Tollie's Garden Pt.2 free porn video

 I slept in that next morning and didn’t wake up until eleven. It was Saturday and I loved not having to get up and rush out to school. The fact is, I loved to sleep—still do, but not like I did when I was a teen. Anyway, when I got up, I looked out the window but didn’t see Tollie. I took a long shower, played with myself, had a huge orgasm then got dressed, throwing on an old pair of cutoff jeans and a baggy T-shirt and even before I got to the kitchen, I heard Tollie and my mom laughing. When I entered, my mom looked up at me and smiled. “I made home fries if you want some.”

Tollie turned and smiled “Good morning, Sarah” then turned back to his big cheese omelet and home fries.

Mom sat next to him at the table, really close to him, almost touching, holding her coffee mug, and suddenly a pang of jealousy swelled in me. I tried shrugging it off and put a bagel in the toaster oven, got out the cream cheese, poured myself a mug of coffee and tried to act nonchalant about Tollie being there, but I wasn’t. I didn’t know how to act. I was shaky and didn’t know whether to sit with them, or go out to the back porch, or go back to my room. All I knew was I didn’t want the home fries my mom had made for Tollie, and knew I was being stupid. I love home fries and Mom was such a good cook.

I ended up sitting at the table with them and feeling like a third wheel, which I knew was crazy. I was a kid and Tollie and my mom were adults, but I wanted to feel special like I did when we had dinner and he read me that poem and said he’d give me a copy. It had felt so intimate.

They were talking to each other and I tried to listen, but I wanted Tollie to pay attention to me and not to my mom and didn’t know what to do. I knew I looked good in the tight cutoffs and wished I wasn’t wearing such a baggy T-shirt. Mom had put on weight and was a little plump. She didn’t exercise, but still looked good considering she was in her forties. Wearing a low-cut white blouse and no bra, I couldn’t tell for sure whether she was doing it on purpose or not, but there was plenty of cleavage showing. I hated what I was feeling and somehow wanted to let him see how sexy I looked in the cutoffs but I didn’t. Still, it was pretty intense thinking I was competing with my mom for Tollie. Wow! That was insane, but that’s what was going on in my head.

When my mom’s cell phone rang she went into the pantry next to the kitchen to answer it, and there I was sitting across from Tollie. He had finished eating and looked at me over the rim of his coffee then put his mug down.

“I really enjoyed being with you last night,” I said.

“I liked it too—very much. It’s nice getting to know you.”

“Thank you. I liked that poem you read. I was really touched.”

“I’m glad you liked it. I’d love you to hear some of my others. Hardly anyone knows my poetry, so it would feel good to share them with you.”

“I’d like that.” Our gazes met and I somehow felt special again, like something was happening between us, but I didn’t know what.

Mom came back in the kitchen, closed her phone, sat down with us and they continued their conversation. And again, I felt like I didn’t belong there, so I picked up my plate and mug, rinsed them. “See ya,” I said, and left the kitchen, feeling like my heart was going to burst. What was going on with me? I wondered, running back up the stairs to my room. I had never been so confused in my life and didn’t know what to do.

When I got to my room, I called Janine and asked what she was doing today. I wanted to tell her about Tollie and what was happening but didn’t. She told me about a sale they were having at “Guys and Gals,” a really cool shop at the mall—did I want to go? I knew Tristan was working until five and wondered if we would get together, but for some reason, I didn’t want to go shopping, which was really unusual for me. I think part of me was hoping I’d spend some more time with Tollie, maybe even help him in the garden—something I knew nothing about, so I told Janine I didn’t feel like it.

“Why?” she asked, shocked. “You always want to go shopping.”

“I know. I don’t know why. I just don’t feel like it, that’s all.”

“What’s with you, Sarah? You stayed home on a Friday night and now you don’t want to go shopping—what’s going on?”

“Nothing, Janine. Nothing’s going on,” I said, knowing that wasn’t true then said, “Drop it!”

“Okay, okay. Call me if you change your mind and I’ll pick you up.”

“Yeah, okay.” I was anxious to hang up and be quiet.

