The Lost Art of Whistling

The Lost Art of Whistling.

Part 1. Spring.

Though it was true that we didn't really know each other as such, we weren't exactly strangers either. We'd met a number of times, over several consecutive Wednesday mornings, when she'd visited her elderly mother who lived next door to a customer I had recently started to work for. And we seemed to hit it off right from our very first chat on their shared driveway. She was warm and engaging - a little flirty even - and always made a point of coming over to say hello whenever she saw me. It was something I looked forward to. A lot.

She was a few years older than me - in her mid-to-late sixties, I would guess - tallish with a slender figure, short silvery hair, cornflower blue eyes and the lined, slightly drawn complexion of someone who'd probably had their fair share of sun or cigarettes (or both) over the years. She always greeted me with a ready smile and carried herself with a quiet, unassuming confidence that I found very attractive. It helped that she looked really good in a tight pair of jeans too.

I know, I know, I'm as deep as a puddle. It's a burden we'll all have to live with I'm afraid.

Needless to say, I was happy to oblige when, on her last visit, she asked for my mobile number saying that she too needed a gardener. And happier still when she sent me a text and a photo the following day.

'Hi Andy,

It was good to see you again yesterday - but then it always is. So, when can you come round and get to work on this?

Pam X'

The attached photo was a selfie of her in her garden. It showed her standing in the middle of a largish square patio, lined by a variety of pots and tubs, with an expansive, rectangular lawn beyond surrounded by long, deep herbaceous borders full of established perennials, shrubs and trees. At a glance, it all seemed fairly well kept already, but then looks (and photos) could be deceptive. So I messaged her back and arranged to go round late the following afternoon so that I could see it all properly in the flesh, so to speak.

So far, so...well, normal really, that's the best way I can describe it. As for how I felt about her, that wasn't so unusual either. She wasn't the first customer I'd fancied and, no doubt, she wouldn't be the last. It happened.

So, what about your author then? What have I got to say for myself.

Hmm, let me see.

I'm a strapping, six foot tall, 54-year old Englishman. I'm intelligent and funny, fantastic company, great at sports and have a lovely arse and an even nicer cock, especially when it's hard.

Well, honestly, what did you expect me to say?

Okay, so I might have exaggerated a bit. I'm probably not that clever. Or funny. But I am six feet tall, I am 54 and I do like to keep myself fit. You'll have to make your own mind up about the rest.

Anyhow, the following afternoon I turned up at Pam's as agreed and was making my way up the driveway to the front door when she appeared at the side gate smiling and waving. She was wearing a close-fitting grey sweatshirt, black lycra leggings and a pair of white trainers. And I have to say that she looked quite gorgeous. Her clothing hugged every contour of her body: her narrow shoulders, the delicate slope of her breasts, her flat stomach and the subtle curves of her hips. All thoughts of gardening flew clear out of my head at that snapshot of her standing there framed by the two gateposts. And then, as she led me down the side of the house to the back garden and I gazed at the smooth fabric of her pants clinging to her lovely shapely bottom like a second skin, well...

She gave me the whole grand tour, chatting about this and that and pointing out various things of interest. I did my best to concentrate and take mental notes but, in all honesty, I struggled to focus on anything other than her. Hardly the behaviour of a supposed professional, I know, but what can I say? I must have done something right though, because once we'd finished she asked me when I could start. And, to that end, we agreed that I'd come round every Monday afternoon starting the very next week.

I have to admit that I drove home a little perplexed, not entirely sure what to make of what had just happened. Had any of it been for my benefit? Or had vanity got the better of me and I was simply reading too much into it? Was she just a woman relaxing and doing as she pleased in the comfort of her own home? An attractive woman just being herself? An attractive, sexy woman with a seriously nice ass... Fuck, this was getting me nowhere. And as I pulled on to my driveway, still wondering and still swearing, my phone pinged. It was her.

'Hello again Andy,

I really can't wait to see you next week.

Pam X'

Hmm, the thick plottens.

MONDAY 17th MAY.

The sky was just starting to turn grey and overcast when I arrived at Pam's for my first official visit. So far, It had been one of those days when the weather could have turned at any given time - glorious sunshine one minute to dark, brooding rain clouds the next. I'd kept my fingers crossed that it would at least stay dry as I'd been looking forward to seeing her all weekend and didn't want to cancel. Oh, and I had it mind that I'd cut her lawn too.

