Warning - if you're looking for burning bitches, willing cuckolds, consensual swinging, wife-sharing or detailed sex scenes, you're wasting your time with this story. Like with my other stories. And sorry - I'm a German and writing in a foreign language might cause some grammar errors.
I love plants. Flowers, trees, bushes. All of them. I really enjoy working on them. Smelling them. Feeling their different textures. Taking care of them. I'm a gardener and it's the job of my dreams. It doesn't pay very well, but I enjoy it. I enjoy working outside. I enjoy the manual labor. I enjoy my life. And that's what's important, isn't it?
But I also have a problem. One that most men probably envy me for. Because they don't know how it is. I'm a hunk. I'm 6'7" and built like the proverbial masonry restroom. No fat, all muscles. Due to my job I'm always nicely tanned. I have a handsome face and a nice smile. In short - women are attracted to me like catnip. Now why am I complaining?
Because if I was a lawyer, a doctor or an architect, I'd have the perfect life. Women would want to win me over for keeps. I would be considered a good catch. I would find the one woman that's right for me and she would cherish and respect me. But I'm only a low-paid gardener. I have no status in society. I'm a nobody. Women regard me as some kind of male bimbo. Good for sex, but no keeper. But I'm a one-woman man. I'd like to fall in love. Take care of one woman. Cook for her. Pamper her. Protect her. Raise our kids together.
All I have is the opportunity to fuck twenty women per day. And none of them would want to introduce me to their friends or family. At least none of those that are capable of keeping an interesting conversation. Despite my job I'm not dumb and I'm not interested in a dumb woman either. But the self-confident and intelligent women seem to regard me as some kind of disposable sex toy.
Today, my co-worker Juan is at home. His wife is expecting their first child. I'm happy for him and I have no problems to substitute for him. So today I'm working in the garden of this enormous mansion. I've never been here before. But the modern and stylish house is not what fascinates me. What strikes me are the roses. They're old and just magnificent. But they need some care, Juan has neglected them a little, as it seems. He probably had his baby on his mind. Lucky bastard. It's a hot day and I'm working with a bare upper body. I enjoy to feel the slight breeze and the warmth of the sun on my back.
While I'm totally lost in pruning the roses near the terrace, I hear a female voice behind me. A self-confident, assertive voice.
"...I don't give a fuck. I will give him four mill for it. He can take it or leave it. I also have Clarkson's offer... No way... Just tell him, okay?... Okay, bye."
I continue with the roses. I haven't even looked at her. She sounds a little bitchy, but that's not my problem. Some unlucky guy can put up with her. I have the gut feeling that this time it might be better to avoid any customer contact.
"Hey, gardener."
Okay, now I have to look at her. It would be rude to ignore her.
"Good morning," I reply. She's quite pretty. Not stunningly beautiful. But certainly very pretty. Very stylish, of course. That was to be expected in such a house.
"I haven't seen you before."
"Yes, I'm a substitute for Juan. His wife is expecting a baby."
"How touching." It's meant in a sarcastic way, but she smiles while she says it. "I definitely prefer you. You're eye candy. What's your name?"
"I'm Mark. And you're..."
She seems to be surprised about my boldness. But hey, I'm not her slave or something. If she wants my first name, why shouldn't I get her's?
"I'm Laura." She smiles now. Wow, she looks fascinating when she smiles. And, to my surprise, she even offers me her hand. Although mine are a little dirty. I take it and have to smile, too. Her hand feels tiny and fragile in mine. "You'd like to have a drink?" She alternates between staring at my face and my body all the time. I wish I had decided against dropping my shirt earlier. I feel like a brainless sex object again. I suppose this is how busty women feel when guys constantly stare at their tits. But maybe I'm getting over-sensitive in that matter. I should try to be more relaxed about it. It's just a compliment, isn't it? She has done nothing disrespecting so far.
"Yeah, sure. It's a hot day. Maybe a diet Coke?"
"Sure." She smiles and looks just marvelous. She looks towards the house, obviously unsure if she should call someone to serve the beverages or go herself. She decides to bring them personally and earns some points in my internal ranking this way.
Just as she hands me a nice and cold Coke with ice, a man storms onto the terrace, coming from inside the house. His face is distorted into a mask of hatred. Shit. I don't want to be involved in some domestic struggle.
"Four million? You bitch. I'll kill you." And - to my surprise - he doesn't seem to mean that in a metaphorical sense. He's actually wielding a knife. Everything happens very quickly now. He strikes out to stab her into the belly while I jump between them and catch his arm with my left hand. While doing it, he cuts my left arm slightly and obviously unintentionally. But, of course, I don't feel the pain now. I merely realize that it's happening. I immediately hit him in the face with my right arm. This catches him by surprise. I use my advantage by kneeing him into the nuts. He goes down immediately. I pin him onto the ground and call Laura. She's nowhere to be seen. Shit.
Well, it turns out that the guy's name is Andrew Martin and that he's got some damn good lawyers. He's running around as a free man while I'm rotting in my small prison cell, being charged with assault. He claims that I have attacked him with a knife. This Laura woman has disappeared without a trace and nobody can find her. Or at least nobody wants to tell me where she is. So I have to sit in this cell, being worried about my future. It could have been a nice day, smelling roses and enjoying life. But no - being idiotic - I had to mess with rich customers. Who immediately dropped their pawn after using him.
After three endless and miserable days my boss makes his contribution to the situation by telling me that I'm fired. Just great. Just fucking great. My lawyer tells me that I might get three to five years. It keeps getting better. At least I won't have to worry about my job any more in this case.
After six days my lawyer tells me that she has re-appeared and has testified in my favor. I'm being almost immediately released. It seems she has gone to Paris for some shopping. Just lovely. I hope the selfish bitch has enjoyed her time in Paris. I should have kept away from the female customers, like I usually do. These rich brats are no good for me.
Just as I'm leaving the prison door, a man in an expensive suit follows me.
"Mr. Philips?"
"Yes?"
"I'm Todd Browning, Ms. Stern's attorney."
"Okay."
"Ms. Stern wants to apologize. She has not taken into account that you might have been persecuted for what has happened. She wants to thank you sincerely. And she wants to express her gratitude with this."
He tries to hand me a cheque. I don't take it or even look at the sum.
"So how much is her life worth? She wants to further insult me? Let me sum this up. Even though I didn't know her, I've saved her life by endangering mine. She disappears without a thought about me and lets me rot in jail for six days, being terrified about my future. I lose my job because of this. And now she doesn't even have the decency to thank me personally? She sends her attorney to hand me some money? Sorry, I can't stand that much style."
I turn around and leave the stunned guy standing there.
Half an hour later, my boss calls.
"Mark, this firing thing was a misunderstanding. I hope you're not mad. You saved this lady's life, were wrongly accused and to top it off, I fire you. Sorry, man. You'll get a big raise, of course. And take a paid week off. You deserve it."
"Okay." I'm too weak to make some witty comment or resign. And I like my job anyway.
Two days later, I find an envelope on my doorstep. I'm invited to the Stern's residence for a formal dinner. Fuck you. Why should I bother to show up there in a suit? To play to her rules on her turf? Why should I dress up for her apology? No, I'm not that interested in meeting her.
On the next day my phone rings. I don't recognize the number.
