A story about Paul Brady, a 62 year old newly retired teacher, and Carson Taylor, a young lad who was his neighbor.
...
I was standing at the kitchen sink, rinsing out my coffee cup, when I heard the sound of the lawn mower being fired up, and I couldn't help but chuckle as I peeked out the window and saw my industrious young neighbor, Carson Taylor pushing the machine along.
The lawn needed mowing maybe three times a month, but this must have been the third time young Carson had come over to do it this week. I didn't have the heart to tell him not to do it, because he seemed to enjoy doing it, or at least that was what he claimed when he offered to start doing it last year.
Before then, my life partner Jeff had done the lawn work while I tended to the gardening, but after he passed away in that car accident almost two years ago, Carson volunteered his services, and when I checked with his mother to make sure it was okay with her, she was all for it.
Times have changed, I thought to myself. It had become common knowledge that I was gay, but in the ten years Jeff and I had lived in this neighborhood we hadn't gotten even a hint of resentment from anyone. We lived our lives, acted just as responsibility as every other couple, and were treated with respect.
The support I received from the neighbors after Jeff's tragic accident was overwhelming, and was another indication about how much things have changed. Part of it was having enjoyed a wonderful 35 year career as an educator, and Jeff having been a well-known accountant, I suppose, and part was also that most people these days really don't seem to care about people being gay.
Carson saw me looking out at him while I was daydreaming and waved, breaking me out of my reminiscing. His smile was infectious, and as I watched him scoot along behind the mower, he made me wish that I was his age, because he was a heart-breaker.
Carson was gay, or at least I believe that was what my "gaydar" was telling me, although I had no real evidence of that. I had picked that vibe up a while back, and while I doubt his mother knew, it somehow seemed obvious to me. Maybe because he would flirt with me a lot, like he was now. It might not have been intentional, but that was the way I saw it. Even if he was doing it on purpose, it was harmless fun as far as I was concerned, because he was just being kidding around, and there was no way that he would be interested in somebody over three times his age.
Then again, when I was Carson's age I had been very attracted to older men. My first experience was with a much older gentlemen, and found myself drawn the them, and them to me as well. In fact, the only real relationship I ever had with a younger man was with Jeff, who was half my age when we met when I was 45.
So I had no delusions about Carson being interested in me like "that", not that I would mind because Carson was now 18, and I had even been to his birthday and graduation parties to prove it, but I have socks older than Carson. It's just that being around a lad and watching him grow up, I didn't feel right about looking at him like I sometimes did.
All my career I had been extremely careful, not wanting to give the slightest impression of impropriety because while I loved children, I did NOT like them in that way. Having been a victim in a way of that sort of thing long ago, I had vowed that would never be something I would do, and that vow was kept.
The sun was out, making Carson's blonde hair glow even brighter than it usually did, and with the sun coming out Carson saw fit to stop the mower and take off his shirt. I took a deep breath, exhaling upward to cool my face as I looked at my neighbor.
This was a distraction I didn't need, seeing Carson naked to the waist. Bare chested and wearing only shorts, socks and sneakers on, I realized that I was not going to get much writing done until Carson was done. Not that my novel in progress was all that great, and certainly not as interesting as Carson.
Carson was a long way away from the grubby little kid that used to deliver newspapers. He was about six foot tall, and while he might be carrying a couple of extra pounds on his frame, it looked good on him. Long blonde hair that bounced as he moved, and aquamarine eyes that must have melted hearts of both genders during his high school days didn't hurt either.
I couldn't have him running around out there like that with the sun out, so I got my bottle of sunscreen and stepped outside, motioning for Carson to stop mowing.
"Morning Mr. Brady," Carson chirped as he walked toward me. "Thought I'd give your lawn a trim. Didn't wake you, did I?"
"No, Carson. I get up with the sun, but I don't want you out here in the sun without protection," I said as I handed him the lotion.
"You're as bad as my Mom," Carson said as he reluctantly took the tube from me.
"You'll thank us both someday," I said while fighting a losing battle trying not to look at Carson oiling his chest.
Carson had the slightest swells of man boobs, muscle not fat these days, and as he greased up I noticed that Carson had sprouted a couple of little blonde hairs around his plump nipples, the only foliage on an otherwise smooth chest, and I cursed myself for being so aware of his body.
The tiny trail of golden hairs that started under his navel and disappeared at the top of his shorts, that was new too, I noted before forcing myself to look over at the bird feeder before I was caught leering, and I could only hope that Carson didn't have extra-sensory perception.
