On that sweltering July day I pulled into the landscaping store and spotted him -- 6', blonde, beefy, loose ripped t-shirt, cut-offs that must have been from jeans that fit him last year, black leather boots, and with a sheen of sweat over all his exposed skin that made my mouth water -- had to have him.
Bought all the stuff I needed, while watching the kid parade around the place moving things around -- figured he worked there. God! I was hard and starting to leak -- had to look away when he squatted and wrapped himself around the root ball of a tree and flashed that hot ass.
"Hey kid, can you help me load this stuff?"
"Sure, mister," with a flash of perfect teeth, wavy blonde locks plastered to his sweaty head, he put on a pair of form fitting black leather gloves and began hoisting.
"Now I've got all this stuff. Funny thing is when I get home I have to figure out how to plant it."
The kid slowly rubbed each asscheek with a gloved hand, like he wanted it to look like he was rubbing off dirt, but it sure looked more to me like he was giving me a show, then he hooked them into his back pockets stretching the t-shirt across what looked like a pretty impressive chest, "I could help you with that -- it's a service we offer first time customers -- you want it?"