I got up and padded over to the window, very aware of his eyes following me. That was part of the allure. It was late summer, so the oaks’ leaves had filled in, obscuring the view of his bedroom across our yards. He never fessed up to it, so I can’t say for sure, but something told me this was where he’d first glimpsed me. Of course, he’d seen naked women before me, but only on screens. Young, tight, beautiful physiques, shaved smooth like schoolgirls. I was none of that. Silver marks marred my hips and belly where three children had made me who I was. My woman’s body, a mother’s figure, was so delectably real for him.

Fingering the marks absently, I turned to let him consume my nakedness as I crossed, unhurried, to rejoin him on my bed. It will be a while before we’re together again, so maybe we aren’t finished tonight after all? “Again, Steven?” It sounded like a question, but it wasn’t. I wetted him with my tongue, tasting the salty remnants of what we’d already done.

He shifted on the bed, making room for me to lift a knee over him. The tip of his cock teased me, while his palms reclaimed my breasts. Looking down, I guided his beautiful curved shaft into me with my fingers, watching it slowly disappear beneath the dark, silver-laced patch above my mons. My vagina was no longer tight like a girl’s, so he would last as long as I desired. Savoring the connection, I contemplated how my maturity complemented his youth.

Was this incongruous union that my husband anticipated when he first dared me to titillate Steven?

It was months ago when Tom saw the bedroom lights flicker through the leafless oaks between our yards. “Do you think he can see anything from over there?” he asked, fingers spreading the blinds so he could peek through without being observed himself. “That kid’s such a perv.”

He was joking, of course. Tom had been seventeen once. He understood the urges and still harbored similar voyeuristic impulses himself. Showing me off had long been a powerful and mutually gratifying dynamic in our marriage. But our son’s best friend? That was a taboo I wasn't sure about.

“I dare you,” he snickered, and pushed me onto our bed. “Lose the bra one day when they come over after school.” He took my left nipple between his teeth to accentuate the point, drawing an involuntary yelp out of me. “Make him think about these beauties jiggling under a tank top, while you make them lunch.”

“And your own son, too? My God.” I laughed. “Brian would be fucking mortified to see that.” Easing myself out from under him, I flipped off our bedroom light and walked over to twist the blind back open. Peering into the dark, I playfully tweaked my own nipples. “What if he could see my ‘beauties’ right now?”

Tom came up from behind, sliding his hands around to fondle my perky B-cups as his lips warmed my shoulder. “I don’t know if he could handle a woman like you, babe.” I grabbed hold of the sill and widened my stance to invite him to enter me.

Studying the window across the way, I imagined shadows shifting behind the glass, barely out of my view; young eyes furtively watching my titties sway and bounce.

“Do you think he’s masturbating?” I asked, licking my finger and reaching down to caress where Tom penetrated me. “Watching you fuck me one last time before you have to go?” With every word, I felt him grow harder, more aroused and bent lower to take him as deep as I could.

“Well, that’s what I’ll be doing soon enough...” His voice caught. “Stroking myself, picturing you like…exactly like this.” I shivered as his hands released my breasts and drifted down my rib cage to pull my ass into his hips. A climax rolled through me. He groaned, erupting into me from behind, letting his warmth trickle down my taint. Oh, how I’ll miss this. It'll be almost a year before I feel a man's touch again.

Two days after that steamy role-play, my husband was gone. He deployed to the Middle East, leaving me a geographic bachelorette for the tail end of Brian’s senior year. Thankfully, neighborhood kids who had taken to hanging around our place helped fill the absence—mostly guys my sons’ ages.

Tappity…TAP was the familiar code they all used before letting themselves in, invited or not. The most common culprit was Steven, who’d enjoyed knock-and-enter privileges to our home for years.

I had watched him grow up from a scrawny kid, but what Tom had suggested cast him in a new light. With longish red-blonde hair, he had the tall, loose build of an athlete. Handsome, but surprisingly, to me anyway, not much of a ladies’ man yet. He planned to play baseball for Old Dominion across the bay next spring, so that wouldn’t be the case much longer.

Though it made my own kids cringe, I couldn’t deny a secret pride to learn I’d been dubbed the MILF on the block. As crude as it was, it confirmed the seed Tom had planted that night and roused the exhibitionist in me. At forty-three, I was five-foot-ten, lean, but shapely. Even after three babies, my breasts held their form nicely, and I enjoyed an occasional hide-and-seek.

