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From: "OddManOut Anywhere" <oddman0ut@hotmail.com>
Subject: RP: "Mowing the Lawn" mf, teen, oral
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Disclaimer: Don't read this if you've got a lot of work to do. You'll
just end up doing it all later, with less time to spend.
Mowing the Lawn
1/2
by
OddManOut
I have always hated grooming my yard. It's what sets me apart from
everyone else in my neighborhood. I tell them it's because I want a
"natural" look, but the real reason is that I just don't see the point.
Why should I shell out a few hundred bucks for a machine that will chop
off my toes, annoy my neighbors, and spew more toxic fumes into the air
than the tailpipe of a car?
Of course, I couldn't hold out forever with this mentality. I may not
have cared about the yard, or the general neighborhood disapproval, but
Sheila did, and I ended up getting a lawnmower. Not an expensive one:
That was my rebellion. I got an old bargain machine at a yard sale for
40 bucks. Sheila laughed when she saw it, and asked if I was still
concerned about safety, noise, and pollution. No matter. I had bought
this thing so that I could make it fail.
And fail it did. The first time I mowed the lawn, the engine conked out
three times from being shoved through the tall grass. Thereafter, I
always made it a point to wait until the grass was tall before mowing
again, so as to put more of a strain on the engine. I also got the idea
of intentionally running over sticks and small stones, but this idea was
reconsidered when a small piece of wood got spewed out of the motor onto
my shin, making a gash three inches long and plenty deep. And when I
got the bandage on, Sheila still made me go out and finish the lawn.
I didn't have to wait long for my plan to take effect. Barely a month
after its purchase, the lawnmower died for good. I was shoving it
through a large thatch of grass when it suddenly lost power and began to
spew out plumes of oily blue smoke. I shut it off and put it back in
the garage, then went in the house and told Sheila that it had broken.
>From then on, whenever Sheila would remind me that the lawn needed
mowing, I would be able to say, "I can't, honey, the lawnmower's still
broken." Then I would go back to reading the paper, or watching the
game, or just unwinding on the porch. Sheila would remind me that the
mower had been broken for XXXXX days, and that we would need to get it
fixed, and I would say either 1.) "Honey, I'm too busy this weekend to
take it in to the shop," 2.) "Honey, it's probably going to cost a lot
to fix, and we don't have the money for that right now," or 3.) "Honey,
I called the shop. They said I can't bring it in this weekend, because
they're too busy right now."
My plan was brilliant, except for one factor I hadn't foreseen: Two
weeks after our mower broke, Sheila got the idea of asking one of our
neighbors, the Fredericks, to lend us their machine. By this time, our
grass was a good four inches high, and they were glad to be of
assistance, just to see our yard assimilated back to the two-inch
neighborhood standard. Once again, I trudged over the yard, pushing the
damn mower, and missing the first quarter of the Niners game. At least
our neighbors' mower had a bag, so I didn't have to rake clippings.
I suppose I could have gotten around the problem by breaking this mower
as well, but my conscience kept me from destroying the property of
others in pursuit of my own laziness. So I treated it nicely and pushed
it back to driveway outside the Fredericks' house.
When I rang the bell, the door was answered by Katie, our neighbors'
daughter. Katie was seventeen year old junior in high school. She was
on the track team, and the Fredericks had invited Sheila and I to come
watch her meets many times. She was a very fast runner. Today she was
dressed in baggy sweatpants and a big old T-shirt, but I had seen her
run enough times to know that the pants hid a fantastic pair of strong,
tan legs, and that the breasts beneath the shirt were both large and
firm. Judging from the way I could see them move, I guessed that Katie
wasn't wearing a bra this morning.
"Hi, Mr. Grabel!" She said, leaning against the doorframe. "Are you
here to return the mower?"
"Yes," I answered, somewhat out of breath. The worst thing about
mowing my yard is that since I don't do it very often, the tall grass
makes pushing the lawnmower that much harder. It's a vicious circle,
really.
Katie saw my worn-out state and said "You look exhausted. Do you want
some lemonade?" I agreed readily, and she let me into the house. I
stood in the foyer, afraid to move lest I drip sweat on anything, but
Katie beckoned me to follow her into the kitchen in the back of the
house. When I came into the kitchen, I found a chair that didn't look
too fancy and sat down as she poured me a large glass of lemonade.
I accepted the drink gratefully, and took a long sip as she put the jug
back in the fridge. I admired her butt through the sweatpants as she
bent over to put away the lemonade. I knew I shouldn't have looked, but
how could anyone not look at a butt as fine as hers? I was able to pull
my eyes away by the time she stood up and closed the door.
"Thanks for the drink." I said. "When you get as old as me, doing
these types of things can really get you exhausted." Katie laughed when
she heard this. "I can't believe that, Mr. Grabel. How old are you,
28?" "36," I replied, "but thanks. And call me Brad. Calling me Mr.
Grabel makes me feel even older."
"OK." She said, cocking her head to the side a little. "It's not so
bad to seem older, Mr. G-- I mean Brad. I don't see any problem with
that at all." I was a little confused. What did she mean by that?
