Heat and Longing Pt. 01

Jenny Nielsen stretched the long, languid stretch of someone thoroughly enjoying the summer heat. Rolling to her right, she grabbed her drink from the little wooden table next to her sun-lounger. She adjusted her position, sitting up a little as she pressed the glass against her forehead, savouring a brief moment of coolness, feeling the icy condensation on her hot skin. Beyond the parasol, the sun blazed relentlessly from a sky that was a perfect azure blue except for a few skinny clouds slinking along the horizon over the fields to the west, as if trying to evade its harsh glare. Jenny ran a hand through her spiky, platinum blonde hair, silently congratulating herself on her decision to have it cut so short last time. Only the beginning of June and southern England baked in unseasonably hot weather.

The ice cubes clinked dully as she swilled her white wine and soda around the tall glass; she watched as they gradually melted, the sharp edges becoming dull. She knew she probably shouldn't be drinking this early in the afternoon, but she'd felt she'd earned a little wine after finishing her housework and gardening chores when it was cooler this morning. Eventually she'd decided to compromise, diluting the sauvignon blanc with plenty of ice and soda. And why shouldn't she? She was on holiday after all. Although the days were rushing by now, only another three weeks of rest and relaxation before the stresses and responsibilities of the new term beginning at the start of September.

She pushed her dark designer sunglasses up over the moist skin on the bridge of her nose and stared down the long garden, over the neatly mown lawn and well-kept flowerbeds to the bottom where her stepson Tom was building a new fence. The grass was coloured toasty brown now, looking like so much straw except near the tall side fence where there was some relief from the sun. Beyond the half-completed fence, empty farmland stretched into the distance, shimmering in the midday heat.

She loved the garden here; it was the main reason that she and Geoff had bought this place. She loved the neat layout, this view over the fields, the peace and quiet of this semi-rural area. Only twenty minutes out of town, yet it felt like they were miles from anywhere. They'd moved here shortly after they got married, the second time around for both of them. The chance of a new start after her unnecessarily long and drawn-out divorce.

She still found it hard to believe her ex-husband had had an affair with his much younger secretary, who turned out to look like a younger version of herself. What a ridiculous fucking cliché. Perhaps he'd been having some sort of early mid-life crisis. In any case, she was better off without him.

The oval oasis of shade cast by the sunshade had inched across to her left as the sun tracked through the sky leaving the lower half of her legs exposed, and she shifted position bending her knees so that her feet were shielded from the harsh sunlight.

A series of dull thuds brought her attention back to her stepson. He was back from university for the summer and his father had some put him to work, paying him to replace the old fence at the bottom of the garden. His father had given him a generous rate and Tom was certainly earning it today, toiling manfully in the heat.

He was a good-looking lad, easy to like, with a cute, lopsided grin, and mischievous blue eyes that narrowed when he laughed. Like his father, he was quiet and intelligent with a sharp sense of humour. Physically, he was short and compact with a stocky build and an untidy mop of dark brown hair. He played rugby for the university, and she watched the bulky muscles of his arms and shoulders shifting under his damp t-shirt as he drove the spade into the baked-hard earth, creating a deep, narrow hole for one of the new fence posts. Truly, she mused, there was nothing more pleasurable than relaxing and having a glass of something cold whilst watching someone else work.

She lay back and listened to the sounds of the garden: the dry leaves rustling in the breeze, the intricate, secret songs of the birds, the distant diesel rumble of a tractor. She sighed as she felt the cool breeze kiss her bare legs, making her skin tingle. She stretched again, feeling the sun's heat on her fingertips as they ventured outside of the shade. At the end of the garden, she watched as Tom took off his faded red baseball cap and tossed it onto one of the fence posts, before pulling at his t-shirt. He struggled a little, the thin cotton clinging to his damp skin, his muscles sliding smoothly under his tanned skin as he worked it over his broad shoulders then up over his head. He hung it over one of the wooden rails, before running a hand through his dark hair, sweeping it back off his forehead. Jenny watched with an odd mixture and guilt and arousal at the sight of his bare chest above his knee-length khaki shorts, watching as he tilted his head back and he took a long swig of water from a nearby bottle, before wiping his mouth with a dusty forearm.

