Innergiggler's Blog

Posts Tagged ‘BVDs

The sweet pungence of freshly cut grass triggers a bright image of my parents’ home on Long Island.  I’m 15 again; it’s a brilliantly hot Saturday afternoon in August and the sun shines directly on our backyard.  My watch reads 2:00p – right on time; his pick-up truck pulls into the driveway.   Anticipation forces my heart to beat a little faster. 

From my second story bedroom window I watch him set up the manual lawnmower as the sun shimmers on this shirtless wonder.   I study his red crew cut which blends perfectly with his tan and deeply freckled body.  Slightly more than twice my age – he’s a genius with that simple machine, erasing any grass growing above two inches.  Like broken hearts the grass is strewn about the yard with little resistance.  And in concert with his strength, those muscles punctuate every movement – rippling in a circular and hypnotic motion as his brawny, burly arms force the machine to cut – slice – manipulate each blade of grass to his guided direction.  His dominance increases and I can hear him grunting, “Ahhh, ahhh, ahhh!”  Does he know I’m listening?  Is he calling me?

My 15 year old libido is strongly aroused now and I want him to…to…?  At 15 I was somewhat confused as to ‘how and what I wanted him to do’ infusing the images of excerpts from “Peyton Place”, “79 Park Avenue” and other books my mom had hidden in the basement.  Through all this, there is one constant – I smell Hank.

Closing my eyes for a moment I now allow his sweat-drenched arms to surround and cloak me.  The strength of his hold and the nakedness of his slightly hairy chest create a yearning below my waist.  Its unfamiliar feeling travels throughout my body all the way to my toes and fingertips.  The perfume of his moisture is intoxicating. 

A ringing phone calls out but I am too mesmerized by the Hank Show so I let the interruption play itself out.  I won’t allow any intrusion – especially because it’s time for him to move to the next level – raking.   I hold my breath as he bends and scrapes, and smile at the slight dip of his jeans below the top of his BVDs’s.  I’m almost frightened by the imagined machinery inside his pants but not enough to turn away.   With raking of the back area complete, he moves around to the front of the house.  Now I try summoning the courage to run out and offer him water.  Some days he reaches out for the glass – on others he turns me down.  Either way his white teeth flash gratitude.  And I am closer to – smelling Hank.

Eventually, as I made the transition away from home off to college, friends and relatives asked me what I’d miss most about home.  I never told anyone – I was gonna miss smelling Hank.

Advertisements