The Gardener (Parts 1 and 2)

[Reeza]

Author's Note: Five years ago I started posting my first story on this forum. It was called Tall Tale. Two months later I started a sequel called Farblondjet. Within a few months I had burned myself out. I decided I couldn't give any more time and energy to writing. Though I enjoyed it, I gave up a lot of sleep to make it happen.

I want to thank the members of the forum who, during the last five years, have encouraged me to write again. Recently, a message from picmeup about Tall Tale finally inspired me, for whatever reason. This demonstrates that appreciation from readers is effective.

About the story - I like well-developed characters, plot, and dialogue. If you're anxious to ejaculate, this story might frustrate you. It builds up quite slowly over the course of several chapters. It will depict muscle, strength, a prodigious appetite, growth, gay sex, and romance. I hope you enjoy it. Comments and encouragement will be greatly appreciated.


THE GARDENER
by Reeza

Part 1

I'm not rich, you know.

Yeah, I make decent money, and I don't have a mortgage on the house. My parents left it to me after dying sooner than any of us would have liked. You always think those things happen to other people, but . . . that was years ago and it costs money to maintain a 120 year old house.

Don't get me wrong – I love the house. When my parents bought it I felt like it was a gift for me, but they loved it too. Mom refinished woodwork and hung wallpaper while Dad collected power tools and learned how to fix almost anything. The house became more impressive and more comfortable year after year. But there was always more work to do.

Dad got tired of the outdoor maintenance required on the spacious property, so I helped as much as possible. In fact, I really got into landscaping and gardening. I helped plant the trees and hedges that eventually made the back yard into a private garden. I cultivated the large flower beds around the front of the house. Mom and Dad liked what I was doing, so they let me plant whatever I wanted.

I especially like perennials. There's not much challenge or mystery in annuals. Perennials make you guess how the combination of soil, sunlight and water will affect them from one year to the next. You need patience to see how they develop. I document the changes and make adjustments the next year. Some plants never really take off, while others get much bigger than expected and overwhelm the others. I like the large specimen plants that assert themselves that way. If I give them what they need to get as big as possible, I like to think they thank me by showing off in full bloom. I appreciate the neighbors' compliments, but I feel like the plants are doing it just for me. Yeah, I'm a little weird. I know.

I was a quiet kid, a good student. My parents worried about me not having friends, but they seemed to understand that's just who I was. They weren't exactly social butterflies themselves. I had a friend here and there, but I always looked forward to being alone at the end of the school day. I liked books. I got along with people and nobody bothered me. I was on the high school swim team one year, then I ran cross country after that. I liked running in the woods.

More than a few girls liked me, but I managed to frustrate them with my friendly, clueless demeanor until they moved on. I knew what I liked when I saw it on the athletic field or in the locker room, but I maintained a safe distance. I didn't take risks. I smiled at jokes about “queers.” I carefully chose a date for the prom – a nice girl, as quiet as me, who seemed to understand. I was genuinely surprised to see a tear in her eye as I shook her hand and said goodnight on her doorstep. I felt shitty. I went home and read an article about soil amendments.

Of course I went to college. The same attention to detail that made me a good gardener helped me with science and mathematics and eventually drew me to accounting. I never once thought about making a living as a landscaper or gardener. It would be safer to have a profession with a reliable salary and benefits. Accounting would do.

Everyone had to live on campus during freshman year, but I didn't like it. The dormitory was like a greenhouse full of young men ripening in the testosterone-rich atmosphere. Some guys would seize every opportunity to display their impressive bodies in half-naked, false-casual poses, as if it would never occur to them that others might feel envy or insecurity or unwelcome lust. Half the time they seemed to be lusting over themselves. I was plagued by uncomfortable urges.

