"Stephanie, I never said you weren't pretty. I just said that some men prefer, well, different types of women." Joanna grunted as she lifted a sack of potatoes from the car. "You can't expect every man to drool over you."

Stephanie continued to sort through the brown grocery bags, searching for the one with lightest load. "And why not, Joanna? You don't really expect me to believe those boys were looking at you in THAT way, do you?"

Joanna, a tall, slim woman of about 40, pushed a wisp of hair away from her face with the back of her hand as she leaned against the door of the inn she and her husband ran. As usual, she wore simple clothes -- a bright wool sweater and a pair of brown slacks. The clothes weren't sexy themselves, but the way Joanna filled them out gave them a special appeal. The horizontally striped pattern of the sweater accented the swell of her large breasts, and the curve of the slacks hinted at the long legs and tight ass beneath them.

She paused a few moments to get her breath back -- she had made 10 trips back and forth from the car to Stephanie's one -- before turning to the young maid. The irritation in her voice was barely veiled. "Stephanie, why can't you admit that those boys were whistling at me? They were looking right at me. It's not the first time that's ever happened to me, you know."

Stephanie faced Joanna, hands on hips. She was shorter and clearly much younger, with a pert, expertly made-up face and a halo of blond hair. The short, cream skirt she wore showed off her perfectly shaped legs, and it was clear from the outline of her white blouse that she was in excellent shape, although her breasts were certainly not as large as the older woman's. Her coral-pink lips were drawn into a pout as she spoke. "I'm sure," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "The bag boys probably want you to have their babies all the time. But I still say the ones who whistled were aiming at me. They must have just been looking at you to figure out if -- oh, I don't know, to figure out if you were my mom or something. Let's face it, Joanna, you're no spring chicken."

With an exaggerated sigh, Joanna pushed past the younger girl and picked another bag from the trunk. "Let's just forget it, Stephanie."

The maid fished a bag out of the back seat; it contained only potato chips and a loaf of white bread. She trailed Joanna to the back door, waiting while the other woman put down her load of canned goods and opened the screen door.

A few minutes later, when they were both busy putting stuff away, Stephanie started up the argument again. "I just think it's time you faced the facts, Joanna," she said. "A girl like me -- beautiful, slim, young, rich -- I can get any man I want. They would be lined up 12 deep at my bedroom door if I didn't make it clear I wasn't interested. Why, you know, that's probably why those boys weren't looking at me! They saw that I was too good for them, so they were afraid to look me in the eye when they whistled." She nodded her head to punctuate the thought.

Joanna stretched to put some beans on a top shelf. Over her shoulder, she said, "You can believe what you want, Stephanie. But we both know that a lot of men like a woman with more, well, more development. I've had my share of wolf whistles. With this chest, I have to expect it."

She gathered up several boxes of cereal -- pointedly holding them in a basket of her arms, presenting her breasts as if on a platter. "And let's face it, Stephanie. You're young and pretty, but you just don't have the shape that a lot of men want."

The young maid's eyes blazed, but she didn't say a word. Turning abruptly on her heel, she stomped out of the kitchen. Joanna called after her to no avail; with a sigh, she finished putting away the groceries herself.

Dick Loudon was typing away in his den, writing another epic of home improvement, when he heard a soft tap at the door. Before he could call out, Stephanie slipped inside and shut the door behind her with a click.

He looked his question at her over the tops of his half- frame glasses. Stephanie batted her long eyelashes. "Now, Dick, I know you're busy with that writing thing you do, so you just go right ahead. Hee-hee -- that was a joke, wasn't it? Go "write" ahead? Get it?"

Dick glared at her. He was a very ordinary man, with thinning grayish hair, an unexceptional body and the perpetual look that said he wasn't sure what was going on but whatever it was he wanted nothing to do with it. His angry looks could be distinguished from his happy ones mostly by counting the number of wrinkles in his forehead.

"Stephanie," he said patiently, "I'm in the middle of a chapter here. The grout has just been applied and I have to tell them what to do next or it'll set and there'll be hell to pay. Can this wait until later?"

From behind her back, Stephanie flourished a feather duster. "Just doing some cleaning," she said. "Forget I'm even here."

With that she set to work. That in itself was enough to make Dick suspicious, but she seemed to be serious about it. He went back to his typewriter.

