Community Service
Chapter 2

Copyright© 2012 by Levi Charon

Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 2 - A young man is sentenced to forty hours of community service following a little run-in with the law. He and the sentencing judge become friends and more.

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   mt/mt   Consensual  

I'm the first to show up at the highway shops on Monday morning so Cindy Franklin checks my name off her list and gives me a choice of which section of highway I want to work on. I pick the section near the upper crust part of town, figuring there might be less trash in that area. I don't know if that's true but it seems logical.

We'll be working in teams of two assigned to a specified stretch of road, each taking one side. We're given Day-Glo orange vests, backpacks full of plastic bags and graspers, then we're loaded into a van and driven to our locations. The road behind us will be checked throughout the day to insure we're doing the job right.

I'm surprised when Cindy brings us box lunches at noon. At the end of the first day, my hands are sore from squeezing the grasper and my back is achy from bending over about a million times. The second day isn't any more fun than the first.

By Friday, we've picked up a mountain of trash and I develop a whole new hatred for litterbugs. Would you believe it, there are asshole slobs who will drive by and throw trash out their window right in front of you. In my opinion, those are the shitheads who should be on life-long highway cleanup duty. I'll bet their houses look like the insides of dumpsters.

Near quitting time, I'm picking up bits and pieces in front of this beautiful colonial-style house on a huge expanse of land near the edge of town when a black Lexus SUV pulls up next to me and stops. When the tinted window slides down, I see it's Her Honor.

Judge Hightower smiles and says, "Cindy tells me you get high marks for your work this week. I just wanted to thank you for making a good effort, Randall."

"Oh, uh, you're welcome, Your Honor."

"No need to be so formal outside the courtroom; Mrs. Hightower will do. I've got a question for you." She kills the engine and steps out of her car. I've never actually stood beside her before and I'm struck by what a tiny woman she is. Somehow, when she's looking down at me from her perch behind the bench, she seems larger than life. I get this silly picture in my mind of her sitting on a phone book. I'm five eleven and the top of her head only comes to my nose, even in high heels, making her just over five feet by my estimation. A very nicely proportioned five feet though, from what I can see.

Mrs. Hightower walks around to the front of her car and sweeps her hand across the breadth of the property we're standing in front of. "What do you think of this place, Randall?"

"Well, it's big, if that's what you're asking. A lot more grass than I'd want to be taking care of."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking, too. It's mine, you know."

"No, I didn't know. It's a very nice house. I guess you must have a gardener to take care of the grounds."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. What are you planning to do with yourself now that you're out of high school?"

"Don't know for sure. Dad made a pretty good living in construction so I thought I might do some of that. Of course it'll be a little harder now that I don't have a driver's license." I cast a sideways glance at her to see if she's moved by my dilemma. She isn't.

"I can offer you pretty much full-time employment for the summer, at least. Since you wouldn't have to be carrying tons of tools, your bike would suffice for transportation. Are you interested?"

"Um, sure! What kind of work are you talking about?"

About that time, Cindy drives up in the van to take my fellow draftee and me back to the highway shops. A dump truck is following along to pick up the bags of trash we left on the side of the road. She waves out the window at Judge Hightower.

"High Rose Ann! Randy, have you had enough of this job?" "Hi, Cindy!" The Judge hollers back, "I'll take Randall home. I need to talk to him about something. Randall, toss your stuff in the van and get in the car. I'll drive us up to the house."

She pulls into a four-car garage populated only by her Lexus and some lawn tools. We enter a huge kitchen that makes the one at my house seem like a closet. She instructs me to lose the shoes at the door.

"Would you like something to drink? A soda or some iced tea?"

"Ice tea would be good, thanks."

"Sugar?"

"No, lemon if you have some."

"Ah, a man after my own heart."

She hands me the tall, frosty glass and says, "Let's go into the living room."

We wade through deep-pile carpet into an opulently furnished room and plop into very expensive-looking chairs. She curls her legs under her and gets comfortable. "Well, Randall, here's what I have in mind. Mr. Hightower always insisted on taking care of the grounds here but he has departed the scene with someone he likes better than me. I'm not nearly as enthusiastic about cutting acres of lawn as he was so I need to farm it out. There's a lot of other work that needs to be done as well. Now, a lot of that grass out there is going away but I haven't decided what to replace it with yet so, in the meantime, could I interest you in being the groundskeeper and general handy man through the rest of the summer? It'll be Mr. Hightower's money that's paying you so I can afford to be generous, say fifteen bucks an hour. It might not pay as well as a construction job but it's a lot more reliable."