"Mr. Brady?" Carson said, forcing me to look back at him. "Could you um - do my back?"
Those eyes, so innocent looking as he held out the tube of lotion with his right hand while reaching back behind his head to demonstrate how he couldn't reach.
"Sure," I said as I took the tube from Carson, trying not to look at the nicely defined muscles in his upraised arm or the delightful spray of hair that filled the hollow of his exposed armpit, hair so blond that you could hardly see it there.
Jeff used to love it when I would nibble under his arms, and I wondered whether Carson had experienced that yet. Did that cute Asian guy I had seen Carson with a few months ago explore those sweet scented hollows? Had they been lovers?
As I walked behind Carson and squeezed some lotion into my hand, Carson raised both hands to lift his locks off of his neck, and that didn't make this easier because now I got to see his nicely muscled shoulders in all their glory. Not overly so, but well defined and hard to the touch as I worked the lotion into them.
My hands went downward, over his back which bore only the faintest evidence of a bout of acne in his early teens that had nearly vanished, and as I went down to his shorts I was glad that I was done, because despite my age I can still get aroused and the evidence of that was obvious in the front of my slacks.
"There you go Carson," I said, trying to hide the tent in my pants as I walked around to the door. "If you want a drink or something, just come in and help yourself."
Stepping inside, I shook my head and went to the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind me.
"Good grief man," I said to myself, shaking my head in disgust as I went to the toilet and tried to pry my erection out of my pants so I could take a leak, but that wasn't going to work in this condition.
Somehow I found myself over at the window, looking out to the back yard at Carson, and as I looked through the curtains at Carson hard at work, his body glistening with the lotion I had just applied, my hands went to my belt, and when that came loose my trousers fell to the tile and I became an adolescent again in my mind.
My hard, still slick with sunscreen, glided effortlessly up and down the length of my manhood without shame. My embarrassment would come later, when I would clean the mess I would make, but now my thoughts were elsewhere, focused in the backyard.
I had done this once before, masturbating like a teenager while undressing Carson with my eyes, and just like last time, when I came, the force of my orgasm made my head spin as I sent a ridiculous amount of semen into the washcloth I was holding to catch what I could.
Squeezing out the last few drops of cum, I milked my deflating member dry before going to the sink and cleaning it better, taking a perverse pleasure in noting that despite more than 62 years of hanging around between my legs, it still worked pretty well.
The real guilt came when I looked out at Carson when I went back to the kitchen, and more so when we exchanged some words before he went home. Poor young fellow, I thought to myself. If you only knew what I was thinking.
....
"I'm heading out west next Thursday," Carson announced after he finished the lawn, apparently for the final time ever, and it was probably a good thing because I hadn't been able to get going on my long-gestating novel with young Carson around mowing and gardening three times a week.
Sometimes I got the feeling that he was teasing me, and while that was absurd on the face of it, at the very least he was doing his best to make me as aroused as a 62 year old man could be.
The last time Carson had been over, I casually asked whatever happened to that nice Asian lad I used to see him with, and when I saw his reaction I could tell that my suspicions had been correct.
"Ken?" Carson replied, his usual broad smile shrinking as he spoke. "We had - a falling out."
"I'm sorry. That happens," I responded, and it was easy to see that they had been more than friends.
All I could think of was that Ken certainly missed out on a good thing, and could only wish that I could become 40 years younger. Now Carson telling me he was about to be going to college meant that my first fall of being retired would find me doing my own lawn work.
Just as well, I mused. Now I can work uninterrupted on my novel, I declared to myself. No more gazing out the window at my young neighbor and dreaming about what would never be.
"I knew the day would be coming soon," I said as I poured Carson a glass of lemonade before handing him an envelope along with the money I owed him for his work.
"What's this?" Carson asked as he looked at the envelope.
"Call it a bonus for all your work this summer and last," I explained as he opened it up, and when he saw the number of bills and the denominations his face showed the shock.
"I can't take this," Carson said.
"You earned it," I said, pushing it back across the table at him. "I'm sure you can use it for books and things, and besides, you don't want to make an old retired geezer mad now, do you? Please - take it with my thanks."
"You're not old," Carson said, opening the envelope up, and while it was probably a lot of money for an 18 year old, in reality it was nothing more than a way for me to thank him for not only his efforts but for him making my days brighter with his presence.
