I come from the lower end of an upper middle class town. Through high school and then into college I'd gotten a pretty good lawn mowing and gardening service going. I was always expected to mow our lawn for nothing, or, if you like, because dad said so. I didn't mind. Actually I rather liked it and still do to this day. There's a quick sense of accomplishment that goes with it. But when I was a young teen and discovered people would pay me for what I was doing for nothing, well, at 14 you don't argue when you have no other income. So I built up a good business, much of it coming by word of mouth. This was also before all these "landscaping" businesses popped up that you see today. People in the 60s didn't have such a luxury unless they were fairly wealthy.
When I went off to college I actually stayed home and commuted each day. So I didn't have to give up my business that was doing fairly well, I earned close to $100 a week which in those days was good money.
One house I did, the Porters, was almost estate size. They had lots of flower gardens which, thankfully, they had someone come in and take care of, and then they had me cutting the grass, trimming the hedges, raking leaves, etc. Just as I was starting my freshman year in college Mr. Porter died. I gave Mrs. Porter a couple of weeks to recover, mowing the lawn in the interim without bothering her about getting paid. It was the last week in September and I'd gone almost the month without saying a thing. I'd never met her although I'd seen her at a distance a number of times and I knew she knew who I was. Mrs. Porter was a woman in her early 50s. To me, an 18 year old, she looked old but there was something else about her that was difficult for me to put a finger on. She was what was called "smart looking." She always dressed well and took care of herself. And of course she had the money to be properly coiffed. Most of the wives looked matronly but not Mrs. Porter. She had an air about her.
I rang the doorbell and waited. Mrs. Porter answered the door fairly quickly and stood in front of me dressed smartly but casually. "Oh, hi Peter, I'm glad you came around. I've been so busy since my husband died and well, I don't know what his arrangement with you was but I'd like you to continue if you don't mind." Mrs. Porter was a statuesque woman as she was nearly as tall as me and I was six feet tall. She had lush reddish brown hair and green eyes.
"I was relieved to hear her say that. Her house was the largest of the yards I took care of by far so it also meant the biggest portion of my income too. "So how much did Walter pay you?"
For a second I thought about fibbing and upping my price but I couldn't, "He gave me $2.50 an hour." I replied looking down.
"Well that seems reasonable. Listen, I'm going to need a little extra help around the house and you could be most helpful there if you don't mind."
I hated the idea of housework, the first thought that came across my mind and my inclination was to decline but she was a new widow and I didn't have the heart so I said I would.
"You wouldn't be cleaning or anything," she continued. "It would involve a little heavy lifting. Walter managed to collect a lot of books, among other things, and I need to get them out of the house. A box of books is just too much for me to lift."
I told her I'd be happy to do it. She paid me what was owed me plus a pretty good tip. She asked if I could return the following Saturday early and I said I could. I told her I'd try to mow the lawn and rake the leaves Friday afternoon so I'd have all day Saturday to help her if she needed and she agreed.
I was at Mrs. Porter's door at 8:30 the next Saturday morning. She invited me into her kitchen for coffee explaining she wasn't quite ready to start yet. So I followed her through the house to the kitchen. I was a beautiful kitchen, even by my non-expert eye. It was large with an island. It had a huge refrigerator, large stove and pots hanging from the ceiling. She motioned for me to sit at the island which I did.
"What do you take in your coffee?" She asked.
"Milk and sugar please." It was then I noticed that she was still in her bathrobe. She brought me a cup and poured the coffee into it. As she leaned slightly her robe separated a little to reveal some of her full breasts. I had long had a fascination with women's breasts and just because Mrs. Porter was more than 30 years my senior didn't mean I wasn't interested in seeing what she had, I was! I could see her frilly nightgown beneath the robe. It did little to conceal what I could see of her breasts.
"Would you care for an English muffin?" She asked.
I love English muffins, or did back then, so I said yes.
"Butter or jelly?" She asked.
"Butter please."
It only took her a minute to make the English muffin. She placed it in front of me and sat opposite me with her coffee and muffin. As she sat down my eyes were drawn from her face down to the opening in her robe and then quickly back to her face.
"Well aren't you the little devil," she said playfully although I missed the playful portion being so unawares.
"I'm sorry," I said knowing I couldn't deny what I'd done and needed to stay in her good graces.
"I don't mind. It's nice having handsome young fellow like you looking at an old lady like me like that. It's quite the compliment actually."
I blushed at least thirty nine shades of red. Now I was embarrassed and confused.
"So do you think I'm good looking?" She asked.
I blushed some more and replied as if I had a stutter, "Well, yeah."
"Well thank you Peter. You don't know how good that makes me feel. I'll bet you have to fight off the girls."
"Well, not really," I replied.
"You have a girlfriend right."
