It was hot that late-August evening, the kind of hot that makes you wonder if you really could fry an egg on the sidewalk in the afternoon, and disappointed that the air was too still to cool you down when the sun began to set. I decided to check on my motorcycle, the one thing it seemed she could count on lately, and maybe go for a ride. I walked into the garage and, sure enough, there it was, just beckoning to me. Sleek, black, and decidedly not girly. Some, like Sandy, my checkout lady at Kroger's, "just weren't sure." I wondered what, exactly, they weren't sure of. As I wheeled the three-wheeled motorcycle out of the garage, I smelled new mown grass. That was one of the things about the dog days that I enjoyed – that smell. As I looked up, I spotted Tom, the next door neighbor's son, and one other thing that I enjoyed about the dog days, mowing the lawn.
I paused to watch. There wasn't much pleasure in my life lately. Glen, my husband, has thrown himself into his medical career, volunteering for extra rounds at the hospital. Things had been this way since they – well, he, actually – decided to try to have a family. I always wanted a family, but I just didn't count on Dr. Metcalf being an unmitigated control freak. Thankfully, dear Dr. Metcalf's swimmers weren't swimming as well as he'd hoped, and since then, my life became a bit more relaxed. Maybe the word is "routine."
There was some mud on the fender, so I decided my bike needed a bit of touching up. My cutoff jeans and t-shirt would work fine for washing the bike, so I wouldn't even have to change. I ran my hand under the garden hose as I filled the bucket, and then felt a sigh of relief as I wiped the hand over my sweaty forehead. I looked up, and glanced at Tom again as he pushed the mower back up his lawn. His hair bounced in his face as he struggled up the hill. His back muscles glistened in the evening sun as he strained to push the lawnmower. His jeans hung seductively on his hips, not needing a belt. As Tom's hips moved, and his jeans didn't, I wondered if I'd be lucky enough that he might just walk right out of his jeans. And that lovely ass. Small, taut, and delicious.
I began to hose down the bike, and slather some soap along the seat and gas tank. I heard the lawn mower stop. Tom was rolling the mower into the garage, apparently done for the night. Well, it was a good show while it lasted, at least. I returned to my duties, slopping soap onto the engine, some water splattering onto my shirt as the rag flopped here and there.
I watched Tom come out again, a glass of something in his hand, and sit down on the porch step of his house, running the glass over his forehead. I thought back to church, and the campouts I'd shared with Tom and his friends in youth group. They were a smart, curious bunch, and it was particularly rewarding to me to be a part of their upbringing.
"Hey, Ms. M. You look hot." Tom stood on the other side of the bike. I glanced up over the seat to see a stunning, hairless, tan chest, with a six pack leading down to a little v-shape that led to . . . . Church, Christine. Think of church. "I mean, I brought you some lemonade." Tom held out a glass.
I swallowed hard, feeling my heart beat too quickly as I stood. "I'm sorry. Lemonade?" My thoughts just now returning to reality. "Sure. Thanks." I took the glass, staring at Tom, and drank quickly, tilting my head back slightly and closing my eyes. I sighed, and opened my eyes. Wait. Was he ...? He was. I watched as Tom glared stupefied at my chest. I looked at his eyes, waiting for them to return to mine. Eventually, they did.
Tom turn beet red, nearly dropping his glass of lemonade, managing a series of "Um"s and "I didn't mean to"s before excusing himself and walking quickly back to his house. I had to smile to myself. It was surprisingly flattering to think that I could be attractive to an eighteen –year-old. At 36, I was beginning to wonder.
I rinsed my bike, and dried it, carefully, to give Tom a chance to calm down. Then, I walked over to talk.
"Oh, hi Christine." It was Tom's mother, Kathy, who opened the door. Kathy and I were good friends. Usually we met at church each week, and consoled each other over our husband's absence. Kathy's husband was a big shot lawyer, and really didn't seem to have time for much else. Lately, though, Kathy had been the most noticeably absent, as she'd gotten a real estate license, and began pursuing a career. "Come on in."