She shifted position, bending one leg as she sat up a little, letting the hem of her thin floral skirt slide up over the smoothness of her freshly shaved thigh, her skin a little paler there. As she took another long sip of her drink, she felt a drop of sweat tickling her skin as it ran between her breasts, and watched as Tom bunched his t-shirt in a large fist and mopped his neck and shoulders, his bronzed skin glistening in the sunshine. It was like watching a diet coke advert, he certainly was very fit. He must attract the attention of the girls at university although when she asked him about girlfriends yesterday he looked embarrassed and quickly changed the subject. His father laughed and punched his arm playfully, said he'd always been a little shy.

She hadn't known him long and had seen little of him since the marriage as he was away most of the time. She resolved to get to know him a little better before he returned next week. She made a mental note to ask her sister if she knew of a good restaurant where they could all go for dinner.

As she watched him pick up the shovel once more, she felt a little shocked to find herself wondering what it would feel like to trail her fingers over those solid-looking pec's, to trace the lean contours of his firm flesh. To be fair, at twenty, he was only twelve years younger and if he was going to strip off right in front of her she could hardly be blamed. Strictly speaking, he was her stepson of course, but they weren't related in any real sense.

In any case, it was her husband's fault. Perhaps if he was a little more attentive in the bedroom she wouldn't find her mind wandering so much. Take this morning, for example. She'd awoken early, a cool breeze making the thin curtains flutter, the early morning sunlight invading the darkness of their bedroom. It had been another hot, sticky night and she'd sighed contentedly as her arm snaked around his chest feeling the soft rise and fall as she wrapped herself around the warm, reassuringly bulk of her husband's body, her breasts squashed against his back, her leg draped over his.

He was still half-asleep, his breathing slow and even as she trailed her fingers over the lean hardness of his chest, feeling the little triangular thatch of hair in the centre and the bumps of his nipples then lower, squeezing the firm globes of his buttocks, sensing him becoming awake.

"Morning," she whispered huskily, drawing his earlobe between her lips then kissing his neck.

"Hmm, morning," he grunted as she slowly slid her hand up over his warm thigh.

It had been such a hot night that they'd both slept naked and she cupped his balls now, gently squeezing them, drawing another hot moan.

"Babe, listen, this is nice, but I've got to get..." he murmured as she ran a finger along his dormant cock.

"Shh, it's still early, just try to relax, just for a little bit," she whispered seductively, wrapping her fingers around him, gently stroking him. He always loved this, or at least he did when they first dated. She'd slowly stroke him, feeling her excitement grow as his cock swelled beneath her fingers, his drowsy murmurs turning into longing groans. She'd become expert at caressing him a little more softly and slowly than he wanted, teasing him a little, giving him a little stimulation but never quite enough to satisfy, anticipating the point where he would lose control, twisting around in bed and rolling on top, and pressing his body against hers, hungrily kissing her neck, her boobs, his weight pinning her to the mattress before he gave her the fucking she so sorely needed.

Her fingers worked up and down slowly, patiently trying to coax him a little harder as she kissed his shoulders and neck. It would have been so nice to make slow, sensual love in the pleasant coolness of the morning. She'd imagined getting him good and hard before rolling him onto his back and mounting him, impaling herself on his lovely stiff shaft. Then gently riding him, just like in the days we they first met, when they couldn't keep their hands off one another. Working her hips back and forth, taking her time, lazily fucking him as he lay back his thick arms folded beneath his head as he watched her breasts sway, her fingers swirling around her clit quicker and quicker till she reached the very peak of pleasure. And yet as he remained as soft as cooked spaghetti, she struggled to control her disappointment, her enthusiasm gradually ebbing away.

"What's the matter? Don't you like this?" she whispered, trying not to sound too upset.

"I'm sorry, it's this bloody project, we're already over-running, I've really got to get in early," he said, twisting around and briefly pressing his lips against hers.

