Letting Go

There isn't a better season in the Midwest than spring. Summer, fall, and winter can all be enjoyable for swimming, hiking or skiing, but I've always found something particularly invigorating about springtime: the fertile smell in the air as the ground thaws out and the spring flowers and grasses begin to grow; the balmy breezes from the southwest that let you go outside without needing to bundle up; the growing daylight that extends past 7 o'clock in the evening so you can enjoy the sunset at home with a glass of Chardonnay instead of at work with a Sprite.

I've always been one of the first in my neighborhood to get out in the spring to clean up the yard, plant flowers or transplant shrubs, or just sit on the patio and contemplate what changes I'd like to make in the landscaping. After spending nine or ten hours at work, nothing beats working in the yard to relieve stress and cleanse the soul. It has also been good therapy for getting over the loss of my beautiful wife in a traffic accident.

It was in the spring a year ago when the season was new and the air was fresh and the warm breeze foretold of great things to come when a most serendipitous event changed my life. The early evening air was warm and fertile and the breeze was blowing softly from the south a delicious light wind that made me pause every few minutes just to breathe in and feel a renewed vigor throughout my body. I was planting some arborvitaes along the fence that lines the side of my yard to screen off the traffic on the roadway and the sidewalk and make the yard a bit more private. I had the holes dug and lined with peat and mulch and was struggling to get the batch of new shrubs set in before dark.

As I paused to take in another breath of the fresh spring air, I caught the scent of summer flowers coming my way. I looked up to see where it was coming from and was startled by the most lovely young woman I had ever seen, dressed in a little white athletic shirt and matching running shorts, trotting along the sidewalk, coming my way. Looking down at my dirty jeans with the torn knees and my muddy boots, I realized that I must look a sight, my white t-shirt covered with dirt and sweat, and my hair all matted and stuck to my sweaty brow. I ran a gloved hand across my forehead absentmindedly, surely smudging my face with mud.

I tried to smile as she approached. She was looking in front of her and couldn't miss my admiring gaze; her light brown hair was tied back behind her head; her dark eyes sparkled; her fair complexion was flushed with the glow of a good run; her firm young breasts bobbed in concert with her trotting pace, secured surely by a sports bra. As she neared me, she smiled.

"Nice evening for a run," I called out, leaning on my shovel.

"Nice evening for yard work too," she replied, her mouth curled into a straight white, toothy smile.

What a pretty girl! I thought to myself as she passed by, the scent of her perfume filling my head with its light rosy fragrance. My eyes followed along as she ran past, noting the bobbing curves of her cute little butt accented by the red trim on her shorts. Ah, springtime! I thought. When a young man's fancy turns to what the girls have been thinking about all winter long!

I watched her for the next minute as she continued along the sidewalk until her swaying ponytail moved out of sight when she turned down the next block. I began to muse as I returned to my planting. What if she runs every night? What time is it? Maybe I have one more reason to be outside around this time. Foolish thoughts, all of them, but since I had lost my wife foolish thoughts seemed to occupy my mind quite frequently. Before long though, the foolish thoughts had propelled me through my planting chore and I soon found myself sitting on a patio chair sipping some White Zinfandel and thinking about what other landscaping was required along that side of the yard. I wondered about what sort of impression I had made on her, all wholesome and fresh scrubbed, as I stood there sweaty and dirty. But then I also thought about possible lines to spring on her and a few snappy comebacks should she get the first word in.

The next evening found me outside, checking on my newly planted shrubs. She didn't pass by and I found myself feeling even more foolish for getting worked up over the passing of a pretty girl. What if that was the only time she ever passes by? I thought. Wednesday found me working late and I didn't get home until nearly dark. Thursday I was home early and out getting the flowerbeds ready for an early planting, but there was no sign of the cute little lady with the long ponytail.

By the time Friday came along, I had gotten rid of any pretensions about the runner. Happenstance, I thought. Just one of those things! So I mixed a tall Manhattan and sat out on the patio for a while thinking about how a bed of roses would look nice along the back fence. It was another gorgeous night, just as Monday had been. Those same fertile hints of spring were in the air. I wandered out to get a better look, bringing my glass along.

