Chapter 1: Desire wins out

Let's get something straight right off; I'm no lady. As I sit here on the john tonight, admonishing myself for what just happened, I can think of ten names that fit better than Lady.

How many transgressions does it take to make a lady turn into a slut? I suppose it depends on your upbringing, your values, and your conscience. I've known girls at school who had lost count, but with me, the third time vaulted me into slut-dom.

I was a senior in high school when I let ... what was his name ... oh yes, Kevin, talk me into his taking my cherry. His argument seemed reasonable at the time; we were seventeen and in love. We made love after school, and all summer, in his car and on blankets, until we went off to different colleges. When his letters stopped coming, I didn't let another boy touch me in that way until my junior year.

Jack Patterson was handsome, rich, and attentive. I knew from our first date that there would never be another man for me. We made love in his car, on blankets in the park, and in our dorm rooms. He graduated at the end of the school year, and I didn't hear from him until two years later.

I was biding my time, working in my father's pharmacy when Jack called, wanting to see me. At first, I was skeptical. I was almost certain that there had been other girls in Jack's life. I resisted the temptation to say that I would see him. But after his third call, I weakened. The minute he showed up it was like we had never been apart. After three months together, he took me home to meet his family. His parents were deceased, but his grandparents welcomed me to their home. That was the weekend he proposed marriage. Naturally, I accepted. That was ten years ago.

We came to Patterson, a small town Jack's grandfather had established. The family was in the lumber business, and when Mr. Patterson died four years ago, Jack and his younger brother inherited the business. We moved into the family home, a large Victorian, built in the nineteen-twenties.

That's when I saw changes in my husband. He acted as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He lost touch with our children; Jeanette was four at the time, Jess was two. He also lost touch with his wife. Our coupling went from two times a week to once a month.

Jack only had time for the business. He made frequent trips up country, where his brother oversaw the logging operation. During his absences, the responsibility of maintaining the old house fell to me. Raising our children became my sole responsibility. They missed their father, and they were not alone. I missed him too.

I don't know how I found out that my husband was having an affair. Perhaps it was the extended time that he said he needed to be away from home. Perhaps it was the way his shorts smelled. Yes, I held them to my noise to see if I detected pussy juice. Perhaps it was the way he looked at me. I just knew.

Eventually, I asked, and he admitted that he had met someone. I didn't ask if she was attractive, younger, or sexier than me. I didn't want to know. He agreed to give me the house, and a generous settlement. I agreed to give him visitation rights, and to let him take the kids for two weeks each summer. I thought it was strange that he didn't ask to have them on holidays. I didn't find out that his girlfriend was pregnant until eight months later when John Patterson, Junior was born.

That was two years ago. Although I'm sure they miss their father, Jeanette, now eight, and Jess, now six, are reasonably well adjusted. I, on the other hand, have days when I scratch the walls with sexual tension. I fantasize about mating, rutting, fucking.

It's not that I lack opportunities. At thirty-two, I'm fit, even sexy. I see eligible men looking me over, but I hesitate to give them encouragement. I'm probably considered cold by the townspeople. I have my reputation to uphold. I'm now the only Patterson listed in the town's telephone book. My children wouldn't understand being left with a babysitter while their mommy goes on a date with a stranger. I've lost touch; what is acceptable dating etiquette? How many movies, dinners, and nights dancing would I have to endure before I agreed to be taken to a hotel room?

Since my divorce, I've been watching a young lad. He works for a florist in our neighborhood. He even lives with the owner, and there have been rumors that she takes him into her bed. But that's unlikely, as she now has a boyfriend. I've heard that she goes out with him every Saturday night.

I scheme. I put two and two together. Since I can't think of leaving my children with a babysitter while I suffer through the obligatory dates (I'm convinced that it must be at least three) before we cavort in a hotel room, I plan to seduce the young lad in my home.

Last Wednesday, I walked the few blocks to the florist shop, knowing my prey would be in school. Marion, the owner, was alone in the shop. She had obviously lost weight; dating her hunky logger must agree with her. I complimented her on how nice she looked before stating my business.

"I'm hosting a luncheon in my home tomorrow, and would like my dining room and living room decorated with floral arrangements."

I don't know if my position in the community overwhelmed her, but Marion was clearly dubious. I've heard from my only dear friend, that since my divorce, it has been whispered that I can be bitchy. I tried to set Marion at ease by agreeing with every suggestion she made.