And that was that. She really shouldn't complain, after all it was the money from his new landscaping business that had helped them buy this house and made them so well-off. Now he was in charge of his own firm, she understood that there was more pressure, more demands on his time. Still, she couldn't help feeling a little hurt at his lack of enthusiasm, couldn't help wondering how long it was going to be before he could step back from his responsibilities and they could get back to normal. Quite a while, if this morning was anything to go by. Perhaps that's why her mind kept forming such forbidden thoughts and her body reacted to the lightest stimulation. She just felt so... tense. No, that wasn't the right word. She was an English teacher and she knew very well what the right word was: the prolonged dry spell in both the weather and in bed had made her feel horny. It was crude but accurate.

After breakfast, she'd spent the early part of the morning working on a lesson plan for the new term: the difference between similes and metaphors. It was a simple enough lesson: an explanation, some examples, some exercises. Well, if there was ever a metaphor for her love life, perhaps this was it: lying here pondering why her husband couldn't achieve an erection whilst watching the virile young man at the bottom of her garden, wrestling one of the thick, phallic fence posts into place, his nicely-toned shoulder and arm muscles bulging beneath skin glistening with sweat. She almost laughed at the crude symbolism as he wrestled it into place, sliding it smoothly into the hole that he'd dug. She bit her lip, as he lifted it a little, his biceps straining then dropped it, then repeated the action, the bottom thudding hard against the compacted earth as he rammed it deeper, forcing it into the snug hole.

She shook her head, as if that would shake free the inappropriate images forming in her head. Whatever had come over her? Perhaps it would be best if she got a cool shower. She glanced at her slim gold watch, and realised it was later than she thought. Geoff would be home in an hour or two, and she needed to start dinner. She got up reluctantly, stretched her long legs then sauntered down the path.

"Hey, Jenny," Tom said, dragging his forearm along his sweaty forehead as she approached. It felt a little odd to be called by her first name, but he could hardly call her 'mum'. He had a perfectly good mother, who lived barely two miles away with a dentist in a mock Tudor cottage. It was just that sometimes, the way he said it, felt sarcastic, like a child talking back to her in class.

"Hey, this looks great, you're doing so well," she replied as if she was praising one of her pupils. Up close, she noticed how plump his lips were, almost feminine-looking.

"Yeah, another day or two and I'll be done," he said, leaning heavily on the post he'd just sunk.

"You must be so hot, can I get you a drink?" she asked, unable to stop her eyes straying down over his bare chest. Up close he looked even more impressive, his torso lean and solid, his muscles clearly defined under his tanned skin.

"No, I'm fine, I've just going to set this post, then get a shower before dinner," he said, and she could have been imagining it, but she thought she caught his large, dark brown eyes sliding over her body, checking her out, perhaps noting the way her white vest top clung to her C-cup breasts, revealing their pert shape, riding up a little at the bottom, exposing a sliver of tanned stomach.

"OK, well don't overdo it, and keep drinking your water," she said, trying to play the role of caring stepmother and yet feeling a little flustered as she turned away, just about able to resist a glance over her shoulder to see if he was watching.

---

The shower felt good, the powerful jets of fresh water making her skin tingle as it blasted

away the mixture of salty perspiration and suntan lotion. After she finished, she changed into a faded pair of denim cut-offs and an old red t-shirt then tossed her vest top and skirt into the wash basket and started downstairs towards the washing machine. It felt quite light, perhaps not quite enough for a full load, so she turned back and gently knocked on the door of Tom's room.

"Tom?" she said, then paused waiting for a reply that didn't come.

"Tom?" she repeated, knocking a little louder.

She was wary of barging into a young man's bedroom, who knew what he might be up to in there? But there was no reply, and she guessed he was probably downstairs somewhere.

"Tom, are you in there?" she said again as she put the basket down and slowly eased open the door.

The room was much as she'd anticipated; untidy and cluttered. There were clothes scattered around the floor, including the ones he'd been wearing earlier. His laptop and phone were on the bed charging, and his Playstation hummed beneath their old television, some violent video game paused on screen. There was a hissing noise coming from the half-open door to the en-suite and she realised he must be in the shower.

She shook her head as she started to gather the ragged assortment of clothes. There was a trail of limp, discarded items leading to the en-suite's door: a damp grey t-shirt, the khaki shorts, a pair of ankle length socks and finally a pair of black trunks. She paused by the half-open door, aware that he was naked a few feet away on the other side.