Once, as I brushed my teeth in a room full of mirrors and sinks, I furtively watched the reflection of a reflection of a large athletic specimen who was lathering and shaving the thick muscles of his chest. As he rinsed the glistening mounds and flexed them for his own approval, he caught my eyes in his mirror. My heart tried to escape through my mouth and my eyes looked for a safe place to land. He waited, then, without turning around, he casually removed the towel from around his waist and used it to dry his chest. With just a trace of a smile, or perhaps a smirk, he shifted his stance and gave me time to appreciate his magnificent ass. Terrified, I scurried out of the room and found a safe place to masturbate.

Every time I saw him after that he seemed to pass just a little too close to me, lingering just long enough for me to feel his heat. One day I found myself pressed against him on a crowded elevator, close enough to see that he hadn't shaved his chest recently. I was instantly hard and felt like he knew it, and that he was pleased. But he never spoke to me. I became much more careful after that. I spent more time in the library. I excelled in classes. I was a nice guy whose name escaped almost everyone. I kept my nose to the grindstone.

The next year I was able to live at home again. My parents fixed up an apartment for me above their garage. It was built as a coach house with servant's quarters and it was very comfortable. I felt safe there. At least I could say I didn't still live with my parents, sort of. They needed my help with the property, and I could use my student loans for tuition instead of rent. Grad school followed college. I excelled. Got along. Kept to myself. Nose to the grindstone. Next thing I knew I was a CPA with a good entry level job. I got my own cubicle. I had arrived.

Because this is not a large town, I knew that people wondered about me. I saw the curious looks and overheard comments about “that nice young man who doesn't have a girlfriend.” I accepted that I was gay and didn't hate myself for it. But I was determined to never do anything that might fuel gossip, hinder my career, or threaten my security. Gays with money could afford to have relationships, but I'm not rich, as I said. My parents never asked, and I never told. It was just easier that way. Besides, what was there to talk about? Private thoughts and feelings that could just as well stay private? No need. It would be different if I had a “friend.” But I didn't.

My interest in gardening never faded. I sometimes thought I should spend more time with people, so I would chat with the owners of the plant nurseries in town. They got to know what I liked and gave me first choice of the showy specimens that I collected. One Spring, Dave, the proprietor of my favorite nursery, offered me a rare type of peony that had been shipped in from another state. He warned me that it probably wouldn't thrive in this climate, that it was his mistake to think it would bloom here. “You'll probably get nothing but leaves out of it, so you can have it for five bucks if you want it.” Loving a bargain, I accepted the challenge. I took it home and looked for a place to plant it with just enough sun and shelter from the wind. I found a spot that seemed good enough, surrounded it with fertile soil, and gave it a good soaking. Then I got a call from the sheriff. “Your parents . . . an accident . . . I'm sorry . . .”

My carefully cultivated life of safety and security was permanently altered by one unpredictable catastrophe. I felt numb for a long time, though I noticed the sympathy and kindness that were offered. I kept my routines. Pushed through the days. Embraced the grindstone. I watched the seasons perform a drama about life and death in the private theater of my garden. Then I watched it again.

I moved into the house. Donated their clothing. Rearranged furniture. Learned to cook. Never had guests. I got a promotion, an office and a little more money. I was getting by, but it's not like I was rolling in cash. I rented the coach house to carefully screened tenants who respected my boundaries and were rarely seen. The extra income helped a lot. My utility bills were high. There were property taxes. A car payment. I worked a lot.

It was the middle of December when my tenant at the time told me she was being transferred to Chicago by her employer. She would need to move out in January, the worst time of year to find a new tenant. I was not happy. I told her I would do my best to find someone, but, as stated in the lease, she would have to keep paying the rent until an acceptable replacement was found. She seemed surprised. She was a good tenant, but business is business. I couldn't afford to be too nice.

So I published my usual advertisement with all the rules and restrictions that help scare away the riffraff. I took the extra step of putting a “For Rent” sign in front of the house, despite my misgivings. I couldn't fit my rules on the sign. The wrong sort of person might feel encouraged. I silently cursed my departing tenant as I trudged through the snow and into the house.