The following morning, Marion and her young assistant delivered the baskets of flowers. Not wanting to appear bitchy, I let them place the baskets as they saw fit. It was a warm spring day, and I was dressed in shorts and a blouse with the top two buttons undone. I made sure to give my young prey an eyeful at every opportunity. As they were leaving, I told Marion that I would call her when I wanted the arrangements removed from my house. After they left, I moved the baskets around to suit my own decorative tastes.

The luncheon was a great success; everyone in attendance said so. They commented about the fragrance the flowers added. I knew they were just sucking up to me, but I beamed with pride. Just thinking of my alterative motive, gave me a tingling between my thighs.

Marion called on Friday, asking if I wanted her to come for the baskets. I told her that I wanted to enjoy the flowers for another day or so. I believe I intimidated her; she didn't call on Saturday.

"Bed time" I announced, expecting resistance.

"Aw, mom, it's only eight o'clock," my daughter argued. Jess looked on, silently pleading for me to relent.

"Okay, another half hour, but I don't want to hear another complaint."

I rejoiced; everything was proceeding per plan. At eight-thirty, they turned off the television, and went upstairs without my having to remind them. I read my magazine for another ten minutes before I went upstairs to tuck them in. I then went to my room to change into a short skirt, blouse, and flat shoes.

When I checked on my children, Jess was already asleep; Jeannette's eyelids told me she would soon follow.

It was nearly nine PM when I dialed the number of the cottage that Marion and her young employee occupied.

"Hello?"

"This is Mrs. Patterson. May I speak with Marion?" I asked.

"She's not ... she's out."

"I'm going to need these baskets out of my house tonight. The cut flowers are beginning to wilt."

"Can we ... would it be all right if ... tomorrow would be better for us."

"What's your name?" I demanded to know.

"My friends call me ... its Lester, Ma'am."

"Lester, I'm a good customer. I'm sure Marion would not make me wait until tomorrow if she were at home tonight."

"I guess I can ... I'll be there in a few minutes if that's all right with you, Mrs. Patterson?"

I told him that I would leave the porch door unlatched. I was shaking when I hung up the phone. What had I done? I knew he'd recently had his sixteenth birthday because I'd seen him drive the van to make deliveries. But he sounded so young on the telephone. It had only been a few months since I'd seen him riding his bicycle.

I ran upstairs and changed into a plain housedress. It had fourteen buttons down the front, and extended below my knees. Before going back downstairs, I removed the lipstick I'd put on earlier and looked in on my daughter. She was sleeping soundly.

The downstairs was in darkness. I turned a light on in the kitchen so Lester could make his way from the back door, along the porch that spanned the back of the house. He looked young and uncertain as he approached me.

"My children are asleep," I whispered, failing to tell him that their rooms were upstairs, and no amount of noise was likely to awaken them.

He nodded, and followed me into the dining room. I turned the chandelier to low in order for him to find the baskets. He placed the flowers in a plastic bag, and carried the baskets to the porch. We then moved into the living room where five more baskets needed to be emptied. The room was in darkness, but he was able to find the baskets. He worked quickly, placing the wilting flowers in his trash bag.

"Wait," I whispered, when he started to discard the roses. They were yellow, and long stemmed. "I'll put them in water," I said, taking them from him. I took them to the kitchen, and then watched closely as he made his way down the hallway leading to the kitchen.

"Careful," I warned him, as he carried the five flower baskets and the plastic bag down the narrow hallway. "Don't rub against the wall covering."

"I'm always careful, Ma'am," he assured me in a muffled whisper.

He made it to the kitchen, and turned left to the porch where the other five baskets were sitting. "I'll come back for those," he said.

I let him go, not offering to bring the other baskets to the back door. Instead, I turned off the kitchen light, and let my eyes adjust to the dark porch. By the time he came through the back door, I could make out his figure coming toward me. Why was I letting this opportunity pass without seizing it? Why was I shaking?

"You said your friends call you by a different name. What is it?" I asked, wanting to engage him in conversation.

"Ah, they call me Cotton. My last name is Fabric," he added, pausing to make sure I made the connection.

"Clever," I said, trying to sound friendly.

He was arranging the baskets, three on one arm, and two on the other when I stopped him.

