Hoeing Auntie's Garden

Some time since I wrote anything but hope you like this. It is not a stroke story and there's quite a bit of build up and context although there's a quite a bit of rumpy pumpy towards the end. British English too.

I was a student at a large university in England. I came from an ordinary family who could not afford to sub me the large tuition fees and living costs so I had to get by on large loans and casual work - so I was nearly always skint.

I had an aunt who lived on the outskirts of the city. We were not close. I had seen her quite a bit in my childhood but there had been a bit of a falling out with my family in my early teens and although I'd seen her at my grandfather's funeral three years ago and that was all. I remembered her as quite elegant, well to do and well spoken ("la-di-dah" we called her accent). She'd been married twice. Her first husband had walked out on her after a few years. She soon married again and had two children. My family quite liked Norman, her older and more down to earth second husband, who was a successful business man. But he'd died about ten years ago in his early sixties. Now she lived a very respectable life as a private music tutor.

I was not interested in Auntie or any other family members to be honest. Money was short and I was always scrimping but I was having a great time. Although I'd had one or two girlfriends before uni, there was much more opportunity now and I was sort of going steady with a really sexy (if sometimes difficult) girl called Jenny. When I say going steady I mean we usually hung out together, we had sex several times a week and I sort of hoped but could never be sure she was not banging anyone else. She was becoming expensive to maintain though and I was finding it very difficult to make ends meet.

Jenny was a good time girl. She loved being taken to parties, expensive nightclubs and restaurants. In return she fucked like a bunny. She was very pretty, short, curvy, good company and naturally orgasmic in that she came after only a few minutes humping and then again and again after a few minutes more. However we had gotten to the point where I simply couldn't afford to take her out to any more expensive venues and she was chafing at the more humdrum entertainment (i.e. student bars).

She'd been asked to a ball put on by the University Rowing Club and I knew she wanted to go and without me. This wasn't Oxford or Cambridge but the Rowing Club were part of the elite at the University, six-footers all of them, muscled and with posh deep voices and the ability to make you feel inferior without being overtly rude. They were also well off. I bet none of them had needed to take out a student loan. Anyway, one of them had fancied her for a while and took the opportunity to peel her away from my impecunious company. She came round to my room to break the news. She had a short black pleated skirt on and her tits looked ready to burst through her green tee-shirt. As she sat on my bed and more or less honestly told me how things were, I was torn with lust, disappointment, jealousy and resignation. She saw where my eye was drawn and with a knowing look crossed her legs and flashed her pale green cotton panties at me.

I knew this was an invitation to a farewell fuck. I wasn't sure whether to feel grateful or resentful or hopeful. My cock made up my mind for me and I went and sat on the bed next to her. She was just so brazenly sexy that I could not resist her. She swung her legs over mine giving my hands free access to her upper thighs. I fondled them for quite a while brushing and then pressing my fingers against her hot little crotch. Our eyes locked and I stood up while she peeled her panties off. She didn't shave her muff but didn't need to as it grew naturally into the neatest little triangle I'd ever seen. I gazed at it trying to decide whether to shove my fingers, my tongue or my cock into it. She decided for me by reaching up and pulled my jeans and briefs down and stroked my aching dick. I knelt on the floor before her and pulled off her tee-shirt, unclipping her flimsy pale grebe bra and freeing her beautiful bouncy boobs. Pulling off my own tee shirt I lowered myself on her and we embraced or rather writhed together with our tongues down each other's mouth. I was hardly conscious of sliding inside her but I was fully aware of pounding my cock into her tight little pussy. She panted and cried out and I charged on. I knew this was going to be the last fuck for a long time and possibly forever with her so I was determined to make the best of it. She wrapped her legs behind mine tightly and gave a groan as she came which I stifled with my mouth. I could have come myself there and then but just held back. Not giving her time to recover I spun her round so her butt was in the air and I penetrated her from behind, my stokes longer and slower as I built up to my own orgasm and her second. When I knew she was back in the swing of things so to speak I increased the pace, and bent over to squeeze her hanging tits. This gave her extra stimulus and she came again and I followed her spurting and spurting into her tight little juicy cunt.