------------------------

Part 2

The following Saturday as I was making my morning coffee I glanced out the kitchen window and saw someone standing in the driveway looking at the coach house. It wasn't my tenant – she was out of town. It was a young man. I eyed him suspiciously. Burglar? Vandal? Salesman? Jehovah's Witness? “Go away!” I thought, but he saw me in the window and raised his hand in a cautious wave. “Crap,” I whispered. I moved towards the back door, slipped my feet into some shoes and put on a coat. He was about to walk up the back steps but I exited the house and closed the door behind me before he could rush in and steal everything I had. “Can I help you?”

“Hi. Yeah. I saw the sign. About the apartment?”

“Oh. Right.”

“Is it still available?”

“Well, I have two applicants that I'm currently reviewing.” My usual lie.

“Am I too late? Could I still apply, just in case the others don't take it?”

“Well, that depends . . .”

“It looks great! What a great house!”

“Thanks, but . . .”

“Must be a lot of work to keep this up. I hope you have someone to help with the chores!” He smiled.

I squinted at him, not much more than a kid. “We manage,” I said. Another lie.

“So can I? Apply for it? I really need a place and I can walk to work from here. There aren't a lot of places for rent right now. I've been looking for a while and this is the first decent place I've seen. I'd appreciate any . . .”

“Where do you work?”

“I'm a waiter at the hotel, the Harbor View.” The only hotel in town. Hotel, restaurant, bar, health club. Thirty-six rooms. Harbor views. Smells like fish.

“How long have you been there?”

“A couple of months. I just moved here, but I'm working really hard and my boss says . . .”

“I'm pretty sure the other two applicants are going to qualify. They seem very solid. I mean, I could give you an application but I wouldn't want you to get your hopes up.” I told myself, "You're not renting to some kid with a crappy job!"

“I understand, sir. If it's not too much trouble, I would like an application. I wouldn't want to miss out on a nice place like this because I didn't apply. I could help you with whatever . . .”

“I can't show you the apartment today. My tenant is out of town and I didn't . . .”

“That's okay. I'm sure it's fine. I like old buildings, so I'm sure I'll love it.” The kid wasn't going to go away. He looked so eager, with his rosy cheeks and green eyes. I had to get rid of him somehow.

“Well, let me get an application form and you can bring it back . . .”

“Or I could just fill it out here to save time and I won't have to disturb you again.” He had a point.

“Um, okay, I guess you could. Uh . . .” It occurred to me I would have to let him in my house. “Umm . . .” I was stumped. He gave me a curious look and smiled. He looked innocent enough, but when you let down your guard, that's when they rob you blind. “Uhhmm . . .” I realized I was taking way too long and my face started to flush. I turned away so he wouldn't see my embarrassment, but then it looked like I was turning to go into the house, so he started to follow me. I got flustered and reached for the doorknob, then opened the door. Too late now - I had to follow through. I stepped into the house. He followed and closed the door behind him. I slid off my shoes on the mat inside the door and started into the kitchen. “Wait here!” I said and rushed into the adjacent room where I kept the forms. I had to get back before he filled his pockets with silverware. When I returned ten seconds later he was still standing on the mat inside the door, but in his stocking feet.

“I don't want to get snow on your kitchen floor. You have a beautiful home.”

“Okay. Yes. I mean, thank you.” I was surprised by the uneasiness I felt. When was the last time I had someone in the house? Was it after the funeral? “Uh . . . you could sit at the table here and fill this out. Come in. I'll get a pen.” I took off my coat and hung it on the back of a chair. He stepped into the kitchen and did the same. He was taller than I realized. Six-one? Six-two? He sat down, I gave him a pen, and he started working.

I remembered the coffee I made before he showed up. I felt like I needed it. “No wonder I'm so irritable,” I thought. “I suppose I'll have to offer him a cup. Would be rude not to.” I looked him over while he worked on the application. Cheap flannel shirt, worn jeans, a trace of dark stubble on his jaw. My inner voice said, "You might as well rent to a hobo. A good looking hobo. At least he's clean." My inner voice was kind of a bitch.

