Please support Nifty
comments welcome duclebout@gmail.com
My gardener works naked. I didn't discover this fact until a few weeks after I inherited this place from my great-aunt Hannah. 500 acres of vineyards, surrounding the hilltop where I live and where Beau the gardener works. The vineyards are leased, so I never have to worry about money, but I've kept my job as an English teacher at the horsey private school down the valley.
Beau lives in a little cottage across the garden. My great-aunt lived for her garden; she created it with her best friend, a Filipino named Tommy who worked his magic for 40 years. After her memorial service, Beau asked me for a meeting. He was sweating lightly in his unaccustomed suit as he showed me the garden diaries he and Hannah had kept, and then the volumes left by Tommy. The garden is fantastic, so I told Beau to just keep on keeping on. He seemed pleased.
I drove up from school one noontime soon thereafter, and there was Beau, naked as a snake, watering the petunias. He has a nice big body. His dick and balls are almost hidden by the biggest patch of pubic hair I have ever seen: it starts at his navel, thick, and curls right under his balls to the top of his big thighs. His dick sticks out a little from the heavy thatch.
He had moved on when I came around from putting the car away. But over the next weeks I became accustomed to seeing him naked as he did his garden chores. His ass is furry, the hair golden from the sun.
I let him manage the two or three acre garden just as he wished. I mentioned some flowers that I especially liked, and he nodded: they were already planned, or they soon would be.
The big house had burned down some thirty years before. Great-aunt Hannah expanded and moved into the poolhouse, and that's where I live as well. I love just rolling out of bed and into the water.
I was wasting an afternoon swimming laps and sunbathing on my hammock. Beau sent me a text message: Sweet Peas. That's all. I had mentioned to him that I iked sweet peas, and he promised to plant some. I wasn't even sure where they were, but I wandered off in the direction of the greenhouses. Sure enough, there was a row of string trellises holding up vines, leaves, tendrils, and blossoms. Beau must have planned different colors in succeeding weeks as the trellis closest to the path was packed full of maroon blossoms, while the other strings showed the vines catching up. The aroma was intense.
Beau was naked. His arms were full of the maroon flowers, a couple of white ones, stems and a few leaves. He had a hard-on. His dick stuck straight up and pressed hard against the fur below his navel. Two red flowers on their stems had slipped out of his big hands and were resting behind his hard dick, pressed into his hair. The smell of the flowers Beau held grew even stronger. "I'll get some bowls," he said.
Sex sort of had to happen. I learned that a hard-on meant he is ready for me to blow him, which I love: he cums like a firehose. We fuck a lot as well, and he is as good top or bottom.
But I have never seen anything as deeply sexual and arousing as the two deep red sweet pea flowers pressed tight against his hairy crotch, held like magic by his hard dick.