"Hi, Kathy. I didn't mean to bother you. I just wondered if Tom had a moment. I need some help at the house." I stopped a bit, surprised at how easily the lie came out. I needed to say something, though, so I could talk to Tom, and make sure he didn't feel ashamed. 'I caught Tom staring at my boobs' probably wouldn't work.
Kathy called upstairs, and Tom appeared, buttoning a blue oxford button-down shirt and tucking it into his jeans. He stopped momentarily as he looked up to see me. I fell back against the door, pressing my finger against my lips as I watched him descend the stairs.
"I was wondering if you could help me with my lawn mower. I can't seem to get it to start," I lied again. Geez, was this going to become a pattern?
"Um. Sure. I'll be back in a few, Mom." Tom darted past us, out the front door, as I nodded to Kathy, and turned to leave. I walked slowly across the lawn, trying to steal glances at Tom's ass, without being painfully obvious.
I sat down on the step in front of the door to the house, and patted the step, and Tom dutifully sat down next to me, looking a bit unnerved.
Poor Tom. His eyes showed such worry, as if he was waiting for one of those cartoon anvils to fall out of the sky and crush him. Maybe this wasn't quite the time to confront things directly. "I thought maybe you'd like to go for a ride, to cool down."
Tom stared, clearly not expecting this. "Um, sure. I suppose I could use a cool down."
I tossed a helmet to Tom, and put mine on, straddling the bike. Slowly, Tom lifted his long, lanky leg over the seat behind me, and put his hands gingerly at the top of my hips. I smiled. Always the gentleman.
"Now, Tom, you'll need to hang on tight. I don't want you sliding off the back of the seat, okay?"
"Yes, Ms. M." The poor boy was polite to a fault.
The bike roared to life, and I pulled out into the street. As I accelerated, I felt the cool rush of the wind against my face and body. Tom pulled himself closer to me, gradually. As I pulled onto a busier street, accelerating quickly, I felt Tom's arms slide around my stomach. He smelled of soap, cologne, and sweat.
I drove around the neighborhood. There was nothing like the feeling of the breeze as I drove. Suddenly, a toy ball rolled into the road, and I grabbed the brakes hard, feeling Tom press against my back hard, and I mean that literally. As a small child wandered out to pick up the ball, and I waved at the parents on the porch, there was no mistaking it. Something was slowly snaking up my backside, and it wouldn't stop. God, this thing must be huge. Church, Christine...think of church. I felt Tom pressed against me, but move slightly, as if he were squirming. I imagine he was a bit uncomfortable with something like that snaking through his pants. For once, as it turned out, Glen had done something right. As I turned the corner, I felt what I thought was Tom's full hardness against me. Usually I hate wearing thongs – why would anyone want a string up their ass? – but Glen kept buying so many of them, I got tired of stuffing them into my dresser drawer every morning, so I started wearing them. Some of them were more comfortable than others, to be sure, but they still, generally, sucked. On hot days like today, though, they were a bit cooler than normal. Right now, though, I was realizing an unintended advantage – it was easier to feel some young man's cock sliding up my ass. And it kept growing. This thing was much larger than Glen. That was for sure.
I just couldn't resist. I started a sort of a silent dance. I arched my back slightly, pushing my rump back into Tom, and Tom would squeeze against me, then back away slightly. Nothing was said, so I pretended I still had some deniability. I rode past my house, and around the neighborhood one more time. By the time I returned, it was getting dark, so I pulled into my driveway, and pulled off my helmet, shaking my hair loose.
I turned around as I straddled the bike. "Tom, could you come inside for a minute?" Tom removed his helmet, and nodded, silently.
As I sat next to Tom, at the kitchen table, I leaned back, stretching my back, and groaning slightly. Yes, I know that caused my chest to jut out in front of an eighteen-year-old who'd just scampered away from it, but I couldn't stop thinking about Tom's manhood against me during the ride. "Thanks for coming with me, Tom. It was nice to have a companion."
"You're welcome, Ms. M."
There was a delicate silence. I smiled as Tom nervously flicked a lock of hair out of his face. I pushed my shoe off, and lightly touched Tom's calf with my toe.
"You know, Tom, it's no sin if you want to look at a woman."
