This is my first submission EVER! I would greatly appreciate any and all comments, positive or negative. All characters are fictional and over 18. This is a work of fiction. If you have any favorite characters you want to have more involved with the story, PLEASE let me know. Always willing to listen to my audience. And a huge "thank you" to LizHaze for her work on editing and her encouragement. Thanks and enjoy! -Shaide
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I watched as he pushed the lawnmower back and forth across the yard. I was always waiting for him to take his shirt off, but he never has. As hot as it was, I had no idea why. But then again, Jason's family was the only one in the neighborhood that didn't hire someone to do the yard work. He looked like he was in shape. He let go of the gas and I heard the mower choke itself into silence as he walked over to the patio and started drinking from a bottle of water. He sat down on the patio to take a break. I sighed and figured I might as well take one too. Sometimes I wish that I my window didn't look over their yard. Sometimes.
I didn't know why I wasted my time watching him. He was such a loser. I turned away from the window and walked over to the closet to pick out my outfit for tonight. I was headed out with a couple of girlfriends to the movies and then we had a couple of parties to choose from. Unlike the loser, who was going to spend the weekend in his house, I had things to do.
I stood in front of the mirror in my bra and panties. I looked good. Not to be arrogant or anything, but the truth is the truth. I had my mother's curves, but my father's green eyes, and red hair. I filled out a C cup quite nicely and had nice toned legs that led up to a sweet ass. Not really an ass, more of a bubble butt. But I liked my little bubble butt. It was firm and grippable and suited my figure nicely.
I looked good, and I felt good. At 20 years old, this was my junior year in college and I was going to finish it as head cheerleader, a position I was elected to as a sophomore. I was on a full scholarship from O.R.B. and I worked hard to keep it. Not that I had to; they only required that I have a 2.0 GPA, but I still needed a job after college. My squad had won the national cheer contest last month, mostly thanks to Haley's choreography, but you know what they say, credit rises and shit falls. I heard the lawnmower crank up, as if to reinforce it.
So here I was, 3.8 GPA, summer in a few months, holding the two finalist outfits up to my body in the mirror. Sexy catholic school girl with a plaid skirt and button up shirt, or sexy prep with a polo shirt and jean skirt? Duh. Sexy school girl all day. Prep would have to wait.
The skirt was short enough to hint, long enough to cover. I only used two of the buttons on the shirt, just enough to keep it closed, but I would be showing plenty of cleavage and tummy. After all, I don't do all that dieting for nothing. I was starting my make up when I heard the lawnmower cut off. I walked over to my window to see him pushing it into the shed. He exited, closing and locking the doors. He walked into his house.
Loser.
"God damn neighbors," I heard my father mumbling as he walked down the hall. "Why the hell can't Vincent get someone to mow the damn lawn at a reasonable fucking time like civilized people?" Vincent was the loser's uncle. He was a welder. How in the hell he was able to afford a house in our neighborhood had always been an interesting question. The thing no one ever mentioned though, at least not in my father's hearing, was that Vincent was my uncle as well.
Years ago, my father had an affair while my mother was pregnant with me. Jason was the result. Daddy, even after the paternity test proved it, denies that Jason is his son. Seeing that my father was able to afford the best lawyers in the state, he didn't have to pay a single cent in child support for him. Jason is my younger half-brother by about two months. His mother died when he was nine, and Uncle Vincent adopted him. Daddy threw a fit. They haven't had a civil conversation since. After adopting, Uncle Vincent bought the house right next to ours, and he and Jason moved in instead of moving Jason into his place, just to keep the fires going, just so my family was forced to face my father's mistake every day.
I pulled on a pair of red pumps that I knew would be killing me by the time I got home, but you have to suffer to look this good. I grabbed a pair of red sneakers just in case, though. I threw on some perfume, gave myself the once over two or three times, and I was ready to go.
I walked down stairs to my father's office and poked my head in, not needing him to see my entire outfit.
"Daddy, I'm going out."
He looked up from his computer and paperwork. "Okay sweetness, have a good time." He was immediately back into his work. I've seen pictures of my father when he was younger. He's kept himself up fairly well. The muscles aren't there anymore, but he isn't fat or anything. A strong, solid face with a green-eyed glare that has made more than one of my prospective boyfriends flinch. That glare was worth a couple million dollars. Sorry, Daddy is one of the top criminal lawyers in the country. With just a touch of gray in his red hair, and my mother to keep him dressed sharply, I've had more than one girlfriend ask me how my parents' marriage was doing.
I walked through the living room where my mom was sitting on the couch watching television. My mom is a stunning woman. At 42 years old, she could be on the cheer squad right next to me without anyone batting an eye. She stayed active, working out every day, playing tennis, swimming. She's even been known to rock climb as long as she has a manicure appointment the next day.
"Going out?" she asked.
"Yep. See a movie, hit a party. The night is young and so am I." I walked over and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then turned for the door.
"Alright, have a good time. By the way, love the shoes." I blew her one more kiss for the compliment, and for the use of her shoes. My mother and I have a great relationship. She has sat patiently through my many boyfriend breakups, princess dress-ups, and fights with girlfriends. As a woman, I would be lucky if I turned out anything like her. She may be a stay-at-home wife, but she is no less powerful a woman for it.
As I walked outside I saw Jason wiping his motorcycle down. He had a Hyabusa, but I only knew that because my ex-boyfriend was a huge fan of it. I've had more than a few fantasies about it. We would be riding, him driving, me holding onto his waist. My hand would slowly make its way down to his jeans, unbuttoning, unzipping, sliding down until I could grasp his manhood. I would grab it lightly at first, unsure of myself. Then his hand would come over mine and squeeze, making me grip him a little tighter, letting me know I was welcome to do just what I wanted. Then he would move his hand back to the handlebars, leaving himself open to me, trusting me. I would pull him out, fondling him, slowly beginning to stroke him, all while we speed down some empty highway. I would feel him throb and harden as we drove, as I drove him. My other hand would slide under his shirt, feeling his abs and chest. They would be smooth, solid, manly. I would feel his breathing quicken as I stroked his hard cock. And it would be a
cock
. Not a penis, or dick, or any of those other cutesy terms. I would know just by feeling it that
this
was
cock
. Hard and solid and meant for
real
fucking.