When I was little I used to sit outside with my Grandmother on her wide front porch and we would dream about what we would do to the gardens one day. It was one of my favorite things to do with her when I was visiting.
My parents died when I was in my early twenties and my Grandmother was all I had left. Eventually I moved to New York City and made my life there, becoming a very successful writer. I had more money than I knew what to do with and I would send her checks, telling her to make her special garden.
She never spent a dime of my money. She put it all into a savings account under my name. When she died the winter of 2006 I inherited everything and lost the last person I loved in my life.
I decided to move out of my New York City apartment and into the house on the Cape that my Grandmother had owned her entire life. It was a beautiful English style country house and I couldn’t wait to start on the gardens in the spring. I was going to use the money from that savings account to create the garden of our dreams.
I did lots of research the rest of that winter. I studied which types of flowers would survive our climate, which ones would bring pretty butterflies and soothing scents to the spot I’d picked there around the wide porch. I couldn’t wait for the first warm days of spring.
Tearing out the old, overgrown landscaping was much harder than I could have imagined. After a week of hard work, I conceded defeat and decided to ask my neighbors across the lane who they had hired to do their garden and landscaping. They had such pretty flowers, well tended and weed free.
To my surprise, the Brogans told me that their son had done all the work in their yard and that he was hoping to become a landscape architect after college. I was very impressed with what he’d done and spoke to them at length about hiring their son to do my own garden. They agreed to talk it over with him and see if it was something he would be willing to do. It would have to be done around his college work as he was only nineteen and about to finish his junior year of school.
I remembered Jack as a little boy, all dark serious eyes and thick wavy brown hair that curled over his ears. I hadn’t seen him since he was about seven, and expressed my shock over finding that he was about to graduate from high school. Time passed too quickly it seemed. The Brogans agreed.
I asked them to send Jack over on Saturday so we could talk about what I wanted done and if it was something he would be interested in doing for me. We left with smiles and talk of getting together later in the spring for dinner or a barbeque. I had forgotten what good people my Grandmothers’ neighbors were. I looked forward to spending time with them and getting to know them again.
When I opened my door to Jack that Saturday I was more than a little shocked. The little Jack that I remembered had become a very handsome young man. He was not at all what I expected. Most twenty year old men were still a little awkward. Not Jack. He had a serious maturity that put me off guard for several long moments.
He stuck out his hand to shake mine, introducing himself, his deep voice another shock that made me shake my head in amazement. I invited him into my home and we sat at the kitchen table to discuss what I wanted, what I planned to have him do to the garden.
It was another shock for me to find myself a little nervous around this older Jack. He was very well spoken and knowledgeable about gardening and landscaping, which was wonderful, but I couldn’t stop that nervous fluttering in my stomach. I had to remind myself several times that afternoon that this was not really a grown man. It made me a little sick to think that I was attracted to him in such a way.
By the time Jack left that afternoon I was sure of two things. He would make me the garden of my dreams and I would need to keep my strange attraction to him a very deep, dark secret. The next two weeks were torture for me. Jack came every day after classes to tear out the old overgrown landscaping, often taking off his shirt while he worked. I couldn’t stop myself from watching him and it wasn’t because I wanted to make sure he was doing everything right.
It was the last week in April when Jack finished pulling everything out and reconditioning the soil to prepare for replanting. That weekend Jack would turn twenty. His parents invited me to the party and I spent two days trying to find the perfect gift for a twenty year old young man who was turning my insides into a hormonal mess.
In the end I decided to get Jack a new pair of landscaping gloves and a gift card for nearly endless meals at a local diner that Jack talked about often. He smiled when he opened the package and my heart tripped over itself stupidly. I left not long after that, claiming a headache. That night I dreamed of Jack, his upper body bare, sweat coating his skin as he rose over me, those dark eyes so serious as he looked down at me. I woke myself before it could go any further.
After that I kept away from Jack as much as possible. I even went to New York City for a week, met with my editor, had drinks with friends. A little drunk, I called up an old flame and asked him to come to my hotel room. I thought sex with someone my own age would cure me of my attraction to Jack. Instead, I called out Jack’s name as I slid over the edge and caused myself and my partner a few awkward moments before he left.
When I returned from my small vacation, Jack had nearly finished the front gardens and was done with school for the year. That evening his parents had a barbeque for Jack and I found myself eager for it to start. There were lots of relatives and a couple of friends of Jack’s there but he seemed at ease there, happy around older people. He smiled a lot and I caught him watching me several times when he thought I wasn’t looking.