Moving slowly along the back fence sipping my bourbon and vermouth, laying out a mental plan for the roses, that delicious summer flowery scent caught me and brought my sight toward the sidewalk. There she was trotting along just as before, the same rosy glow, the same sweet smile, and the same ponytail. She was wearing a different outfit though, pale yellow, a little snugger at the bust and lower cut, forcing my gaze to drop a few inches to her lovely firm little tits, bouncing more freely than the other evening.

"Hey!" she called out, breathlessly.

"Hey!" I called back, still surprised by seeing her again.

Her smile broadened as she ran past. I thought I saw a wink. Maybe it was a blink from some dust or something. I took a sip of my drink as I watched her move away. Hey!? I thought. Hey!? Is that the best comeback you can make up? Jesus! Well, at least I looked more presentable, still dressed in my casual Friday work clothes. You are such a klutz! I thought. She probably thinks I'm a real dunce! I walked back to the patio and sank down into a chair. At least she came back. Let's see, Monday and Friday. Maybe I would have to make sure I'm in the right place to really introduce myself. That's right, the next time I would introduce myself to the runner and find out her name--if there was a next time.

The next week I found out that there would be a next time. On Monday, I saw her pass by in her white outfit, but was on the wrong side of the yard to do anything more than watch and dream. On Wednesday I saw her coming and was in position to casually lean on the fence to greet her. Since it was cooler, she was in a long-sleeved red sweatshirt and running pants. But she looked terrific. Maybe it was running regularly that kept that healthy rosy glow on her face; maybe it was because she was so young and pretty. Whatever the reason, I was mesmerized.

"How's it going?" I called out.

"Great!" she replied. "How's the garden?"

"Doing fine!" I said.

And she was quickly gone. No name, but there was interaction. At least she thinks I'm out here gardening, not just plotting to meet her. I didn't see her on Thursday, but was ready on Friday. Although I got home late, I mixed my usual cocktail and wandered out to check on the arborvitaes. When I caught wind of that flowery scent, I stood up to see her trotting along. Say something to get her to stop, I thought. Find out her name! She saw me and began to slow down. All right Steven, here's your chance!

"Hi," she called out more breathless than usual.

"Hi, yourself," I replied. "How's your run going?"

"Not too good," she admitted, slowing down to a walk. "Too much to eat at lunch."

"Got to watch those Friday lunches," I said.

As she drew near she stopped, placing her hands on her hips and sucking in some extra air.

"I should know better than to drink at lunch," she confessed. "But it was a birthday party and everyone wanted to split a pitcher."

"Gotta watch out for peer pressure."

"Yeah," she said showing that broad sweet smile.

"By the way, I'm Steven," I said extending my hand over the fence toward her.

"Hi, Steven. I'm Jessie," she said taking my hand in hers for a polite shake.

Her hand was so small compared to mine, with delicate little fingers and nicely manicured nails. The skin was soft as a tissue. I didn't see any rings on either hand.

"You run pretty regularly," I said.

"Yeah. Just like you do your yard work. Once you stop, it's hard to catch up."

The bulky sweatshirt disguised her supple young body and made it easier to maintain eye contact as we stood talking for several minutes. We kept it to small neighborly small talk. She lived in the apartments nearby and ran three times a week. She had moved in over the winter and was fulfilling a New Year's resolution to adopt a healthier lifestyle.

"Well, it shows," I said, trying to come up with a compliment. "You look pretty healthy already."

"Your yard is looking pretty good too," she said in return. "I wish I had a place to do some flower beds and all. But I'll settle for a flowerbox on my balcony."

"Well, anytime you feel like pulling weeds or something, come on by."

"Right!" she said with a laugh. "Well, I should be going."

"See you around, Jessie!"

"See ya!" she said with a smile and a nod and then started off down the sidewalk.

That was only the first of many conversations we would have over the next couple of weeks. She kept to her regular running routine and I kept working on my yard. I'm sure the neighbors began to notice that one side of my yard received more attention than the other. The arborvitaes were the healthiest young shrubs that I had ever set in. The grass and flowerbeds were tended with extra care that only time can provide. And I also cultivated my friendship with Jessie, the runner. We talked about the neighborhood and the weather. Whenever I tried to move the conversation toward more personal ground, she seemed to always bring it back. Maybe she was in a relationship and wasn't interested in more than being a nice neighbor. She was so young; it would probably be better than way.

