The Reluctant Gardener
by David Heulfryn

 

I was slouching on the sofa in the boxer shorts I slept in. It was late morning, and I hadn’t been up long; I always slept late during the long summer school holidays. The television was on, but I wasn’t watching it. I was bored. I was about to flick through the channels when I heard someone come in the front door.

My mother came into the living room, smiling. “I’m glad you’re awake. I have some good news for you.”

“What?” I was your typical monosyllabic teenager.

“I’ve been going around the neighbours and found a few jobs for you to do over the summer before you go to university.”

“What?” I didn’t take my insolent eyes from the television screen I wasn’t watching.

“Some gardening work, mowing lawns, that sort of thing.” She smiled at me.

“What have you done that for?” I sat upright and glared at her. I didn’t want her interfering in my life.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get paid. I told them to pay you what they thought the job was worth.”

“What the fu…” I bit my tongue; she didn’t like me swearing in front of her. “Why have you done that? We’re not in America, you know? You don’t get school kids mowing people’s lawns for pocket money over here.”

“Well, I thought it was a good idea. You’ll have something to do before you leave for university, and you’ll earn a little extra money.”

“I wish you wouldn’t interfere in my life. I don’t want a job. I just want to chill out before I go to university and study my arse off.” I was animated and gesticulating my displeasure. “You’d better go back and tell them that I’m not available.”

“It’s been three weeks since you left college, and you’ve done nothing but sleep and hang around the house in your disgusting boxer shorts. I’m not having you hanging round the house all day getting under my feet. If you want to disappoint our neighbours, you’ll have to do it yourself, you ungrateful boy.” My mother was angry.

“Boy! I’m eighteen, Mum. An adult.”

“Well, start behaving like an adult. It’s time you learnt that everything isn’t given to you on a platter. I’ve told Mr Cooke that you’ll be round about ten tomorrow morning and old Mrs Weaver in the afternoon.”

“Who’s Mr Cooke?” My voice went up a couple of octaves.

“He lives four doors down. Moved in about six months ago.”

“This is one sick joke,” I mumbled and slouched again, feeling fed up.

“Well, if you really don’t want to do it, go and tell them this afternoon so they can make other arrangements. In the meantime, go upstairs and have a shower. You stink. And then bring down your dirty laundry and strip your bed. You need new sheets. I’ll put some fresh ones in your room.” She was stern. She meant business and wasn’t to be messed with.

I got up and stropped my way upstairs. I pulled down my boxers and left them in the middle of my room. I grabbed my towel and belligerently walked naked down the hallway into the bathroom.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I saw my facial hair looking shaggy. I didn’t need to shave every day; it had been a week since I last shaved, and my upper lip was looking furry, and my cheeks were covered in bumfluff. I wished I could grow a proper beard and moustache, but I wasn’t very hairy at all. Nothing was on my chest, a little in my armpits, and a fair down covered my legs. At least I had some visible pubes. I had a thick bush of mousey brown curls, which went about two inches above the base of my cock and then abruptly stopped. I didn’t have the treasure trail that people found so arousing, and my balls only had a few stray hairs, long hairs. Sometimes, I would grab one and pluck it just because I could.

After shaving, I sniffed my armpits. I really did stink. In the shower, I vigorously scrubbed my body and then caressed and rubbed my cock and balls in the guise of cleaning them. I gave myself an erection.

I soaped up my arse, pushing my fingers between my cheeks. I rubbed my arsehole and felt my cock lurch. I’d never done that before. Sure, I’d washed my arse and cleaned my hole, but never with a hard-on. I enjoyed the feeling.

Now my body was clean; I thought I’d deal with the secondary reason for having a shower; it was an opportunity to toss one off and not add more cum to my bedclothes. No wonder Mum wanted to wash them.

I stroked my cock as I held my balls; the soap suds gave my strokes a soft, slippery sensation. I thought about the reaction of my cock as I touched my hole. I released my balls and used my middle finger to tickle my arsehole. My cock throbbed, and my knob looked a darker red as I pulled back my foreskin.

Water cascaded down my back; suds rolled down my arse and between my checks. I pressed my finger against my hole, and I shuddered as it unexpectedly slipped inside. My cock throbbed and thickened. I’d never felt this good while stroking my cock. I left my finger inside and wiggled it as my other hand furiously wanked my cock.