The next time I heard young voices in the foyer, I caught my reflection in the hallway mirror on my way downstairs. I didn’t take the bra off as Tom proposed, but I did undo a button. Considered it. Then another one. Not obvious, but enough lace for eyes, too nervous to be caught in a dead stare, to notice. Except Steven, who always seemed to look away just a moment too late.

While the other kids huddled around the game consoles, he always gravitated to whichever room I was in. Less like a cute puppy than a feline, slinking into my presence, he invariably appeared where I didn’t expect him. Even when my son was out, I'd often catch the tappity…TAP, followed by a hopeful, "Brian! You here?" I'd freeze and listen, waiting for the fridge door to open and close. Milk filling a glass. Sometimes I’d hear the TV flip on while he waited for his buddy to return.

The comments began innocuously, always out of earshot of his buddies. One afternoon, he stood in Brian's doorway down the hall from mine, “Hey, Mrs. Jamason, is that dress new?” I spun demurely to let it flare at my knees. “I love the way it…you know…” He trailed off with a sly smile, happy to have pleased me.

As the spring weather heated up, so did his remarks. “Hot swimsuit, Mrs. J,” he offered from the edge of the deck.

What the fuck, was he watching me swim laps? A little taken aback by his moxie, I didn’t answer; he'd never added the sexual undertone before. Instead, I picked up a towel to dry off, but didn't cover myself immediately, letting us both appreciate my new bikini for a while longer.

But when he added, “So sexy…” and his palm caught my behind to ‘assist’ me up the steps, a shock went through me. Half thrill, half alarm. His touch crossed a line I hadn’t even drawn yet, and my ‘mom voice’ intervened instinctively to stop him short.

“What the hell, kid, you’re only seventeen.” A furrow in my brow must have added a sting to the words. But even as I said it, they sounded wrong. His age, not Tom’s ring on my finger, was where I drew the line?

Regardless of my intent, he disappeared after that, and I felt the void far more than I should have or wanted to admit. He was only supposed to look, not touch. Why did he have to go and ruin everything?

The weeks that followed were awkward and quiet. I told myself I was relieved. Then came the end of May, and my son Brian’s eighteenth birthday, an excuse to fill the house with noise again. I played grill-mistress, flipping burgers and refereeing poolside flirting, scanning the crowd for familiar young faces, particularly for the one I hadn’t seen in a while.

True to form, I turned away from the smoke for a sec, and there he was, leaning on the deck rail, red cup in hand. Judging by the color on his face and the way his eyes deliberately flicked from my chest up to mine, I guessed he didn’t have soda in that cup. In the first fleeting second without an eavesdropper, he asked, “No swimming today, Mrs J?”

The dare from last winter rang in my mind. He looked so hopeful, and after weeks of silence, I wanted that spark back. I replied, “Nope. Forgot the swimsuit today.” In case proof was necessary, I hooked a thumb in my waistband and pulled low enough to reveal the trim of my blue cotton briefs. The blush that crossed his face was my reward, and I couldn’t ignore the tingle it brought me.

Before we could unravel that thread any further, however, one of the video gamers poked his head out of the house. “Hey, Mrs Jamason, great party!” Then, pivoting to Steven, “Dude. HALO. Inside. Five minutes,” holding up five fingers to emphasize that time was of the essence.

“Good talking, Mrs J…” Steven said, and with a curious twinge in his voice, “Later?” Before turning away, he didn’t hide drinking me in, from my shorts on up to my eyes and every curve in between.

Damn, it’s nice to be appreciated. “Later, Steven,” I replied, amused that apparently, my age rebuke hadn't left a lasting mark after all.

By then, the sun was sinking behind the trees, cooling the spring air enough to chase us all inside. After a quick survey of the mess, I decided, Yeah, this will wait till morning.

Most of the kids, including my boys, were raising hell in the game room over an Xbox battle royale, so I chose a nice Merlot from the rack and headed back outside to enjoy the peace of the cool evening in our Jacuzzi.

After a quick sweep for lingering teenagers, I slipped out of my clothes and into the soothing waters.

Sipping straight from the bottle, the hot jets felt fabulous over my bare skin. These moments were when I missed Tom the most. He and I often began our foreplay right here under the stars and privacy of the bubbles. But tonight I was alone and, despite the sounds of laughter and video game gunfire from the house, a little lonely.