"Well, maybe you don't have any problem with it, but I do. There's a
lot of things that I could do in high school that I can't do anymore."
"Like what?" She said.
"Well..." I started, but stopped for a second to think. I *did* have
some examples, but most of them were things you weren't supposed to talk
about with your neighbor's teenage daughter. "Well, I was able to mow
the lawn and not get this tired. And my lawn back then was bigger than
my lawn now."
Katie was not impressed. "So? Maybe you just need to do it more often.
I mow our lawn every week. It keeps me in shape. See?" She pulled up
the bottom of her T-shirt and invited me to look at her midriff. I did.
It was very flat, and very tan. I could see a slight tan line just
above where her sweatpants met her waist.
"That's true," I said, "but you also do some running, so you have an
excuse to stay in shape. Why should I stay in shape? I'm supposed to
be settled down now." Katie looked at my body appraisingly. "Mrs.
Grabel doesn't mind if you're out of shape?"
That stuck. "Of course she doesn't!" I said it a little too quickly.
Sheila *had* been inviting me to come to the gym with her lately, but if
mowing the lawn was pointless, then paying $20 a month to walk on a
treadmill is just stupid. I knew Sheila was going to win on that one
anyway: Ever since she had started working out again, she had become
more active in bed. I would have to start going with her just so I
could keep up with her afterwards.
Katie shrugged her shoulders. "If I was married to a guy, I'd make sure
that we were always fit. I hate guys that are out of shape. They get
so out of breath. Oh, sorry Mr.-- Oops, I mean, sorry Brad."
"None taken." I said, lying just a little bit. "Do you make sure your
boyfriend doesn't stay in shape?" I assumed he would be just as much as
a jock as she was. But instead of answering me, she looked away
slightly, and shook her head. "I don't have a boyfriend."
This confused me. "Why not? You're gorgeous. Any guy would want you."
I was definitely on the wrong track, because as soon as the words were
out of my mouth, tears welled up in her eyes and she ran out of the
kitchen. I followed her, instantly sorry of whatever I had done. Katie
was a genuinely nice girl, and I didn't want to just leave her with her
feelings hurt.
I looked around the house for her, and stopped by the closed door to her
room. Listening closely, I could hear the faint sounds of crying coming
from within. I knocked gently.
"Katie?" I called. The crying stopped for a second, and I could hear a
couple of sniffs, but she didn't answer. "Katie? Is it all right if I
come in?" There was still no answer from inside the room. I didn't
want to burst in on her, but I didn't want to just leave her in her
condition, either. "Katie," I said, "I'm going to come in now, and just
tell me to go away if you don't want that." I gave her a good five
seconds to reply, then I gently opened the door.
Katie was slouched on the bed, looking away from me. She gave a loud
sniffle as I walked towards her. "Katie," I said, "why don't you tell
me what's going on? I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."
"It's not your fault, Mr. Grabel," she said to the wall, "it's just that
there aren't any boys that want me." I was dumbfounded. Katie was
gorgeous, with long legs and arms and a long thing face that still
managed to be cute. She still had the awkwardness of a seventeen
year-old, but she was a lot better looking than any girl I remembered
going to school with. I decided I needed to impress upon her how pretty
she was.
"Katie, I just don't see how that could be true. You're young, you're
in great shape, you've got a great body..."
"What's so great about my body?" She asked softly. Uh oh. I stammered
for a few seconds before I decided that it was best to be honest with
her.
"Well, Katie, you've got great legs. You're a runner, so that's just
natural. All runners have great legs. But your upper body is really
nice too. You've got a nice tan, and your arms look like they're really
strong." I held out my hand towards her upper arm, "May I?" Katie
allowed me to test her biceps, and I continued as I stroked and massaged
her arm. "You've got strong arms, Katie, and that's really attractive,
you know."
She shook her head and shifted her gaze from the wall on the other side
of her to the window in front of her. "Boys don't like that. All the
boys on track are going out with soft girls."
"That can't be true. None of your girlfriends on track have boyfriends
that work out?" She stopped and thought for a second. "OK, so some of
the guys like track girls, but they've already got girlfriends. The
rest of them don't like girls like me."
"Well, what about other boys?" I countered. I had moved down her arm,
and was now massaging her hand in my own. She gave my hand a little
squeeze and said, "I don't know any other boys."
"Sure you do," I countered, "What about boys in your classes? Aren't
there any that seem interesting?" Done with massaging her hand, I
gently tried to pull my hand away, but she held me fast and shook her
head, looking at the floor. "They're all jerks. They never talk to
me."
I pulled my hand from her grasp and began to rub her shoulder. "That's
because they're afraid of you, Katie." She looked at me in terror.
"They are?" "No! No! I didn't mean it that way. I mean they're
afraid to talk to you. They all think you're too pretty, and aren't
interested in them." "How do you know that, Mr. Grabel?" She stared at
the floor.
