A Tease For The Landlord

Ever been poor? My wife at the time and I were in that classification as this story is told. I was about 25, Sharon was 24. Sharon is a small gal, slender, long dark hair, breasts a bit big for her tiny frame.

I ran a Gas Station, 1973 came around. Gas lines, no product, bank at my door. The business went, the house went, Sharon and I were living in our car in very short order.

I finally managed to find a job fixing cars for a shop, and she headed out to find a place for us to live, camping was getting old and Fall was coming fast.

Let's just say that Fall and Winter in Oregon will keep your socks wet if you live outside.

Sharon came back tickled, she found a tiny little rental house at a price we could actually pay. It wasn't much, but we were desperate. The place was just a small living room with an alcove kitchen, but it was furnished with basic appliances. There was a little bedroom with a curtain, and a bathroom that appeared to be tacked on as an afterthought.

We could manage until things got better.

We moved in in short order, Sharon introduced me to the landlord, a crusty old guy named Harold. He was about 60 or so and lived right next door in a much bigger place.

But problems cropped up quickly, the guy apparently had little experience with dealing with tenants. It seems his son had lived in the little house, and finally moved away.

So he dealt with us by acting like we were going to steal something or burn the place down, throw wild parties.

It was part of the deal for me to mow the lawn, it was small and I did. But not often enough to suit Harold, he would meet me in the mornings and tell me it needed doing as I headed for work, hell, it was only an inch high.

Then if we both left he would snoop around, checking, always checking, always watching us.

One day we had another couple over, we were sitting in the yard chatting, having some beer, music playing.

Sure enough, he didn't like the beer, didn't like the music, didn't like our guests. He made a point of telling us he didn't like "wild parties!"

I also noticed he spent a lot of timing peeking out the window at Sharon's behind when she went out to work in the yard.

The situation was barely tolerable, and got worse one day when I ran home for something, and parked my truck in the driveway sticking out a bit. Harold came out yelling, irate. I was there maybe 5 minutes.

I came home that night, Sharon was unhappy, the guy actually wanted us to move out. I wanted to myself, but the rent was half what we could find anywhere else. We needed to stay right where we were for at least another six months while I saved up a dab of cash.

The only thing to do was go talk to Harold.

It was a warm day, Sharon had on a summer dress, one with print flowers, nice and light. She wore a pair of flipflops on her feet.

Harold was sitting out back in his yard watching our place like always, so Sharon and I walked over there to talk to him. There were some outside lawn chairs gathered around a firepit Harold used in the Fall, he was sipping a cool drink, scowling at us.

Harold seemed to always scowl.

We sat down to talk, I explained we needed to stay, he was adamant that he wanted us to leave.

"Too much going on." was his exact words.

Hell, if we lived any quieter we would be dead.

But I noticed he kept glancing at Sharon's bare legs, almost like they were magnets for his eyes.

Sharon picked up on it, too, she slipped her flipflops off, wiggled her toes in the cool grass. She idly hiked her dress up a couple of inches. Harold stopped talking for a few seconds, his eyes darting right down to the gap between her knees and the bottom of her dress.

I wasn't getting anywhere, Sharon gave me a sidelong glance, then said, "I will go get some iced tea, be right back."

She hopped up and headed for our place, and was back in a few minutes with a pitcher and some glasses.

She set the glasses down and leaned over Harold's way as she poured him a drink. This let the top of her dress gap down some, it wasn't really much from the design but enough Harold could see the tops of her breasts, I was sure.

Again he stopped talking for a few moments. Sharon's eyes caught mine, she had a wicked grin on her face as she poured me a glass, then her own.

She turned and sat back down in a different chair directly across from Harold, now the three of us sat in a semi-circle. This time the hem of her dress was a bit higher, Harold's look went right back to her bare legs, he almost couldn't stop looking at her.

He was telling me about how he just couldn't have "improper parking", droning on and on about it, still staring.

Sharon lifted her leg, sat it on the chair in front of her, brushing at imaginary bits of grass on her foot. I knew this would give the old coot a clear view of her panties.

She took her sweet time, repeated with the other foot. Conversation came to a stop. Then she put her feet back down on the grass.

Harold was now sounding like he was changing his mind, he mentioned something about, "Well, maybe if you promise to not do it again."

His eyes never left Sharon's legs.

Then Sharon smiled at him, and said, "We promise, thank you!"

With that, she put her left foot back on the chair, reached for her flipflops. This time her dress slid over her knee and down her thigh halfway. She looked directly at Harold as she swung her left knee to the side, reaching down to put her flipflop onto her foot.

She took her sweet time, too. Brushing at the few bits of grass, she set her left foot back down on the ground, leaving her dress bunched halfway up her thigh.

Harold was leaning forwards in his chair, silent, beads of sweat popped up on his forehead. I was thinking he was going to have a Heart attack.

Then Sharon lifted her right foot, placed it carefully on the chair seat in front of her. She looked directly at Harold, still leaning forwards in his chair.

The dress was now bunched nearly all the way to the top of her thighs. I realized that the evening Sunlight was shining at an angle over Harold's shoulders, right on her.

Sharon leaned over, picked up the other flipflop. Looking directly at Harold, she slowly moved her right knee over to the right, her left leg pressed firmly against the armrest on the other side. He wasn't even noticing her watching him, his eyes were wide, staring directly at Sharon's crotch.

Her right knee finally touched the armrest of the chair, she lifted her fanny and scooted forward a few inches to the edge of the seat, leaned her knee over even more. Her foot came up off the chair seat in slow motion, hovered in the air for a moment, then she swung her foot closer as she reached down and pulled the other flipflop on.

She left it there in space for a few seconds as she idly brushed at her foot. She turned it this way and that, inspecting it, then she set her foot back down on the ground.

The poor old man had a bulge in his pants that must have been painful, he was really getting off on looking at Sharon's panties.

Sharon stood up.

"We can stay then?" she asked, with a sweet smile.

Harold managed to stammer an agreement.

"How about we come over and have tea with you some other night?"

"Sure, anytime." Harold said, his breath still coming in ragged gasps.

Sharon reached for my hand, we walked back to our little house.

Inside, I laughed, reached for her to give her a hug.

"Old Harold sure got off looking at your panties!" I said, as I ran my hands up Sharon's legs to her behind.

OOPS!

No panties!

MGM