Partway through the bottle, I must have dozed because a splash of water startled me awake. I opened my eyes to find Steven sitting on the deck across from me. “The party was fun, Mrs Jamason. Thanks for inviting me.”

“Oh—,” I gasped, shaking myself awake. Ensuring I was adequately submerged, I paused for a split second at the tent in his trunks. “I thought you were inside making the internet safe for democracy?”

“I was, but got killed, so I went home for a while...” Glancing up to his bedroom window, maybe fifty yards away, he tacked on with a cheeky grin, “Saw you out here by yourself…Is this okay?” Without waiting for an answer, he lowered himself into the small hot tub, too. Our calves brushed, but I didn't pull away. It was dusk, so I questioned what he actually saw from up there, if anything. Then, following his eyes to the pile of clothes next to me, I saw my panties and bra sitting on top. That left no mystery about what I was wearing under the foamy water.

“You know…MY birthday was a month ago,” he announced. Then, sitting up, he clarified, “I’m not seventeen anymore, Mrs J,” as if that should mean something significant.

Rocking a healthy buzz at that point, I could not keep the ironic smirk from spreading across my face. So it appears he did seize onto my age distinction. As if that’s the barrier to whatever sordid fairytale his eighteen-year-old head was brewing?

“So you decided to take a closer look, Steven?” With the way he’d been looking at me all afternoon, and Tom’s challenge in mind, I decided…what’s the harm in a little peek-a-boo? I slowly arched my back enough for my tits to float on the waterline.

Wide-eyed, the corner of his lip curled. With a crooked forefinger, he audaciously reached out to graze beneath each dark pink nipple, raising goosebumps around them. Then, placing a hand on my cheek, he leaned in to kiss me. Fearlessly, closed mouth, like he’d been rehearsing it for the weeks since my rebuke about his age.

Vino talking or not…that was nice. Not even thinking of Tom far away or my son right inside, I rose waist-high from the water to give him the view he really wanted. “Happy birthday, young man,” I parted my lips to offer my tongue.

His kiss may have been deliberate and practiced, but my drunken response was not. Before either of us could consider where this could lead, I was in his lap, his erection taunting me through his shorts. His lips found my nipples, stiff, even in the steamy air. Impulsively, I opened my thighs to offer access, and his fingers didn’t hesitate.

Amid the churn of the water and intensity of the moment, I missed the whoosh of the patio door until my son’s voice cut through, “Steve! You out here?”

My knees clamped shut in a panicked reflex. God, please don’t let him come any closer.

“My eyes flew wide, matching his expression from a minute ago, as I mouthed: ‘GET OUT!” He initially pulled back, but then a flash of insane defiance crossed his face. He shook his head and pulled me tighter. Inches from Steven’s face, I called back to Brian, “It’s just me, sweetie!” Impulsively, I snatched my panties and bra and pulled them into the water to remove any evidence if he came any further.

“Oh. Sorry, Mom,” he said, stopping short. He was well-trained—as were all our kids—not to approach the hot tub lest they see something they didn't want to. “I thought he came out here. If he does, tell him to get inside; we’re starting another game,” and the door slid shut.

My body was quaking from my near miss and the heat of Steven’s skin next to mine. He tried to resume our kiss, but I shoved him back and rose from the water. Something in his open-mouthed stare empowered me; this was the first time he had seen me so close. “Get inside,” I rasped, wielding my ‘mom voice’ again, intentionally sharp. This time, he obeyed, scrambling to grab his T-shirt from the deck and pull it over his head and broad shoulders. My eyes dropped to the obvious bulge in his trunks. “Here,” I said, tossing him my towel. “Around your waist, go!”

When I heard the door slide open, then close again, I scampered onto the deck. Despite the chilled air, I was sweating from the heat of the hot tub. Skipping the soggy underwear, I wriggled into my shorts and hastily pulled the T-shirt over my head.

The damp fabric clung to my chest, outlining my hardened nipples as I slipped into the house. Hurrying past the game room full of oblivious boys playing HALO, the only head I saw turn was Steven’s. We locked eyes for a heartbeat before I scurried up the stairs.

Closing and locking the bedroom door behind me, I audibly exhaled, half expecting, maybe even hoping, to hear a tappity…TAP at my back, but nothing.

Peeling off the wet clothes, I stepped into the shower, twisting the handle to blue. I let the cold spray dissipate the residual haze of alcohol and exhilaration. As if I’d stepped back from a cliff’s edge, I had not felt this alive since Tom departed in February.

