New Lawn Guy

Last year, the neighbors at the end of the street started giving us grief – mainly her, because they didn’t approve of how we kept our yard and driveway. Their house sold just fine when it went on the market, but that was the excuse she made. They were putting their house up for sale and did not want our Beverly Hillbilly esthetic to affect their sale.

The buyer was in a consulate position in Mexico, has a large collection of classic cars, and is also a motorcycle enthusiast. This is not his only home. And he recently just came back from a Barrette Jackson auction. Haven’t seen that one yet, but his daily driver is a Cadillac pick up. It’s taken him some time to sort out vendors for the property; the grass had gotten over three feet tall (fountain grass type weeds) and was growing raggedly out into the street.

I had seen a very blond, very Caucasian looking young man driving slowly off the cul de sac in a small pickup, but didn’t really pay attention. I also didn’t recognize him as a regular on the street – with only eight houses, you get to know your neighbor’s regular visitors fairly quickly. As I was making the U turn at the end of the street, I noted the grass had been mowed, and the edges trimmed up. As well as a new steel gate being added to access the back yard. Previously, it had only been slatted chain link. Thinking back, I remember hearing a jack hammer most of this week. Well, well, well.

My usual habit was to come sit out in the front yard on the park bench around dusk. If you catch a breeze still blowing, you don’t get too many mosquitoes and can still enjoy the ravens going home to roost, and the scent of the brugmansia coming up to attract the night pollinators. Sometimes, if something needed split or potted up, or was water rooting, I had a time line to meet I would work out front under the magnolia tree. A potting bench/mechanic work table had been moved out there, and was slowly being taken over by me.

I was going to have to start spending more day time out front. Mainly because I’m a curious animal, but also because every so often, someone will start taking advantage of our streets low traffic to make it their home, or to store cars for extended periods. A nice 1000 yard flash light comes in handy when the guests of the partiers at the end of the street start pissing in yards on their way back to their cars as well. I’m not above sitting out there in the dark shouting “Get off my lawn!”

As part of the recent home beautification, back yard clear out has been going on. Once the neighbors with the barking dogs moved in, I pretty much abandoned the entire back yard as I was tired of getting barked at nonstop with no owner correction. Lots of things had become over grown, or tipped over from excess wind. Once I quit spending every spare minute out there, it picked up a storage habit that kind of took over.

Things couldn’t just be pulled out, weeds had grown up into, over, and around nearly anything that had been left. I had been pulling out the California centric cast iron plant stands bit by bit as I could untwine them. My latest project was a bit tricky as a tubular vine cactus was growing up through the toppled stand, and I didn’t have access to the original grower any more as he had passed away. No replacing that one, so careful extraction was needed.

Tugging, pulling, shifting, getting unstuck from the cactus spines is hot sweaty work. Next thing I know, I’ve plopped onto my butt from a difficult weed that suddenly gave way, and I’ve got things falling, shifting and threatening all the work I’d done to get the plant out unscathed. I noticed with a slight breeze, the stand was shifting and rocking. If I didn’t get something to prop it up, disaster was just around the corner. I opened the side gate to retrieve some 4 by 4 posts I knew were under the trailer, and just happened to notice the small truck in front of my new neighbors. Also, the young, shirtless man mowing their yard…

I grabbed a spare water out of the flat in the garage, sorry it wasn’t cold, but as warm as it was, a gesture of friendliness and good will. I walked up the street and stood in the road within eye line when he turned the make the return run with the mower. I’d done my share of mowing to know it was impossible to hear and dangerous to get in the way or startle someone mowing. He did start a bit but released the dead man switch that shut the mower off. I started with a tentative “Hi” held out the water. “My name is Sarah, and I live over there. I’ve got a situation in my back yard where I need an extra set of hands, I’m concerned to wait until my husband gets home hours from now. If I could borrow you for five minutes it would sure help me out?”

