[en] My Lawn and My Dick Needed Some Extra Care

I grew up shy. I didn’t tell anyone about how I felt when I looked at other boys. There was a boy next door, cute and older. He didn’t pay me no mind. Then he went away to college and when he came back for summer break he knew. Somehow, he knew. He showed me everything over the next two summers. He taught me to keep it secret. Then I went away to college. Good times.

But now it’s ten years later. I keep my secrets. No one in this town suspects. I get set up with women, but it never works out. Not in the long run. It can’t.

In the spring I get a simple flyer in the mailbox. Cutting lawns with a name and number. I cut my own lawn, but I placed the call and left a message.

One evening I hear a knock. It’s the boy from the flyer. Wants to cut my lawn. He is tall and lanky. All sinew and angles. Cute. I show him the back and front. He offers me a price. I agree. I want him to start right away. I watch him cut the lawn and show him how to work the mower and where to place the grass clippings. He sweeps up the driveway and back porch after he finishes. His hips swing. As much as those narrow hips can. I bring him into the kitchen to get my wallet. I pay him and offer him a glass of water. He doesn’t talk much. He answers a few questions. Then when he is leaving, I insist that he comes back soon. I want to keep it short and neat.

He cuts my lawn all spring. I watch him the whole time. I find things to do in the yard or I watch him from a window. He always comes in to be paid, sometimes he drinks a glass of water. I talk to him about whatever holds his interests. He cares about cars, so I do some research just so I can talk to him.

When the school year is done, he wants to cut my lawn during the day. I arrange it every Wednesday. I change my work schedule so that I can be there. The first day I make a pitcher of lemonade. When he comes in at the end he drinks and talks. It is hotter now, so he never passes up on that lemonade.

One very hot July day he is cutting the lawn and he takes off his shirt. I watch him cut my lawn in his gym shorts and hat. I can’t keep my eyes off him. His shorts are the ones that the high school kids wear. Maybe they fit him earlier in the year, but now he is filling them out and making them tight. In the end he comes into the kitchen and lifts up his glass of lemonade. He tilts his head back and drinks and drinks. I see his sweaty body stretched back and watch him swallow. The whole glass is emptied, and he is holding the ice against his lips. His tongue darts out and he captures a cube and brings it into his mouth. When he lowers his glass, I make sure to fill it up. I talk to him, but I mess up. I am a little dazzled looking at him and I must have said something wrong. He finishes his second glass as quickly as he can and leaves.

Next Wednesday is another hot day. He takes off his shirt again. This time I thought about what to say and as he drinks his lemonade, I ask him about sports. I suggest basketball and I say he has the right shape for it. Then I suggest wrestling. I tell him about weight classes. I tell him he is muscular and thin. He laughs. He doesn’t want to be tied down by sports. He thanks me for the lemonade then he is gone.

The next week is not as hot, but before he can finish his drink, I walk into the living room and ask him to take a look at something he should find interesting. I pull out a box of magazines. Wrestling magazines. Mostly college level. I have some better magazines and pictures, but I keep those well-hidden. I don’t let visitors see the wrestling magazines either. I buy them when I travel. They have pictures of wrestlers and a series of pictures of wrestling matches. They remind me of when I went to college, even though I never wrestled. I sit on the floor and invite him to a spot beside me. When he comes over, I hand him a magazine and take one for myself. He opens it up. At first, I can’t tell if he is interested. He looks at some of the articles, flipping through pages. He stops at a multi-page spread of wrestling in action. He flips the page again, and he pauses for a long time. It is a good page. A few pictures show how tight those outfits can be and how revealing they are in men’s packages. There are a few poses that look like something else is happening between two wrestlers. Then he flips the page.

Another two-page spread. We are both real quiet now and I can actually hear him breathing. I drop my magazine aside and point out some of the holds and positions on the page. I have moved a little closer and between pointing things out, my hand lands on his leg above his knee. After another page turn, I point out a few more things. Each time I land my hand higher on his legs until I can feel the edge of his shorts. Even without being able to see it, I can feel that his erection is lifting his shorts.

