The hydrangeas are thirsty and the box maple has littered the side yard with orange leaves in furious need of raking up. The privet hedges could use some trimming, too, what with those little branches jutting out all over. I round the corner of my house, survey the bright blooming poppies and naked rosebushes as I pass between their neat rows. I make my way up to the secluded little garden gazebo I built into the sloping hillside a few years back, and frown.

“Shouldn’t you be down with the others?” I nod towards the pool from which splashing and giggling echo up through the vines and laurels, the succulents and citruses. On the deck surrounding the pool my kid, Jessica, is using my grill and mixing my liquor into too-sugary cocktails for her friends, someone’s birthday party, not hers.

“Needed a break from all that, Mr Rubin,” she responds without moving, staying splayed out face down on the lounger. “Too much girl drama. Know what I mean?” Big dark sunglasses hide Brook’s eyes from view, close-knit brown braids keep her hair tidy as it runs down her bare shoulder. All of her is bare, actually, except the little strip midway up her back where her gray bikini is clasped in place, the little patch of gray fabric tightly clinging to her ass.

“Who? My daughter? Drama?” my words run dry with sarcasm, “I wouldn’t believe it.” I sit on the lounger opposite hers, set my six-pack on the little wrought iron table between and wrangle free the first can. It pops open with that portentous hiss and then I’ve got perfection — cold beer on a sunny spring afternoon. I sit back, and if my eyes trace up Brook’s svelte little figure it’s with pure innocence, an idle glance which means nothing. She’s cute, sure, no supermodel, yet with that girl-next-door affability. I strike up conversation, “What’d they do to you, anyway? Try to steal your boyfriend?”

She turns her head towards me, shoots me a stern glower. Her sunglasses hide the worst of it. “I don’t have a boyfriend, Mr Rubin. No. Girl drama is rarely so brazen. It’s more like, all those little comments and glances and things. Jessica’s not so bad, actually. But some of her old friends from high school… I’m surprised she puts up with their bullshit.”

“Let me guess,” I grin, “You’re above it all, don’t have time to waste on their games, and came up here to get away when you couldn’t take it anymore?”

“That’s right,” she says, letting my satire sail by uncaught, “I just needed a break from it. I’ll go back soon. Maybe.” And she rolls over onto her back, which…

Now I’m staring, I can’t help it. Her breasts… they’re huge. I had no idea. Sprouting from Brook’s narrow frame are two glorious funbags, the gray fabric of her bikini top fighting its best fight to cup them, keep them constrained, stop them from what cannot be more than a wayward brush away from springing free of the nylon and bouncing into my life. As her shoulders adjust and her arms move her breasts get pushed outwards and pulled this way and that and… weird, it looks like her jaw is moving, too. Oh fuck. She’s asked me something, is waiting for my answer. I have no idea what.

Go non-committal. “Uh, yeah, sounds good.”

She fixes on me a glower. “You’re checking me out, aren’t you?”

Deny everything, quickly! “Absolutely not.”

“You pervert, you’re staring at my tits right now.”

“I’m not! I’m just, umm…”

“What would Mrs Rubin think of you ogling a twenty-two year old girl?”

“There isn’t,” I mutter, “There’s no ‘Mrs Rubin.’” I force my eyes up to Brook’s face.

She’s lifted her sunglasses and is studying me with an icy blue regard. Despite all the accusations and indictments she has let fly, her tone remains calm and almost cheeky like this is all a big joke to her. “That doesn’t surprise me if this is how you behave yourself.”

“It’s not like that.” Despite my supposed advantage here in age and maturity, my words sound wheedling.

“Sure, yeah, whatever,” she waves me away, “Give me one of your beers, pervert.”

I break one from the ring, meekly hand it over. She breaks the seal, pours it between her lips. Fuck if she doesn’t look hot doing it.

And now I feel all guilty. There’s a knot in my throat, and I choke as I force down a swallow. “Sorry,” I start, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable–”

“Nah, it’s cool. I understand. Your balls are blue and you’re hanging out with a hottie. I get it if you need a little bit of boner fuel.”

I blink and try to keep up. “That’s– I’m not– You’re–”

“Mr Rubin,” she cuts off my stammering, “I said it’s cool. You want to gawk at your daughter’s friends’ tits, well, I ain’t exactly hiding them am I? Get yourself a true and proper ogle. It’s kinda hot seeing you so thirsty.” She’s wrapped her arm across her, is using it like a shelf to prop up her rack and is pushing them my way with a fiendish grin.

I hide my face in my beer, put all of my concentration into drinking as much as I possibly can in a single gulp.

She continues, not even a hint of slowing down. “Most old guys are just creeps, you know? Won’t even try talking to me, just stare. But you? You’re cute, coming over here, chatting me up like you’ve got a chance. As if. But still, nice to see you trying.”

“That’s not what I was–” My protest sounds hollow even to myself and then it fails entirely as she sits up and rolls my direction, making her big tits swing beneath her, stretching the bikini top to limits not previously known possible. Without shoulder straps to hold it in place, I do not understand what keeps it there, what prevents her breasts from jumping out from their prison of fabric.

“Are you gonna get hard, Mr Rubin?” She licks her grinning lips. “Just how degenerate are you?”