Spring soon shifted into summer, the days growing longer and my yard more lush. On one Friday, the warmest day of the young year, I was out making my usual inspection, when Jessie came along a little earlier than usual. She was in a skimpy white running outfit that clung to her body quite nicely. As she paused for our evening conversation, she began to do some stretching exercises, leaning forward and turning from side to side, as if to loosen up her back. The sight of her young fit body with the lightweight white outfit clinging to her was driving me nuts. She raised her arms above her head, stretching the fabric tightly over her beautiful little tits, so much so that her rosy nipples showed through her shirt and thin cotton bra.

"Can you believe this weather, today?" I asked.

"I know. I just love this," she said continuing her stretching. "If only my back weren't so stiff. They were running the air conditioning all day and I got a real stiff neck." She reached her hand back behind her neck and tilted her head back and forth a few times as she rubbed herself.

"Well, you look like you could use a masseur."

"Do you know one?" she asked.

"As a matter of fact, I have been told that my hands are wonderful," I bragged, holding up my hands and wiggling my fingers.

She eyed me with a friendly but suspicious look.

"I'll bet they are."

"Why don't you have a seat on the patio and I'll see if I can work the kinks out."

She looked around as if checking out the scene. My patio wasn't real wide open, but it wasn't too private either.

"Sure, why not?"

I lead her around to the gate and out through the yard. As she walked ahead of me toward the patio set, her ponytail swaying, I could barely contain myself while thinking about laying my hands upon her silky smooth skin. She sat in one of the chairs and leaned forward, pulling her ponytail over her shoulder.

"What are we talking here, neck, shoulders, back?" I asked, rubbing my hands together.

"Really just neck and shoulders," she said, running her hands over the base of her neck and out a bit along each shoulder, just out to the edge of her top.

"We can do that," I said holding my hands together in a thankful prayer-like pose for a moment.

When I brought my hands down to touch her neck, she bent her head forward. Her soft flesh was warm and the muscles beneath were stiff. I worked slowly massaging on her neck down to the base. As I moved my hands down onto her shoulders she reached up to spread the straps of her top and bra over toward the edge of her shoulders.

"Oh, you are good!" she said, leaning back into my touch as I worked to loosen up her neck. "Mmm, that feels nice, real nice!"

"Isn't there someone at home to do this?" I asked.

"Like a boyfriend or a roommate?" she replied with a question.

"Whatever."

"There is no boyfriend and my roommate is away for the weekend," she admitted.

I could feel her begin to loosen up and I kept up my gentle pressure working the knots and tenseness out of her muscles. She felt so good to my hands I hoped that her stiffness wouldn't go away just so I could keep on touching her.

"No boyfriend, eh?"

"Not right now," she said, a sad lilt to her voice. "Probably not for a while. I still haven't gotten over my last guy."

"That's too bad," I said trying to sympathize.

"Yeah, well sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn't," she said slowly. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Isn't there someone inside who would get suspicious seeing you give me a massage?"

"No," I said sadly. "I lost my wife in a traffic accident almost two years ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, also sounding sad. "I didn't mean to ..."

"That's okay. How were you to know? It was hard but I'm over it. Life goes on for everyone."

"Wow, I can't imagine going through that. How long were you married?"

"Ten years."

"Any kids?"

"No, we tried but it never happened but we never did anything about it. We just kept a really neat house and took wild vacations."

"Do you uh, get out much?" she asked.

"No, I'm not a night owl or anything. Kind of a homebody," I answered.

She was really pressing back into my fingers as I worked on her neck and shoulders. She pulled again on her straps, tugging them nearly off her shoulders. I worked my palms on her shoulders, letting my fingers slip over and flirt with her collarbones.

"This feels really good, you know," she said. "Whoever said you had wonderful hands was right. I feel much better now."

Although I didn't want to lift my fingers from her body, I slowed my movements and pulled away from her.

"Can I get you something to drink?" I asked.

"Sure, if you'd like. Water or juice. Whatever you have."

