I swallowed hard before speaking. No man would say, “no,” no man would object. Would they? Would he? Kurt’s wife was in their house not fifty paces away. I wasn’t as firm or as tight as I once was. He might have said, “yes,” just to be polite or as a reflex. Boys will be boys, boys like tits, and I wanted to show him mine. 

“Kurt,” I said without a touch of chalance (if that’s a real word). “You wouldn’t mind if I took my top off, would you? I mean, it’d be a shame to waste one ray of sunlight. I mean, vitamin D at our age, after all…” 

I wasn’t looking at him directly but my peripheral vision was still fine. He had already been looking down my tank top as we weeded his garden on our hands and knees. He knew that I was bra-less. He looked away, though, before he answered because that way, we could pretend that he was being a gentleman. 

“Knock yourself out.” 

I sat back onto my calves, crossed my arms, and uncrossed them with my shirt in tow. I lingered when I covered my face; I wanted to give him a good, undisturbed stare. I slowly folded my top and tossed it onto a broad squash leaf. “Thanks. I can’t get enough sun, can you? I’m afraid I’m outside without a shirt all the time when I’m working in my own garden.” 

Kurt didn’t say anything. “I hope I never exposed myself while you or Nance were around. I mean, I always made sure the coast was clear.” That was half true; I did in fact always check. “I mean, the old girls have seen better days.” I let the old girls hang as I went back to the weeding. They swung more than necessary as I tugged at a particularly deep root. 

This was the first summer after I retired—Kurt’s too. “You still got fine-lookin’ breasts there, Patsy. Don’t you let anybody tell you different.” My nipples got hard at that because I believed he meant it. I glanced at his shorts for a second opinion but they were longish, loose-fitting cargo shorts which left everything to my imagination. I could only cross my fingers that nothing else about Kurt had retired. 

Kurt was fit for sixty-five. Hell, he was fit for forty-five. I missed bumping into him in the mornings when we went off to our jobs. He had some sort of office job and the sleeves of his button-down shirt were always rolled up to his elbows when he got home. 

He was clean-shaven, usually, and didn’t get much five o’clock shadow but his mostly-dark stubble told me he was taking advantage of his retirement. “I like the beginnings of a beard on you,” I told him. “You’d look even sexier with a short beard.” 

“Too much gray,” he huffed. 

I touched his jaw and made a point of examining it closely. “No. Not too much.” I kissed him on his cheekbone and went back to work. “You need to take your shirt off.” 

That took him by surprise. “What makes you say that?” 

“What would people think if they saw us together weeding and my shirt was off and yours wasn’t?” 

“What you said makes no sense at all,” he said as he stripped anyway. His thick chest hair was grayer than his beard, which was fine, and he had no back hair to speak of, which was good. I like it when my scratches show. 

“Where’s Nance?” 

Kurt looked back at the kitchen window. “I dunno. Busy doing nothing, I suppose. What’s Harry been up to these days?” 

“Oh, Harry hasn’t been up to much at all. Not at all. Nothing up there.” 

Kurt and Nance weren’t bad neighbors. We might have done things together if Nance wasn’t such an uptight bitch. I mean, I hadn’t ever tried to make a move on her husband before; the other stuff was harmless flirting. I mean, I wouldn’t have said “boo” if she wanted to flirt with Harry (not that he’d catch on). 

“I shave every day, even in the winter. See?” I rubbed his hand on my silky thigh. “I don’t shave everything, though. I mean, I’m not sixteen, after all. Would you like to see?” 

“I have a feeling I’d get to see whether I said so or not.” 

“Oh, you,” I kidded as I slipped out of my very short canvas shorts (and no, I didn’t forget to put on any underwear). Harry thought these shorts were too short, especially when I ran out to the store for something. Harry’s a dunce. Kurt didn’t mind. “See? Tastefully trimmed, doncha think? I mean, clean as a whistle down below but adultfully stylish up top.” 