He laughed easily, took the water, opened it, tipped his head back and drank it down in a couple full throated swallows. He capped it back up, stuck out his hand and said “Dan”. He walked over, tossed the empty bottle in the bed of his truck, grabbed a towel off one of the racks and scooped up his tee shirt. After he wiped his face, he tossed the towel into the truck bed, and pulled on his shirt as he was walking.

To prevent complete awkwardness, I looked over my shoulder, vaguely gesturing toward the yard “Nice day for it.” About that time I tripped over the shallow drainage trough that served as no curb. We didn’t have sidewalks either, thankfully, or I’d of probably broken my nose!

I gestured vaguely over my shoulder to indicate I was fine, and mentioned “Be sure to watch where you walk. Every since the chickens redesigned the back yard, it’s been one big booby trap, you could twist an ankle so easily. Now you’ve been warned, I’m not liable…” We rounded the corner to find the wrapped, wound mass of growth. “I’m trying to get this plant out from down here, somehow I managed to trim all the growth at ground level that had the stand secured down, and the pot this cactus is in… it’s welded to the ground by roots.” I squatted down and started shifting handfuls of crab grass to one side. I glanced up, “If you could hold that top part of the stand, and keep control of it, I should be able to yank this loose…” I dropped my knees down, and fell forward, leaning on my elbows to get a better look at what I needed to do. Scooping weeds out of the way, yanking when I had to. I raised back up to wipe sweat out of my eyes, and noticed I was staring right at a pretty impressive erection. I had completely forgotten what I was wearing… usually when working alone in the yard, I didn’t bother with a bra, and as I knew I was going to be wallering around on and around the ground, I wore one of my trash jeans. My thick thighs had worn right through the material at the inner thighs, and as per usual, no unders were there. I was wondering just what WAS visible, but had completely forgotten to even consider how I was under dressed, or rather unsupported.

I glanced up and noticed his eyes were fixed slightly lower than my face. “Well then, that’s pretty impressive right there.” His eyes snapped back up to my face, and I could see he was worried about what I was talking about. I brushed my hand quickly and lightly across the juncture of his jeans, barely even touching, but he flinched none the less. “Like what you see?” I asked disingenuously. He gulped, and couldn’t help but drop his gaze again. “Yeah…”

I reached through the neck of my top and pulled a breast up to the neck line, exposing my large nipple. “What? This?!” He nodded jerkily. I swatted a sweat fly away from my face and laughed. “Let’s focus a bit. You watch whatever you want, and I’ll just yank this… here.” I started tugging and muttering under my breath trying to break the roots of the plant without doing too much damage. I should have thought ahead! “Wait here” I snapped, while I popped up and speed walked into the house. I grabbed the insulin kit I take everywhere with me, yanked the zipper down, and pulled the backing away from the hidden wallet inside, pulling two condoms out and stuffing them into my pocket. I stopped in the kitchen and grabbed the rattiest large serrated knife in the house, and bopped back out the door.

As I popped back out into the yard and rounded the corner, his eyes saw the knife and widened, I could literally see him swallow from feet away. Another vague wave saying “Don’t move.”

I plopped down onto my knees again, onto a wad of crabgrass, inserted the knife under the pot, and started sawing. He was doing a really good job of holding still and I could barely keep my eyes under control; he was sporting what my mother would refer to (verbally, with Capital Letter emphasis) as quite The Package. I made quick work with the knife, swiping it across again to make sure the pot was free, then just dropped it. I pulled my top forward on my shoulders, looked up at him and asked “May I see?” His eyes got bigger (how is it possible that men have the most luscious eyelashes?) with another jerky nod. He was still holding everything up so very carefully, and I did not dissuade him of the idea it was critical for him to continue…

I skootched forward a bit on my knees, further onto a carefully placed wad of grass, and reached my hand up to lay it upon the outline of his erection. As the young are wont, I felt it jerk forward into my hand through his jeans with first contact. He was not small, and oh so ready. I reached up both hands to deal with the buckle on his belt, hands moving in tandem to manipulate the top button and drop the zipper. I was astonished to note a teeny bit of pink peeking over the top of the waist of his jeans, which dropped pushing the top of his boxers as I opened his jeans.

