Leaf Raking Plus

“Andre, Andre, Andre,” Emily murmured. She raised and moved an arm around my neck and turned my face to hers for a kiss. I was holding her, face down, underneath me, with an arm wrapped around her belly, holding her up off the surface of the bed. I was still working her clit with the fingers of the other hand. She was trembling and jerking under me and I was tensing and releasing, tensing and releasing, deep inside her, making sure she was getting every drop of the cum inside her.

We were trying for another one, although I had no fucking idea why—other than it was what Emily wanted. We already had a baby girl, Edith, which had ended my athletic scholarship college two years short of graduation, which I was trying to make up for at night. But Emily wanted another one to keep Edith company, and she wanted them both to have the same father so there wouldn’t be any relationship issues down the road. So, we were fucking up another one. And, no, we weren’t married, nor did we live together. After I’d knocked her up by accident, she decided that I was good enough to be the father of her kids, but not her husband.

My cellphone, sitting on the nightstand beside Emily’s bed, started buzzing, the sound enough to wake Edit up in the crib on Emily’s side of the bed, and Emily was rolling out from underneath me and going to the crib with a muttered, “Shit.” She picked the baby up and took her out of the bedroom while I put the cellphone up to my ear.

“Yeah, Tony, what’s up?” I almost laughed. I was still up myself. I didn’t have any trouble in that department. Maybe if I hadn’t kept it up, in more than one mode, during my college days, I’d be graduating next year and going on to a masters in landscape architecture.

“Have you given thought to what I said you could do to make a lot more?”

Tony had been in college with me, a couple of years ahead of me. We’d partied together. He knew what I’d do. Or what I’d do before I’d tried settling down and remaking my life with a family. I was working on Emily to try to make a go of it together. I wanted the kids she insisted on having to have normalcy. I’d done what I could to convince her. I’d restricted the mode of partying, and that hadn’t been easy. Emily continually said it wasn’t necessary, either—that I was what I was and that didn’t matter much to her.

“Yeah, but I don’t know,” I answered Tony.

“It’s a lot more money. You could use more money, couldn’t you?”

“Who couldn’t?” I asked. “I have a kid to support now, though. I have to try to be a father.”

“You have a kid because you couldn’t keep it in your pants with women. Because basically you don’t want to keep it in your pants no matter who you are puppy dogging around.”

“I said I’d think about it, Tony. I will.”

“We’re working in Inglecress today. You’ll be able to make it on time, won’t you?”

“I’ve got plenty of time,” I answered. “Someone called me out of bed really fucking early this morning.”

“Ha, ha,” he said. “Bring a rake. You’re on rake duty and I don’t have one in the truck.”

“Yeah sure. I’m clicking off now, Tony.”

Emily was standing in the doorway to the bedroom, naked and with the body of a goddess. I remembered now how and why I’d wound up in this one-bedroom apartment in subsidized housing that wasn’t even where I bedded down most nights. If only I could limit my desires—either way. I’d been more organized in life if I’d known there would be a woman like Emily and that I’d pursue the pussy. What I’d been working on would have made everything so much easier. Did I regret it? Sometimes yes. Today, this morning, viewing the naked, young, ripe mother of my daughter standing in the doorway, cuddling a thankfully sleeping baby? No, not at all.

“You’re hard again I see,” she said.

“I’m always hard for you, Emily.”

“It’s an optimum time, Andre. The best time of the month for me.”

“Put the baby back in the crib. Try to keep her sleeping.”

I was on my knees, hovering over Emily, who was under me, my arm encircling her waist, holding her pelvis off the bed, her torso reclining to the mattress. I was dipping with her, my free hand resting on her brow, the fingers worked into her blonde curls, holding her head to the bed, while I kissed her on the lips and the nipples and fucked her deep in a missionary, working her hard, breeding her, working on another baby.

Another baby I had to worry about affording. But a baby Emily wanted, for what admittedly were practical reasons, with the same father, no matter how unsuitable he was for more permanence. She did admit, though, that I had good-looking genes.

As she liked to do to start, Emily reached down and grasped my cock in both hands, positioned it, rubbed it against her clit and panted, and then moved it down and thrust up into it, impaling herself. Once saddled I took over the thrusts.

“Oh, baby! Yes, yes. Right there. Just like that. You’re such a stud.”

Why, yes, I am. I can be, with women.

Both of us concentrated, moaning and whispering terms of endearment and what was satisfying and what was more satisfying to each other as the shaft worked its magic and the thrusts became urgent.

“Andre, Andre, Andre,” Emily moaned as I tensed, jerked, and released; tensed, jerked, and released; tensed . . .

