"Should you sin, sin boldly. Don't confound the matter with timidity."
-Roger Elliott McFarland, "Under a Fair Sun," 1932, Blackwell and Simons, London
"You need to get laid. He's handsome, he's got muscles, he's sweet and funny. Best of all, he's got this monster between his legs. I had cramps for two days after the first time. But god, it was worth it."
"What about Henry?"
Betsy grinned knowingly. "Henry, well-" She gave Sandra an odd smile. "Listen, Mark is a whole 'nother experience. He's discreet, too."
"Betsy, you're so bad." Sandra smiled patiently and turned back to the financial reports. They were casual friends; she had lunch with Betsy but they didn't do things away from work. Betsy was younger; in her twenties; Sandra knew the cute brunette was randy. But she wasn't going to let Betsy set her up with some guy.
It had been over a year since Charlie died. She really did need to get out and meet guys. And a big cock- Betsy wouldn't know of course, but that hit her hot button. Charlie had had a big cock, and he could fuck her to a frenzied exhaustion. She turned back to Betsy. " I'm not sure I'm ready. I think I'm going to call my Mark and see if he can spend some time at home."
"Mark, your son, right." Betsy made a face. "Look, you're cute as hell. You have a great figure. And you're letting it go to waste. Charlie wouldn't have wanted you to sit at home alone night after night. Or playing mother hen to a teenage son. You're too young and way too pretty."
"I'm not mothering him. Mark is nineteen, and he moved out last year. He's very mature and successful. He makes more than me."
Betsy rolled her eyes. "You can use your kid for an excuse if you want. Listen, I've already set it up. Here's the address for the bar. Meet him at seven Friday. I told him blonde, big boobs, face of an angel, and a red blouse. You have a red blouse? If you don't, I can loan you one."
"No, Betsy. You be naughty on your own time."
"Think about it."
"Don't say no, just think about it."
Okay," Sandra laughed. "I'll think about it."
She did think about it, but she wasn't going. Betsy kept glancing at her with an odd smile throughout the afternoon, but she ignored her, or at least tried to.
Friday afternoon, Betsy reminded her. "And if you're not interested in my Mark, maybe you'd like to spend some time with me and Henry." Saying that Betsy's eyes went to Sandra's breasts, her eyes dropping like a man's would. Odd.
"Thanks, Betsy. I'm going over to my son's."
Thursday night, after several glasses of wine, she had waxed her pelvis. Charlie had liked her vulva clean; it was the first time she'd done that since he'd died. She still wasn't going out with Betsy's blind date. She was determined not to. But she did have a pretty cunt. Anyway, Charlie said so. She missed that big thing of his, banging into her womb. She missed everything about him.
Before she could fall into a gloom, sh went to the exercize equipment in the bedroom. She worked out naked in her bedroom for an hour, frustrated, angry, missing Charlie. It wasn't as good as sex, but for no clear reason, when she went to bed, she slept better than she had in ages.
Friday afternoon, Betsy rubbed her shoulders briefly and kissed the corner of her jaw. Sandra was surprised; she wasn't that close to Betsy. "If you don't want the meet our Mark, Henry and I would still love to have you. Over."
"Thanks, Betsy. I'm calling my son as soon as I get home."
Sandra did call Mark as soon as she got home. He begged off; he was busy. "I'm sorry, Mom. Maybe tomorrow, okay?"
"Mark, you work too much. You should take some time off."
Mark laughed. "It's a date, Mom. First time I could get free in weeks. I've got a date with a beautiful woman. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"
Her son had a date. San looked at the phone sadly. She didn't want to be home alone while her son got on with his life. Charlie wouldn't have wanted her moping about.
Maybe Betsy was right; it was time to get back into things. For a moment, she felt panicked. Could she find the nerve to get out among people?
She had a red blouse; she wore that, a skirt that came above the knee, and flats. Charlie used to tease her that about her heels; "That's what caught my eye about you. Women in heels always give head." He'd been right about Sandra, anyway. She'd spent so much time with his big thing down her throat, massive and hot, almost choking her. She'd loved doing that though, feeling at once powerful, and grateful: powerful because it stirred him so; grateful for all the pleasure he gave her, for the exotic sexual adventures he led her on.
