Home · Stories · New In the Garden by Jim
CHAPTER 1 — Awareness
The late afternoon light filtered through the chain-link fence in soft gold streaks, catching on the haphazard rows of tomato cages and climbing beans. I adjusted the strap of my canvas tote and forced another smile as someone from accounting waved at me from across the picnic blankets. Another successful team-building event checked off. Another afternoon of being the person who made sure everyone felt included.
I was good at it. I was too good, maybe.
The community garden sat like a stubborn green wound between two rows of indifferent apartment blocks. Our company had “adopted” it six months ago as part of some wellness initiative nobody really believed in. Today the place was full of folding chairs, cheap wine in plastic cups, and the smell of charred store-bought burgers. Children I didn’t recognize darted between the beds, laughing too loudly. I watched one young father hoist his daughter onto his shoulders so she could reach a sunflower, and something inside my chest gave a small, tired twist.
Thirty-four! Good salary. Nice apartment. And still this persistent, quiet hollow behind my ribs.
I wandered toward the far edge of the garden where the beds grew wilder, less manicured. The air here felt thicker, heavier with the scent of crushed basil and warm soil. That was when I noticed him.
Pier.
He stood motionless between two overflowing trellises, one hand resting lightly against a thick vine as though listening to it. He is the new urban ecology consultant. He’d been with us barely three weeks, quiet in meetings, strangely precise in everything he said. Most people found him odd. I found myself watching him more than I should.
He turned his head slightly and our eyes met. For a moment the chatter and clink of bottles faded. There was something in the way he looked at me—not hungry, not appraising, just… present. Like he saw the shape of the emptiness I carried and wasn’t afraid of it.
I looked away first, cheeks warming.
A few minutes later he approached, carrying a small cluster of night-blooming jasmine he must have cut from the back fence. Up close he smelled faintly of rain on leaves.
“Thought you might like these,” he said with a low voice. “They only open properly after sunset.”
His fingers brushed mine as he passed the sprig over. The contact was brief, almost accidental, but his skin felt noticeably cooler than the humid evening air. A clean shiver traveled up my arm and settled somewhere low in my stomach. I caught myself staring at the faint green veins visible beneath the skin of his wrist.
“Thank you,” I managed. My voice sounded steadier than I felt.
Pier didn’t step back immediately. He studied me with that same quiet intensity, as if the rest of the picnic had become background noise for him too. Behind us, Wendell was telling one of his long stories while Liza laughed too brightly, already gathering her things to leave.
The sun dipped lower, painting the garden in deepening amber and shadow. Most of the team was drifting toward the gate now, calling out goodbyes and Monday reminders. The fairy lights someone had strung up earlier flickered on, soft and tentative.
Pier glanced at the emptying garden, then back at me.
“Would you like to stay a while longer?” he asked. “Help me put the garden to bed properly. There’s more to do once it’s quiet.”
The question hung between us, simple on the surface but weighted with something I couldn’t name. My pulse beat a little harder against my throat. Part of me—the reliable, professional part—knew I should smile politely and head home. The other part, the one that had been drifting for months, felt the first real tug of curiosity in longer than I cared to admit.
I twirled the jasmine between my fingers, inhaling its sweet, almost narcotic scent.
Stay.
The word rose inside me before I could stop it.
CHAPTER 2 — Curiosity
The last voices faded beyond the fence, leaving only the soft rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of traffic. I stayed.
Pier led me deeper into the garden, past the tidy beds into the greenhouse tucked against the back wall. The air inside was thick, alive — heavy with the scent of damp soil, ripe tomatoes, and something sweeter, almost honeyed. Moonlight filtered through the foggy glass panels, casting pale silver across rows of hanging plants.
We talked for a long time about the city swallowing green spaces. About how it felt to move through days that all blurred together. I told him things I rarely admitted out loud — how organizing everyone else’s joy had started to feel like a performance I couldn’t step offstage from. He listened without interrupting, his stillness somehow more attentive than any eager reply.
At some point we stopped pretending the conversation was casual.
He stepped closer. The heat of the greenhouse made my skin prickle, but when his fingers brushed my waist they were cool, almost startling. I drew in a sharp breath.
“Rita,” he murmured, my name sounding different in his mouth. “I’ve been so alone here.”
The honesty in his voice undid something in me. I reached up and touched the side of his face. His skin felt smooth, unnaturally cool against my palm. For a moment we simply breathed the same humid air.
Then he kissed me.
