Straight Green Lines

She had dark hair with touches of grey. Dark eyes and tan skin. She wore a black sports tank and black shorts. White Nike shoes and ankle socks. She was about average height and reasonably fit.

It was Saturday. Mowing Day. She always dressed just like this to mow. The white shoes tinged with green. The July sun beating down and warming her small frame through black cotton and spandex.

Her husband was out of town, as he was nearly every weekend. Besides, he couldn't mow. Allergies, he claimed. She'd seen him all red-faced and sneezing after he'd done the yard work, so it might have been true.

She used the push mower. Not a self-propelled one. It was her weekend fitness routine. An hour of pushing the mower in perfect, straight, green lines. This was preceded by a few minutes of using the weed eater.

Her hair in a ponytail, she'd push the mower the length of the yard. And turn and go back. Again and again. Her body becoming excessively hot, sweat beading and running down her skin.

On many of her mowing Saturdays, she'd see him. The neighbor who cared deeply for his yard. He, too, was married. He was rarely joined in the yard for anything approaching work. His wife preferred to sit on the deck and sip a drink or two.

He was a male version of her. Average height, fit, dark hair, dark eyes. Except he didn't wear black. Always khaki pants and a white shirt and a ball cap when he mowed. Sweat steaming up his dark-rimmed glasses.

Today, she knew she wouldn't see him. He'd mowed the day before. A rare Friday when he was not at work.

As her feet took step after step behind the mower, he watched. From his bedroom window. Alone. He noticed her body, visible behind the trees that separated their yard. He delighted in the turns when she was facing him directly. Her breasts just beginning to glisten in the heat. Equally delightful was her walking away, her firm legs tantalizing in the bright sun.

He wondered about her always black attire. The heat and the sweat.

He felt an arousal within. Deep within. An animal instinct. He was wearing khakis and a white shirt, but today, he was inside. Home alone and enjoying the air conditioning on a blistering summer day.

She moved on to her front yard. He heard her now, but couldn't see her. Then, the mower stopped. He watched as she walked up the driveway and rolled the mower into the garage.

He walked outside with a glass of sweet tea and sat on his deck. She saw him and waved. He waved back.

Her hair was wet with the sweat from her work and her body ached from the exertion.

She emerged from her garage with a plastic cup in hand and waved again. This time, she motioned for him to come toward her. And he complied. Down the stairs of his deck, through the yard, between the trees and into her yard. Her yard now lined with perfect, straight, green lines.

She smiled and asked him a question about some of the flowers he'd recently planted. He answered and asked if she was alone again this weekend. Yes, he learned.

She said he looked relaxed and he told her he was enjoying a rare weekend completely alone in his home.

She finished her drink and walked toward her back door.

"You should come in," she said. "Have a seat and I'll be out in a bit."

He welcomed the invitation. Just a few minutes in the heat had allowed sweat to bead on his forehead. Plus, her invitation made him curious. What did she want?

He felt a touch of arousal returning, too. Hungrier, more urgent this time.

He took a seat on her couch and watched as she put her empty cup in the sink.

She walked to the back and he heard the shower come on.

Standing in her doorway, he saw her socks in a ball on the floor. Her shorts joined them from the bathroom.

She jumped when he tapped on the bathroom door frame. Turning to him with her tank still on.

"Go on," he said.

She peeled the sticky shirt off and tossed it on the floor. As she did, she noticed his complete arousal bulging in his khakis. The head of his member a rounded outline against a layer of cotton.

Thinking he'd join her in the shower, she turned and took a step.

He was right behind her, arms around her waist, lips on her neck. He took in her pure scent. Sweaty, sticky, salty to taste. Her essence made him even harder and his pants dropped to the floor.

His hands now on her breasts as his lips tasted her neck, her shoulders, her back. He kissed up her back and turned her head, tasting her lips.

His boxer briefs joined his khakis on the floor and she felt his hardness against her back.

He kissed her up and down. Faced her and kissed between her breasts, teased her nipples with his tongue. Turned her around and kissed a line along her spine to her ass. He welcomed the discovery of her flesh.

His fingers danced along her warm, wet pussy.

One inside her, a second. Her body gripping him.

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to the floor. She was on all fours now, facing the steam rising from the shower.

His cock was on her ass. The head now against her clit and then, in a single thrust, inside.

He was devouring her. His kisses growing hungry, his teeth biting the flesh of her shoulders as he moved inside her. He was thrusting hard and fast and kept on going as if he would never stop. He wanted nothing more than to be as far inside her as he could.

His hands on her waist, he took her completely. The sensation, the newness of it, sent her over the edge.

And he was still going. Not enough. More. More of her essence. And he screamed her name with his body grinding against hers. She felt the force of his orgasm inside her. She squeezed him and held him there.

As he slipped out of her, he held her. They lay together on the bathroom floor, their sweat and bodies intertwined.

She turned and looked at him. "Now, let's clean up."

And she stepped into the shower.