“Would you like some coffee?” I said as I poured a cup for myself.

“No, thanks. I don't want to trouble you.”

I guess I wasn't listening because I poured him a cup anyway. “Milk or sugar?”

“Uh, okay, sugar please.” He accepted the sugar bowl and put three heaping spoonfuls in his mug. “Thank you.”

“You like it sweet, huh?” I absentmindedly pulled open a tin of sugar cookies and set it on the table. I took one.

“Yeah, I'm still getting used to the taste of city coffee. My Mom always made it weak. The first time I had a Starbucks I felt like I could race a jackrabbit! But this is good.” He continued with the application. “I don't have a paycheck stub with me. Is that okay? I make most of my money from tips anyway.” He looked up at me. I was reminded of someone at my college. One of those guys I stayed away from.

“It doesn't matter. Just write down your monthly income.” I pushed the tin of cookies closer to him. He took the hint and picked one out. Why I was feeding him? I suppose he looked like he needed a meal. Despite his broad shoulders he was slim. “Someone will rent to him,” I thought.

“I think I filled out everything. Do you want to check it?” He handed me the application. I glanced over it while he drank the rest of his coffee and ate another cookie. His name was Sam.

“Is your legal name Samuel? Or is it just Sam?”

“Uh, actually it's Samson,” he said while rolling his very green eyes. “My parents were into the Bible, but I prefer Sam.” He blushed. I was going to feel bad about rejecting him.

“Okay. Well, thanks for filling this out, Sam. I will let you know if the other applicants don't pan out.”

He got up and took his coat off the chair. “I really appreciate it . . . uh . . . I don't know your name.”

“I'm sorry, it's Adam.” I reached out to shake his hand. Big hand, warm grip. It felt good, so I pulled away. “So, like I said . . .”

“I'll wait to hear from you, Adam. I hope . . . well I guess I shouldn't say I hope the other applicants change their minds, but . . . let me get my shoes on.” He moved into the back hall and bent over to pull on his leather work boots. I noticed the way he filled out his jeans. He had some meat on his bones after all, in good places. He straightened up and I was reminded of his height as I looked up at him.

“It was nice meeting you, Sam.” I may have actually meant it.

“Thanks for your hospitality.” I opened the door to show him out. He continued talking as he stepped onto the porch. “I feel like . . . would you mind if . . . I'd like to shovel your sidewalk before I go. You've been so . . . to thank you for the coffee, I mean.” Now he seemed flustered.

“That's not necessary. I have a snow blower.”

“No, I'll just use this shovel here. It's no problem. The least I can do. I'll put it back when I'm done. Thanks again!” He was on his way before I could object. Was he being manipulative, or was he really that nice? I wanted to be annoyed, but I wasn't looking forward to cleaning up the snow that had fallen overnight.

I went in, poured myself another cup of coffee, and watched him from a front window. He scooped up big mounds of wet snow and tossed them aside, one after another, without ever slowing down. He finished in half the time it would have taken me, even when I was his age. I was impressed. When he started on the driveway I thought, “That can't be done with a shovel – it's too big.” I considered telling him to stop, but he kept going at the same pace until he was finished. “Strong kid,” I thought. He left the shovel outside the back door, as promised. As he jogged off down the street towards the harbor, I tried to remember what it felt like to be young.

Almost a week later, after a snowy afternoon, I came home from work to find that my sidewalks and driveway had already been cleaned off. I immediately thought of the young man, Sam, and my heart skipped a beat. I told myself that I was worried he might ambush me behind the house. When I pulled up to the garage there was no sign of him. I found a folded-up note stuck in the back door: “Hi Adam, Just wondering if you rented the apartment yet. Have to start my shift at the restaurant, so couldn't wait for you. Hope to hear from you! - Sam” He was persistent. I was hoping he would find some other place so I wouldn't have to turn him down.

