Writer's Note: This is a story for adults over eighteen years of age about adults over eighteen years of age. While the story line is true the dialog has been compressed for the sake of time and space. Safe sex was not an issue in the early seventies, but should be a concern for everyone today.
*****
I was about twelve when an elderly couple in our neighborhood offered to pay me to mow their lawn while they were away on vacation. It did not take long before I realized that with a couple hundred homes in the nearby adult community, I could make some serious money.
When I first began my lawn mowing business it was mostly to supplement my allowance at home and to save money for college, but over time I found that there were other rewards to be gained from the retired widows, ignored housewives, and divorcees living in a nearby adult community on the out skirts of Tampa; I quickly learned that they had a great appreciation for young men who were not only handy, but also good listeners.
Of course life was completely different during those days. People were trusting and thought nothing of leaving their doors open; few people had air conditioning so screened windows were left open to allow the Gulf breezes to cool their homes. Any respectable housewife had her home clean and was completely dress by nine o'clock ready to receive visitors; it was not at all unusual to see women working in their flowers in a dress wearing make-up and the works. I didn't even know women who lounged around the house in sloppy clothes. Close neighbors and friends were not required to even knock before entering; they would open the screen door and give a, "yoohoo" and walk in.
In the early years of my business I was often invited into homes after my lawn work was done for homemade cookies and milk. That's when I learned the attribute that women appreciated in men; being a good listener. I would sit and listen to stories about places I had never been and adventures I had only read about. By the time I was in a senior in high school those memories were often shared over a cold beer or a glass of wine by a widow who had lived through the Great Depression and World War II; a widow who was also willing to share her knowledge of life's pleasures with an inexperienced young man eager to learn.
Mrs. Steinman was one of those widows; she would invite me in and give me a towel to dry off before she poured us a glass of sherry and pulled out one of her photo albums. Whether it was around the kitchen table or on the sofa she always sat close to me and showed me photos of her as a young woman; photos of her welding on tanks in a factory during WWII or wearing a one piece bathing suit in a beauty pageant to raise money selling war bonds. She was still a pretty woman too, possibly in her fifties and about five feet, five inches tall; she was curvaceous with a top slightly larger than her hips and firm round bottom. Her slightly large Romanesque nose, beautiful wide smile, and sparkling green eyes were topped by a head of thick, salt and pepper hair which she often wore in a long braid down her back or in a bun on the back of her head.
I often saw her working in her flower beds dressed in a full cotton skirt that hung low on her wide hips and a knit halter top to harness her "C" cup breasts leaving her tanned mid drift bare; for some unknown reason, her unshaven under arms and legs seemed to draw my attention. The Florida sun had given her a deep tan and a crop of freckles sprinkled over her shoulders and the top swells of her breasts; there wasn't even a hint of tan lines visible. She would smile at me when she caught me staring at her more than ample cleavage or her hard nipples pushing against the knit fabric. On several occasions when I opened the gate of the privacy fence around the pool and backyard I got a glimpse of her rushing into the house nude trying to cover up with a small towel.
During one visit she picked up several photo albums from a shelf and sat down beside me; the first album showed photos of her living in an airstream trailer in the desert, near what would later become Las Vegas, while her husband worked on the Hoover Dam project. The second album she "accidently" picked up; she opened it then quickly closed it, but not before I got a quick glance at a group of people playing volley ball nude.
"Well that was a bit embarrassing, I hope that didn't embarrass you " she said without a hint of blushing. "My late husband and I used to belong to a nudist colony near Ft. Myers."
"Not at all; I have been to the nude beach near Clearwater several times. Do you not go to the nudist colony anymore?"
She chuckled, "Well, I guess you could say I'm a backyard nudist now; that's why I have the privacy fence. It's a long ride to go by myself, but I do miss being with other nude people."
"Then maybe we could go together some time." I suggested.
She chuckled, "At my age it is probably better if I just stay in my backyard."
I had already learned that whenever possible give a woman a compliment.
"Nonsense, you are a very pretty woman. I know women half your age that would kill to have your figure."
"Ooh, that's so sweet of you."
I added, "Of course, we could go to the river where I go skinny dipping sometimes."
We both laughed and she began flipping through the album and telling me about the black and white pictures; many of which were of her posing nude on the beach or engaged in some of the group activities with her husband. It was nice seeing all of her parts, even if it was only a photo.
After that, Mrs. Steinman stopped going into the house when I opened the gate to the backyard; she would roll over on her stomach and pull the towel partially over her bottom until I finished mowing. One day when I completed mowing and was gathering my equipment she invited me to have a drink with her; she stood up from the lounge chair while awkwardly trying to keep her body somewhat covered with a towel that was much too small for the purpose intended.
"Here let me help you with that." I said as I reached out and took the towel from her hands then promptly laid it on the patio table. "Now you don't have to worry about those awkward times when your towel slips off," I added as my eyes surveyed her lovely tanned body.
For several minutes I was able to take in all the beauty of the woman whom I had admired and fantasized about for some time. For the first time I was able to fill in all the missing parts of my fantasy; I saw her very kissable, brown, silver dollar sized areola and short thick nipples. She smiled as I looked down at the triangle of thick, graying pubic hair. I could feel my hardening phallus push against the fabric of my cutoff jeans; I was hoping the legs were long enough to hide its sudden growth.
"I just didn't want to make you feel awkward or think that an older woman was trying to lead you astray."
I smiled, "You are too late for that; an older woman has already led me astray, of course I was eager and easily led."
"Oooh, you must tell me about that sometime. By the way, since you have seen me nude on several occasions, I think it would be okay for you to call me Margaret when we are alone."
I was desperately trying to keep from getting a raging hard-on in front of her; I kept telling myself, "Look at her eyes; look at her eyes."
"I would be happy to, Margaret. I'm glad you don't go running for the house when I'm working in the back yard; I love seeing you nude."
"Okay, you rinse off under the pool shower and come on in the Florida room; I'll fix us a snack and something to drink."
She left her towel on the table for me to use and walked into the house. I marveled at the fluid motion of her mature body as she seemed to glide into the house. I kicked off my tennis shoes and stepped under the shower wearing my cut-off jeans; once they were reasonably clean I took them off and laid them in the sun to dry. The cool water on my body did lessen the heat that emanated from my loins. When I turned around, Margaret was standing at the door watching me shower; we smiled at each other then she turned and disappeared into the house. After several minutes of cool water running over my body I shut off the water and dried off; my phallus, while still a bit swollen, was again able to point toward my toes.
As I walked into the sun room nude, Mrs. Steinman, ah...Margaret was slightly bent over placing towels on the sofa for us to sit on; I got a quick glance at her hair covered vulva through the hollow space between her thighs. My cock pulsed and expanded to its pre shower state.