Maybe I’d be late for work out in Inglecress this morning after all.

* * * *

“Wake up Andre.” I came out of my daydream with Tony pulling on my arm. “He’s in the window, looking at us. Everyone needs to look like they are working flat out. No, don’t look. He’ll know we’re talking about him.”

“Look, don’t look. Which one? Which window?” I said. I was irritated that Tony had caught me thinking about my troubles and zoned out. I was the rake guy of Tony’s seasonal leaf-removal business. The other guys were on the blowers and I was working the stubborn areas with a rake. We were working on the wooded lot of a high-end house in the Inglecress enclave. The house belonged to Neal Barringer, owner of a string of power gyms in this and surrounding towns. Presumably he was the one in the window, watching us work.

What I’d been thinking of were two intersecting issues. Before I’d left Emily’s apartment that morning after a rare night in her bed because, according to her, she needed another kid from me and I owed her one and before Emily took off to the sitters and her job at a nursing home, she’d asked me to stop at Goodwill on the way home from work today and see if they had any fake Christmas trees I could get for her. She said she didn’t have the time or money to decorate for Christmas, just under four weeks off now.

Not that I had the time or money either, but I didn’t want Edith to start missing Christmas right off the bat, so I said I would. We couldn’t really afford a blade of grass between us, even with our three jobs—Emily’s as a nurse’s aide at the old folks’ home and me as a groundskeeper during the week at the university—the same one I was going to when my life got upturned—and then with Tony’s lawn care seasonal businesses on the weekends and holidays. Today was Saturday. I couldn’t see Goodwill having any trees left to sell after Thanksgiving and before Christmas, but I agreed to check.

What I really needed was some extra money coming in for Christmas. It wasn’t just a Christmas tree Emily and Edith needed. Thank God Edith wasn’t old enough to know she should be getting presents at Christmas.

And this need for extra money was where the separate thoughts that had me zonked out intersected. I was still mulling Tony’s offer of getting me extra money. He knew Emily and I were strapped at Christmas. And he also had known me in college before Emily and I had gotten into trouble and what I’d been into then. His seasonal businesses had a lucrative add-on service and he was offering to cut me in to that.

He was offering to cut me into that here, today, at Neal Barringer’s house. It was quite a decision to make, though, and I had to try to separate out what I wanted to do from what I should do. It didn’t help when I took the chance to look at the house and then at the man in the window, if he was still there. I’d never met Neal Barringer before. I had no idea what he looked like, although Tony told me that he did the TV ads for his gyms himself, so that told me something right there.

When I looked at the window, a huge wall of glass overlooking the wooded front lot, I saw that he—or at least a man—was still there and that he was looking at me. Tony had told me that the man had signed up for the extra service and that I could have the job if I wanted it—that Barringer had been shown the portfolio of the guys working for Tony and had picked me out as the Number One choice.

He was standing on the other side of the window just in long sleeping pants that looked like they might be for Christmas. They were a dark blue with large white snowflakes on them. He had a coffee cup in a raised hand, and he was looking right at me, and smiling. Just that was enough to made me tremble and start to stir below. I had no trouble seeing how he would be a winner in doing his own TV commercials. He was probably better at advertising his product, which was in honing and maintaining bodies beautiful, than any actor they could have found would be. Any guy looking at the commercial would be invited to think he could look like that at forty plus himself.

He wasn’t young, maybe forty or a little above, but not being a twenty-something athletic-cut stud was being set on its ear by being a forty-something athletic-cut stud. I don’t know for sure what color hair he had because he had a marine buzz cut and was smooth shaved everywhere I could see. He had the muscular, bulging biceps and pecs torso of a warrior god. The sleeping pants hung very low on his waist, accentuating how ripped he was and showing a line of pubic curls that seemed to be a reddish auburn as seen through the window glass.

I suppose my jaw had dropped in seeing how cut he was, because I saw him laugh and raise his coffee mug, seemingly to me. I thought I also saw a hand go down to frame his basket.

“Is that him? Neal Barringer?” I asked Tony out of the corner of my mouth.

“Yeah, that’s him. The gym king. Really something, right?”

“Yes, really something,” I said. “And he chose me out of your lineup?”

“Yep. And we both know what you like—or, rather, what you liked before you thought you wanted to go completely straight. So, are you on? You’ll go in to get the check for the service when we’re done?”

“I guess I can. No promises, though, beyond picking up the check.”

“Yeah, right,” Tony said, and laughed. He turned his blower back on and went back to work.

