After my junior year of college I came home to find that we had new neighbors; a young couple had moved into the house next door to my parents. My mom said that the man, Jeffrey Gray, was a doctor, an intern, actually, and his wife taught pre-school three days a week. She didn’t have any kids of her own. I didn’t give much thought to this news, except that my name was also Jeffrey. That night my mom called me to the telephone. “It’s the new neighbors,” she whispered.

It was Mrs. Gray. She asked me if I might be interested in a summer job helping her take care of her lawns and gardens. I suspected my mom had mentioned to Mrs. Gray that in past years I’d mowed lawns in the neighborhood. Now I thought of that as work for kids, but as I didn’t have a summer job lined up, I said I might be interested. “Good. I’ve got some flowers I think you’ll find of interest,” Mrs. Gray said. “Come over tomorrow afternoon and we’ll discuss your duties.” She said “duties” the way she might have said it to her pre-school kids.

I went over at the arranged time. Mrs. Gray met me at the front door. She was very pretty, with a slightly Asian look. She was barefoot, wearing a simple, flower-patterned mini-dress, and she was holding a glass of wine. “Let’s go out back,” she said, and she led me through her house to a substantial backyard filled with a variety of flowers and bushes. “Have a seat,” she told me, indicating one of two lawn chairs. After I was seated, she sat in the facing chair.

“It’s so peaceful out here,” she said. “So private.” She took a sip of her wine. “Sometimes I could just sit out here for hours not doing much of anything. Do you know what I mean?”

“I guess so,” I said.

“Sometimes I just let the wine and the warm sun have their way with me.”

I nodded as if I knew what she meant.

We sat in silence for some minutes. She stared at me over her wineglass, and it made me uncomfortable, but I didn’t know what to do about it.

“These rattan chairs are not all that comfy,” she said, breaking the silence. “Or maybe they’re wicker, or whatever. But if I sit too long in one position, the wicker leaves stripes on my bottom, almost as if I’d been whipped.” I swallowed. Mrs. Gray adjusted her position in the chair, lifting her legs so her feet rested on the chair’s seat. Her little dress had slid back. She wasn’t wearing underwear. I tried to swallow but couldn’t. I couldn’t keep my eyes from the long slit of her sex.

Mrs. Gray didn’t seem to mind that I stared. She held her wineglass up and swirled the wine. Some minutes passed. Despite myself, beneath my Levi’s I’d developed a sizable erection. No way could Mrs. Gray not notice.

“Oh, I’m so rude,” she said. “Please forgive me for not offering you a sip of my wine. Would you like to try some? It’s very good.”

“Um,” was all I could come up with.

“Come here then,” she said, and she adjusted her position again so that her legs were fully spread. The slit of her sex opened. I could see how wet she was.

“Come, taste,” she said, and she poured the wine from her glass, a slow but steady trickle onto her pubic thatch. Fascinated, to say the least, I watched. Barely hindered by the weave of her pussy hair, rivulets of liquid flowed between the puffy lips of her soon-to-be wine-drenched vulva, dripped ever lower, licking the pebbled rim of her anus, falling onto the rattan chair, through the lattice holes, and down to the thick green garden grass.

“Don’t be shy, Jeffrey, taste me.”

When I got home a few hours later, my mom noticed the grass stains on the knees of my Levi’s. “Looks like you got off to a good start on Mrs. Gray’s garden,” she remarked.

Even if I’d known what to say, I wouldn’t have been able to manage an answer, for I was quite a bit more than a little drunk.