“Brook!”

“You want to grab them, don’t you?” she whispers privately, “You want to touch them and suck on them and shoot your cum all over them?”

I whimper, “Brook!”

Her skin is white and smooth and so tantalizingly close, I really could reach right out like she’s saying and put my hand on first one breast and then the other, peeling the gray fabric back over her nipples and running my fingertips over her soft skin… they’re so close to release and I’m sure I can see the echoes of her sweet prizes indenting out the fabric.

“You dirty old fuck,” she giggles, shaking her tits and then her head, marveling at my inability to behave.

And why can’t I behave myself? What’s coming over me? They’re just tits, Brook’s just a cute girl. I barely know her, really. Seen her around a few times (fully clothed), said ‘hello’ in passing, never paid her much mind. Yet I’m somehow instantly enamored with this girl, with this little waif.

“What do you think your cock would look like,” she taunts, dragging one of her fingertips down her cleavage and into the valley of her breasts, “If you put it right here and fucked my tits? Would it be a fat, throbbing shaft spraying its cum all over me?” She mocks the moan of orgasm, making her eyelids flutter, her lips part. “How long’s it been since you painted a girl with your cum? Can you even remember the last time?”

I glance towards my dick and see that much to my dismay it is ignoring my pleading to stay calm and has instead chosen to stiffen up and bulge out in my shorts.

Brook makes that cruel giggling sound again and says, “Oh, it wants me, doesn’t it? It’s thirsty for pussy it cannot have.” She leans forward, closer to it. “More’s the pity, since it seems like a big one.”

I groan as my dick twitches, more and more blood flowing unbidden to my crotch, killing off any vestigial remains of my rational thought. Which is why when Brook reaches out and places her hand on the canvas of my beat-up old gardening shorts I let her fondle my erection, let her paw at my surging hard-on as her fingers run teasing trips down my length.

“Fuck, Mr Rubin, this thing’s fucking thick. And so fucking hard. Ohhhh I’m gonna have to masturbate when I get home tonight. I’ve got a dildo this size, or not quite, I think I may need a bigger one just so I know what it’s like. When’s the last time a girl drained your balls for you?”

“Too long,” I whimper.

“Yeah, I can fuckin’ tell. Too bad I’m not going to do it for you today. Looks like you’ve could really use some relief.” She laughs. “Are you going to whip it out? Show it to me like a sick fuck?”

Reeling with need so bad it hurts, I glance around to make sure we’re all alone up here as I unzip and pull my dick through, my balls too.

“You gross perverted dirty old man,” she says, “Showing young women a fat dick like that — that’s obscene, Mr Rubin. You’re sick. You need to keep this thing locked up. And your nuts, good lord they’re huge. No wonder you need to cum so bad.”

I glance up at her and choke on my own tongue. Her cheeks are flush and soft lips are parted to show brilliant white teeth and dark eyeliner around her big blue eyes draws me in but what really arrests my attention is her hand reaching down into her bikini bottom and her fingers flicking back and forth over her pussy. “Brook!” I gasp.

“You’re nasty,” she spits, “Look at your ridiculously thick cock. It’s dripping and reaching for me. You’re out of control. What do you think I’m going to do? Jack you off?”

“Brook! I need–” but I stop myself, force my mouth shut before it says something I regret.

“How big are you loads, anyway? With fuckin’ balls like that I bet you cum buckets.”

I whimper, watch in agony as my cock yearns for release, a furious red shaft swaying in the cool breeze and sunshine. I’m not going to jerk off in front of my kid’s friend, somehow despite it all that’s a bridge too far. Even as Brook seemingly has no such qualms herself, staring at my throbbing cock as she flicks the bean.

I don’t know how serious she’s being about it — how far she’ll take it — but her breath is quickening and her chest is heaving and growing sleek with perspiration and she just looks more and more appetizing and I just need her more and more and more.

“Are you going to cum for me, you old pervert? You going to show me what it’s like when a gross old man like you pops his load? I’ve never seen someone with gray hair cum before.”

“There’s just a few grays!”

She laughs that callous laugh and pulls her hand from her crotch as she sits up. Holding it out to the sunlight her arousal coats her glistening fingers. Together we marvel at the sight. In what feels like slow motion I watch her lips twist in mischief and her hand come down towards my swollen shaft.

I realize I’m holding my breath only when she makes contact, her pussy-juice covered thumb and index finger ringing around my base, her other three fingers curling around my balls. She gives me a single yank, not even a full stroke, and I grunt buck and whimper and my cock strains and she laughs and then I’m convulsing and cumming and cumming and cumming, Brook pulling the orgasm from me without mercy or restraint.

Ropes of white spunk fire from my shaft like shots from a rifle, shooting out into the spring air. Her eyes widen with disbelief as mine roll back with tainted ecstasy and even for myself it’s a huge load, a torrent of oozing semen finally putting a stop to Brook’s laughter.

When I collapse limp onto my lounger drained to an extent I didn’t remember possible, cum predictably coats her hand and drips down her wrist, not to mention near everywhere else. “Fuck,” she says, “I need another beer.”

I crack open two more as she giggles and attempts to towel the place clean. The beer’s not as cold as it was but nobody’s complaining, and I pass out before even getting mine halfway down.