I had gone over his application and did my usual background check on him, but there was really nothing to find. He was just 20 years old, so he had no credit history. There were no public records on him other than a birth certificate. I actually registered on Facebook just to see if he was on it, but he wasn't, so I deleted my account before anyone could “friend” me. The only reference he listed was his manager at the Harbor View, but I hadn't called him because Sam's income simply wasn't high enough for me to consider him. The rent for the coach house would take almost two-thirds of his monthly earnings, and I always followed a strict rent-to-income ratio when selecting my tenants. That's what I would have to tell him, even though no one else had called about the apartment.

While I was trying to decide what to have for dinner I was surprised by a knock at the back door. “Now what!” I thought. It turned out to be my departing tenant. I opened the door and barked, “Is there a problem?” I immediately recognized my unfriendly tone and felt bad about it. I made up for it by sheepishly inviting her to step inside. It was getting to be like Grand Central Station in my kitchen with all the people coming and going.

“Oh, what a pretty kitchen!” she said. “I always wondered what it looked like in here.” I muttered some thanks as she continued. “I heard the good news that you have someone to rent my apartment. That's great! I'm so relieved!” I was dumbfounded. “Sam was here to do the shoveling and he mentioned that he applied, but there were two other applicants before him. Wow! I was afraid you wouldn't find anyone and I would be stuck paying the rent until Spring.”

“Wait a minute . . .”

“What a nice young man, by the way. I hope you don't mind that I showed him the place. He said he hadn't seen it yet so I gave him the tour. Honestly, you could have shown it while I was out of town. I wouldn't have minded. But I know how you are with the rules and all.”

“But I'm not renting to him!”

“Oh. I'm sorry. Did you accept one of the others?”

Crap! I was backed into a corner. I would have to lie again. “The other applicants changed their minds.”

“Okay. So . . . will it be Sam, then?” She looked confused and a little suspicious.

“I'm afraid Sam doesn't have sufficient income to be an acceptable tenant.”

She paused to take stock of what I was saying. “Really.” She knit her brow. “He seemed so excited about it. He even offered to buy some of my furniture when I said I wasn't going to move everything to Chicago. He offered me cash, but I told him I had to talk to you about it first. Are you saying he's lying? Or is he . . .”

Now I was irritated. “I'm sorry - this is a big misunderstanding. He's jumping the gun. I told him I would review his application, and that's all! He seems like a nice guy, but he doesn't make enough money.”

“Well, if you're paying him to shovel snow, maybe he could work for part of the rent. You could really use some help around here. I certainly wouldn't mind having him as a neighbor, if you know what I mean.” She arched her eyebrows. I did not know what she meant. Women were a mystery to me.

“I'm not paying him to shov- . . . listen, I need to talk to him to clear this up. I'm sorry for the confusion, but I'll let you know when I have a new tenant. Have a good evening.” I practically shoved her out the door and started pacing, thinking about what to do.

I needed to put an end to this right away. My mind was racing - “I'll go down to the restaurant and tell him to fuck off! Wait, that's too strong . . . he's just a kid who got carried away. I'll be firm with him and he'll understand. I just need to shovel the sidewalks and I'll go. Wait, I don't have to do that. Have to remember to thank him . . . dammit!” I grabbed my coat, muttering and grumbling as I left the house and started walking towards the harbor. “I'm not going to give up that rental income. I need it! She's just going to have to keep paying until I find someone else. Business is business!” My stomach was grumbling by the time I arrived at the Harbor View Restaurant. The smell of fish was actually appealing. I stomped through the door and was greeted by the head waiter.

“Good evening, sir! Table for one?”

“I'm looking for Sam, one of your waiters. I think he's working tonight.”

“Yes, he is working tonight. Unfortunately there are no more tables left in his section. Many people request him to be their server. I would be happy to seat you at one of my tables if you would like . . .” He stared straight into my eyes until I looked away, feeling awkward.

“I wasn't planning to eat.” How should I do this? On second thought, “Oh, alright. Just put me at any table.”

