Like Mother Like Daughter Ch 02 4

Copyright © December 2021 by CiaoSteve

CiaoSteve reserves the right to be identified as the author of this work. This story cannot be published, as a whole or in part, without the express agreement of the author other than the use of brief extracts as part of a story review.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

Author's Notes

Foreword #1: All sexually active characters in this story are over 18.

Foreword #2: This is a story and intended purely for pleasure.

Foreword #3: Thank you so much to a fellow reader, Bablee, for providing the inspiration behind yet another story. With such a vivid imagination, it is always my pleasure to put her ideas into words. I do hope I have done this one justice.

Foreword #4: This is a second chapter to "Like Mother, Like Daughter." There may be references back to the original, so I would recommend having a quick read to know the background.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It had become difficult. I so wanted to see Peter again, even though it was so wrong. At my age--yes, they say life began at forty, and at forty-two I still thought of myself as being in my prime--it wasn't right to be pining over somebody half as old. That was also an issue. I never asked Peter how old he was. I suspected twenty-one as that was my own daughter's age, not that I saw much of Amina now that she was married and back in Pakistan.

Amina?

Now, there, was a bit of a paradox. I never saw Amina. I still longed after Amina. She was the spitting image of her mother, which is how this whole episode started. Now... well... now I

was

Amina. At least in the young Peter's eyes, I was my daughter, or was it that my daughter was me?

That made it harder still. The evening together with Peter was becoming a memory. I never intended to let the young lad into my life. It was a mistake to share my number with him. Having done so, I constantly wondered. Was it really a mistake, or was it an opportunity?

What happened had been a one-off, but I felt so much better for it, so much younger, so much... yes, that was it, I felt treasured again. I'd let the young Peter into my life, and now I needed him more than ever.

As I said, it had become difficult. The weeks were flying by. Summer was drifting into autumn. We still exchanged messages, many messages. Some of them were idle chatter, but many were of a nature which was most definitely not safe for work, nor for the eyes of my husband of oh so many years.

I talked to Peter on a regular basis, but we never had met again after that one night of passion.

There was another problem. Zeeshan wasn't going away on business so much, so keeping Peter a secret was becoming a challenge. Morning, noon, or night, my phone would burst into life. I'd gone from being Neelam no mates, all the way to Amina all friends.

Why the problem, I hear you ask? Well, think about it. Zeeshan was so very conservative, to the point of controlling my marital life. What would he say if he knew what I got up to out of sight of his prying eyes?

Don't get me wrong, I loved Zeeshan. I still do, but it is now a predictably familiar sort of love. We'd gotten used to each other, like you might get used to a comfy jumper, however old it might be. It was something you felt comfortable wearing, and something life would feel empty with, if it wasn't there any longer.

Peter on the other hand--I smiled as I thought of him--he gave me something oh so special.

You didn't keep things hidden from Zeeshan for long. He was already becoming suspicious about my phone. I put it on silent, yet still he noticed. Whether it was the buzz of an incoming call, or the screen inadvertently bursting into life with a message, Zeeshan didn't miss a thing.

I didn't exactly help myself either. There was one time, in conversation with a close friend, that the conversation turned towards my daughter. 'How's Amina?' was the question. I had to check myself, as I came close to replying with a simple 'I am fine.'

That was the problem. I was Neelam in public. I was Amina in private. And sometimes the lines just seemed to blur.

Then the unthinkable happened. I'd made a habit of carrying my phone around with me wherever I went. It was the best way to keep my secret lover just that, a secret. Zeeshan had questioned the messages very soon after I'd met Peter, and I'd palmed him off with the excuse that they were cold calls, trying to sell things.

That had worked for a while, but I knew he was getting more suspicious given the increasing volume, especially during the evenings. I'd tried to tell Peter, to warn him of what might happen. Maybe it was the confidence of youth, or even the impetuosity of lust, but my warnings fell on deaf ears. Suggestive texts, erotic photos, Peter sent them all. I was being careful, or at least I thought I was, so imagine my surprise to be asked...

"Who's Peter?" Zeeshan enquired.

"Peter? Which Peter?" I asked, nonchalantly ignoring the question.

