mature xxx

“Hi Alan!” There was no mistaking Carmen Fuller’s low, sultry voice as he took off his helmet. Looking back over his shoulder, he let the motorcycle rest on its kickstand. His gaze sweeping over her, instantly taking notice of the way her fling skirt was swaying, exposing most of her tanned thighs as she walked toward him. His eyes lingered at the hem of her dress.

“Hey. You look good. Going out?” he asked, stretching his legs out as he sat, leaning back against the bike.

“Going out? She laughed. “No, I just stopped in for a few things on my way home but thank you for the compliment. What about you?” she added, stepping up to the rear of the bike, running her hand along the chrome seat frame. The metal was cool, unyielding, and smooth as she curled her long fingers around the tube. Slowly moving her hands up and down, caressing the metal.
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The summer rain shower had caught him completely off guard. He had to run outside and drive the old tractor into the barn to keep the rain from getting into the motor. It had begun to pour and he couldn’t help getting soaked, but he didn’t mind, the rain was a cool reprieve from the intense July heat.

She watched him from the kitchen window. It was early still and she stood there wearing one of his old t-shirts which she always wore to bed when she spent occasional weekends with him on his farm. She studied him as he drove the old tractor into the barn and shut the door. The rain had drenched him through and the color of his skin and the shape of his muscles could be seen through his white t-shirt. He was wearing his favorite Levi’s; the ones that were a little tight in the crotch showing off one of his better assets. She couldn’t help but tremble a little and she bit her bottom lip as he climbed over the barn gate, landing on the other side with little effort. She loved the way he carried himself, the way he moved, like rugged poetry, with the confidence of a god. (more…)

Pamela watched the pick-up truck pull into her drive and wiped her flour-covered hands on her apron; her hired hand was here. Her husband had passed away three years ago and she had milked their prize herd all by herself as well tended the farm’s crops. For all her hard work she’d finally managed to make the last payment on the small farm and this year opted to hire a full-time summer employee.

She’d interviewed several young men. Some were obviously looking for an easy summer job, milk a few cows, lift a few hay bales, eat a fine meal and then party time. But that wasn’t what Pamela wanted or needed in her employee. Eventually, she’d settled on one applicant. She watched the young man get out of his truck and pull off his baseball cap. No one would have looked at the gentleman and seen “farmer” nor would they have seen “artist.” What they would have seen was a city boy wanting to experience life, and that was what he’d told her.

Pamela liked the answer. She’d not taught since she married Will and she saw Trent as her way of recapturing something she enjoyed doing, teaching. She didn’t have to be in a classroom. She just enjoyed showing people how to do something new. Her fingers were unknotting her apron when she heard the doorbell ring and she chuckled at her thoughts and how easily she was distracted. (more…)

Since I’d moved into my new house, I’d made reasonably good friends with the neighbours. Beth would often let me go over and use the pool whenever I wanted, because nobody used it anymore, that is, her kids had all grown up and left home. So I would often walk over to their yard and go for a dip, especially when no one was home. They didn’t mind at all. On one occasion, Beth’s sister-in law Sandy, from Ireland, came to stay for 3 months for the summer.

Beth told me that Sandy was gonna stay over and insisted I should still use the pool whenever I wanted. I was a bit hesitant at first, since I didn’t want to intrude. But I felt that since Beth and husband John worked the day, I would be doing them a favor by giving some company to Sandy. I noticed Sandy used the pool quite frequently in these hot summer days, I could hear the constant clang of the gate that fenced the pool. Every clang I heard, I knew someone was using it. Before going for a swim, I was always cautious about the fact that someone else may be using the pool. Since my bedroom had faced the side of the house, I would often peep through top of my blinds and over the fence to see if anyone was in there. If the coast was clear, I would usually go for a swim. (more…)

“Glen, come upstairs after we close, please. I need to talk to you,” said Rosemary – under her breath, yet pointedly – as she passed behind me. She was the second-in-command, behind the owner, of the drug store where I worked to support myself as a 20-year-old, pre-med, sophomore college student in the mid 1960s.

What could she possibly want? I wondered, as I locked the front door behind the late-shift pharmacist after he left for home. Shutting off the outside lights at 10 p.m., I swept the floor and emptied the day’s trash into the dumpster behind the store, locked the delivery car inside the back gate, and went upstairs to Rosemary’s office, where she was counting the day’s receipts.

