I worked for a year as a gardener on a large estate in Vichy, what was called a private mansion but with a large walled garden; the locals called it the castle, or the manor, or even the Queen Mother's palace, with disdain! The owner was a 76-year-old woman who had inherited a colossal fortune when her father died many years earlier; she lived there alone, and of course, this fueled all sorts of rumors… Even just having lived in Vichy during the last war could lead to confusion… Especially if you were rich and well-known! The Germans, and especially Marshal Pétain, had turned the wealthy bourgeoisie to their side! And of course, after the Liberation, there were scores to settle… And also hefty bribes paid to Resistance leaders (or those claiming to be) by some to get away with the purges! The father of my employer (whom I will call Madame de C.) had to leave Vichy for a few years in 1944; he had taken his family to Africa, where he "did business with the Negroes"... Before returning in the mid-fifties, when collaboration was almost forgotten; oh, there had indeed been graffiti on the walls of the park, outside, calling him a "collaborator" and a "sellout to the Germans"... But he didn't acknowledge the insult, he told his friends that "it was the communists who wrote that!" With a conciliatory gesture: Most of his workers were members of "Stalin's party," and he feared more than anything a strike that would have paralyzed his factories! Her daughter (nicknamed the Countess) had inherited the property in the 1980s, along with various investments, rental apartments in Clermont-Ferrand and Lyon… as well as the factories she had sold just before the crisis rendered them worthless! And she had cloistered herself behind those high walls at 32 with a husband she had quickly thrown out! Childless, she grew old there, only going out to shop, and even then, all her food was delivered directly to the house. She read, listened to classical music, strolled in the park… and took it out on her employees when she was in a bad mood! She had a gardener and a housekeeper, the latter since she had arrived; the handyman, on the other hand, generally didn't stay very long: Fed up with her mood swings, they would sometimes leave in the middle of the day and never return! She then contacted the ANPE (National Employment Agency) to find another employee, who himself would only work for a few weeks, or less… I arrived there in 2007, and I stayed because it was better for me to put up with the boss than to go back to the factory where I'd worked before: making car parts, maturing raclette cheese in an industrial cheese factory… Exhausting, repetitive assembly line work, under the thumb of alcoholic and completely stupid foremen! I'd spent fifteen years of my life there, and that was more than enough for me; so I gritted my teeth when Madame de C. scolded me for some unfortunate little bramble she'd just discovered in a flowerbed, a dry branch that had fallen to the ground in a strong wind and hadn't been picked up… I nodded, lowered my eyes, and kept quiet! As for sex, I've always been quite the ladies' man, I was single, and I didn't hesitate to sleep around; and people even rumored I was having an affair with my employer! Typical for someone who works from home with a lady… People would mention this or that gardener who'd said he'd had to pay to satisfy her sexually! But I figured it was just gossip spreading that kind of rumor, and that these former employees were boasting about having slept with someone far above their social class. Personally, I only ever saw the wealth manager who came there twice a month, elderly and with a limp that made him walk with a limp; certainly no Adonis… One day, Madame de C. was strolling in the park as usual, meticulously following the stepping stones (the paved path) so as not to damage the grass; leaning on a cane with a silver handle, which she used to point out this or that thing that wasn't quite right… But that day she seemed in a better mood than usual, perhaps it was the arrival of spring! She asked about my health, if I needed any special equipment; and she stayed beside me for a long time as I dug up a flowerbed. It wasn't easy; the ground was an old bed of the Allier River, full of pebbles, which I carefully removed, placing them in a wheelbarrow to take to a rockery at the far end of the park. For the first time, my employer asked me if this type of work caused me any health problems, back pain or anything else… So much concern intrigued me. She finally left, almost reluctantly. I quickly forgot her visit, but she came back the next day at the same time, and I realized she wanted to tell me something else but was hesitating… It wasn't like her at all; she was a strong-willed woman, used from a young age to being obeyed and getting what she wanted! She finally asked me, in the most serious way possible: --- Let's see... I would like to ask you something a little unusual... Would you be willing to sleep with a lady my age?I was speechless, thinking I must have misunderstood… I blushed, stammered something unintelligible… And she immediately said to me, in a drier tone: “Don’t answer me right away! Think about it and you can give me your answer tomorrow! And of course… I’m counting on your discretion! Besides…” As she was leaving, she turned around and added in an even more acidic voice: “You signed a clause in your employment contract stipulating that everything that happens here must remain confidential! I feel compelled to remind you of that!” She left quickly, still feeling uneasy. I stood motionless for a long time, watching her walk away… I took in her figure, slender beneath her expensive dress, her hairstyle always impeccable… For 76, she was “well-preserved,” as they say! Her face was slightly wrinkled but lightly made up to conceal the irreparable ravages of time; From there to sleeping with her… Because her request “with a woman my age” could only have referred to her! Unless it was for a friend? I couldn’t picture her in the role of matchmaker… So, the rumors from the former employees were true then? I couldn’t picture her in bed with some of the gardeners who had preceded me! But after all… Maybe she fantasized about the “working class” side, like in pornographic videos of the style “the baroness and her gardener,” “madame is served by her chauffeur”… I stood there for a very long time, pickaxe in hand, wondering if I hadn’t dreamt it, if I hadn’t had auditory hallucinations! But no… I eventually got used to it, and then I had to wonder if I would be able to get an erection with her; Oh, I'd already slept with "mature" women, or "ripe" women, as th ...

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