I quickly mixed up a batch of fruit juice, a mix of mango, passion fruit, strawberry and apple juice and brought her a tall glass.

"This is good," she remarked. "What is it?"

I told her.

"Passion fruit, huh?" she said with a laugh. "I'll give you another point for nerve."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I've had a few neighbors hit on me during my runs, but I've never had one slip passion fruit into my drink."

"Well, that's all there was in the freezer. I think it was left over from a party or something."

We laughed and sat and talked for a while longer. Jessie slumped back into the cushion of the chair, plainly comfortable and clearly interested. I tried hard not to stare at her trim young body, barely covered by her skimpy running togs, but was sure my eyes gave me away. She must have seen how I checked out her shapely legs, her pussy lurking in the shadows of her running shorts, her narrow trim waist, and the wonderful curves of her breasts. But more than the obvious attraction I felt toward her, it was nice to have someone to talk to if even for a pleasant few minutes. But when she reached the bottom of the glass, she was ready to leave.

"See you around," I said, holding the gate open for her.

"See ya!" she called out with her little finger wave.

I had to smile as I watched her run off, tilting her head back and forth, her ponytail swaying in time with her pace. What a pretty girl! I thought again. I found my drink and toasted to beautiful young women wherever they may be and the fools who yearn after them.

The following Wednesday was another hot one and since I had to work late as usual I thought I had missed her. I was dressed in an old pair of cutoffs and a t-shirt puttering around the garage when she came by and trotted up to greet me.

"Hey!" she called out.

"Hey!" I replied, surprised to see her at this hour. "Running late?"

"Trying to beat the heat," she said, not quite out of breath as she ran in place. "Got all your yard work done?"

"Didn't have much time tonight, so I figured I'd mess around out here."

"Do you ever go running?" she asked. The look on her face made it seem like she was actually flirting with me--I could never tell, in fact, had never been able to tell the difference.

"Not since I blew my knee out in college," I said pointing to the scar on my right knee from an old football injury. "The best I can do is walk real fast."

"Oh, well. I thought you might want to run with me sometime, but that's okay," she said looking kind of disappointed.

"Sorry, Doctor's orders," I said regretfully.

"How about roller blading?" she asked, looking hopeful.

"Actually, I've tried it," I replied. "A while back a bunch of us from work went to the Dome and rented them. We had a mess of fun."

"Why don't you get a pair and come with me this weekend. I like to go to Kensington Metropark every Saturday. They have some real nice paths, not too hilly."

"That sounds like fun," I said, noting how her face had brightened up.

"Why don't I come by around 10 o'clock Saturday and pick you up?"

"Sure! That'll be fun."

So she would be the first one to ask the other out. I guess it is a different world nowadays. She filled me in on where to get a pair of blades and what to get and how much to spend. As I watched her trot off, watching again the sway of her ponytail, I couldn't help but shake my head and wonder where this was leading. No need to over-think this, Steven, I thought to myself. Let's just sit back and go along for the ride.

I picked up a decent pair of blades the next day and looked forward to the weekend. She arrived right on time to pick me up in her little red Saturn couple. As we drove out into the country, I couldn't help but notice how tanned her shapely legs were becoming. She was wearing a bulky, white, zippered sweatshirt with a brief pair of running shorts and tennis shoes. It was hard to tell what she had on underneath, not that it mattered, but I couldn't help but notice the way she handled the stick shift, always keeping her hand on the stick, gently stroking the knob. I had to look out the window to find something else to think about and keep from getting a hard-on.

"So tell me, Jessie," I asked. "What's your deal?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why did you happen to come into my life right now?"

"Why not? We're both attractive young people."

"I'm not that young, you know."

"Well how old are you?" she asked.

"Let's see. You're what, twenty-two, twenty-three?"

"Twenty-five," she admitted.

"Okay, you look young for your age. But, you know that makes me almost twice your age."

"Get out of here!"

"I'll be forty-eight on my next birthday."

"No way. I pegged you for early thirties at the most."

"You want to see proof?"

She just laughed and waved off my offer.

"So does that change your opinion of me?" I asked.

"No, I can accept the fact that you're older than me. Jeez, I just can't believe you're that old. I mean, you don't look it or act it."