After I hung up, I looked around my room which was pretty messy, so I decided to straighten up, picking up my clothes from the chair, lining up my shoes in the closet, wondering why I had so many pairs of shoes when mostly I wore sandals or sneakers. I took all of my sweaters out of the drawer and folded them, realizing I wouldn’t be wearing sweaters now that it was June, but it felt good seeing them in the drawers so neat and so packed I could hardly close the drawers. Then I wondered how I would ever get all of my clothes to college in the fall. At that time, I wasn’t sure where I was going to go. I had been accepted at University of Vermont and Connecticut College and was on the waiting list at Colorado College, my first choice, so I couldn’t make up my mind and had to see which place offered me the most assistance.

I thought about Tollie’s comments on college and how many people went because there weren’t many options, and how bored most people were, and how he hoped I’d find out what I love. I thought about how happy and content he seemed and why he had dropped out of the PhD program, and how here he was living in our carriage house, writing and gardening. Suddenly, I thought about my mom and how she had a crush on him and now I did too. Finally, I admitted it. I had a crush on an older man who seemed so above me and out of reach, but there I was.

Tristan called during his break at the market and asked about getting a pizza and a movie. I said I wasn’t sure but call me later and he said, “Hey, what’s going on with you?” and I said, “Nothing’s going on” and he said, “Come on, I want to be with you, we’ll have fun,” and I knew he meant he wanted to make out and get in my pants which was tempting. We fucked a lot, but I said I’d call him later and I had to go. I know he was pissed when we hung up and I hated making him feel bad, but I was feeling strange and didn’t know what to do with my feelings.

I glanced at my digital clock and saw it was almost one. I realized I hadn’t put on my music, another rare thing, not having my music on. You’d be surprised what I liked--not loud rock and roll or punk, but I really liked Ani Difranco and The Beatles. I loved, “ Let’s do it in the Road” and I’d sing it so loud and laugh. It was so raunchy and funny at the same time. Janine and Tristan always made fun of my taste, but I didn’t care. I still like those songs, but my taste changed as I got older.

It always felt good to straighten up my room, something I did when I was upset and felt my life was a mess. Anyway, I went to the window and saw Tollie working in the garden. He had on his cutoffs too, and I decided to go and see if he wanted any help. I knew that would surprise the hell out of him because most times when I was outside I was working on my tan and not paying any attention to him, or the garden.

I can still see the look on his face when I asked if there was anything I could do and he said, “Sure, help me weed and then I’ll show you how to plant the tomatoes and peppers.”

He planted in what he called raised beds and he explained what they were, but what was cool was how I could work on one side of the bed while he worked on the other. I was surprised I didn’t mind getting on my knees in the dirt or even getting my hands dirty. It was a hot June afternoon and we both got sweaty, but it was nice to pull the weeds and then plant the tomatoes and peppers he had already started. We had a lot of them to plant. He said he was going to make a lot of salsa in the fall and soon would be planting cilantro and jalapeno peppers and pointed to the bed of onions on the other side of the garden. I could tell how proud he was of the garden, and he talked about how certain things do better if planted near each other, and how he had planted the garlic in the fall and pointed to the bed with tall green stems growing straight up, and how the potatoes do well under straw. I listened and loved his enthusiasm and remembered what he said about passion, and it made me think about how the only thing I had passion for was shopping and fucking Tristan and before him, a few other guys. I remember how my mom surprised me on my sixteenth birthday by getting me on the pill and said she didn’t want what happened to her to happen to me. I thought that was so cool and how lucky I was to have a mom like her.

Anyway, after working in the garden for over an hour, both of us sweaty and dirty, he said, “How about a beer?” and I said sure. Beer is what I usually drink, not wine like we’d had at dinner. I was underage, but we always managed to get beer and I was almost nineteen now. Anyway, he ran up to his apartment and got us two cans of beer. I remember it was Guinness Ale and not Budweiser, which is what my friends and I usually drank. I felt relaxed with him, not like I felt in the kitchen with my mom.

It was weird when Mom came out and stood on the back porch and saw us sitting in front of the carriage house, drinking beer. She waved and I could tell by the way she looked at me that she thought it was strange that I had been working in the garden. I was glad when she didn’t come down and went back inside. I knew she would be leaving for work soon and it wouldn’t be good to have beer on her breath, but I also knew she would say something to me as soon as she got the chance.

