"Rebecca Stevens is going to be dropping off a package for me around 11:00. Will you answer the door and put the package on the kitchen table for me?" Susan called to her son, Tom.
"Sure, no problem," Tom called from upstairs. Tom was Jim and Susan's 20-year-old son who was home during a break between his first and second year in college. He had grown into a nice-looking young man, standing nearly 6' and weighing 170 lb. He had nicely trimmed dark brown hair and deeply set hazel eyes. He kept himself in shape by working out daily at the college health and fitness center as well as 2-mile swims, 10 mile running and intense 40 to 60-mile bike rides to train for triathlon competitions. He focused on strength and stamina building for the long grueling competitive events.
Rebecca Stevens, a longtime friend of Susan's, was 48, and had been divorced for nearly six years. Even though she was more than twice his age, Tom had often fantasized about having sex with Rebecca. She was a petite woman, standing only 5'4" and weighing less than 115lb. Despite her small stature, her breast size was a full 34C. She kept her auburn hair trimmed short, and with her black rimmed glasses, she always reminded Tom of a prim and proper school teacher. Tom was convinced this was part of her turn-on for him.
During the past six years or so, Rebecca would often drop by Jim and Susan's house once or twice a week. And during her visits Tom would try to sneak peeks of her thighs as she crossed and uncrossed her slender legs and adjusted her skirt while sitting on the couch. At times she wore her semi-transparent white blouse, revealing her bra and well-formed breasts which would drive Tom nearly crazy. More often than not, after, or even during these visits, Tom would make an excuse and rush upstairs to his bedroom and lock the door. With Rebecca's image planted squarely in his mind, he would slide out of his pants, and after just a few furious strokes on his cock, would cum what seemed like gallons.
Now he was a sophomore in college and living on campus. And though he had been involved with two or three girls his same age, all of it consisted of just heavy petting. He had truly enjoyed getting his hands inside their blouses, unhooking their bras and feeling up their luscious young tits, while they would open his pants and pull out his stiff cock and stroke his dick to a full-fledged orgasm which he spurted into his handkerchief, even once, into pretty blonde Betty Litz's cocksucking mouth. Nonetheless, he was still a virgin.
And to be honest, during more than one of those heavy petting sessions, he closed his eyes and imagined the girl he was with was Rebecca, or even her daughter, Vanessa, who was now an 18-year-old senior in high school. Was it normal to fantasize about an older woman, or another young teen whom he had never even dated? If not, he didn't care. Rebecca's and Vanessa's visions had provided him with many nights of orgasmic ecstasy.
The thought of seeing Rebecca again after a 3-month hiatus was arousing, even if it was just for a moment as she dropped off her package for his mom. 'I have a package I'd like to give her', he thought, and smiled.
It was only 9:00am and Rebecca wasn't due to arrive for another two hours. He couldn't wait that long. He searched in his closet for his stash of porn videos and selected one. No one was home, his father was out of town on business, and his mom wouldn't return before 4pm. 'Why not just watch it on the wide screen downstairs,' he thought.
Tom finished unpacking his clothes and took a shower. He put on a pair of sweat pants and headed downstairs with the video. It was 9:45. That gave him plenty of time to watch the video, jerk off, and hopefully be able to answer the door without a raging hard on pointing at Rebecca as he received her package.
Tom put the video in, rewound it, and hit the play button. He fixed himself a coke, and then walked back upstairs to get a small jar of Vaseline from his parent's bathroom to assist him at the right time. He could hear the faint sound of moaning coming from the downstairs television.
"Damn, where is it?" Tom said aloud, as he rummaged through four or five drawers. After searching for several minutes, he found the jar sitting almost directly in front of him on the sink counter. "Finally," he muttered, as he took the jar and a towel, then headed back downstairs.
As Tom came down the stairs, he caught the faint smell of something different. It was perfume, but not his mother's. At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped. He found the source of the perfume... Vanessa Stevens. She was standing just beyond the foyer, no more than three or four steps inside the family room. She was staring at the television.
When Tom saw her, he tried to turn quickly and run back up the stairs. Then he heard her voice. "Tom?"
Tom tried unsuccessfully to hide the towel and Vaseline.
"Vanessa, I..." he stammered. He could feel the heat rise in his cheeks.
"Tom, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were home. My mom told your mother I would be dropping off a package for her at 10:00 this morning." Evidently Tom's mom had misunderstood the time. "The door was unlocked so I... I'm sorry. I guess you're enjoying some videos?" The young teen looked a little uneasy at confronting him while his porno video played in the background.
Tom was caught with a porno video playing right in front of his mom's friend's daughter, and not only that, but it was the sexy daughter of another woman he had secretly fantasized about for years. And he was standing directly in front of her, wearing only a pair of sweat pants and holding a jar of Vaseline only partially hidden by the towel he was holding.
"Vanessa, I'm sorry about this," Tom said, as he avoided eye contact while his vision switched back and forth from the slut getting railed on the TV to the sexy teen standing in front of him. He wanted to get to the video and shut it off. He had never been so embarrassed in his life. "I'll turn that off," he said, starting to make his way around where she was standing.
"It's ok if you want to leave it on," Vanessa said convincingly.
