I can't begin to tell you what Hope means to me. My mother died when I was very young, so young in fact, that I hardly remember her. She is a faded image in my mind, and only old photographs remind me of what she once looked like. She was very pretty my mother, and I guess I miss her. That may sound a little cold and callous, but I never really knew her.

Hope, on the other hand, was another story. Hope is my best friend's mother, and I have had a crush on her for as long as I've known what girls and boys do together in the bedroom. It got very, very bad during puberty, and now, at the tender age of 17, it's finally levelled off. But there's a good reason for that. Hope and I...wait. Let me start at the beginning.

Hope is the kind of wife and mother that reminds you of those perfect women in sitcoms. Always ready with a plate of fresh-from- the- oven cookies and a ice-cold glass of milk, Hope helped form my opinion of what a woman should be. Even at that tender age, I knew that Hope was different from other Moms. She was smarter, funnier...sexier. It wasn't like she was slinking around the house in a silk dressing gown, flashing glimpses of her underwear at my tender, underage eyes. She never looked inappropriate; it was just that she has this...fresh, sexy appeal, kind of like one of the girls you see in a beer advertisement, or a chewing-gum commercial. I know how stupid and insipid that sounds. My father summed it up: There are girls you want to meet, and girls you marry. Hope was both.

When the first stirrings of my teenaged lust started appearing, Hope was the primary focus of my fantasies. In my fevered jack-off dreams, I saw her and I together, doing things that I still had no names for, things I only knew would feel perfect if I were to do them with her.

Looking back now, I know that Hope was aware of my feelings, painful and immature though they were. She always treated me well, and I like to think that she thought me the son she never had. I mean, I know she had a son, but...you know what I mean.

Jeff was her son, and my best friend. We met in the first grade, and it was basically set from there. Even now, after all that's happened, he and I are still best friends. He doesn't understand it, and I'm sure he doesn't agree with it, but I know that he'll be my best friend until the day I die. Just as Hope will be my one true love.

What happened is that during the summer between my junior and senior year, several things happened. Jeff's father left Hope and moved in with his bimbo secretary. It was an old story, but no one had seen it coming. Hope had always thought she'd had a happy marriage, that her husband was satisfied and content. Amazing what a pair of nineteen-year old tits can do for a man, huh?

What also happened is that I broke up with a girl that I'd been dating for about six months in a futile attempt to get Hope out of my soul. Erin dumped me for a better-looking jock, crushing me. And Jeff started dating his first serious girlfriend.

What happened, then, was that Hope and I found ourselves spending a lot of time alone. I would go over to Jeff's house to see if he was doing anything, and more than likely he was screwing around, out with Heather somewhere. Hope as all alone, and she was starting to show some of the wear and tear the seperation was causing her. Hope still thought that her husband would return after his midlife crisis, but with each subsequent day, it looked like the divorce was actually going to happen.

In all fairness to Jeff's dad, he was handling the thing as well as could be expected. There were no money problems. He'd agreed to make sure that Hope and Jeff were well taken care of. Hope didn't have to worry about finding a job or losing the house. She just missed having a husband around.

As I was to find out.

One Friday night I got to feeling kind of lonely, so I headed on over to Jeff's house. He was out with Heather again, and Hope was obviously feeling kind of down.

"So, what are your plans for tonight, stud?" Hope always called me that and whenever she did, it made me feel...good.

"Well, since Jeff is going out, I'll probably just go back home and watch a video." I tried to keep the hint of desperation and lonliness out of my voice.

Hope stopped what she was doing and glanced at me. "Tell you what. I was just going to read a little and then go to bed. Why don't we watch the movie together. I could really use some company tonight, Greg."

Suddenly, my throat was dry.

"Uh," I said. "The movie is, uh, at, uh, home."

Hope waved a dismissive hand. "We'll see what's on cable or pay per view. No problem. What do you say? I'll pop some popcorn, get some sodas..." She raised her eyebrows, "Maybe a beer or two...? What do you say, huh?"

In to the breech, dear friends.

"Sure." Hope laughed gleefully and clapped her hands. She set to work instantly. In ten minutes we had a big bowl of popcorn, a beer for me and a glass of wine for her.

Pay Per View was showing one of those heavy-duty R-rated movies that had lots of nudity and sex in it. Hope looked at me, embarassed, but I just shrugged, and we went back to watching. The plot of the movie was a gift from the Gods. An older woman's husband leaves her for a younger woman, and she gets her revenge by taking over the company she inherited from her father but the dallying husband runs. In one later scene, she's talking to the dictaphone, remarking about how since she doesn't have a man in her life anymore, she'll have to make her business the focus of her life.

