The Mature Gardener Who Spied on Me When I Woke Up

Those who follow what I write already know my weakness for older men. It’s not something I’m embarrassed to admit: guys my age bore me, they finish too early, and they think they’re experts without having learned anything. So when I moved in with Gustavo to this house in the suburbs, I knew that sooner or later some story like this would end up happening.

Gustavo and I have been living together in the United States for a little over a year. He’s sixty-two, though anyone would guess fifty from how well he takes care of himself, and we’ve had an open relationship from day one. The people who know me know he gives me space to flirt, to talk, and, if it happens, to do more. That freedom is exactly what keeps the spark between us alive.

A month or so ago, Gustavo hired a gardener to maintain the yard. His name was Don Rodrigo. A dark-skinned man from the country, originally from some corner of Zacatecas. He wasn’t fat, more sturdy, with those rough hands of someone who has worked hard all his life. Widowed for a couple of years, retired, but he preferred going out to prune gardens rather than staying home alone, brooding over his wife’s absence.

The first time I saw him was a stroke of luck, or of my own carelessness. I’d stayed up late finishing some pending work and slept in. The sound of the mower woke me after ten. I got up with my eyes glued shut, stretched, and opened the curtains of the bedroom picture window without thinking about anything.

I didn’t realize Don Rodrigo was just on the other side of the glass, bent over among the flowers. And I was only wearing a short T-shirt tied up above my navel and nothing below except my underwear. The sunlight was blinding, and I rubbed my eyes like a little girl before I noticed his stare.

When I finally got my focus back, I saw him. He was still, pretending to check a bush, but his eyes were moving up and down my body with a shamelessness he was trying—and failing—to hide. I got scared for a second, until I remembered Gustavo had told me about the gardener. Then, instead of covering myself up all at once, I smiled at him. A slow smile. And only after that did I step away from the window, taking my time and giving him plenty of time to look.

I got dressed, went downstairs for breakfast, and a while later I went out to the patio with a pitcher of ice-cold hibiscus water.

—Good afternoon, Don Rodrigo. I brought you some water—look how strong the sun is — I said, handing him the glass.

—You shouldn’t have bothered, miss, I’m ashamed — he replied, wiping his forehead with his forearm—. I’m almost done.

—Then come into the shade and let’s have a glass inside. It’s unbearably hot.

He didn’t need to be asked twice. We sat at the breakfast nook and the conversation flowed naturally. Don Rodrigo turned out to be one of those men who make you laugh without effort, with anecdotes and naughty little stories he delivered with charming ease. And me, I’ll admit it, a man who makes me laugh disarms me faster than any pretty boy.

—Listen —he said suddenly, with a mischievous smile—, all respect, but what happened this morning, that was embarrassing. I saw you half asleep when you opened the curtain and I didn’t know where to look.

—And you didn’t say anything to me? —I shot back, laughing—. There I was, all trusting, and you were getting an eyeful.

—I’d be an idiot to warn you —he said, and we both burst out laughing—. Though I sure got a fine eyeful.

—The good thing is only you saw me —I went on, pretending just a little modesty—. How embarrassing.

—You should’ve stayed right there, miss. That way a man works even harder.

The flirting kept getting hotter as we laughed. I confessed my taste for mature men, and he, far from being uncomfortable, played along. He told me he lived alone, that he spent his nights looking at photos on social media to keep himself entertained. And I, never one to miss an opportunity, gave him my accounts: I post content, photos, stories. I told him to look me up, that he’d find things he was going to like there.

—Wait, you post photos like that? —he asked, eyes shining.

—Yeees. You won’t regret it.

He left an hour before Gustavo got home, but not before asking my partner’s age, surprised that he was older than him. When I told him I preferred men with experience, men who knew how to treat a woman like a queen, Don Rodrigo nodded like someone sharing a secret.

—A woman like you should be treated that way, like a queen —he said before climbing into his pickup truck—. Tomorrow you can tell me how your stories are.

