It was to be an extension of her graduation party. Her father brought out tins of raw chicken breast and quarter-pound burgers wrapped in plastic alon... with two-liter bottles of soda. She craved a cold beer just about then, but since they still thought of her in kindergarten terms, she left this small desire hanging. Her father lighted the kerosene grill and donned a red-checkered apron. Her mother soon joined them and lit bug-repellent candles smelling of musk. The yellow disk of the sun set. I mean, this honestly was just about making some cash cutting grass so I'd have beer money freshman year in my dorm. Instead, it's turned into nearly 24/7 fantasizing about what the next Friday would bring, and how much of a volcanic orgasm I'd have at this slim, tanned man's hands. Never mind that the days on the calendar cannot flip fast enough to Fridays when I knock at his door, lawnmower in tow. So here I was again, up early on a Friday, showering and slipping on something hot. This week I. More

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