I was reaching for my third beer when I heard the sound next to me. Hope was on the other side of the couch, and I saw that she had sniffled. She was crying softly, staring at the screen, her eyes out of focus, her thoughts obviously somewhere else. As she continued to think about whatever it was (and I'm sure I know what it was,) the tears increased. Even crying, she was beautiful. Hope was so wrapped up in whatever it was that she was thinking about, I had a moment to really, really look at her. I'd always been shy, and I preferred to look at pictures of Hope that were around the house.

I was reminded again just how beautiful Hope was. She wasn't wearing any makeup that night, and at the tender age of 36, she looked better than some of the girls I went to high school with. I studied the soft line of her jaw and suddenely wanted to kiss it very badly. She was wearing soft chinos and a blue oxford. The first three buttons were undone, and I suddenely realized I could see the edge of her lacy bra. That was somehow more exciting than if I had seen her naked. The thought that her full, round breasts were just underneath that smooth, silky material made my blood pound. I actually started to salivate.

She finally noticed me staring at her and snapped her head towards me. "Oh," she said softly. "I must look horrible. I'm sorry." "No!" I said, meaning it. "Don't be sorry." I reached for the remote and snapped the TV off. The room was suddenely quiet. Hope put her hand on her forehead, shading her eyes as another sob wracked her body.

"It's just that..." Hope took a deep breath and then did something that shocked me. She held her hand out as if she wanted me to take it.

I did.

She pulled me towards her, and I slid across the couch, wondering what was going on. Hope released my hand and used that arm to grab my shoulder. She pulled me towards her, and for one panicked moment I thought she was going to kiss me.

Hope buried her face against my chest and started crying in earnest. My arms went around her and we just held each other. I let her get it out, and as she continued to sob against my chest I realized this was probably the first time she had really cried about the whole thing. She was the kind of woman, the kind of mother, that would want to present a strong front to Jeff.

I felt oddly touched that she felt she could do this with me, in front of me. My hands were massaging her back, and the little dirty boy inside my head announced that my fingers were running over her bra strap, and that her warm, full breasts were pressed firmly against my chest. Completely and utterly against my will, my cock hardened in my pants.

I thanked God that the way were sitting hid my thumping erection from her view.

"How could he do it?" she wailed. "How could he...fuck that little bimbo?" Hearing that word come out of her mouth both amazed and aroused me. The blood started flowing even harder to my cock, and I started to feel a little lightheaded. The beer and the growing arousal I was feeling began to take effect.

"I think he's crazy," I said softly. I turned my head against hers and kissed her clumsily on the side of the head, through her hair. She clung to me tightly after the kiss, and I returned the embrace, starting to get comfortable with the feeling of Hope's body against mine.

She started to pull away. One of my hands slid up her back and over her shoulder, and I cupped her cheek. Her skin felt hot and electric under my fingers. I stroked her cheek. She looked up at me, and the pain in her eyes, the betrayal, the lonliness was overwhelming.

One of her hands came up and found my face. She traced my chin with her thumb. Her other hand came up to the one I had on her face, and she gripped my wrist. She was looking up at me, her eyes searching mine, looking at my face, at my lips. I could feel her breath on my skin, feel her pulse under my fingers. Her heart was beating fast, almost as quickly as mine was. I knew that we were going to kiss. I made a small movement with my head, stopping long enough to give Hope a chance to back out. I haven't necked with a lot of girls, but I know alot about body language, how to send signals, how to telegraph intent before action. As I paused, Hope gave me a chance, moving her face a fraction of an inch closer to mine. We did it that way, tiny intimate little steps, until our lips were an inch apart. "Are you sure?" she said, opening her mouth, showing me moist tip of her little pink tongue.

"Never so sure in my life," I whispered back, and pressed my lips against hers. Our mouths worked together softly, gently. It was the most perfect kiss in my life. All the years of crush and desire had added up to this moment in time. I knew that Hope had been aware of my feelings for her, and how they had grown. As our mouths opened and we softly, gently exchanged tongues for the first time, I had a feirce wish to be ten years older. At twenty-eight, I could mean something to this woman. I could be a part of her life. I could fill the void left by her bastard of a husband.

All I was now, I knew, was an eager young man willing to let her find solace in the warmth of my embrace. It was a learning experience for me, a passing of the sexual torch from one generation to another. A rite of passage; every young man has an older woman in his life, a surrogate mother who lets him see what is fine and beautiful about women, aside from their bodies and their faces. Every man has that woman, the one that shows him what life will be like when he finds The One to spend it with.

The kiss ended and we pulled apart...just a little. We touched foreheads for a moment, and I kissed her dryly there.

"We shouldn't," Hope whispered, but her fingers were pulling me tighter against her even as she spoke. I took a second to catch my breath; Hope's kiss had stolen it from me. "Do you want to?" she whispered. "Jeff won't be back for hours...and I need to feel beautiful again." Her eyes came up and found mine, and she bit her bottom lip waiting for my answer.

