Her Daughter's Boyfriend

When Sharon 'phoned a few days later I half-expected her to be in tears over the break-up of her relationship. I was surprised, therefore, when she announced that she and Steve would be round on Sunday for tea. When they arrived Steve seemed his normal cheery self, but I just couldn't look at him without my face flushing and my pussy throbbing. After about half an hour I found an excuse to go to the kitchen to try and calm my nerves, but Sharon followed me for one of her daughter-mother chats. She looked at me strangely, and said, "Mum, has Steve said something to you?" Praying that my face wasn't giving me away, I asked what she meant. She shrugged. "Usually you're all over him when we come round. Today you're completely ignoring him. I wondered if he'd done something to upset you." I assured her he hadn't. For the next hour or two I tried to be my normal self, but the effort was tearing me apart.

When I took the plates and cutlery from tea into the kitchen to wash I felt hot and flushed, and opened the window. Within moments I heard a movement behind me; I didn't even need to glance round to know who it was. I felt Steve press into my back, and his arms slipped around my waist. "I'm sorry Jill, I know I shouldn't be here, but I couldn't stay away. I tried to put you out of my mind but I just can't."

As he kissed my neck I sighed, and let my head fall back. His mouth moved onto my throat, his hands slipped under my jumper and caressed my midriff. "I know Steve darling, I feel the same way." We leapt apart as we heard Sharon approaching, and Steve grabbed a tea towel and started chatting about an art exhibition he'd seen, exactly as if the conversation had been going on for minutes.

The following day, Monday, Steve met me out of work, and drove me to his flat. I could tell it was tastefully and expensively furnished, but we didn't wait for me to have an inspection tour. He took my hand and led me straight to his bedroom. We quickly undressed each other, pausing only to kiss, caress, lick and hold. Steve laid me on the bed and we made passionate love, my arms around his neck and my legs wrapped tight around his waist as he drove into me. He lasted longer than ever before with me, and I came over and over before he finally released his love into me.

After we'd recovered our breath I slid down Steve's body, cupping a hand round his balls and taking his cock into my mouth. That was something I rarely did for George, and it hadn't been my favourite activity, but with Steve it was different. As my tongue traced every contour of his rod, and I slid my lips back and forth along him, I felt incredibly relaxed and happy, burning with desire to please him. He moaned in time with my tongue, and when he came I swirled his nectar around my mouth, feeling it even tasted nicer than George's. Afterwards, I lay with my head on his chest, his hands resting comfortably around my breasts. I smiled up at him. "Why do you want me sweetheart? I mean, you're so lovely, you could get any young girl with just one look."

He smiled, and released one of my boobs to stroke my hair. "I didn't make a conscious decision to fall in love with you Jill. It just happened. It wasn't at the concert, or even that day we had coffee. It was before that. I came to your house, over and over, and saw this beautiful, funny, intelligent, in-charge lady, and felt things I'd never felt before about any woman. Sorry if that sounds corny, but...I don't really understand it myself, I just know I can't bear not to be with you." By the time he finished I could feel big tears trailing down my cheeks.

It was almost eight o'clock when I left Steve's place. In the taxi home I thought about him, about us. It wasn't just the sex that attracted me, although that was incredible. It wasn't just his looks, or his sweet personality. We had so much in common. I was still very fond of George, of course I was; but we didn't really do anything together, apart from have it away once a week, regular as clockwork. He had his interests, I had mine, and they'd grown farther apart as the years had gone on. Being together was simply a habit we hadn't broken. Steve shared my joy in great music. He enjoyed eating out, cinema and theatre, as I used to. He'd visited all kinds of cities – Paris, Vienna, Rome, New York: places I longed to see. He didn't have to plan it all months in advance; he'd just wake up on a Friday, make a decision, and that evening he'd be jetting off for the weekend. God, how I envied that. It was all I could do to rouse George to agree to a week in the Canaries every year, otherwise it was a caravan in Southend.

When I got home, and called hello to my husband, Sharon made me jump by bursting out of the kitchen. She snapped, "Where the hell have you been until this time?" I gave her a cold stare and replied that, if it was any business of hers, one of the girls in the office had announced her engagement and we'd gone for a few drinks. Sharon gave me a sceptical look, then said quietly, "We need to talk. In private." Then she stalked back into the kitchen, expecting me to follow her.