Was I looking for reasons to start something with Jack? I don’t know. Looking back on it now, I might have been making excuses but it wouldn’t have changed the outcome. In the end, it was Jack himself who turned the tide.
It was wrong, so wrong but I can’t for the life of me be upset or feel bad about what happened that summer. It all started the first week of June.
It was almost unbearable hot for early June and the air conditioning in the house was barely keeping up. I had some guys out to replace the unit and within a couple of hours they had the house cooling and it felt amazing. I looked out the window to where Jack was working on the pathway between the two separate garden areas and watched the sweat roll between his shoulder blades. He looked miserable and his skin was beginning to redden. I walked outside and told him to come in and rest awhile, at least until the sun moved behind the house some.
His groan of relief when he walked into the very cool house almost undid me. I had to physically stop myself from turning and forcing myself on him. I’d dreamed of having him so often that it was beginning to affect my waking moments. I could barely look at him without feeling like a predator.
I made him sit at the table while I fixed him some iced tea and looked around for some sunscreen. I checked the bottle to make sure it was still good and took the glass and the sunscreen to where he sat, eyes closed.
He drank the tea quickly, eyeing the sunscreen speculatively. He quietly admitted that his skin was feeling a little tight but that he’d never had to use sunscreen before. I laughed and told him he’d better start or else he’d end up a wrinkled little old man before he was thirty.
He didn’t say anything for a little while and then he asked me, in that deep voice of his, how old was I? At first I thought not to answer, save myself the embarrassment of having him laugh and talk about how that was so old. Eventually I told him I was thirty. To my shock, he didn’t laugh or even smile. He merely nodded his head and drank more of the tea I’d poured for him.
Curious, I asked him if he thought thirty was very old. He shook his head no and said that thirty is very young still. He asked if I could put the sunscreen on him before he went back out, his voice quiet. Honestly I wasn’t sure I would be able to put the cream on his tanned skin without losing control and doing something that would embarrass both of us. He was waiting patiently, bottle in hand, dark eyes watching me very closely.
I didn’t want to seem foolish so I took the bottle from his hand and poured the cream into my palm to warm it some before touching it to his skin. I closed my eyes at the first touch of my palm to his skin. It was so warm from the sun, but not burning, tanned and smooth. The breath I’d been about to take stuck in my throat, my heart racing a thousand miles a minute.
Jack kept very still while I stroked the cream into the skin over his back, then up over his shoulders and around the back of his neck. I didn’t realize what I was doing, of how slowly I was moving my hands across his flesh, caressing him.
His quiet moan made me realize what I’d been doing. I couldn’t seem to help myself. I kept stroking him, letting my fingers go where they would, from his collar bone to the sides of his neck. It was innocent, I tried to tell myself.
Maybe it was the fact that what I was doing was forbidden. Or maybe it was the fact that he was so young, so virile. Feeling as if I were no longer in control of my own body, I urged Jack up out of the chair and turned him towards me, pulling his mouth down to mine. I couldn’t stop the moan that burst from me at the first touch of his lips, so soft, so innocent. He didn’t rush, didn’t try to force his tongue into my mouth. I licked his lower lip lightly and he opened up, allowing me free reign to sample him at my leisure. I tasted every part of his mouth, the taste and the cold from the iced tea teasing my tongue.
His pressed his body closer to mine, the warmth of his chest filtering through my thin shirt. Still unsure of how far I was willing to let this go, I lifted my arms and pulled him even closer, his arms automatically going around my waist. I let my body move back a little, the wall behind me stopping me from moving any further. He moved in and pressed against me and I could feel how aroused he was. It thrilled me and made me want to be bolder, show him more before I stopped this.
I took his hand from my waist and placed it on my thigh where my skirt ended. His hand was trembling gently against my skin. I waited to see what he would do before I went any further.
He didn’t move his hand as I expected, just left it laying against my skin as if unsure what to do next. It hit me then that maybe he wasn’t sure what to do next, or that he was afraid to do anything I didn’t want him to do. I reluctantly pulled my mouth from his and looked him in the eyes. He seemed more nervous than I’d ever seen him before. I asked him if he’d ever touched anyone like this before and his eyes darted away and he shook his head no. I was a little shocked but thrilled beyond what I should have allowed myself to be.
