The few teeth remaining were stained yellow and brown from years of drinking strong coffee and smoking non-filtered cigarettes but he didn't care. He smiled boldly whenever he looked at me. He stood about 6' 0', skinny build; never cared much for exercise, and his pot belly swelled out past his jutted, pointy hip bones as he leaned against the old, weathered metal fence that surrounded his concrete patio on those warm, sunny days.
He had piercing blue eyes; the color of the bluest sky. I imagined in his younger years, he once had profuse, sun-kissed, blond hair, instead of the dry, wooly, grey and receding hairline that now grew in its place. He had an abundant amount of unruly facial hair; frizzy side burns, mustache and a scraggly, five inch, long beard. His arms and legs were lanky and meager, with little to no muscle definition; his torso, legs and arms reminded me of an old brown, grasshopper that had lost its vibrant green luster.
Purple and blue veins pulsed under the thinning skin around his temples. The skin on his body was tough and worn, sunburned red, with scaly, splotchy patches from years of too much sun damage and ignorance or maybe it was indifference. He had skin you'd want to exuviate, and start over, like the dirty rind of a piece of fruit, or a snake that sheds its skin, leaving its gnarled, old derma behind. His chest was rarely ever covered with a shirt and he had small, flat nipples indicating the location of his undefined pectoral muscles.
He was in many ways the polar opposite of me, and the fact that he came to live right next door was no coincidence; a message from a higher power, perhaps? I was a professional woman; making well over a six-figured salary, and my thick and wavy, long dark hair was well-conditioned to a fault; no frizzy or grey strands on this girl's head. My deep, brown, round eyes were sharp like an eagle's when I slathered on 45+ sunscreen; making sure every ounce of skin was protected when I got anywhere near the sun. Nothing but all the right things for my body; I ran, cycled and lifted weights several times per week; keeping my petite figure in good shape. I also flossed, brushed and kept regularly scheduled appointments with my dentist; pearly whites glimmered when I smiled.
The lot my house sat on wasn't very big; living in an urban setting, I was happy to have a driveway and my garden; a necessity for me, regardless of its small size. I made the most of the small space I had. Small shrubs, rose bushes and various types of ground covering engulfed the perimeter of my two-story, fully renovated house. I had a porch off the back door, with steps leading down onto a small plot of grass to one side and a small stone patio which housed two brightly painted, orange Adirondack chairs and a gas grill.
The side of his house sat just beyond my back door, the plot of grass and patio. Raised flower beds in my yard ran flush along the length of his house. Behind the raised beds, stood a 6' tall fence; providing privacy and delineating our property boundaries. The fence ended just where the walkway to the street began, and it left a gap of space between his concrete patio and my yard; it was through the gap in between that he and I communicated.
"Those don't like sun," he said to me one day as he poked his head around the gap in the fence that divided our property. His English was accented; possibly a dialect from the Appalachian Mountains, or West Virginia. I wasn't used to it, and it reminded me a bit of the movie, Deliverance, where cousins fucked cousins somewhere in the backwoods far, far from my gentrified, urban lifestyle.
"Really?" I responded, my brow furrowed, not believing him and I shifted my big, floppy straw hat to one side so I could see him better. "The label says otherwise." Continuing as I re-read the plant's identity tag; wearing shorts, a tee-shirt, gardening gloves and a straw hat.
"Well, I'm telling ya', that flower that you gots in your hand ain't gonna do good if yur fixing to put it the sun." He yelled over to me, his bare chest was already getting sunburned and it hurt me to look at it.
"How can you be so sure?" I asked him, now second guessing the flower pot's placement on my patio.
"I know it don't look like it, but I been' landscapin' yards for more than 25 years and if there's one thing I know, it's plants and flowers." He responded still yelling over the fence; cigarette dangling out of one side of his mouth.
"Well, okay. I guess I can't argue with that." I finally said offering a smile.
"I'm Carl." He said smiling at me; his ugly, yellow- and brown-stained teeth poked through gaping holes of several absent ones.
