The Tuscan villa

The weather is beautifully hot today. Blue skies with just a hint of white and my skin feels warm to the touch. As I sit outside in the grass and feel the gentle breeze in my hair, I close my eyes and am back under the olive trees of that Tuscan villa.

It was a few summers ago when my affair with the gardener was in full swing. I flew into Tuscany late one Friday night after work. He was picking me up in his car. We hadn’t seen each other for about six weeks and my heart was racing as I stepped off the plane into the balmy night air. I was still dressed in my London work clothes – a black pencil skirt, white shirt and heels carrying my raincoat over my arm. As I walked down the steps from the airplane onto the tarmac I could see the lights twinkling from the surrounding hills and felt the day’s heat rising from the ground below. There is something magical about the Tuscan landscape. The air smells different, light, slightly scented. It carries you, lifts you.

I picked up my bag from the carousel and walked through the customs gate into the arrivals area. It is so rare to be met by someone at the airport. Usually I walk through the waiting crowd briskly, not making eye contact with anyone, secretly wishing that someone was there to meet me. There never is. But that night, I knew he would be in the crowd waiting just for me. I scanned the faces until I spotted him at the back, leaning against a pillar. He was still on his crutches, but looked so dashingly handsome in his trousers and tight t-shirt. So relaxed and tanned. He smiled as I walked towards him and pulled me into his embrace. He smelt of summer, of sun, of fresh air. I buried my nose in his curly hair and inhaled deeply. Such a world away from my air conditioned sterile office in a grey, cloudy London.

We walked to his car, chatting and laughing, both feeling the thrill of the weekend ahead. Despite his crutches he was able to drive and we whizzed through the Tuscan hills, winding our way up towards the villa where he worked and lived. After about a 30 minute drive with the windows open to the night air we arrived at a large cast iron gate and drove down a long path through a wooded area until we reached a clearing and the graveled driveway of the villa. It sat high up on a hill overlooking the valley below, the lights of Florence twinkling in the distance.  He lived in an outhouse in the gardens and parked in front of it. When the motor was silent all I could hear was the sound of insects. The villa was dark, the shutters closed. He led me into his house, offering me a cold glass of wine from the kitchen. Inside it was wonderfully cool. I kicked off my heels and took off my stockings enjoying the sensation of the cold terracotta floor on my bare feet. We stood in the kitchen looking at one another, our initial shyness wearing off and kissed passionately, holding our glasses of wine.

He had prepared a light supper and so we sat outside his house on the veranda with a candle, schiaccata bread, pecorino and salami, listening to the sounds of the night, chatting, laughing and drinking. I floated through those night time hours like one of the fireflies. When the sky began to change from a warm black to a cooler shade of blue, we went inside and climbed the stairs to his bedroom. He undressed me in silence and I watched as he tugged off his t-shirt revealing his incredible torso (one of the benefits of having an affair with a gardener). We lay naked on the bed, touching one another’s bodies, re-familiarising ourselves with the other. I licked his shoulders, chest and stomach, tasting the salt of his sweat. Then took him in my mouth and slowly moved my head to the rhythm of his guiding hands. His  breath quickened and I let him come sweetly into my mouth, savouring every drop. He pulled me round, so that my hips were in line with his face and parted my legs, letting him bury his nose and mouth in my heat. He nuzzled and licked, stroking my thighs and ass as he did so. I felt the shiver of my orgasm and moved quickly to sit astride him, craving his cock inside me. His knee injury prevented him from lying on top of me and so I reveled in being in control, angling my hips so that his cock would thrust deep inside me. I circled my hips and leant back on my hands, giving him full view of my cunt. He understood exactly what to do and began to massage my clit as I gyrated on his cock. The blood rushed to my head as I arched my back and gave myself to him. My body collapsed to a shuddering orgasm and I fell back on the bed trying to catch my breath. It was too hot for sheets and so we fell asleep naked, my head resting on his chest. It was the start of an unforgettable weekend in the Tuscan hills. What I would give to be there right now.



Filed under General, lovers

2 responses to “The Tuscan villa

  1. I can’t tell you how much I enjoy your intimate recounts of your wonderful, romantic adventures, as well as your beautiful writing style.
    Thank you SA for taking me with you yet again.
    Sophia x

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