My balls ached and, despite the warm water, retracted. My cock throbbed, and I came. I carried on wanking as I came, sending the cum in all directions. My balls ached with each shot as I felt my cock pump out my cum. My arse clamped down on my finger, and I ended up bent double, a finger in my arse and my hand around my cock. I breathed heavily, trying to catch my breath.

I straightened up as I recovered and pulled the finger from my arse. My cock was now limp, and I let it hang, spent and useless from my body. I grabbed the showerhead and rinsed myself again. Rinsing the cum off my cock and rinsing the shower of cum, including the wall, curtain and shower tray.

After turning off the shower, I grabbed my towel and gave my body a cursory rub-down.

Back in my bedroom, I threw the towel in my dirty laundry basket and started to pick up my dirty clothes off the floor.

I was stripping my bed when my mother burst into my room. I turned to face her, grabbing a pillow to cover my crotch.

“Muum!” I whined, “You’re supposed to knock.”

She smiled at me. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, Jonathan. Besides, I thought you were still in the shower.”

“Well, I’m not. Can you leave and let me get dressed. I’ll bring my dirty laundry down in a few minutes.”

“I’m sure you’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about.” She turned to leave my bedroom.

“I don’t!” I called after her. “I just don’t want to expose myself to all and sundry.” She closed my door.

 

My morning started abruptly, with my mother bursting into my room. She opened the curtains and looked at my contorted face as the bright sun hurt my eyes.

“It’s a lovely day, Jonathan. Perfect for gardening.”

I groaned and squirmed under my warm duvet.

“Get up, Jonathan. You have an hour before he’s expecting you, and you need to eat breakfast.”

I groaned and turned over, pulling my duvet over my head to shield my eyes.

“No, you don’t.” Mum declared and grabbed my duvet, pulling it from my body. I curled up, shielding as much of my bare skin as possible.

“At least you are wearing clean boxer shorts. And your room actually smells nice. That new fabric softener I used really does last longer.”

What the fuck was going on? My mother was lingering in my bedroom while I was only wearing boxer shorts, curled up to hide my morning glory, and talking about fucking fabric softener.

“Okay, Mum. I’m getting up.” I whined, hoping she would leave me alone.

“See that you do!” She sounded stern.

I didn’t know what to wear to do some gardening. I looked out the window; the sun was intense, and the sky was clear. It certainly was unlikely to rain today. I chose a white sleeveless vest, red nylon football shorts and trainers. I kept on the boxer shorts I’d slept in; they were still good for another day. I looked like I was going to the gym.

I squirmed as my mum kissed my cheek, “Make sure you do a good job, Jonathan. I’ll be speaking to Mr Cooke and want you to ensure he is satisfied.”

“Muum! I’ll do the best I can. I don’t even know what he wants me to do.”

“Well, go and find out.” She patted my backside as I left the house. She watched me as I walked down the street.

I rang Mr Cooke’s doorbell and waited. I heard nothing. I waited. I rang again. I hoped he wasn’t home. Then suddenly, the door opened.

I laughed as I saw the man in front of me; he was wearing a shirt and tie, and the bottom few buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing a pair of white briefs.

“Jonathan?” He asked.

“Yes.” I stifled my laughs.

“Come in. I’m in a meeting, and it’s running over. Wait here. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Mr Cooke dashed back upstairs, showing me the tight white fabric that covered his fleshy arse.

I stood in his hallway and waited. Mr Cooke was younger than I thought. He looked in his early thirties. His legs were thin and hairy. It made me yearn for more hair. He looked like a man; I looked like a boy. I also couldn’t help but notice the bulge in his briefs. He filled them out and looked well-endowed; either that or he had massive balls.

I shook my head. Why was I thinking about a man’s bulge and the potential size of his cock and balls? I was straight; I’d had a girlfriend. They never lasted long. I have no idea why. I always gave them attention. I’d enjoyed snogging them and feeling their breasts. Unfortunately, it was only ever over their clothes. One girlfriend rubbed my cock through my shorts. I blasted quickly. She looked disappointed and dumped me a few weeks later.

Thoughts of my girlfriends made my cock swell. I didn’t get hard, but turgid enough to display a pronounced bulge in my shorts.

Mr Cooke bounded back downstairs, dressed in a tee shirt and grey sweatpants. I suspected he was still wearing his white briefs underneath. I blinked to get the thoughts of the man’s underwear from my head.

“Sorry about that, Jonathan.” He approached me, “I’m working from home today, and they still expect me to dress appropriately. You’re lucky I was wearing pants.” He laughed. “Sometimes I don’t. It’s fun  having a meeting with your boss, and you’re naked from the waist down.”