From time to time, in between paragraphs, he looked up to see the maid busily going about her job. Once he saw her reaching high to dust some of the books on a top shelf. As she reached, the hem of her skirt lifted and Dick admired the long, shapely line of her legs; with her standing on tiptoe, the sexy curve of her ankle was emphasized. Another time she reached down to a bottom shelf and Dick looked up just in time to see a very sexy ass waving in his face. He felt a stirring in his crotch that he ignored.

The next time he looked up she was nowhere in sight. But for a faint swishing sound behind him, he would have thought Stephanie had left the room. Without another thought for her, Dick went on typing.

In a few minutes he became aware of a faint floral smell, a scent he knew from long familiarity was Stephanie's perfume -- a personal blend she had a shop in Paris make up for her, she'd said once. Alerted to her presence, he wasn't startled when she began speaking.

"There," she said, "just about finished. And I didn't interrupt your typing, did I?"

Dick shook his head, keeping his eyes on the page as he tapped out the end of a sentence.

As he poked a finger at the period key, he felt a gentle pressure on his shoulders.

"Ooooh, you look very tense," Stephanie cooed. "How about a nice neck massage?"

Without turning to look at her, Dick frowned. "What is it, Stephanie?"

"What's what, Dick?"

"What are you asking for?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Stephanie, you haven't dusted this room in six weeks. And you've never given me a neck massage. C-c-c-come to think of it, no one's ever given me -- a little more to the left. That's it."

Her probing fingers erased the concern from his mind and Dick closed his eyes and sagged back against the chair. She was very good at his, he noticed; he could feel the tension draining out of him as she rubbed away at his neck and shoulders.

"There's a little teensy-weensy knot right here," Stephanie said, rubbing hard at a spot just below his right shoulder blade. "I think I need to get a little closer to it. Do you mind?" As she spoke, her hands slipped around Dick's sides and she unbuttoned his shirt. He leaned forward a bit to help her pull it down, and then settled back again as she went to work on the trouble spot. Her hands felt warm on his flesh as she kneaded away.

"Th-th-that's perfect," Dick sighed. Stephanie then began scratching his back with her long nails. Little shivers of delight rolled like waves through his body. He was so lost in pleasure that he didn't really notice when her hands strayed from his back and began tracing a path across his stomach, down to his belt buckle. It was only when Stephanie undid the buckle, simultaneously slipping a hot, wet tongue into his ear, that Dick came to with a start.

"St-st-stephanie, wh-wh-what are you doing?" She had undone his pants and slid down the zipper before he could get a grip on the desk's edge and spin himself around. When he had spun halfway around, his feet slammed into the floor, stopping the twist abruptly.

Stephanie stood before him almost completely naked, clad only in a lacy white garter belt, sheer white hose and her shiny high heels. Her perky young breasts stood out firm and erect, with the dainty aureoles capped by perfect nipples. Her lips were parted slightly, forming a pout that seemed much sexier than Dick had ever noticed it being before.

Before he could say another word, she stepped toward him. "Touch me, Dick," she commanded in a husky whisper. "I want you. I want you now."

"You want m-m-m-m-m-me?"

"You know I do," she said, and pointed at his crotch. "And you want me, too." He couldn't deny it. His boxers were tented high as his stiff cock strained at the restriction. Dick licked his lips and stared. She seemed too good to be true, all that lush young flesh. It was like a dream.

He didn't know what to do first, but Stephanie took his hands in hers and brought them to her breasts.

"Do you like my breasts, Dick? Are they big enough for you? They're not too small, are they?"

"No! They're -- they're perfect." He squeezed them, thrilling to their firmness. She had the tits of a teenager, and it had been a long time -- well, actually, he'd never felt a teenager's tits.

As he groped, Stephanie tugged his shorts down, freeing his cock to wave in the air like a fat flagpole. At her touch he shied away, but she gently placed both hands around his shaft. Her touch was warm and soft; her hands had obviously never done hard labor. Dick felt a few drops of pre-cum ooze out the tip as she caressed his rod.

"That's a very nice cock you have, Dick," Stephanie whispered. "I like men with nice, big, hard cocks. Do you know what I like to do when I get one? Do you?"

"N-n-no," he stammered out, his eyes still fastened to her chest.