His entire body began to tremble against mine and I knew what I was going to do. I laid my hand back over the top of his and guided it up under my skirt, easing it along the front of my thigh to my hip then around to my buttock, pressing his fingers and urging him to squeeze me gently. He did not disappoint, letting his other hand follow the same path with the other leg. His eyes never left mine, never stopped watching my every expression. So serious, my young Jack.
Moving his hands away, I held them in my own and moved out from against the wall, leading him into the living room. The blinds were closed against the heat making the room darker than usual. I sat on the couch, pulling him down beside me and he still watched me. I asked him as gently as I could if he’d ever been with anyone and he shook his head no, a light blush coloring his cheeks. I moved in and kissed him again, letting him know it was okay. He kept right on watching me, my serious young Jack.
His hands were touching lightly at my waist, his fingers grasping and releasing gently. His chest rose and fell rapidly, light moans escaping from his mouth into mine. It was all so innocently erotic that I found myself moving closer and closer, until my legs were laying nearly across his lap.
Breaking the kiss, I moved back far enough to see Jack’s face and began to unbutton my shirt slowly. His hands twitched against my waist and I waited to see if he would take over. He watched me closely but didn’t move as I began to shrug the garment from my shoulders. My nipples were clearly visible and almost painfully distended under the sheer fabric of my bra. I felt wanton with him watching me with those serious dark eyes of his.
My bra hooked in the front and I made the move to release the catch when Jack pushed my hands away and unhooked it himself, letting his hands brush against the soft skin there as he did. I caught my breath and he immediately let his eyes go back to mine as if trying to decide if he’d hurt me or if I wanted him to stop. I smiled gently and used my own hands to separate the fabric and let it fall off my arms.
I asked if he wanted to touch me. He didn’t hesitate, his hands cupping my breasts gently, testing them. His fingers moved over my hard nipples and I gasped from the feeling of him touching me. That gasp seemed to break something free in Jack and he pulled me closer taking a hard peak into his mouth, licking and sucking gently until I was squirming with need against his thighs.
Releasing me, Jack told me that he might not have ever actually had sex but he’d dreamed about what he might do to me, in graphic detail, every night since I’d moved in. His only worry was that he might hurt me. I assured him that he wouldn’t and kissed his sweetly swollen lips again, pressing my bare chest to his.
He seemed to come alive after that. He pulled me into his body as closely as possible and practically devoured my mouth with his, his hands roaming my body from neck to buttocks. He wrapped my hair in his strong hands and pulled gently to gain access to my neck, kissing gently, nipping and sucking on the tender flesh there.
My hips began to rub against his, making the motions of what would come later, pitching my arousal up several notches. I could hear Jack’s breathing hitch and shudder, thrilling me even more. His body was so tight, so perfectly sculpted for his age and I let my hands roam his chest and stomach, finding little spots that made him moan appreciatively.
As much as I was enjoying the way Jack was touching me, I needed more. I was starting to get that tight feeling inside that warned me how close I was to letting go. Pulling away just a little, I took Jack’s hands and put them on the zipper of my skirt, helping him remove the garment from my body. The minute the skirt hit the floor Jack stood and removed his jeans, shoes and socks going as well. He started to sit back down on the couch but I stopped him, my hands on his stomach.
From sitting in his lap I knew that young Jack was a little more than average but I was anxious to see more of him with my own eyes. Watching his face closely, I hooked my fingers in the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down slowly, exposing him without looking. His breath was coming in short pants, his color high. I let my eyes wander from his chest down to the part of him that was literally throbbing in front of me.
He was large, not too long but wide and the skin was stretched tightly there, so soft, like silk as I let my fingers slide over him. His head went back and his hands made fists beside his hips. I stroked him again then let my tongue taste him lightly. His entire body jerked and I knew he was watching me again with those dark eyes. I couldn’t help myself. I let my mouth close over the head and heard him cry out with the feeling of being trapped in the warmth he found there. The hands that had been fisted earlier now wrapped themselves in my hair again, not pulling against me, just holding on.
I was amazed at his control. Most men twice his age would have either been bucking wildly or racing towards an early finish. Not Jack. He let me do what I wanted, let me set my own pace. Still I didn’t want him to finish before I’d felt him buried deep inside me so I backed off and once more urged him down onto the couch.
