Richard gave me the worryingly, exciting news that evening when he got home from work around nine, his usual time.
"Yes it will be over the weekend as well" he'd said after telling me he would leaving for New York on the coming Thursday for five or six days. This wasn't anything that unusual for he always had a heavy travel schedule, but it concerned me greatly because Grant my eighteen year old nephew from Canada was staying with us and I knew it would be difficult being alone with him for that time. "You'll be alright," he'd said laughing as he added. "You've got Glenn to keep you company," startling me with the way he said that for it sounded almost as if he guessed something had gone on between us. I felt a pang of guilt because something had gone on.
I'd argued about him having to be away over weekend but he'd insisted it was essential for the deal, his normal reasoning. I knew that both the Saturday and Sunday would be more R & R than real work and felt, maybe unreasonably, that he should have declined, but possibly that was a defence mechanism about being in the house alone with my nephew.
We'd rowed again that evening when we got to the bedroom and once more I stormed out and went to my study at around eleven thirty. This time, though, when I logged on none of my friends were on-line. I went into a couple of chat rooms and followed, without joining in, several conversations that became more and more lurid and graphic. I hadn't the motivation to join in for my mind was on the events of the afternoon.
Sitting in the big office chair clad just in my robe, I hadn't worn my teasing thong tonight, I ran over what had gone on.
I was trying desperately, as I had been all evening, to get my head round what was happening to me. I usually have a fairly analytical mind and apply sound thinking to problems to come up with logical solutions. This though was beating me. That I was attracted to a younger man I could understand and accept. Lots of older women have such feelings and more and more nowadays, from film stars to ordinary people, women have toyboys. So the principle of having sex with an eighteen year old did not theoretically worry me too much and even morally I was fairly comfortable. The fact of going outside my marriage for affection did worry me though. I was intellectually ok with 'playing away' to gain sexual excitement and fulfilment, but to need to get affection, tenderness and love, even, that way really did concern me. I could reconcile the need to seek sexual pleasure on the basis that Richard was driving me that way. I'd been there before when I had both my straight and my bi affair with Amanda that, incidentally lately, was beginning to be rekindled in the conversations and e-mails we were exchanging. It was so hard and complicated to accept that I would go with anyone to gain affection, but that was what I seemed to be seeking from Glenn, as well as of course frequent, hard sex.
Also it was, of course, the fact that Glenn was my nephew and that, therefore, we shared blood and thus it was incest that most worried me. It was the most taboo of all taboos, wasn't it I asked myself time and time again? That my sister, who I loved dearly, had entrusted her son to my keeping, albeit that he was eighteen, also weighed heavily on me; I was in danger of betraying her trust. And of long term concern was the future. How would I be able to visit Phillipa? How could I lookher in the eye? How could I ever be in the company of her and Glenn knowing that I'd committed incest by fucking her son? I didn't, somehow, have the same concerns of being with muy husband and my potential young lover, odd!
I went to the kitchen to get a glass of wine. As I walked down the hall I saw myself in the mirror. I stopped and looked, feeling rather horrified that I was thinking 'What would Glenn think of my body?' The top of the robe had parted and most of both of my full breasts were clearly on view. The skirt part had fallen away from one leg. I pulled the other side away. I also pulled the lapels away so that the only part of my front that was covered was that where the tie went round my waist. My legs, my pubes, my tummy, my chest and my breasts were all on show. 'What would he think?' I asked myself imagining Glen staring at me. 'Shit what the fuck is going' I wondered?
I was pleased with my body. At nearly forty and after two children it was, I knew, still quite good. My stomach, due to the strict regime of exercises I'd undertaken after both children and my regular exhibitionism at the gym, was flat. No swell or bulging at all I noticed sipping my wine. My waist was as trim now, well almost, as it was before the children and my hips had a pleasing swell to them giving me what Richard often called 'a rounded and very feminine look.' My eyes ran over the rest of my body. The largish patch of tawny pubic hair, this was before landing strips and the suchlike, protecting my mound and guarding the my clit and my pussy, the shapely, lithe thighs and long slender legs that I knew looked their best in dark, lacy topped holdups and mid height heels.
I stared at my breasts. The breasts that seemed to draw so much attention, which I, along with most big breasted women part enjoy and part hate. I stared at my bare, large, but not udder-like, nicely shaped C to D cup breasts. They were capped by the dark pink, rather too protruding nipples that always gave me so much trouble when I wore tight tops. They frequently embarrassed me by standing to attention at the most inopportune times and God were they sensitive!
And as I gazed at my breasts I recalled Glenn's hands on them this afternoon. Every detail of him pressing me back against the large fridge, our mouths clamped together as his hand slid up my body and cupped them one at a time came into my mind. I recalled him squeezing and kneading them as I frantically, almost, ruffled his hair, stroked his neck and cuddled his body to mine. First, his hands were outside my blouse, but then quickly they were inside it right on my thin bra. I recalled how, with absolutely no resistance from me, he'd pulled both boobs out of the cups, squeezed the soft flesh of each tit and had pinched both nipples almost to the point where they hurt but, in reality with exactly the right pressure needed to inflame me even further. In retrospect I could hardly believe he was only eighteen! Walking back into the study the open robe flapping around my nudity I flopped down into the big, easy, recliner chair I often sat in when reading. I flipped the foot rest up so that I was laying almost flat in the semi-darkness. Closing my eyes I let my mind run riot as my mind was filled with what we had done earlier.
I thought of how the kiss had immediately been intense and so very passionate. How almost as soon as we had started kissing we'd struggled my blouson off and how his hands had, with no inhibitions at all, gone to exactly where both of us wanted them to be, on my breasts.
Laying there in the darkness my hands found those breasts. But as I cupped and stroked them it wasn't me who in my mind was doing that. It wasn't my fingers that were pinching and pulling at my nipples. It wasn't my hands that were sending such deliciously arousing sensations through my entire body. No, my mind was filled with an image of Glenn. My thoughts were imagining that it was his hands doing that just as they had this afternoon as he crushed me back against the large fridge. Just as he'd, almost, torn at my shirt, ripped the buttons open and plunged his hands inside. Laying in my big, leather office chair as my hands and fingers worked harder and faster on the soft flesh and puckered nipples so it was his mouth I remembered sucking my teats, just like my own son had done all those years ago.
I was shuddering as I recalled the forceful way he'd yanked each breast out of the flimsily, expensive lace bra. How he'd pinched them and sucked them more fiercely than I was used to. How I'd assumed it was just that he was so worked up and how that had acted like a chain reaction arousing me even more.
