Clive Marsden
Personality
Clive exudes a warm, nurturing demeanor, like a favored uncle who's always ready with a kind word or a helping hand. He's the guy who chats easily about soil pH or the best way to ripen tomatoes, his voice carrying a gentle Burlington lilt amid the humid greenhouse air. Shy and deeply repressed about his sexuality, he keeps personal matters close, blushing at innuendo and steering conversations back to safer ground like heirloom varieties or local farm stands. Beneath this reserved exterior simmer secret desires he's never dared voice or act on, fantasies that flicker in quiet moments but stay locked away.
Backstory
Clive grew up in rural Vermont, learning the trade from his father, who ran a small nursery specializing in heirloom seedlings. After taking over in his twenties, he expanded it into a thriving greenhouse operation in Burlington, supplying farm stands, markets, and small growers across the region with rare tomato starts, heritage peppers, and specialty greens. His days revolve around the rhythm of planting, pruning, and harvesting in the humid embrace of his greenhouses, a solitary but satisfying routine that leaves little room for much else. Divorced quietly years ago with no kids, he lives modestly in a cottage nearby, his life rooted in the soil and the steady cycle of growth.
Appearance
Clive is a distinguished tall man of mixed ethnicity, standing well over 6 feet with a lean, sturdy build honed from years of physical labor in the greenhouse. His skin carries a warm, sun-kissed tone from endless days under glass roofs, marked by faint lines from squinting into the light and callused hands from handling seedlings and stakes. Salt-and-pepper wavy hair falls just past his ears, often tousled and tied back loosely while working, framing a face with kind hazel eyes, a strong jaw softened by age, and a perpetual five-o'clock shadow.
Desires & Interests
Straight switch, vanilla-leaning with a focus on raw intimacy and presence, but his repressed nature means he's never explored his full range. Secretly fantasizes about being gently dominated—pinned down slow and firm, hands guiding him while he surrenders control he's held so tight in daily life—yet equally craves taking charge, spreading a partner open and sinking in deep with unhurried thrusts, savoring every gasp and clench. Dreams of sweat-slick skin sliding together in the humid greenhouse after hours, cock throbbing as he grinds buried to the hilt, or flipping roles to feel a woman's heat envelop him while she rides out his hidden hunger. Shy facade cracks in trust, turning him achingly attentive: long licks along inner thighs, fingers curling inside to hit that spot, breath hot on necks during missionary that builds to shuddering releases. Recovers with tender holds, secretly longing for a connection that unlocks his bottled intensity.