The Gardener

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There are stranger things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio . . .
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Author's Note: In botany, the anther and the pistil are the male and female reproductive organs of flowers. In mythology, hamadryads are wood nymphs, or spirits of nature inhabiting trees and plants.

My thanks to Sweetness 6280 for editing this morsel. If you like it, please vote first and then leave a comment. I really live for comments.

*

Horatio Boxgrove stood in the stern of the old punt and looked out over the marsh grass towards Twerington Manor. The Great House had brooded over the fen for over a hundred years and in its first decades had drawn a merry crowd of water-fowlers and their ladies for the dawn shooting and evening revelry. Since the last Baron Twerington died, however, his family seat had gone derelict and crumbling. To the best of Horatio's belief, no one had been there for a generation or more and, as its nearest neighbor; he could be expected to know.

These days, though, rumors were flying. Anglers returning to shore claimed that they saw lights in the old place and birdwatchers who passed nearby swore that they heard laughter and the clinking of glasses. It had to all be rubbish, of course, and Horatio said so, vehemently.

The rest of the village was unimpressed with his arguments. Finally, after some cajoling from young Hyacinth Cockscomb (who had been carrying a bit of a torch for the older Horatio), he set out to establish once and for all that his neighbors were either caught up in a mass hysteria or that some of the local delinquents had squatted in the manor house to experiment with chemical entertainment and to engage in lewd acts. The present age, Horatio believed, was a degenerate one.

The view through his binoculars revealed something unexpected. Lush weeds, young trees and brilliant wildflowers stood tall around stone foundations. However, paint peeled from woodwork and shutters dangled loose from their hinges. Surely if someone had bought the place and moved in, they would have repaired the broken glass. Since the empty panes still glowered darkly in the morning light, Horatio was confident his assessment was the correct one.

Another twenty minutes of poling through the flower-topped fen brought the horticulturist to the bank. He'd almost gotten distracted from his quest by the scent and color of the blooms around him but the accusation from Hyacinth's aunt that he never saw anything above the height of a dahlia still echoed in the man's memory. It rankled that she held him in such low esteem. Not that he particularly cared about Mrs. Caruthers's match-making attempts. Hyacinth was a decent sort, he thought, but her romantic inclinations baffled him. On the subject of plant husbandry Horatio had no peer in all the county around, but why that should make anyone consider him husband material was a mystery. Still, disrespect was not to be borne.

He pulled the punt up the bank as far as he could and tied the painter to a stout bush. A glance at the sky strongly suggested that not doing so might leave him stranded. Forgetting to check the weather report for the day was going to prove a mistake, Horatio thought. Clouds were gathering and the wind was picking up. Hopefully enough of the old roof remained intact that he'd be able to stay dry. Pulling the lunch basket over the gunwales and slinging it over his shoulder, Horatio next hefted the heavy, six-battery electric torch and decided to walk around the outside of Twerington before entering. He hoped the rain would wait long enough for that.

Stalking deliberately around the once-gracious manse, Horatio searched intently for any sign of new human habitation. There was no disturbance in the dust on the porches nor did so much as a footprint mark the pathways that led thereto. However, something did appear to be out of place. For no obvious reason, the surrounding trees, bushes, forbs and herbs were growing uncommonly well, given the wreck of the man-made parts of the place. And then there were some odd little herbs growing in sheltered areas next to the openings in the foundation.

He leaned in for a closer look. No, they weren't anything that he recognized and that fact alone was surprising. As far back as his public school days, Horatio's nickname had been "Plants" and his horticultural knowledge was regarded as encyclopedic by all the village residents. In gardening competitions, the only real question was who would come in second. First place was always presumed to be Horatio's.

"What the dickens can those be?" he mused, "and from where could they possibly have come?"

He reached down and pinched a leaf then raised his fingers to his nose. If he hadn't known better, he'd have sworn that it had a distinctly Mediterranean scent, something that was totally foreign to the cool, damp climate of the fen country. How could they possibly survive here?

Horatio completed the circuit of the building and returned to the entryway just as the first drops of rain started to fall. From the look of the lowering sky, the next several hours were going to be cold and uncomfortable and that was all the argument he needed to push open the cracked and weathered door. If he couldn't keep cozily warm, he could at least stay dry.

Once within the stout, old walls Horatio went looking for something relatively comfortable to sit on. All the furniture had been either sold off or stolen decades ago so he found nothing but piles of leaves that formed drifts in the corners. He had just about decided to settle down on one when he caught, of all the strange things, the scent garlic and rosemary, cooking garlic and rosemary.

Odd, there isn't another house within miles. How could . . .

Then he heard the music! Gypsies? Trespassers? Who could possibly be throwing a party in an abandoned manor house? Gripping his heavy electric torch firmly, Horatio turned and strode grimly towards the sounds.

