completely by surprise with a completely unexpected gesture, and slipped his arms around her waist. Abby hadn’t even heard him approach her. She froze; but didn't protest to his action. He then moved his hands up to her breasts and cupped them, massaging them. ‘Tell me if this is not what you want,’ he asked.

She put her own hands on his and made his massage her breasts all the more, demonstrating her approval.

Abby didn’t know why she was letting him do this. She was married after all. She had to stop him … didn’t she? This wasn’t right. What the hell, she then thought, after a few moments thinking about this, why not enjoy the attention for a while longer?

After all, she didn’t get this kind of attention from young men very often, never in fact. She couldn’t recall any instance before when some handsome young gentleman such as this had been interested in her. She was not particularly attractive, not like the young things he was probably used to anyway. Or maybe he had a thing for older women?

In her younger days she might have attracted one such as him. In her late teens and early twenties she’d caught the eye of many a young gentleman, eager to court her, bed her. They swarmed around her; she’d had to fight them off. She’d been very pretty then, but now she’d mutated into something that was a parody of her young self, as she saw it in her eyes. Each time she looked in the mirror she could see that pretty young thing staring back at her, through a face now aged so much. And when she smiled, that smile that had once brought the admirers flocking to her side, caused laughter lines and wrinkles to appear.

Her long blonde mane of hair she’d once had, was shorn now. She kept if short in middle age; it didn’t seem appropriate to parade around pretending to be the beauty she once was, with long flowing locks.

She’d managed to stay slim however, managed to keep a grip on some kind of figure. She still had the legs, maybe that was it, maybe he was a leg man? Yes, she still had the legs, legs that hadn’t been blemished by varicose veins, and had managed to avoid arthritis, so far! And today she was wearing a skirt that might have been considered a little too short for a woman of her age, by some. Yes, that was it, her slender youthful legs had blinded him to the rest of her, and she’d managed, against all the odds, to attract this young man’s admiration.

The hired gardener, the man who was giving her the attention she’d so long lacked, rested his chin on her shoulder and Abby could feel his hot breath against her neck. The breath of the devil, she told herself, come to tempt me.

‘I like your perfume,’ he told her. ‘You smell like roses.’

‘Well you'd know,’ she said, still enjoying his hands.

He pressed his body up against hers, his groin coming to rest against her buttocks. She could feel his growing erection pressing against her and closed her eyes, trying to imagine it entering her; filling her; pleasuring her.

These were feelings she wouldn’t have thought she’d ever have again, not after marrying Richard. Richard had been a passionate lover, once, but that passion had faded with familiarity and repetition over their years of marriage. Here, now, was someone new and exciting!

With one swift action he spun her round to face him and forced his lips on hers, and it was then that guilt got the better of her. No this wasn’t right! She put her hands to his chest in protest and pushed herself away, turning from him. He stepped back from her. Abby stared through the window at the garden, just as the shadow of a rare cloud that day was passing over it, as if an omen of foreboding.

‘What's wrong?’ he asked.

She stood staring in silence at the darkened back garden for a while. The cloud soon passed, and everywhere was awash with bright sunshine once more. ‘I’m sorry, I can't. I don’t want this,’ she told him, clenching her lower lip for the second time that afternoon. She wasn’t sure about the situation. One half of her was urging her on, the other was telling her she was playing with fire.

‘Suit yourself,’ he said, then pulled the back door open and went outside again. She watched through the window as he returned to his work. He seemed annoyed at her refusal to take things any further, and was throwing things about as he resumed his labours. His actions unnerved her slightly. After all, here she was alone with this stranger, who she’d just rejected. What if he got violent?

She turned away from the window and noticed the coffee; he hadn’t taken his drink out with him. She hesitated for a moment, then made her mind up, grabbed the cup and took it out to him.
‘You didn't have your coffee,’ she shouted over to him as she approached. He ignored her and carried on working. ‘Did you not hear me? I've got your coffee.’

‘I heard.’

‘You're not behaving like this because of what … happened, are you?’ she asked him.

‘Nothing … did happen, did it?’

‘No ... I suppose not.’ She put the cup down next to him, resting it on the wheelbarrow full of turf he’d dug up, and turned to go back into the house.

‘You're very attractive,’ he told her.

She stopped in her tracks and slowly rotated back towards him.

‘Very beautiful … like a garden full of flowers.’ He was looking in her direction now, while he still continued to turn the earth at his feet.

He was a good one with words; she’d give him that. Too poetic for a man, she thought.

‘You're very … handsome,’ she told him. ‘But ... we could never …’

‘Why not?’

‘I’m married.’

‘So?’

‘So ... I’ve got a husband.’

‘Well you would have ... if you're married,’ he said teasing her.
‘I don’t think I could … it wouldn’t be right.’

‘Isn’t it what you feel that’s important? If it feels right, do it; that’s what I always say.’

‘I’m happy here with my life; with my husband,’ she told him.

‘I could make you happy.’

‘For a few moments of passion perhaps.’

She could never imagine being with this man, what could he offer her? He wasn’t wealthy and he didn’t move in her circles, they would have nothing in common. Sure, she’d get a screw out of it, maybe an affair, but then she’d be left with the guilt; he’d get bored with her and go off and find someone much younger.

‘For eternity,’ he said.

It was a strange thing to say “for eternity”, Abby thought.

‘I could make you happy for eternity,’ he repeated, with an expression that made her almost believe it.

