I'm now considered a Senior Citizen, having reached my 65th birthday last September. I now draw Social Security, but that is not quite enough to live on, so I supplement my SS with a part time job, delivering drugs for a local pharmacy. As a rule I work from about 3 PM to 9 PM about 4 days a week, which usually nets me about $180 a week after taxes.
It was starting to look like a gorgeous spring day this April morning. I had awaken, made some coffee, put on my robe to cover my naked body, and was enjoying my first cup, sitting on my front porch. I was noticing that the grass on my lawn was going to need attention soon, then it dawned on me, that the man who had cut it last season, had moved out of the area and I was going to need to find somebody new.
I was just finishing my first cup, when quite a handsome, light skinned, young black man came to my gate. I motioned him to enter the yard and he cautiously looked around, and gingerly entered.
"I wasn't sure," he said, "that you might not have a big guard dog."
"No guard dog," I smiled, "how can I help you?"
"I noticed, sir, that your grass needed cutting, and I'm trying to make a few bucks."
"Young man, you just hit on something I was just thinking about. How about a cup of coffee?"
"I don't often drink coffee, but it sounds good."
"Come on into the kitchen, and we can talk."
He followed me through the sitting room and into the kitchen. I pulled another mug out of the cupboard and poured him and myself a cup. I grabbed creamer out of the fridge, setting it between us. He scooped 4 heaping teaspoons of sugar into his mug, causing my mouth to fall open.
"You like a little coffee in your sugar?" I remarked.
He smirked a bit, "I do like it sweet, sir."
This young man was driving me crazy. He was a cut or three above most of the young black dudes I had encountered. He had a conventional, neatly trimmed hair cut, seemingly clean T-shirt that actually fit him, tucked inside his slim fit jeans, with a belt that was around his waist, rather than his hips. He was almost super-polite. I had all I could do to resist the urge to grab him and hug him.
"Okay," I said, "enough of this sir crap, I'm not royalty, my name is Doug, and you are?"
"Dewain Jovan Jackson," he said, "but I go by DJ."
"That's a mouthful," I replied, "How old are you, DJ?"
"Nineteen sir—I mean, Doug."
I had noticed his eyes shifted down, periodically toward my crotch area, and then realized my robe had parted, exposing my half-hard cock. He never said anything, but I adjusted my robe to cover myself. I was relieved to know he wasn't jail bait. I have never, in my 65 years, had a black man cause me to want him, like I wanted DJ.
"Do you have proper equipment for cutting and trimming, or would you need to use mine?"
"I would need to use yours." DJ answered. "I live in the projects, and, even if I had equipment, I would have no place to keep it."
"That's ok DJ. Tell me about your family."
"Well," hanging his head, "Papa got mixed up with drugs, and he's in prison, Mama works part time at Wal-Mart, and I have a sister that's 13 and a little brother that's 10. Things are pretty rough, financially. Come fall, I want to go to the Community College, but I also need to help with groceries. That's why I'm trying to earn a little money."
"DJ, you've got a lot of weight on your shoulders, for such a young man. I'm not well heeled, but I will help you all I can, if you wish. I can't have you do the lawn today, as I have some business to attend to, and I have to work today. But I'm free all day tomorrow, will that work?"
"It sure will, what time do you want me here?"
"Whenever you want to start. I hope you have something more like work clothes. Those look a little too nice for cutting grass."
"I do," he answered, "ok if I ride my bike here in the morning?"
"Why not? It'll be best to come to the back door when you get here. I'll have the coffee ready, and maybe something to go with it." Then, "DJ, how much you going to charge me for mowing and weed eating?"
"Is $25 too much?
"I think $40 is more appropriate," I said, "plus whatever you eat."
"Great!" he exclaimed, and smiled the most genuine smile I had ever seen on his face. "I should be here about 9, if that's ok."
Once again, I'm fighting the urge to hug him.
"That'll be fine, DJ, see you then."
DJ literally bounced down the sidewalk, through the gate, closing it behind him, and down the street. Little does DJ know what he is doing to me, or maybe, what I'm doing to myself. I was still standing by the front door and saw DJ riding his bike past my house, in the other direction, out of the neighborhood.
On my way to the pharmacy, I stopped at a little German bakery. I have no way of knowing what DJ likes best, so I got two apple and two cherry strudels to have with our coffee in the morning. For some strange reason, I suddenly felt 35 years old instead of 65. I wish I could get DJ off my mind!