* * * *

“I’ve written two checks here. I’ll give you one and tear up the other one. This one’s for $400 for the leaf removal, plus a tip for the crew. The other one’s for $700 for the leaf removal plus service Tony Finelli told me was available. Your name is Andre, right? It’s your pick on which check I give you. The extra service arrangement is fine with me. But maybe you’d like to come in and have some refreshments before you choose. If so, you can take your boots off here and come on in to the living room. Coffee’s OK? Or something stronger? A beer maybe?”

“A beer would be great, thanks,” I said, pulling my boots off and leaving them by the door. Although it was the fall leaf removal we were doing and it was after Thanksgiving already, the temperature had come up and I was in a T-shirt and athletic shorts.

Following Neal Barringer’s monologue, he’d padded off into the house, presumably to the kitchen to fetch a beer or two. He was still just in the navy-blue sleeping shorts that hung low on his hips. He was barefoot.

I drifted into the living room, which was two steps up from the lower foyer, where the entrance to the house was and an upper foyer, which doorways into various rooms and a staircase to an upper level were located. It was a really classy, expensive-looking house.

The living room was its own wing of the house. It had that nearly full-wall window out onto the wooded front yard, which showed a trimmed-out garden now that we’d spent much of the day removing the leaves. Azealia and rhododendron bushes provided a base of foliage under the trees. The land sloped down to the street, which was hidden from view by the bushes. It was like we were completely isolated in a wooded paradise when we actually were in a development just outside of town.

The loveliness of nature outside contrasted with the spare but lush Oriental-style furnishings in the living room. The front yard was terrific and the backyard, which was accessible on the opposite side of the living room through French doors was even more like a park, with Japanese maples added to the azaleas and boxwoods, a high ivy-covered wooden fence surrounding the yard, and stone and brick patios swirling around a swimming pool and koi pond. The living room was dominated in one corner by a baby grand piano and the opposing corner by a seven-foot decorated and lit Christmas tree. In the space between them, two sofas sat facing each other, set on a gigantic Oriental rug and with a large Chinese Chippendale-style rosewood-finished teak coffee table between the sofas. Barringer had placed the two checks on the coffee table, which was otherwise clear. Drink coasters were placed on the surface of side tables at each end of the sofas, so I assumed the coffee table was meant to be left bare.

“This is really a nice place,” I said as Barringer padded back into the living room. “You live here alone?”

“Off and on,” he said. “Sometimes I have a guy living with me. I like having young, in-shape guys around me. No one’s with me at the moment, though. Tony tells me that you are a player.” The transition was rather bald. There wouldn’t be much build-up conversation here—and I hadn’t made up my mind yet. When Barringer had returned he was handing me a beer. I was standing by the coffee table, unsure of whether I was supposed to sit or not. “Please, sit in that sofa. I’ll sit in the other.” He sat in the sofa backing on the front window, so I took the one facing him.

“I was active in college—both ways,” I said, returning to the question he’d asked me about being a player. “But I calmed down. Sort of attached now, with a child. I’m trying it out.”

“And not making a lot of money, I take it,” he said as he sat in the other sofa. He took a swig of beer and, quite nonchalantly, lowered the front of his sleeping pants to hook under his balls, and held a thick, long cock in three-quarters erection in the other hand. He stroked himself as we talked. I could see now that he had reddish-auburn hair. I had no trouble understanding which of the checks he wanted me to accept.

“I wasn’t able to finish college, and I have trouble making ends meet, yes. I work as a groundskeeper at the university—I was studying landscape architecture when I had to drop out of college. I enjoy working in the gardens, so it’s a good enough job for me at the moment. And Tony helps me out by using me in his seasonal lawn care business. It would be nice to be making a bit more, though.”

“How old are you, Andre?”

“Twenty-one. I’ll be twenty-two the week after Christmas.”

“Sweet. Good-looking, really nice body from what I can see. And you take cock, Tony says.”

“I fucked the girls in college, but the men fucked me, yes,” I answered. “But it’s been a couple of years.”

“It’s like riding a bicycle. You can always get back on. Tony says you are a submissive bottom and took some big cocks when he saw you in action in college. He said the guys couldn’t get enough of you. I admit that I find you quite attractive—and arousing. I enjoyed following you around with my eyes today as you worked. You move gracefully. You have a nice smile and seem to get along well with the other men. You’re very good looking. You look like you have a great body. I’d like to fuck you. Could you stand and strip slowly and show me what you have—what you can offer me?”

