One lucky coincidence was that the strips that I was mowing were taking me closer and closer to the windows. She couldn’t be oblivious to my presence could she? She must know that I can see her, can’t she? If she does know, what does it mean? After mowing the last strip four times I reluctantly accepted that I had finished and unenthusiastically returned the mower to the shed.
I knocked on the back door and she instantly appeared, fully dressed and completely composed. “Oh you have finished. Jolly good. Come in and have a cold drink. You must have worked up quite a thirst out there in that heat.” I had been sweating all right but it had nothing to do with the lawns. She gestured me back to “that” chair and bade me sit. Like a hammer blow, the aroma from the arm of the chair hit me. The earthy, spicy smell was clearly discernable. The erection that I had been carrying around with me for the last twenty minutes or so was instantly rejuvenated.
“Oh dear” she said, looking impersonally at my crotch, “The lawn mowing does not seemed to have relieved you of your tumescence.” I didn’t know the meaning of the word but I figured out it was a synonym for some earthier words. “I suppose it would be remiss of me not to help you with your dilemma. Very well, how to do this?” She paused and looked thoughtful while drumming her nails on the table she was standing next to. I didn’t have a clue where this was heading.
“Well, I suppose we should try the conventional solution.” She stood, removed her shorts and panties and (again) assumed the position with which I was now familiar; her bent over the arm of the chair.
“Take you pants off like a good boy. Come up behind me. We are going to play steam trains.”
By this stage I was blindly obedient. If she had told me to bite off my finger I would have. I stood and lowered my shorts and underpants to my ankles. My cock pointed proudly out.
“Oh goodness, I haven’t seen one that eager since that since the Governor’s Cocktail party back in 68.” I assumed that the comment was a compliment. I shuffled up behind her. Steam trains? She reached around and took hold of my cock. She was the first person, other than my parents, who had ever touched me there and I just about died. She guided me to her moist little niche and held me at the entrance.
She looked over shoulder at me, “Have you done this before Jimmy, with a woman I mean.” I didn’t dwell on the implication and simply shook my head. “Very well, just do what comes naturally. Hammer it home. This is not a time for restraint. Just damn the torpedoes and make full speed ahead.”
I plunged ahead. It was like the proverbial hot knife through butter. I quickly built up a steady rhythm. “Ooofff! Oh goodness. Yes that’s right. Oh you are a good boy. What a quick learner! Yes. Yes! Just like that. Very good. Veeery good. Keep it up. Yes. Yes! Drive on! Sunder my valley! Sunder. Sunder. Give me your broadside.”
She was not making much sense to me but I was off in my own little world. And then, just to round off my astonishment, she starting singing. A well-known hymn no less. “Onward Christian Soldiers. Marching as to war. With the cross of Jesus marching on before.” It did give a pleasing rhythm with which to time my thrusts however.