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Beep—Beep—Beep—Beep
I reached over and shut the alarm off. I usually just wake up when I feel like it, but with DJ coming today to cut my grass, I had set it for 8:30 AM so I could be ready for DJ. I crawled out of bed, slid my feet into my slippers, then headed to the bathroom for my morning pee, then walked out to the kitchen in all my naked glory to start the coffee. I opened the inside kitchen door, leaving only the storm door closed.
I sat at the table, waiting for the coffee to finish, then came a tap, tap on the storm door. With the inside door open, I could easily see it was DJ.
"Door's open, DJ, come on in." I said, fairly loudly. "Coffee is just about ready."
DJ entered, and started to sit down, as I got up, and went to get the coffee- pot. I came back to the table, and stood close to DJ while I filled both of our mugs. I knew DJ could not have helped but notice that I was naked, and I was waiting to see if he was going to say anything. He didn't say anything, but I did notice that he frequently glanced, particularly in the direction of my cock.
DJ took my advice, and was wearing an old pair of jeans that were somewhat baggy and lose fitting, and old T-shirt, and sneakers that had seen their better day. I acted like I forgot about the strudels.
"DJ, I almost forgot, I picked up something to go with our coffee this morning. Go grab that white box over on the counter."
When DJ arose, he tried to adjust a little, but with those loose fitting jeans, with probably boxers underneath, he could not hide the obvious tent he had developed. I knew my trap had worked. Completely straight men don't get so aroused seeing another man naked. I'm certain now, that DJ can be had.
We finished our coffee and strudels, each having one cherry and one apple. DJ was ready to start on the yard work. I handed him the key to the shed, and he took over. After about 45 minutes, DJ came to the door and knocked. I was in the living room, I knew it had to be DJ so just hollered for him to come in.
"Doug, Can I get some water?" he called, from the kitchen.
"Hey," I said, entering the kitchen, "I'm not gonna wait on you hand and foot. The glasses are here, water is in the fridge."
After he guzzled a large glass of water, he asked if he might use the bathroom.
"The question should be," I said, smiling, "Where is the bathroom? It's down the hall on the right. Want me to hold it for you?"
"No thanks, I think I can handle it." Then, after he returned, "I probably should have let you, but I didn't need another hardon!" and grinned.
The remark, I thought, was very close to an invitation. 'Doug, I'm thinking to myself, be careful, he might want to rip you off.' Somehow, though, I don't think DJ is a thief, at least not of material things, but he tugs at my heartstrings.
I hadn't realized how hot it was getting, and DJ's T-shirt was half soaked with sweat, or maybe he just sweats easily.
"DJ," I said, "You don't have to knock every time you need me, or something from the house, like water or the toilet."
"I noticed the weed eater is electric," DJ commented, "Where is the cord?"
"Hmmm, I think the last I used it was the day I vacuumed out the car. Check the Shop-vac, it's likely on top of or around that."
"OK Doug, I'll look." DJ headed back out to the shed. In a few minutes I heard the sound of the weed eater buzzing in the front yard.
In about another 45 minutes, a really sweat-soaked DJ entered the back door again. I handed him a towel, he smiled and started to wipe the sweat off his face, arms, and hair. He dropped the towel on a chair, and headed again to the bathroom, then returned, and helped himself to another tall glass of water.
"DJ," I asked, "did you bring a change of clothes?"
"No, why?"
"Because you need a shower badly, but I'm certain you wouldn't want to cover your body back up with those dirty, sweaty clothes. I would loan you a change, but there is no way mine would fit you!"
"Doug, if I might just borrow a T-shirt, I could—never mind. I do need to take this one off though. I can ride home topless."
DJ pulled off his sweaty T-shirt, exposing his completely hairless chest, and nipples that were begging for my touch. He was slim, but not skinny, with reasonably defined pecks and a hint of a trail of black hair from his navel that disappeared into his jeans.
He picked up the towel off the chair and wiped the sweat off his neck, chest and stomach. I grabbed the towel from him, turned him around, and wiped the glistening sweat off from his back. I couldn't resist swiping my fingers down his spine, causing DJ to shiver, and suddenly produce Goosebumps.
"Just a suggestion, DJ, next time, bring a change of clothes, or bring your work clothes, and you can change here, and also take a shower before you leave. Next Tuesday, same time ok?" DJ nodded in agreement.