When I was a high schooler, I would often hang out at my friend Dan's house. His mom, Kate, was a single parent after the unexpected death of her husband when Dan was 14. Sudden heart attack: the stress of the high-paying job he had might have contributed. At least he had a very large life insurance policy, so Kate was set financially. But that didn't make it any easier to deal with a teenager.
I was always the quiet, responsible type, so I would spend as much time with Dan as possible to ease the strain on Kate. She acknowledged as much ("Thank you, Scott"), and I'm sure she noticed me sneaking peeks at her thick, buxom frame. High school students aren't exactly smooth about keeping that stuff hidden. If she stole peeks at me, I didn't notice.
When I wasn't spending time at his house and playing big brother, Dan was over at my house. Somehow Kate and I managed to get him through high school successfully, and Dan went to college three states over and proceeded to graduate with a 3.0 GPA. He then found a job out there and settled down. I went into the computer field and after graduating college became a tech-support specialist for a local tech company, one I'd been interning every summer with since my sophomore year of high school. They had been grooming me for the job the whole time.
So it came as no surprise when Kate called me on a Saturday afternoon. "Scott, something's wrong with my computer. Can you please come over and take a look?"
Of course I could. I was there in 15 minutes. Kate greeted me warmly. She hadn't gotten any less attractive. I tried to put that out of my mind and focus on the task at hand.
"What seems to be the problem, Kate?"
I could smell the alcohol on her breath. I hoped it wouldn't slow down her brain while I was trying to get information out of her.
"I can't get online."
I ran a quick virus scan. Several pieces of crapware and one known piece of malware.
"Kate, where did this come from?"
I was pointing at the malware.
"I downloaded it. Some popup came on and said it would help optimize my computer."
My palm interfaced with my forehead.
"Kate, I've warned you before about those malicious ads..."
"Sorry, Scott, I wasn't thinking."
"Did you actually pay for it with a credit or debit card?"
"No."
Thank the FSM for small favors. At least her bank account wasn't in danger.
"Okay, let me clean this up."
90 minutes later, Kate had downed two more shots of vodka and I had gotten rid of the garbage on her machine and installed an ad blocker.
"Thanks, Scott."
"That ought to keep away any problems. Glad I could help."
"I owe you one. Why don't you come sit on the sofa? I'll fetch the cookies."
Kate's cookies were famous from here halfway to Alaska. They helped her maintain her thick figure and large, round butt.
"Mmmm. What kind?"
"Chocolate chip."
"You may have trouble getting me to leave until all of those are consumed."
Kate laughed and went off to fetch the homemade cookies. We each took one and began to eat it, slowly so as to savor the deliciousness.
"So glad you like these, Scott. Women like when their efforts are appreciated."
"Kate, you know very well that I've been a huge fan of both you and your cookies since I started coming over here regularly in high school."