A Gardener’s Husband’s Delight

A Gardener’s Husband’s Delight- another limerick is inspired

It was a warm evening. We lay naked. Together. Stroking each other’s bodies. Playful. There was no need to say anything. I knew that eventually, I would be teasing the tip of her nub with my tongue, and I knew she knew it too. How I love that! I looked forward to then licking my tongue as deep as I could into her beautiful pot of honey, and tasting, today, her sweet juices.

There was no rush, and my mind wandered onto the surroundings of this room that we enjoyed together. Years earlier, we had decided to build this house. What a challenge; what a reward. The whole process had made me realize that it is such a normal human thing to construct a home, a place of safety, warmth, and comfort. Food, water, and shelter—all those things on the base of Maslow’s triangle—along with high-speed internet!

I realized our modern society now hides from us so many of the simple things that God wants to teach us from nature and our relationship to it. Our city lights and our busyness hide so much. To our forefathers, before we inherited all this technology and our sophisticated well-ordered societies, it was so obvious that we needed to protect ourselves from the wind and the rain, from wild animals and threatening tribes, to store up food for when the snows came.

I was momentarily distracted from my musings as Tess shivered slightly at my caress to the back of her neck. I was sure her legs would now be all goose-bumpy, but my other hand was too delighted and busy cupping her boob while my fingers delicately felt around her nipple and areola. I wasn’t going to slip it down there to feel for those goosebumps; I knew they were there!

Her body began to move a bit like a little wave rolling in on the shore of a lake. What? Where did that thought come from? I guess it was those little sucking noises she was making, a bit like the gentle lapping of a wave. I don’t know.

As we cherished each other, my thoughts drifted back to so many generations before us who found ways to create a safe place, sarm and protected, for their loved ones, their mate, their family.

When Tess and I were building, my focus was always on the house; in my mind, it was the project! But Theresa was always thinking further ahead to the home, and she really had a passion for creating the garden. Several times when I just wanted to work on something else, she would say, “So, Phil, when do you think is the best time to plant a tree?”

She had said it so many times that I knew the correct answer: “Well, Tess, I guess that would be about twenty years ago.” And I also knew the punch line, because she would then ask, “And when is the second-best time to plant a tree?” and I would reply, “That would be today!”

“Yep!” she would say triumphantly. And so, with her insight, within a few short years of the house becoming a warm and safe place, her early efforts also began to bear fruit, literally.

As we began to enjoy the fruit of her gardening labors, it really struck me that, in building a house, every little thing requires my effort! Nothing builds itself; nothing accidentally falls into place on a building site! And when chance gets involved, things always go to custard. Things get worse—the wheels fall off! It’s “Murphy’s Law,” as my engineering dad always used to say.

I still can’t fathom that so many people can’t see Creator God in the beauty and awesome intricate creation all around them. How could this all be? Quality work only happens because of artisans, not accidents! Surely it takes more faith to not believe in God than to believe in Him! How can we be so blind?

My thoughts continued. With nature, it is different from building: you do a little bit, planting and tending, but nature does almost all the heavy lifting. We provide the soil and some regular watering and stay alert to the pests and the weeds. Nothing too complicated, nor hard work—just diligence. And when you think about it, that was all our Heavenly Father asked of our very first grandparents!

Suddenly, I was jolted back from my ponderings. Tess now had my penis firmly in her hand, squeezing, stroking, flicking my glans with her thumbs. It was swelling, so wanting more. Our kissing became more passionate. What a beautiful gift from our Creator, this ability to experience intimacy face-to-face and intensely.

I tried to take my mind back to the garden to slow my rising need to climax. (Slow is usually good!) Marriage is a bit like that too. We need to tend the marriage garden and let it grow. And so, Tess’s foresight literally began to bear fruit: her trees began to produce. First citrus, then avocadoes, mangoes, and from the raised garden beds, all sorts of veggies. She loves feeding us at least a little bit from our own garden each day. “These are our spring onions” she’ll say proudly.

It made me wonder, could I see a metaphor here? In what way is a marriage built? Or in what way is a marriage nurtured and grown?

I decided that it is mainly grown! I now found my lips and tongue had slipped lower and had taken over from my fingers in pleasuring her nipple, which was fully plump. And my fingers had slipped into the crevice between Tess’s thigh and her stomach. I could feel she was yearning for them to find their way down that crevice towards her labia, but they were still taking their time! The urgency of her hand on my penis told me that she wanted me inside, but she would still have to wait!

Taking time? I continued my thoughts: it also takes time for a woman to become comfortable in her own skin. No longer pushed around by all the sexy images of the exceptional women that our culture bombards upon us constantly, all air-brushed and posed, she learns to just be peaceful with the thought, “This is who I am, and God made me just like this for His delight and the delight of my husband.”

And likewise for the husband: it takes time to grow the understanding that his life, in the overall scheme of things, is not going to amount to much! He tries to walk humbly with God, to play for an “audience of one,” discovering that whenever he tries to push himself forward, something dies inside him, and so does the smile on his heavenly Father’s face. He learns to be comfortable in himself and to simply love mercy, act justly, and walk humbly—Jesus in me, the hope of glory! Letting the rest worry about itself, he knows that in a short few years, he’ll be that old codger fumbling along in the street, the one who used to be the powerful footballer, feared by many, but now passed by those young guys who don’t realise that will be them in 40 years!

But oh, the fruit on the mature tree is so rich, bountiful, and sweet! Tess’s fruit is sweet… “Ohh, slow down,” I urged myself again.

I thought, “Maybe this is what God is teaching us?” In all the activity and desire to be something impressive, it’s actually getting to that place where we enjoy each other. It is not to impress, it is not a white knuckle adrenalin ride, it is real—mercy, right and humble. There is such a sweet spot in human sexuality where adventure meets safety. We need both.

I was again shaken from my musings to realize my fingers had now been playing at Tess’s garden door for some time. She was oozing, and now with her guidance, my rigid cock pressed onto and into the swollen lips of her labia. We wanted each other, and we both groaned, a groan of delight and of growing expectation of release. Tess pulled my butt cheeks toward her, welcoming my entry. We were trying not to hurry; this night could last all night—again—and at some point, I knew I would also taste that delicious intimate oozing sauce! Later. For now, she needed my fullness.

I woke hours later. The emerging light of morning provided only dim visibility, but I smiled as I saw how she lay there naked, the sheet partially covering her. I remembered the excitement of last night’s journey in making love. In my mind, I relived the feel and tastes of her garden paradise as we had continued to enjoy each other in dark. The quietness had been interrupted only by our panting, squeals, and groans. I felt inspired to write, and it took the form of a limerick again. I called it “A Gardener’s Husband’s Delight.”

A Gardener’s Husband’s Delight

Your mangoes are something to see

With lemons and limes so juicy!

And avocados galore!

But the taste I like more

Are the juices that ooze from your pussy!

After I wrote down these words and crafted them into rhymes, I so wanted to wake her. Instead, I prayed, thankful and real. It was warm and quiet: only her peaceful breathing and a few waking birds chirping. In a while, I would make her a cup of tea, and then maybe I would read her this rhyme.

Who knows; maybe we would have “breakfast in bed?”