The man looked disappointed. “I'll seat you at one of Cheryl's tables. I'm sure you'll be satisfied with her service,” he huffed. I wondered where his attitude was coming from. He put me at a small table in a dark corner where I could see the whole dining room. Perfect. A moment later, buxom Cheryl arrived with a menu.

“Hi, handsome! You here alone tonight?”

“Yes.” I resented her familiarity.

“Well, I hope to make your evening enjoyable. Can I start you off with something from the bar?”

“No, I'll just have some fish. That smell . . . whatever that is . . . I'll have some of that.”

“You mean our Friday Fish Fry? Excellent choice, sir.” There was a trace of sarcasm in her voice. I was warming up to her. “Would you like coleslaw or a tossed salad?”

“Whatever. A salad, I guess.” I saw Sam come out of the kitchen with a huge tray of food on one hand. My eyes locked onto him but he didn't see me, occupied as he was.

“Dressing?”

“Yes.” I was distracted. “I was wondering, do you happen to know when Sam will have a break? I was hoping to talk to him.”

“Oh, you're here for Sam, huh?” She smiled. “Well, stand in line, honey. He's a busy boy!” I wasn't sure what she meant. “My tips have gone down quite a bit since he got here. Sweet guy, though - you can't help but like him. Do you want anything to drink?”

“Just water.” I was still focused on Sam, hoping to catch his eye. “Could you let him know that I'd like to speak to him when he has a chance?”

“Okay, big spender, I'll let him know. But cool your jets – we're busy tonight so it might be a while.” She went away.

I sat back and watched Sam work. He was wearing black clothing, like the other servers. He had the long sleeves of his shirt turned up almost to his elbows, exposing his forearms. His pants fit him very well. He was distributing plates to the patrons at a larger table, smiling and commenting on each dish. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but I could see the way the diners were responding. They were captivated. What could he be talking about? When he had delivered all the food, he lightly touched one woman's shoulder before nodding his head and retreating to the kitchen. No one at the table looked at their food until he had left the room. “He must be a good waiter,” I thought.

I continued to watch for him as Cheryl brought me a carafe of water, a salad and some bread. “Did you let Sam know I'm here?”

She gave me a strange look. “Wow! You've got it bad, don'tchya.” I blinked at her - another incomprehensible woman. “I'll tell him in a minute, but what's your deal? Are you a friend of his?”

“No, of course not. He was just looking at an apartment I'm renting and . . .”

“Oh, you're the guy he's been going on about! Adam, right? It's been 'Adam this' and 'Adam that' all week.”

“I'm sure that's not true. I simply need to tell him . . .”

“You own that Victorian house on Eden Place, don't you? I always wondered who lived there. It's gorgeous with all the flowers in the Summer!”

I was exasperated. Why was he telling people about me? It was nobody's business!

“Let me get your fish, hon, and I'll tell him you're here.”

I picked up my fork and stabbed the salad to death, angrily shoving it in my mouth. I was really hungry and it tasted good. While I buttered some bread I saw Cheryl whisper in Sam's ear and gesture towards my dark corner. His face lit up with a smile and he nodded towards me, but he was busy taking orders at another table. Again, I noticed his easy interactions with the customers who looked up at him like he was a celebrity. His gestures were graceful, his face expressed interest in each person, and his smile was sincere. I became aware of my heartbeat. My eyes traveled from his dark wavy hair to the squareness of his jaw, from the wide shoulders to the narrow waist and the firm roundness of his butt in those snug black pants. My face grew warm as an uninvited thought drifted up from the sudden pressure in my groin to my conscious mind: "Sweet Jesus, he's hot!" My heart was pounding. Why hadn't I seen it before?

Cheryl came back with my entree while my mouth was hanging open. She turned to look at Sam and said, "Yeah, he's one fine looking man, isn't he? I wish he would come and live with me!"