I didn’t know what to say. “Call me Jon. Only my mother calls me Jonathan.” It was the best I could think of.

“Okay, Jon. Follow me.” He walked through his house and out the back door. I looked at his garden. The grass was overgrown, and the flowerbeds needed weeding. He took me to his shed, opened the door and pointed to the lawn mower. “There’s the mower. I need the lawns mowing, front and back, and the borders weeding. The garden waste bin is here.” He pointed to a brown wheelie bin. “All the other tools are here; just use what you need.”

“Okay, Mr Cooke,” I said timidly.

“Please call me Neal.” He smiled at me. It was genuine, and he looked friendly. “I have to carry on working. Feel free to help yourself to drinks, water, tea, coffee; I also have some Coke and lemonade in the fridge. If you need me, I’ll be in my office. Just call up, and I’ll come down.”

“Thanks, Sir. Neal.” He was so friendly. I didn’t expect it. I thought I’d be treated like a paid servant to do what he’d say. I smiled at him and watched as he walked away. He may be wearing grey sweatpants now, but my mind imaged his arse covered in nothing but his white briefs. My hand reached for my bulge and rubbed my turgid cock.

A deep breath took me away from whatever fantasy my brain was concocting to the mundane task of mowing the man’s lawns.

I did the job that was expected of me. I had quickly shed my vest as I was sweating profusely. After completing the front lawn, I went inside for a drink. I couldn’t hear anything from upstairs, and the man that was in his home office. I gulped down a large glass of tap water and then a can of Coke. My trainers were now stained with flecks of green. They were fucking ruined. I’d spent loads on these, and now they were stained. At least I may be able to buy a new pair with the money I would hopefully earn.

I went back outside to mow the back lawn.

I was sweating profusely. It was nearly midday; my bare torso gleamed with sweat. I stopped for a break and looked back at the house. I noticed Neal looking at me from an upstairs window. He didn’t flinch when he realised I’d seen him. He kept looking; I wiped the sweat from my brow and pushed the mower to finish the job.

I dumped the last grass cuttings into the garden waste bin and thought I needed another drink.

I gulped down another large glass of tap water when I sensed Neal enter the kitchen. I looked over the brim of the glass. He was wearing a flimsy tee shirt that left an inch of his belly showing before the waistband on his briefs. His bulge looked pronounced now that his shirt didn’t shield it.

My cock lurched.

I was confused. Why would this man make my cock react? My girlfriend had made me cum. I made out with girls. I touched them up. I felt their tits. But now a man had made my cock react.

I groaned.

Why did I groan? I was reacting on instinct.

Neal came closer. He was so close I could feel his breath against my face. He stood motionless. I sensed that he was not going to initiate anything. He was leaving that to me. I had a choice. Step back and start weeding his flowerbeds, or step forward and kiss the man.

I’d never kissed a man before. I’d never thought I wanted to until today.

I stepped forward.

I pressed my lips to his. I felt awkward as I let my arms hang limp. He wrapped his arms around me, and I followed suit. His tongue entered my mouth, and I shuddered as my cock hardened. I pushed my hips forward and rubbed my crotch against his bulge. I’d never felt anything like this before; this was better than making out with a girl.

I gasped as Neal reached down and grabbed my cock through my shorts.

He pulled away from me. “Have you done anything with a guy before?” He asked.

Was it that obvious? I blushed as I knew my inexperience was showing. I shook my head and looked away from him.

“Have you done anything with a girl before?”

I was even more embarrassed. I shook my head again. I’d just admitted to this stranger that I was a virgin.

Neal’s smile broadened. It excited him.

“Do you want to do something with me?” He asked.

I nodded my head but couldn’t look him in the eye. I had just admitted that I wanted to have sex with a man. I’d always thought I’d lose my virginity to a girl. When I looked down at his body, I saw that his bulge had grown, and the size of his cock was evident. I gasped and got scared. I wasn’t sure I wanted to touch it.

Neal pulled off his tee shirt and showed me his broad chest. He was smooth and had the type of pecs that you only got by working out. He grinned as he looked at me, drinking in his body. He pulled down his white briefs, and his cock was free to slap against his belly.

My eyes stared at his hard cock, ignoring his six-pack. His foreskin was partially retracted, and the tip of his cock gleamed with precum.

I was frozen to the spot. The only sensation I could feel was my cock throbbing in my shorts.

