Telegraph Hill Temptation
"Urban farmer Nneka tends the Telegraph Hill community garden. When stressed architect Marcus volunteers to help, she shows him that getting dirty is exactly what he needs."
The community garden was Marcus's therapist's idea—"touch earth, feel grounded." He'd expected boring. He found Nneka.
She was Nigerian-British, mid-forties, thick body built for outdoor work, skin glowing dark against the green. She ran the Telegraph Hill plot like a general, and she looked at his soft architect hands with amusement.
"You've never grown anything, have you?"
"Does mold in forgotten takeaway count?"
She laughed—warm, earthy, like the soil. "You'll learn. Nature teaches everyone eventually."
Weeks of planting, weeding, harvesting. Marcus discovered muscles he didn't know he had, and thoughts he didn't know he was avoiding.
"You're different when you're here," Nneka observed one sunset. "Less tight. More human."
"This place does that."
"I do that." Her eyes met his. "Stay after the others leave. Let me teach you about night gardening."
The garden at dusk was magical—fireflies, distant city glow, complete privacy. Nneka led him to a secluded corner, surrounded by tall corn.
"This is my favorite spot. No one can see. No one can hear."
"Why are you showing me?"
"Because you need to let go somewhere safe." She moved close. "And I need... someone who understands."
Her kiss tasted like vegetables and something sweeter—her, just her. Her thick body was warm from the day's sun, fragrant with earth.
"I haven't let anyone touch me in years," she admitted. "Too busy with the garden. But you..."
"Show me what you need."
She lay back on the soft soil, her work clothes coming off to reveal curves that belonged in fertility statues. He worshipped her there among the vegetables, his mouth learning her like a new crop.
"Inside me," she gasped. "Fill me like rain fills soil."
He entered her slowly, her thick thighs wrapping around him, the earth soft beneath them. They moved together like seasons—building, cresting, releasing.
"Yes... there... perfect..."
She came with a sound like growth itself, and he followed, both of them crying out to the city sky.
"Plant something," she said afterward. "Here. Where we were. So we remember."
He planted tomato seeds in the dark, her guiding his hands.
"Every time you harvest," she said, "you'll think of this. Of us. Of what we grew together."
"Will there be more growing?"
"As much as you can handle." She kissed him softly. "Gardens need constant attention. And so do I."
His Telegraph Hill temptation was the most fertile ground he'd ever found. And Marcus was ready to cultivate it forever.