Debbie was the girl next door. Not the kid that I'd watched grow up nor the kid I'd grown up with. She just happened to be the girl that lived next door when I moved into a new house. She was a pretty brunette with chocolate eyes and a sweet figure. I certainly didn't mind seeing her around. Trouble is, I was in my early thirties and she was in her late teens. Fair game, and all that, but I was of the wrong age bracket as far as she was concerned.
I had established a cordial relationship with her and her family, partly because it's smart to get on with your neighbours, partly because I'm a nice guy, and partly because I liked looking at her. I had noticed her looking back a couple of times but I could almost see the too old flag pop up when she did see me.
On another subject entirely, scientists say that the increase of carbon dioxide in our atmosphere, rather than bringing around climate change, was causing a proliferation of plant life, with forests and crops flourishing around the world. Part of that proliferation of plant life was the lawn in my back yard. This spring you could practically see the grass growing, generally accompanied by a faint rustle as each blade fought with its neighbours for the right to grow.
This rapid growth was kept under control in my yard by the application of a motor mower on a fairly regular basis. Next door, my neighbours had gone away for a couple of weeks, leaving Debbie behind. Debbie wasn't quite so keen on mowing and the grass was growing quite long over there.
As everyone knows, the correct way to start a mower is to pull the cord, swear at the damn machine, pull the cord harder, swear harder, and eventually you reach a point where either the swearing or the pulling works and the mower starts. I'd just finished my mowing and was putting the mower away when I heard some swearing coming from next door, accompanied by the sound of a mower not starting.
"Trouble, Debbie?" I asked, leaning over the fence and watching her.
Well worth watching, too. She had on short shorts showing a very nice pair of legs and a t-shirt that was struggling to contain her breasts. I envied that t-shirt. I wouldn't mind holding those particular breasts.
She looked up and glared at me, her face plainly saying what do you think, you idiot. Her language was more temperate.
"The stupid mower won't start," she grumbled. "I have to do the lawn before dad gets back home or he'll go spare. Stupid grass."
"The problem is that you're trying to cut the grass the way a man would do it. You should tackle it from a woman's perspective."
"Oh, really? And just how do I do that?" she demanded.
"Quite simple. You come over here, take off your clothes, have a bout of wild and wanton sex with me, than tell me to mow your lawns. By that time I'd be your willing slave and I would rush to do as you command."
"Right. Like that's going to happen," she scoffed.
"Ah, why isn't it going to happen?"
"Why?"
"Yes, why?"
"Because it doesn't make sense, that's why."
"Makes sense to me. I get seduced by a willing young woman and you get your lawns done. What's wrong with that?"
"People just don't do that sort of thing."
"Of course they do. It happens all the time. Maybe I was a little unrefined in the way I suggested it but that's just me. So, are you coming over?"
"I just said no. Weren't you listening?"
"Well, yes, but that was just your knee-jerk reaction. Now you've had a chance to consider it a bit more and can see the advantages."
"What advantages?"
"You get your lawns mowed, your father is kept happy, you make me your willing slave, and you also get laid. These are all pluses from your point of view, surely."
"You had me right up to the point where I have to get laid. To put it in language that you understand, I don't want to fuck you."
"Why not?"
