Curb Appeal

I was on my way to my newest customer when I lifted my foot from the Ram's throttle, the turbo on the Cummins whistling softly, and the trailer I was towing rattling, as I gradually slowed. I'd landed the contract last week, and as always, I made it a point to arrive via a different route the first few times so I could scope out the houses in the area in hopes of finding a property like the one I was approaching. The neighborhood I was passing through was older, but most of the small homes had been reasonably well cared for.

As my speed continued to drop, I watched out of the passenger side glass as the massively overgrown lot with a yellow yard violation notice passed, my gaze flicking from the property, back to the road, and then back to the property again. It was hard to see through overgrown shrubs, but I could tell the small house squatting in the head high weeds that had seen better days. I couldn't tell if the house's peeling paint was grey or dirty white, but I could see that one of the gutters was hanging at a jaunty angle above a boarded-up window. It was unlikely anyone lived there, and the neighbors would probably be delighted to have the lot cleaned up.

As I glanced at the receding lot in my rearview, I slowly accelerated, making note of the address so I could find the lot again. Most overgrown lawns I found by cruising residential areas on my Ténéré 700. If I spotted a lot I wanted to tackle, I stopped back another day with my equipment in tow, but today I had my mowers and trimmers with me. It was another bit of good luck that the job I was on my way to was small and my last of the day. That should leave me plenty of time, five or six hours at least, to whip that overgrown mess into shape.

I pulled to a stop at the curb opposite the house I'd discovered earlier. I glanced at the clock while lowering the driver's window, shutting off my truck once the glass was all the way down. It was a little after two, so I had about six hours of good light left, which should be enough if I hustled.

I stepped out of the truck, opened the rear door, and placed my keys and wallet under the rear seat floormat. My keys had fallen out of my pocket on a job once, and that wasn't a mistake I was going to make again. I'd spent two hours looking for the damn things before I found them, and felt lucky it hadn't taken longer. After that, everything except my phone stayed in the truck.

So I didn't look grubby when introducing myself, I stood beside the truck, pulled off my sweaty shirt, and tossed it on top of my keys and wallet. I then took one of the two fresh shirts I kept in the truck for occasions like this, pulled it on, and tucked it into my pants to show off my flat stomach. There was nothing I could do about my grass spattered pants because I didn't carry a clean pair of jeans... and even if I did, I wasn't taking my pants off on the side of the road. I grabbed a couple of my business cards and shut the truck's door.

I quickly set up my camera and tripod behind my truck before crossing the road and walking up to the home's front door, my hands up to push aside the tall, stalky grass as I did. The house was definitely white... or had been once, it's paint baked by the hot Houston summers until it was cracked and a dingy grey. I rapped solidly on the door. I didn't expect an answer... and got none. There was a window sharing the small porch with the front door, so I took a quick peek inside.

The inside of the house was as bad as the outside. The window was so dirty it was difficult to see through, but I could make out piles of papers and magazines, spiderwebs, and assorted junk filling the room. I turned from the door and trotted down the two steps from the porch. I followed the narrow path back to the street. The city sidewalk was so overgrown it had nearly disappeared... just like the walk leading to the house.

After putting my camera back in the truck, I walked to the neighbor on the left and rapped on the door before stepping well back, pushing my sunglasses up onto my head so whoever answered the door could see my eyes. Because I was six-three, and heavily muscled, I think I sometimes intimidated women... at least until they got to know me.

I kept hoping that someday I'd land a contract with a sexy widow or bored housewife who'd want their lawn cut, but not have any money, and they'd offer to compensate me another way. It hadn't happened yet, but as I waited for the door to open, I couldn't stop myself from wondering if today would be my lucky day. After a moment, the door opened. I smiled to myself. Struck out again.

"May I help you?" the elderly woman asked, leaving the storm door closed.

"Afternoon, ma'am," I said with a smile, speaking loudly so she could hear me through the glass. "I'm Porter McCall, and I own In Mowtion Lawn Care. I was wondering if you could tell me if the house next door is abandoned."