We sat there for a while, drinking beer, enjoying the leisure after working so hard and I liked that he looked at me when we talked. His eyes always seemed to see inside of me in a way I had never experienced with anyone else. He always had a question that surprised me and made me think and that afternoon he asked me something that changed my life. I didn’t realize it at the time, but he asked me if I remembered anything from when I was younger that I really enjoyed. I had to think for a while, but I suddenly remembered I liked making things with clay.

I went to a day camp when I was eleven when we lived in Hoboken. I signed up for a pottery class and I remember making a bowl and a mug and that I loved how it looked when I glazed it and saw it come out of the kiln. It was thrilling. I gave the mug to my mom and she used it for coffee and I ate cereal out of the bowl. I remember the bowl was blue and the mug was a bright orange, so I told Tollie how much I loved that. It all came back. He looked at me and smiled and I wondered what he was thinking.

He asked me what I was doing that night and I said I wasn’t sure, probably something with my boyfriend Tristan and he nodded and said, “cool.” He told me he was going to work on a story he’s been writing, and also, he was in the middle of reading a good novel and was looking forward to doing that, but I also had the feeling he wanted to be with me. I wasn’t sure. Maybe it was my imagination working overtime. But then he said something that surprised me. He said he wanted to play me a piece of music he liked and he wanted to know how it made me feel. I was intrigued and said I would like that.

We went up to his apartment and he put on a CD. He opened up another beer and poured each of us a glass since it was his last can. When he pushed the button on the CD player, he told me it was Rachmaninoff’s Second Piano Concerto . He told me a little about it. He said it was unusual because most concertos start out with the orchestra and the piano comes in, but this one started with the piano. He told me Rachmaninoff had been blocked and unable to write anything and went to a hypnotist to see if that would help and it did. He was able to write this concerto after many years of not composing. I was impressed by how much Tollie knew. I told him I never listened to classical music but wanted to hear this. Then he said he just wanted me to hear the second movement and not the whole thing.

“I want you to close your eyes and then tell me what it brings to your mind.”

When he put it on, he sat down on the couch and I sat in his soft chair, noticing his thick notebook on the table. When the music came on, I closed my eyes. It was just a piano and violins and was really soft and slow, really slow. I sat back listening but opened my eyes and looked over at him, saw his eyes were closed, so I closed my eyes again. I wondered why he wanted me to listen to this and tell him what I thought, and then I just let my mind go blank and listened. I still remember how it made me feel. I felt love. I listened to the piano and felt the music expressing sweet tender love and I was swept up in the soft gentle sound of the piano weaving slowly in and out and around the violins. I had never heard anything so beautiful, and somehow I remembered Tollie reading me his poem the night before, but this was different.

When it was over, both of us were quiet. He looked at me and I looked at him. I didn’t want to say anything but being with him and hearing that music was something I will never forget. Finally, he asked me what I felt listening to it. I told him I felt love--the music was love, tender love, but somewhat sad like longing or yearning. I told him I thought it was so beautiful and thanked him for playing it for me, then I asked why he wanted me to hear it.

He smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. “I wanted to know what it made you feel—that’s all. I wanted you to hear that music because I wanted to introduce you to pure poetry—something beyond words, something that expresses the inexpressible, something that would reach inside of you and touch you and I’m glad it did.”

I often think back to that afternoon, listening to that music and how it felt in his apartment and I knew I would never forget what he was giving me. I knew I was falling in love with him.

That night, Tristan came over and we watched some dumb movie. He brought over a pizza. We smoked a joint and hung out, but a few times I went to the window and looked up and saw Tollie at his table, writing. Tristan kept putting his arms around me and playing with my tits and I started to get turned on. He was a good kisser and knew my hot spots, but I told him I wasn’t in the mood. He got insistent, but I pushed him away a few times and said I was sorry I just wasn’t into it tonight. I felt bad but somehow, as great a guy as Tristan was, something had changed in me, and I knew what it was but didn’t know what to do about it. After he left, it was about eleven and I knew he was bothered by how I was acting and tried to be a good sport. Though we kissed goodnight and said we’d talk tomorrow, I heard him slam his car door and drive off and I knew our relationship had run its course.