I took my time removing my panties, watching him watch me this time. I was so close to letting go that I had to try and get my body under control and think clearly. Jack had laid his wallet on the table when he’d taken his jeans off and I took the chance that he had protection in his wallet. I found what I was looking for and bent over to put the condom in place. Jack held his breath while I rolled the thin latex over his skin, light sweat breaking out on his forehead.
I put a leg on each side of his and noticed that he was currently fascinated with the bare skin I had revealed when I removed my panties. I told him he could touch me, that I wanted him to touch me. He was cautious at first, parting my lower lips to expose me to his eyes. One long finger followed, exploring, hitting little places that made me moan and jerk needily. I wouldn’t be able to take much more of his innocent and erotic explorations.
Moving his hand away made Jack look up, ask if he’d hurt me somehow. I reassured him that he had not, that I just wasn’t sure how much more I could take and I needed him so badly. He began to tremble again and I knew he was ready.
Rising up on my knees, I let his body touch the entrance to mine, let him feel the heat there before slowly lowering myself over him. My serious Jack watched my face, even as his eyes wanted to close. I let him see on my face just how good he felt buried inside me before I opened my own eyes and looked at him.
Wanting this to be something he wouldn’t forget, I leaned back slightly and urged him to look down, see where our bodies were joined, see how erotic and special it was. His breath caught and I hoped that he would always regard sex as something special and meaningful.
My body was clenching and releasing around him. Wanting more, I started to rise up but Jack stopped me. My eyes met his and his hands gripped my hips tightly. He held me that way, buried deep inside for a few more moments before he urged me up and down, slower than I would have gone on my own. There was a look of such awe in his eyes that I let him set the pace, watching him as he watched his body move in and out of mine. Eventually though it wasn’t enough and I needed more. Needed him to move faster, deeper. A strangled moan leapt from my lips and with the strength of youth, Jack began to lift me up with his hips, stroking me deep and hard.
It didn’t take long for me to start to come apart. I buried my hands in Jack’s thick dark hair and began to shake with the force of it. Jack’s hands gripped my hips again and pulled down hard, seating me deeply as his body emptied into mine. He called out my name softly, pushing my hair back and then pulled me close to him, wrapping his arms around me tightly.
It was the sweetest, most profound moment of my life. I worried in the moments after if Jack would feel awkward, if I would feel awkward, but we didn’t. He held me close that way until we finally had to move apart or risk loss of limbs. He went to the bathroom and I gave him some time to decide what to do next while I dressed. I didn’t want to influence him in any way.
Jack came into the living room wearing nothing but his jeans, not buttoned but zipped and sat down next to me on the couch. Those serious dark eyes of his seemed anxious, maybe even a little nervous and I worried that he was about to say something he might regret.
I should not have worried. My serious, mature Jack took my hand in his and asked if I was okay, if he’d hurt me. I couldn’t help but laugh a little. He was just too sweet for words during those moments that I could have cried.
Jack came to me every afternoon after that. He learned to be more aggressive but not harmful. I taught him how women like to be touched and treated without binding him to me in any way. Something that wasn’t as easy as it sounds. By the end of the summer I was sure that Jack was going to be fine with whoever he loved in the future. Of course, it took me a bit longer to get over that Mrs. Robinson feeling, but eventually what I learned was worth it.
I had been giving myself to men that meant nothing to me, men I had no real feelings for. Jack taught me that when someone means something to you the sex is different, better. He also taught me that age isn’t always the most important thing. That you can be sexy and beautiful no matter how old you are.
The most important thing I learned however, was that not everyone in your life is going to be what you expect them to be and that sometimes you just have to let fate lead you to where and what you need at the time.
Jack finished college, got his degree and opened his own business right here on the Cape. He’s doing well. I see him often at his parents for barbeques and birthday parties. He’s a very good man, a very respectful man. I like the idea that I might have had a part in making him into what he is today.
My garden is as beautiful as ever. Occasionally, Jack comes around and checks on it, replaces dead plants or adds something he knows I’ll like. It makes me feel good when I come home and find some new surprise in my garden. It’s Jack’s way of letting me know that he won’t forget me. I got married three years ago to a man that Jack approved of. He’s a lot like Jack in some ways.
Sometimes, when I’m out on the porch, enjoying my garden I think of my Grandmother and our dreams of the perfect garden. Then I think of Jack and how a wonderful young man made that dream come true.