“Wait a few minutes,” she said, brusquely, as she completed a tally from a cash drawer. I stood a few feet away, unbuttoning my pharmacist’s smock from my neck and down one shoulder, and wanted desperately to sit down. My days were full: 8 a.m. classes ’til one, a quick bite for lunch, at the drug store by two and working ’til ten – with a snack on the run – then a sandwich over the books until I fell asleep at 2 or 3 a.m. That schedule was repeated consistently, six days a week. (more…)

It had been a long vacation. Karan had insisted on a long holiday and she and Karan had gone away for a fortnight to Mauritius with their close friends Simran and Rajeev. The holiday in itself had been fun, though these adventures often left Sunita wondering about the contrast between what the movies showed, and how her own married life seemed to be. In the movies, the couple would frisk around and be passionate with each other. Karan was more interested in sporting his dark glasses and looking good and cheesy around the pool and beach. He and Rajeev had spent a fair bit of their time eyeing the beautiful women in evidence.

She didn’t mind that. In fact, she encouraged it with the hope that in bed it would make him more of a tiger. She wondered all that fascination for women went when she was in bed with him. He would either spend the night drinking into the wee hours so she was dog tired by the time he came to bed. Or when he did come to bed and make love to her, it was his usual unimaginative man-on-top style.
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I had only been on the job as superintendent of the apartment building in Miami a couple of weeks. My job consists of maintaining the common areas of the buildings interior and attending to the simple everyday problems with plumbing, electrical and a myriad of other small items in the tenants apartments. Generally speaking, I was a handy man. For 30 odd years I was a highly paid engineer. I got tired of the rat race and chucked it all, my wife included. We never had children and since I gave her everything she didn’t mind too much.

My third week on the job found me changing the filters in the return portion of the air conditioning system. There are three air returns in the hallway on each floor. Mid-morning found me on the second floor right next to the elevator. An extremely small man in his late sixties engaged me in conversation as he waited for the elevator. He introduced himself as Hal in apartment 214. The elevator came and he let it go without him, explaining he thought his wife was right behind him. (more…)

A few weeks ago I met a very glamorous woman of about 35 at the supermarket where I work as Assistant Manager. She asked me to take down a packet of washing powder from the top shelf, as she could not reach it herself (she was only about 5″2′). As I gave it to her our fingers touched and she looked me in the eyes and slowly licked her lips. I felt heat rising in my groin and after a moment she looked down and saw the swelling in my trousers. She smiled at me, looked at the name badge pinned onto my shirt, and whispered “You should be careful Martin, who you show that to. Some people might be offended.” Then she leaned towards me and brushed her fingers lightly along my erection finishing by gently squeezing the head. I almost came in my pants!

“I can see that you are not offended” I replied to which she said “Oh no, I look upon that as a compliment. I have rather a lot of shopping here, can you help me load it into my car?” (more…)

“Glen, come upstairs after we close, please. I need to talk to you,” said Rosemary – under her breath, yet pointedly – as she passed behind me. She was the second-in-command, behind the owner, of the drug store where I worked to support myself as a 20-year-old, pre-med, sophomore college student in the mid 1960s.

What could she possibly want? I wondered, as I locked the front door behind the late-shift pharmacist after he left for home. Shutting off the outside lights at 10 p.m., I swept the floor and emptied the day’s trash into the dumpster behind the store, locked the delivery car inside the back gate, and went upstairs to Rosemary’s office, where she was counting the day’s receipts.

“Wait a few minutes,” she said, brusquely, as she completed a tally from a cash drawer. I stood a few feet away, unbuttoning my pharmacist’s smock from my neck and down one shoulder, and wanted desperately to sit down. My days were full: 8 a.m. classes ’til one, a quick bite for lunch, at the drug store by two and working ’til ten – with a snack on the run – then a sandwich over the books until I fell asleep at 2 or 3 a.m. That schedule was repeated consistently, six days a week.

