Henry’s grandfather was a chiselled man, strengthened by hard work and experience, his white hair cut short, military-style, his face clean-shaven, every day he caressed his face with a single blade, raking the hairs clean off and he expected Henry to do the same.

Every morning, Hank rousted Henry awake at 4 am and forced him to shave. Afterwards, Hank made him run. The neighbourhood Hank retired in, had a nice trail, about a half a mile, around a large pond. Henry ran 4 miles a day trailing after Hank. Henry had to admit, he was impressed with the old man’s endurance and spirit, always pushing him forward with the threat of more exercise if he didn’t finish in a certain amount of time. He never finished in the expected time. 

Once they were done sweating the morning away, they focused their attention on the odd jobs in their community. Hank was the handy-man in his neighbourhood, and he made his rounds diligently, in his old Ford pickup to all of his neighbours, checking his previous work and seeing if there was anything else he could do for them. 

Henry did all the heavy heavy lifting: hauling bags of mulch out of the truck bed; carrying shovels, rakes, and pickaxes; moving cinder-blocks and sandbags to and fro, he never felt more like a pack mule in his entire life. But there was something to it that made him feel useful like he had more purpose than he realized. His parents had never asked him to lift a finger; they always hired someone, a specialist, to do the job.

“Specialist? That’s just because your dad can’t do much but hand people money.” It was obvious that Hank didn’t have a lot of respect for Henry’s father. He couldn’t put his finger on it; his father was always working, he just didn’t do any hard labour. Henry wished he wasn’t doing hard labor.

Though he hated the work, the sweat, always being soaked and limp by the end of the day, there was a lot of worth in what he was doing, what Hank was teaching him, and the thanks he received from every person he helped.

Their last assignment for the day, day 5 of his stay with Hank, put Henry at the household that would change his life forever. It was an old Victorian house, pristine though, no sign of wear or tear, painted white, clean and warm in the afternoon sunlight. It’s black shingles and accents really gave the house a simple charm and Henry couldn’t help but be impressed by how well kept it was.

“Wow, Grandpa,” said Henry, “Did you do all the work on this house? It looks amazing!”

Hank just looked straight ahead. Henry could tell something was on his mind, but the old man wrestled with it in his mind. He simply said to Henry, “All you need to do here is cut the grass. That is all I need you to do. Once you’re finished, call me straight away. You get me?”

Henry was taken aback. In the short time, he knew his grandfather, he wasn’t the type to be so stern when given a compliment. Usually, he blushed a little with a carefree smile, and would immediately say, “Now stop that…” Something must be intensely wrong with this place. Perhaps the inhabitant was a major jerk.

They stepped out of the vehicle and circled to the truck bed. Inside was a simple push mower; Henry pulled it out and set it on the ground.

“Henry,” said Hank, “Don’t talk to her. She’s nothing but trouble. You get me?”

Henry shook his head yes. He found it best to be agreeable, even if the two were beginning to bond a little, they weren’t exactly family yet.

“I won’t. I promise,” said Henry. 

With that, Hank showed Henry the perimeter and was off to his next stop. Henry pushed the mower and watched the clipping fly. It was the only thing he had to occupy him as he walked the yard, circled round and round until he completed. He set the lawnmower aside and walked the yard to make sure he didn’t miss anything. The first lawn he mowed, Hank put him in the plank position until Hank cut the spots Henry missed. He didn’t want to go through that again.

So far so good, but as he was approaching the back patio, he saw her. She opened the back door, a bronze goddess with short brown hair, petite figure, in a tiny, dark green bikini, the straps straining under her bust. Her hips wide, thighs thick with a tiny bottom in between. She walked out the door, her eyes moving up and down his body, he blushed; she smiled and bit her lip. 

“Are you all finished?” she asked. She looked a little disappointed. Henry nodded. It was all he could do at the moment while positioning himself elegantly to conceal his growing bulge.

“What’s your name? Do you work for Hank?” she asked.

“I’m his grandson,” he blurted.

“Oh, you are? I should have guessed you’re so handsome. I’m Miss Elaine Fawley,” She placed her hands behind her back, puffing out her chest… ‘Holy shit,’ thought Henry.

“You look really hot,” she said.

“Excuse me?” said Henry, thinking the same thing.

“You’re sweating. Would you like to come inside for some water?”

Henry nodded. She took his hand softly and guided him into her home. The inside was just as immaculate as the outside. The floors were tiled in black and white marble. The kitchen counter, that met the back door, was granite. It was a very expensive looking place, probably nicer than his parent’s place.

Once they wrapped around the counter, a steel refrigerator was on the other side. She opened it and bent down to the lowest shelf to grab a bottle of water.

‘Damn…’ Henry thought. He really wanted to grab her round hips.

“Is this all you wanted?” she asked, still bent over, but turned around, holding a cold, dripping water bottle in her hand. She bit her lip and sighed as she looked into his eyes.

Henry, bursting with a young man’s confidence, began to hear and understand the signals she was sending. “No, Ms Fawley, that’s not all I want.” He grabbed the water from her, exchanging his own devilish grin. She stood up and faced him, her face flush from the sun, and perhaps other things. 

He opened up the water bottle and took a long drink of the cold liquid. It froze his stomach in the most delightful way. “Do you mind if I help myself?” he asked.

“I wish you would,” she said.

With his left hand he grabbed her hip and press her hard against him, his fingers working their way to her ass, he squeezed tightly. 

She fell into him. She was small in his shoulders. She bit into his neck. He hissed in delight, and she moved her hand down his shorts. 

“Oh my,” she said. “I like this.”

Henry groaned, his hands grabbed both ass cheeks hard and slithered up her back to her shoulders. He nibbled on her ear and moved down her neck, kissing it step by step, pressing his teeth into her shoulder. 

She moaned a little as he undid her top. It slipped and fell to the floor. 

“Whoops,” he said. 

“Oh, you’re a naughty boy,” she laughed. “We’re going to have a lot of fun.”