Mowin’ the grass

For thirty dollars a lawn, mowing grass in the heart of summer was not always worth it but I needed the money for school and if nothing else being busy from ten until two and then again for four until six it kept me out of trouble at least during the week.
In Florida it seemed that of the fifty or so customers I had each day I was always mowing grass. The St. Augustine grew as if it were on steroid. It was good exercise too. That Monday morning my first stop and only stop for the first time since the summer began was the Wilson home.
The Wilson’s had the standard patch of grass as I liked to call it. They had a patch out front and a little in the back besides the pool area. The house was the typical stucco painted peach like many of the other house in the neighborhood.
I knocked on the door.
Mrs. Wilson came to the door. I was already sweating from pushing my mower from my house to hers with the gas trimmer resting on top and a bag slung over my shoulder with a few shearing tools.
She opened the door. There she stood, dressed in a two piece bikini and nothing else. At forty Mrs. Wilson had no kids and it showed. She had the body of a bomb shell. Her hour glass shaped and toned thighs and abs, though not wash board abs, were easily the envy of younger women and the rack she had on her seemed the size of melons. She had her sandy blonde hair pulled back in a pony tail.
“Jeff, I’m glad to see you,” she began smiling. Her lips were full and red with lip gloss, her hazel eyes sparkled as her oval face lit up at seeing me.
“Thanks Mrs. Wilson. I’m going to start in the front okay.”
“You know I’ve told you to call me Claire anyway when you done I’ll be by the pool.”
I nodded. She turned letting the spring close the door. It gave me enough time to see her from behind. She didn’t have much of an ass but for her age and considering she was white it wasn’t bad at all.
I started first trimming the edges with the weed wacker and around the trees and shrubs. It usually took me an hour to do a lawn if I did everything including pruning of some of the plants and sure enough it was around nine when I finished the back and walked up to the back door of the patio. I’d long scared away Mrs. Wilson with the noise and she had gone inside.
Kicking my shoes off I stepped onto the hardwood floor. I’d been in the house plenty of times.
“Mrs. Wilson,” I called out, “I’m done.”
I got no response. The back door led directly into the kitchen. She was not there nor in the living room or dinning room. I wasn’t about to go up stairs until she called out. “Jeff. I’m upstairs you can come up.”
Still breathing hard and in the back of my mind thinking I needed a self propelled lawn mower I mounted the stairs and came to her door.