"Ooooh, I like to touch it, like this. I like to rub my hands up and down and feel that nice, hard cock rubbing against my fingers. And do you know what else I like to do?"

He could only shake his head.

"I like to lick that long, stiff cock all over with my hot tongue. And then I like to put that cock in my mouth and suck on it, up and down, until it spurts out cum all over my face."

As she talked, Stephanie continued to rub his cock. Dick's hands had fallen back and his eyes were closed as he felt nothing but the sensation of her fingers on his shaft.

"Would you like me to do that, Dick? Would you like me to put that hard cock of yours in my little mouth? Would you..."

"Yes!" He couldn't get the words out fast enough. "Yes, yes, oh God, yes!"

Stephanie knelt down before him and gently pressed his legs apart. She leaned forward and kissed the tip of his cock before opening her lips and taking him into her mouth. Her lips closed around the shaft, gripping it tightly, while her fingers circled the base and continued to pump. The combination of the sight of her beautiful naked body and the feel of her hot lips on his shaft didn't take long to get to Dick and within minutes he was moaning as white jets of cum shot out of his cock. True to her word, Stephanie swallowed them all, even licking the head of his rod to get the last few drops.

Dick felt drained, and he sagged back in his chair. But Stephanie appeared perky as ever, rising to her feet only to plop herself down onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a long, deep kiss on his lips. An orgasm usually left him feeling sleepy, but her kiss quickly revived him. He slipped one arm around her slim waist, letting the other hand fall to her silky bush. She wriggled in delight as his fingers tickled their way to her slit, already moist with secretions.

Stephanie's obvious delight in his actions made Dick feel like a kid again -- like the lover he never was. Tenderly, then with more and more passion, he drove his fingers into her slit as her pussy juices coated them. All the while they kissed and suckled each other.

"Oh, Dick, that's so good," she whispered in his ear. "Oh, god, do you know what else I want to do now?"

Dick had to take a deep breath before he could answer. "Wh-what would that be?"

"I want to fuck you," she said simply, and the words sent a jolt through him even more than when her lips had first closed on his cock.

"B-b-but I-I-I..." He paused and started again. "I can't d-do it so soon..."

"Yes you can," she giggled. To his surprise, Dick realized it was true; he could feel his cock beginning to swell anew.

"And I really want to fuck you, Dick. I want that hard cock inside my pussy. I want to ride it so hard! And you're going to make me cum, Dick. I can feel it. You're going to make me cum so hard! Won't that be fun!"

With one last long, deep kiss, Stephanie twisted around so that her back was against Dick's chest and his cock was poking up between her legs. She had to stroke it only a little while before it was once again stiff. With Dick holding her tightly around the waist, she lifted herself up and scooched forward, putting her soaking wet pussy lips directly above his shaft. In one long, slow, fluid movement she lowered herself and buried his cock in her up to the hilt. Dick pressed his mouth to her neck to muffle his scream of ecstasy as he felt her tight cunt walls enfold his rod.

"Ooooh, it's as good as I thought it would be," Stephanie cooed, while she wiggled around on the stiff cock. She began to pump away at it, bathing it in her secretions, squeezing it with her pussy lips. Guttural grunts escaped Dick's lips as his hands reached up to squeeze her pert breasts.

Stephanie bent her head around to plant a wet kiss on his face. "Do you like this, Dick? Am I doing OK?"

"Perfect," he managed to get out. "Perfect. Just -- perfect."

It was almost too much effort to speak, now; he wanted to concentrate only the incredible sensations. Stephanie's body felt as light as a feather on his lap, but her cunt's attack on his cock was strong and determined. He had never imagined their stuck-up maid could be such a sexual being. She was a goddess and he was worshiping eagerly at the temple of her body, driving his cock into her as a sacrifice to her beauty. Or at least that was one of the mental images flooding his lust- crazed mind as they continued to rut away with abandon, the desk chair squeaking beneath them.

"You're doing it, Dick," Stephanie said with a gasp. "Oh, god, you really are! You're going to make me cum! I can feel it! I can feel it! I can aaaaaaauuuuggghhhh!"

