I woke early, my eyes squinting in the sunbeam that skittles across the room. Alone for the weekend, Mom and Dad, away for some needed relaxation. With a sleepy stretch, I threw back the covers. I needed to pee. With my feet on the floor and my ass on the edge of my bed, I pulled my hair back into a ponytail. A deep yawn and another stretch, I pushed my fists in the air above my head.

Smacking my lips when I stood, I tried to rub the sleep from my eyes. The sun was bright that morning, making me regret the last three tequila shots from the night before. With a stumble or two, I made my way, naked, to the bathroom and sat on the toilet. Another yawn, I put my face in my hands and my elbows on my knees and listened to the tinkling splash in the porcelain bowl. 

Waking a half hour later, I realized that I had dozed on the toilet seat, “Damn,” I thought, “Way too much tequila last night.”

I stood without wiping and felt several drops of urine trail down the insides of my thighs as I turned to flush the toilet.  Blinking hard, trying to wake up and see through the alcohol-induced haze, I watched the yellow water swirl down the toilet and then turned to start the shower. I figured the hot water would do the trick and wake me up.

With my hands on the shower wall, I hung my head under the steaming stream. Thinking of the guy from the bar the night before, I watched the clear water streaming from my hair, What the hell was his name?” I wondered, remembering how nice he was, “was it, Jerry? No, Geoff.  That's right, Geoff, with a G.”

The hot water was doing it. Waking up, I realized how drunk I had gotten. Things were going well with Geoff. I thought that we would end up at his place. That was until his wingman had gotten into a fight with one of the other guys in the bar. That screwed everything up. Geoff had to get his friend out of there before the police showed up, which they eventually did. 

That was too bad. I remembered how good-looking he was and how his shorts snuggly cupped his impressive bulge. I needed a good roll in the hay. It had been so long since I'd been fucked good. Why the hell did I drink so much after he left? 

Turning off the shower, I rubbed the excess water from my hair and grabbed a towel as I stepped out. An opaque view of my body through the steamy mirror reminded me of my underdeveloped breasts and my puffy nipples. I had, at one time, considered breast enhancement surgery. After my most serious relationships though, I changed my mind after learning that some guys found my itty bit ties very arousing. 

Patting my feet dry on the towel, I walked, naked, back to my bedroom. The empty house gave me the freedom of comfort and privacy. Besides, I liked to be naked. I did close my bedroom door, though, when I returned. I still liked my privacy. With my hair wrapped in a towel, I walked to my window to op red n the drapes for a bit more natural light. That's when I heard it. 

In the neighbor's backyard was a tall figure trying to crank a weed eater. “Brr, brr, brr,” sounded the machine every time the young man yanked the rope. He wore basketball shorts and tennis shoes and that was it. His side shoulders and back, gleaming with perspiration, worked patiently to start the small engine. Finally, after much effort, the old Stihl trimmer roared to life, “Ying, ying, ying, ying, yinggggggg.” 

The young man began to swing his noisy tool back and forth, cutting the grass that the mower couldn’t reach. I watched him work, his muscular arms and shoulders, gleaming with sweat, rippled with every stroke. Pulling the chair from my little desk, I sat naked at the window and tossed the towel from my hair to the floor. The flapping of the nylon string slapping the grass reverberated against the clear glass of my closed window that was obscured only by the thin white material of the drapery skirt. That sheer skirting was also the only thing weakly hiding my nakedness from his view. 

Sitting bring the thin crepe’ I put my feet on the windowsill as far apart as it would allow, bending my knees and watching my unknowing worker. His muscles stood out in his tanned asking that was suddenly dripping with sweat and dotted with green fragments of cut grass. Sliding my fingers over my hip and between my thighs, I found the wetness of my neglected pussy. Missing that connection with Geoff the night before certainly left me wanting. If I had to settle for my fingers instead, so be it. 

Watching the worker’s tight ass sway with the motion of his work, I began circling my clitoris with my middle finger, spreading my labia with my ring and index fingers. Slow, deep breaths, hissing from my throat while I teased my nub, my chest rose and fell. With an arch in my back, I slid my left hand from my knee and felt the warmth of my thigh on the way to finding the nipple of my right breast. 

Yeah, I know, my breasts are small, but my nipples are puffy and very sensitive. They crave attention and don't mind a little rough treatment. I imagined his fingers replacing mine, twisting and pinching my nipples without mercy. His cock would be thick and long, pushing deep inside my hungry sex, replacing my fingers, doing a much better job. He would stretch and fill the starving void, edging me ever closer to satisfaction. 

To this point, I had seen only his back, but nearing the corner of my neighbor’s house, he would make a left turn to trim next to a white picket fence, bringing him, eventually, within five feet of my window. 

Not trusting the thin curtain to conceal my nakedness, I doubled my efforts, rushing myself to the crest of orgasm. That all changed when he turned around. My hands froze and my breathing all but stopped. I could not believe my eyes. “Geoff?” I barked.

Had it not been for the noise of his trimmer, he would have heard my surprised yell. I even covered my mouth in surprise, only to remember that I was the only one home. Shaking my head at the foolishness of my alarm, I slid my hand from my mouth and back to my breast, resuming the playful torture of my swelling nipple. 

Geoff worked diligently, inching closer with every swing of his machine. The movements of my fingers playing in my sex were slower now, teasing my slick clit. My position became uncomfortable, so I straightened my knees, leaning my chair back on its legs. Absently, I moved one of my feet up higher on the window casing, pulling the thin curtain with it. 

With a bit of surprise, I let it fall back closed, but a little too late. My fantasy had noticed, his eyes popping up to see where the movement came from. I wondered just how much privacy the thin, white material afforded. I could see him clearly but didn't know if he, being in the bright sunshine could as well. Regardless, I was too invested in an orgasm to stop. I needed the payoff. Geoff’s eyes fell back to his work but I noticed him sneaking glances at my window. Just the idea of being seen was exciting my body to new heights.

Standing in front of my position now, just a couple of yards away, he looked up with a crooked, knowing smile. Casually, he waved at me with just a simple raise of his finger from the trimmer, dropping his head back to his task. That was all it took. I came like the tax man on April the fifteenth. My knees were weak and my chair dropped back to all four legs. I trembled and moaned, my body convulsing in ecstasy. 

Jerked suddenly to reality, I was startled by my mother vigorously shaking my shoulder, “Wake up, Hon. It's after ten o'clock. You planning on sleeping the whole day?”

“What?” I yawned, blinking the sleep from my eyes. “I got home late.”

“Must have been some night,” she said. “Who is Jeff?”

“Um,” another yawn and stretch, “I met him last night at the club but he left early.”

“He must have made an impression,” Mom laughed. “You were saying his name in your sleep.”

Not wanting to answer any questions, I pulled the comforter over my face and said, “i’ll get up in a few minutes.”

Keeping the warm blanket over my face until I heard my mother close the door, I realized that I’d been dreaming. It had been so fucking real, though. So real that the sheets were wet. That's when I noticed the sound, this time consciously, of a weed eater outside my window, “Could it be?” I wondered, tossing the covers back. 

Disappointment slapped me when, upon peering through the drapes, I saw Mr. Gonzales. He cut our lawn as well as our neighbor’s. A fifty-ish, overweight Guatamalan who hadn't seen his dick in a decade or two. His sombrero shaded his face, hiding it from the sun and my disenchanted view.