***

That night, already in bed, I started replying to messages and saw that Don Rodrigo had liked half a dozen of my photos and several of my stories. I pictured him at home, alone, going through my content over and over, and the idea turned me on more than I expected. I wrote to him.

—I see you burned through all my photos, Don Rodrigo —I typed, amused.

—Oh, Danielita —he replied, still nervous with excitement—. You’re smoking hot, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

—Glad you liked them —I answered.

—You had me thinking about you all day. This morning, when I saw you at the window, I almost had a heart attack. I stood there like an idiot, praying you wouldn’t realize I was there.

—And I was all sleepy —I lied—. But I’m glad you got your treat.

We kept going like that for a good while, the flirting getting hotter and hotter. When Gustavo saw me so absorbed in my phone, he leaned over my shoulder and read the conversation.

—You’ve got him fired up, huh? —he said, amused, with not a trace of jealousy.

—He’s a very nice man, baby. And look how excited he gets.

—You’re going to end up with him, I know you —he laughed.

—I don’t know. Maybe —I admitted, biting my lip.

That was when Gustavo came up with the challenge. His eyes had that glint that shows up when he’s about to suggest something naughty.

—Tomorrow you turn him on again —he whispered in my ear—. I’ll send him a message, ask him to take care of the flowers under the bedroom window and trim the back yard. I’ll leave the curtains open and you lie down on your stomach, all sleepy, in just your underwear. I’m not leaving. I’ll stay in the next room and see what our gardener does.

A shiver of pure anticipation ran down my spine.

—Challenge accepted, baby —I answered, already stroking him over his pants—. Let’s see if the poor man doesn’t have a heart attack.

—Best case, you turn him on and he gives you a very good while —he said, kissing my neck—. You just keep chatting with him. Tomorrow we’ll see how bold he is.

That night I picked out the lingerie I was going to wear to receive Don Rodrigo. Something delicate, lace, leaving little to the imagination. I fell asleep imagining the scene, wet just thinking about it.

***

The next day Gustavo woke me up after six. Don Rodrigo would arrive at seven. My partner flung the curtains wide open; the sun was beginning to spill into the room, warm and golden. I lay down on my stomach on the bed, my back exposed and the lace underwear my only garment, so that the first thing he’d see when he looked into the backyard would be me, “asleep” and offered up.

—You look incredible like that —Gustavo murmured from the doorway, admiring me—. Too bad he’s about to get here. Anybody would lose their mind with you like this.

—Do I really look good, baby? —I asked, already aroused by the game.

—You look good enough to eat. Now act asleep, I can hear his truck.

Gustavo disappeared into the adjoining room. I heard the wooden patio door open, the tools being set down on the grass, and then a long silence broken only by Don Rodrigo whistling a song while he worked.

I barely opened my eyes. I saw him approach the window to check the flowers, just as Gustavo had asked him to. And then he froze. His eyes fell on my body, on the curve of my back and the lace fabric, and I knew the plan was working.

Don Rodrigo looked toward the patio door, making sure no one was watching him. Convinced he was alone with me, he came back to the glass. The bed was barely a yard and a half from the window, and between us there was only that pane. I saw him lick his lips, saw him swallow. I saw him, above all, bring his hand to his crotch without being able to stop himself.

With my eyes half-open, I watched every one of his movements. How he checked once again that the house was quiet, how he returned to the glass, how his breathing started fogging it up. The thrill of knowing I was being watched, of knowing he was losing himself over me, was heating me from the inside like a slow ember.

Then, defeated by desire, Don Rodrigo unbuckled his belt. I opened my legs a little more, pretending it was just a sleepy movement, giving him a full view. I heard his muffled gasp against the glass, heard him whisper my name, and that finished turning me on. I slid my own hand between my legs, still on my stomach, stroking myself slowly over the wet lace.

He noticed. He saw my hand moving and, for an instant, wondered whether I was still asleep or whether I was letting him look on purpose. That uncertainty drove him mad. His gasps became more audible, more urgent, and I stopped pretending. I let out a soft moan, then another, until our breathing started answering each other through the glass.

