Chapter 1

Justin wasn't sure why he decided to take Mrs. Benmore up on the invitation. He hesitated outside No.34 and looked back at the party next door. It was still in full swing with a group of guys he knew making a lot of noise by the gate. Evidently they were seeing off someone because he could hear the reving of some car engine.

He didn't much like parties anyhow. He went along because he was trying to fit in and do what the other guys did. He still felt an outsider, shy, and found meeting new people hard. Parties tend to make lonely people feel more lonely, he found.

He had been standing by the door watching the dancers jolt around the room. He didn't like the music, they called it 'hiphop' and it offended his ears. He favoured songs with something to say and didn't feel this music said anything to him.

That's when Mrs. Benmore had come up behind him.

"Not dancing?" she'd asked him.

"The music's crap!" he'd replied without turning to see who it was.

"Yes I know dear, but I thought it was what you kids listened to these days."

That's when he'd turned around. Seeing it was an adult he'd started to apologise for the language but she'd stopped him.

"No, it's quite all right," she'd told him, "I hear worse."

Mrs. Benmore looked about thirty or forty. He couldn't tell people's ages after a certain point, say twenty. She was a rinse-blonde caked in hair spray so it appeared stiff as a board when she shook her head. Her tight red top seemed a size too small and stretched like cellophane over her large bust. A half-circle of freckled pale skin appeared just above where he imagined her cleavage began. Below that a black dress swelled around her hips to close just below her knees. Meeting the hem of her dress were high, black leather boots.

She asked him his name and told him Justin was nice and suited him. Wanting to know who he'd come with, Justin shrugged and told her some guys in his class had told him there was a party. He said there was always a party somewhere on Saturday night, especially after the exams.

"And do you usually go to them?" she'd asked.

"Mostly."

"Even though you don't enjoy them?"

"Oh, I like watching people," he'd told her, "it's interesting."

"Well sugar," she'd replied, "you know what they call that, don't you?"

The fake serious tone in her voice alerted him. He knew he was about to be teased but stumbled into it anyway.

"No, what?"

"Voyeurism!" she told him, smiling.

"Oh," he said, smiling sheepishly.

At 16 of course he knew what voyeurism was. The truth is, she was probably right, he did like to watch. Earlier he'd gone out to the back patio where the dopers and smokers hung out. Lounging by the ornamental shrubbery, he'd spied the odd couple making out. He'd seen one of the girls from his class by the garden shed and was positive he'd seen some guy with his hand up her dress.

The truth is, he fancied her like mad. She was called Freddie and he wished it was his hand exploring. It gave him some weird thrill to watch her. Like in his fantasies he transferred himself into the picture.

He'd never felt a real one before. He'd imagined it would be warm and sticky. Perhaps like his dick when he jerked it at night.

Mrs. Benmore had stood embarrassingly close to his shoulder. She smelt a little of rum and coke and told him that Ricky's parents had asked her to look in on the party, just to make sure it wasn't getting out of hand. They all seemed a nice bunch, she told him.

"I wish I was ten years younger. It's been a while since I fitted into jeans as tight as that," she explained, nodding at one of the girls, Angela. "And so low slung! God, I'd have a pinch of flab showing," she told Justin, running a hand over the small of her back.

She next asked him who was who and who came with whom. He told her that Angela was practically married to some guy called John Simmons.

"And he is where?" she asked.

"Probably out back, he smokes."

"So why don't you ask her to dance," Mrs. Benmore suggested.

Justin had then looked in horror at her. He explained it would be more than his life's worth.

"And besides, she wouldn't want to dance with me."

"Oh sugar, why not? You're a good looking guy. I'm sure most of the girls here would love to have a jig with you."

Justin blushed furiously. He told Mrs. Benmore that he couldn't dance to this rubbish anyway. And besides, he lied, none of the girls really interested him.

"So what does a girl have to have to interest you?"

"Brains!"

"Ah! Anyway, I'd better leave you all to it. You're obviously not wrecking the house."

Almost as an afterthought, she'd then suggested he drop over next door if he was bored.

"My family has deserted me as usual. One daughter is off to the cinema and the other is at her boyfriend's. I don't suppose I'll be seeing her till tomorrow!"

With that she'd patted him on the arse and left.

That touch on his arse felt like an electric shock. He felt her hand print for a long time afterwards. He'd wondered if that was some kind of signal. He didn't want to make a fool of himself by misinterpreting.

But he thought and thought and the notion began to grow that just maybe it was some kind of invitation. In any case he was getting bored with the party. Even spying on the couples outside had lost interest for him.

Finally plucking up his courage, he rang the door bell. After a time, during which Justine had almost walked away, the door opened a fraction. Mrs. Benmore grinned broadly and beckoned him on in. Justin followed her to the kitchen where she indicated a stool by the breakfast bar.

A cigarette smoked away in a glass ashtray. On the counter was a half empty bottle of black rum and a glass. Taking the stool opposite Justin, Mrs. Benmore asked him if he'd like a drink.

