My buddy, Don, was doing some landscaping. I'd gone over to his place to help him out. He had a black thumb, but wanted to have some colour in his yard.
"I'm sorry about how this place looks," Don said when I arrived on my bike.
"It looks fine to me," I replied.
"All that rain really made a mess of things."
We'd had nearly a week of rain. Good torrential showers and thunderstorms. The ground was a pretty much entirely a wet and muddy mess.
"Perfect for gardening," I told him with a grin. "Make it easy dig in."
"Gonna be real messy."
"So what?" I shrugged. Don had no idea how much I enjoyed playing in the mud so I was really looking forward to this.
"Just wanted to warn you."
"I'm ready for it." I was dressed in my fun clothes--a green and blue stripped tee-shirt and faded blue Wranglers, with black Action Basics running shoes on my feet. Nothing too fancy, nothing I really worried about. It was all about comfort. Just looking at all the muddy ground made my dick hard in my purple silk boxers. I adjusted my tan ball cap.
Don shrugged. He was wearing tight black Levis, a blue Old Navy tee, and grey runners.
I liked hanging out with Don. He had a preference for wearing tight jeans and tees and he had the body to carry them off. Don is drop-dead gorgeous: a slender runner's build, beautiful blue eyes, short brown hair and goatee, and is thirty but looks barely mid-twenties. He knew I was gay and I was sure he dressed like he did just to torment me.



Back in the spring, Don asked me to help him do some painting on his house. Well, not the whole house, just in his kitchen and dining room. He called me and asked if I could help, and I told him I'd never painted anything before. So I might just be the world's worst painter, but he told me to come over anyway.
We started with the dining room ceiling, and because we were both so bad at it, we both ended up with paint splattered all over us. He was wearing tight cut-off blue jeans and a dark green tee-shirt; I was in Levis and a red tee-shirt.
We got the ceiling done, but our heads and chests were covered in white paint, and my jeans were also pretty splashed. Don wanted to stop and 'clean up', but I thought we should at least finish the walls, which we did with a bit more mess. Thank God for drop cloths!
Anyway, he looked so cute with white paint splashed over his body. I'd spent most of the day with a major hard-on inside my jeans.
He then said we should take showers--his house has only one bathroom--but I had other ideas. I suggested that we should get the paint off our clothes before it dried, and he agreed. So we both went outside, uncoiled his garden hose, and proceeded to scrub each other's clothes. At least, that's how it started.
The tee-shirts came off so we could get the paint off our chests, and by then his shorts and my jeans were soaking and sagging, revealing more white paint on his navy blue Hanes briefs and my black Calvin boxers.
So first we got all the paint off our pants, and then they came off, and we went to work on each other's undies. For him, it was all just a simple friendly clean up. For me, it was a dream come true. Don in wet clinging briefs? Woo hoo!
I was so hard too. He noticed--how could he not?--but he didn't say anything.
Sadly, I just ended up putting my wet clothes back on and biked home.




Anyway, we're out in the garden. Don's already got some shrubs along the back fence--yews and cedars mostly. He wants to put in a vegetable garden so we're working on that.
We've torn up the grass and exposed the dirt. Now we're working on preparing it for plants.
Needless to say, we're both getting dirty.
Between stomping through the muck and the like, my jeans are brown well past the knees. I've also been wiping my hands off on my thighs and tee so most of me is mud.
Don's legs are mucky. He's been kneeling while planting the last of his shrubs, but that was mainly on the wet grass not mud.
I was using the pitchfork to turn over the veggie patch. We'd added peat moss and compost to the soil, trying to make it richer. It was a dark colour now and just as wet as the rest of the yard. Rather soupy.
"You are a mess!" he announced.
I shrugged. "Oh well."
Don was shaking his head.
"My granny always told me that gardening is like sex," I told him. "If you're still clean when you're done, then you did it all wrong."
"Well, Matt, you must be doing it right then. You've wrecked your clothes."
"They'll wash out."
"I need a cold drink. You want one?"
"Yeah. Thanks."
Don headed towards his house. He splashed through a standing puddle, not taking the time to go around it.
I chuckled. This supposed buddy, I need a favour was turning into heaven. A cute guy and lots of mud. And he thought I'd be hating this.