Neal reached over and grabbed my cock. I shuddered and groaned as I couldn’t hold back the inevitable. My cock throbbed and spewed cum into my boxer shorts. It leaked through and seeped onto my shorts.

I felt ashamed. It only took one touch, and it was over. I cast my eyes downwards, and my body shrank. He must think I was a little boy, unable to control my cock.

Neal lifted my chin, forcing me to look at him. “That isn’t the end, Jon. It’s just the beginning. Now you can relax and enjoy it, and you won’t cum so easily.”

Neal knew I had doubts; all I could think of was weeding his flower beds. He sank to his knees, grabbed my softening bulge and started to suck my cum from my damp shorts. He grabbed the waistband and pulled them and my boxers down in one. They lay crumpled at my feet. Neal nestled my soft cock with his nose before sucking it into his mouth. He cleaned my cock, poking his tongue under my foreskin and tasting every part of it. My cock began to respond and thicken. I’d never recovered from an orgasm so quickly.

I was disappointed when he let my cock flop from his mouth. He stood and kissed me again. His mouth tasted different. I supposed it was from my cock and cum. As our lips touched, he grabbed my wrist and placed my hand on his cock. I wrapped my fingers around his shaft and stroked. He groaned into my mouth.

“Why don’t you taste it?” He said as he pulled back from our kiss. Like a fool, I was confused, so he looked down at his hard cock.

It now looked massive, and the concept of swallowing it scared me. I’d never fit it all in. I could never give him a good blowjob. It would be my first, and I would be crap at it.

Neal must have seen the fright in my eyes. He held my head between his hands, “You’ll do fine. Just do what feels right.”

I dropped to my knees and looked closely at his cock. It was hard and wet. For a moment, I just looked. I looked at the veins which protruded from the shaft. I looked at the tip and watched a little precum ooze out. I’d never been this close to a cock before. I wondered what mine looked like this close.

The smell was intoxicating. It made me want to touch it, to taste it. I reached out and gripped the shaft. It felt sticky; I presumed it was his precum. I pulled it away from his body so I could now look down his piss slit. It opened, and I watched a pearl of precum emerge. Something seemed to take over my body, and before I knew it, I was licking the drop of precum from his cock. I then took the head into my mouth. I didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t disgusting. I liked it. I liked the salty taste on my tongue and the rounded head resting on my tongue. I played with the little part that was inside my mouth. I licked it with my tongue and sucked away any juices that flowed. I swallowed.

I became more adventurous and pushed his cock further inside. I had four inches in me, but there were still three more to go.

“Don’t feel like you should take it all.” Neal rubbed my head, ruffling my hair. “It’s the knob that’s the pleasure centre.”

I wrapped my fingers around the few inches I couldn’t take and started to bob my head, in and out. Above me, I heard Neal groan, his fingers still playing with my hair. I must have been doing something right.

I felt his swinging balls with my other hand. They were loose in their sac and felt bigger than mine. I was gentle with them, not wanting to hurt him. I squeezed them and rolled them around in my fingers. I tugged them. I knew his balls better than my own; I know I should be checking myself regularly, but I only ever gave them a cursory feel. My lips curled as I smiled around his invading cock; I thought how much more fun it would be to have someone else check them for you, especially when your cock was in their mouth.

Neal pulled me to my feet. I reluctantly let his cock slip from my lips. He kissed me again, tasting his cock on my lips.

“I want to fuck you.” Neal looked intently into my eyes. I didn’t say no.

He turned me around and bent me over his kitchen table. He knelt between my legs and played with my balls. He tugged on my cock as he forced it to point downwards by the edge of the table.

I tensed as he pulled my arse cheeks apart, and I felt his breath on my hole. Neal spat, and I felt his saliva hit my hole. Bullseye. He started to lick me. The sensation of his tongue on my hole made my eyes roll to the back of my head, and I groaned and moaned.

Neal’s tongue poked me. It felt better than when I fingered myself in the shower yesterday. I could feel my arse relax, and the tip of his tongue invaded me. He then started to press a finger inside me.

“Oh, fuck!” I groaned. His finger touched something inside me that made my cock throb and leak over his floor.

“Feels good,” Neal said softly.

“Oh, yeah.” I thrust my arse back to try and get more of his finger.

Neal pressed a second finger into me. I gripped them as my arse was stretched wider. I wiggled my arse; the motion made the intrusion feel better.

“Fuck me.” I gasped. I grew impatient. If two fingers could feel this good, then his cock would feel a hundred times better.

