My Garden of Happiness

His rhythm increased and intensified and wonderfully we exploded into orgasmic passion together. We clung to each other, each striving to get his penis into my depths. I wound my legs round him and his hands came under my buttocks and then I felt the first burst of his semen into me. His seed planted in the garden of my vaginal tunnel to hopefully send some enterprising spermatozoa on its voyage of fertilisation.

There seemed to be complete harmony between us, as if this was where and how we belonged. It was all so completely right.

Clive, as he ejaculated, gave out none of the grunts and snorts I had known with Joe. He spurted into me giving out soft gasps with each new thrust and as he ended he gave a sigh that seemed to speak of deep satisfaction.

“I had a partially humorous thought race through my mind; “Well that should get the propagation process going if anything ever will.”

We lay, still physically united, as we gradually became slowly aware of the world beyond ourselves; the hum of insects; the rustle of leaves as the soft breeze moved them; the sudden flapping of a bird taking to flight and in the far distance the sound of traffic.

We were looking deep into each other’s eyes as Clive said very softly those wonderful and dangerous words, “I love you Cara.”

I responded, “I’ve loved you for a long time, Clive.”

“I know,” he said.

Desiring to have a child I had never used any form of contraception with Joe, and of course I had used none with Clive and he certainly had used nothing. I had no qualms about this. If by wonderful good fortune I got pregnant through our coupling, I would rejoice.

I did not expect a man as young as Clive would want to be responsible for a child, so it was my silent decision to take full responsibility myself. If the miracle of fertilisation happened, then Clive would have to know eventually, if only by seeing my expanding body. When that time came, if it did, then I would clearly absolve him of all liability.

In the meantime I could see that Clive and I would now begin to enjoy each other’s bodies regularly. We had declared our love for each other and as we had just demonstrated, that love included sexual love. Little did I know just how much we were to enjoy each other’s bodies.

At first we tried to keep our new relationship secret, not wanting neighbour’s tongues wagging, but it soon became clear this could not be. There was no Friday night “binge.” Once set on the path of sexual union we found we wanted each other frequently. The need to say goodbye to each other after copulating, especially at night, became a torment to us.

In addition, Clive’s studies began to suffer. He was spending too much time with me and not his work. His parents began to question what he “got up to,” disappearing from the house so often.

The neighbour’s tongues wagged in any case since it became impossible to hide Clive’s visits to me from their window peaking eyes.

Finally we decided to face whatever storms might come, and Clive moved in with me.

A storm there was. His parents raged and cursed. They especially cursed that “oversexed slut” who couldn’t keep her hands off their son. I was “ruining his life”; “his future is in tatters.” These and many other imprecations they rained down on my head.

I refused to respond in kind or defend myself, and Clive, ever the gentlemanly knight, would have flown to my defence, but I stopped him.

“Darling,” I said, “If what we are doing is right and good for us, then eventually they will come to see it. If it turns out not to be right and good, then they are probably correct in their assessment of me.”

I needed no book to discover how to make love. Clive and I played and experimented, doing things that Joe had found repugnant, including cunnilingus that in our times is almost a woman’s right to ask for, or even demand from her lover.

Clive and I never seemed to tire of exploring every nook and cranny of each other’s bodies, seeking those pleasure points that enhance and lead up to the final union, whether they be vaginal, anal, oral or that pleasure Clive enjoyed so much, coming between my breasts as I folded them over his shaft.

Then came the testing time; we had been together four months when it became clear Clive’s seed had born fruit; I was pregnant.

There seemed no point in withholding this news from Clive, and once the doctor had confirmed my condition, I told him.

He was silent for a while, then began very gently, “I’m so sorry, Cara. I didn’t realise…I mean…I didn’t think…well I suppose I thought you couldn’t get pregnant…I mean, you never said anything…I would have…”

I cut across his speech. “Clive, I’ve told you because you’d have to know some time. From the start I decided that I would not hold you responsible and try to hang on to you if this happened.”

“Do you mean right from the beginning you knew this could happen?”

“I knew and wanted it to happen.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Of course not; I couldn’t think of anything I want more than a child you helped put inside me.”

Clive went very quiet again. There was no extravagant fuss, no exaggerated protestations; he simply said, “That’s all right then. We’d better get married.”

It was my turn to become silent. Whatever I might have expected, it was not this. I was not at all sure I wanted to get married, and in any case, there was a significant age gap between us. Suppose some time in the future Clive decided he wanted someone nearer his own age? What did he really want, sex apart, a wife or a mother?

With these thoughts I said to him; “No, I won’t marry you, Clive.”

I saw the blood drain from his face as he stared at me in disbelief.

“But you must, Cara. The child…a father…I love you…”

“Yes, I know you do, Clive, and I love you, but the answer is still no.”

“But if you love me…”

“Stay with me Clive. Be my lover and live with me. Let’s find our way together for a while, and then we’ll see.”