"I've never..." I started. "You'll have to show me," I said after a second. She closed her eyes and nodded softly. "You're so beautiful, Hope. So damn sexy..."

"You think so? You really do? You're just not saying that?" I took her head in my hands and kissed her again. It was gentle for a second, and then we were hungrily mouthing each other. I pulled away and kissed the tip of her nose. At that moment, I finally understood what the word intimacy meant. No more secrets. "I...think about you when... I touch myself," I whispered.

She smiled, and it wasn't the condescending smile of a cheerleader or a prom queen, the dismissive grin of girls I could never have. It was the warm smile of a woman accepting a strange sort of heartfelt compliment. She understood its import; Most boys my age were thinking about those same prom queens and cheerleaders when they took themselves by the hand. I had chosen her, a fully- grown and completely realized woman as my sexual ideal. She was all woman to me. "Greg," she whispered again. "I want so badly to feel you next to me..."

"I want to take my time," I said. "I've thought about this for my entire life. I want to learn everything about you tonight. Everything."

"Yes, you dear sweet man, yes. Everything." We stood from the couch and hugged firmly. Her arms were pressed against my chest, and then they went around my torso, around my back, pulling me against her as we kissed again. One hand ascended to my neck and she pulled me harder against her, using her fingernails to lightly scratch me. If I'd been a cat, I would have purred. We were sharing breaths now, breathing through our nose, not breaking the kiss. She could feel my urgent need, my hunger for her, and she stepped back.

"Not here," she said. "In the bedroom." She took my hand in hers and led me to her bedroom, the place where she and her husband had made love countless times before. It was a truly symbolic act that was not lost on me. I was, in a way, replacing a man that had wanted out. I had wanted in.

Once there, she sat me on the bed and stood between my spread legs. She took my hands and placed them on her waist. I kissed her tummy through the skirt and she smiled down at me, running her fingers through my hair.

"Undress me," she whispered. With shaking hands, I started unbuttoning her shirt. Each tiny white button slipped through its slot with a soft click! sound. I tugged the shirt out of her waistband and saw the wide expanse of her flat, silky belly. I buried my face against her skin and inhaled her fresh, clean scent. I kissed her stomach and licked it softly and she groaned.

"Are you sure you've never...?" she giggled, and I smiled into her skin.

"Never," I assured her.

Talking stopped as I stood in front of her. Hope is about five inches shorter than me, and she looked directly into my eyes, burning my soul with a laser, as I slid the shirt off her shoulders and down her arms. The lacy bra I'd glimpsed before was in my face now, her creamy breasts jiggling with her shaky breath. She was as excited and nervous as I was.

I lightly traced her neck with my fingers, trailing them down her throat, across the top of her chest. Lightly, ever so lightly, I traced the outline of her bra-covered breasts. Biting her lip and shivering at my touch, Hope stood higher on her toes, trying to get more contact from my hand. I said nothing, only watched my hand as it moved across her chest to find her other breast through the sexy, silky material of her bra.

I lowered my face and kissed the side of her neck as my hands went around her back, searching for the clasp of her bra. It seperated under my touch, and I remembered Jeff telling me how hard it was to get one of those undone.

Not if it's right. If you're sweating in the backseat of a car, wrestling with emotions as well as your date, your hands are unsteady. But when you've got the woman of your dreams standing in front of you, her eyes cast down as you remove her bra, revealing her to you for the first time as she awaits your approval, everything is smooth as silk.

The cups of Hope's bra clung sweatily to her breasts for a moment, and then the wispy garment fell in a white lace puddle at her feet. Her face was still down. Her breasts sagged gently against her ribs, and I reached out and cupped her face.

"Look at me," I whispered. Slowly, she raised her face to mine. "What's the matter?"

"I wasn't sure that you'd...I mean, the girls your age are all so...fresh and..."

"Shhh," I said, putting a finger across her lips. "Listen to me... If I wanted to look at your breasts, just your breasts, just... breasts, I'd go rent a movie or buy a magazine or go to a strip joint. I want to make love with you, Hope. All of you. Every exquisite inch of you."

"Oonnh!" she said, lifting her face to mine, throwing her arms around my neck, pulling my face against hers as we kissed again, another spectacular explosion of intimacy and sweet, pure passion. We kissed for...hours, it seemed. My arms were looped around her waist, and I took two handfulls of her rump, pulling her against me. It felt soft and exquisite in my hands. A woman's soft, round ass. I loved it. I wanted to kiss it.

My hands went to her belt and I loosened it, finding the snap and releasing it. The unlocking metal teeth of the zipper sounded incredibly loud, almost accusing, as I slid it down. Hope did something with her hips, and the pants slid to her feet. She stepped out of them, now clad only in a tiny pair of light pink panties. I could see the dark mat of her bush through the material, and I knew that's where I wanted to be.

In time, my son. Patience.