When I went to my bedroom, I looked out the window and saw Tollie in his chair with the lamp over his shoulder, reading. I stood there hoping he would look up and see me, but he didn’t. I put on my short white satin nightgown and got into bed, looking up at the ceiling, thinking about the day, remembering my mom sitting close to Tollie, how it seemed we were competing and hating that—me being ten years younger than Tollie and my mom twenty years older. I thought about working in the garden for the first time in my life and listening to Rachmaninoff. I hated upsetting Tristan and not knowing what I felt anymore, then suddenly, I remembered how much I liked pottery when I was a kid, thanks to Tollie’s question. Anyway, my mind was swirling and it took me a long time to fall asleep.

I woke up late the next morning and saw the sun pouring in my window. I got up and remember looking at myself in the mirror, seeing my long brown hair, my blue eyes, my slightly bent nose, my apple sized breasts, wondering if Tollie thought I was pretty, even though I remembered him saying he thought I was beautiful. I wondered if he cared that I was so much younger. I liked the way he looked at me when we talked, but he never tried to touch me, except when he kissed my forehead the other night. I thought I would ask him what he thought about our age difference, but then thought he would wonder why I was asking and know that I was getting a crush on him and decided I would pass on that question. If he was interested in me like I was interested in him, he would let me know and I decided to just be patient, something really hard for me.

I went to the window and panic shot through me when I saw a red convertible car pull up and a woman with long blonde hair halfway down her back and wearing a skimpy floral sundress get out. I saw Tollie running out of the carriage house, hugging her, picking her up and swinging her around as they held each other. My knees went weak and I thought I’d collapse, seeing how happy they were to see each other. I couldn’t take my eyes off of them and watched them walk into the carriage house and then saw Tollie showing her around. Oh my God, was I freaked out, seeing how pretty she was and how happy Tollie was when he ran up to her. Who was she? Was she an old girlfriend, a lover or just a really good friend? I didn’t know and didn’t know how to find out. I knew I had to mind my own business and let go of my feelings about Tollie.

I knew they were going to sleep together. There was only that small bed in the corner—and the thought was agony. I didn’t know what to do, or how long she was going to stay. All I wanted was to have her disappear and to find out they would never see each other again.

I hadn’t had breakfast and went downstairs. Mom was at the table reading the paper and she looked up. I knew she wanted to talk. I poured myself a cup of coffee and waited for an English muffin to toast, staring at it in the toaster, my back to my mom. Finally, she said, “I was surprised to see you gardening with Tollie. Is that a new thing?” I don’t know if she meant it that way, but it felt sarcastic.

“Yeah Mom, it’s a new thing. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“I’m not making a big deal. It’s just seemed strange.”

I turned around and looked at her. “I just thought I’d help Tollie—that’s all. It’s not a big deal.”

When the bell on the toaster rang, I took out my muffin, buttered it and took my mug of coffee upstairs and heard mom shout at me, “I don’t like your tone.”

I didn’t respond but hated what I was feeling. Mom and I hardly ever had fights. She was a really great mom and gave me a lot of space, but at that time, with Tollie’s friend Lark visiting—that was her name I found out later--I really liked that name—I didn’t want to talk to her about what was going on with me and Tollie ‘cause really nothing was going on except in my head.

In my room, I tried to read, but all I saw were words and nothing registered. I called Janine and she was at the mall, telling me what a cool tank top she bought on sale, and I should have gone shopping with them. I started to call Tristan but just before I pushed his number, I stopped and closed my phone.

I got out of bed and went to the window and saw Tollie and Lark in the garden and watched Tollie pointing at things and looking around at the whole property, the trees, the bushes and remembered being on my knees the day before planting tomatoes with him for the first time in my life. I could see how much they liked each other and how gorgeous she was. Then they got in her car and drove off and I have to admit that was one of the hardest days of my life.

Later, my mom went to work and I heated up the chicken casserole she’d made and just zoned out in front of the TV. I fell asleep on the couch and woke up with the news on and picked up the remote and shut it off. I heard the car drive up and park about eleven that night and went to the window and saw Tollie and Lark looking up at the moon. It was a starry night and I just stared at them, hating how jealous and foolish I felt as I sensed their closeness. Then I watched them go up the stairs to Tollie’s apartment.