"The Peter who's just sent you four messages in the last half hour. That Peter," came the reply.

"Oh, yes... Peter. He's a friend of Amina's... well, he was a friend. Maybe you remember? In the same class as Amina. He was one of the nice ones, a sensible lad... tall... thin... dark haired... glasses. You must remember him?"

"Mmmm... maybe... but why is he messaging you?" Zeeshan asked.

"Nothing really. I bumped into him. He asked about Amina, and I said I would pass his message across. He just wanted to know how she was. That's all," I explained.

My heart thumped. It was a little white lie. Yes, Peter had asked in conversation about my daughter, but for sure that wasn't the nature of his messages. It was the closest I'd come to being exposed. All I'd done was leave the phone on the kitchen table for an hour or so.

If I didn't know already, I suddenly realised how much of a risk I was taking.

Was it worth it?

I was a middle-aged mother. I should have known better. I had responsibilities, to the children, to my husband. That night... that evening under the shine of the full moon... it shouldn't have happened... I shouldn't have let it happen.

Don't get me wrong. It was wonderful to feel that way... to be wanted... to be loved... to be... That was the problem, there was nothing on earth which would make me turn back time.

I hadn't felt that way since I first met Zeeshan. Back then he loved me. Back then he made me feel special. Did the earth move for you? Oh yes, back then Zeeshan had my entire world doing cartwheels.

That was then, and this is now. You could say that the young lad got me thinking... about life... about love... about me. I never realised what it was until I met Peter. It's like they say, what you don't have can't be missed. I didn't have passion in my life for all so long, and now... now I can't stop thinking about it.

I wanted Peter.

I needed Peter.

I so longed to be with him one more time.

So, that was the problem. The risk was too high. Zeeshan suspected, and the last thing I needed was him finding out. I didn't want to, but I knew there was only one answer.

For the next few days I thought of nothing more. It had to be done. It wasn't Peter's fault, so I had to find a way of letting him down gently. He was young. He had his whole life ahead of him to find somebody else... somebody more... shall we say, suitable.

I'd had my moment in the spotlight, dancing under the silvery glow of the moon, and now it was time remember who I truly was... a middle-aged mother, with four children and a husband.

Reluctantly, I knew what I needed to do. Reluctantly, I knew it was right.

I didn't have long to wait; a couple of days to be precise.

"Peter," I whispered, answering the phone as I quickly took myself off to Amina's bedroom.

"Amina," came Peter's response. "Are you alright, Amina?"

There was a pause before I responded.

"It's fine. I just... I missed you, Peter."

"Just what? What's wrong?" Peter asked.

"Nothing. All's ok. It's just... I told you..."

"Told me what?" Peter asked again.

There was a hesitation in Peter's voice. He was confused. Why was this conversation so different to all the rest? They'd spoken often, and always Amina had been so upbeat, so enthusiastic, so... so... so... full of love. That night had been the first and only time that they'd gotten together. Peter knew it wasn't going to be easy. He'd been thinking about nothing since, and now... well, now he thought he had an answer.

Was it too late?

Had something happened, and now Amina wasn't interested any more?

"I do love you, Peter," I continued, "but I told you it wouldn't be easy. I think we need to talk."

"Me too," Peter responded. "I have something to tell you."

"You do?" I replied, suddenly wondering if this was going to be easier than I had feared.

Had Peter already given up on this most challenging of relationships? I wouldn't have blamed him. He was young, and there would have been many fish in the sea looking for such a wonderful soulmate.

"Yes, but not like this. Can I come round?" Peter asked.

"I... I... I don't know. It's not that I don't want to. It's just... well..." I started to explain.

"During the day... Friday," Peter responded. "I think it's better I tell you in person. He'll be working, won't he?"

"I guess... and, yes... better said in person. Make it the morning. He finishes early on a Friday," I replied.

My heart was thumping through a mix of apprehension and nervous anticipation. I was going to see him again, yet this time was going to be the last time. Much as I wanted my new life, much as I wanted my Peter, I couldn't continue this way.

It was only a matter of time before something slipped, before Zeeshan found out.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Friday arrived all too quick.