He turns the page. It is a full-page picture of two wrestlers standing, one is behind the other pulling his arms back into a standing pin. The front wrestler’s outfit is really stretched out and you can see everything about his shape down there. Their arms are entwined and there is a look of strain on the front wrestler and determination on the one behind. I lift my hand and point to the position of the hands. Then I lower my hand and rest it right on the top of the tent he has formed in his shorts.

My hand is not moving, and he shifts the magazine a bit as if to block my view of where my hand has landed. Long seconds go by. I can feel his breathing in slight movements, and I try to control my own. It is a strange stand-off, and it is broken when his erection shifts upward and moves against my palm. I move my hand an inch and then probe the top of the tent with my fingertips until I can clearly feel the edge of the head and the bottom of his shaft. He moans. A breathy prolonged moan.

I shift down and lean over him grabbing his shorts and underwear at his waist and pulling them down past his knees, past his socks and onto the floor. Then I move towards him, spreading his legs. I lean over his crotch, positioning his penis upward then I take him into my mouth. I use my lips and tongue to feel his shape. His texture. His taste. I lower my head until it is near the back of my throat, then I relax and lower it more. I can feel his whole hard shaft.

I can sense his whole body’s tension

His dick vibrates as his hips shake and I become afraid that it might be over all too soon. So, I pull up and hold it with two fingers. I push it upward and gently lick his balls. I play with him, never giving him too much. I have one hand on his hip. I can feel his muscles flex as he moves. I am on my knees and as I pull my lips up and down his shaft, he moans a bit. I am getting worked up and my dick feels painfully constrained. I make sure he is occupied with my mouth, and I use one hand to hike down my pants and underwear.

My balls hang down free and my dick sticks out parallel to my belly. Horse dick. That is what my friend in college called me. Not because of the size but because of how it hung when I was on my hands and knees. I slow down again and just flick him with my tongue, but when I put it in my mouth, I feel his movement. His dick is going to start dancing, there is no stopping it. So, I give him my best, sucking him hard and rolling my tongue. I push down so he is all the way in. He cums like that. I choke and swallow and move up and down as his hips rise and fall. On and on he moans. He spasms. I suck it in and swallow. Each spasm is followed by another. I want to grab my dick, but I am locked onto him. Soon a few seconds go by without a spasm. His last moan turns into a whimper. I roll off of him.

I am laying on my side with my pants below my knees. My erection sticks out parallel to the floor and I hold it with my left hand. I am right-handed, but I can’t switch without moving my position and I don’t want to change my view. I am looking along his legs, his exposed ass is on the wood floor, his fleshy pile of dick and balls is red and receding, his shirt is disheveled, and I can see his tight stomach.

I stroke and stare at him. He doesn’t move and suddenly I know I want to finish before he does. So, I stroke it from bottom to top a few times. Then I freeze holding the base of it. That moment of tension stretches on until I feel my balls tug and a strong ejaculate rush along the bottom of my dick to explode out. I stroke a few more times and I lose my sight for a moment. When I recover, I look up at him. He is sitting up and looking at my dick and the mess I made on the floor. Since I have his attention, I make a ring with my fingers around the base of my dick and slowly pull it towards the head. As I move, all the cum still in me dribbles onto the floor.

The room is silent except for our breathing and the blood pounding in my head. He rolls himself forward gracefully and grabs his underwear and shorts that I had flung away from him. He rolls back and lifts his socked feet into the air. Over them goes his underwear, then after getting caught he gets his shorts past his feet. I get to see what is below his balls. His feet come down and he lifts his hips and shimmies his shorts upward. His ass wiggles as he gets his shorts over his hips. He stands suddenly and heads to the kitchen. I hear a shoe scrape and then silence. I sit up and he is tying his shoes. He stands and walks away. I hear the porch door open and then swing shut.