I was right, he was long enough that he extended past the waist band of his boxers. He also dressed up, because of that reason. I imagine a mistimed thought could have him hardening and constricted down a pant leg. He wasn’t thikky thick, but that length… mmmmm.

I reached my hand, palm up, toward his length, allowing the pads near my wrist to rub up against his glans. I folded my pinky and index in, creating a cradle, the better to stroke him with. I watched moisture form, and my throat thickened. I kept stroking but looked up at him. His eyes were closed, and I took that as permission to keep moving further into my fantasies. I skootched forward some more, brought my mouth close, and breathed hot air onto him, letting him know I was that close so as to not cause him to startle further. I opened my mouth and used a tentative kitten lick to taste his pre cum, always a good indicator of diet. He tasted sweet. And YOUNG. Taunt soft flesh brushing my lips. There is just something about a penis, the softest skin, the wafting odor, the sheer core of maleness. If you enjoy giving, the introduction to a new dick is just… magical.

I opened up, and sucked him down my throat. Always a good first step to see how open one is, and to see how much you can take at the time. His hands were busy, so I didn’t have to worry about … other things. As I pulled off, I sucked deeply, pulling as much sweetness out of him as I could. When I reached the tip, I swirled my tongue around, tickled his hole, working every surface I could reach, sucking him back in, gulping, pulling out while sucking, tonguing. Generally having a rollicking time with a tasty cock! I realized that he was running up to a quick finish, which I Did Not Want! I leaned back and looked up, while bobbing his tip in my lips. “Do you want more of what you see?” His eyes were closed, deep in sensation. His head nodded jerkily, and his response was more of a guttural moan of consent. I left him to bob in the air, reached down, parted the grass and grabbed the pot of cactus to set it out of harms way. Another vague wave with “Oh, you can let that go now…”

His eyes popped open, and he rocked back onto his heels. I was already moving (can’t look like an old lady in front of young dick) and on my feet. The adrenaline of hormones and pheromones was speeding my creaking bones along. I pulled a condom packet out and wrestled with the serration to open it cleanly. I was moving across the yard to another storage installation, looking back over my shoulder, gesturing ‘come’. I had unbuttoned my pants but nothing else. When he got close, I raised my hand to his neck and pulled his ear down. He thought I was going to kiss him, but I certainly didn’t know him well enough for THAT type of intimacy. I spoke low into his ear “There are children and their mother over that six foot wall, and over that one, a blind senior who’s hearing is better than most. I don’t know about those two, but let’s keep it quiet, eh?” The whole time I was speaking, I was rolling a condom onto him, gently stroking to make sure room was there for his AMAZING length!

I had taken him over to a small motorcycle trailer. I turned around, and pulled his hand to position him where I wanted him… I shucked my pants down, and off one leg, yanking my sneaker in the process. S’kay, I still had a sock to protect me from the sticker burrs and wicked things in the grass. I reached back, and shifted him, then reached between my legs to capture his sheathed length…

I already know the trailer would be a stable platform, because of how it was supported.

I looked over my shoulder and counseled “You need to go slowly, I’m tight and you are big. I can’t control you in this position.” With a firm grasp upon him, I guided him to my lips, brushing his tip up and down, parting slowly, gathering moisture. He was twitching and bucking in my hand, I knew I needed to get him to pace himself. I shifted a foot outward, always my standard move, as I centered him and pressed backward. I popped forward as I heard him gasp a bit. As he was locked into my sheath, I grasped his hips to bring his mind forward out of the lizard brain. He keep pushing in, so I dug thumbs in, that lovely, tender spot just on top of the bone. I couldn’t see, but I know his eyes popped open, he reached down and put both hands on my hips. I shifted my foot again, and glided back. Once the seal was broken on me, my natural wetness was ALWAYS present; I knew I would have no issue. I needed to set the rhythm because he didn’t have long… so I searched and stroked the golden realm, I felt spasms and the water building. If I could just get him to follow rather than lead!