"Yes, I believe so. I haven't seen anyone there after the mother passed, and the son and daughter who lived with her left. That must have been ten, maybe twelve years ago. Every now and again I'll see a light on in there, and sometimes I'll hear a noise, but it's probably just animals." She shrugged. "Why?"

"Because I'd like to clean up the lot."

"Oh."

I knew instantly what she was thinking. It was the same thing everyone thought. "It's absolutely free of charge. I'm not asking you for money."

"You're going to mow that mess for free?" she asked, her doubt clear in her voice.

"Yes, ma'am. I have a YouTube channel, and I make videos of myself cleaning up lawns like that. I make a little money from the video to pay for my time, and the neighborhood gets a sprucing up. Do you know the last time it was mowed?"

I didn't tell her that a disaster of a yard like this one would likely put the same money in my pocket that a hundred residential jobs would the week it went up... and then I'd get a steady trickle of income after that. That trickle, times the soon to be fifty-four videos on my channel, amounted to a decent passive income.

For a channel about mowing overgrown yards, according to YouTube analytics, I had a surprisingly large percentage of women viewers. One commenter, a woman judging by her profile picture, had dubbed me the 'sexiest lawn guy on YouTube,' and many of the women commenters referred to me as SYG--sexy yard guy--in the comments. The constant yard work in the Houston heat and humidity kept me trim, but I hit the weights regularly, and hard, to stay bulked up to keep the ladies coming back. It was the reason I ordered my stretchy black shirts one size too small... so they clung tightly to my chest and arms.

"The son mowed it once in a while when they were there, but I don't think it's been mowed since they left." She opened the door, stepped out, and looked at the overgrown lot a moment before she turned her attention back to me. "The city comes by, posts a violation notice, but nobody ever cuts it. So you're going to do the entire yard for free?"

"Yes, ma'am. Mow the grass, clean up the sidewalks, cut back the shrubbery, and pick up any garbage I find."

She smiled for the first time. "It'd be such a relief to have that place cleaned up. Me and the Alonsos, the family on the other side, have talked about cleaning it up, but we're too old to do it ourselves, and everyone wants so much money for the job the first time that we... well... we just haven't."

I offered her my best smile. "Well..." I began as I held two cards out to her. "I'm going to do the first cleanup free... but if you're looking for a service to keep it looking decent afterwards... I'd appreciate a call."

She took the cards as her smile slowly faded. "I knew money was going to be involved somehow."

I shook my head. "No, ma'am. I'm just offering my services. If you and your neighbor decide to hire someone else, or you keep it up yourselves, you still get the yard cleaned up for free."

She nodded slowly. "So, you're going to mow it for your video thing for free the first time, and you won't come back and ask us for money later, no matter what we do?"

I smiled. "That's it."

She smiled again. "You're an angel."

My smile spread. "No, ma'am... just a guy trying to make a living." I nodded at the cards in her hand. "Once I get it cleaned up, if you decide you want to hire someone to keep it that way, I'd appreciate a call."

She smiled. "I will."

"Thank you, and thank you for the information. I'm going to get started so I can get it finished today."

"Thank you for doing this!" she called as I turned away.

I paused just long enough to turn back and wave in acknowledgement before I continued to my truck. I pulled my camera from the backseat, removed it from the tripod, and mounted my Steadicam, a weighted handheld gizmo that allowed me to make smooth pans and removed any bounciness when I walked with the camera. I quickly walked to the corner of the yard and performed a slow pan, making sure I got the truck with my company name on the door in the shot. I moved to another location and repeated the panning shot. Moving to the backyard, I repeated the procedure four more times. When I was finished with the yard, I'd return to the same locations and repeat the pans for my before and after shots.

I returned to the street beside my truck, pushed my sunglasses up onto my head, and turned the camera to face me. "Welcome Mow Army," I said to the camera I was holding at arm's length. "We've got a real jungle to tackle today," I continued as I slowly turned to bring the yard into view behind me. "This one is going to be a real challenge, but after I'm done, this blight on the neighborhood will look great." I smiled broadly at the camera. "Let's get'er done!" I said, speaking my catchphrase with exaggerated enthusiasm.

