Chapter 2

That picture caused a shift in the balance that had been there before I took it. Mrs. Carson was different after that. I couldn't put my finger on why, but I could just feel it. And I was different too. That was easy. As soon as I got home, I put the flash drive with her picture on it in my computer and blew it up full screen.

Man, oh, man was she sexy. I got hard, and without a thought, I stared at her picture as I jacked off.

Then I felt guilty.

And, after that, whenever I was over there, I looked at her differently. Before, she had been this good looking woman I liked and who was cool. Now, I felt guilty when I looked at her because I wanted to bang her like a drum. And she was so gorgeous, even when she wasn't trying to be that way, that I was always darting a look at her. I checked out her breasts, trying to figure out if she was wearing a bra or not. If I thought she wasn't, I tried to see her nipples, or the bumps they might cause. I looked at her ass, and I looked to see if she had a camel toe. When she laid out in the sun in her bikini I about lost it, and had a hard on constantly.

So that's why I was different.

Scott noticed. He even asked me what had happened.

"What do you mean?" I replied.

"You're acting ... I dunno ... squirrely or something."

"You? The king of squirreldom? Suggesting I'm the one who's squirrely?"

"Yeah," he said, unfazed. "You act like you're all hot for some girl. Who is she?"

My eyes darted to his mother, who was across the room doing something at the book case. I got them off of her right away, but he looked to where I had looked and then back at me.

"Ha, ha," he said. "Like it could be my mom. Come on. Who is she?"

"What do you mean, Ha, Ha?" I asked, upset for some reason. "There's nothing wrong with your mom."

"Except that she's my mom," he said, grinning. "Come on, Bobby. Give. Who is this chick who has you all ate up inside?"

I didn't know what to do. I didn't have a cover story. I hadn't thought I'd need one. I guess I sort of panicked. All I could think of was the picture I beat off to every single night, as I dreamed about crawling in bed with Janet Carson, mother of my best friend. I looked at her again. She was arranging fake flowers in a vase.

"Come outside," I whispered.

"She can't hear us," he said.

"Outside!" I said.

"Okay, okay," he said, and he followed me out.

I took him to my house, and booted up my computer.

"I found this picture online," I lied. "It's so hot it's all I can think of."

I showed him the picture.

Yes ... the one I had sworn never to show anyone - especially not Scott.

"Wow," he said. "I'd like to fuck that."

"Shit, man," I said, feeling a little light headed. "This is my dream woman. Don't be talking like that about her!"

"Okay, but when you fuck her, I want to be able to hide and watch," he said, still drooling over his own mother. He had no clue.

"Right," I said. "Like I'll ever see her, or talk to her or anything."

"You can dream," he said, grinning.

"Which is why I've been acting squirrely," I said.

"Gotcha," he said, crossing his heart. I hadn't asked him to keep any confidences, but the cross your heart thing has expanded applications.

"Thanks," I said, feeling much better.

"What website?" asked Scott.

"What?"

"What website did you get it at? Are there any more? Sometimes they have a whole series of the same chick. Maybe we can find more of this one and actually see her face. Maybe we can see her pussy!

Another thing that changed, was that I felt compelled, for some reason, to keep complimenting Mrs. Carson. I would say that I liked the pattern in the blouse she was wearing, or something like that. And I took more pictures of her. I didn't try to take anything that could even remotely be thought of as sexy or anything like that. For example, one night she was sitting curled up in an easy chair with her feet under her, reading a book. She had this floor lamp that had a bowl on the top that lit up the ceiling above it. It also had a moveable arm on it with a directional reading light, and that was on, above and behind her head. Her hair was down, and the light reflected off of her head causing her auburn hair to glow with golden highlights.

I stood in the middle of the room with my camera, which had the 28-80 mm lens on it, which could pan out for wide angle, or zoom in. I played with it, moving around, looking through the lens at her. She looked up at me and I said, "No, just read. Pay no attention to me." I finally found the angle I liked, and took the picture.

"What was that all about?" she asked, looking up at me again. She had a half smile on her face.

"Your hair," I said. "The reading light was acting like a hair light in a studio."

"Okay," she said. "So ... show me."

"Let me get the laptop," I said.

I got her laptop and took the card out of the camera and plugged it into the slot in her computer. I pulled it up full screen. It showed her in darkness, sitting in this pool of soft light, which made her hair look like it was shot through with gold. Her head was down and her face was in shadows, but the pages of the book, and her fingertip lightly resting on one page, were brightly lit. It was a study in light and shadow.

It was also a picture of a hot woman, sitting comfortably, reading a book.

"Hmmmm," she said. "Nice."

"It is!" I agreed.

"I must be gaining weight," she said.

"No you're not," I said instantly. I knew her body - at least her clothed body - as well now as I knew the palm of the hand I used to beat off with whenever I looked at her picture. I should say pictures, because I kept everything I had taken of her in one folder on my computer. This was one I'd use often. Her breasts cast her abdomen and lap into shadow, and the color of the blouse she was wearing that day complimented the fabric in the chair.

"I look fat in that picture," she said.

"You're insane," I said, quite honestly. "Anybody who calls you fat needs his head examined."

"Or her head examined," she said, looking up at me and lifting one eyebrow.

"You look fantastic," I said.

"Thank, you, Bobby," she said, her voice odd.

"And nobody else in the neighborhood jogs and stays in shape like you do," I said, realizing I had gotten a little personal in my comments.

"You're a sweet boy," she said.

That deflated me. Boys don't want to be thought of as, "sweet." We want to be thought of as, "hunks" or, "jocks" or maybe, "handsome," but, "sweet" doesn't do it. Next thing you knew she'd be saying, "You're great friendship material, Bobby."

"Anyway," I said, with some possible surliness in my voice, "I saw the color of the hair and it was too good to pass up. No big deal."

"You do have a good eye," she said, looking at the picture some more. "You should have cropped this wall here out," she said, pointing to one side of the photo where the green of the wall didn't do anything to enhance the rest of the picture.

"Sit still and I'll take another one," I said.

She looked at me quizzically. "Really?"

"Absolutely," I said.

"Okay," she said, smiling.

I took five or six more, moving all around, trying to get the best composition and lighting. I even moved the light a little. I also zoomed in and took a close-up of her breasts. Don't ask me why. Well ... I suppose you know why. But I knew she was going to look at that series of photographs. I got all tight inside, and thought about deleting it, but it looked so good I couldn't do it. I got the inspiration to take close-ups of her knees, and the top of her head and the book too. Those I could delete later on.

I should have known better. She saw through my ruse.

She commented on each of the actual portraits, stopping for only a second on the close-up of her breasts, and then went on to the other portraits, and then the other close-ups. Then she went back through them again.

"I think I like this one the best," she said, stopping at the one just before her breasts.

"Yeah," I said, vaguely. I liked them all.

"But I suppose you like this one the best." She clicked it to the one of her breasts, and looked up at me.

"Are we being naughty again tonight, Bobby?"

What the heck? I was caught. Why not fess up?

"Maybe a little," I said. "But you'll notice I took other close-ups."