Mowing the Lawn
He had been watching her for years.
Out the window of his bedroom he saw the day four years ago that she helped the deadbeat dad pack up his shit and move out. He saw the stone cold look she maintained as she escorted him out, and he saw the hint of fear cross her face like a shadow after he rounded the corner and she re-entered the house to raise a daughter all alone.
They exchanged neighborly pleasantries as the years passed. She seemed to light up each time their paths crossed while she and her daughter walked the dog, but he could see the thickness of her walls, built with a steely determination to be self-sufficient. It kept her from saying anything real to him. She carefully upheld their emotional distance, and he sometimes had the impression that she considered him either asexual or gay. With curiosity he observed her, even as she worked hard to ignore him, and he found beauty in her trials.
She didn’t know that he watched out for her. Out the window of his bedroom he kept tabs to make sure she was safe. He saw the pick-up trucks pull into her driveway, different colored trucks over the years driven by different versions of the same man. They arrived late at night and left even later, meeting the needs she hesitated to name and worked hard to hide from the waking world. He also saw her cry in her car, the one place she assumed nobody would see her, when those different versions of the same man would break the tender heart she had handed over to them.
He watched her the first time she mowed her lawn. She couldn’t get the mower started. After fighting with the rip cord a handful of times with the little strength she could muster, she called who-knows-who on her cell phone to ask what to do. With her delicate hands she held the wrench and fought to unscrew the spark plug and dip in the gasoline, then screw it back into place. With one more pull of the cord she got it started and wiped her brow before tackling the task.
She has mowed her lawn often in the past few years, though admittedly not as often as the rest of her neighbors. To be honest, her house and its untamed field of grass and weeds often looked like the dwelling of a crazy person, or at least, a person who didn’t give a shit what her neighbors thought of her. But she got better and better at this landscaping task, learning the nuance of her mower’s engine and the various tricks to encourage its cooperation. As far as he could tell, her most effective strategy was to curse loudly at the lawn mower until it did as she commanded. He enjoyed watching how her inhibitions flew away as she shouted at her wit’s end, “Come on, you stupid fucking piece of shit, START! which always seemed to work.
He couldn’t help but smile as her commands became more deliberate and more forceful. She did what she had to do, and he enjoyed watching her gradual metamorphosis. He could see that she started to secretly like mowing the lawn.
Her appearance changed over the years. Her once long hair got shorter and shorter as she cared less for her adherence to femininity. With each cut, he felt, she looked more and more like the real her, comfortable in her own skin. But still, after every hour-long lawn-mowing session, her first task was to peel off her sweaty clothes and jump in the shower, washing off the scent of human toil that marked her. He wished he could see her bathe, his curiosity about her growing with each passing year, but alas it was only her bedroom he could glimpse. Still, this was enough of a view to accurately chart her routines, and to comprehend that her growing appreciation of this masculine task must be immediately followed by a cleansing of it.
He lamented this. He longed to see her clothes cling to her perspiration, her cheeks flush with effort, and her fingernails dirty with grass.
After years of observing her, he had become addicted to her story. Watching people come and go from her life, watching her pack suitcases into the trunk of her car, and watching her come home from adventures exhausted with a face that expressed everything he needed to know about her latest endeavor had become like a real-life soap opera to him. Patiently, he anticipated her arrival at the epiphany he knew was awaiting her. When he saw her kiss a woman, leaning her back against the pick-up truck this butch stranger had driven over to her house, he knew she was close.
It was a hot August day when he could wait no longer.
She was home alone; this he knew. He had seen her drive away with her daughter and come back alone, so he knew this was one of her rare days of solitude. She stepped outside wearing denim cut-offs and a tank top, her short hair pulled away from her face with a barrette. She dipped the spark plug in gasoline before even attempting a pull at the rip cord, and then braced herself with her left foot firmly against the lawnmower. “Come on, you little fuck, she muttered before her first pull, and with that the motor hummed instantaneously. With a look of satisfaction, she began her lengthy chore.
And she got dirty. She shielded her face from branches and hedges and she mowed underneath them; she pushed forward and pulled back until the sweat dripped off of her forehead; she swatted at bugs disrupted from their comfort in the weeds as they flew into her face. Periodically wiping her hands on her shorts until grass stains covered her hips and her ass, her false blush dripped off of her face to be replaced by the flush of blood rushing to her cheeks in the heat of the summer day.
His cock hardened as he watched her sweat, watched her drop every ounce of feminine wile into the ground and replace it with grit.
This time, he just couldn’t bear to let her wash it away.
