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I was twenty-four, twice Brandon’s age, when he showed up on move-in day at our new home seeking a lawn mowing job. We’d only been married a short time, and this was our first home, or we probably wouldn’t have hired him. He seemed so little that I didn’t want to, but Richard, my husband, pointed out that it would save buying a mower. Temporarily mortgage-poor, that was a significant expense, so the miniature entrepreneur got the job.He was cute, but painfully shy, blushing all the time, often for no apparent reason. Watching him straining to push that roaring mower up the slight incline in our yard was mildly terrifying, but he was dependable and did Sex hikayeleri a good job. By fourteen, he was bigger and handled his mower with ease, but he was still so shy it seemed painful for him to speak – good kid, though.At sixteen, he’d quit mowing for another job, so we hired a service, something we could finally afford. He still said hello when our paths crossed, and he still blushed, but he came to mind some months later regarding a chore that had proved more difficult than anticipated. He’d grown and filled out by then, and I thought his long arms and additional muscle might be just what was called for.Planning to call him, Sikiş hikayeleri instead I saw him outside his family home one afternoon and stopped. I tapped the horn and waved, lowering my window.“Hi, Brandon.”“Hi, Mrs. Nelson.”“Please call me Rayne, OK?” He blushed – of course – jamming his hands in his back pockets. “Hey, would you like to earn some extra money?”He shrugged. “I guess.”“I’m removing those nasty Russian olive shrubs out back, and I could use some help.” The previous owner planted the thorny, nasty things, and I hated them. Richard, my husband, is allergic to them as well, so they needed to go.“Sure, I can help you. Erotik hikaye When?”“What’s your next day off?”“Tuesday.”“I’ll take the day off; we’ll do it then.” His retail job required weekends, so I’d known it would be a weekday. “Bring leather gloves and wear good shoes, the thorns are bad – and it’s supposed to be hot, so dress for that.” He nodded, and I said, “Eight-thirty, OK?”“Sure.”I had all the tools and equipment ready when he showed up early on Tuesday, and we dived in immediately. We were making progress, Brandon gradually relaxing as we chatted and worked. It was hot, so I wore shorts and a tank top and he’d worn sweat shorts and an old t-shirt. At one point, when we paused for a drink, I asked him how old he was, impressed with how he’d matured!“I’m almost eighteen.”“So, you’re seventeen?” When he nodded, I said, “I didn’t ask how old you almost are.” He blushed, and I laughed. “I’m teasing you.”

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