If I hadn't seen the large riding lawnmower and scads of power lawn tools in the garage, I might have balked but, as it was, 'a bird in the hand', as they say. "Yes, Ma'am, I can do that. Dad will sure be relieved. We're sort of just scraping by since his accident."

"Oh my, that was tragic, wasn't it? How's he doing?"

"Well, physically, I think he's OK but being in a wheel chair depresses him some. He's got some sensation and movement in his legs but not enough to walk."

"That would sure depress me. Anyhow, I'm glad you want the job. How about starting tomorrow since the grass hasn't been cut since the old boy moved in with his bimbo last week." She grins wickedly and puts two fingers to her lips. "Oops! Sorry about the dirty laundry. Why don't you come about nine in the morning and I'll show you around?"

She drops me off in front of my house after we stop at the shops to pick up my bike. Dad actually smiles when I tell him about the job. We celebrate my windfall by ordering in pizza for dinner. TJ does especially good work that night.


Mrs. Hightower greets me at her front door wearing jeans and a yellow knit top. I can't help but take note of the fact that she takes very good care of her body. What little fat she's carrying is right where it should be.

"Come in and have some coffee, Randall. I have a list of things I'd like you to tackle today, starting with the lawn. I'll be around all day but my lawyer is coming over to spend the day working on property settlement issues."

"Thanks but I'm not much of a coffee drinker, Mrs. Hightower. Maybe you could show me the mower and stuff and I'll go ahead and get started."

"Suit yourself. Everything's in the garage. Follow me!"

Even with the extra wide blade, it takes me until noon to finish cutting the lawn. I can't imagine why anyone would want so much grass without a single putting green on it. It takes another hour and a half to trim it up. I finally take a break about two and she has lunch laid out on the patio for me. It's a hot day and I'm sweating like a racehorse and probably smell just as bad so I ask if there's a place where I can wash up a little before eating. There's a bath right off the kitchen and she tells me to feel free to take a quick shower. I'm happy to take her up on her offer.

As we sit and munch on sandwiches and salad, she waves her hand at the sea of green and says, "It's a real pain, isn't it? I mean, I like a nice lawn but George was just potty about it. Must be his English ancestry. No, I've decided most of that has to go. I'm open to suggestions if you can think of any."

"It'd make a nice park wouldn't it?"

She looked at it again. "Yeah, I suppose it would. Hmm, that's something to think about."

I spend the rest of the afternoon repainting the Ionic columns across the front porch. When I'm cleaned up and ready to head for home, she tucks some cash into my shirt pocket and pats me on the butt, saying, "You do good work. Can you make it around eight Monday morning? That'll give us a chance to talk before I have to head for the courthouse."

I can't be absolutely sure but I think she copped a feel of my ass. "Yes, Ma'am. Eight it is."

"Try to think of some ways to use the grasslands out there, will you? Oh, and you know what, why don't you just call me Rose Ann? There's no need for so much formality around the house."


I get home about six and lean my bike against the back porch. I'm just about to climb the steps when I hear some muffled sounds coming from the tool shed. It sounds sort of like 'unh, unh, unh, unh' and I wonder if some kind of animal has gotten inside. It honestly doesn't soak into my brain what's going on until I jerk the door open. There's TJ bent over a sawhorse with his jeans and shorts down around his ankles and some kid I've never seen before is plowing his ass like there's no tomorrow.

They both look at me wide-eyed at the same time and they both say 'Oh, shit!' at the same time.

It's hard to stifle a laugh. "Oops! Sorry for the interruption. Carry on, men!" I say as I gently close the door.

Dad is still at physical therapy so I start supper. A chef I'm not so I go for the Hamburger Helper and Tater-Tots. TJ comes in the back door a few minutes later and edges across the kitchen with a very pink face.

I feel obligated to offer him some solace. "Look, Bro, don't feel so bad about getting caught, OK? We all get busted sooner or later. Mom caught me jerking off in the closet once."

I can see he's practically in tears. "Are you gonna tell Dad?"

"Tell him what?"

"Well, about me bein', you know, with a guy."

"Get real, TJ! The man's paraplegic, not blind or stupid. He knew you were gay way before you did. And you act like being gay is worse than the plague or something. Christ on a crutch, kid, people are what they are! Get over it! But the next time you and your friend decide to get up close and personal like that, find a place with a lock on the door, would you?"

He grins and turns to head for our room. "Thanks, Randy. I owe you."

I see the van from rehab pull up in front and go out to help get Dad up the front steps.

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