Stephanie's flailing orgasm brought on his own, and another surge of cum shot out of his cock, this time filling the girl's hot pussy and oozing out the sides to mingle with her own gush of fluids, pouring down his cock and onto the seat. With his last reserves of strength Dick drove his faltering cock into her cunt once, twice, a third time, squeezing the last bit of jism from it before his rod shriveled and his muscles gave out.

Just a few seconds later Stephanie rose off of him and briskly slipped her clothes back onto her sweaty body. Dick sat in a rapidly cooling puddle of their fluids, too exhausted to move.

"We-we-we've got to clean this up," he called out weakly as Stephanie moved toward the door. "What if Joanna..."

"Sorry, Dick, it's my lunch hour now," the young girl said saucily, closing the door behind her.

As Stephanie stepped out from behind the front desk, with her hands on the top button of her blouse, Joanna came into the lobby, pushing her way through the door from the dining room.

"Stephanie, where have you been? I had to put all those groceries away by myself. And it turns out we forgot to get the steaks and things for the special dinner we promised the Fergusons Saturday -- you remember, the anniversary couple? You'll just have to -- Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Oh, Joanna, Joanna, Joanna, you poor dear woman."

Joanna ignored the comment -- a typical Stephanieism, she thought. "What was I saying? Oh, yes, you'll have to -- stop that!"

Stephanie paused with her hand halfway to another pat of Joanna's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Joanna, it just makes me feel so sorry for you to see how wrong you were."

"About what?"

"About how some men prefer women who are, you know, over-endowed? As opposed to well-built, perfectly shaped young women like, well, like moi."

"Stephanie, I don't know what you're talking about, but you're going to have to..."

"Oh, Joanna, you silly thing! Of course you know what I'm talking about. Our little conversation in the kitchen? You..."

"I remember, Stephanie, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"Just this, Joanna. You said that I wasn't enough for some men. But I know at least one man who's had a chance to compare you and I, and I know exactly who he prefers. 'Perfect,' he called me. More than once."

Just then, Dick poked his head out of the door to the den. "Steph-- Oh, hi, Joanna. Uh, say, do we have any, uh, Lysol?"

"Lysol?" Joanna was beginning to think the whole inn was going crazy around her -- not that that was unusual. "Why in the world do you need..."

"Oh, no reason," Dick said, "but d-d-do we have any?"

"In the basement, I think," Joanna began, "but I still don't understand..."

Not waiting for her to finish, Dick scuttled across to the basement door and disappeared down the steps. Joanna, who had started across the lobby to talk to him, slipped behind the front desk, her face in a frown. "Now what could he have..." As she spoke, she opened the door to his den and took half a step inside. "Good heavens, this room smells like a whorehouse!" She slapped a hand to her mouth. "Not that I have any idea what that smells like, of course, I mean..."

Stephanie, giggling, was leaning on the other side of the reception desk. "Now do you understand what I was talking about, Joanna?"

The older woman's face grew dark red. "You, you, you," she spluttered, unable to say more.

"That's right, Joanna. Little, young, petite, 'perfect' me. Guess you were wrong about what men want, weren't you?"

She snatched out of Joanna's hand a small sheet of paper. "Steaks, baking potatoes -- oh, I get it, you need this from the market. Well, I think I'll leave you to think about what happened, Joanna. Bye!" On her way to the door Stephanie intercepted Dick climbing up from the basement. "Come on," Stephanie said, slipping a hand around his back. "You can drive me into town."

"Oh, but I have to..."

"Don't worry, Joanna won't mind! Will you, Joanna?" Stephanie smirked toward the desk, where the older woman was standing stock still, her mouth half open. "See? Joanna doesn't mind. Oh, and say, Joanna, if Michael calls, be a love and tell him I'll be back in a couple of hours, won't you?"

The door slammed behind her just as Joanna thought of the perfect comeback. She almost spat it out anyway, but the phone's insistent ring interrupted her train of thought.

"Stratford Inn, how may -- oh, hello, Michael. Yes, Stephanie said to tell you..." She paused briefly and glanced at the door to Dick's den. "Ah, that is, Stephanie said to tell you to come right over. Don't waste any time, she said. That's right. Well, we'll see you soon, Michael."

For the next several minutes, Joanna busied herself around the inn, shifting things back and forth, tidying up here and there. She placed a few quilts on the floor in front of the fireplace and started a roaring fire. She was just getting to her feet and wiping a smudge or two of ash off her hands when the front door swung open. She rushed through the door to the lobby.