"Just a beer," Justin replied warily.

"I don't think I have any in the fridge," she told him, pondering, "would you like to try a little rum and coke?"

Justin was nervous about drinking spirits. He'd watched his step-father get drunk on the stuff too often. Mrs. Benmore, however, suggested a little wouldn't do him any harm.

"I'll make a weak one," she said, "you won't even taste it, I promise."

She tipped a little of the rum into another glass and poured on some coke. Justin nursed it between his hands.

I hope your parents don't mind you drinking. I suppose I should have asked."

"No. They're gone for weekend, anyhow."

"You're on your own, then?"

Justin nodded.

She asked him about his parents. Justin told her that his step-father was filthy rich. He'd even bought him a car. With unusual candour, Justin told her that he thought his step-father was trying to buy his affection.

"So where is your real father?" she asked.

"Up country, somewhere. He lives in a bus, a real hippy type. He's got bundles of kids all over the place."

"Hmm, must be a real stud, your father," she grinned, "I can see who you take after!"

Justin flushed red. No-one had really paid him a compliment like that, or his father. His mother always described him as 'shiftless'.

"I shouldn't embarrass you," Mrs. Benmore apologised, "it sounds like your mother hit the lottery alright."

"I guess," Justin told her, "he's always buying me stuff. Mum can get him to do anything. I never have to work for the rest of my life if I don't want to."

"Goodness, that rich!" she exclaimed, "now your mum must be a smart woman."

"Yeah!" Justin told her wryly, "except I never see her anymore. She's too busy jetting off to places."

"I see," Mrs. Benmore told him, patting his hand, "so you feel a bit deserted?"

Justin nodded.

"At least you're not in a hurry to go home. By the way, my name's Sharon."

Sharon asked him about girlfriends. He admitted he hadn't really had any. He told her he hadn't found the right one.

"So," she grinned, "find the wrong one! Y'know, you never know which candy you like until you've tasted a few."

Sharon shifted on the stool. Justin couldn't help noticing how her breasts grazed the counter. Her eyes flicked from his to her chest and back again. Breathing heavily, she rose and suggested she show him the house. Justin dumbly followed as she went from room to room.

"I can't go in there, That's Chrissie's room. It will be a mess as usual. My other daughter Vickie has that room across the hall. She's hardly ever there, I suspect she'll be moving out soon."

Justin was hardly listening to her. His eyes were fixed on her arse and the way it swayed as she walked. Sharon, he noticed, was curved, very curved. 'Made for comfort' he thought lewdly to himself.

"Now this is my room," she told him.

He immediately perked up. She opened the door and stood aside so he could see in. Inside he was confronted by mauve walls and a sumptuous, immacuately made double bed. A reading lamp suffused a soft glow to the room. Some photos and a clock radio sat on a small table by the side of the bed.

"What do you think?" he heard her say, "I like a tidy room," she told him, "you never know when you're going to have visitors," she winked.

"It's very nice," he told uncertainly.

"Yes," she said, dropping her voice, "not that I have a lot of visitors. Not in here anyway."

Impulsively, Justin told her that he couldn't understand why. He hoped she would take the remark the right way. Whatever that way was.

"That's so sweet of you," she gushed, "and coming from a young hunk too, ooo!"

Putting an arm around his waist, she told him he'd better watch out making remarks like that.

"You just might get more than you bargained for!" she told him, laughing.

Her thigh bumped against his as they walked back to the kitchen. Justin could feel the warmth. She seemed to be leaning on him. Perhaps she was a little drunker than he'd thought? Once back in the kitchen, she heard a noise outside and peered through the window.

"It looks like the party is winding down," she said, "look! There's that girl from your class having a last snog."

Justin stood beside her and looked to where she was pointing.

"Look at the way that guy's grabbing at her. 'That's not the way to treat a lady arsehole'!" she exclaimed. Softly she asked him, "you wouldn't treat a girl like that, would you?"

"No, of course not!" replied Justin, hastily.

"Of course you wouldn't, sugar," she agreed.

He could feel her hand brushing him lightly on the arse. Justin's cock tingled in response, and began to swell. Still talking to the girl's boyfriend, she said,

"Softly, you jerk! Like playing a soft melody on the piano, rhythm and finesse!"

At the same time she was squeezing Justin with her arm. As if suddenly aware of him, she smiled.

"Y'know, it's been some time since I was this close to a male," she told him, "you don't mind my arm, do you? Y'know, you're rather cute!"

"No, I don't mind," Justin said, "it's nice!"

"I just might change my opinion about you young guys, " she said, "I thought they were all smash and grab! But you're not like that, are you?"

"No."

Justin felt his voice start to croak. The tension was becoming unbearable. His mouth was so dry his tongue felt like sandpaper. The discomfort in his pants became worse when she turned to face him. He was treated by the sensation of Sharon's large chest brushing against his.