We lay there a little while together not speaking and enjoying the afterglow. Then she got up, cleaned herself a little, got dressed, kissed me and left me without a word.

I was still feeling blue about this when about a week later my Uncle Hugh, dropped by. I always got on with him and we went out for a drink (he paid - I could not afford it). He suggested that I get in contact with Auntie Carol. He was the only family member who stayed in touch with Auntie.

"I think she's a bit lonely, feeling cut off from everyone else and her children both live abroad now. I don't know what you've heard about her from anyone else but don't take sides or make judgements. I don't think anyone knows the whole truth and it's really between her and Uncle Norman," he said, "Besides, she's quite well off and could assist you with your tuition fees."

So I got her number from him and rang her.

"Hello," she had a cultured and deep or rather low voice for a woman but not excessively so.

"Hi Auntie Carol, it's me Andy -- your nephew."

There was a pause then,

"Andrew! Well what a surprise! How are you?"

"Very well thank you. I don't know if you knew but I started at the University here a couple of months ago and I've been meaning to get in touch," fingers crossed as I said this.

"How very good of you to call!"

She sounded please to hear from me although the conversation was a little strained. She asked after my mother and father although I knew she never cared for them. She was my mother's elder sister by six years or so which put her in her late forties. She didn't ask me round for tea or anything but did promise to look me up next time she was in the University part of town.

"I do drop in at the Conservatory from time to time," she said as if this was something I should be impressed by and I gave her my mobile phone number.

Two days later she rang me and asked me to lunch. She'd booked a table at a fairly smart restaurant near the University campus. So I showed up in what I thought was as smart an attire as I had - that is clean jeans and tee-shirt. It wasn't smart enough for Auntie Carol who, after kissing me on the cheek, chided me gently how casual (she meant scruffy) I looked.

In marked contrast she was seemed very elegantly turned out herself. I could easily see the family resemblance to my mother but nearly everything about her was a little more intimidating and enticing than my mother. My mother was above average height whereas Auntie Carol was very tall and with her two inch heels just topped my own six feet. Mum was comfortably buxom but Auntie had quite broad shoulders to support a bigger and more prominent bust. By contrast her hips were relatively slim whereas Mum had definitely a lot of weight on her hips. I couldn't remember my Mum's legs, nothing special I should say but Auntie's legs from what I could see below her elegant frock were very shapely indeed. What struck me most though was her was very handsome face and I could tell she'd been very pretty in her youth or rather would have been except her nose was a little large -- just short of beaky in fact. She had bright blue, intelligent eyes and she often looked over the gold metal frames of her glasses to make a point in the conversation. Mum had a homely face and although she could fix me with her eye if she thought it necessary, did not generally stare me down so. Despite this quite dominating appearance she did not come over masculine or butch. Her clothes and manner seemed to emphasise her femininity. She smiled a lot although her smiles seemed more knowing than warm.

I was a bit taken aback and charmed as well. I remembered her always being quite smart but I didn't expect that a lady in her late forties could be so arresting and indeed attractive. In fact the thought half appalled me. Young girls like Jenny were pretty and some of them were stunning but women over thirty were just past noticing as far as I was concerned. I remembered mercilessly teasing a classmate at school who had a crush on a female teacher in her early forties and here was my aunt, even older giving me at least another point of view.

The meal was fine, she selected the wine and gave me a little explanation as to why she'd chosen it although it was above and beyond me as my tastes ran only to beer (and lots of it). Looking back on it I realised that she completely dominated the conversation - not that she did most the talking but she masterfully interrogated me about my family, my course, my finances and my social life. She did this so artfully (the wine also helped loosen my tongue) that I didn't realise I was getting pumped for information - it just felt that she was really interested in everything about me. With a natural grace and poise she oozed class. I noticed that the hemline of her skirt was above her knees and she showed off her shapely legs and what looked like expensive shoes. Her blouse showed off a little bit of of cleavage and her white bra underneath was hinted at: neither being prominent or invisible.