I paused a second, hesitant to proceed, then said, "Because that's the
way I was in high school, and I know I would have been terrified to talk
to you." "Why?" "Because you're gorgeous! If you ignored me, I would
have been crushed. It was a lot easier to talk about how cool it
*would* be to talk to you with my friends."
Katie smiled slightly, a definite plus. "Do you really think I'm
pretty, Mr. Grabel?"
"Yes," I said, "and call me Brad." "Thank you, Brad." She said, and
leaned over to give me a kiss. It was a very chaste kiss, just a quick
smack on my lips, but I was very quickly becoming hard. I felt it was
time to leave and began to get up, but Katie grabbed my arm. "Could you
stay with me a little while longer, Brad? I really like talking to
you." If only she knew how much I liked talking with her. Her grip on
my arm was light and warm, but it was also firm, and I sat back down,
slouching a little bit to hide the growing bulge in my pants.
"Brad," she said, "if boys are so afraid of me, then how can I get them
to talk to me?" I thought for a second. "How about going up and
talking to one of them? You know? Just pick out a guy you think is
really cute, or really nice, and go up and talk to him about something."
"Like what?" "I don't know, like classes. You can talk to him about
classes, can't you? And just go from there. And if you're really
daring, you can ask him out."
"No way!" Katie giggled, making her breasts quiver. "I can't do that!"
"Sure you can," I said. My erection was now beginning to cause
problems. "It's just like when you kissed me a minute ago. Just do
it."
"Okay." Katie said, and she leaned forward and kissed me on the mouth
again. I had meant that she should just ask the boy out, but I didn't
mind the way she interpreted me. This kiss was longer and slightly
harder, and I could taste her lips as they met mine. Katie drew back
and looked at me with an odd expression on her face.
"Brad?" "Yes, Katie?" "Do I kiss okay?" Now I was in deep water.
"Yes, I think so. It was a little intimate for a friendly kiss, but it
was very nice." She pouted a little. "I know how to give friendly
kisses. Could..." she stopped, and let the silence hang in the air.
"Yes, Katie?" I prompted her.
In a small voice, she said, "Could you show me how to make out?" I
should have left the room right then, but I couldn't. Katie was staring
at me, her eyes wide, and it looked like she was about to break down and
cry if I said anything other than "yes."
"Yes," I said. "What would you like to know?"
"Well," Katie bit her lower lip. "How do you kiss when you make out?
I made out with a boy once, and he said I kissed funny."
I thought about that. "Well, what did you do, Katie?" "Here, I'll show
you." She leaned towards me, puckered her lips, and placed them right
on mine. And held them there. I tried moving my lips around to return
the kiss, but she held her position. I gently pulled my head away.
"Well, Katie, I think one thing is that you need to relax your lips
more. Just a little bit. Keep them thrust out, but the lips themselves
soft. Here, feel my lips." I puckered, and Katie lifted a finger to my
mouth. I kept the outside very soft, and slightly moist. When she
pushed, her finger was able to slide into my mouth slightly. Before I
realized what I was doing, I applied some suction, and drew her finger
in even more, licking it softly with my tongue. Katie smiled a bit, and
drew her finger out. Then she tried pursing her lips like I had, and
leaned in for the kiss.
I could smell her shampoo, and a little bit of her sweat. I figured
that she must have worked out earlier today. Our lips were much softer
against each other now, and much more sensitive. I sucked in a little,
and she sucked back, sealing the bond between us. We held that position
for a while, then I tried to snake my tongue into her mouth. Katie
jerked back with a giggle, and looked at me like I was crazy.
"You didn't like that?" I said. She didn't say anything, but kept
looking at me, noticing that my now-huge erection was causing a very
visible bulge in my shorts. Then she leaned back in and kissed me
again. This time we both opened our mouths, and her tongue met and slid
over mine as we sucked ourselves together. She placed her hand on my
leg lightly as we kissed and began to run her nails over my thigh. I
gave a desperate thought of Sheila, but it evaporated as I slid my hand
from her back to her right breast.
I squeezed her through her shirt, feeling the double-smoothness of shirt
and skin fall away from my fingers. Katie froze when I did this, and
looked me in the eye. She didn't tell me to stop. I trailed my hand
down her T-shirt to her waist, then put my hand under the shirt and
rested it on her stomach.
"Usually, when you make out with a boy, he will try to go as far as he
can with you," I whispered in her ear. "For instance, just now you let
me feel your breast through your shirt, but I want to feel the bare
skin." Katie's breath quickened as I slid my hand up to the soft mound
and found the nipple. I rolled it in my hand, tweaking it slightly.
As I played with her breast, her hand became tight against my thigh. I
leaned forward and whispered "You can feel me up too, if you want." As
I moved my mouth back to hers, she slid her hand up my thigh and under
my shorts, until it was inches from my crotch. She stroked my inner
thigh very slowly and deliberately as I continued to play with her
breast. I was exploring the inside of her mouth with my tongue, running
it along the ridges of her teeth gently.
Continued in Part 2...
"It is only the great men who are truly obscene. If they
had not dared to be obscene, they could never have dared
to be great."
-Havelock Ellis
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