It wasn’t rushed. His lips met mine with deliberate slowness, cool and soft, parting gently until I opened for him. His tongue traced mine with careful hunger, tasting like rain and crushed herbs. I pressed closer, my breasts brushing his chest through thin fabric. His hands slid around my waist, pulling me in until there was no space left between us. One cool palm traveled up my back, fingertips pressing lightly against my spine, while the other cupped the nape of my neck.
Heat pooled low in my belly. I could feel my nipples tightening against my bra, my pulse beating between my legs. His body was firm, but his touch carried that strange, refreshing coolness that made every inch of contact feel electric. I kissed him harder, a small sound escaping my throat.
When we finally broke apart, both of us were breathing raggedly. His eyes had darkened, and I saw something raw flicker across his face — longing mixed with hesitation.
“There’s more to me than this,” he whispered against my lips. “More than what you see. If I show you… it might change how you look at me.”
My heart hammered. The sensible voice in my head told me to slow down, to ask questions. But the deeper part of me — the part that had been hollow for so long — leaned in and kissed him again, slower this time, tasting the promise and the warning in equal measure.
I wanted to see.
CHAPTER 3 — First Real Moment
Pier’s hands trembled slightly as he lifted my blouse. I helped him, suddenly impatient with cloth between us. The humid greenhouse air kissed my bare skin as he lowered his head and pressed cool lips to the hollow of my throat, then lower, across my collarbone.
I gasped when his mouth closed over my nipple. The contrast between the warm night and his cool tongue sent sharp sparks of pleasure straight down my spine. He sucked gently, then firmer, alternating between breasts while his hands explored the curve of my waist and hips. My fingers threaded through his hair, holding him to me as my breathing grew shallow.
“Tell me what you need,” he murmured against my skin.
I hesitated only a second. “Touch me.”
He guided me back until I was sitting on the wide wooden potting bench. With steady, reverent hands he slid my underwear down my legs and parted my thighs. The cool night air met the slick heat between my legs, making me shiver.
Then his mouth was on me.
A low moan tore from my throat. His tongue was cool, impossibly so, yet it moved with perfect awareness — long, slow licks along my folds before circling my clit with focused precision. The temperature difference made every stroke feel sharper, more vivid. I gripped the edge of the bench, hips twitching as pleasure coiled tight and fast inside me.
He didn’t rush. He explored me like something sacred — licking, sucking, sliding two cool fingers inside me and curling them just right. The contrast of his cold touch against my burning core was devastating. My thighs began to tremble.
“Pier—” I gasped, voice breaking.
He hummed against me, the vibration traveling straight into my clit. The orgasm crashed over me without warning, sudden and intense. I cried out, back arching, one hand flying to his head to hold him there as waves rolled through me. He didn’t stop, gentling his movements but staying with me until the last shudder faded, leaving me boneless and dazed.
I stared down at him, chest heaving. The professional part of me that always stayed in control felt strangely distant, like it belonged to someone else.
Pier rose between my legs, lips glistening, eyes full of quiet wonder and deeper hunger. His own breathing was ragged.
“You let go,” he said softly, almost in awe.
I touched his face, still trying to catch my breath. The realization settled deep in my bones: I hadn’t been performing. For the first time in years, I had simply *felt*.
“What do you really need?” I asked with a hoarse voice. “Tell me the truth.”
He rested his forehead against my thigh for a moment, and then looked up.
“I need you to see all of me. The part I’ve been hiding. Still, I do not intend to rush you or anything. Let us take it slow.
The greenhouse seemed to hold its breath around us. Vines stirred faintly along the glass walls, though there was no breeze.
My pulse thundered in my ears. I was already aching for more — and terrified of how much I wanted whatever came next.
“I have been waiting to do this with you,” I whispered.
CHAPTER 4 — Escalation
We left the greenhouse and walked deeper into the untamed back section of the garden, where the beds gave way to wild thickets and ancient trees whose roots buckled the old paving stones. Lantern light swayed in Pier’s hand, throwing long shadows across dense foliage. The air grew heavier, richer with the scent of night-blooming flowers and fertile soil.
He stopped in a small clearing ringed by towering vines. “This is as far as I’ve let myself go,” he said quietly. “Are you certain?”
I nodded.
Pier closed his eyes. At first nothing happened. Then the ground beneath us seemed to breathe. Thick, living vines rose slowly from the soil around him, unfurling from his shoulders and back like extensions of his own body. More emerged from the earth itself, dark green and pulsing with faint bioluminescent threads. His human form remained at the center, but it was no longer alone — he was connected, rooted, vast.