I shifted a little on the bed, clenching my thighs and rubbing myself more insistently, feeling the heat rising between my legs. The lace was already wet and stuck to my skin. Don Rodrigo, on the other side, kept one hand on his hard cock, jerking himself in short, awkward tugs at first, then more and more desperately. It showed in his whole body: in his tense jaw, his curved back, his shoulders rising and falling with every broken breath. I watched him and bit my lip, enjoying the show as if it were mine.

Then I brought two fingers to the edge of my underwear and slipped them just beneath the fabric, rubbing my clit with cruel slowness. My breathing grew heavier and I let out a clearer, more indecent moan. Don Rodrigo reacted as if I had spoken in his ear. He gave a low, feral groan and leaned even harder against the glass, his forehead almost pressed to the fogged pane. He couldn’t keep his hand in his crotch anymore; he unbuttoned his pants with clumsy urgency and pulled out his hard, thick cock, throbbing between his fingers.

I watched him touch himself shamelessly, rocking his hips in small thrusts while he looked at me, as if I were the only real thing in the morning. There was nothing elegant about it. It was dirty, animal, direct. And precisely because of that it turned me on even more. I spread my legs a little more on the bed, sank two fingers into my pussy over the fabric, soaking myself, and he answered with a growl that almost made the glass tremble.

—Look at me, Don Rodrigo —I whispered, knowing he might not hear me, or maybe he would—. Look at me well.

He lifted his gaze from his hand and pinned me with eyes full of hunger and reverence. He gripped himself harder, sped up, and his breathing started to break into gasps. I kept rubbing myself slowly, opening and closing my legs, stroking where it burned most. The lace had already shifted, wet, until it became a useless second skin. Pleasure buzzed in my groin and my belly, and I loved having him there, watching, losing control over me.

Suddenly, completely overcome, Don Rodrigo let out a rough moan and shot the first load against the glass. Semen slid in whitish streaks down the pane while he kept pumping himself, trembling, jaw open and eyes closed for a second. I just stared at him, hypnotized, feeling a wave of heat rise through my belly.

I opened my eyes fully and looked at him head-on. Don Rodrigo went rigid, exposed, but there was no turning back for either of us now. With his eyes he begged me to open the window. And I no longer wanted to resist.

I got up, walked to the glass, and released the latch. Gustavo had left it closed on purpose, part of the game, but now I was the one deciding. Don Rodrigo slid the window open and came inside. We didn’t have time to say anything: I threw myself into his arms and our lips met in a hungry kiss, full of the tension that had built up over two days.

His rough hands traveled over my back, my waist, the curve of my hips. They were the hands of a grown man, of a man who knows what he’s doing, and every touch confirmed for me why I prefer experience over youthful haste. I kissed him hard, wrapped around his neck, while he crushed me against him.

—I haven’t been able to think about anything else for two days —he told me in my ear, voice rough—. Ever since I saw you in that window.

—I know, Don Rodrigo —I answered, smiling against his mouth—. I knew it from the very first moment.

I slowly unbuttoned his shirt, never taking my eyes off him. I ran my palms over his chest, feeling the coarse hair under my fingers and the hard beat of his heart. He slid the lingerie straps down my shoulders with a tenderness that contrasted with the strength of his hands, and then he took one breast fully in his palm, weighing it, squeezing it with devotion. He sucked a nipple while I arched against his mouth, and the heat shot through me like a jolt.

I guided him to the bed and sat him on the edge. I knelt in front of him without breaking eye contact, enjoying his expression of disbelief, that mature man who not long before had only dared to fantasize behind a pane of glass and now had me at his feet. I knew Gustavo was listening to everything from the next room, and that certainty only made me hotter.

—Relax —I whispered, stroking his thighs—. We’ve got all morning.