She considered calling Bill, a friend of Charlie's and hers, but Bill had been closer to Charlie, and the last time she'd seen him it had been a little awkward.
That left Betsy's young stud, the blind date thing. She did have a red blouse, but it buttoned low, so she'd have to wear a little demi bra. Did she dare? She took a shower and dried in front of the mirror.
She'd been working out since Charlie died. It was a way to fill her time; at first, it had been a way to not-miss Charlie, working obsessively at weights and machines. Now- well, now she saw the results in the mirror. She was in better shape than she had been five years ago. Everything was tight and smooth. Her breasts were average, but full and prominent. Her nipples were bulbous, a little too large, but that wasn't exactly a flaw. They were sensitive, and way too eager to stand up and say hi to the men, But that wasn't always a flaw either. Men liked it, sometimes. Charlie had loved her breasts.
Charlie. Sandra sat down and sighed. Charlie. She still missed him. The idea of meeting some young guy pretty much just to get laid made her feel guilty. But Charlie would have approved. Heck, Charlie would have insisted. She slipped a finger between her labia and smeared the dampness between her breasts, then licked her finger, smiling at her reflection. "Okay, girl," she told the mirror a bit anxiously, "Let's try to get laid."
She tried on a pair of tiny red thong panties, then slipped them off altogether, going bare. If she got lucky, they'd be in the way. If she didn't, well, she'd still feel a little wicked with her biscuit out there for the world to see. She took a cab downtown. If she got lucky, she didn't want to have to retrieve her car the next day.
Sandra should have known. Betsy's young man was her son Mark. She cringed. She should have known.
She had sat at a booth in the back, and she saw him come in and look around. She felt stupid. She should have known. But that didn't make a lot of sense, because there was no way she could have known
Then she realized Betsy was sleeping with her son; had they arranged this so Mark could get into his mother's panties? The thought sent a completely lascivious shiver through her. He looked so good across the room, broad shouldered, confident, handsome. Then Mark noticed her, and the surprise that registered on his face reassured her. He wasn't trying to seduce his own mother. Sandra plucked at her blouse, trying to close the vee, to hide the fact her nipples were standing up to say hello. But the blouse buttoned low and the little bra pushed her breasts together and didn't conceal her erect nipples at all. There was nothing to be done for it.
"Hi, I'm Mark," he said, coming to the table, "You must be Sandra."
Sandra rolled her eyes. "Mark, sit down. I feel silly enough as it is."
He sat, giving her a crooked smile. "You don't look silly. You look beautiful."
"Please, don't. If I'd known. You said you had a date, didn't you? This is way to embarrassing. I think I should go home."
"Already? Of course, if you want, but I'd be happy to buy you dinner first. My place or yours?"
Sandra blushed down to her throat. "Mark, I'm your mother. Don't even. Don't suggest anything. Don't even imply."
Mark smiled, considering something, watching her mouth. "You know, my dad always said I should never try to seduce a woman from a position of strength. He thought it was dishonorable to hit on the young, the stupid, the timid. You're mature, confident, and really beautiful. I think that makes you fair game."
"Your mother," Sandra insisted, frowning. "I'm your mother."
He took her hand and gently licked her palm. Sandra couldn't suppress the shiver that went through her. "That's just adds relish, doesn't it?"
"Stop it, right now. I mean it, Mark." She tried to look angry, but it wasn't convincing. The shock was sincere, though.
"Have dinner with me, then. Will you do that?"
"Making love with me would be incest. It's not going to happen."
"But dinner would be okay?"
Sandra glared. "Fine. Dinner. That's all."
She'd wanted to spend time with Mark, and here he was, but they sat for several minutes barely talking. She didn't know what to say. Mark ventured casual converastion, but she still felt awkward. Maybe she should go home.
Sandra got a second scotch, a double, and as the whiskey warmed her, she felt less uncomfortable, or at least pleasantly fuzzy. Mark was relaxed and confident. It might not have troubled her so much except that he was handsome. He was a heartbreaker, really, and she couldn't deny a secret attraction. But that didn't mean she'd allow anything to happen.
Betsy had set them up; she wondered what he'd done with her. A lot, apparently. Did Betsy know she'd arranged a date between Sandra and her handsome son? Maybe not. Probably not. Who would know?
"Do you think Betsy set us up?" she asked.
.... There is more of this story ...