Early morning, I said goodbye to Zeeshan, then headed off to change. Peter was coming to see Amina, and the least I could do was dress like my daughter, even if I was about to tell him that we couldn't go on like this. Peter had said he had something to tell me, and I guessed it was of a similar vein.

I searched through the wardrobe, browsing outfit after outfit. What to wear? That was the question. I thought back to last summer, imagining just what the real Amina might have worn. She had such beautiful legs. They were long. They were shapely. They were just like her mother's, but without the flaws that decades of married life tended to leave behind. Oh yes, Amina loved to show a bit of leg. If her father was around, it would be knee length. If he wasn't...

Yes, that was the answer. I needed something with the essence of summer, with the essence of Amina. I rummaged around further, working my way through one dress then another.

A black number caught my eye, and I pulled it out of the wardrobe. It was little more than a tube of stretchy black fabric. I glanced in the mirror, holding the dress up in front of me. I never remembered Amina wearing this one. I guessed it wasn't exactly a surprise. As I held it there, I imagined the soft weaves clinging to my every curve, moving seductively to my every step. I could already feel the excitement build inside as I thought about wearing that dress.

Whichever way you looked at it, the dress screamed... fuck me.

Reluctantly I shook my head. It wasn't the right message. I couldn't wear a fuck me dress and tell Peter we were over, could I? There again, I didn't really want to tell him we were over in the first place, it was just that it wasn't practical to continue.

I slid the little black number back into the wardrobe and continued looking. Finally I landed on a sundress, red with a tiny floral pattern. It was a strappy number, ruched down the front, with a vee-neck across the bust. The dress was fitted up top, before flaring out in a fuller skirt. I held it up to the mirror and smiled. Coming just above the knee, it was a safe choice, pretty, yet not so revealing as to give any wrong messages. Perfect.

Quickly I slipped out of my more conservative jeans and jumper, tossing them onto my daughter's bed. I stood there, dressed in a black tee-shirt bra and similar panties. My choice in underwear was soft and stretchy. They were comfortable. They were my go-to's when the highlight of the day was going to be nothing more than household chores.

I closed my eyes for a moment and my mind suddenly went back to that first night, right here in my daughter's bedroom. I couldn't help myself. Peter was there... waiting in the moonlit garden... climbing up the trellising... walking in off the balcony... kissing me for that very first time.

I opened my eyes, but still the image was there. In my mind I could see him, just like I might have seen a faded stain, lingering there, offering memories of a recent past. Before I knew it, I was peering out through the bedroom window, hoping it was more than just a daydream.

That had been one hell of a night, but all good things had to end.

I pulled myself away from my memories, and back to the dress. There was one problem. The top was so strappy that my black bra would have been clearly visible underneath. I considered what else I had, but in fact all of mine were not what you would wear with this sort of dress. A quick rummage in Amina's chest of drawers--it was so convenient when you were identical in size--also didn't turn up anything suitable.

For a moment I wondered just what my daughter wore underneath.

The answer was obvious... nothing.

There was no hesitation. I was so unlike the conservative housewife I was meant to be. I reached around and unhooked the bra, letting it drop to the bedroom floor. My full breasts fell free, soft mounds of flesh each topped off with a large dark areola and plump nipple. I fondled each in turn, watching as my nipples hardened against my touch.

Once more I was taken back to that first night. Then, it had been Peter who caressed my tender breasts. Now, even as I ran my own hands across my soft mounds, I could feel the tingle inside as further memories were rekindled.

It was no good. I was intent on telling Peter it was no more, yet all I could think about was our time together. I shook my head, forcing myself to move on. Moments later I was dressed again. A final glance in the mirror told me I was one good looking mother, even for forty-two. Zeeshan wouldn't have approved, he never did when Amina wore such clothes, but today was not about him.

To say I was on edge was an understatement. I couldn't sit still. My heart was racing with nervous excitement. I tried to keep myself busy, but all I could think about was the expected knock at the door and seeing Peter once more.

This one was going to be difficult, but it had to be done, for both our sakes.