It was all so matter-of-fact. Was this how rent-boys conducted their business with men—talking and acting that it was a foregone conclusion that the rent-boy would lay down and open his legs for the john? I had thought this was all crazy when Tony told me about what the “plus” meant in the lawn care services he said his company offered. My immediate thought was “no way.” But it was Christmas and I needed the money—we needed the money. There was a difference of $300 in the checks he’d written. Tony’s cut was a third, so I could make the fifty for the raking plus a $200 bonus for just today—for doing what I’d been aching to do anyway. I could go back to Emily’s with a nice Christmas tree and presents for Emily and Edith too. And that wasn’t all. I’d missed it—the bi life. I couldn’t say that this man wasn’t turning me on.

I stood and slowly stripped and stood there, giving him a full frontal, until he motioned for me to slowly turn, which I did.

“Well, look there. You’re hard. So, you’re interested. Such nice slim hips too. I love a young man who has good muscle tone on top and a slim waist and hips. I own and operate men’s gyms, you know—and specialize in getting men into stud shape.”

“Yes, I know,” I answered.

“But if you came into my gym, I’d have to tell you there wasn’t anything I could or wanted to do with you other than fuck you—that there was no messing with perfection.”

I blushed. “The outdoor work helps,” I said, lamely, not able just to take what was a supreme compliment. Of course, the man wanted to fuck me, so he’d be free with the compliments.

“Those slim hips. You have taken a big cock before, haven’t you? I like getting it all in.”

“Yes.” He knew I could see what he had. He was fully erect now under the work his hand had put into stroking himself.

“Nice,” he said. “I’m sold. The checks are there in front of you. Hand me the one you don’t want. If it’s the one for $400, I’ll be disappointed, but I’ll give you fifty for jacking me off with a hand job. I’d like to fly you, though. Which check?”

I hesitated, but I picked up the $400 check and handed toward him. He smiled. “Bring it to me, and go down on your knees to me. Suck me.” I handed him the check for the lesser amount, he tore it up, and I sank down on my knees and took his cock in my mouth.

Barringer lay back in the sofa, cradled my head between his hands as I licked and teethed and sucked and deepthroated his thick, long, throbbing shaft. I could tell I was doing it fine because he kept murmuring, “Yes, yes. Like that. So nice. So fine.”

I found out why the coffee table was cleared off. He fucked me on the table. I lay on my back, holding my legs raised and spread, while he played with my cock with his mouth and licked, cupped, and squeezed my balls. I panted and moaned for him, which he said he liked. Then I pulled my legs up above my head and rolled my pelvis up, while he knelt behind me between the sofa and the table and ate my ass out, taking his time to open me up for his thick shaft.

Still, when he was hovering over me, holding my legs open himself, and looking intently down into my face, it required much effort and panting, moaning, and groaning on both of our parts for him to bury the cock inside me. When he was in deep, he held, as we both waited for me to open up fully to accommodate him and for him to sink in deeper. When I was open to him and the muscles of my channel walls were rippling over the hard shaft, he started to pump—slow at first and then faster and faster and faster. He was in great shape. He could piston me and keep it up for what seemed like an eternity.

It had been so long that I’d forgotten the pleasure I got out of a man possessing me fully, filling me, and working my channel. Of everything I’d done, every which way I went, this—this—being fused with a built, big-cocked man who moaned to be inside me, to possess me fully, was what sent me to and over the moon.

When he was in and pumping, he released my legs and I wrapped them around his lower back and moved my hands to digging my nails into his shoulder blades, humming, and putting my hips into motion with the rhythm of the fuck. He was right; it was just like getting back onto a bicycle after a long time off. I knew how to become one, melded fucking machine with a guy. I worked my cock with my hand and came a good ten minutes before he stiffened, grunted, and shot his load. And then another one and another one. On top of everything else, he was virile.

He had barebacked me. Neither of us had thought of taking the time to sheath up, although I saw that there were a couple of packets of condoms and a tube of lube beside his beer can on the side table of the sofa he’d been sitting in.

He remained hovering over me, inside me, until he’d gone flaccid. And then he pulled out, stood, laughed, and said, “Our beers surely have gone flat. I’ll get us another one.”

I was standing by the table when he came back, too sweaty and with cum from both of us dribbling down my thighs. I didn’t want to sit in his nice furniture and get it soiled.

“That was nice; nicer than I thought it would be,” he said, as we stood close together, lifting fresh beers with one hand and fondling each other with the other hand. He frotted our cocks together. I was no slouch in that department, but his cock dwarfed mine. “After the beers, I want to take you upstairs and work you over.”

“OK,” I said.