I let myself in the side gate and wheeled my mower round the house to the back garden. After parking it in the middle of the patio I began to stroll around the lawn checking for twigs and stones and that perennial pain in the arse for gardeners: animal shit. There was only one thing worse than running over the stuff as you mowed - having to clean it off your mower afterwards.

It was whilst I was at the bottom of the garden lobbing the debris I'd collected into the back of the border that I looked to the house and saw Pam in the conservatory, peddling away on an exercise bike. Without slowing, she smiled at me and waved. Nice. Very nice. I smiled and waved back and continued to watch her hunched over the handlebars, her legs furiously pumping away, as I wandered back up the lawn to the patio. Impressive. She was really going for it. I was just about to push my mower onto the lawn when she stepped out of the conservatory and wandered over to me.

'Hello, Andy.' She said, catching her breath and smiling again. 'How are you?'

'Hello yourself.' I replied, unable to stop myself glancing down at her crotch. 'Yeah, not bad thanks. Good workout?'

She nodded. 'Sorry about all this.' She said, waving her finger around her damp torso. 'I must look a right state?'

'No, far from it.' I said, smiling. 'It's a good look. I like it. I think it's very...' I hesitated, 'sexy.'

The words hung in the air between us as I let my eyes wander over her body again.

Now, I probably ought to mention that I've got a bit of a 'thing' for fit, sweaty women. They call it Pseudo Post-coital Obsession Disorder (no they don't, I just made that up). So you can imagine how I felt as she stood in front of me with her face and neck all red and blotchy and glistening with sweat, and with a large damp patch down the front of her T-Shirt. Yep, that'd do it. And with her tight cycling shorts visibly creasing in between her legs and her not insignificant nipples punctuating the front of her top, I think it's fair to say that my 'thing' had never been better served.

Her neck flushed a little more as she stared at me intently. It felt like she was reading my mind. Then it softened and she glanced up at the sky. 'Do you think we'll get some rain?'

'I hope not. Not until I've got this lawn done.'

We stood in silence for a moment. Then a mischievous grin began to play across her face. 'Well, you've put me in a bit of a quandary now.' She said, putting a finger to her lips, pretending to be thoughtful. 'I don't know whether I should stay in these tight, sweaty clothes, or...'

My pulse raced at the teasing in her eyes. 'Or...?'

'Or...get in the shower and slowly rub soap over every inch of my hot, naked body.' She said, smiling and running her hands over her bottom.

'For fuck's sake, Pam.' I sighed, stroking the back of my neck.

She put her hands on her hips and feigned indignation. That didn't help either. Jeez, she looked so fucking sexy.

'So, what's it to be then?' She said, grinning again.

I was just about to reply when she reached up and put her hand to my mouth.

'Hold that thought.'

And with that she turned, went back to the conservatory and into the house, leaving me to stew in my own juices whilst I studied the sweaty patch of hers that stained the section of shorts caught in the cleft of her buttocks.

Mutha-fuckin-fucker.

I looked up at the darkening sky and sighed. It was as if someone, somewhere was unfurling a thick, grey quilt overhead that was gradually blocking out the light. And yet here was me lit up like a fucking pinball machine on tilt.

A few minutes later, just after I'd turned my mower around at the foot of the lawn and was starting to cut my second stripe back up towards the house, the light came on in the window above the kitchen. Almost immediately her blurred but patently naked figure appeared behind the frosted glass. She had her hands on her hips again and, though it was impossible to tell for sure, it looked as though she was staring straight at me.

As I approached the patio, she opened the narrow casement at the top of the window and using one hand to steady herself on the frame, peered out of the open gap and waved at me with the other. I released the dead man's handle on the mower, let the engine stop and took off my ear defenders.

'I'll do you a coffee when I've finished in here.' She called out. 'Would you like anything to eat with it too?'

I watched her breasts press against the glass as she stretched up. 'Yeah, I'll have a large piece of you please.' I mumbled under my breath.

'I heard that.'

I stroked the stubble on my chin. 'Don't go to any trouble, Pam. A biscuit will do fine, if you have one.'

'What about some cake? I think I might have a couple of Cherry Bakewells that need eating?'