She invited me round for Sunday lunch the next weekend and slipped me fifty quid - to help with textbook purchases she said.

"Oh, and Andrew, please try to dress a little more smartly when you come," she said sweetly but firmly. I took the hint although not too gracefully as I liked scruffy not smart.

So I put on the only shirt I had and some trousers that didn't look like jeans and showed up promptly at one o'clock. She lived in a big detached house in a secluded avenue of a proverbial leafy suburb. There were several bedrooms as she had two children whom I vaguely remembered meeting once or twice but they'd long since grown up and moved out. Sharon, the elder, had married and had a young family and moved to Australia and Mike, the younger, now worked in America. Downstairs the house was expensively decorated. There were four large rooms -- a an enormous living room with an open log fire, a dining room that seemed very formal, a music room where she taught her pupils and a large light and airy kitchen which opened out on to the garden and had an attractive breakfast bar. Outside there was a huge walled garden that was not, I was surprised to see, as well kept as the house.

Auntie was quite conservatively dressed in a crisp white blouse though I could see her white slip and bra underneath it and a long, slightly pleated navy blue skirt that came down to her mid-calf. Her lipstick was very red. I noticed that she'd had her hair very attractively styled and said so.

"Well, thank you Andrew," she seemed pleased at the compliment, "And thank you also for making the effort to dress more smartly today".

Lunch was just a standard English roast but lots of it and very tasty. The conversation was again led and dictated by her as she extracted more information about me, my course, my finances and my social life. She commented quite pointedly that I need to get the right balance between work and play and also that I would not be so hard up if I didn't socialise so much. This might have been true but wasn't a message I really wanted to hear. It occurred to me that she was not just going to hand me loads of dosh and then let me piss it up against a wall. This was highly inconvenient but I'm nothing if not flexible.

"Well, you're probably right, Auntie," I said in an attempt at ingratiating honesty, "If you need any odd jobs doing around the house or garden, you'll find me a very hard worker."

"I'm sure I can find you something useful to fill your idle hours," she said rather severely. "The garden badly needs doing but I'm going to get a proper landscape gardener for that. However there's quite a lot of other work needs doing outside. Come back next Saturday morning and we'll see how you get on. If you're as hard working as you say I will be generous."

I wasn't sure what she thought generous might be. I didn't fancy working all day just for £20 but it didn't seem the right time to haggle.

So next Saturday I showed up early with only a slight hangover from the night before. It was a mild day in late February and she had a long, long list of things for me to do. I cleared the gutters, which still had the leaves in from the previous autumn, sanded down one of the gates and repainted it and cleared up a lot of garden debris. The garden still looked unkempt, however Auntie was very pleased with my work although it had taken me all day. She gave me a light tea in the kitchen as I was too muddy and scruffy to be allowed in the rest of the house.

Her gentleman friend was also there. A tall, heavy man, bald with a fringe of white hair, his name was Charles and it suited him -- moneyed, quite pompous and a ridiculously stuffy accent. His short vowels were long and his long vowels interminable. He told me he was a management consultant, although in my ignorance I didn't really know what that actually was. Auntie was quite a looker and what with the family gossip I was not surprised that she still had men in her life. I could see that he thought and rightly that she would look great on his arm but they didn't seem to be especially intimate and I couldn't see what in the relationship was for her unless it was his money. I certainly couldn't imagine them having sex (and didn't particularly want to -- old people having sex! yeuch!).

He casually dropped into the conversation his various business trips to Switzerland, Singapore and somewhere else that sounded Arabic that I'd never heard of. He asked me a few intelligent questions about my course and the University (name-dropping a few professors) but I couldn't give him any intelligent answers. It was quite obvious that he and I had nothing in common.