He did. It was some sort of workout room he took me to, though, not his bedroom, and he worked me over for two hours on a wrestling mat beside a full-mirrored wall. The ceiling over the mat was mirrored too, and we both obviously enjoyed watching two beautiful bodies sexing each other from various angles while we fucked. He took me in a doggy and a side split, and, the third time, I rode him in a reverse cowboy, leaning back over him with my hands palming his bulging pecs and my channel rising and fallen on his thick shaft. He complimented me on my flexibility, and I reveled in his approval. This time we were methodical, using the lube and the rubbers. He didn’t just look powerful, in shape, and vigorous, he fucked powerfully, in shape, and vigorously. He was a man. His cocking made me feel like I’d only had boys in college. God, how I had missed this.

We ended in a close, stretched out embrace on the mat, our hands moving over each other as if we were reading each other in Braille, our eyes gazing into the mirrors, enjoying what each of us was doing to the other. We both went into heat again, and he rolled over on top of me, coaxed my legs open, and fucked me one last time in a slow, sensual missionary, both of us watching the lovemaking in the mirrors. It wasn’t just fucking anymore; it was lovemaking.

He was still on top of me, inside me, when he let me know how well I had performed for him. “I could use a permanent gardener here—someone who could work another job if he liked and keep this yard up as he had time. It would pay well. A lot of it would be indoor work, though. It might be good if he bunked here too.”

“It would be a good job for someone,” I answered.

“Might you be interested?”

“I’d have to think about it. And I wouldn’t want to go behind Tony’s back. I don’t want to piss him off. And I just don’t know. I was making a change. I am trying to be a good family man.”

“Yes, think about it. Did your wife know you were bi before you knocked her up?”

“She’s not my wife. She’s the girl I knocked up and who thinks I’m good enough to lay her and give her babies, but not good enough to be a husband, because . . . like this . . . like now, me lying on my back with some stud’s cock inside me. Well, you know. But, yeah, we went with a fast crowd. She knew. She always said I was good to her, but she knew I liked guys better.”

“And she’d like nice things—for you to make some good money and bring nice things home to her and your babies in a nicer apartment or house?”

“I know she wants that. And kids. We’re trying to have another one. She’s wild about being a mother. Not so wild about being a wife.”

“I’d be careful. Fucking raw was a big turn on, but we did just fine with rubbers too. Think about it. Best of both worlds. I don’t think you were faking it just to get the money.”

“No, I wasn’t faking it. I’ll have to think about it.”

* * * *

I didn’t go back to Emily’s apartment just with a nice Christmas tree, but with lights and decorations for it too—and a frozen game hen we could have for a Christmas meal if she was going to invite me to be there with Edith on her on the day, and a little something wrapped to go under the tree for both of my girls.

“Did you win the lottery or something?” Emily asked when she checked all that I had dragged into the apartment. When she was looking over the Christmas cheer I had brought into the apartment, I could see the tension and worry drain from her and a smile set in along with a twinkle in her eyes I hadn’t seen for a while. It set me to thinking. If I went back to the life, I could always turn it off again when—and if—we’d gotten ourselves established as a family.

“Where’s Edith?” I asked. “I got her this stuffed bear.”

“You’ll have to give it to her later. I farmed her out to my mother for the night.”

“You . . . oh.”

I had Emily bent over the foot of the bed, her belly down, her feet on the floor, and her arms stretched out over the bed, her hands clutching wads of bedspread and opening and closing on the bunched material to the rhythm of my thrusts inside her. I had one hand gripping her hip and the other snaked around her belly and buried in her cunt when I tensed, jerked, released as she cried out; tensed, jerked, released; tensed, jerked . . .

I had the definite sensation that this time we’d done it. A September baby, maybe? A playmate for Edith.

My cellphone buzzed as I pulled out of her and patted her on the rump.

“What’s up?” came at me from the other end of the connection.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I said, grinning because I was happy. I really felt like we’d gotten it that time. I was surprised that I was as excited about it as Emily was. Best of both worlds.

“Just calling because Neal Barringer phoned to say he needed a guy to trim some bushes for him. He said he wanted the company ‘plus.’ He also said he’d like you to do it. So, you interested in going again?”

From where I was standing at the foot of the bed, Emily having dashed to the bathroom, I could see into the living room where we’d put the Christmas tree up, complete with decorations and blinking lights. We’d had a great evening talking about how the future was looking up and about our dreams and aspirations—separate, but, I thought, capable of merging if the opportunity arose. I was happy, and I realized that I was happy today because I hadn’t settled for just half a life. Before I’d gone on the Barringer leaf raking plus job, there had been no Christmas tree and if there was going to be one, it would have been one sad sack of a bush. Now it was going to be a great Christmas.

“Sure, Tony. Sounds good,” I answered.