I took my time hanging up my coat and saying hello properly to George. I was damned if my stroppy cow of a daughter was going to treat me like that. When I finally walked into the kitchen she was sat at the table, her hands clasped before her. Without looking at me, she asked, "What's going on Mum?"

I could feel my face burning, but I told her I had no idea what she meant. She looked at me, and I could see she'd been crying. "I mean with you and Steve. I saw you. Yesterday. You were both in the kitchen, and he had his arms around you." She snorted a humourless laugh. "Christ, he was virtually fucking you at the sink. He hasn't so much as touched me in ages. How long have you been screwing him?"

I stared open-mouthed at her, then desperately began, "Sharon, you're wrong, you didn't see what you think..."

"For fuck's sake mother, I'm not a complete fucking moron." She didn't shout, but the vehemence of her voice stopped me cold.

Trying hard not to burst into tears, like a naughty child caught with her hand in the biscuit jar, I slumped into a chair opposite her, and sighed hugely. "It started a couple of weeks ago. I'm sorry love, neither of us meant to..."

"Jesus Christ!" This time she didn't just shout, she screamed. "You disgusting fucking old bag. How could you? Fucking hell, what's he want a dried up old cow like you for?" I reached out to take her hand, but she leapt to her feet, knocking the chair to the floor with a crash. She wailed "Don't touch me", and, sobbing, tore the door into the garden open and fled. A moment later I heard the side gate to the street slam shut.

I sat staring at my hands, numb with shock. George wandered into the kitchen and, taking his pipe out of his mouth, asked, "What's wrong with our Sharon?" Fighting my emotions, I managed to sound reasonably calm as I said she was just a bit upset about something, and it was a bad time in the month for her. That last reference was enough to send George scuttling for cover.

I went up to my bedroom and called Steve. He was delighted to hear from me, but I interrupted him. "Sharon knows. Oh Steve, she saw us yesterday, and tonight I told her."

His reaction momentarily stunned me. "Good. Has she told your husband? Well, she will." Oh I knew she would, of that there wasn't a doubt in the world. Steve was still talking. "Then we can be together properly, just like we want to. Jill, it had to happen sooner or later: it's just our good fortune that it's happened sooner."

When I hung up I felt faint. Everything had happened so very quickly. I hadn't given a single thought to where my relationship with Steve would go, if anywhere, I'd just been living for every moment with him. Now I would have to confront it. But lying awake in bed that night, my subconscious contradicted me. It had already decided where it wanted to take me, and it agreed with my lover: sooner rather than later.

I was on tenterhooks all the next day at work, wondering if Sharon had contacted George. That evening I told him, before she had a chance to. I did it as gently as I could, telling him I would always love him, but that I wasn't in love with him. Telling him what I felt for Steve, how he made me feel. George said nothing for fully two minutes, just sat and stared into the electric fire. I was on the verge of begging him to say something to me, anything, when he sat back with a sigh and stared at the ceiling. "I knew there was something up. We've known each other too long for me not to. I still love you, but you've made your decision, and I respect it. I'm gonna miss you darlin'." He quietly rose from his chair, rested his hand on my head for a moment, then went up to bed. I slept in the spare room, crying for half the night.

The next day I 'phoned Steve, then 'phoned in sick. I waited until George left for work, then packed a suitcase and called a taxi. Twenty minutes later Steve was carrying my bag up the stairs of his apartment - our apartment. When he put his arms around me and kissed my lips, I asked him nervously, "Steve, you don't regret this, do you?" He gave me a smile like a summer sunrise, and told me he was happier than he'd ever been before.

We made tender love, Steve caressing my vagina with his cock rather than us pounding at each other, as we usually did. Then, exhausted from the emotions of the previous couple of days, I slept. I awoke to the feel of Steve's teeth gently grazing my nipple. He dropped to the foot of the bed and sucked my toes, each in turn. He licked and kissed his way up my legs, then it felt as if the top of my head would come off as, for the first time in my life, I experienced a tongue entering my pussy. He serviced me for at least an hour, and I squirmed and shook to orgasm after orgasm on his beautiful tongue and his sweet fingers.

George and I stayed friends, but we don't really see each other anymore. I heard he'd taken up with a lady he's known for years through the football supporter's club, so that's nice. I doubt that Sharon will ever speak to me again. I find that terribly sad: any mother would. But we only have one shot at life, and I have no regrets about taking the chance fate offered me. Steve and I have been together a year now, and he seems more affectionate every day. My divorce was finalised last week, and the same day Steve asked me to marry him. We both cried as we made love after that.