I got a text from Amy the next morning. She was going to meet me for lunch, but she had some shopping to do first. I headed over to her house anyway, as I had work to do. It was a little strange walking into my girlfriend’s house. It was a little strange to call Amy my girlfriend, but she had introduced me to a friend of hers as her boyfriend at the diner the night before.
When I walked in I half expected to find Susan topless, and I was right. There she was, napping on the couch. She was racked out on the couch, a magazine on her lap. She wore a pleated skirt that was, to my surprise, riding up her thighs. Her bare ass was on display. It wasn’t as tight and round as Amy’s, but it was very nice. A few pubic hairs and just a hint of her labia stuck out between her thighs. I watched, mesmerized, taking in the sight of her almost naked body, when she suddenly stretched, waking up.
“Oh, Henry,” she said, as if she’d been expecting me. She looked at me and then looked herself over, realizing her ass was completely exposed. “Well, that’s what I get for sleeping in a skirt,” she added.
“I didn’t mean to look,” I said.
“Oh, you don’t have to cover,” she said. “It’s natural. I guess you’ve seen a lot of me the last few days.
She told me this morning,” she added. “I’m happy for you two. Although,” she said, sitting up and straightening her skirt, “I might be a little envious. After all, you are a handsome young man. But how could I compete for your attention? But I guess I probably have it now.”
She then stood up, smoothing out her skirt and going about her business without a shirt on at all. It was definitely having its effect on me, and I found myself constantly fighting an erection in my shorts while I painted.
She put a shirt on shortly before Amy came home. Amy gave me a hug and a kiss, and I felt guilty that I had been talking to her half-naked mother all morning. My sense of morality was all over the map, and I was wondering how I could be okay with all of this.
Lunch was tense. I felt guilt over having seen Amy’s mom topless. And I felt a strange tension between mother and daughter. Some kind of competitive coldness between them. It was perhaps the most awkward hour of my life, although I had no idea how insignificant those feelings of awkwardness would seem later.
Amy then had to go for a lesson and left, leaving me alone with Susan.
Susan’s shirt was off before Amy’s car had left the driveway. “There,” she said, “much more comfortable.” She paused, “unless you feel guilty about Amy?”
Just hearing Amy’s name made me feel guilty. She could read it on my face, because she added, “Oh, don’t be. It’s nothing more than nudity. In some cultures, I could just step outside and swim in the nude. It doesn’t mean anything beyond that.” Susan then unfastened the button on her skirt and let it fall to the ground. Like Amy she had a neatly-trimmed patch of blonde pubic hair, a perfect triangle. I stood there, stunned.
“You should keep painting,” she said, as if nothing happened. I resumed my work while she walked around the house naked. My work suffered, as I had to retouch several areas where I had missed because she walked by. A few hours later she brought me an iced tea, and leaned on the wall where I had yet to start painting.
“This is certainly liberating for me, but I bet not so much for you,” she said. “You must be hard as a rock.”
I blinked in shock, but she just laughed it off. “I know how it works, you know. I can tell your body is definitely noticing. It’s flattering, so don’t worry about it.
I said nothing, just drank my iced tea while she talked. It helped hide my nerves.
“In fact, I haven’t been with a man in just as long,” she said, taking a step toward me. Suddenly she took the drink from my hand and set it on the stepladder. I took a step back but she kept on me. She put her hands on my shoulders and gently led me backward to the living room. I was paralyzed with fear, or excitement, or both.
“I would give just about anything to get fucked right now,” she whispered, and pressed herself against me. Her hands cupped my ass and she pressed her breasts hard against my chest. She reached up to kiss me and I tried to move back but she was plastered to me.
“Henry,” she said with a whisper, “I see how you look at me, don’t tell me you don’t want to.”
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