My Sweet Sandy Ch. 01

It's funny how you can meet the most important person in your life when you least expect it. Then again, it's often that person you never saw coming who changes everything.

For me, it was a July afternoon a few months after I turned twenty.

Sandy's farm was at the end of a long dirt driveway off a winding rural road. It was only a few minutes from the highway but felt like the middle of nowhere.

I pulled in and parked, questioning why I was there. I needed a job for the summer, sure. Money. This wasn't what I'd had in mind, though.

At the center of the property stood a beautiful old house with a wraparound porch and a pair of gables. I admired it as I got out of my car. It was nice but could've used a coat of paint.

I knocked on the front door, but no answer came. Second thoughts flooded in. What was the point of any of this? Did I want to spend the summer working in the middle of nowhere for some old lady? Maybe I should go. Split while I still can.

Instead I walked around back. It was so quiet I could hear my footsteps on the dusty ground.

I glanced around, looking for signs of life. There were two barns, a large one next to the house and a smaller one at the end of an enclosure set up with jumps for horseback riding. To my right was a wide field where a group of horses grazed.

A pickup was parked nearby next to a van with the words "Sandy Greenhouse Woodworking Designs" painted in bright letters along with a pink and purple logo of a saw crossed with a hammer inside the outlined shape of a butterfly. I imagined what the sort of woman who lived alone on a farm and did carpentry must be like.

"Hello?" I called. "Anyone there?"

A woman emerged from the big barn. "I'm so sorry. I was in the shop and didn't hear you."

I hid my surprise, or so I hoped, and took in as much of her as I dared without gawking, getting a series of impressions rather than a complete picture all at once. Early forties. Full, expressive lips. Fair skin. A delightful scattering of freckles sprinkled across her face. Blonde hair in a ponytail. Amber eyes.

This couldn't be Mrs. Greenhouse. Her daughter, maybe?

She stepped forward smiling. Her smile! It was her superpower, warm and dazzling with the ability to turn me to jelly. "You must be James. I'm Sandy Greenhouse."

Everyone called me Jimmy but I didn't correct her. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Greenhouse."

"Call me Sandy." She looked me over. "Well, Mrs. Driscoll said you were a strong young man. She wasn't wrong, I see."

I'm sure I blushed. I'd shot up two inches in the past year to six feet and was long, lean and self-conscious. Sandy, on the other hand, was neither long nor lean. She was short and curvy with large breasts. She wasn't fat, just soft in all the right spots. An earlier era might've described her as buxom. My type all the way.

There was no hiding her figure, either. Her hot pink T-shirt and dark blue jeans weren't fancy but they highlighted her curves well.

Sandy led me into the barn. Inside was a brightly-lit, climate-controlled workshop. The cool air was in stark contrast to the July heat outside.

There were double doors facing the back of the property, furniture in various states of assembly, and a variety of woodworking benches and saws. Cabinets were along the walls and I noticed a fridge, a microwave, and a sink. An old Garth Brooks playing on the radio. The scent of sawdust and varnish.

An enormous rottweiler who'd been curled up in the corner stood, growling. I took a long step backwards.

"Freund," Sandy told the dog. "Freund. Untun junge."

The dog lay back down.

Sandy turned to me. "That's Günther. I'm going to tell him to make friends. Don't worry, he's well trained. He'll only attack if I say the command."

She glanced at the dog and spoke more words in German. Günther got up and walked over.

"Let him smell your hand," Sandy said. "Go ahead. Pet him."

I did so. Gingerly.

Sandy gave him more commands in German and he went back to his bed. "He's a sweet boy."

"He doesn't look like one."

"That's the point."

Sandy explained her business. She took reclaimed wood and made it into furniture. She also incorporated salvaged hardware into her designs. Brackets from a 19th Century mill might be joined with wood from an old barn to make a coffee table.

I stared at a pair of end tables by the big door. "Your work's amazing."

"Thanks. I'm proud of it."

"My mom said part of the job is delivering your pieces."

"Yeah. These end tables need to go down to Cape May. That barn door's overdue for Montclair."

"I can do that," I said.

"That's only part of the job. Come on."

We went back outside and I took the opportunity to check out her ass more thoroughly than I'd had a chance to before. It was round and womanly and suitably soft-looking.

"I need help around the property, too," she said. "My husband died three years ago and there's a lot that needs attention."

