I must have walked around the block three times, and even after that I paced up and down the block a half a dozen more times, studying his house, sending thought messages, hoping he'd come out. There were grass clippings on the sidewalk, I noticed, so he must have mowed the lawn, which meant he'd already mowed, so he wouldn't be coming out for that. It smelled good, sweet and succulent.Is succulent the right word? I wished I was taking Mr. Turner's creative writing class with Carl.Finally, screwing my courage to the sticking point, my heart hammering, my mouth dry, I went up the walk and rang the doorbell, hoping maybe Carl would like to go for a walk with me.I kept asking myself what I was afraid of. The worst he could do was tell me to go away, right?The brave man (or woman) dies but once, the coward dies many times, I thought as I waited on the porch, slowly dying.Then his sister, Dee, opened the door, and I felt liked I'd been given a reprieve at the last minute. I didn't really. He was alone, widowed for some thirty years he said, and lived a life of frugality and sexual obsession.'You cant be frugal if you purchase a machine like that, then give it away', I challenged, completely unabashed to talk about something to do with me sexually pleasuring myself with.The way he looked at me I sensed the lust he felt, a woman half his age, taller and statuesque, beautiful and sexy, here in his living room, taking delivery of a dildo pushing fuck machine, he must be in heaven, I thought, so why hold back, give him food for thought, and so I did.'Would you like a drink', he asked wistfully, we had explained we would pick it up and leave ASAP, but I warmed to him as his need shone through, some might say 'Feeling sorry for him', but for me it was his need for me and the exquisite pleasure my presence might afford him, so I said yes, 'Why not', and I unbuttoned my coat and took it off, revealing my short black number, complete with netted stockings and belt.I threw my.
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