Writer's Note: This is a story for adults over eighteen years of age about adults over eighteen years of age. While the story line is true the dialog has been compressed for the sake of time and space. Safe sex was not an issue in the early sixties and seventies, but should be a concern for everyone today.
*****
Mrs. K was one of my married lawn customers even though her husband, Horace, was not retired. I had agreed to mow their lawn mostly because of the sexy smile and very ample cleavage Mrs. K displayed when she asked me; she even seemed pleased that I had noticed her assets. Mrs. K and Horace were probably in their early fifties and younger than many of my customers.
From the start, I thought they were a strange couple; Mrs. K was an attractive, vibrant, outgoing lady with a tanned, hour-glass figure, but Horace was just the opposite. He was a timid, pale, and socially awkward kind of guy who wore his slacks almost to his arm pits. Because he was so nervous and high strung, he couldn't pass the driver's test to get his license so Mrs. K. had to drive him everywhere. He never looked anyone in the eyes.
It was obvious that Mrs. K wore the pants in the family and she looked good in them too; her bottle blonde hair was always styled perfectly. She was always dressed for a tea from the time she drove Horace to work until after Horace served her dinner; Horace did all the cooking and cleaning so she could look good all day long.
She would tell her husband, "Now Horace, give Will a nice tip; he has done such a good job."
"Yes Dovie," He would reply as he pushed his dark, rimmed glasses up on his nose, carefully counted out ten dollars from his wallet, and then added two more for a tip without ever looking me. At eighteen I was not aware of the idea of dominate/submissive relationships; I just thought Horace was, what my friends and I called, pussy whipped.
Mrs. K was one of several women who began to pay closer attention to me during my senior year. As I stood at the back door in my low slung cut-off jeans and covered with sweat, she would move close to me and rub her hand over my shoulder and comment on how muscular and tall I was getting; at five ten I was a couple inches taller than her perfectly shaped, five foot, eight inch frame and I relished her attention.
I noticed that she was showing more cleavage than usual and her nipples often pressed against the fabric of her blouse in a very inviting way; she would smile when she noticed that I noticed. I knew she was flirting with me and I savored every bit of it; I played it cool as if I was an innocent boy. I had already learned that I didn't need any smooth lines with mature women; they would let you know their intentions when they were ready.
When I first began mowing their lawn, I rarely saw Mrs. K except when I went to the door to collect or if I entered the back yard privacy area to mow around the pool where she often sun bathed nude; at first she would wrap herself in a towel and rush into the house when I opened the gate. I thought it was strange of her since she could tell by the sound of the mower when I would be ready to mow the back yard. During my senior year, when I opened the gate, she just picked up her towel and walked gingerly toward the house then she looked back at me and smiled.
She began to engage me in conversation about school, but the topic would quickly turn to my girlfriends, how many I had or did I have a "hot" date for the evening.
"I'll bet those young girls at school just go crazy over you," She would say as her eyes dropped to the small crop of newly acquired dark hair in the center of my chest that trailed downward around my navel and into my low slung cut off jeans.
While I had tapped my share of juicy, high school girls, I wanted Mrs. K to know I also had experience with women; I just smiled at her comment. She may already have known about my experience since she often frequented the shuffle board courts for lunch and cocktails with several of my other "customers", some of whom were known to kiss and tell.
Just before graduation Mrs. K called me at home one evening and asked me to stop by to see her that she had a little something for me for graduation. When I stopped by, she handed me a small, wrapped gift; inside was a money clip with my initials on it and a fifty dollar bill.
"I think, now that you are an official grown up, you should call me Dove."
Since she had not yet picked up Mr. K from work, I used the gift as an excuse to give her a "thank you" hug. When I wrapped my arms around her, her body melted against me and time seemed to stand still as our bodies moved in unison to our breathing. I dropped my hand to her firm, mature bottom and pressed her against my swelling cock; Dove lifted her head and kissed me passionately. We were breathing heavily when we broke contact; my cock was in full rigor causing my jeans to bulge considerably as it strained to get free. Dove's face and chest were flushed.
She fanned herself with her hand, "Oh my, I'll have to tell Horace how much you liked your gift. I know he will be pleased," she said as she looked admiringly at my very obvious bulge. I was certain she wanted to touch it so I stood there several minutes, but she did not move her hand toward it.
I thought her comment about telling her husband was made to tease me, but she later informed me that she had, indeed, told Horace in detail what happened, including my hard-on, and that he had gotten aroused listening to her describe the event.
I always mowed their lawn on Saturday about mid morning and usually finished just before noon. Dove would invite me into the utility area and call Horace to come and pay me; I was usually sweaty, but that didn't keep her from standing close to me with her breast pressed against my bicep as she asked me about school or if I had a hot date the night before. Horace would show up usually wearing an apron over his clothes carrying a dust cloth or dust mop. She smiled while Horace carefully counted out my money then added two dollars for a tip. When Horace returned to his chores, she would linger and talk to me for several minutes as we looked each other up and down; it became almost a game.
"I just can't get over how you have grown this past year," she would say as she rubbed her hand over my chest.
The Saturday morning after my graduation, Dove greeted me as usual wearing a light, cotton, summer dress that buttoned up the front just enough to show off her more than ample cleavage and short enough to display her shapely, tanned legs to mid thigh. After Horace carefully counted ten dollars then added two more for a tip, I thanked him for the graduation gift and he left to do his chores without even looking up. Dove invited me to have lunch with her. I pointed out how wet and dirty I was, but she had already planned for that.
"You can shower in here; I have a pair of clean shorts my son left, you can put them on," she said as she showed me into the mud room.
I accepted her invitation and as soon as she walked out of the mud room I stripped off my shorts and climbed into the shower and scrubbed down. Just as I stepped out of the shower the door opened and Dove walked in with a towel.
"I'm sorry, I thought you were still in the shower," neither of us reacted to the intrusion as I stood there in full view; she walked closer, looked me over, and smiled as she handed me the towel. Our hands touched as I took the towel from her; the touch caused an immediate reaction. My cock pulsed and began to swell. She seemed pleased by the reaction then she turned and walked out. I was pleased that she not only saw me naked, but she also saw my reaction to her.
When I put on the cut offs that had supposedly belonged to her son, I immediately noticed they appeared to be new and had been cut off shorter than mine, just barely covering my equipment; probably with the intention of being too short. I walked into the kitchen wearing nothing but the shorts and a noticeable bulge.