Rosemary finished counting the receipts and turned to look up at me from her swivel chair. Her gaze swept from my face to my toes, making me uncomfortable since she was wearing the sardonic half smile that she’d used so often to intimidate employees. “Did you lock up?” she asked, looking through the window in the upstairs wall that afforded her a view of the entire store and the adjoining pharmacy below. (more…)

A few weeks ago I met a very glamorous woman of about 35 at the supermarket where I work as Assistant Manager. She asked me to take down a packet of washing powder from the top shelf, as she could not reach it herself (she was only about 5″2′). As I gave it to her our fingers touched and she looked me in the eyes and slowly licked her lips. I felt heat rising in my groin and after a moment she looked down and saw the swelling in my trousers. She smiled at me, looked at the name badge pinned onto my shirt, and whispered “You should be careful Martin, who you show that to. Some people might be offended.” Then she leaned towards me and brushed her fingers lightly along my erection finishing by gently squeezing the head. I almost came in my pants! (more…)

It was summertime and the campus was dead. I was in the English graduate program at the University of *****, and nearly everyone had gone to wherever they go. I was trying to finish my degree as fast as possible because I was 29 years old and I wanted to get on with my life. Don’t get me wrong, I liked being a student, but I didn’t want to be one forever. So, during summer school I was hanging out with three other students—practically the only people left, at least for a couple of weeks.

We were at the apartment of Janet, a 45 year old woman who, having gotten divorced and sent a kid off to another college was getting a master’s degree so she could teach. Sitting on the floor was Katie, a big girl in her mid-twenties. She was taller than I was and built solid—not fat or even heavy, but you didn’t want to mess with her. On one end of the couch was Wendy—super slut. Now these people were my friends—sort of–, so I don’t mean to be unkind, but that’s exactly what she was. She had a gorgeous body—everything in the right place, a pretty face, long light brown hair and no morals whatsoever. It was a rare evening when she didn’t flash her panties at someone—or someones. I think she was a nymphomaniac. She had slept with a lot of guys and every time her name was mentioned—and it got mentioned a lot—all the guys laughed. We called her a “slush puppy”. I don’t know where that term came from, but if ever there was one, she was it. We’re all sitting around after a sharing a couple of pizzas, just shooting the breeze and watching TV in a rather desultory way when Wendy says,”I’m going down to the Loft.”

The Loft was a restaurant and bar where all the graduate students hung out as well as a mix of professors, undergrads, and locals. Really popular place, though in the summer it was pretty quiet.

“Ill go with her,” said Katie—”you wanna come?” (more…)

My mother-in-law continually amazes me. She is always alert to any opportunity for sex. We are sitting at the dinner table tonight. Ruth, my mother-in-law, a very young sixty five, is sitting next to me, with my wife, Beth across from us.

Ruth says to Beth, “I don’t see that salad dressing you had last time, the French vinaigrette type.”

Beth says, “I have some in the refrigerator. I’ll be right back.”

My wife turns to fetch the bottle and Ruth’s hand is in my crotch unzipping my pants. She pulls out my cock, and begins to stroke it under the table. A couple of strokes and I’m hard. Her hand knows just how to get me that way. She’s done it so many times in the past, but tonight there is not going to be time.

“Later,” I say.

She smiles at me and continues her stoking until my wife returns.

“Beth, dear, I’ve changed my mind. Could I have some of that Greek Salad dressing you mentioned earlier?” Beth sighs and turns back to the kitchen.

Ruth goes back to work on my cock. She wants me to pop a load under the table. She gets a kick out of making me shoot my cum on the underside of the table, and then watching the drops fall to the floor leaving dark stains on the carpet. Tonight it’s not going to happen. Beth comes back through the door too quickly, and Ruth releases my cock. I will have to wait for it to go down, so I can put it back in my pants. (more…)

I came across an ad for Tantra massage in the DFW area. I called and spoke with a wonderful woman named Akasha. She described herself as a 40-year-old who practiced sensual massage techniques in the Tantra method. She would also provide instructions in stress reduction techniques and provide a massage to beat all others. We made an appointment for the following Monday.

Monday came and I drove over to Akasha’s location. I was slightly nervous since her directions sent me to an “Inn Suites” hotel. I parked in front of the room number, knocked on the door, and was greeted by Akasha. She was dressed in a long white Kaftan with her blonde hair pulled into a ponytail. We shook hands and kissed lightly on the cheek. Even though the room was a hotel room, Akasha decorated the room with some candles, incense, and Indian statues of elephants. We sat on a couch and discussed why I was there and what she can provide for me. I shared my family experience in Florida and the tension I was under. She reassured me the breathing techniques, along with the massage would help matters. I paid her the fee agreed over the phone, and then got undressed. Akasha proceeded to remove her Kaftan and lower the lights in the room. Akasha’s body was decorated with some nice tattoos over her left breast, along with both of her nipples being pierced with barbells. I admired her body and complimented her on her design. She smiled and walked me over to her massage table, which she arranged to be in the middle of the room. (more…)

Very many times, I had planned to truly ensure that Tara was fully satisfied. Satisfied with what??? Wasn’t I fucking her regularly?? And wasn’t I playing all the games she could dream off as well??

