N. lives across the street from us and I’ve had a thing for her ever since she moved in years ago. Long, wild blonde hair, curvaceous butt and strong thighs, tiny breasts and a carefree, vibrant attitude. Probably about 10 years younger than me, and lives alone. She’s an avid cyclist, and in the habit of coming back from a ride on a hot summer day and mowing her lawn while still wearing her tight spandex cycling shorts and cycling jersey. So on this particular day I happened to see her come back from a ride, as I was sitting on the front porch reading. We waved and smiled at each other. She put her bike inside and then came back out to mow her lawn. I saw that she was having trouble getting the mower started, and decided to be chivalrous and try to help. I don’t know a damn thing about engines, but I put my book down and walked over anyway.
“Having trouble with the mower?”
“Yeah, I don’t know why, the stupid thing doesn’t want to start today.” She laughed. She had a big, vivacious laugh.