"Janine. Thank you for the tip." I said introducing myself. "Those teeth!" My mind raced.
"It looks like I've inherited the house on a count of my dad passin'." He was still talking.
"Oh yeah? Well, listen. I'm sorry to hear about your dad and welcome to the neighborhood." I responded, not really interested, but felt I should make the effort and be nice.
After that, whenever I had some free time, I'd be outside enjoying my garden. Carl would hear me and often it wasn't too long before I'd see his face peeking around the fence, suggesting where and what I should plant; extending his neighborly welcome by offering me cups of freshly brewed coffee, various baked items, or a cool drink; he preferred to drink domestic beer from a can.
His solicitation depended on what time of day it was and he'd grin at me as his eyes ran up down my well defined and muscular body, hoping I'm sure, I'd reciprocate by inviting him over for a neighborly fuck, or a blow job. I did counter his offer once by baking him cookies for helping me rake and prune back a rather unruly area, and I wondered if I was contributing to the perpetual rot of his teeth. He thanked me sincerely as I handed the plate of cookies to him around the fence; his eyes fixated on my lemon sized breasts and erect nipples as they poked their way through my cotton tee-shirt.
Weeks passed after my first introduction to Carl, and I quickly learned that he was collecting disability from a job-related back injury; he was a landscape architect by trade and he would help me lift an awkward object, like a large planter box, a bag of potting soil, or garden rock, and I'd remind him of his back injury; pleading with him to be careful. I think he just liked being next me; outside in the sunshine; doing gardening chores; making himself feeling needed and useful. I have to admit, the attention he lavished upon me was extremely flattering, and even though I was repulsed by nearly everything about him, it was somehow a turn-on. He was unlike any man I'd ever known.
We shared one common element; we both loved being outside amongst the plants, trees, flowers and bugs you'd find in a garden. It was therapeutic for me. When something was bothering me, I'd go outside and spend time talking to my begonias, pruning rose bushes, or planting marigolds instead of riding an elevator up in some office building; sitting in a waiting room until it was my turn to go in and lay on a couch and divulge my inner workings to a stranger. I prefer telling my secrets and working out my problems with my usual garden suspects, I suppose. I never asked him why he enjoyed gardening, but I think he took pride in his work; it's what he knew how to do best.
The frigid, cold winter months departed, and springtime started to run into summer, like colors on a painter's palate. It was still too cold to run the air conditioner and too warm for the heater, so I'd open the windows upstairs in my bedroom at night; letting the cool air rush in. When my boyfriend spent the night at my house, we'd usually make love throughout the night and early morning; fall asleep, wake up and then fuck again; fans above our heads, moving the air around our sweaty, tired bodies. I envisioned Carl standing outside against that old metal fence; cigarette in one hand, can of cheap beer in the other, listening attentively to heavy moans and muffled screams as they echoed into the street below.
I wondered if he had a lover. I never saw him with a woman; only his relatives, or in his case, kinfolk passing through; stopping by and checking in with him; staying for a beer or a meal he'd grill on his small, red worn-out charcoal grill that sat on his concrete patio. I wondered if seeing me with my boyfriend took him down the path of melancholy; reminding him of a an old lover, or if it made him feel horny, a bit jealous or angry that he wasn't the one making me scream in ecstasy. I wondered what it might be like to be with a man like that, and I caught myself fantasizing about the size of his cock.
One morning as I was outside sitting in my bright orange chair; reading the paper and drinking my morning cup of coffee, his voice startled me as he poked his head around the fence, and he pronounced my name, "Ja-neene. I hate to bother you, but my washer is broke and I was right in the middle of doing a load. I'd be forever grateful if I could use your machine, mostly to git the water to spin out."
I didn't know what to say. I was taken aback by his request. "Carl. Couldn't you just hang the wet clothes outside until they dried?"
"I know. I could do that, if they was my clothes, but I was helping my aunt with her laundry; she's so racked up from her arthritis and well, she's waiting on her sheets fer her bed." He said perplexed and I could tell he was feeling somewhat desperate.