I went into the kitchen and grabbed two chocolate chip cookies, something I always do when I’m upset and was about to take a few more but caught myself. I stood at the kitchen window and looked up at his apartment and saw the lights were on, but I couldn’t see them. I couldn’t stop sighing and hated how I was feeling, knowing she was in his apartment where I wanted to be. I went upstairs and got undressed, tossed my clothes on the floor, then put on my short satin nightgown and went to the window. I saw the apartment was dark and knew what was going on.

I picked up my science book and tried to study for a quiz but that didn’t last long. I fell asleep and when Janine picked me up the next morning for school, Lark’s car was still there and Tollie was not in the garden as usual. Janine asked me why I was so quiet and I just shrugged and mumbled, “It’s nothing and I don’t feel like talking about it.”

Janine just said, “Okay, whatever.” But she kept looking at me and it was really pissing me off.

Lark left a few days later and I wanted to ask Tollie if he had a good time and not appear jealous, but I was so busy with school and Tristan was trying to find out what was going on with me. I was trying to act like everything was cool with us, but it wasn’t. We held hands and we hung out and he drove me home after graduation practice and he was being sweet, but whatever was once strong in our relationship had faded and we both knew it.

I was glad that Lark had left. A week went by. I was so busy with school and getting ready for graduation, I didn’t see Tollie, but he wasn’t far from my thoughts. In my mind I kept seeing him and Lark together, seeing how close they seemed and that thought kept going through my mind like a dark cloud until I squeezed my eyes closed, shaking the image of them away. It happened a lot.

Finally, it was graduation day and Tollie came with my mom and then we went for a nice dinner. Mom kept talking and leaning against him and that bugged me. Tollie told us the only graduation he’d ever gone to was his own from Harvard. He said it was nice seeing me in a cap and gown, but then said he thought the speeches were boring and he could hardly stay awake.

I went to a big graduation party that night, drank a lot of beer and danced like a wild nut for a while, but then got bored and asked Tristan to drive me home. I know he wanted to come in and continue our celebration, but I said I was exhausted and that was that.

After he left, I went to my room. Tollie’s light was on in his apartment and I saw him standing at the window and he saw me. He opened his window and I opened mine and he shouted he wanted to show me something and for me to come down and meet him.

I couldn’t imagine what was so important but was excited. I noticed it was after one and my mom wasn’t home. I know she wasn’t at work but probably had gone out on a date. I knew she had an online friend and that they had met a few times. I was sure that’s where she was and she wouldn’t be home until the next morning. I thought it was cool that she did that, even though I knew she had a crush on Tollie.

Anyway, he met me at the bottom of his apartment stairs and we went into the garage part of the carriage house. It was dark and he turned on a light and there it was—a potter’s wheel like we had at camp. I couldn’t believe my eyes and was thrilled that he bought me that for my graduation present. I wanted to cry, but instead hugged him with all my strength and wanted to kiss him, I was so overwhelmed.

“Why did you do that?” I asked after calming down.

“I’m not sure, but I remembered you telling me you loved pottery when you were a kid and thought this might be a nice gift.”

“Wow, you’re amazing—that’s so cool,” I said, looking at it before I went over and pushed the pedal and saw the wheel spin slowly.

He invited me upstairs for a glass of wine to celebrate my graduation. He even lit a few candles and we sat on the couch. I looked around his apartment, seeing the shadows on the wall from the candles and was still feeling high about the potter’s wheel and told him that was the best present I had ever been given. I knew then I wanted to learn how to be a potter.

He poured us the wine and we clicked glasses and he said, “To life, friendship, poetry and pottery,” and when we clicked glasses, his smile, that sweet smile, melted my heart. We drank the wine and then he poured another glass.

I was so happy being with him and getting the potter’s wheel, I was hesitant to ask him about Lark, but after the second glass of wine I asked, dreading the answer, “So, how was your visit with Lark?”