"Hi-ho, Jojo! Where's my little snugglepuss?" Michael was a young, impeccably dressed man with the air of a small boy playing dress-up.

Joanna composed her face into a look of chagrin. "Oh, Michael, I'm sorry, Stephanie had to go to town. She won't be back for at least an hour."

Michael's face fell. "But, Jojo, she asked me to come right over. I had to leave just as the Professor was setting up his radio. Now I'll never know if Gilligan got off the island!"

In her mind, Joanna grimaced. Michael was such a little boy. But a woman's got to do what a woman's got to do. She advanced on him, cooing her apology. Michael seemed near tears. Joanna put a hand around his shoulder and led him into the dining room.

"I'm sure Stephanie just forgot all about you," she said, turning her face so he couldn't see her smirk. "You know how she is. I wouldn't let it get you down, Michael."

"But, Joanna, she SAID she'd meet me!"

Joanna turned toward him again. Her hand applied gentle pressure, bending his head down onto her ample chest. "There, there, Michael. Don't worry."

The fire cast a warm glow on them as she nudged him toward the quilts spread on the floor. Michael was clutching her around the waist, shuffling his feet along with her. As they came to a halt, Joanna released her pressure on his head and spoke. "Michael, I..." He picked his head up to look at her. She quivered her lips as she gazed deeply into his red-rimmed eyes. "I..." Joanna pressed her lips to Michael's. At first it was a gentle kiss. Then she pressed harder, opening her mouth and forcing her tongue into his. Michael seemed paralyzed at first, but soon he responded, holding her closer, returning her smothering kiss.

When they broke their embrace, Joanna was feeling a bit flushed in spite of herself, but Michael looked completely flustered.

"Holy Mrs. Robinson, Joanna," he sputtered. "If my little love-bug had caught us -- or the Dickster!"

Joanna's voice was soft and low. "They're in town, Michael, and they're not coming back for a long time. No one's going to catch us. We can do whatever we want. So what do you want to do, Michael?"

He babbled in reply.

Joanna took the bottom of her sweater in both hands and pulled it over her head in one fluid move. As she tossed it aside, her large breasts cradled in a silky white bra jiggled slightly.

"Do you want to touch my breasts, Michael? They're not too big, are they?" She reached behind and undid the clasp. As the bra fell away, the tits sagged slightly but still stood out, with large dark aureoles capped by thick, erect nipples. Joanna was a bit surprised by her own horniness.

"Wow!" Michael reached out a hand, tentatively. It tremored as it neared her flesh. "Mega-bongos, Joanna. I've never, uh, had anything like those."

"But don't you prefer smaller breasts? Aren't mine a bit, well, much?"

"Negatory, Jojo. They're perfect! Who'd want some skimpy chick when they could have a shelf like yours!" His hand brushed against her breast. Joanna held her breath, hoping her plan worked. Michael rubbed the back of his fingers lightly against her skin for a few seconds, but soon both his hands were groping her large tits. Before long he had bent to take them into his mouth, one by one, licking and suckling like a baby. Joanna flung back her head, closed her eyes and reveled in his passion. The young man's slightly clumsy moves made her feel a little like a cradle robber, but that wasn't all bad; it felt curiously sexy to be seducing somewhat who wasn't much more than a boy. She could feel her crotch beginning to warm and moisten, and she made a slight change in her plans.

While Michael was occupied with her breasts, Joanna quietly slipped her slacks and panties to the floor and kicked off her low-heeled shoes. When she pushed the young man away from her chest, he let out a loud gasp as he saw her naked body.

"You're as pretty as a centerfold," he managed to get out. "Where have you been hiding that sexy body, Joanna?"

"Oh, Michael," Joanna said, smiling to herself, "do you really like it? It's not quite what you're used to..."

"Not by a mile, Jojo! It's way better. It's like -- like -- like the difference between day-old Ripple and four-year-old Chardonnay. You're prime vintage. Wow!"

Joanna pressed her arms to her side in a little private hug. This was working out even better than she'd hoped. Her hands traced paths across her flat stomach to the auburn patch of hair between her legs; she saw Michael's eyes following them.

"Aren't you a little overdressed?" She saw his eyes bounced back and forth between her crotch and her face several times.