Instead of fear, a strange calm settled over me. I took out the small sketchbook I always carried in my bag and began to draw — quick, reverent lines capturing the elegant sweep of the vines and the quiet power in his eyes. He watched me, tension easing with every stroke of my pencil.
When I finally set the book aside, I stepped forward and touched one of the thicker vines. It was warm, supple, covered in a thin sheen of sap. Alive.
“Take me,” I whispered. “All of me.”
The vines moved with sudden purpose. They coiled around my wrists and ankles, lifting me gently off the ground until I hung suspended in the warm night air, arms spread, thighs parted. More vines wrapped around my waist and ribs, supporting me securely. My clothes were eased away until I was bare before him and the garden.
A thick vine, warm and slightly ridged, traced my lips before sliding into my mouth, filling it with smooth, pulsing heat. I moaned around it, tasting faint sweetness.
Two stronger vines nudged between my thighs. One pressed against my entrance, slick with sap, and slowly pushed inside me, stretching my walls with deliberate care. Another circled lower and eased into my ass, the dual pressure making my eyes flutter shut. They began to move — sliding, expanding, pressing against each other through the thin wall inside me in a deep, rhythmic dance.
Smaller tendrils coiled around my breasts, squeezing with perfect pressure while their tips teased my nipples into tight, aching peaks. One more delicate vine found my clit and vibrated gently against it, sending sharp waves of pleasure through my suspended body.
I was helpless, held open, and fucked by the garden itself.
The vines thrust deeper, stretching me fuller with every stroke. My moans grew louder, muffled around the thick vine in my mouth. Pleasure built in heavy, rolling waves as they fucked me with intelligent hunger — speeding up, slowing down, and expanding inside me until I felt impossibly full. The constant stimulation on my clit and nipples left me shaking, drooling, begging incoherently around the vine filling my mouth.
I came hard, body convulsing in the vines’ embrace, but they didn’t stop. They carried me through it and kept going, drawing out every shudder until another peak crashed over me. My mind blurred at the edges with overwhelming sensation — the warm, living pressure inside me, the tight coils around my limbs and breasts, the relentless throb against my clit.
Only when I was trembling and whimpering did the vines finally ease their rhythm, still buried deep inside me, holding me gently in the afterglow.
Pier’s human eyes met mine, full of wonder and relief.
CHAPTER 5 — Consequence
The vines lowered me tenderly onto a soft bed of moss and leaves. But Pier wasn’t finished. He knelt beside me, one hand on my chest, and whispered, “Let me show you what I am.”
The world shifted.
I felt myself sinking into the garden’s vast underground web. My consciousness spread through cool, dark soil and pulsing mycelial threads while my body remained in the clearing, cradled by warm vines. The same thick vines continued to move inside me — slow, deep strokes that matched the rhythm of the living network beneath us.
I was everywhere and nowhere. I felt the garden’s ancient patience, its quiet hunger for connection. At the same time, the vines fucked me with tender intensity — one thrusting steadily into my pussy, another in my ass, a third sliding between my lips. Smaller ones teased my clit and nipples without mercy.
The dual reality shattered me. I came again, harder than before, my cry echoing through both the clearing and the dark soil. Pleasure rippled outward through roots and fungal threads, feeding back into my body until I couldn’t tell where I ended and the garden began. There was only sensation — warm, pulsing fullness, tight coils, throbbing clit, endless waves of release — and the profound sense of being truly *seen* and rooted.
When I finally surfaced, dawn was breaking. Pier’s form had grown translucent, fading.
“I don’t know how long I can stay like this,” he said softly, sorrow in his voice. “But you gave me something real.”
He left before the sun fully rose.
Epilogue
Three weeks later the garden hosted its official reopening. Colleagues and neighbors gathered under string lights, chatting and sipping drinks. I stood near the back, heart aching with a familiar hollow feeling that had returned sharper than ever.
Then the ground trembled.
Vines rose in the center of the clearing, followed by Pier’s full form — human torso emerging from a magnificent tangle of living greenery and glowing mycelial threads. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Some stepped back. Others stared in stunned silence.
He looked straight at me.
The vines parted as I walked toward him. One thick tendril reached out, brushing my cheek with gentle warmth. In front of everyone, in front of the city that had tried to pave over every wild thing, I took his hand — or what served as one.
“Will you walk with me between worlds?” his voice rumbled, resonant and deep.
I smiled through the tears gathering in my eyes.
“Yes.”
Around us, the garden breathed — alive, rooted, and no longer alone.