How Cliched could my Lust Life get?!

Honestly. I never thought the day would come that I'd be this cliched! Of all the things/boys that could happen to me, this one did. How predictable. Sheesh. The Hot College Boy Lawn Mower. (in capitals, in case you fail to see the enormity of the porn-movie-touches-reality irony thing.)



So, no, he wasn't in a black tank top and cut-offs, but he was wearing a torn blue sleevless tee and some pretty nice tan shorts. He was hunched over his noisy machine and chug-chugging along outside my window, mowing the damn grass. Lucky grass. His motor kept giving way now and then, and he gave the sexiest curses - "Damn! Fuck!" - and it was not very hard imagining him saying those delicious things doing something else in here with me, loads more energetically. He grunted and kept up a steady sheen of sweat on his fabulous body, and wiped his face now and then with his wet (and strong!) forearm, tossing his dark brown hair back now and then. Again - "Damn! Fuck!"

:)

My reading of "Participatory Development Communication and A Thesis for Empowerment" didn't stand a chance. I was feeling empowered in quite a different zone of my body, rather than my cerebrum.



Now, I know I'm in a relationship right now, and I'm not really supposed to be naughty or anything, but Santa Claus, can I have that for an early-Christmas gift? I'll be extra bad, I promise! *wink* And as these (and other) idiotic thoughts went through my head, I sat there on my couch, book held open, trying my hardest to read while peeking out, not being able to prevent some doodling happening down there in my pants, and kinda hoping that the lawnmower hunk would notice... What would I say or do if he did? I dunno... maybe I'd do something corny like open the window, and call out to him - "Hey, that looks like hard work you got there! You wanna come in for a quick beer... or something?"

(Oops. Note to self: remember to stock fridge with beer for future imaginary encounters with hot lawnmower boys.)

... and of course, once I got him inside, there would be the suggestive POP of the beer bottle, the frothing on the top as I handed it over to him with another suggestive wink and then quite clumsily (but charmingly) proceeded to spill it on his pants, obviously necessitating their prompt removal... "O, maybe it'll dry faster if I blow....?"

*sigh*

He finished his noisy chore, packed up his trunk and left. And I went back to "Participatory Development..." How come they don't discuss the really important participation stuff (the kind with your hunky lawnmower) in these books...?