The Lady With The Lawn Mower

Not a bad pad. Okay, it's a three-bedroom house that backs on a golf course. It's on a quiet street in a small southern town. Well, okay, it's really a suburb of Orlando, Florida, but it has the small town feel despite three banks on the corner, a Publix and an Albertsons, two Chinese restaurants and a sports bar. You get my drift?

I saw the ad in the paper on a Sunday and by the first of the month, I was moved in. Fifty-five years old. Nope, never married. Close a couple of times, but no cigar. Girl friends? Oh yeah! Serious relationships? Okay, two. But nobody moved in. Nothing binding like that. No not for William Jackson. First of all, moved around too much.

Wrote adventure stories and did some free lance investigative reporting in Thailand, Sri Lanka and Tibet. Caught parasites in my gut, got thrown in jail twice for being too nosy and got lucky by getting bailed out by the Embassy and told to get the hell back to the States and find some new ground for adventure.

So, screw that. Now I write adventure stuff full time. Short stories. One book a year. Enough for a comfortable house like this and the Mini Cooper that sips gas. This place gives me peace and quiet. I can hear cows and horses from time to time and so far in this first week in the house, nobody is bugging me.

People next door on one side have two teenagers that play hoops after school and on weekends incessantly. Folks on the other side, I don't know. They moved in the weekend I found the house, so they are only here a week or so more than me. Haven't seen anybody there as yet.

I leave for the gym at five thirty every morning and a BMW and a truck are in their driveway and by the time I'm back at eight thirty they are both gone, so I guess they both work, assuming it is just two people living there. They have a pool. I don't. Who needs that maintenance nightmare? The gym has a great Olympic pool and I'm in it three times a week.

So, that's me. I took what was the family room in this house and made it my office with reference books and the computer and all the plaques and pictures on the wall.

I am too old for the club scene and don't go to church. So, outside of the gym, I don't really know anybody yet. But I'm researching writers' groups and I'll connect. A hermit I am not, although writing is a solitary gig, let me tell you.

First weekend here. I am back from the gym by nine, this being Saturday, my day to do nothing. No writing, no research. Just read and nap and maybe write some letters. Who am I kidding? E-mails. Nobody writes letters any more.

So, I'm dusting some book jackets when I hear this god awful racket from next door. What the hell is that?"

I open my front door and look out. Yep, it is coming from next door. The truck is gone but the BMW is in the driveway. I keep the Mini in the garage, but a lot of people in this neighborhood treat the garage as storage central. So anyway the racket is coming from back of the house next door. And it is getting louder. Then from around the edge of the screen covered pool behind the house, here comes a power mower.

And behind the power mower there is a girl. Okay, a lady. Quick size up puts her at about thirty-five. Short. I'm talking like five three max. Short blonde hair. She is wearing a bikini string top which is gutsy in a suburban Orlando neighborhood on a Saturday morning. Because she's got boobs to die for. They stick out like headlights. They don't jiggle as she maneuvers the power mower.

She is wearing shorts. Short shorts. And she has the legs of a mountain climber. I remember one time I lectured at Cornell. Ithaca, New York is all hills and the college girls had legs like mountain climbers. I like that. Strong, short legs.

She has this determined look on her face and is sweating. Okay, call me weird, but girls sweating turn me on. I'm standing in my driveway in my sweat pants and a tee shirt and I'm staring as she comes around the corner of the house and actually pushes the freaking mower along the side of the house.

I mean a Florida summer and this little lady with incredible boobs and those strong legs is pushing a lawn mower. Me? I have a lawn service. But if I didn't, my mower would be self propelled. Oh, yeah. But I'm really happy in a perverse sort of way that her's isn't.

She looks up and smiles at me and it is dazzling. She is beautiful! White, white teeth. Just enough of a tan to show that she gets out in the sun, like mowing her lawn, but not enough to be one of those bronzed Floridians whose face will turn to leather when they hit fifty.

I nod and give her a half wave. She turns off the mower. "Hey!" She calls.

"Hey yourself!" I call back.

She is standing behind the mower and breathing deeply. I see little rivulets of sweat running down between those incredible breasts. "You just move in?"

"Yes ma'm. And if I'm not mistaken, you guys were moving in the first weekend I looked at the house."

"Right!" She says. "Noticed you that morning."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I like the Mini Cooper."

