Every Saturday, before the sun rose too high and it was too hot, I'd watch him step out of his garage with her. He'd examine her, looking her over real good. He'd give her a pat like husbands who've been married a long-time do, then he'd tug at her; one or two times, and she'd get going. Then he'd row with her; back and forth they'd go over that manicured lawn. And I'd watch. A little embarrassed, but I'd watch just the same.
Then one Saturday, I gave in fully to my lust. I watched their ritual only for a few minutes, then I closed my eyes and purred with them. Behind my lids, desperate to know primal abandon, I succumbed to a lapse of ecstasy that flowed from my nape to the back of my knees and circled round my heels till he had traveled every curve and blade in my being.
When he was done, I opened my eyes, smoothed my hair back and quickly filled a glass with cold water and as casually as I could muster, I entered his backyard. I smiled; said he had a beautiful lawn and wondered if he'd mind coming over and cutting my grass sometime.
He smiled (not sure if his smile was sheepish or relief or both) and said, "I'd be happy to come over. To be honest, I was getting a little nervous, I didn't think my lawn could stand too many more Saturdays."
Here's my submission for 3ww.