I felt sorry for him. He was trying to do something nice for someone else and circumstances had shot his plan to shit. That had happened to me on countless occasions. He was always offering to help me and the one time he really needed my help, I just couldn't let him down and say no.
I paused for awhile before speaking. "Oh. Well, I guess that's different then. Hmmm… I have to be at work in a couple of hours. Why don't you bring the stuff over now and let's get it started. I can listen for when the washer ends and switch it over and into the dryer while I'm getting ready. It should be finished up by the time I need to go."
"Ahhh. Thank you Ja-neene. I can't tell you how much I 'preciate your kindness and it gits me out of this fix. I don't wanna let my aunt down."
Within a few minutes, Carl was at my back door entrance; his arms were loaded with dripping, wet, white sheets and I let him come in. My back door opened into my kitchen and the stairs leading down to the basement, where my washer and dryer resided; just a few steps away. The fact that my washer and dryer was in the basement, was the one thing that didn't get relocated in the rehabilitation of my house. I would have preferred it upstairs, closer to my bedroom, but having had these recent thoughts about the size of Carl's cock, it was probably better that he was headed downstairs to the basement, rather than upstairs to my bedroom.
The rays of morning light peered their way through the glass-block windows in the basement and I could see tiny particles drifting inside the light. My white washer and dryer sat quietly on one side; amidst all my sports related equipment, furniture and boxes. I went to the washer and opened the lid that sat on top; selecting heavy-load as an option and he shoved his wet sheets into the washer and I hit the dial. Water began trickling inside the washer and we both stood there just looking at the washing machine; looking back at one another and then back again to the washing machine. We were both silent. I'm not sure why, maybe we were both waiting for the other to make the first move, but I wasn't conscious of that fact.
I'm not really sure how it started, but it was as if a force greater than either one of us pushed us together at the same time. Carl was wearing an old, yellow, ratty short-sleeved tee-shirt, a pair of out-dated, short, navy-colored corduroy shorts and cheap flip flops, the kind you'd purchase at a drugstore for 99 cents. He smelled of soap and nicotine as he looked down at me; placing his hands on my hips and pulling me toward him. I was still in my short, fuzzy, blue bathrobe that tied at my waist; underneath I wore a violet-colored, very short, silky night slip that felt good against my skin when I crawled into bed at night. His lips brushed up against my neck; exposed behind the confines of fleece and he licked my skin. I imagined his disgusting teeth against the soft, undulating curve of my neck, and it made me wet; just knowing that. With this simple physical contact it felt like he wanted me more than any man has ever wanted me.
His hand moved up and untied my robe and he pushed it off my shoulders; letting it fall to the basement floor. I reached for the button on his shorts and my fingers felt his stiffened cock as it pushed against the inside of his shorts; begging to be let out. I opened his fly as he moved toward me; backing me up toward the washing machine. He wasn't wearing underwear and my fingers wrapped around his cock; pulling it out from his shorts, and I looked down, anxious to see his pulsating rod. He had a very large cock. It was long, thick and pale, and it stood at attention; it was exactly the way I had expected it would be. The back of my feet hit the base of the washing machine and he lifted me up; placing my ass on top of the machine's lid. He lifted my hands above my head with one hand and he pulled my night gown over my head and off my body with his other hand; that too now lay on the basement floor. I sat there naked for him; nipples erect; my dark, curly brown hair surrounding my pubis mons, was glistening with my juices.
His eyes flickered as he pulled my ass to the edge of the washing machine and I was forced to lean back; my upper body now against the machine's lid; my legs fell over the front. He parted my legs with his hands and shoved his face in between my legs. He licked my outer lips, slowly sucking my clit and flicked his tongue inside and out of my sopping wet pussy. I moaned as my hips bucked toward his probing mouth. The machine was jerking and moving below my ass and I moaned, "Carl, I want to feel your cock inside me."