I could feel the pressure building; it’s such a short stroke. I kept changing the rhythm up, jinking when he expected a jive, zigging where he thought I would zag. I knew my goal was to keep him off stride as long as possible. The pep talk on being quiet wasn’t for him, it was all about me. The home school mom to the East of me had two young boys, one of which was just AT that age. If I carried on in my usual vocal manner, he would never look at me the same again. I needed him, he was my Go To guy while I was on vacation!

I inched my right foot out just a bit more, grasped his hips, moaned softly, and bucked all the way back, onto the length of him, root down, sinking everything that would fit. I whipped my left arm forward, and buried my face onto my arm, my mouth engulfing my forearm, working hard to not bite – no explaining that… My knees quivered, threatening to not hold me up. Sweet boy really didn’t even miss more than three strokes, and just powered into me, fully out, fully in, just a little slower to compensate for the travel time. Oh, sweet heaven, I had time everything just right, gotten the brass ring right where I needed it, and he just rode it into the ground. It’s not easy to teach someone your stroke rhythm on the fly, this boy was a quick learner!

His grip on my hips was tightening down, the back stroke was now slamming me into him, and it was taking a bit longer each time. I KNEW his breathing was speeding without even looking at him. I reached back and pumped in some staccato short strokes just to give him a bit more time, and me a bit more glee. I couldn’t resist, I snaked my left arm down between my legs, and raised my fingers into a V, grasping onto his shaft, and scissoring down gently… When I felt his tempo jerk out of sync, I changed my reach and grasped his sack, gathering it up gently, then tugging at the top, pulling down, folding fingers across his full sack, now tightening, hoping it would work for him…

GOD, young men are the Bomb!

He shuddered to a stop, pulling me tightly into him, small, wee strokes to just keep the sensation alive for him. I could feel the heat gather inside me, and was so glad I had a condom on hand. I popped both feet out a bit and started tilting my pelvis into a soft stroke, grasping, pulling.

He reached down, and pulled out of me. I took a deep breath, stepped one foot back and reached for my jeans. I pulled them up while looking for my sneaker. I turned, propped my butt on the trailer edge and slipped my shoe onto my foot. I stood, reached out a hand, caressing his ribs with one hand, while I tightened the grip with the thumb and forefinger of my other hand, shucking the condom right off of him. I grinned up at him, “I’ll be right back.”

I speed walked into the house, stepped just inside the door, and tossed the condom into the kitchen trash. I stepped around the stove on the other side, ripped off a couple paper towels, folded one into my hand, and went back out to grab some waters out of the garage. Just before walking out, I set the waters down, cleaned off both hands, brushed my hair out of my face, and slapped a smile on my face. I mean, I had EVERY reason, right?!

I walked out and handed him a water and the paper towels. “Dan, THANK YOU so much. A pleasure if I’ve ever had one. Drink your water and let me walk you out.” I could feel him watching me out of the side of his eye… “I suspect you now have a contract with Voltair, right?” He nodded. “Well, my husband works from home, A LOT. I’ll wave and be friendly. You nod and wave back. If I go into the garage and come back out with a bottle of water, hold it up and waggle it at you, that will let you know you’re welcome to come over and help me with any damn thing I might need, m’kay?” He nodded, opened his water, tilted his head back and once again, swallowed it down in just a couple gulps. He capped it back up, walking with me to the side gate, reached out with his left hand, grasped the side of my head gathering me to him, so he could kiss me gently on the temple. He walked out the gate, tipping his water bottle at me as if it was an imaginary hat, and walked away…

DAMN!

I was humming when I went back into the house to search for a twin sheet to fit the never-out-of-the-bag futon propped on end in the plant room…

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/q8jkwy/new_lawn_guy