Finished with my standard opening, I removed the Steadicam rig and remounted the camera to the tripod. I had a loose script that I followed... starting with me walking up to the house and knocking on the door. I always filmed myself talking with the owner, if there was one, or demonstrating the house was empty if there wasn't. I moved the camera to the driveway to record me unloading my mower. Because the yard was small, I decided to go with my stand on mower rather than my large rider, for its greater maneuverability and ability to get into tight spaces.

The machine unloaded, I began working on the yard, moving the camera and its tripod as I labored so it captured all the action. Later this evening, I'd start editing the video by removing the boring parts, such as me stopping for water, fueling equipment, or working too long on a single task.

Once I finished cutting out the stuff nobody wanted to see, I always allowed about five seconds of video to play at regular speed when I changed from one task or area to another, so people could see what I was doing, before I sped the rest up by double, slowing back to normal speed only if something unusual or interesting happened. My audience never seemed to get tired of watching me get my mower stuck, me attacking overgrown shrubbery, or in one case, me fighting off Yellowjackets as I abandoned my mower and ran. The wasp encounter was in slow-motion, and was my most rewatched scene. No matter how long the cleanup took, my videos always clocked in between twenty-five and thirty minutes, including my intros and outros, and the before and after shots.

I started the cleanup by mowing the walks to knock down the grass. Next, I used my edger to define the walks, curb, and driveway. I had a dedicated string trimmer and edger, but I also had a third powerhead with interchangeable attachments that I used to power tools I didn't use on every job... like my wire brush attachment. Attaching the stiff, heavy brush to the power head, I used it to quickly loosen the matted and overgrown grass laying across the walks, drive, and growing into the street. I followed that up with a shovel to clean up the loosened grass, throwing lumps into the yard to be mulched by the mower, and then blew everything clean.

Walks, drive, street, and curb looking good, I replaced the wire brush first with my brush blade, and then my pole saw, to cut back the overgrown shrubs, piling the cuttings next to the street for the city to pick up. That task complete, the pole saw was replaced by my hedge trimmer, which I used to dress the remaining shrubbery. Next out was the string trimmer that I used to cut back the grass I couldn't easily reach with my mower.

I repositioned my camera when I found hundreds of empty food cans in a pile against the house in the backyard, buried under tall, thick grass near the H-E-B shopping cart I'd noticed when I was inspecting the yard. I began picking them up and stuffing them into my fifty-gallon yard bags, occasionally showing one of the cans to the camera. This was the kind of stuff where I'd briefly slow the video back to normal speed because people seemed to find these kinds of discoveries endlessly fascinating. I filled sixteen of the large bags with cans, piling them into the back of my pickup, along with the shopping cart. Normally I piled trash next to the road for the city to collect, but the H-E-B was just down the road, and I was going to turn the cans in at a recycler for a few extra bucks.

Finished trimming, I glanced at the sky. The sun was getting low on the horizon, but all I had left was mowing, and that was by far the fastest part of the job. I should finish just as the sun was setting.

It wasn't the most efficient way to work, but I mowed in squares so the unblinking eye of the camera could see it all. I went over each section multiple times at different mowing heights. I started with the mower at its maximum height, picking up any surprises I found as I did, before I lowered it two inches, and then lowered it another inch to give the grass an even look and to finely mulch the cut grass.

After mowing, I normally blew the street, walk, and drive again before doing my after shots, to remove the grass the mower had sprayed everywhere, but I was running out of light, and I wanted to get my closing shots done before the light was gone.

I remounted the camera to the Steadicam and returned to the six spots to repeat my panning shots. The grass was brown from being so severely cut, but I knew it'd green up quickly with the first rain.

"That's it, Mow Army," I said as I stood on the walk, filming my closing with the front yard behind me, the large pile of brush, broken pallets, warped and faded pieces of plywood, corrugated tin, a rusted-out push mower missing three wheels, and other assorted junk I'd found in the yard to my side but out of view of the camera. "This job took about six hours of hard work, but the results speak for themselves." I smiled at the camera. "Until next time... We got'er done!"

I switched the camera off and placed it in my truck. I was dripping sweat and covered in dust and bits of mulched grass, but all I had left was a final quick blow of the walks, drive, and street, loading my equipment, and then I could go home and get a shower.