Oh, yeah. Me too. Notice you drive a Beemer."

"Yeah, my little baby."

Okay, enough of this shit. I stride across the driveway and right up to her. The eyes are blue. "Bill." I say. "Bill Jackson."

There's the smile again. And dimples when she does. Man! "Dorothy. Dorothy Marsh."

I reach out a paw and she takes it. Little, little hands.

"How come you mow your own lawn? Florida, in the summer time?"

The grin comes out again, complete with dimples. "I like the exercise. Mow the lawn, wash the car...you know." She brushes back her short hair. "You live alone?"

"Umm...yeah. I see two cars – well the Beemer and a truck in your driveway."

The smile again. "Just me and my boyfriend. He's a drag racer and works for his family in an auto parts business. You?"

I shrug. Didn't think it would get this personal so fast. "I'm a writer. Used to be a reporter traveling the world. Getting old for that."

She looks me up and down, really slow like a scanner at the airport. "You don't look that old."

I chuckle. "Well, old is a relative term. I see your car out early. So, I figure you work, right?'

"Yep. Believe it or not, I'm a software engineer." Again the smile.

"Oh – I believe it. Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, even in today's world a woman, well...you know."

The sun is really hot. I'm sweating through the tee shirt. "Hold on a sec!" I say, holding up a finger. I back up into the garage where there is an extra refrigerator. I pull out two bottles of water, Run back outside and hand one to her.

"Well," she says, "thanks! I better get back to mowing before I melt."

"How come the drag racer doesn't do the duty?" Now that is not nice, I know, but I really, really want to know the story here.

She rubs the bottle across her forehead and then puts it between those headlight breasts. She shivers a little. I am turned on. "Well, he's got his thing and I've got mine. I love the exercise, hot or not. I always have a lot of excess energy to work off, it seems."

Man, there is an opening, but I do not take it. I salute her with the bottle, she starts the roaring mower again and I head back in the house.

I noticed a small tear in the screen on the patio in the back of my house the day before. Now I'm not about to tear it out and put in a new one. Hell, it's a small tear. So I get a strip of transparent tape and go out and tape the tear from the outside.

Now my screened patio is right across from Lawn Mower Lady's pool. The space between the houses is adequate but not like an acre or anything, so the pool is close and you can hear conversation in my patio or in their pool.

I just finish the taping when I hear the door to their patio open and there she is. This time the bikini top is still there, but the shorts have been replaced with a bikini bottom that really shows off those strong legs. Also I notice some ripples on the taut stomach. Lawn Mower Lady has an almost six pack!

On her patio it's about two steps from the door to the pool and she comes down the little stairs into the pool. She slides in up to her neck and just sits there. I see she's got a wine glass in her hand. Class.

She looks over and sees me looking at her, holding the tape in my hand. She waves the glass at me. I wave the tape back. "Want to come over for a dip? You look hot. – I mean really, really warm." She giggles and puts a hand up to her mouth.

I laugh back. "Why thanks. You sure it's okay?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

Right. Stupid. "Yeah, well give me a minute." I go in the house, grab my trunks from the bedroom closet, tear off the sweats, Reeboks and socks and go out the patio door. Three steps later I'm at Lawn mower Lady's patio door. I go in and see that now she's got the wine bottle on a table and another glass. She is back in the pool.

"Some Pinot Grigio?"

"Love it!"

"Help yourself and come on in."

So, I pour a half glass and ease down those little stairs into the pool. It's not heated, but in weather like this, the water is an easy eighty degrees. I move over next to her and we tip glasses. "The boyfriend work on Saturday?"

"Harry? Yeah. Until about four. Then he'll come home and we go to the drag races out at Colonial Dragway."

"You a big fan?"

She takes a sip of the wine and puts her glass on the edge of the pool. She lifts both hands out of the water and spills water on her head and shoulders. As she does, her breasts move up to the top of the bikini and I am getting an eyeful.

"Well, I like the people out there. The noise is a bit much and he doesn't spend a whole lot of time with me, what with the car and his crew and all." She extends those strong legs out and begins kicking, making a little water movement. "And you, Bill, what do you do in your free time?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Afraid I'm pretty structured. I take Saturday to completely let the batteries re-charge. I have a deadline on two or three articles I have due. I work out six days a week early in the morning, go on line for research, write, edit and well, that's about it." I am standing in the water which is only about four feet deep. I put my glass on the edge of the pool next to her. As I do, I brush her shoulder with my arm. No, not on purpose!

