"See y'all later!" My friend's mom waved cheerfully from her station wagon. "I'm off to get groceries — need anything? Oh, and I'm going to pick up a pair of mauve underwear, so if you need ..." Her voice trailed off as the heat rushed to our teenage faces. She drove off laughing into the misty afternoon.
"Hey kids, I'm back!"
We scrambled to get our clothes in order and open our books. Studying, we were supposed to be. Sophomores in the local state university, grinding our way through second year tech courses.
"Did you get everything on your list?" I asked. My friend gave me a quizzical look.
"Oh yes, everything. I checked out that nice lingerie store that just opened in town. They have very beautiful things there."
She barely raised an eyebrow at our perspiring faces and bulging trousers as we quickly closed our laptops where we'd been watching MILF porn. "Whatcha been doin, guys?" A wink and a big guffaw came on the heels of her quip as she sashayed into her room.
When she came back she had a cigarette between her fingers and a tray with three old fashioned glasses. Her eyes were shining with mischief. She slid the patio doors open and headed outside. The garden, surrounded by a tall, dense hedge was cool, despite the early-summer heat. My friend's neighbourhood was a '50s suburb of one-story ranch houses.
She'd changed into a long, loose, dark maroon caftan. She was still a very good-looking woman, with long dark hair curling below her shoulders and big, soft tits. I'd imagined touching them often as I beat my meat for relief.
Stiff nipples poked at the soft fabric that draped from her shoulders to her wide hips as she handed a glass to me and her son.
The drink was deep amber, glinting red where the setting sun refracted through clear ice. In each glass a cherry peeked among the cubes along with a twist of lemon peel. The aroma was intoxicating.
She took a sip, eyeing me over the rim of her glass. "Well?"
It was strong enough that I almost sputtered, but sweet enough that the second sip was a gulp, in spite of my eyes watering.
She chuckled. "Is this your first manhattan? I daresay you'll enjoy many more in your life — handsome guy like you. Why, the girls must be drawn to you like flies to honey."
My friend was turning red, and not because he'd downed most of his drink in a couple of quick gulps.
His mom noticed, and came back with a pitcher of ice and three bottles: rye whisky, vermouth and a small wrapped in paper. She proceeded to mix a pitcher full of these "manhattans," adding dashes of what she called Angostura at the end, then stirring them gently with a tall chrome spoon.
"I know you both just had 19th birthdays, and I'm sorry I couldn't attend because of work but I heard you had a super time with a pack of buddies and a posse of girls. I'm sure you didn't miss an old broad like me."
The heavy globes of her breasts swayed rhythmically as she stirred the drinks languidly. The nipples got harder as they rubbed against the soft maroon fabric. The image was hypnotic.
The girls we hung around with tended to be athletic — pretty, yes, but the sports bras they wore like a uniform gave them all boyish figures and, while their leggings occasionally showed a bit of camel toe, they were for the most part androgynous.
My friend's mom, on the other hand, was all woman. And the second drink was giving me stupid courage. The filters I'd learned being brought up by a single mom in the Big Smoke were rapidly fading in the California haze. And then it happened ...
"How long since you've been fucked with your panties on, Mrs. Stanton?" I blurted. Bold for a 19-year-old.
My friend choked loudly, and shoved an elbow hard into my ribs. "Come on, tell me you haven't fantasized about your mom," I whispered. "And your dad, when he was around. Everyone does."
Mrs. Stanton took me by the hand and led me to the outdoor sofa, its cushions plump and inviting.
"Young man, you're pretty forward, aren't you? But that was a pretty perceptive question, though it shocked me at first.
"I have to admit it's been more than ten years, if you really want to know."
She sat down a bit heavily. I could smell the fresh lemon from her second drink, which had left her a trifle tiddly. She reached up and pulled me down beside her.
My jeans were already straining and I gingerly reached out toward her. She held my wrist and let my thumb graze her left nipple, which sent an electric shock through both of us.