I pulled down his pants and underwear together, freeing him completely. His cock had gotten huge, rigid and heavy, with a wet tip. I took it in my hand and jerked him a little, slowly, feeling the heat of his flesh and the tiny spasms running through his belly. Don Rodrigo let out a deep groan and gently grabbed my hair to pull me toward him. I understood the order without words. I stuck out my tongue and licked him from base to head, tasting the salty skin and the pre-cum already beading at the tip.

—That’s it, damn it, just like that —he muttered through clenched teeth, already lost in the sensation.

I took his cock into my mouth as far as I could, sucking hard, taking him to the back of my throat and pulling back out again, alternating tongue and suction until he started breathing like he was out of air. I stroked his testicles with one hand while the other kept gripping the base. He moaned without shame, his whole body tense, and I reveled in the rough sound of every gasp, in the way he looked at me with his mouth full of him.

When I felt him getting too close, I pulled away just enough to climb on top of him. I took off the lace, straddled his lap, and guided his cock toward my wet, open pussy. The head went in first, hot and brutally perfect. Then I lowered myself slowly, taking him in centimeter by centimeter until he was all the way inside me. Both of us moaned at the same time. I stayed still for a moment, breathing deeply, feeling him fill me completely.

Then I started moving. First slow, then deeper, rising and sinking over him with my hands braced on his chest. Don Rodrigo held me by the hips and helped set the rhythm, thrusting up into me with firm strokes that kept pulling more and more broken gasps from me. The bed creaked under our bodies, and the sound, mixed with our breathing, filled the room like dirty, delicious music.

—You’re making me feel so good, Don Rodrigo —I told him, throwing my head back while he kept fucking me from below—. More, don’t stop.

—Shit, Danielita, you’re so tight —he replied, his voice in pieces—. Like this, gorgeous, that’s how I like it.

He took me by the waist and started moving me harder, lifting me and letting me fall onto his cock again and again. Pleasure shot up so fast I had to put a hand on his shoulder to keep from losing my balance. I could feel every inch of him inside me, the delicious friction against my walls, the hard impact of his hips, the pull on my breasts every time I bounced against his body. He was fucking me with brutal, delicious patience, as if he wanted to memorize me from the inside out.

We changed positions without stopping kissing. He laid me on my back, spread my legs with his hands, and knelt between them to put his tongue in my pussy first, slow, expert, until I was writhing on the sheet. Then he came back in with his cock, this time from above, holding my knees open against my chest while he drove each thrust deeper. I could see the sweat running down his temples, the tension in his neck, the fierce concentration with which he was fucking me as if the whole world had disappeared.

—Yes, yes, right there —I kept telling him, shameless, feeling like I was already close—. Don’t stop, don’t stop.

He obeyed, blind with desire, giving me longer and deeper strokes. By then I was soaked, the mattress slippery, my skin burning everywhere. When the orgasm started rising, I grabbed his back hard and came, trembling, clenching around him in spasms that made him growl and keep pushing all the way in.

Don Rodrigo didn’t last much longer. I felt him tense all at once, saw him close his eyes and clench his jaw, and then he unloaded inside me with a long, hot, generous release. He filled me to the brim while he stayed motionless, buried between my legs, breathing violently. I stayed wrapped around him, still shaking, feeling the semen dripping inside me and my whole body throbbing with a hard, satisfied, almost savage pleasure.

And we sure took advantage of it. Don Rodrigo proved that age, far from taking away his vigor, had taught him the patience so many young men lack. He didn’t rush. He treated me, just as he had promised me that first afternoon, like a queen. When he finally left, already well into the morning, he left me stretched out on the bed with a smile of satisfaction that took hours to fade.

Gustavo came out of his hiding place wearing the same smile.

—I told you you were going to end up with him —he said, lying down beside me.

—And you served him up to me on a silver platter, baby —I answered, kissing him—. That’s why I love you.

Don Rodrigo kept coming by to prune the garden every week. And every now and then, he also stays for a glass of cold water in the shade. Let’s just say the upkeep of the house had never been in better hands.