She gives me a look that could say is that all or why did you do that or nothing. "Oh c'mon, Bill! You must do more than that! Obviously you are not married. Where is the significant other?"

I shake my head. "Nope. None. And I just moved up here from Miami. Don't know anybody. Trying to get into a couple of writing groups but I've only been here a week, remember. I'm too old for clubbing and don't go to church. So, what's an old fart to do?"

She laughs a very throaty laugh. "Old fart? Hardly. You'll get grabbed up as soon as you find your groove."

We are right next to each other. She is still lazily kicking her legs. As they swing back she catches the side of my leg about every third kick. Doesn't hurt and I don't move.

She turns her head to me. What great eyes! "So tell me about your writing."

"Not much to tell. I have always been a free lancer. Allowed me to go into some uncharted waters. Not too smart a lot of the time. Got into some scrapes, was asked, not too gently, by the State Department to come back to the States and stay here." I shrug. "So, here I am."

"Why'd you leave Miami?" This time the leg comes back, snares my leg and stays there, rubbing my calf with her foot. I can't ignore it, but I do my best.

"Too much like a big city. Too Spanish to tell you the truth. I spent a lot of time in Central America. Got shot at. Got stabbed – in Colombia, not Miami! But I wanted a real change."

The foot stops its rubbing. "Stabbed! Where?"

I lift my arm out of the water. "Right her along the ribs." I run my finger down the scar. It's healed, but you can feel it.

She half turns to me, takes her hand and puts it right where my finger was. She gently strokes my scar. If she looks in the water now she will see a tent forming in my trunks.

"Wow!" She says, those blue eyes now thoroughly engaged in mine. "What an exciting life!" The hand has not stopped. Neither has my hard on.

We are so close now that her breasts are actually touching my chest. I don't want to make a move for a couple of reasons. One, she might slash me with a wine glass and two, I don't know how close we are to boyfriend coming home time.

Her hand comes out of the water and up to my face. Damn! I should have shaved this morning, but man, it's Saturday! She strokes my cheek and leans into me. What the hell! I lean my face towards her and she covers the distance. We kiss. Gently, but for a long time. We pull apart simultaneously.

She puts her head under water and comes up quickly. "Oh God!" She says, and puts both hands on her face. "I'm sorry! I don't know what hit me! Forgive me?"

I put my hands over hers. "Nothing to forgive. That was very sweet. Now, I better be going." Yeah, easy to say. But Willie the hard on is still at attention. Well, maybe I can keep my back turned.

She is just sitting in the water as I climb out. I have to turn around to get to the door and damn! Willie is at attention, still. She is looking at me. Right at my crotch.

"Well," she says softly, "at least I can still do that."

"Yes m'am," I reply just as softly. "That and more."

I walk the few steps to my own patio, open the door and hurry in the house. As I do I hear the roar of a powerful truck pulling up next door. Whew!

******

Sundays are special. I go to the gym which is affiliated with the one I belonged to in Miami. I swim my mile, come home, make myself pancakes, clean the bathrooms, vacuum the rug which it needs after movers. And the New York Times. My one vice. Sunday Times. I eat and read and sit and read. An hour, maybe more.

Then it's time for work. I'm sitting there at the dining room table in my shorts, no shirt and reading the book review section when there is a tap on the door to the patio. I had unlocked it in my routine when I swept the patio this morning.

I turn in my chair and my God! It's Dorothy the Lawn Mower lady! I get up and go to the glass door and swing it open. "Hey!" I say.

She steps in. She is wearing like a moo-moo and bare feet. "I could say I came to borrow a cup of sugar, but why lie?" She says it with her head hanging down just a bit.

"Well, I got sugar...but.." Okay, I'm stuck for an answer. And my mind, always full of conspiracy theories is already developing a story. He came home, saw two wine glasses by the pool, she confessed, she came over to accuse me or apologize and then he'll show up and beat me with a tire iron.

She looks up at me. The blue eyes seem to be blazing. "Yesterday, when we were next to each other in the pool, I felt this electricity like I haven't in a long, long time. When I kissed you I felt so embarrassed, but you kissed back, and..."

