PREWORD: This is the first in a trilogy of sorts focusing on the sexual relationship between Mike, a typical college-aged guy, and his neighbor's fitness-obsessed trophy wife, Brittany.
Enjoy!
*****
Although it was only five minutes, I still feel it like it was yesterday.
I had just returned back home for the summer after my first year of college. It was quite the time and I was still coming off the gleam of those freshman-year college parties and all the drunken debauchery that came with them. But nothing had prepared me for the encounter that awaited me that first month back home.
Like most summers — since my sophomore high school days — I made a little extra cash by mowing yards.
My main source of income came from Ralph Lennard's across the street from my parent's house. Mr. Lennard was a good neighbor if you prefer your neighbor to be a workaholic stockbroker for thirty years. He was veteran yuppie personified: a glutton of a man ravaged by the excess of his younger years, but still kicked along in his late middle-aged years. He wasn't afraid to show his money, either. He had the biggest house on the block, the most expensive sports cars, and as if that cliche wasn't enough, he even had a hot trophy wife whom I only knew as Brittany. They were already married two years by the time I returned home for the summer. Ironically, I never really noticed her that much, except for wondering how a red-faced blob like Mr. Lennard could land a girl like Brittany other than with his wallet.
Unlike her husband, Brittany had the most athletically toned body I had ever seen. She was no more than twenty-six, worked out regularly, and if I was lucky, would greet me on her morning jog when I brought the garbage out. The body itself was tight and well-built with a healthy sun-kissed glow of a tan. Her hair was bleached blonde, straight and long, and if she looked at you, there came a twinkle of silver from her hazel eyes. Even at a distance, you could tell she lifted, but not to the point of losing her toned female figure. Brittany's most defining feature, though, was her legs. Every muscle, starting from her quads and hamstrings to the round and firm glutes of her ass, were more robust and defined than the rest of her well-cut figure.
I was personally never much of a leg guy, but I could look at Brittany's all day long.
When I began my summer of mowing Mr. Lennard's grass every few days, she barely paid attention to me. Not saying that she should, either. I'm a twenty-year-old college kid mowing lawns. I worked out, but had more of a lanky "track and field" body compared to the fitness model-type of physique Brittany was going for.
My second week in, however, that all changed.
It was a hot and humid day, and I had taken off my shirt to cope with the heat. I had just finished Mr. Lennard's front yard and was moving into the back. As I made my passes, I couldn't help but see that she was looking out the sliding glass door watching me. When I finally mustered enough attention to look directly at her, I was greeted by a slight wave, which I grinned and returned the gesture.
Nothing wrong with being neighborly, I guess.
After a few more passes, I looked up to find her walking out to me, carrying a glass of lemonade. Her violet colored spandex shorts clung tightly to her bulged quads and her white tank top was loose, blowing in the hot wind to where I could see her pressed up cleavage.
"You look like you need to cool off," she said, smiling.
I turned off the lawn mower, smiled, and took the glass. "Thanks."
The sip from the lemonade was a little sweet, but cold so it helped. A brief moment of silence came between us before she spoke.
"We haven't really properly met, I'm Brittany," she said.
"Mike," I replied.
She gently shook my hand, her eyes carrying that silver little twinkle from the afternoon sun.
"Ralph tells me you live across the street?"
"Yeah. I'm back home from college for the summer."
"Oh really? Fun times! I miss those days. Enjoy them while you can."
"Thanks, that's what everyone keeps saying, so I'll do my best," I joked.
"Well, if you ever need to get out of the heat, feel free to come inside."
"Sure."
She smiled, nodded, and walked back for the glass door. As she turned, pointing that perky firm ass my way, I couldn't help but lock eyes onto it before moving down to her thighs. Those legs were killing me! Even behind her jogging shorts, I could see the definition of her hamstrings, the muscular thickness of her thighs that rolled back up to that shapely ass. Everything was balanced, and I remember thinking how it would be to place my palm against one of those cheeks and just squeeze, maybe bend her over, and...
My lustful thoughts were cut short when Brittany suddenly looked back over her shoulder at me. I stood there like an idiot, caught red-handed, with my face frozen in shock on what she was going to say. I kept telling myself that I was not just going to lose my cash for the summer, but I was going to be seen as the pervert on the block who blatantly stares at the asses of housewives.
However, all my anxiety washed away when Brittany just smiled my way and continued on inside.
The days that followed were ones that felt like as if she was sending me signals. Every time I finished the front yard and began work in the back, she was there. Sometimes she'd be watching from the kitchen window and wouldn't stop until I looked her way and waved. Other times she'd be working out on the patio, doing her lunges in that pair of purple spandex shorts. I couldn't help but look, and it grew to the point where I wouldn't even care if she caught me. Most of the time when she finished her lunges, she'd do her stretches, and it was almost bordering on the edge of her teasing me as her hands touched the patio and pointed that ass of hers my way.
As the days went by and the more exercises she did in front of me, the more tempted I felt to go inside and "cool off".
The first week in June, I was going through the swipes with the lawn mower when I saw the back kitchen door open and watched Brittany step out. My eyes nearly fell from my skull when I saw what she was wearing — a low-cut, yellow tank top clinging snugly to her body. The thin piece of cloth did its purpose by showing off her toned stomach and belly button ring, as well as her endowed D-cup breasts that were pushed together. Below that she wore a pair of low cut white denim shorts — Daisy-Duke-style with the pant legs cut so short they could pass for panties or a bikini bottom.
By then I didn't care if I was looking longer than expected. Brittany was hot. Brittany knew she was hot. And she obviously had no shame in showing off her body toward me.
"You look like you need to cool off," she said.
"Yeah, a little. The humidity today is terrible."
She nodded, watching my eyes fall down to her plump tanned breasts that looked like they could just pop out of her tank top any second.
"You can come inside for a little bit, I might need your help with a little minor fix of something."
"Sure, no problem."
Questioning why my cock stiffened right then and there, I followed her inside and into the kitchen. The cool wave of AC that washed over me was nearly as good as seeing the outline of Brittany's meaty ass cheeks curve inward into her thick hamstrings. My dick grew even harder watching Brittany bend over, taking a glance into the refrigerator, that I had to turn away and look around.
The kitchen was how I'd expected Mr. Lennard to have: an all-white kitchen with sleek black appliances and marble countertops. Through the opening of the doorway, I could see an empty living room with a similar white-on-black set up with leather couches and an enormous entertainment center.
Once Brittany returned me another glass of her sugary lemonade, I stood there drinking it, while she leaned up against the counter. The muscles in her quads shifted, flexing just a little bit more.
"Ralph and I are very grateful to have you come and mow our lawn."
"Oh, no problem. I need the money," I said.
