The afternoon sun baked the concrete, but Sarah felt it as a warming respite from the last few weeks. She lay on the chaise lounge feeling totally complete for the first time in a while. She watched her husband Dave splash with their oldest in the shallow end of the pool, his soft belly pale above his outdated swim trunks. A familiar affection flickered. Her youngest stirred in the bassinet under the umbrella beside her. Stirred but didn’t wake.

She and Dave had just moved to Deer Glen 2 months ago. She had given birth to her youngest a mere 4 months ago. Between the new arrival and the usual headaches of moving, this was the first time they had been to the Deer Glen community pool. They hadn’t had time to make friends with any of their neighbors yet, but the pool was positively packed with residents young and old.

Sarah was feeling a tiny sense of pride. Unlike with her firstborn, she had been fastidious about exercising after giving birth this time. She had kept the baby weight to a minimum. She was wearing a bikini, one she had bought and worn all the way back in college 10 years ago. She wasn’t sure that she could fit into it when she had pulled it out of the dresser this morning. And, to be honest, maybe she really didn’t. After two kids, her hips were wider, her breasts two cup sized bigger, and so some parts of her were positively spilling out of the swimsuit. But when she had looked at herself in the mirror this morning, she felt like… she was spilling out… in all the right ways?

Before having kids, Sarah had always been a bit on the skinny, even bony side. But motherhood had put about 20 pounds on her, in all the right places. She's wasn’t zoftig exactly, but she was now definitely voluptuous. With all of the religious exercise and yoga, her stomach was flat and toned, which made a nice compliment for her new curves. In fact, Sarah reflected, she never dreamed she’d be able to wear a thong bikini at age 32. But here she was, doing it.

With her old, skinny body shape, she had only dared wear this thong once because her ass was simply too flat and unsexy for it. She didn’t think it looked good. But this morning, in the mirror, she realized that with her new postpartum body, the thong actually looked good. In fact, Sarah remembered, when they had first gotten to the pool and they had been walking by a small group of college-aged boys, Sarah could swear she heard one of the boys commenting about her ass as she passed by them. She had blushed at the time, hoping that Dave hadn't heard them. She had been flustered, and even a bit insulted. But as she reflected on it now, she felt a distinct surge of pride, and even a tingling of excitement.

As she was thinking this, she glanced over to where the college boys were still hanging out on the other side of the pool, and… and… were they all staring at her? She held her hand over her eyes to shade from the sun and get better look… were they… whispering about her?

Sarah quickly looked way, pretending not to notice, her flesh blooming with warm shame and… something else. She looked over again, side-eyed. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought they were still ogling her.

Sarah was confused.

Her whole life, she had never been the "pretty one." Oh, she was perfectly attractive, but again, skinny and on the plain side, in a perfect 4 out of 10 sort of way. Her husband was the same. He was always nerdy and a bit pudgy. Friends had always remarked to her that she and Dave were perfect for each other, which Sarah always took to be a bit of a back-handed compliment because she thought it suggested that they were the best each of them could do in terms of attracting a mate. Dave was basically a 4 out of 10 too. But now… now? She looked down at her tight belly but curvy legs and hips. She looked at Dave, with his balding hair and pronounced paunch… and she thought back to her reflection in the mirror this morning. She was, maybe a 7 out of 10 now?

Sarah had a sudden, realigning realization: was she almost out of Dave’s league now? Might people wonder how a nerd like Dave ended up with a beauty like her?

Sarah let this new reality sink in a bit more as she snuck further glances at the rather fit and sexy college boys who were continuing to ogle her, and in fact, were not at all being subtle about it at this point. Was this how it had always been for more attractive women? Women who grew up pretty and had to learn to deal with the eyes of men always on them? She always had more attractive friends and she always admired how they seemed to be able to handle men flirting openly with them by either aggressively shutting down the men that hit on them, or else flirted back. Would Sarah have to learn to do that at age 32? Could she become one of those women? She didn't think so. She had always gotten by socially by blending into the background. Could she learn to be comfortable as the center of attention? Could she learn to wield her newfound sexuality as a weapon?

She didn’t have to look. She knew they were watching. The pack of college boys across the pool. Their attention was a physical weight, a spotlight she’d never worn before. Her heart hammered a frantic, thrilling rhythm against her ribs.

Is this how it feels? she wondered, her fingers tracing the taut line of her stomach above the tiny triangle of her bikini bottom. The thong strap felt scandalous and powerful wedged between the newfound curves of her rear. She’d seen her reflection this morning. The woman in the mirror wasn’t the girl she’d been—all sharp angles and shyness. This new woman was ripe. Full breasts that strained against the flimsy cups, hips that flared, an ass that… well, an ass that had elicited a low whistle not an hour ago.