No. I did not mean that.

Based on the fact that she would ring me in the office, or in the middle of the night when I am overseas and simply tell me” I want you to fuck me now”. Often I have left office, gone to Tara’s office, picked her up, taken her home and fucked till my dick would simply not stand up again. She would always say “That was really nice. Where did you learn to fuck??”.

I would always tell her “It is your pussy that teaches everything”. And then I would kiss her on her clit.

She would always protest at this closing kiss and say “One more time??”.

During one of my trips to the United States, I ordered a full service fucking machine to be delivered to my hotel room. It was delivered. I worried if the Customs chap in India would simply seize it, based on the prudish Indian Government behavior. With significant worry I boarded the plane back and went on telling myself that in case the Customs officer made trouble, I would simply gift to him and tell him to enjoy. (more…)

It is not a story but a fact of my life. I was in std. 12th at that time. I was very good at studies. I had tuition of my school teacher. Her name was Mrs. Neerja. She was a teacher of math’s & science. I had very good impression on her as a student. But I was very much impressed by her body especially by her boobs. They were very good & perfect in shape and size. I didn’t have bad eyes over her when I joint her tuition. My interest in her started after some days of joining the tuition. I will tell how it happened.

She used to call us at her home for tuition. We were 14 students in our batch. We used to sit on the floor and she used to sit on a chair. Once while teaching math’s she gave us a problem to solve. I could do about half of the problem and then I got a bit confused so I asked here what to do further. She came to me and since I was sitting on the floor she bend towards me to explain me the problem. Suddenly she got ‘khujli’ (itching) on the lower side of her neck and as her hand went to her neck my eyes went there. I saw her big and well-shaped boobs. I could not see them fully. Even I could not see her nipples but I saw the big and deep valley created by her two big mountains like boobs. She had all her attention in the problem and I had mine in her valley. This was the day, which made me eager about her. (more…)

I was a very horny teenager growing up. Horny, but nervous about girls my own age. I started to have a fascination about older women. I always envisioned any friend of my mother naked. I used to daydream constantly about my neighbors and would always dream up crazy fantasies where they would come on to me.

It was the summer after I graduated high school when things started to become more of a reality. Living next door to us was Mrs. Lafferty. She was a mother of three young girls and she was about 37 years old. She had brown curly hair, and a decent body with a nice tan from the Florida sun from which we lived under. She had decent c cup boobs with a respectable ass.

Every morning, my parents would leave for work and my sister for school, and I was left alone in the house. One morning at about 8:00, Mrs. Lafferty called asking for my mother. This seemed odd to me because she knew that my mother left before that for work. (more…)

I had my first real sexual experience many years ago, at the age of 18. I wasn’t a complete virgin – if you count one 20 second fumbled stand-up shag with an equally inexperienced girl in the alley behind the youth club – but like most teenage males of the time most of my sexual encounters involved my right hand and Health and Efficiency magazine.

I had just finished a heavy week of exams at school, so I decided to unwind with a relaxing weekend walking in the hills of my native Yorkshire. It was a spur of the moment decision, and after a full day of hiking I found myself in the evening in a tiny village, a sort of one-horse town where the horse had died. There was only one place to stay, an ancient inn. When I asked about a bed for the night, the landlady told me she was sorry but they’d already let out their one room for the night. So I bought a half pint of shandy and slumped at a table trying to work out how the hell I was going to get to the next village, 20 miles away, at that time of night. (more…)

I just turned 18 a few months earlier. I was a virgin and I had never had a girlfriend before. I wanted to have sexual experiences but I didn’t want to do anything stupid like hire a prostitute. I wasn’t bad looking I was just kind of a geek. I was 5′11″, 175 lbs, with black hair and brown eyes. I had just started college and was taking fencing as an elective. I also needed it for my theatre class because we would be putting on Hamlet in December. I was not an athletic person. I never played any sports in high school unless you count theatre as a sport. My muscles were tight after my first week of fencing. I got stiff necks and had trouble moving quickly without hurting. My instructor recommended getting a deep tissue massage to loosen my tight muscles.