"Huh? Oh, uh, yeah, I guess," Michael said, blushing. He tossed aside his designer wear with far more abandon than Joanna had ever seen him treat his clothes. He really is hot for me, she told herself.

Michael was, as she feared, a bit scrawny. But, she saw with approval, at least one part of him was well-developed. His cock was already stiff and stood out at least seven inches. Joanna licked her lips and almost dove on it, but held herself back. She was in the driver's seat, and she was determined not to give it up.

She spread her legs apart and brushed her fingers through her bush and down to her pussy lips, already well-lubricated. As she dipped a finger into her slit, she looked back up at Michael and saw his mouth half-open. She smiled.

"Looks good, doesn't it? Wouldn't you like a closer look?"

Michael knelt down, his face just inches from the musky cunt.

"I'm really, really hot and wet, Michael. My cunt is just aching for someone to put his fingers in me. And his tongue. Do you think..."

Before she could finish the sentence, the young man pressed two fingers into her slit as Joanna withdrew her own. Further talk was unnecessary as he pushed his fingers deeper into her cunt and her juices flowed lavishly. Joanna caressed her tits, sighing deeply as she felt her pussy respond to Michael's movements. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps when he bent forward and put his mouth to her hole. It had been so long! He was not an expert, but she gently corrected him, holding his head away when he became too rough, pressing him to her when he faltered. She felt as if her whole body was on fire while he suckled her, his probing tongue slipping between her folds and lapping at her cunt. When his thumb found her clit, the feeling was almost too much to take, and within a minute or two she dissolved into a wild orgasm.

When she could speak again, Joanna got to her knees and told Michael to lie down on the quilts. His cock was standing straight up as she crawled over to it and straddled him. She grabbed hold of his shaft and rubbed the tip against her pussy lips, keeping them just out of reach of his frantic bucking. "Not so fast, Michael," she cooed. "You're going to get it, but..."

"Gee whillickers, Joanna, I need you! I'm into total sex craze! I..."

"Michael," she said softly.

He ignored the interruption. "I need that totally awesome cunt on me! You're like total goddessville, Joanna! You..."

"Michael!"

"You turn my insides on like a Pop-Tart in a toaster! You..."

"Michael, dear," she said in a flat tone. "Shut up."

He stopped short. As a reward, Joanna sank down onto his eager cock, taking it deep into her sopping wet cunt. She saw sparks fly and wasn't sure if they were really coming out of the fire or just in her mind. Michael's fat cock was big enough to fill her up; she'd thought no man could do that. On each downstroke she ground her pussy against his groin, thrilling to the feel of his balls slapping against her flesh. More than she had in years, Joanna felt like a sexual being. It was if she'd awakened from a long, deep sleep. She cast aside the last vestiges of her normal demureness as Michael's cock drove in and out of her.

"Fuck me," she commanded him. "That's it, slam your cock into me, Michael. Don't hold back! Don't hold anything back. I can take anything you can give me. Drive that big, hard cock into me up to the hilt!"

"Joanna," Michael started to say, but she silenced him with a finger to her lips.

"Don't talk, you fucking stud," she said. "God damn, this is good. Just fuck my cunt and squeeze my tits. That's all men are good for, anyway. Come on, Michael. Fuck me!"

In her own mind, Joanna knew she was putting on an act, at least in part. She had guessed -- oh, how correctly -- that Michael would respond to a harsh mistress. But she also was getting a kick out of ordering him around and talking dirty.

As they continued to rut wildly, she tried out every dirty word she knew and a few she made up on the spot. Each time she'd throw one out Michael seemed to add an extra oomph to his humping, until she had to grab hold of his waist to keep from being tossed off. Her tits were bouncing up and down, slapping her chest with each powerful thrust of his hard cock.

Just when she began to feel a glow inside, she sensed that Michael too was nearing the edge. She forced him to slow down the pace, taking long, slow rides up and down his cock, until the first small tremor shook her sweaty body. Michael took the cue and drove his cock into her roughly, once, twice, and then a third time deep into her cunt. With a loud groan he let loose a torrent of cum as her own orgasm hit full force.

By the time she had ridden out the last wave of passion the logs in the fireplace had burned down to a few glowing embers. She stared at them for a few seconds before her mind snapped into the present.