'So I see.' I mumbled again, grinning. Even through the small aperture I could see her smiling back as she stayed pressed against the glass. 'Yeah, okay. That'd be nice.'

It took me about forty minutes to finish the lawn. Forty minutes walking back and forth watching her fuzzy naked form ghost in and out of view in the bathroom. Forty minutes spent dialled up to eleven with only years of muscle memory ensuring that I continued to cut relatively straight lines. Forty minutes that felt like five.

It was as I was emptying the last of the grass clippings into the compost bin that was tucked away in the left-hand side border that the first, large ominous drops of rain began to fall. And, sure enough, as I began to push my mower round the house to my car, the heavens duly opened.

'Come inside.' Pam said, standing at the kitchen door. 'You're going to get soaked.'

'I'm just going to pop this away.' I replied, over the noise of the rain. 'Won't be a tick.'

She was right though. I was absolutely soaked through to the skin in the short time it took me to put my mower away and scurry back to the kitchen where she was still waiting.

'Look at the state of you. Come on, get inside and I'll fetch you a towel.'

I followed her into the kitchen where she left me standing by the large pine table in the middle of the room as she disappeared into the hallway. A few minutes later she returned with a large, fluffy bath towel in one hand and a pile of clothes in the other.

'Here you go.' She said, handing me the towel. 'And I've got a few things for you to change into as well.'

I frowned at her.

'Well, you can hardly stay in those wet things, can you?'

'Oh. Okay. Thank you.' I said, taking the towel.

'I don't know if any of them will fit.' She said, putting the clothes on the table. 'You've got one of my biggest, baggiest sweatshirts, some jogging bottoms...oh, and this.' She smiled and dangled what looked like a black satin thong from her finger. 'Just in case. It's all I had in the underwear department, I'm afraid.'

I looked at the knickers. 'Really? I said, smiling. 'That's all you wear?'

She grinned, shrugged her shoulders and nodded. 'Sometimes.' Then she glanced down at the small pools of water gathering at my feet. 'You'd better get out of those clothes then before you catch your death.'

I wiped my face and smiled. 'I bet you say that to all your gardeners?'

'Not all of them.' She replied, still smiling. Then she paused and slowly rubbed her belly. 'Just the ones I want to see with their kit off.'

Her words were like soft fingertips tickling my spine. But it was her look - a look that seemed full of pure unadulterated want - that made the hairs on the back of my neck bristle.

I went to drape the towel over the chair next to me.

'Here, I'll take that.' She said, stepping closer.

I handed the towel over and smiled. Then, as calm as you like, without any fuss or performance, stripped down to my sodden boxer shorts. I looked at her, then down at my groin. Oh well, in for a penny and all that, and I slowly pulled them down. And, as I did so, we both watched my long, thick, but not quite hard cock flop out.

She looked up at me. 'Something on your mind?'

A million things. Nothing. One thing. I kept quiet.

'You're never going to get into my knickers at this rate.' She said, staring down at my cock.

'I trust you're talking about those ones?' I said, with a wry smile, holding my hand out.

But she had a point. Women's knickers are simply not designed to hold such things as a cock (and balls), especially not one on the cusp of what some might consider a fairly sizeable growth spurt. Nevertheless, with an ungainly wiggle of my hips and some manual adjustments here and there, I managed to squeeze into hers. Just.

I held my arms out and looked down. 'What do you reckon then?'

'Turn around.' She said, quietly. So I did. Then she moved alongside me, reached down and pulled at a section of the thin waistband. 'They're a bit twisted.'

Before she had chance to move it away, I took her hand and pressed it against my bare arse.

'They're a bit snug too.' I said.

'Hmm, yes, I can see that.' She whispered, then closed her eyes and gently dug her nails into my flesh.

And I know it sounds like a cliche (better get used to that) but it felt like all her passion, all her pent up desire, was being released into me through her touch.

She opened her eyes again, slowly shook her head, then gave my arse a short, sharp slap. 'I'd better make us this drink and you'd better get dressed.' She said, smiling and handing back the towel. 'Before one of us goes pop.'