We are about six inches apart, standing n the middle of my living room. "Whoa!" I say. "Wait a minute. Come here and sit down." I lead her to the couch. It is a big living room with those twelve foot ceilings that they are finally building into Florida homes. I have two wing chairs and a sofa facing the TV set and a Herman Miller chair in one corner with a light over it where I do my reading and research.

She sits next to me, right on the edge of the couch. She looks around the room. Then she looks back at me and smiles. "Nice."

"Thanks." I'm still feeling my way here. "Look, Dorothy, you have nothing to feel guilty or ashamed of. It was a beautiful moment."

She half turns to me. I can see her breasts outlined against the dress. I swear she has no bra on this morning. "I don't feel guilty. I want to know if you meant that kiss."

How the hell do I answer that one? "Well, yeah. I mean of course I did. Like I said, it was a beautiful moment."

"That's all?"

"Well, okay. Look you are a beautiful woman. You were wearing a bikini. I haven't been with a woman in well, a long time. I was turned on. Big time. But I am sensitive about turf. You live with your boyfriend. Is he home this morning?"

That broke the mood, but I had to know. She laughed that hearty laugh. "No silly. The car semi blew up last night and he's at the shop."

"Oh. Okay. Good. I mean, well, yeah. It was a beautiful moment."

"And no more."

"I didn't say that. I just don't know what this is yet. I mean, we met yesterday and I'm really attracted to you. More than I should be."

"What do you mean 'more than you should be'".

"Well hell Dorothy – you are living with a guy. We just met. I do have some rules, some morals."

"Oh." She lowers her head and folds her hands in her lap. "Then, I am sorry. I don't want to embarrass you."

I reach over and take her chin in my hand. I lift her head. "Embarrass me? Lady, you don't know. It took three glasses of wine and an Advil PM for me to sleep last night."

She takes my hand in her small one. "Look. Harry and I have been together for three years. He doesn't want to get married and frankly neither do I. The sex when we met was incredible. The whole drag racing scene was exciting for me. I'm a software engineer for God sake! But time moves on. He's put on thirty pounds in the past two years. We haven't made love in over a month. I swear he gets off on his car. I don't like the smell of exhaust and gasoline anymore and then you show up next door..." By now she is squeezing my hand to the point where the blood is cut off.

"Shhh," I say.

She sighs and sits back on the couch, her head on the back cushion. She lets go of my hand and crosses her arms under her breasts. Nope. No bra.

"Look," I say, still feeling my way, "I felt it too. My God, when you ran your hand over my scar I thought I'd boil the water in the pool. Question is, what do you want to do about it?"

By now I'm also sitting back with my head next to hers. She reaches over and takes my face in both hands and kisses me full on the mouth. Softly then hard Then I feel her tongue and answer it with mine. She puts her arms around me as best she can and I do the same. She pulls me to my feet. There is a coffee table in front of the couch so I take her hand and lead her around it.

We are standing in the middle of the living room kissing and holding each other. I kiss her neck and she starts to breathe harder. She takes her arms from around me and pulls my shorts down. Willie is back at attention. She reaches for me and feels him through my jockeys. She groans slightly.

I grab her moo-moo around the waist and lift it up. She takes her hand away and puts her hands over her head. I slip the dress over her head. She is totally naked underneath.

I step back and look at her. The breasts, as I imagined are large melons, standing straight up. The nipples are red and round and hard and very long. The stomach is breathing in and out and is yeah, buffed. Between those strong legs, now so straight is a light touch of blonde hair. A natural!

She reaches for me and we are pressed against one another again. I take her by the hand and lead her into my bedroom. Thank God I vacuumed and made the freaking bed! I am holding her hand with one of mine as I take down the spread that Adolpho, the decorator in Miami made me buy and pull the covers back. She holds me very close once more, sits on the edge of the bed and pulls my jockeys down the rest of the way.

She looks up at me with a little smile and the dimples. One hand reaches out and holds Willie. He loves it. Then she takes him in both hands. He responds with just a little pre-cum on the tip. She uses that to lather him a bit. Then she reaches one arm behind me, takes my buttocks and pulls me to her. The geometrics of the bed and my height put him at face level. She takes him in her mouth and softly begins to move her tongue around his head. She pulls back and forth slowly, taking more and more until he is fully inside her mouth.