She knew she should really get on with filling the washing machine, and let him have his privacy so why was she hesitating? Why was she edging a little closer to the door? She felt the warmth and humidity on her face as she peered through the gap between the door and the frame, some wisps of steamy air escaping the bathroom. This is so wrong she thought as she leaned forward, what if he saw her? She supposed she'd have to say she was following the trail of discarded clothes whilst she was looking for a load to fill the machine.

It was a modern bathroom, all gleaming white tiles and bright, silver fittings. A large number of bottles and tubes were lined up on the shelves: deodorants, shaving gels, moisturisers, even facial scrubs. Had he more cosmetics than her!

The stand-alone shower was in the far corner, and as she edged a little further forward, she was relieved to find him facing away from the door. Tom stood beneath the shower head, vigorously rubbing his dark hair.

He had a good body for rugby, compact with broad shoulders. She watched the muscles of his back rippling under his skin as he massaged his scalp, thick blobs of rich white lather sliding over his naked flesh. His skin was smooth and tanned, his arms, back and legs a deep golden brown, but with a broad, pale band around his hips. She wondered if Geoff knew about the tattoo of a swift, high on one of his neatly rounded buttocks. She felt the slow smoulder of arousal as she watched the water sluicing over the solid contours of his body. She wondered what would it feel like to spread the thick white suds over his skin, slide her soapy hands over the sculpted curves of his smooth, hairless chest.

She caught her breath and shrank back, her heart thumping as he turned around. She took a long, deep breath then slowly peeked around the door again. She was relieved to see him facing her, but with his face tilted upwards, eyes squeezed shut as he washed the lather from his face, combing his fingers through the wet curls of his dark hair. Her eyes lingering on his thick biceps then irresistibly down over the well-defined slabs of his pectorals, his taut stomach, then lower still.

He had little pubic hair, just a sparse fuzz of tight curls around his cock and balls, and she wondered if he shaved down there. He always seemed to be so well-groomed when he was going out with his friends. Perhaps that lack of hair is what made him look so well-endowed: his cock was certainly a good size, uncircumsized, a little longer than her husband's and quite thick too. He looked semi-erect, his shaft jutting out forming a graceful curve around his balls. She felt the air around her grow hotter and more humid as she watched it swing thickly between his golden-haired, muscular thighs as he vigorously rubbed his hair.

He grew a little harder as she watched and she wondered what he was thinking about. The thought that he might be thinking about her made her feel a little unsteady and she leant against the doorframe as she slowly slid a hand down over her neck, then over the slope of her breast. She suppressed a soft gasp as she squeezed the pliant flesh, watching as she slid his hands over his glossy skin, the hard contours of his body caught in the bright evening sunlight slanting in from the window.

She had the sudden, irrational urge to strip off her clothes and slip into the shower with him, to play the sexy older seductress.

"Need some help with your back," she'd say huskily as she squirted shower gel onto her hands and slowly ran them over the broad planes of his tanned skin, massaging the firm flesh.

"Just thought you deserved a little reward for all your hard work today," she'd add as slid her hands round to the front, rubbing her soapy hands over the solid slabs of his pec's, the toned muscles of his stomach, then lower. Hearing his breathing quicken, his boyish gasps as she felt his cock come alive beneath her fingers. Unlike her husband, she imagined his eager young cock quickly swelling and throbbing beneath her soapy fingers.

"Yes, oh God, yes," he'd groan as she slowly stroked him up and down, enjoying his steely hardness. Pressing against him, her bare breasts against his back, her arousal growing along with his shaft, rubbing him a little faster now, feeling him become good and hard.

She slid a hand between her legs, massaging herself through the denim as she fantasized about him spinning around, drawing her into a long, passionate kiss as the warm water streamed over their naked bodies. His warm lips on her neck, her breasts, her stomach as she moaned happily. Then lower still, quickly finding the centre of her arousal, kissing her inner thighs, lapping at her labia as she ran her fingers through his wet hair, drawing him closer. Perhaps he'd be shy or inexperienced and she'd have to help him, show him what to do, direct his eager tongue to the parts that made her throw her head back and moan gratefully.