"What do you need done?"

"Nothing too complex. The house needs paint. The fence around the paddock is sagging. The landscaping needs trimming. Can you do that?"

"I can learn what I need to."

She gave me a skeptical look.

Close the deal. "There's a million how-to videos online. And I already know how to paint and trim landscaping. I can do whatever you need."

She studied me carefully. "Alright. Let's give it a shot. When can you start?"

"As soon as you need me."

"Tomorrow it is. You can begin with the delivery to Cape May. Nine sharp. I'll provide lunch since you're working at my home. I'm a helluva cook."

"So am I."

"That's right." I noticed a playful sparkle in her eye. "Mrs. Driscoll said you were in culinary school. Maybe I ought to have you make the lunches."

"I can also do that."

***

Working for Sandy hadn't been part of my plans.

First, I'd lost my original summer job when the trattoria I worked at closed abruptly due to the owner's gambling debts. Then my girlfriend broke up with me. Denise and I went to different schools and she didn't want to keep doing the long distance thing.

There I was. No job, no girlfriend, no prospects.

On top of all that, my parents were pressuring me to change my major away from culinary arts. They didn't have any financial leverage in the matter, at least, since I was on an academic scholarship. Still, I feared the same repetitive conversation was wearing me down.

"A chef's life is unpredictable," Mom would say. "You think everyone that's a chef gets a show on Food Network? You could have a place at your father's firm instead. Stability, Jimmy. Stability."

The lead on the job on Sandy's farm actually came through my mother. Our neighbor Mrs. Driscoll knew Sandy somehow.

I was skeptical. "How is a job like that going to help my resume? I should be working in a restaurant."

"Just go," Mom said. "I just got off the phone with her two minutes ago and she's expecting you. I'll text you the address. Go."

I made the twenty minute drive to Sandy's and that's how I found myself standing on her front porch wondering why I was there looking for a job I didn't want.

Then I laid eyes upon her and changed my mind.

I lay in bed that night trying to read but thinking of Sandy instead. I couldn't stop myself. Thoughts of her kept popping into my head, little details. Her pretty eyes, the shape of her face, her legs, and her oh-so-womanly hips. Her long blonde hair the color of sunshine. Her tits.

This hadn't taken long. I hadn't even started my first day of work and here I was fixating on her. That she was twice my age made no difference. Quite the opposite.

I gravitated towards older women. Always have. People tell me I'm an old soul, whatever that means. From my point of view, most girls my age were boring.

In the last year alone, I'd lusted after a waitress at the cafe I worked at up at school as well as my biology professor. Both were ladies in their forties who knew nothing of my smoldering desire for them. Don't get me started about my mom's friend Mrs. Cimino, either, the great unrequited love of my young life.

Now there was Sandy. I sighed. Another stupid crush. What could even come of it?

***

I arrived at her place the next morning ten minutes before nine. I was getting out of my car when she emerged from her house, Günther at her side. He growled and she reprimanded him in German.

She wore a blue shirt with a rainbow emblazoned on the front and dark gray leggings. Her hair was in a ponytail again. I imagined what it might look like down, golden tresses flowing over her shoulders. Full and wavy, I was sure.

Her clothes were simple but she looked hot as hell, her tits straining the fabric of her shirt and her leggings clinging to her hips and thighs.

She smiled and I could've passed out. I was in such fucking trouble. How was I ever supposed to deny this angelic creature anything she wished? Her wish was always going to be my command.

"Hello, James," she said. "How are you?"

"I'm good." I tried not to stare at her chest. "How are you?"

"Excellent. Are you ready for the drive?"

"I think so."

"We have to wait for Manuel. He'll show you how to load the end tables."

"Manuel?"

"He helps me in the shop. He doesn't get here for another half hour, though. Why don't you come inside for a coffee or tea?"

"Sure, that'd be great."

Sandy's kitchen was modern for a home its age, with newer appliances and granite countertops. The focal point was a huge island topped with a large slab of wood and held together by enormous wrought iron joints. Without it, there would've been a shortage of space for food prep.

I sat on one of the stools around it. "This island is cool."

"Thanks." she said. "I built it. Coffee or tea?"

"Coffee, please. Black."

We drank coffee and talked. She was charming in addition to being beautiful, quick to laugh and easygoing. I got the impression she was as happy to sit talking as I was.