Neal withdrew his fingers, and I felt his cock rest against my hole. He grabbed my hips, holding me still and forced his cock inside me.

I screamed. It fucking hurt.

“Sush, sweet boy.” Neal stroked my arse cheeks. “I’ve only put the tip in. Relax, and you’ll begin to enjoy it soon.”

Neal kept his cock still as I adjusted to it being inside me. He ran a finger down my spine, stroking me.

I relaxed and felt his cock move, pushing inside me. It was no longer painful, but my arse felt full and stretched.

“How does it feel to lose your virginity?” Neal leant forward and whispered in my ear.

“Just fuck me, I’m ready.” I pleaded.

“Be careful what you wish for.” Neal breathed in my ear, and I felt him pull out and stab his cock deep into my bowels.

I let out a guttural groan. My cock flinched; he rubbed that special place inside me as he kept stabbing me with his cock. I leaked profusely, my precum pooling on his kitchen floor. I was glad he couldn’t see my face, as I’m sure I was grinning inanely. The sensations I was feeling made me lightheaded. I never thought I could feel this good. How could I go back to wanking after feeling like this?

I was grunting and leaking with each thrust. I was unable to do anything. I was bent over his kitchen table facing his garden while he used me. And I felt like I was being used, and I didn’t care because of how he made me feel.

He pummelled me faster. I couldn’t hold off any longer, and my cock spewed cum over his floor as he continued to fuck me. Each stroke pushed more cum from my aching cock. I hadn’t touched it, I couldn’t, it was trapped against the side of the table. I wanted to touch it and stroke it so it would finish coming.

Neal must have known he’d made me cum, but he didn’t change his strokes. He fucked me hard. I was spent, exhausted, and my body went limp. I let Neal continue to use my hole as I waited for him to cum. He lasted longer than I expected. He’d made my cock go hard again, but I don’t think there was any cum left in me.

I looked at the garden and the weeds as I waited for him to cum. Eventually, he came. He pushed hard inside me and sprayed my bowels with cum. I could feel his cock throb inside me, and I could hear Neal panting as he collapsed on my back.

He felt heavy, and I tried to pull myself up, but his weight kept me pinned to the table. I had to wait for him to recover.

I could feel his cock deflating inside me. It slipped free, and I felt empty.

Neal straightened himself and gave my arse cheek a light slap. “That was fucking fantastic. I’ve never fucked a virgin before.”

I pried myself from the table and noticed he was already back in his briefs and tee shirt. His cum slicked cock had dampened the bulge. I stood looking at him, naked, my cock half-hard.

Neal reached inside a drawer and gave me some money.

I looked at him, shocked that he thought he had to pay me for a fuck.

He chuckled, “It’s for the gardening.” He kissed me and cupped my softening cock. “If you come over next week to finish the weeding, you can try fucking me. I love the energy of a teenager as he fucks me.”

My cock lurched at the thought of fucking him. I got hard again. Neal grabbed it and stroked it.

“Oh, to be your age.” He smiled, “But I need to get back to work.”

I was disappointed; he teased me with a few more strokes.

“Don’t worry, just a week to wait. In the meantime, I expect you will be abusing that cock every morning and every evening. I’ll see you next week.” Neil turned and left me alone and naked in his kitchen as he went back upstairs.

I felt foolish as I stood naked in his house. I looked at the pool of cum I had deposited on his floor. I wondered if I should clean it up.

Fuck it! He’d left me. He could clean his own house. I found my clothes and dressed. My cock had softened, but I felt my arse leak. I squirmed as I pulled up my shorts. I felt the back, checking I wasn’t leaking through my clothes. I pulled on my tee shirt and left. I went home.

The moment I went through the door, I dashed upstairs.

My mother went to the foot of the stairs and shouted up. “How was it, Jonathan?”

“Good, Mum. I just need the toilet.” I locked myself in the bathroom and wiped Neal’s leaking cum from my arse. I think I managed to get it all.

When I went downstairs, my mother was smiling at me. “I’ve just spoken to Mr Cooke…” My stomach lurched. Surely he wouldn’t tell her that he’s just fucked her only son. “He said he was very pleased with your work and tells me you’ve arranged to go back next week.”

“Yes, Mum,” I said flatly.

“I knew you’d do a good job. Let me make you some lunch.”

“Thanks, Mum. I’m starving.”

“I hope you leave Mrs Weaver as satisfied as Mr Cooke.” My mum smiled at me.

Not… a… fucking… chance.

 

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