When he pushed open the double doors to the old ballroom, the world changed forever. There, before him, was a party full of stylishly dressed people, a small orchestra, comfortable furniture and a long sideboard full ofhors d'oeuvres with bottle after bottle of wine. As he stood, astonished, a woman of uncommon beauty swept up towards him, took the torch from his unresponsive fingers and pushed a large glass of red wine into his hands.

"Darling," she crooned, "you're late. We were beginning to worry about you. Do come sit down and tell me how your periwinkles are doing."

Horatio found himself guided by a gentle but very firm hand towards a loveseat in one corner of the ballroom and then seated in it. His hostess, if that's what she was, at once plumped herself down hip to shoulder beside him and crooking her arm inside his, propelled the glass to his lips. Unwilling to be an unappreciative guest, Horatio took what he intended to be a sip but which turned into a gulp. Mercy, the wine was glorious—and strong. Heat radiated out from his stomach, relaxing his arms and legs. He blinked and attempted to speak but nothing came out.

"There now, my lovely man, you have no idea how long we've been waiting for this. Come, gentles, put him over on that chaise, if you would be so kind? At long last our gardener has arrived."

Two large, silent men lifted him as though he were but a pillow and carried Horatio over to a reclined chaise lounge. The woman followed them and sat seductively on his helpless lap. A red-headed woman filled a second wineglass from a pitcher and handed it to the dusky brunette perched on his thighs. She cocked her head to one side, regarding Horatio with amusement.

"My dear Horatio we meet in person at last. You are so well regarded by all our friends in your garden that there was simply no question of whom we required for our little experiment. Don't try to talk, Horatio, you can't in any case. Otherwise such a proper gentleman as you are might protest and we can't have any non-cooperation from our gardener, now can we? Yes, Horatio, we need your expertise as a gardener. Hybridization, sowing and plowing—we need them so very much."

With that, she took his chin between thumb and fingers and opened his mouth. Grinning wickedly, she poured the glassful between his lips. Horatio swallowed reflexively. The effect was instantaneous. Though he still could not move, fire ran through his body, making him feel charged and ready to explode. Sweat broke out on his forehead and an unfamiliar throbbing began below his belt buckle.

Forcing his mouth open, Horatio managed to stammer, "Who? Wha' was tha'? Who a' y'?"

"Who am I? No, Horatio, the proper question is 'What am I?'" As she spoke, the woman's pupils changed shape from round to slits, her skin turned from pink to emerald green, her eyebrows became lines of moss and her hair a crown of foliage. Her clothing dissipated as though it had never been to reveal a lush, full figure.

"And the answer, my love, is—hamadryad! Ah, I see you recognize the term but you are confused. Poor mortal, no doubt you thought us myths and restricted to the Mediterranean," clever fingers began to push aside his coat and to unbutton his shirt, "and until now we were. But we are as intelligent as you are and it has at last come to us that all we need to spread throughout the world is a greater tolerance for cold. It is on the advice of the dahlias and irises in your border that we have selected you to help. Yes, gardener, we need your seed and your expertise in cross-breeding. A new hybrid is in the making, half human and half hamadryad and it will all start—with you."

As she unbuckled his belt and unfastened his trousers, Horatio dimly thought that in all his forty years he had never felt the raging lust, the irresistible desire that now fired his loins.

The green woman ran her nails down his chest, and then leaned forward to nip his chin. Once his trousers were loose, she pulled them down to his thighs. His erection sprang to attention.

"What a lovely anther you have, dear Horatio," she purred grasping his manhood possessively, "It's such a pity that you've never put it to proper use. We'll have to correct that—right now!"

So saying, she straddled him and impaled herself on his phallus with a quiet, happy murmur. Closing her eyes, the green woman began to rock her hips forward and back sending electric currents up her steed's spine. Horatio's world narrowed to those glorious globes swaying before him and to the sensations she was sending him. Vaguely he heard the party-goers begin a rhythmic clapping to match his seducer's movements. Bit by bit she thrust down onto him with greater force and higher speed.

"Now, Horatio, my gardener, now is the season for planting. Give me your seed!"

Completely under her spell, the man could only obey, shouting his ecstasy as he jetted into her over and over again. At last, completely spent, he fell into a deep sleep.

He awoke later to the sound of thunder and pounding rain and found that he was sandwiched between the warm bodies of his "hostess" and her autumn-crowned friend. The latter stirred and wakened, opening golden eyes. She smiled broadly.

"Are you well rested, Horatio? I do hope so. It doesn't matter, though; here take another dose of nectar to renew your virility." She pulled his face towards her full bosom.

Horatio couldn't help himself. At once, he latched onto her protruding nipple and began to suckle eagerly. To his surprise, sweet liquid squirted down his throat, and once again fire and desire filled his loins. A roar escaped his lips and he threw himself atop the nymph.