Every slight noise had me jumping in anticipation, wondering if it was Peter. I must have glanced out of the window three times before finally he did rap his knuckles against the front door. In that moment, my heart missed a beat. I could feel cartwheels in my stomach. I understood the realisation of what was about to happen but didn't know what I felt.

Happiness?

Excitement?

Expectation?

It was a mix of all three which ruled my heart. I could feel it thump inside as I glanced out of the living room window and saw Peter standing there. I could feel my breathing quicken as I walked towards the front door.

Disappointment?

Understanding?

Resignation?

Yes, my heart told one story and my mind fought a different tale. By the time I placed my hand on the door handle and started to turn, I was so embroiled in my own emotional battles that I barely managed to say his name.

"P... P... Peter," I stuttered.

He was just how I remembered him; tall, dark, handsome, and young enough to be my son.

"Amina," Peter responded, smiling back at me as he stood on the doorstep.

I glanced out across the street, making sure that we were alone.

"Come inside. Quick... before... you're seen," I said, ushering the young lad into the hallway.

I rushed Peter inside, closing the door behind him. I'd thought long and hard about what I would do. Anywhere at the front of the house was off limits. The risk of being seen was too great. We could use Amina's bedroom again, but that would just bring back memories of that first time together and give the young lad the idea that he was in for another passionate encounter.

The other bedrooms seemed inappropriate, so that just left the kitchen. We could sit at the table. We could drink coffee. Yes, that seemed so right. When we first met, Peter had suggested coffee. Back then, I'd turned him down, so the least I could do was take him up on the offer, even if it was to be our last time together. I led the way, with Peter following on behind.

"I've missed you, Peter," I said as we took the few steps towards the back of the house. "You don't know how much I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, Amina," Peter responded.

As we entered the kitchen, our eyes met, and I saw the desire deep within. Oh, how much I wanted to take him into my arms, to rekindle the passion of before. It wasn't to be, I kept telling myself. Don't let this be harder than it had to be.

I gave Peter a gentle kiss on the lips, then withdrew.

"Is something wrong, Amina?" Peter asked. "Are you okay?"

"Do you remember the first time we met, Peter?" I asked.

"Oh yes. How could I forget that night?" Peter replied.

"No... no... I mean the first time... in the market. You suggested coffee, and I turned you down."

Peter smiled. He had forgotten that time, or more so the memory of it had been superseded by their one night of passion.

"I did," Peter responded, smiling, "and you... as you said... you turned me down."

I laughed. Yes, I had turned him down, just as any married woman should have done.

"Well," I continued, "what if I offered you coffee now? Would you turn me down too?"

Peter didn't respond. He simply smiled back at me.

"How do you take it?" I added.

"Nice and sweet, just like you," came Peter's reply.

It was my time to smile. If I was being honest, it was my time to blush, albeit my darker skin-tone kept it well hidden. Peter was just so... what's the word... adorable. I was finding this hard already, and he wasn't making it any easier.

"Listen, Peter," I called out as I filled the kettle with water, "there's something I need to tell you. It's been on my mind for some time. I guess it's no surprise."

I switched the kettle on and headed to the other side of the kitchen to grab the coffee, sugar, and a couple of mugs.

"It's just... well... I don't know how to put it, but we can't continue like this. It's... ermm... not fair on you, not fair on me, not fair on us."

"I know," Peter responded, his words catching me by surprise as they seemed to be whispered right into my ear.

Without me noticing, Peter had followed me across the kitchen. I jumped as he wrapped his arms around me from behind.

Silently, I sighed. Oh yes, I wanted him. I wanted to feel those strong arms enveloping my body. I wanted to feel him take me to that special place one more time.

I leant forward, bending slightly at the waist, placing my arms down on the edge of the kitchen worktop. It wasn't so much an attempt to break out of his embrace, but more a realisation that what I wanted and what had to be, were two different things.

Even so, it didn't seem to deter the young Peter. Nothing did. He wasn't put off by my age. He wasn't put off by me being the mother of one of his ex-schoolfriends. He wasn't put off by my long-term marriage to Zeeshan. He wasn't put off by my relative naivety in the bedroom. Whatever I did, whatever I said, however I looked, Peter made me feel a million dollars.