I agreed to her offer of washing my wet work clothes whilst we had our coffee and cake. And, as I dried myself and put on her joggers and sweatshirt which, like her knickers, barely fit me, I watched her shake out my socks, roll down the sleeves of my shirt, check the pockets of my shorts then load them, along with her own sweaty gym gear, into the washing machine. Fuck, I'd really got it bad. Even the thought of my clothes swirling around the washer with her's turned me on.

We spent the remainder of the afternoon sitting opposite each other at the kitchen table. We chatted about everything and nothing, but mostly we sat quietly drinking coffee, eating our Cherry Bakewells and doing our utmost not to pop.

As I left later, wearing my freshly laundered work clothes again, the rain had stopped and the sun was trying its best to break through the slowly dispersing clouds.

'See you next week then?' I said, standing at the gate.

'See you Wednesday I hope?' She replied.

WEDNESDAY 19th MAY

I couldn't help but smile when I looked up from where I was weeding and found Pam walking down the drive towards me. Especially when I saw that she was wearing her black leggings again.

'Hello You.' I said, gazing straight at her groin. Once more, the smooth, stretchy lycra clung to her so closely it left very little to my imagination

'Morning.' She replied, smiling. 'That's what I like to see - a man on his knees.'

I smiled again. 'I've got your knickers here, if you want them?' I said, nodding to my car.

'Don't worry. You keep them.' She replied, furtively glancing around. 'I've plenty more pairs.' Then she turned side on to me, lifted the edge of her top and pulled down her leggings.

I stared at her smooth, naked flank and at the thin waistband of her knickers. From the front, It curved in a wide arc over the top of her hipbone then round and down to the small of her back before disappearing into the top of her ass. It was a tantalising glimpse of her that I simply couldn't resist. So before she had chance to cover herself up, I held her thigh and planted a long, gentle kiss on the bare side of her buttock.

'Sometime soon.' I whispered. 'I'm going to run these lips over every single inch of you.'

And judging by the way she held my head, keeping my lips pressed against her skin, it was a notion that met with her full approval.

After we'd both composed ourselves and were standing by my car, she took hold of the front of my shirt, pulled me towards her and kissed me. A short, tender kiss that needed no explanation.

'As my rain dance was so successful on Monday.' She said, smiling and staring straight into my eyes. 'I think I'll do a sun dance for us next week.'

'What, so you can get some colour on this?' I said, reaching down with both hands and gently squeezing her ass.

She gasped a little then pressed herself against me and whispered in my ear. 'Better keep those lips ready then.'

MONDAY 24th MAY

I can only assume that she danced her heart out as it was lovely and sunny and warm when I arrived for my second visit. It was one of those glorious late spring days we often get in this country and what with the events of the previous week I couldn't help but be buoyed by an exciting feeling of anticipation.

I took my trug and a few tools from my car and made my way through the side gate to the back garden. Rounding the corner of the kitchen I found Pam standing with her back to me on the opposite side of the patio tending to some pot plants.

I smiled to myself.

Once again, she looked absolutely gorgeous, dressed in just a loose, floral, all-in-one bodysuit. Her slender, naked legs seemed longer than ever, stretching from her bare feet up to the curves at the base of her bottom. It was at times like these that I wished I could paint. And a thrilling tingle skipped around my stomach as I stood silent and motionless and watched her bend over the large terracotta pot in front of her. I'd like to tell you that I said (and thought) something profound as I watched her shorts ride up and expose the bare cheeks of her ass, but I didn't.

'Hello you. Want a hand?'

She peered over her shoulder and smiled. 'Afternoon.' She said, straightening up. 'Yes please. That'd be nice.'

I put down my trug and tools, crossed the patio and stood behind her. Her outfit was flimsy and light. The vest top was low cut and held up by two bootlace thin straps and the shorts were cut high like French knickers.

'And where exactly would you like it?'

'Wherever you want.' She replied, bending over the pot again.

A wonderful hardness crept along my cock as I watched the suit's narrow, flowery gusset bury itself between her buttocks as her shorts rode up once more.

'How about two.' I said, reaching down and caressing her bottom.

Her skin felt so incredibly warm and soft and I was just about to slide my hands round her hips when a voice called out from down the side of the house.

'Hello? Pammy?'

Pam straightened up with a start and we both turned around.

'Ah, there you are. I tried knocking on the front door, but didn't get an answer.'

I looked at the woman and smiled.