I got back to my dorm and looked up massage therapists in the phone book but I didn’t have a car and none of the local therapists were in walking distance. The only other thing to do was to check out the school’s assets. The school’s health center didn’t offer that kind of service but the secretary suggested I talk to a professor who teaches a course in massaging. I went to talk to the instructor but the class was ending and the professor had already left. A few students remained talking in the class afterward. I saw a group of three older women talking, all of which were beautiful, one of which had a body to match her face. They were about 29 or 30. I asked the sexy one about the instructor. (more…)

When I was growing up in south Florida in the ’50s, I lived a privileged life. My family wasn’t really wealthy, but we were more than comfortable. We lived in a large, lovely home on a golf course. We were members of the exclusive country club in our area and traveled in all the right circles. From the time I was sixteen, I had my own car and was a member of the “in” clubs at my high school. I wanted for nothing, nothing that is except an exciting sex life.

I was good looking, best described as “cute”, but I wasn’t the school stud. As a sophomore in high school, I was 5′ 7″ tall and weighed a hulking 135 lbs. It wasn’t until my junior and senior years that I experienced a growth spurt which resulted in my attaining the lofty height of 5′ 10″. Nor was I the school jock. I was athletic, but my size mitigated against football stardom. I did play on the junior varsity team for awhile, but in a scrimmage against the varsity, I made the serious, and almost fatal, mistake of attempting to tackle the varsity fullback who weighed about sixteen tons. At least, that’s what it felt like when he flattened me like a steamroller. After my recovery from unconsciousness, a fractured jaw and several broken teeth, I joined the golf team and had a very successful high school athletic career as an orthopedically sound, if not champion, golfer.

My sex life, like that of most teenagers in the ’50s, was woefully inadequate. I had plenty of dates and my fair share of girlfriends. I even got laid once by one of the girls on the “Easy” list. It was a quick, exciting, wet, sloppy, frantic and not altogether fulfilling experience. The rest of my sexual experiences with members of the feminine gender generally consisted of furtive groping in the back seats of darkened automobiles. I remember many fondled breasts, wet fingers, blue balls and cold showers. Other than that, my sexual satisfaction was provided by “Mother Palm and Her Five Lovely Daughters”. I definitely was not an accomplished lover, that is, until after my experiences with Evelyn! (more…)

She couldn’t believe she was doing this. Her heart pounded in her chest as she listened to the captain make his descent announcements. Enjoy the beautiful state, enjoy the weather, fly Delta Airlines again and remember that this was the friendly captain speaking. Rightio-man. Whatever you say, chief, and who the fuck made you captain? Beth smiled to herself, remembering a comedian who asked that very question in his routine. The woman in her 30s had already packed up her book, crossword puzzle magazine, reading glasses and headphones to her CD player. Jim Morrison was silent for now though she suspected he’d make some repeat performances once she got to wherever he was taking her.

The plane slowed down on the runway, turning into one of those tunnels and the flight attendant was already standing at the front of the plane to give the remaining orders that they were to follow as they filed from the plane into the airport, and generally be whatever other help they were at the end of a flight. Beth wouldn’t need help and she hoped that neither attendant reached out to touch her. She was already shaking, nervous about the meeting ahead of her.

When she’d started the online friendship, she’d had no intention of it going beyond just that: friendship. But it had. In just a few months, the teasing banter turned to flirting, which then turned to virtual heavy petting and later into a full-on cyber relationship. She often found herself shaking her head and wondering just what in the hell she was thinking. What made the situation even stranger is that the guy on the other end of her keyboard attentions was in college. He’d turned 19 just a couple of months after they’d begun talking and he seemed to have no concerns about their huge age difference whatsoever. If anything, Beth worried more than he did, especially after he’d told her that he loved her. That made things a stranger reality to the 30-something college professor even though she’d written about more impossible-seeming situations all the time.
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This all took place in 1976. I had been promoted in my job in the bank and was Head of Securities in a small bank branch in Oxted, a small town in Surrey, England. I was 23 years old.

It was wintertime, late November and with the clocks going back it was dark around 4.30 p.m.

I had a flat in Croydon, South London and used to like the trip to work, as it was the ultimate “reverse commute”. When I went to work, everyone was rushing in to London and when I went home in the evening everyone was rushing out of London.

The Oxted Line was from London to Hastings and Oxted itself was about a 40-minute train journey from Croydon. The 17.38 was the preferred train as it meant I did not have to rush away from work and it was a direct train with no stops until Croydon, and then on to London.