"Cotton, I wonder if you would mind getting a roast out of my freezer. It's on the bottom, and I can't reach it," I said, pointing to the cold storage chest. It was about five feet long, and four feet high, with a door that hinged from the back.

Without hesitation, Lester, now Cotton, set the baskets on the floor, and lifted the freezer door.

I should have turned a light on, or gotten a flashlight so he could find the roast. His torso disappeared into the chest, and his legs dangled behind him. Cold air rushed from the chest as I held the door for him. I heard him move the roast around the bottom. He grunted as he guided the six pound roast up the wall of the chest, and promptly lost control. The sound of it bouncing on the floor startled me, making me drop the door.

"Oh my!" I exclaimed when I heard the heavy door slam into Cotton's head. The roast was rolling toward the kitchen. "Are you hurt?"

Beside myself, I lifted the door, and inserted my hand inside his pants to try to help pull him out of the chest. He wiggled his ass, and flung himself over the edge of the freezer. I dropped the door, and felt the back of his head to see if it was swelling. He was about two inches taller than me. Wanting to put myself in a position to comfort him, I hopped onto the chest, and from a sitting position, I brought his head to my chest.

We rocked together, and I told him how sorry I was. He was like dead weight in my arms, quiet and unresponsive. As I rocked him, my dress rode up until he was between my legs. In fact, I moved my ass forward. Did he know his stomach was rubbing against my pussy? He was only sixteen, and practically unconscious. How could he know what the movement was doing to me? Was he enjoying this as much as I was?

I realized it was no longer me doing the rocking. He was moving his stomach against my clit, and I didn't want him to stop. I wrapped my legs around his ass, and felt his arms on my back. He lifted his head. I met his lips, moaning into his mouth when I felt the explosion between my legs.

I was desperate for more. I scooted my ass to the center of the top of the chest, pulling him with me. He was between my legs, pulling his pants down. My panties were old ones, worn especially because they were loose at the leg bands. I expected him to pull the crotch to the side, and enter me. But he had another idea. He pulled on them, and I raised my ass to permit him to remove them. I became frustrated when he had trouble getting them off, and raised my foot to push them down and off one foot.

Cotton was just as impatient as I was. He stabbed at my opening twice before finding it. And then, he was in me.

I hadn't considered his youthful inexperience. Was this his first time? Had the bump on the back of his head made him crazed? How could I slow him down? I tried wrapping my legs around his ass to restrain him. No luck. I tried pulling his head down for a kiss. He kissed me back, even pushed his tongue between my lips, but it didn't slow down his piston-like ramming into my pussy.

Giving up, I screamed at him, "FUCK ME!"

He didn't last long. He shot his semen deep into my pussy, leaving me wanting.

I unlatched my legs from around his ass, and released his head. He got off the freezer, and went to pick up the five baskets. I was still lying on my back when he stopped to look down at me. I didn't have anything to say to him, and there was nothing I wanted to hear from him. He walked toward the back door, and when I heard it close, I got off the freezer, and headed to the half-bath off the kitchen.

As I sat on the john, contemplating what had just happened, I heard the stream of piss hit the water below, and thought; at least he got the roast out of the freezer for me.

The turmoil I suffered on Sunday and half of Monday erased those thrilling moments I'd had when I felt the young lad's cock inside me. The beginning of my period helped to ease my anxiety, but I wasn't out of the woods yet. What if the young lad talked? My reputation would be tarnished beyond repair.

I went to the florist shop to settle my account with Marion. She was distantly cordial; giving no indication that she suspected that I'd had my way with her young assistant. She didn't even express her dissatisfaction about my urgent demand that the flower arrangements be removed from my home. I didn't inquire about Cotton's head, and she didn't volunteer anything.

As I left the florist shop, it occurred to me that there was still hope. Perhaps Cotton had said nothing about our romp on the freezer. If so, I had gotten off easy. Now all I had to do was to make sure it never happened again. I promised myself to make the best of my vibrator. It was a poor substitute for the real thing, but much less risky.

As Saturday night approached, I couldn't help but wonder what Cotton would do after Marion left with her date. Would he think of me? I told myself to not even consider a repeat performance. I was considering disposing of the freezer.

Jeannette and Jess made their usual plea to stay up longer, and I let them watch television until nine o'clock. Just as a way of passing the time after my children were in bed, I decided to bake cookies. And, for no particular reason, I put on the same dress I'd worn the previous Saturday night.