The following is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real people, places, or events is purely coincidental. No persons under the age of 18 are depicted in any sexual activity. Copyright 2011, by the author. All rights reserved.
"It's too damn hot," thought Danny Jameson as he pulled his t-shirt over his head and tossed it away.
He had hoped, his thoughts continued over the roar of the lawnmower, that by age 23 he'd be finished with mowing yards. That was what kids did, teenagers, for pocket money.
Danny was beyond that, having a real job with Global Shipping Systems loading delivery trucks at night. In at 10, off at six, sleep till noon.
Sweet!
That left plenty of time for play in the day, and the gym. It was decent money too. Still living with his parents, it seemed like a gold mine.
Looking down at his tanned torso and muscular arms vibrating by the mower's motor, he was proud of his body.
"Maybe not be so pretty in the face," he thought, "but hot in the core. Six foot three and solid."
He knew it; his girlfriends told him so as they pressed their bodies into his.
"Yeah," Danny thought and grinned inwardly, "hot in the core."
The lawn he was cutting belonged to Mrs. Davies.
The younger kids in the neighborhood called her "old lady Davies."
Danny didn't see her as being 'old.' Not in the least.
He had been mowing her lawn since he was 17 and found out rather sneakily that she was 40 when he had started. While he was doing some other yard work for her, she invited him inside for iced tea.
Danny saw her driver's license on the kitchen table and checked her birthday.
Now she was 46, and she was gorgeous.
No, not just pretty – she was drop dead gorgeous.
No wrinkles or lines, no stretch marks, not one gray hair.
Sometimes Mrs. Davies would lie on her patio in a bikini while he worked. She was curvy and womanly – mature – tall and stately at five feet, ten inches. He found her body sexier than the bodies of most of his 19 or 20 year old dates.
And she lived two houses away.
Sarah Davies had been married, but her husband had been killed in a job related accident several years back. She was active within the community doing volunteer work and such. Otherwise, she didn't appear to have a paying job. Rumors were she received a large monetary settlement after her husband's death.
Danny didn't think she had any children; he also noticed she didn't seem to go out on dates or with friends too often. She was a nice lady and everyone in town seemed to like her.
Sarah had always been nice to him.
Six years on, and his crush on her was as intensive as it had ever been. He raised the mower over an exposed tree root and continued his work.
Danny had mowed lots of lawns in his young life. Mowing lawns was what considered as his first "real" job.
Danny was smart too, saving most of what he earned. He had a reputation among his neighbors for being punctual and for doing a thorough job and this led to a decent fall and spring business cleaning gutters and roofs.
Over the years, he built up quite a list of clients.
Danny always went after the larger yards; 'more green means more green,' he liked to say, leaving the smaller yards to other neighborhood kids.
Danny liked most of his customers. They were kind and friendly to him, always having a check or cash ready by the time he finished.
Of course, there were a few that he didn't care for.
Mrs. Faulkner was his worst. She was a stick thin, miserable, shriveled, old widow woman; a bitch really, who watched his every move from behind thick heavy curtains as he mowed.
While her husband was alive, they had been notorious for their screaming fights, often heard three and four houses away.
Danny was certain that her husband died on purpose to get away from her. People said she didn't attend the funeral.
Her watching him made him uneasy.
One of his friends teased that she was probably getting herself off behind the curtains.
The very thought made Danny's skin crawl.
Each time she opened her door, a stale, moldy, and musty smell would engulf his nose.
Two of the checks she had paid him with bounced; one, she had never made good on. She never invited him in, for which he was grateful.
He wouldn't have gone anyway.
Then there was Winthrop Castlegate.
He was never around when his lawn was cut and in his yard were beds of exquisite flowers, so vibrant in color; passing cars would slow or even stop to look.
Danny hated the flowers. Not only were they in his way. The flowers attracted clouds of bees.
He had been stung twice already this summer.
Danny worked at other jobs too. The worst had been at Burgerland.
It didn't last long. Danny quit after two weeks when the manager made him watch a 45 minute video about serving french fries.
"What the fuck?" he thought. "How freakin' complicated is it to serve french fries?"
Another job was at the Rolling Rock Mall Bookseller, but the store had closed suddenly and without notice.
Danny went to work one afternoon to find the windows papered over and the doors locked.
A mall maintenance worker was removing the store sign from over the door, to which a note was taped saying thank you to loyal customers and that all employees would receive their paychecks by mail.
So, he returned to the lawns and the gutters until he finished school and could get a full time job. A 'real' job.
Global Shipping Systems now provided that job.
Danny knew his lawn customers liked him. They didn't want him to quit.
"Quit complaining," he thought.
Still, at 23, he was feeling foolish cutting grass for money.
Perhaps he should pass the reigns to a younger generation. Give someone else a chance. Turn over the clientele and "retire."
He smiled at the thought and rounded the base of a tree with the mower, then leaned into the handlebar, pushing on.
But not Mrs. Davies, no not her. He would continue to mow her lawn.
Truthfully, she's why he kept mowing lawns.
Mrs. Davies was his favorite customer, and not only because of his crush on her.
She was his "lucky charm."
He always seemed to be in the right place at the right time when something would happen to fuel his interest in her.
Once the wind billowed up her skirt and revealed her beautiful round bottom. She wore lacey white panties.
Another time she came outside while he was working to tell him something about a problem tree in the yard.
Danny saw Sarah wasn't wearing a bra and as she walked toward him, her full, large breasts moved rhythmically under her t-shirt with each step, her nipples hard and brown, pressed pointedly against the white fabric.
Danny realized Sarah was watching him closely as she moved towards him. Only after she made eye contact with him, direct and bold, did she move her arms across herself.
Then she smiled a shy, sweet smile.
Last year, he noticed her underwear hanging on a makeshift clothesline across the backyard. Glancing to see if anyone was about, he looked at one of her bras to see the size.
The label was faded. He could make out 36D...maybe DD.
He went to a pair of panties and looked in the waist band.
Faded again, but readable. A size 6.
No wonder he spent so many nights masturbating to his fantasies of her; fantasies born in his imagination and burned into his memory. In his mind, this woman was damn near perfect.
But something was happening.
