The Walled Garden - Sex Stories

The Walled Garden

... 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 ...