At that moment he stopped what he was doing and peered directly into Abby’s eyes. Without breaking eye contact, he threw his spade aside and began to approach her. As he neared, he reached a hand out to the side of her head and stroked her face. In one quick action he pushed his lips to hers again, pressing them there forcefully. She opened her mouth and let his tongue find hers. They kissed passionately, this time she embraced him, throwing her arms around his neck. In a matter of seconds he had found the buttons on her blouse and had begun to undo them. Guilt was nagging at her again. What was she dreaming of, a woman of her age with this young man? She tried to stop him, withdrawing her arms from around his neck and fighting with his hands, but she couldn't pull them away. He continued unfastening her. She laboured to get away from him; gripping his shoulders, struggling to prise herself from him, but she knew she didn't really want to. She knew she wanted this now.

Finally she did manage to break free of him. Abby lowered her head, pulled the two halves of her opened blouse together and folded her arms to cover herself up. ‘Not here ... the neighbours.’ Very middle class, she thought to herself, stop it. Still thinking about what the neighbours might think! I mean, what would they think – having sex in the garden and with the gardener of all people? Think of her social circle! What would her friends say?

The hired gardener scanned the neighbouring gardens. ‘There's no one about,’ he observed.

She glanced towards him and their eyes came into contact again. She couldn’t argue with those blue orbs, even if she wanted to. They kissed a second time and while doing so he pushed her down to the ground, she fell onto the freshly dug soil of the flowerbed he’d been preparing. He was on top of her before she knew what was happening.

‘Can't we do it on the lawn?’ she asked him.

‘It's softer on the earth,’ he told her.

‘But we'll get filthy!’

‘Are you bothered?’

‘No,’ she said, reaching her hands forward to the belt of his jeans.

He undid her skirt, and tugged it off, then he pulled her blouse from her, almost ripping it off her. By this time she had managed to unbutton and unzip him. Abby tugged at his jeans in urgency; he assisted her and pulled them off. She saw the bulge in his briefs, and stretched out a hand for it, but she couldn't quite reach it. She was knocked back down. He dragged her briefs off her, laying bare her most intimate of regions for the world (or at least the neighbouring gardens) to see, and following that, removed his own. Then before she could get a proper look at his manhood, he had positioned himself between her legs and had entered her.

She threw her head back, the sun blinding her, his shape above her becoming a dark silhouette. Abby closed her eyes, acknowledging approval by letting out a gasp as he pushed into her. Her buttocks began to sink into the soil with his steady thrusts. With each one they were buried deeper and deeper into the loose earth.

‘I’ve planted the seed,’ he told her, once she had been fastened in the ground. Then he did something extraordinary.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked him.

He had withdrawn.

She noticed that the end of his penis was glistening in the sunlight. He had climaxed, already, his pearly liquid coating the head, evidence to the fact.

Maybe he’d try again, Abby thought; maybe he had become too excited.

But now he was moving earth over her legs. She laughed, looking down over her body, half submerged in the soil.

‘You’re mad,’ she told him and gave another burst of laughter. This was certainly different to anything she’d experienced before.

Her lover remained silent. He was on his knees at her side, leaning over her, continuing to cover her with soil.

Abby’s nipples seemed not only to be getting harder now but growing bigger too – an impossible size! Her lover began to rub them with his fingers and thumb; she felt only pleasure at this action. Then she glanced down at them.
They now resembled flower buds. After some seconds gazing at them not believing what she was witnessing, they opened and bloomed into pink roses. She laughed out madly. ‘How is that possible?’

The sun was still dazzling her, giving a dreamlike appearance to the dark figure bending over her.

‘I’m a gardener,’ he told her, ‘I have green fingers; I grow things.’

Her legs where covered with earth now, he was covering more and more of her by the second, moving soil over her, burying her. He continued to shift more earth over her body, her legs, her abdomen, her breasts … until he reached her neck. The two roses which had grown from her breasts, poked up through the soil and grew to full height. She looked at him and tried to move, but she was fast in the earth. Then Abby became frightened, her eyes darting about as he continued to cover her with the soil. Especially when her lover put both his hands on her forehead and began to push downwards. She sank even further into the ground.

‘What are you doing? Get me out!’

The hired gardener began to move earth over her face.

‘No!’ she cried out. She had to alert someone, but a glance around, told her there was no one around to assist her.

He now got hold of a handful of soil and pushed it into her mouth, it tasted foul, and Abby tried to spit it out but could only choke on it. She coughed and spluttered. The hired gardener grabbed another handful of earth and forced that into her mouth also.

Abby tried to scream, but it just came out muffled. He then scooped up another handful; she shook her head and pleaded with her eyes as he smoothed it over her face. Now only her eyes where visible. He looked lovingly into them and she saw that those eyes of his that were as blue as the sky earlier; were now as black as the night sky. She gave one last plea with her own eyes, before he covered those too and she was gone, lost underneath the soil.

The two roses that had grown from her breasts were soon joined by other pink roses, which grew from where he'd planted her body. Out of the ground came an abundance of roses, their buds opening, until the entire bed was a mass of blooming pink roses.

The hired gardener stood up and took a look at the rose bed, admiring his handiwork. Then he checked his watch to see what time it was. Time I weren’t here, he thought. He hurriedly pulled his clothes back on, and packed his tools and his lover’s discarded clothes into the Transit. Then he jumped in, and drove away.

Abby’s husband returned from work just after six, walking in through the front door. ‘Hello? Abigail?’ he called. No reply. Odd, he thought, she usually came to greet him. When the search for his wife brought him to the kitchen he saw that the back door was open. He stepped out into the garden and soon came upon a bed of pink roses. A breeze had picked up and their scent reached him. There was something familiar about the smell, something very familiar. Then he placed it. The roses smelled of his wife’s perfume.

Copyright David Barton 2004

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