This started at a work party that one of the bosses threw on a Sunday to celebrate something, a big win for the company or something similar. I didn’t care about the details enough to remember.
So it was at this party that I met Kay, Jay’s wife, for the first time. They’ve been married for two years and they’d had a son about a year ago. Kay still had some pregnancy fat on her and she was complaining about how she didn’t have the time to work out much and was having trouble losing her pregnancy’s extra weight. At this point Jay was a talking to the sales rep for our department and was out of sight.
“I don’t think you need to worry about it much. You look really good.”
“You’re just saying that.”
Eddie can very clearly remember when he first thought of his mother as an object of his desire. Oddly, it wasn't even his idea: it was his father's. Eddie normally didn't get along very well with his father, who often seemed cold and distant. But he was secretly very grateful for everything his father taught him that day.
Eddie's father had taken him out for a father-son camping trip. The camping trip wasn't his father's idea, but was Eddie's. It was Eddie's mother, Patricia, who cajoled her husband into taking their son out for the trip. It was to be a short overnight stay in the mountains. Once they got to the camp site and set up, Eddie's father had started into the liquor, and shortly became fairly drunk. Eddie had heard that drunk people told no lies, so he started testing the situation by asking his father questions about Eddie's favorite topic: women.
It didn't take long for Eddie's father to become visibly frustrated, and start into a long, rambling, drunken lecture about what women want. At least it started out that way, but Eddie quickly realized that it was actually about his mother.
The morning after she sold her graphics design business for a sum large enough that she could comfortably retire, Francesca Weaver looked at herself naked in the mirror and considered what she wanted to do with herself, and her life. She was forty-two, married but childless, and she and her husband Edward led mostly separate lives. Her looks were undiminished, and though she had never been conventionally beautiful, she knew she was sexually attractive, with high cheekbones and an aquiline, regal profile. In her stocking feet she stood nearly six feet, with long light-brown hair she usually pulled back into a patrician ponytail. Her 34C breasts and her ass might have sagged a little, but only a little, and her exercise regimen kept them in shape.
In her youth Francesca might have been considered a little on the scrawny side, but she was now merely slim. Oh, her youth, she thought. Her wild, lusty youth.
She raised her arms above her head lazily, and admired her smooth, sleek body. After years of shaving and waxing, she had indulged in laser treatments that gave her a form utterly free of body hair: not under her arms, nor on her legs, nor on or around her delectable pussy and ass.
She liked what she saw. And she was determined that many others would see it, and like it, and enjoy it also.