You've been spending a few weeks every summer at your grandparents' house since you were a little girl. They live on the outskirts of a small town, on a big and very quiet piece of grassy land with the neighbors on either side an acre away. Some people would find it boring, but not you. After all, your whole life is boring. Dull. Unexciting. So you don't do anything much while you're here besides keep grandma company, but you don't mind. It gives you time to sit under the trees in the late summer heat and tap at your phone, or write in your diary.
You noticed him the first day you were there. He was painting his back deck; you could see him from where you sat under the tree, two hundred feet away. He'd moved in a few months before. He was older but not too old, and when he saw you watching and smiled and waved, you felt your face burning as you quickly pretended to be absorbed in your phone. You knew he continued to look at you for an extra few seconds, but you didn't dare look up. It felt so... wrong. And right. And dangerous. And exciting.
The third night was when you realized the window of your bedroom afforded a view of his expansive lawn, adjacent to your grandma's. And his pool. Wherein he was swimming laps back and forth, and then lounging, letting the last sunlight of the day evaporate the water off his broad shoulders and slightly muscled chest.
That image stayed with you later in the night, when you masturbated in your bed, holding your pillow to your face to muffle your whimpering moans. You knew it was silly to imagine an older man like that would even notice an awkward dork like you. And part of you felt ashamed to even be vaguely imagining him doing dirty things to you. But the greater part of you just can't help but fantasize about it.
The sixth morning you awoke to the faint sound of a lawn mower. You couldn't help but go to the window and open the curtains, and a hot shock went down your spine when you saw him, shirtless and sweating, pushing his lawnmower--not on his yard, but on your grandma's, only thirty feet from your second story window. You couldn't help but watch for a minute, and became so absorbed that at first you didn't notice when he stopped moving.
Then, with a start, you realize that not only has he stopped, but he's looking right at you, with a half smile on his face.
Another frozen moment hangs in the air before you suddenly remember with horror that all you're wearing is short athletic shorts and a bra. With an audible "Eep!" you slam the curtains shut so hard you almost tear them down and lean against the wall, almost hyperventilating. Minutes seem to pass as you hear the lawnmower stop operating. You're still trembling as you throw on a tank top and make your way downstairs. No one else is around; grandma, who always awoke long before you did, went out to run errands by herself.
What was I thinking?! you think to yourself scoldingly, walking slowly to the kitchen. You can't get the way he was looking at you out of your mind. You try to tell yourself he didn't actually see you, the sun would have been in his eyes, but you know better. And what is perhaps upsetting you most of all is that, deep down... you kind of liked the way he was looking at you.
Your hand just touches the refrigerator door when the doorbell rings.....
Submitted November 04, 2017 at 10:38PM by domfordpp2 http://ift.tt/2yuVaor dirtypenpals
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