working the yard

I slept in; the room as dark as pre-dawn even though it was hours past sunrise. The heavy humidity and dampness in the air, told me that if it wasn’t already raining, that it wouldn’t be long until it was. Rushing out of bed, dressed in my denim shorts and tank top, running barefoot down the stairs as I pulled my hair back into a messy ponytail to organize the dogs and get them outside.

I had let the job go a few extra days and had re-scheduled mowing the lawn until today and waiting would not be an option as more rain at night and hot sunny daytime weather would result in needing a weed whacker to bring the field of my yard back under domestic control again. That or a goat and I had neither.

I rushed. I ran. I threw sticks and debris. I pushed and torqued, twisted and bent as I heard the distant rumble of thunder pushing me to finish before a deluge began. The sweat was dripping down my hairline and between my breasts. I was covered completely in a saturated sheen of  perspiration, that dampened my tight, thin t-shirt and left rivulet trails down my body. Finishing the yard, I raced to put the mower back into the garage after hosing it off.

Raising my bent arm to wipe my forehead and clear my eyes as I walked into the house for my shower, I was overwhelmed at just how hard I had been working for the last hour, when the scent of my exertion wafted past my face in its heady, aromatic blast of female scented odor. It came to mind that I probably smelled like exactly like a room at Motel 8 after the filming of a gang bang and as I looked in the mirror to take my hair down, I laughingly realized, that I looked exactly like that sounded.

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4 Responses to working the yard

  1. I can just picture it now, except for the lawn mower! We’ll keep the light on for you. LOL

  2. Marty says:

    I so do enjoy a woman who has exerted herself

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