I started my blower and shrugged into it, quickly blowing the dust and grass clippings back into the yard where they couldn't be seen. The blower howling, I stepped onto the porch, blowing away dust and cobwebs as I did. Sweeping the nozzle back and forth, I turned toward the steps... when something thick, hard, and unyielding wrapped around my throat and hauled me rearward.

I staggered backwards through the front door, off balance by the weight of the blower on my back and whatever had grabbed me. The moment I was inside the room, I was spun around and sent stumbling a step or two deeper into the house. After regaining my balance, I whirled toward the door, lurching as the blower knocked over a stack of papers that scattered at my feet in a geyser of dust.

"The fuck...?" I muttered softly as I began to gather my wits.

Standing between me and the door was a huge man, easily matching me both in height and muscle, lacking only the definition in his abs that I was working hard to develop. His skin was incredibly pale except for darker splotches here and there, a stark contrast to my own deeply tanned flesh, with thick veins snaking down his neck and arms, and across his stomach just above his cock. I'd guess his age was five to ten years older than my own twenty-seven years, but there was something wrong with his face. I couldn't put my finger on why, but his face looked... wrong somehow, as if an artist had gotten the proportions of his features slightly off.

More shocking than his appearance was the fact the man was completely naked, his gigantic, uncut cock fully erect and covered in thick, twisting veins. I was better endowed than most men, so much so that some women couldn't fully take me without discomfort, but like the rest of him, he was easily my match, if not slightly larger. I stood stupefied for a moment as I tried to make sense of my situation, the blower on my back puttering at idle.

"The fuck, man?" I repeated, my voice loud and harsh this time as I switched off the blower, ripped my hearing protection from my ears, and shoved my sunglasses up on my head. "What the fuck are you doing?"

The man said nothing as he closed the door behind him, his gaze never leaving mine.

"Hey, man, I don't want any trouble, okay? I don't know what kind of weird shit you've got going on in here, and I don't care, but I want no part of it, okay? I just want to leave."

As I spoke, he closed the hasp screwed into the door and frame and snapped a padlock closed to secure it. He removed the key and tossed it into the junk piled in the room. I watched to see where it landed.

"Hey, man! Didn't you hear me? I said I wanted to leave!"

The man still said nothing as he stood there, his cock hard, beads of sweat trickling down his deeply sculpted chest and dripping from his balls due to the incredible heat and humidity inside the house. It was a typical Houston summer day, nearly a hundred degrees with high humidity, but as hot as it was outside, the inside of the house was even worse because there was no breeze to stir the air... or to dispel the stench of sweat, sex, dust, and that peculiar smell of old, abandoned houses.

I was already hot and sweaty from working outside and I wiped the sweat beading on my face before it could run into my eyes. I was becoming seriously weirded out. Licking sweat off my lips, I glanced around before placing my hearing protection on the piles of old, dusty porn magazines--Playboy, Penthouse, Hustler, Oui, Cavalier, Chic, and others--before I shrugged out of the blower. Stepping carefully, I started toward where the key landed. The man moved between me and the key.

"Look, man, I don't want any trouble," I said, holding my hands up to appear non-threatening.

The man still said nothing. I attempted to step around him, accidentally knocking over a plastic plant with spiderweb covered leaves in the process. The plant disappeared into a dark hole in the junk with a crashing bang and a puff of dust. The man seized my arm and hauled me back.

My anger flared. "Keep your fucking hands off me!" I snarled as I jerked my arm free and shoved him hard.

He shoved me in return, causing me to stumble back. Anger became rage and I lunged at him, shoving him as hard as I could, causing him to stumble into a trunk piled high with more porn magazines, the pile toppling over in a cloud of dust. As he recovered, I tried to dash past, thinking I could rip the door open, but as I seized the knob, he crashed into me, driving me away from the door.

I stumbled, my feet tangled by all the shit on the floor, before going hard to my ass. "You motherfucker!" I snarled as I lept to my feet to throw myself at him, my boots slipping and sliding on the magazine strewn floor.