I wiped my hands off on my jeans again--it wasn't doing much good--and accepted the beer. It tasted real good.
Don was looking at the garden and shaking his head.
"So now what?"
"We finish mixing this in and then we can start planting." I looked at him. "You have plants right?"
"Yeah, over there." He waved towards the shed.
I could see the flats of plants. "Looks like a good selection." I looked back at the garden. "You might want to lay some flat stones in here as a path. That way you can get to your plants without having to wade through mud all the time."
"Yeah, I was thinking that."




I finished my beer and set the bottle down. "So if we start digging the holes out here --" I waded out into the garden at that.
The mud was so nice deep by now. I sank down past my ankles getting my running shoes, socks, and the cuffs of my jeans completely wet and muddy.
I wondered if I should accidentally slip and fall. Just to get completely messed up.
How often would I have this chance?
Don was shaking his head again. "You have mud on your ass," he told me.
"So?" I replied. I was semi-stuck now, my feet submerged in the thick muck. "It'll all wash off."
I started to turn around. "Damn," I swore. "I'm stuck."
Don laughed. "I warned you."
I gave my right foot a yank, sharper than I needed too, and that was all it took. I fell over.




Don was laughing so hard, he dropped his empty beer bottle onto the lawn.
There I was sitting in the garden patch, up to my waist in mud. I could the wetness penetrating through my jeans to my silk boxers.
Don was hysterical with laughter. Finally he walked towards me. "Yep," he wheezed, "that mud will just wash off."
I stood up. Carefully. My jeans were heavier than they'd been. I looked down at them, pretending to be concerned. The blue denim was coated with dark brown mud. They, and my tee, were clinging to me.
"Damn, Matt, you really do get into this whole gardening thing."
I splashed my way through the mud towards him. "Yeah, yeah. Every one's a comedian." I held out my hand. "Steady me. I'm gonna loose a shoe in this."
Don reached out.
And I grabbed his hand and threw myself backwards, pulling him off-balance.




He hit the mud with a nice splat.
He was laughing though, so I know he was okay with this surprise. If not, who cared?
Don looked at me, mud dripping from his face. "You do realize, this means war?" he said in his best Marvin the Martian imitation.
"I do."
"Good." Don shoved me onto my back.
We wrestled, rolling around in the muck until we were both exhausted and totally plastered. Our clothes were identical now--brown.
Don sat up and tried to crawl away.
"Not so fast, big boy." I snatched my hat up, scooped mud into it, and then I plopped it down onto my head.
Don was still laughing. "You are crazy."
"I know." I grabbed at him again.
My hands slid through the mud, brushing across his crotch.
He was sporting one serious hard-on.
Don froze.
I was also sporting a pretty good erection at this point and my mud-soaked jeans did nothing to hide it.
I decided to be a bit bolder. I slid my hands along Don's legs and groped him. Quite openly.
Don didn't move.
He just sat there while I played with him bulge.
"I can stop," I told him.
"You don't have to on my account."
That was enough of a reply for me. I fumbled open his fly and reached inside. My muddy hand found nothing but warm skin.
"Commando...you naughty boy."
"Dirty boy," he replied. He had taken a firm grip on me now. "You've made a nice mess of things here."
"I didn't hear you complaining," I countered.
We shifted positions, get ourselves more comfortable.
"You want some help with this?" I asked him.
"Sure," he replied.
I pulled him through the open zipper, taking a good look at his hard member, and then I quickly scooped up more mud in my hand and rubbed him with it.
Don gasped.
"Feels really good, doesn't it?" I laughed softly.
Don gasped again as I rubbed him. His hands were fumbling my own Wranglers open, allowing my own hard-on to escape its silky confines.
"I never figured you for a boxers guy," Don said. "Let alone silk ones."
"Live and learn."
We rubbed each other to a climax and lay in the mud, panting.
"You got a hose?" I finally asked.