“It was great,” he said, looking at me. “We had a wonderful time.” He took a sip of wine, lifted up the bottle and saw there was just a little left, poured a little more into my glass then the rest into his and I was desperate to find out more. I know he sensed why I was asking and took a sip of his wine. “We’re best friends and we love each other, but there is nothing romantic in our relationship. She grew up on Rainbow's End and lived in a house across from ours, and we’re like brother and sister. She’s an amazing person and we will always be best friends.”

I was stunned at finding out I was wrong and stopped breathing. “Really? I thought for sure you were lovers.”

“Nope, we’re definitely not lovers.” He chuckled. “We haven’t seen each other in over two years, but she had some time off from work and wanted to visit to see what I was up to. She’s the one who encouraged me to drop out of graduate school and just write, and now she’s engaged to another friend and I’m going to be best man at their wedding in August.”

“Wow, that’s so cool.”

Well, you can imagine how hearing that on top of getting a potter’s wheel made me the happiest person in the world, and I surprised myself by telling him I had been jealous of Lark. I was embarrassed when he laughed and said, “Really?” like he was surprised.

He then did something that changed both of our lives. I will never forget this moment. He put on the second movement of the Rachmaninoff Piano Concerto. I was surprised at first but loved that he did that. We listened quietly to the slow, soft second movement and I knew it was going to happen. We kissed. He took my hand and we kissed gently. Then he put his arms around me and we kissed more passionately as if the music was speaking to us, leading us somewhere we would never return from. I wanted him like I had never wanted anything. My whole body was aching to feel him in me.

He gently unbuttoned my blouse, touching my breasts, sending shivers throughout my body. We kissed gently then our lips pressed harder, more passionately. Our tongues were swirling. He slipped off my shirt and I unbuttoned his pants, lowering the zipper and reached inside and caressed his warm hardness then felt his hands gripping my ass and pulling me closer. We lay down on the couch, sinking into the soft cushions, his body hovering over me. I started sliding my skirt off, his hands helping. I lifted my ass, feeling him slipping off my soaked panties. Then, he took off his jeans and T-shirt and there we were making sweet, gentle love, the Rachmaninoff playing softly, the perfect music for our first night and he entered me so slowly, so gently, his movement like the bows on the violins, his hard cock moving in and out, going slowly and deeper, filling me. We were the music and the music was us, our bodies so in harmony and moving faster with the music then harder, faster, deeper, trembling, the music rising, taking us closer to exploding, the music rushing to its climax, soaring and suddenly we were there, reaching for the highest notes, climaxing, coming together. It was a miracle how our first night of making love became something we would never forget. I was sobbing and he held me close and we lay together on the couch. The music had stopped and it was quiet, no sound or movement other than the candles flickering in the dark.

That night was five years ago. I went to the University of Vermont that fall and we talked on the phone and e-mailed every day, and he sent me new poems and I told him I was spending most of my time in the pottery studio at school and had a great teacher. I had a few other good courses but my main interest was learning how to be a potter. I loved it and learned that he was right. When you find what you love you are seldom, if ever, bored. My pottery teacher said something to me that I never forgot. “Though I am a master, when I look at a piece of clay I am a beginner.” When I told Tollie that, he said that he’d learned that about poetry.

I did the same thing that Tollie did when he dropped out of the PhD program to write poetry. I didn’t go back to college the following fall and came home and for a while, shared his apartment, but we also spent a lot of time in the big house. We turned the whole downstairs of the carriage house into my studio and Tollie still used the apartment to write. Mom was not even jealous of me and Tollie, once she saw how much we loved each other. We had a lot of good meals together and when mom died last year from breast cancer at fifty-two, I couldn’t have survived without Tollie. It was a nightmare. I inherited the house. I have to make money to show on my income tax form in order to have it be matched by the trust and we get by just fine.

Tollie and I never married. We didn’t need to, but he is the love of my life and he tells me every day how much he loves me. We grow most of our food and several places sell my pots and bowls. He started sending his poetry to small journals and had several poems published then won a competition where he got a thousand dollars and they published his book called, "Following Dawn." He gives readings at various libraries, but he doesn’t care that much about being published. He’s not famous at all. He just loves to write. He planted a lot of fruit trees and loves watching me making pottery and I love seeing how happy he is in his garden.