It was Kurt’s turn to swallow hard. I didn’t know why I was so nervous earlier. “God damn, Patsy!” I took that to mean he liked what he saw. God, my nipples ached. 

I got back on my hands and knees only I didn't do any weeding. “May I ask you a question, neighbor? Is your cock hard right now? I mean, how fucking hard is it?” I let that sink in but not long enough for him to answer. “Would you do me a favor? Could you wiggle a finger or two in my pussy to get things started? I mean, I’m not sixteen.” 

“I’ll do you one better,” he said. He crawled onto his back under me and pulled down on my hips until my cunt met his mouth. I arched my back as he did one better, two better, three better… I wriggled and giggled. I mean, that was my first honest-to-God facesitting in fucking ages! 

“Your Nance is one lucky lady,” I ventured between gasps. That’s when he nibbled my nub, maybe to keep me still enough so he could jam that tongue of his all the way in. I didn’t care how red his rubbing stubble made my thighs; I had cabinets of lotions and creams to deal with that later. He not only got me started; he drove me home. 

Kurt pushed me away and when I caught my breath, I turned to get his shorts down. Before I got far, he gave me a good, I mean good smack on the ass and told me to stay put. His knees were like a vise when they gripped my hips and he thrust what only could be described as a baseball bat into my cunt. 

That answered my earlier question, didn’t it? I mean, Louisville, here I come! 

We were grunting in unison after the first few forceful strokes and I fought being knocked forward onto my face. “Attaboy, slugger,” I muttered. I lowered my head to the ground to give his pummeling a better angle and stretched my arms way out in front. I pulled a weed, tossed it over my shoulder, and was rewarded with another ass slap. 

His knees quivered against me and, sadly, he withdrew, spewing his built-up spunk up and down my back. I mean, couldn’t he have lasted one more minute? He collapsed onto his side as did I. The sun dried his sweat into a sticky film and dried his cum onto my back. I didn’t sweat—I glistened. 

We talked a little, kissed a little, and he played with my tits as I kneaded his cock. “You almost know how to make a girl happy,” I said. “I mean, you didn’t quite get me off.” 

“Didn’t you cum before we fucked?” 

I told him that didn’t count. I pulled on his pud, stretching it out as much as I could. “We need to do it again, unless, I mean unless you’re too old.” 

“Bitch,” he said between heart thumps, “Just give me a minute.” 

“Sure,” I said. I rolled him onto his back so he could get his beauty rest. I vacuumed my lips to his tip and sucked out one more cum drop before gobbling the whole extra-wide noodle between my cheek and gum. “Oh, are we still a little sensitive?” We were—a girl can tell. 

I gave him his minute plus a couple more as his cock grew longer with every enthusiastic bob. Sometimes I’d swear I could make a rope stand up. I mean, that’s how good I am despite my lack of recent practice. 

He wasn’t as hard as he was before but it was enough for me to climb up and slam down. My cunt would finish what my mouth started; I was sure. Sure enough, I could feel his erection resurrection as I rose and fell, humped and ground to get that one more big O. I mean, the way to get an orgasm out was to stuff it in. 

Kurt played with my tits and I’m glad he did because all that bouncing was making ‘em hurt. I got the climax I was looking for, and then some. Good job, Kurt’s cock! I almost quit before he came again but I’m far too good of a person to do that to a man. Besides, I think my second O was being followed… 

When he came, Kurt arched his hips up so high that he lifted my knees off the ground. His jism-jets flushed that third climax out of me and I was ahead, three to two. I mean, at my age, everything’s a competition. 

I tugged at his nut sack to unplug my puss and wrung his mess out of my pussy and onto his belly. I mean it was his mess, after all; he could clean it up. 

“I don’t think I’ll be able to get it up again for a week!” he groaned. 

“Too bad,” I replied, picking up my shorts and top. “I was going to weed my garden tomorrow.” I sauntered nude back to my house, hoping that nobody could see me. “Quid pro quo,” I said over my shoulder. I mean, it’s only fair.