While drying off, I walked to the window and peeked into the empty yard below. My God, what was I thinking? With a sigh, I replayed Tom’s dare from months ago. This was so far beyond losing my bra in the kitchen. Dropping the towel, I gripped the sill, reliving how incredible Tom felt, how he prodded me into this. He got his wish, didn’t he? And Steven, too. My fingers found their way between my moist thighs. Had I really let him touch me here? That wasn't the challenge, though, was it? I barely had to rub before an orgasm rushed through me.

My mind circled back, again and again, to what almost happened. Even in the frenzy of it all, I was puzzled to feel cheated, having missed a chance to create a truly dirty story to share with Tom. In the very same thought, I knew I’d narrowly dodged a bullet.

Sober second thoughts crept in to quiet my exuberance. God, if he EVER wants to set foot in this house again, he better not be blabbing about getting to second base. Third base. Fucking whatever base! Recalling Steven's probing fingers, I shuddered again.

By the time I headed downstairs, the crowd had thinned out… including Steven. Thank God! Ushering the final stragglers out the door, my smile seemed false, plastered on, even though none of them saw or even suspected anything.

After that night, afternoons took on a new edge. Steven’s presence affected me wildly. I made it difficult for him to find me alone, but my breath quickened when I’d catch him watching, remembering what I’d shown him, what he’d tasted. He doesn’t even hide his hunger anymore.

Nights, I lay in bed, aching for Tom’s touch yet unable to shake the ghost of Steven’s lips. The memory of eager hands over my breasts, between my legs… Summer was around the corner, and baseball workouts would soon keep him busy until classes began in the fall. Then he’d be out of my mind, won't he?

June arrived fast, and with it, the excitement of graduation night. After all the boring pomp and circumstance, kids who normally hung out at our place scattered across town to various celebrations. I was home, dressed down in shorts and a tank top. A chick flick played on the television to keep me company.

Around ten, I heard the familiar ‘tappity…TAP.’

“Who’s that?” I murmured, to no one but myself. I knew damned well who it was. I waited for the door to open as it always did, but nothing.

Any residual qualms quickly gave way to raw anticipation. Again, tappity…TAP. I breathed deeply, composing myself, and checked the deadbolt. Unlocked. He could have just walked in like he had a hundred times over the years. But this…this will be a FIRST time, won’t it? I turned the knob enough to release the latch, leaving the door cracked open for him to push the rest of the way. He’s bold, coming to my house uninvited. But I HAD invited him, hadn’t I?

“Hi Bea…” He said my first name like a question, which didn’t sound right.

“Mrs Jamason, please, Steven,” I corrected, testing for the appropriate level of maternal firmness—the ‘mom voice.’ I can’t believe he defied me in the hot tub.

“Yes, ma’am…Mrs Jamason.” Yes. THAT is the tone I was looking for.

“Did you come prepared?” I asked, noticing the bulge in his shorts. He dug into a pocket to pull out a square foil package between his thumb and forefinger, shaking it like a winning lottery ticket.

Mere minutes later, my t-shirt was crumpled at the foot of the stairs, where we kissed. My bra lay on the top step, dropped after he fumbled with the front clasp. My shorts draped over the footboard, where I kicked them off, my panties still tangled inside. His clothes were in a single heap beside my bed. There on the edge, I sat to taste his sweet precum before I scooted across the mattress and opened my legs. I have no idea where the condom packet ended up, but it was unopened.

Too quickly, he was sprawled next to me, face flushed and breathless. Finished almost before we had really begun. So shameless. He doesn’t even know enough to be embarrassed, does he?

“My turn, Steven,” I purred, sliding a finger between my labia to taste a dab of his premature deposit.

He wavered for a split second. “You want me to…my own…?”

“That’s why God gave men tongues, Steven.” I giggled. It’s not like he doesn’t know; he’s seen enough online to have the general idea. “How about I teach you to use yours properly?”

In fact, he was not finished at all; that was merely our first time together. Now, with the summer lessons behind us, I was a very satisfied woman sitting astride an experienced young man. My body shook with the final orgasm he'd give me before heading off to college. A pang of jealousy hit me as I pictured him sharing my secrets with the young coeds he was sure to meet. My mind leaped forward to Christmas break. If my hubby is back, he’ll want to join us, so I can teach my young pupil to share.