“You don’t think I’ll make a good husband and father, then?”

“I didn’t say that, Clive. I said let’s wait and see. You’ve still a long way to go with your studies. Complete those and then we can talk about marriage.”

“But Cara, you know that since I’ve moved in with you, since we’ve been able to make love freely, my studies have improved out of sight.”

“I know, and I still say let’s wait and see.”

We argued on for some time, but it still ended up with my refusing to marry him at that time.

I suppose I wanted to test him; to find out if he really wanted to marry me. If, when our hunger for each other had calmed down, he would still want me as his wife.

I assured him of my ongoing faithfulness to him and this seemed to placate him somewhat, and if that night we were both less ardent in our coupling, that soon passed and we were soon restored to our former passion for each other.

We continued our sexual unions until I reached the point in my pregnancy when it was no longer safe for us to carry on.

Clive was no less desirous for me, and I relieved him with my hand or by oral sex. After our baby, Robyn, was born Clive asked nothing of me for some time, allowing for my full recovery. It was a great relief to both of us when we could resume our love making, and I had decided to prevent another pregnancy for the time being, so I went on to the contraceptive pill.

I thought the presence of a baby in the house and the attention I had to pay her might have an adverse effect on Clive; on the contrary, he seemed more energetic and loving than ever, and if anything, fussed over Robyn more than I did.

Clive took Robyn to his parent’s house, and that began the reconciliation between them and me. They found Robyn irresistible, and since I had produced her, they seemed to decide I couldn’t be all bad. I went along with the new harmony, but they did persist in pressing us to get married. I remained obdurate.

As the end of Clive’s horticultural course drew to an end, I knew the moment for decision was also drawing near. He would be ready to launch out into the world; would he want me to go with him?

On the night of his graduation, leaving Robyn with Clive’s parents, I went to the ceremony with him and attended the party afterwards. It was during the party that trouble arose.

Some if not most of the graduates got very drunk. Even before they got drunk I had been the object of male attention. Most of them knew Clive and I were lovers and that we had a baby.

These early attentions were mild and seemed to be admiration from afar, but with the increase in intoxication things got nasty.

I had gone to the toilet, and as I returned to the main room along the passage, one of the men stopped me. He reeked of drink and he pushed me against the wall.

“So you’re the little charmer Clive’s been boasting about,” he slurred. “Stuck a kid in you, eh!” “Wouldn’t mind a bit of the action myself sweetheart. How about it? A quickie in the back room?”

He was pressing his body against me as I tried to struggle free from him. At that moment Clive appeared no doubt on the way to the toilet. He took the situation in at a glance and I saw his face flush bright red. He grabbed my assailant and tore him away from me.

“You leave my wife alone, you drunken bastard,” he roared.

“No offence, just kidding old boy…” his victim began.

At that point Clive landed a punch on the fellow’s jaw that sent him hurtling backwards howling as he went.

The howls brought a number of people into the passage and attempts to placate Clive finally brought the scene to an end.

We left soon after and on arriving home I got a gentle lecture on the dangers of attractive women and drunken men.

One thing I took careful note of was the fact Clive made no suggestion that I was in anyway at fault. I have known husbands who, finding their wives in such a situation, accuse them of having “led him on.” I was deeply touched that Clive had such certainty in my fidelity to him.

I decided that the moment had arrived, so when Clive finished his fatherly advice I said, “You called me your wife, you lied, how much longer do I have to wait for it to be the truth?”

I think the lecture was due to go on for a little longer, so Clive was caught in mid verbal stride, so to speak.

Trying to realign his thoughts he started to stammer out, “B…b...but I asked you ages ago.”

“Well ask me now you silly man.”

“Okay, will you bloody well marry me?”

“Yes, I bloody well will.”

“Ah.”

“Is that all you’ve got to say?”

“Well what am I supposed to say?”

“Thank me for accepting the offer.”

I had managed to keep a straight face during this little exchange, but now laughter overwhelmed.

Clive looked puzzled for a moment, and then he too joined in the laughter, gasping as he did so, “Thank you for accepting my offer.”

That night there was a very special sort of loving.

Clive began his working life like me, working in a plant nursery. He had an incredibly wide knowledge of plants and trees but within his working environment he found himself constricted.

We had married soon after he began work, and I started to contemplate the money that was left over from Joe’s compensation. It was a long way short of what would be required to purchase our own nursery, but Clive and I talked things over and we approached the bank.

After much humming and hawing we got our loan and, after hunting around for a while found a place for sale. It had been run by an elderly couple who were past coping with it, so it was in a pretty bad way. We bought it for less than we would have to pay for a place in good order, but we were pleased in that we could develop things the way we wanted.

That is fairly much the story up to the present. We’ve got the place pretty well thriving and, along the way we have grown a couple more very personal little plants, Robert and Diane.

Clive and I got a great deal of pleasure planting those two.