He and Auntie started to discuss their plans for later in the year. It seems they were going to go to Glyndebourne in the summer. I hadn't a clue what they were on about but finally worked out that it was some sort of opera festival, a bit like Glastonbury except for posh old people who like fat ladies singing in Italian. I noted with amusement and contempt based on my own inverse snobbery that Charles pronounced orchestra as "awwchaystraaah".

She mentioned again about getting the garden landscaped and perhaps it could be done when they were away.

"Yes, it certainly needs it," he said in his condescending manner. "When I moved to Elmgrove it was one of the first improvements I made."

I guessed Elmgrove was the name of his big country house.

"Elmgrove is certainly very tastefully done," said Auntie, "Who did it for you?"

"Oh, I can put you in touch with Peter. He's a splendid chap. Although he doesn't come cheap - it cost me a good hundred thousand to have it done."

"A hundred thousand pounds! Oh, but my garden's not half the size of yours! It shouldn't cost quite so much!"

"No, my dear, Elmgrove is a much larger property indeed! But you have rather let this one get run down a little. Besides Peter did mine ten years ago and his fees will have gone up since then. He's in high demand."

One hundred grand just to do up a garden! I was flabbergasted. Auntie looked a bit troubled too. She was comfortably well off but obviously could not afford that amount. Seeing her face Charles chortled,

"Of course you could get it done a lot more cheaply but you'd only get what you paid for. If you just wanted it tidying up a bit then perhaps young-feller-me-lad here could help."

Now that I'd seen the garden in more detail I realised what a mammoth task this would be. It could take months to do and be back breaking work! On the other hand it could mean a steady income stream.

Auntie looked doubtfully at me, "Perhaps," she muttered.

They were going out for the evening to the theatre or something so I left them to it. Auntie dismissed me with a peck on the cheek and £100 for my work that day.

"Charles and I are going away for a few days but I'll give you a ring when we come back," she said.

I was chuffed. £100 for a day's work -- that could work out at about £500 a month if it came regularly and Auntie always gave me a good meal too. Food, sex and beer in what ever order they came was all I really cared about.

Auntie rang me a couple of weeks later and asked me to come over the following Saturday.

"I want you to start work on the garden," she said after the preliminaries of how are are you and how was your short break were over and done with, "Bring a change of clothes because it will be dirty work. In fact would you be OK to stay over until Sunday?"

I assented but with some misgivings as it meant I wouldn't be able to party on Saturday night like I always did. And it meant no sex. I wasn't steady with anyone since Jenny but most Saturdays I was able to get off with some girl. That meant I'd have to masturbate and also do it at Auntie's which was certainly possible but I'd just have to be discreet. Still, if I was working two days then that would be £200 and some good food.

I showed up bright and early on Saturday morning with a couple of changes of clothes and some academic work and my laptop prominently stowed away in a side pocket of my bag. I hadn't the slightest intention of doing any course work that weekend but I wanted Auntie to think I was taking my studies seriously.

"I've been having a long think about the garden," she said. "I'm certainly not paying a ridiculous sum of money to have it landscaped so lets see what you and I can do. It will be a long project and we might not even get it finished this year but the sooner we start the sooner we'll finish."

She explained to me her plan and showed me sketches of how she wanted it to look -- she was quite good at drawing and it conveyed well what she intended but in truth I wasn't very interested. If she told me to dig I'd dig and if she told me to weed I'd do that too and whatever else was needed but I wasn't going to plan or organise the work - that was her job. So I dug and weeded and carried and raked and hoed all day. It was mid spring but warm so I had a pair of old shorts on. When we broke for lunch she noticed that I'd scratched the back of my thigh. I could feel something but it wasn't painful. She insisted on putting some antiseptic cream on it though.

"Can't have you getting tetanus," she said as she rubbed it in. I noticed for the first time that she was left handed. I was conscious that her hand went right up the leg of my shorts to rub the cream in but I couldn't see the scratch as it was at the back of my thigh beyond my vision. I wasn't sure her hand needed to go quite that high and the memory lingered with me for the rest of the afternoon. Not really a sexual moment but also not an unsexual moment if you take my meaning.