It was also last on the list for upgrade and so the trains were “non-corridor” with individual compartments, some with toilets attached.

That night I waited on my usual spot, as I had by know worked out where the train would stop on the platform to get a good compartment, which would deliver me at Croydon right by the Exit and from there it was 50 yards to the bus and home by 6.30.

The train was on time and I opened the compartment door. There was a woman in the compartment alone and we nodded as I got in. I had not seen her before. I settled down diagonally opposite her behind my newspaper as the train lurched forward into the night. (more…)

Vanessa Perry sipped coffee from her mug as she looked out at the summer sun rising over Philadelphia. The forty-year-old executive sighed deeply as she reflected back on her life. She had grown up the youngest daughter of an extremely wealthy family. She had dreams of growing up, falling in love and getting married, like her four siblings before her. However, as she watched their families evolve before her eyes, it became clear that that was not the life she wanted to lead. So she left her small suburban home, made her way through college (relying on minimal financial assistance along the way) and spent the next fifteen years working her way to the top of one of the most prestigious medical research companies in the country.

All her corporate success had come at a significant cost to her personal life, however. She had been in a couple relationships, to be sure, but they never amounted to anything of substance, more due to her absorbing herself in her work. Now that she actually had some free time to focus on them, she was beginning to feel those sexual urges that she should have been feeling a long time ago. But the singles scene was absolutely dead; most of the men she met were either way out of shape (working out had been the only leisure activity she allowed herself, and only because the building she worked in had a company gym); wrapped up in their own careers, as she had been; or had any other of a number of issues that were common in men her age. (more…)

When Frank died, I made one of those over-hasty decisions that people often make when in a state of bereavement.

If I might offer a piece of advice, wait until at least a year after the death of a loved one before you make any drastic moves.

Frank and I had always planned to sell our suburban house and move permanently into our beach house when he retired. Six months after his death I did just that – sold the suburban house and went to live in the beach house. It was a mistake.

In leaving the suburbs, I also left old friends and relatives. Of course, we said those things that people do say as they part – “We shall see each other.” “I’ll be coming up to town quite often.” “We’ll keep in touch,” and things like that. But when you are three hundred and fifty kilometres apart, it is not as easy as you think its going to be.

Frank was sixty when he died and I was fifty-four. I was, and am, in excellent health, and went for a run and swim everyday. That side of living in the beach house is fine, but it is people you miss. (more…)

Jason was a local boy, although not from Vermont. He was from Elizabethtown, just across the lake in New York State. He was a bit of a jock. Not the stereotypical ignorant muscle-bound fool, but a true lover of physical exertion. He had played football in high school and was an alternate for the college team, although his true love was skiing. He pursued his passion for skiing all throughout the winter season. There was even talk in his fraternity that he might qualify for the next Winter Olympics and in his own mind Olympic gold was well within his grasp. Of course skiing wasn’t a year-round sport so when he wasn’t skiing (or playing football), Jason’s biggest diversion was girls. Although he had only lost his virginity in his senior year of high school, he was determined to make up for lost time and in his final year of college he had certainly made good progress toward that end.

He was a handsome boy, with rugged features and a tight, well-muscled body. Girls seemed naturally attracted to him and when he was in the mood it was seldom indeed that he didn’t end up balls deep between the legs of one of the many campus hopefuls. His secret was that he didn’t see girls just as a simple target, a notch on his belt. He truly loved women. He loved kissing them, tasting them and most of all; he loved bringing them to orgasm. It wasn’t just a pleasure thing to him; it was a satisfaction thing. (more…)

Reading through the paper I had circled a few ads that looked promising and was planning to start calling them when I turned to the last page and saw the perfect job. I had just gotten home from my second year of college the week before and was looking for a summer job. There was an ad from a lady who was looking for someone to fill in for her regular gardener who would be away until the fall. I was studying botany in college and the lady described her place as a large planted property with a wide variety of plants that required expert care. I’d worked summer jobs gardening jobs with the city throughout high school and that was part of what got me interested in studying plants as a career. The thought of being able to work outside all summer instead of being stuck in some store at the mall was appealing so I gave her a call right away dialing the number in the ad.

“Hello, could I speak with Mrs. Swanson please?” I said reading her last name from the ad.

“Speaking,” she said after a brief pause. (more…)