She walked away before I realized that I was making a spectacle of myself. I tore my eyes away from Sam and looked down at my food. How could I be so careless? People must be staring at me! Embarrassed, I shuffled things around on the table and noticed that my hands were trembling. I took a few deep breaths to calm myself down, then started eating the fried fish. It was not bad. The warmth of it felt good in my belly. I needed this meal more than I thought. I ate quickly and was rejuvenated. Breathing deeply, trying to clear my thoughts, I considered what I would tell Sam. I would not be ruled by irrational impulses! I would be direct and businesslike.

"Adam! It's great to see you!" Sam approached my table. When I looked up he seemed to tower over me, smiling. I felt overwhelmed. "Do you mind if I sit down? I only have a few minutes."

I gulped. "Sure, sure. Have a seat. I wanted to talk to you." He sat across from me and rested his surprisingly thick forearms on the table. He leaned towards me with an eager expression. I couldn't look him in the eyes - they were too beautiful. I saw, through the open collar of his shirt, some dark hair against the creamy skin of his breastbone. I finally focused on his big hands and long, strong-looking fingers. I swallowed hard and said:

"When can you move in?"

*****

Continued in: Part 3

[TKnTexas55]

Great start .... I can't wait to see next chapter.

[sofladdd99]

Wow. the suspense and buildup are great. From his real name Samson to the possibility of Sam working an sweating in the garden. This is a great story and I can't wait to see where it goes.

[rairf]

Welcome Back! I can't wait to see where this is going, but I know you're going to make the payoff totally worth it. You know exactly how to play with pacing- so keep it up, and we'll keep begging for more!

[chopper1234]

This is the first story I've read from you and I have to say that I am IMPRESSED. It is amazing and I am looking forward to more!

[Londonboy]

This is so up my alley! Thank you very much.

[umlerian49]

At last, a story with fascinating characters and an exciting plot. You need to listen to your encouraging friends more often! Great to have you writing again.

umlassiter.com

[mario2007]

Great story!!!

[mlbjock]

First let me say "Welcome Back!" and then join my voice to the chorus that this is a great story. I look forward to part 3.

[Mdlftr]

Wow! What a treat! Your writing - the pacing, the descriptions, the viewpoint from the mind of the protagonist who is incredibly unaware -- excellent!

The muscle growth will be coming, you said. I can wait, especially when the writing is like this: expressive, captivating, intriguing and interesting.


Thank you!

Mdlftr

[nnnrg]

Way to decide and stick to the decision, Adam!

[weaknobody]

I'm really happy to see you writting again. Tall Tale and Farblodjet are some of my favorites. You're amazingly talented =)

Thank you for sharing again.

[convolution]

Thanks for writing again
You've set the stage beautifully.

[Relgrub]

I'll admit that I am a lurker. I very rarely comment on the stories, even the ones that I enjoy. But this story has really grabbed my interest. I look forward to reading more. Don't burn yourself out again, but do please keep at it.

[waabo2]

Great story! Loving the setting and setup!

[Reeza]

Thanks to everyone who posted comments, sent compliments or encouragement, or clicked the "Thank You" button. (I like that button!) It makes a big difference to know that what I'm writing is resonating with readers. Otherwise, after I've read through my own work too many times, I start to think, "Is this any good?"

I will post Part 3 some time this weekend.

[mario2007]

Reeza, are you kidding me!!!!! Your writing is AWESOME! Trust me when I saw you've got a lot of people waiting for what you'll post next.

[JP71]

I'm flabbergasted. Your writing is better than its ever been. Like you I burned myself out. I've lost count of how many unfinished stories I have on here. I've tried to go back to them several times over the past couple of years, but each time I was met with failure; lack of interest, or simply writer's block. But now, having read the first two parts of The Gardener I am instilled with new vigour, new inspiration. I love your work and I crave more and more. I'm so glad you have posted so many parts to this great story. My day is well and truly spoken for now. Maybe I'll start writing again. Dunno, got a lot on my plate lately. But who knows.

[anpuZA]

"I picked up my fork and stabbed the salad to death..."

That is definitely a fave line of mine from now on!


Btw, you know you can make an eBook, end it like you did in this chapter and then sell the rest. I would hate you for it... but god knows I would buy.