All Sexual Activity In This Story Is Between Characters 18+ Years Of Age
*****
Fred Dawes pushed his hand mower up the incline and grinned. His calves and hamstrings stung while the clacking steel reel sung to him and arced green grass blades between his driving legs. "Coach was sure right about this job," he thought. "It's a great workout. I bet I'll be outrunning and jumping all the other guys when I get to Notre Dame!" Although it was only 9:45, the morning sun was already asserting itself. The eighteen-year-old graduating basketball player's broad back glistened with sweat as he bent over the mower handle.
At the top of the knoll he stopped, turned around and surveyed his work, so far. To his left, down the slope, the freshly painted Lakeside Park bandstand and gazebo gleamed snow-white beneath its new gilded cupola. The expanse of just-mown lawn below and to his right spanned a half-acre toward the car park. He was about to start the next patch of grass when he saw a woman, with two children trailing, walking down the path toward the lakeshore boathouse.
Even at a distance, Fred could see the young mother was pretty. The sun added a halo effect to her flaxen hair, which, like her blue dress, blew about her, as random zephyrs rose from the lake. He did not mean to stare, but he must have done, for a time, because she veered from her course and walked toward him, waving her hand. The boy and girl hurried to the shore and set about skipping stones across the water.
Mary Trotter approached Dawes with a warm smile and said, "Hello! Is the park OPEN? The gates weren't shut, but there's only one other car, and an old pick-up truck, in the lot. When we walked in, we didn't see ANY other people." She cast her outstretched right arm in a sweeping arc. "Except for YOU, of course!" Her light laugh charmed Fred, who was already captivated by her full bosom and hour-glass figure.
"Huhn?" Dawes mentally kicked himself for his dull response. "Um, sure, the park opened for the season last Sunday, on Mothers Day, just like every year." He, too, scanned the deserted horizon and speculated, "It'll pick up in the next few days and then be gangbusters until Labor Day, I expect." Mary was struck by the odd combination of shyness and confidence in his voice and smile as he continued, "The Dodge roadster is mine and the pick-up belongs to the county."
"Oh, OK then," she replied. Suddenly recognizing the boy, Mary announced, "Say! Aren't you Fred Dawes? The ice-man's son? I'm Mrs. Trotter... on Garvey Avenue. You used to help your dad with the deliveries when you were younger. My GOODNESS! You have certainly grown into a strapping young man!"
Mary cast her eyes slowly over Fred's perspiring athletic physique and spare apparel. He wore a pair of cobalt blue George Washington High School basketball shorts, with 'No. 14' embroidered in white thread on the left leg. A pair of grass-sprinkled gray wool socks, rolled down over the tops of his sturdy leather work boots, completed the visible ensemble. Every one of his many man-sized muscles bulged. Mary also notice a significant manly bulge in his shorts. She unconsciously ran the pink tip of her tongue over her dark cherry lipstick.
Embarrassed, Fred bowed his crew-cut head and scuffed his right boot toe against his left instep. "Yeah, that's me... but when Dad got his truck he didn't need me to hold Smitty's reins, anymore." Raising his head, he beamed at Mary, appreciating, up close, how the row of four white buttons rose to a peak, then fell sharply away, as they crossed the crest of her ample bust. "My sophomore Geometry teacher was Mr. Trotter. Is he your... uh, HUSBAND?"
Just then Arthur and Cecilia ran up and pulled the pleats of Mary's cotton dress. "Mother," Arthur blurted, "aren't we going to get a rowboat?"
"Yes," Mary answered, distractedly, while she looked at Fred and quieted the excited children with a firm hand on their shoulders. "And THIS rude little boy, is Mr. Trotter's son, Arthur." Hugging Cecilia to her hip, Mary continued, "While this sweet thing HERE, is my young sister, Cecie." She pushed the playmates forward and said, "Say 'hello' to Mr. Dawes, kids, then run down to the boathouse and wait for me. I'll be right along."
As the nine-year-olds ran laughing back to the lake, Mary's and Fred's eyes, which had yet to break contact, built an electric bridge. A jolt jumped through Mary's chest and landed in her stomach. She felt her cunny moisten. Fred, uncomfortably warm under his skin, turned abruptly to his lawn mower and hoped the urges he felt in his groin would recede without obvious effect.
"Mmmmm," Mary murmured to his slick tapered back. "Well, I better get Arthur and Cecie out on the water, Fred. I didn't mean to disturb your... um, work."
Dawes cleared his throat, but his response was still a mumble. "That's OK, Mrs. Trotter." He peered down at his crotch, grateful that his jock-strap restrained his aggravated prick, at least to some degree. "But, the guy who works the boat dock concession called in sick, today. You want me to go down... and, you know... help you get off?"
Mary thought that was a wonderful idea. "Yes, alright," she said, swallowing a rising lump. "That's very sweet of you."
At the boat dock, Art and Cecie were prancing back and forth, arguing indecisively about which of the four identical craft was the one they wanted. Mary held her open hands helplessly out at her sides, grimaced and rolled her eyes. Fred rescued her by stepping between the two kids. Pointing at the bow moored to the third wooden bollard, he said authoritatively, "Number Two, here, is the FASTEST and SMOOTHEST boat we have. Why don't you hop in IT? I'll set you up."
Dawes held the boat steady to the dock as the children climbed in. While he went into the boathouse for a pair of oars and oarlocks, Mary offered a maternal briefing. "You BOTH get to row, so don't ARGUE. Sit still and stay within three boat lengths of the shore at all times." She smiled and added, "AND, no matter how much FUN you're having... head back in no later than two o'clock!"