She finished up a mere 45 minutes later, having expertly navigated the yard, and she parked the mower and pulled the garage door closed. He thought he must be dreaming when he saw her glance in the direction of his bedroom window next door. His heart skipped a beat. Had she seen his eyes through the blinds? Had she been aware of his gaze all this time? For once, he couldn’t read her expression, but he was struck by a sense of urgency that the time for fantasizing was over. It was time for action.
She left the door open. She had never done that before. Just before letting the screen door slam closed behind her, she looked at him one more time. It was a raw look, a fleeting glimpse of her stripped to the core. With nothing between them but the slamming screen door and the blinds in his window, he surged with desire for her and in an instant knew it was mutual.
He crossed the line between his property and hers. His fear was outweighed by the intensity of his curiosity as he opened that screen door and let himself into her domain. But so sure was he that she wanted it that is simply could not hold back.
He found her gulping a glass of water at the kitchen sink so thirstily that it dribbled down her face at the corners of the glass. Her grass-stained hands marked the glass with her finger prints as she put the glass down with possibly-feigned shock at the entrance of her neighbor. “Hi! she said with wide eyes after a swallowing her last gulp of water. “Hi, was all he could reply. Touch would communicate more than words at this point, and like a magnet he was drawn to her as she caught her breath. He moved in close to her, wiped the water from her chin and then the sweat from her brow, cooling her skin but making her heartbeat accelerate. He could feel her, conflicted, trying to navigate her desire and her shame.
“I want you like this, he said, speaking words that mere reason could never justify. “You are beautiful like this.
“Really? she gasped
“Oh God yes, he replied. “I have imagined this scent of you for so long now. I have wanted to feel this heat you exude¦
And before he could continue she kissed him with her hand firmly on the back of his neck, sending into him the energy that was erupting from her and begging for an outlet. At the touch of her tongue on his his knees buckled and he surrendered to her intentions. Her kiss was deep, passionate and as forceful as he had imagined. He felt she was brimming with unmet need and was fed up with seeking its absolution through graceful measures. She would take what she wanted.
The bedroom into which she led him looked almost as he had imagined it would from his view obscured by blinds and fantasy. She kissed him, even harder this time, while she freed him of his clothing. He was naked before she was, pushed down onto the bed with his vulnerability exposed as she ran her hands up his thigh during a passionate kiss. The smell of freshly cut grass and perspiration mingled suddenly with the smell of her desire, unmistakable. All at once he longed to slide his hands along her slick and filthy body to find out just how wet she was, but he held back knowing it this was her call. Rather than strip, she stroked him a while longer, rubbing her thumb gently on the tip of his expectant cock to further lubricate her sweaty hands and stroke up and down the shaft. The sensation left him breathless, at her mercy.
When his body had satisfactorily melted into the bed, she backed up and peeled her tank top up over her head. She unhooked her bra and shrugged it away to reveal breasts glistening in the dim light, a bead of sweat dripping down in their center. She unbuttoned and unzipped her shorts and shimmied them down over hips, panties and all, and kicked them off her ankle into the corner of the room. His hands reached up for her torso, and she allowed this, enjoyed the touch of hands tracing the sides of her body down to her hips. At her hips his hands squeezed, pulled her close with subtle pressure, and neither his hard cock nor her soaking pussy could wait any longer.
She straddled him and his hands moved up to cup her breasts. Her hand guided him and his cock slid easily inside her as a quiet moan escaped her lips. Her hips swiveled and her muscles contracted until the fit was just right. And then she did it.
She reached behind her and pushed his knees apart, spreading him open on the bed. Skillfully, she held onto him tightly as she moved her knees so that they were inside of his legs, rendering him spread eagle and defenseless across her sheets. He felt her pussy tighten around his cock, magnifying the friction of the meeting of their most sensitive skin, and he wondered whether he could take this. But she didn’t stop to ask. She started to fuck him.
Slowly at first, and then with fervor she pounded her hips against him, making him abandon any previous notions of prudence or dispassion. His cries escaped him against his will as he got fucked by this boyish girl dripping sweat onto his body. She held nothing back and in return he could hold nothing in. In their minds the sensation morphed until her the feeling of her projecting into him was undeniable on both sides and he marveled at this opportunity to surrender to her. In her face he could see her wrath, her pain, her joy, and her pleasure all at once and he felt himself consumed by her. She was so hungry. He had not realized the depth and intensity of her hunger. He let himself get lost in it.
And as she climaxed her pleasure was all that mattered. He felt desperate to please her and she greedily accepted his submission. She came loudly and with beauty, and awe was all he could feel as he watched her cry out and arch her back in ecstasy on top of him. This woman had finally given in to her power, and had allowed him a reprieve from his. Her cunt pulsed with little aftershocks against his taut skin, and he closed his eyes. All he could feel was blessed.