He stood up and pulled his shorts off; they spilled around his ankles. His cock was rock-hard and he motioned for me to turn around and I did, without hesitation. He pulled my body down and I slipped across the top of the machine, and I felt my erect nipples rub against the cold and shaking metal; sending chills up my spine. My feet barely touched the concrete floor below. I had a shelf above the washer where I stored laundry detergent and some gardening tools, and he reached for something on that shelf.
"Desiree," he said as he struck the tender cheeks of my white ass with…what was it? I couldn't see from this angle; it felt like one of my frying pans from the kitchen one floor above us, but that didn't make sense. I couldn't believe he just smacked my ass!
My arms hugged the wide and massive frame of the washing machine, and my hands held on tightly to the back; my legs; spread eagled; straddling, as I pressed the swollen, wet lips of my pussy flush up against its side; feeling the vibrations. My erect nipples crushed into the top of the machine. He smacked me again, this time harder and the glorious spin cycle began; shaking the concrete below its legs; vibrating and pulsating into the core of my clit.
"Desiree," he said again as he swatted my upper thigh.
"God this feels fantastic! Who the hell is Desiree?" I thought to myself and I let out gasp and then a moan.
I could hear him fishing around for something and I turned my head; catching a glimpse of him placing a condom he must have had with him onto his stiffened cock. I moaned with anticipation. He moved toward me again, and I felt the head of his cock grazing against my swollen pussy lips; moving back and forth across the wet opening; felt his hand on my hips. Swack! He hit my ass cheeks again, and it stung.
He plunged his cock inside my pussy. "Oh God!" I screamed. His large cock felt incredibly good as it slid and pulsated inside my wet hole. He pulled it out and smacked my ass again. "Ouch!" I yelped; tightly shutting my eyes as he thrust himself inside me again, this time deeper. I moaned and he pulled out, expecting to be hit, but instead he plunged himself deeper inside me.
He moaned, "Desiree."
The washing machine was spinning out of control, it must have been off balance; it thumped and vibrated, and I ground my clit into the side; pushing toward orgasm. Carl was fucking me hard now and his thrusts became stronger, forceful and fervent; I could feel his cock grow harder; heard him panting behind me; he was going to cum.
My clit exploded in orgasm against the machine's pulsations. Carl felt the warm, wet contractions of my orgasm against his cock, and he grabbed both my hips; steadying them as he spewed his hot cum inside the condom, warming the latex quite nicely. We both stood there for a while as our pounding hearts began to slow down. The washer clicked, letting us know its cycle was finished; the sheets were ready for the dryer.
Carl slowly pulled himself from me; dislodged his cock, and I unwrapped myself from the washing machine. I felt a little stiff; the cheeks of my ass burned and my pussy felt tender, a little sore from his large cock fucking me so hard. I could see my robe on the floor and I reached for it; lifting the large gardening spade that lay on top of my robe. "Ahhhh… the tool he used to spank me," I thought as I gently rubbed the tender cheeks of my ass. I put on my robe as Karl zipped up the fly to his shorts. Without really looking at him, I opened the washing machine's lid and pulled the wet sheets out, and placed them into the dryer.
I turned to face him and he was staring back at me; just standing there; both hands shoved into the pockets of his corduroy shorts. I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the now quiet washing machine; staring back at him wondering what words we could possibly say to one another now. We both knew what had just happened was an unusual turn of events; a one time shot, if you will.
"I know you have a boyfriend." Carl finally spoke.
Pause. "Yes. I do," I replied still looking at him.
"I have a wife. She lives with her family; we're sorta separated… her name is…"
"Desiree," answering for him.
"Yep. How'd ya know?" He asked.
"Just a wild guess," I responded.
I saw Carl less and less after we shared that one and only carnal tryst and I guess it was probably better that way; we came from two different worlds. He'd occasionally say hello to me through the gap in the fence, as I putted around my garden, but there was a definite shift in our relationship. A few weeks later, I saw a woman at his door step; suitcases in hand and I thought, "that must be Desiree' here to visit her skinny man."
Published July 2008