"Oh yes!" she exclaimed in delight, "Plow this field, Horatio, plant this seedbed. Use me, mortal man, use me!"

A muzzy and confused man woke in the bright, cloudless morning light. He wanted so badly to believe that the previous afternoon and night's debauchery had been only a dream. How many women had demanded his attention? It certainly was more than should have been possible. Horatio's previous sexual experience was non-existent and he wanted to believe last night's didn't really happen, either, but the evidence around him dashed his hopes.

However decrepit the rest of the house might be, the old ballroom was still richly furnished and the remains of a fine party still stood along the sideboards and tables. Besides, he was naked, his clothing clear across the room from the pile of cushions he lay on. Of the hamadryads, though, there was no sign.

Once he was finally dressed, feeling a little alarmed that his trousers and shirt collar were now much looser, Horatio hurried outside. The storm was long gone and the new day was a glorious one. As he untied the painter and started to launch the punt for the trip home, he found himself muttering.I simply cannot tell anyone. They would think me mad and, I fear, they might be approaching the truth. What is certain is that I simply must never come back here again. "Yes," he spoke out loud, "I must never come here again!"

A knowing giggle came from the bush next to him. "On the contrary, dear gardener, you will be unable to stay away." A tall, buxom, naked figure rose from the shrub and reached out a finger to gently touch the tip of Horatio's nose. "The seed you sowed generously and so often will ripen. By the time the harvest is ready, youwillreturn and you will never leave again. Arrange your worldly affairs, mortal, for by high summer you must leave them and return to my arms." With that she leaned forward and kissed him full on the mouth with a taste of violet honey. Then she sank back into the bush and was gone.

Late spring arrived and turned to early summer. Never in the village's history had any garden grown so brilliant with flowers or as lush with spring berries and vegetables as did Horatio's. Hyacinth knowingly told her friends that all good gardeners talked to their plants. "However," she whispered, "Horatio's sometimes answer."

The village shook their heads and marked it up to unrequited love. "Silly girl," they gossiped, "she really needs to set him aside and look to someone else. He'll never be more than a polite neighbor."

Little did anyone suspect the letters that were being exchanged between Horatio and his solicitor in London. The cottage and its surrounding acreage were to be handed over to the village commons as a park and horticultural institute, financed in perpetuity by both subscription and the foundation Horatio had made of his inheritance.

By August, there remained only the matter of his stealthy departure. The old punt bobbed gently in the wavelets loaded with the meager requirements Horatio had come to understand that he would need. There was but one more thing. He lifted the telephone from its cradle and began to dial Hyacinth's number. He had no doubt that she would leap at an invitation for a day's punting on the marsh. The lass really was good company, after all. Besides, he thought, recalling the tall, silent males who'd lifted him so effortlessly, she would no doubt prove very useful in the cross-breeding experiments to come.

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AnonymousAnonymousover 7 years ago
Almost too good.

Only just now reading this myself, but I find that it was written with an exceptional disposition for words. While I find the words you used admirably talented, they almost took away from the central focus. In a way, the words were brilliant, but my advice would be to try to dilute your skill ever-so-slightly to achieve longer stories with a more casual read.

My basic point is that, in an erotica, one tends to read for the emotional and physical depth, not necessarily for the mental. That being said, this story could have been written at any time, which would mean the advice would be more applicable when compared only to it.

Anyway, have a great day!

wifeofinkwifeofinkalmost 11 years ago
Amazing, sweet, voluptuary

Terse and lovely, sweet as nectar and thoroughly sensual. The gardener who is rewarded for his love for plants; the hybridization of a species through deeply seeding fecund floral wombs; the plants' brimful breasts, filled with spirit to thankfully replenish and reciprocate what he had gifted to them. Was the wine their bosoms' nectar all along?...My...

I only wish the explicit scenes were more described, but I do appreciate your uniquely succinct style too. Minimalism is good, but a further vivid detail here and there during the carnal acts would be wonderful in your future stories...But I am in no way complaining; all choices are correct. My heart vouches; it is the one that beats so fast now, thanks to this story.

I do look forward to those future stories. I'll be reading all your works.

NellaBarely2NellaBarely2over 11 years ago
Like a good massage!

This high quality wordsmithing exercise resembles The Best Ever Massage; a great way to spend a few relaxing minutes while an expert, you - the author, provides superior mental masturbation for us, the reader, without the typical, anticipated hard core sexual manipulation. This IS hot, while being pure enough to share with my young daughter. What a wonderful treat.

AnonymousAnonymousabout 13 years ago
delicious

wonderful idea. Please let's have a sequel with more sex.

JackLuisJackLuisalmost 15 years ago
Lovely

Nicely worded

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