A flush crept up her chest. Not from shame. From something else. A coiled, restless energy.

Her baby sighed in his bassinet, a perfect excuse. She stood, letting the light sarong around her waist slip from her fingers. It pooled on the warm concrete without a sound. The air kissed her nearly-bare skin. She bent from the waist, slow, deliberate, to tuck the blanket around her sleeping son. The movement pulled the thong taut, the fabric vanishing into the deep cleft of her buttocks. She felt the stretch in her hamstrings, the delicious exposure. She held the pose a beat longer than necessary, the sun warming her most intimate skin.

Silence from across the water. A thick, charged silence.

She straightened, and let her gaze drift casually toward the boys as she settled back onto the chaise. Her breath caught. They were statues. One had a bottle of water paused halfway to his open mouth. Another had shifted, his legs awkwardly apart. And yes… tents. Distinct, undeniable bulges straining against damp swim trunks. A jolt of pure, feminine power shot straight to her core, hot and liquid.

Her triumph was short-lived. Her eyes snagged on a woman—older, maybe fifty—sitting a few loungers down. The woman wasn’t looking at the boys. She was looking directly at Sarah. And she’d seen everything. Sarah’s bravado evaporated. Heat flooded her cheeks. She quickly sat back down, fumbled for her book, pretending to read, the words a blur.

A shadow fell across the page.

Sarah looked up, heart in her throat. The woman stood there, blocking the sun. She wore a tasteful one-piece and a small, unreadable smile.

“Don’t mind those boys,” the woman said, her voice smooth and low. “You remember what men are like at that age. All hormones and basically nothing else.”

Sarah managed a weak, polite laugh. No, she screamed inside. I don’t remember. This is brand new.

“I’m Deborah,” the woman said, extending a hand. Her grip was firm, cool. “And unfortunately, one of those idiots is my son, Patrick. I’d like to say I raised him better, but… well.” She shrugged, her eyes glinting with something that wasn’t quite apology.

“Sarah,” Sarah managed, gesturing weakly toward her family. “That’s my husband, Dave, and my daughter. And my son.”

Deborah’s gaze softened as she looked at the sleeping baby. “So small. So perfect. I remember. You should cherish this time. Because eventually…” She nodded toward the boys. “They turn into that. I look at my Patrick and I still see the little boy who needed help tying his shoes. But now…” She let the sentence hang, her eyes drifting back to Sarah. “Now, he’s very much a man. For whatever that’s worth these days.”

The words landed between them, heavy and suggestive. Sarah felt another blush bloom, hotter this time. She was sure Deborah saw it. A faint, knowing curve touched the older woman’s lips.

“Listen,” Deborah said, her tone shifting to something conspiratorial. “In about an hour, a few of us ladies are getting together at my place for a glass of wine. You should join us. No kids, no husbands. Just us girls.”

Sarah’s mind raced. An escape from this dizzying arena of sun and stares. A chance to make friends with the neighbors at last. “I’d love that,” she heard herself say. “We’re so new. I haven’t met anyone yet.”

“Perfect.” Deborah rattled off an address just around the corner. Her eyes held Sarah’s for a moment too long, almost evaluating her body if Sarah didn’t know better. “Come alone. It’s more fun that way.”

With a final smile, Deborah turned and walked away. Sarah watched her go, the older woman’s hips swaying with a confident grace. The encounter left Sarah’s skin tingling, the earlier thrill of exhibitionism twisting into a new, confused anticipation. She looked down at her body, at the bikini that felt less like swimwear and more like a weapon she was only just learning to hold.

Across the pool, Patrick—Deborah’s son, it would seem—caught her eye. He didn’t look away this time. He held her gaze, his expression bold, hungry. He slowly ran a hand through his wet hair, his cute, perfect simmer’s body statuesque.

Sarah’s mouth went dry. She didn’t look away either. The heat between her legs, which had cooled in her embarrassment, returned with a vengeance, a persistent, throbbing ache. She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs on the lounge, the tiny triangle of her bikini bottom growing damp for a reason that had nothing to do with the pool.

She was going to drink wine with the neighbors. Just us girls. But as she sat there, pinned by the gaze of a boy young enough to be her… well, not her son, but close… the phrase echoed in her mind, taking on a strange, new weight. She glanced at her sleeping infant, at her oblivious husband splashing in the shallow end. A secret smile touched her lips.

She had an hour. An hour to sit here in the sun, in this barely-there scrap of fabric, and feel like someone else entirely. Then she’d go be the perfect suburban housewife she was supposed to be anyway.