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Bridget's Gardener

   "Let me get something on," she said. There were robes and towels hanging on hooks just outside the door, and she threw on a short, white, terry cloth robe and tied it around her waist.

   "Okay," she said to the embarrassed gardener. He turned to face her.

   "Hi," he said, extending his hand. "I'm Mike. Jose told me to come by, and, uh, well, I just walked in; I thought you expected me."

   "Hi, Mike. I'm Bridget. Don't worry about it," she replied, taking his hand. Bridget almost jumped, the feeling of his hand was like an electrical current.

   'My god,' she thought,' he's gorgeous.'  Mike was about 19 or 20, 6' tall with black hair down to his shoulders and dark eyes. His body was darkly tanned, and muscles rippled out from under a tight T-shirt. His hand was big and rough. And Mike was eyeing her, too. The little robe didn't do much to cover her nakedness. Her tops of her full breasts were clearly visible, and the opening in the robe exposed her inner thighs almost to her crotch. She actually felt more naked wearing it.

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