What struck me was how, despite being twice my age, she radiated a certain girl-like quality. Maybe it was the way her eyes widened when she talked, or her soft, melodic voice.

Sandy poured herself another cup as I studied the strange geometric shapes a suncatcher hanging in the window cast upon the kitchen cabinets. They matched the island. "Did you make those, too?"

She sat back down. "The cabinets? I did them three or four years ago."

"Where did you learn all this?"

"My dad owned a cabinet shop down the shore. I wanted to learn how to do what he did but his generation wasn't so keen on a girl doing carpentry."

"But you showed him."

"To hear him tell it now he was a feminist pioneer from the start."

I heard a car coming down the driveway. Dang.

"That's Manuel," Sandy said. "Time to get to work."

I finished my coffee and followed Sandy outside. Manuel was an older Mexican gentleman, short with gnarled hands and a wiry frame.

Sandy and he had a short conversation in rapid Spanish and she went into her workshop.

Manuel showed me how to set up the ramp to the back of the van and to use the straps to secure the furniture to the special hand truck.

"Okay," I said. "Got it."

Manuel took off the ramp and undid the straps securing one of the end tables and pulled the hand cart away.

"Show me," he said.

I did well, hooking up the ramp and getting the table into the van and strapped in place.

Manuel nodded, but didn't say anything. Sandy returned and they spoke in Spanish again.

Manuel went into the shop and Sandy turned towards me. "Looks like you passed the test. Any questions?"

"Only one. You speak German and Spanish, too?"

"And French and Italian and Dutch."

"Of course you do."

Sandy laughed. "Have a good first delivery, James."

***

I arrived even earlier than the day before. Manuel's truck wasn't there again.

I fantasized that his vehicle wouldn't start and he didn't get to work until at least lunch. Hours sitting and talking with Sandy. Just us the entire morning.

Sandy and I had coffee again, sitting at the island talking. She wore a bright green T-shirt and jeans, her hair in its usual ponytail. She made eye contact with me in passing while she poured us coffee. Her honey-colored eyes seemed to glow, they were so bright. Like burnished copper pennies. I couldn't speak, couldn't breathe.

Say something. Anything. "Let me get this straight again. You speak German, Spanish, Italian, and French."

She brushed my forearm, sending a tingle down my back. "And Dutch."

"Doesn't everyone? How does this come about?"

"Languages have always come easy for me. I learned Spanish and Italian in high school and branched out to French and German in college. I learned Dutch for a semester abroad in Rotterdam."

"So you were a language major."

"Yup. Picked up a psych minor along the way. I even taught high school French and Italian for ten years."

"Why'd you leave?"

"Sick of the commute and working someone else's hours. I also wanted to work with my hands. So I rolled the dice. Gambled everything."

"You went for it."

"Your dreams aren't just going to happen, James. You have to make them happen. Easy for me to say, though. I'm a risk taker by nature. What about you? Mrs. Driscoll said you graduated near the top of your class."

"Salutatorian."

"Good for you! She said you could do anything. So why a chef?"

"It's all I ever wanted to be. Until now."

"What's happened?"

"Second thoughts."

"How come?"

"The uncertainty, I guess. I don't know. My parents want me to switch to accounting."

"That's a big switch."

"Yeah. My dad could get me a job with his firm and, you know, my life'd be set."

"I see."

I noticed a child's drawings on the fridge. "Whose are those?"

"My daughter Jess. She's eight. She's in Michigan for the month with her paternal grandparents. They have a huge horse farm on the upper peninsula."

"That sounds fun."

"It is. They don't just have a few horses like around here. Closer to thirty. They've got an indoor arena and a lesson program. Jess is riding every day, practically all day."

"She must love that."

"She does. But it's tough. I miss her."

"I bet."

"It's good for her to spend time there. To get to know her grandparents. She has cousins there, too."

The sound of Manuel pulling into the driveway intruded upon us. That was quick.

Sandy frowned and glanced at the door. "Time to get to work."

***

A trailer-style camper was parked on the far side of the workshop, a newer model but with weeds growing underneath which I cut back.

"I should sell it," Sandy said. "My husband bought it before he got sick. We only used it a few times."

Throughout my first week working for Sandy, I'd sneak furtive glimpses at her when she passed by. Any chance to check her out was a treat. She liked her jeans tight, too, showing off her hips and thighs. It made for a killer combo along with her ample boobs.

I'd developed a giant crush, sure, but couldn't begin to imagine what she felt towards me. I could've sworn I caught her glancing my way a few times, though, lingering looks in my direction. It couldn't be real, I'd remind myself. Wishful thinking. Stop imagining things.

At least there was the fantasy of us, and I fantasized about Sandy a lot. My nightly masturbatory sessions tended to focus upon her. After being around her every day, how could they not? I'd envision various scenarios of the two of us together. I sought out MILF porn featuring performers resembling Sandy, which wasn't difficult to find.

I'd never lusted after a woman before with such intensity. Sandy pushed every one of my buttons with everything she did. Her walk, the way she laughed, her smile. Everything.

***

My second week working for Sandy I finished fixing the fence, trimmed the hedges, and cleared out most of the weeds. I was surprised by how much I was enjoying myself, working with my hands and seeing a tangible result. The highlight of every day, though, was morning coffee with Sandy. Sometimes, we also had lunch together. Those were special days.

On Wednesday a box truck pulled into Sandy's, a wood delivery. Manuel's son Luis was sometimes sent to buy reclaimed wood and bring it to Sandy's. I helped him unload what had been part of a 19th Century barn in Maryland.

Luis was friendly and talkative. He didn't stop speaking the entire time we worked. We found out we had a common friend.

"Good old Jack." Luis laughed. "What a guy. Is he still trying to get laid? I remember him begging this chick at a party last year. 'Please,' he kept whining. Man, that was some funny shit."

"I know how he feels. I'm not ready to start publicly begging, though."

"You need to get some pussy? Dude, I got that for you."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, that came out wrong. I know this chick. You got a hundred dollars and she'll take care of you, dude."

Sandy appeared at the entrance to the barn. She had on a bright yellow tank top along with her jeans. It'd been an effort all day not to stare at her. I was failing at that endeavor.

"Hey, Luis," she said. "How'd it go?"

"Take a look," he said.

She inspected the wood he'd collected. "Would you look at the grain on those beams? Damn. That's character. Good work, Luis."

Sandy gave me a strange look, then turned and walked off. How much had she overheard?

I spent the afternoon painting the trim on Sandy's front porch. Manuel emerged from the workshop, waving goodbye and driving off. I put the lid on the paint can, hammered it tight, and went into the shop to clean the paintbrush.

Sandy was changing the blade on the miter saw, her back to me. I took my customary glance at her ass and daydreamed of feeling it in my hands.

Sandy finished her task and walked over to me as I was washing off the brush in the sink. "Luis is quite the character, huh?"

"Yeah, he's something else."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"We've been getting to know each other. You've told me about your friends, your family, but you've never mentioned a girlfriend."

"I had one. She broke up with me before I came to work here."

"The reason I ask is I overheard the tail end of your conversation with Luis."

"Oh."

"I should keep my mouth shut. I should."

"What do you mean?"

"You're a handsome guy. You're interesting. You'll get another girlfriend."

A handsome guy. "I hope so."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't know why I brought it up."

"It's okay."

I went to put down the brush. Sandy moved at the same moment and our hands touched. It was a silly, incidental thing. But she held her hand in place.

We froze. I couldn't breathe.

"James," she said, breaking long moments of silence. It was as if she was going to form a sentence except she didn't.

Sandy inhaled and her chest rose, drawing my attention. Her tits were the most incredible things I'd ever seen. Even under her shirt, I could tell they were glorious. Full, soft. Perfect.

I looked up and she met my gaze, our eyes locked.

One heartbeat. Two heartbeats.

We kissed.

It happened so fast I don't know who initiated it. Our lips pressed against each other as my mind raced. This was no daydream, no fantasy. This was a real thing which was happening.

Sandy backed off. "That was sudden."

I leaned forward and we kissed again, this time longer. Our mouths parted, the tips of our tongues touching.

Sandy withdrew again. "Wait. That was nice, but we shouldn't."

"Are you sure?"

She started to say something but turned aside instead. "I'm sorry. I'll see you tomorrow."

***

I decided the best thing to do was act normal the following morning. I arrived at my usual time.

Sandy stepped out onto her porch and called. "Coffee's ready."