Manchild

All sexual activities and themes described in this story involve consenting individuals who are 18 years of age or older. Nothing to the contrary is intended or implied.

□ □ □ □ □

The kid was definitely hitting on me.

The "kid" in question was 19. Young enough to be my son, which he certainly wasn't. Or my son's friend...

...which he certainly was.

That, I suppose, is an obvious red line to avoid. But Anthony was capable of blurring lines. He didn't look or act or carry himself like a "kid". I'm a tall woman at 5'10", but Anthony towered over me. He and my son, Josh, had been high school football teammates a year earlier, and the roster had listed Anthony at 6'4", 215 pounds. He looked a lot bigger than that up close, in the gym, right after his workout...in a tight white tank top stretched to the limits by his pectoral muscles, with naked biceps that seemed to rumble when he moved...smooth, chocolate skin stretched over those lovely muscles, sexy smile, a young (very young) Denzel looking straight into your eyes, with the confidence of an older, sophisticated Alpha male.

The term "Manchild" popped into my head, even though that usually refers to the opposite: a fully grown man acting childish, rather than a younger man who carries himself as though older.

Then again, I suppose that a young man making a move on his friend's mother, indulging his fantasy instead of keeping it locked safely away, does suggest a reckless disregard for consequences and perhaps a questionable level of maturity.

Okay then, let's go with Manchild.

The Manchild was definitely "hitting on" me. Flirting? Well, of course...

"Looking really nice, Mrs. H," he said, his eyes taking a leisurely stroll up and down my body. And yeah, I probably did look nice, my long, athletic swimmer's body sporting a post-yoga glow; sweaty and flushed and breathless, my tight yoga pants showing plenty of curves and my skimpy sports bra showing plenty of skin.

"Thank you, Anthony." I tried to shrug off the compliment, but it left me a bit flustered. "Um, you can call me Melanie now. Or Mel."

"Mel," he repeated, rolling the "L" around in his mouth like he was tasting wine. "I like that, it's sexy...it suits you."

Sexy? Did he just say "sexy" to his friend's mom? It gave me a flutter in my tummy...and maybe a little lower than that.

And it made me more than a little hot and bothered. Despite my dark brunette hair and brown eyes, my skin tone is light enough that when I blush, you can't miss it. Getting called "sexy" by Anthony made me blush big time. I felt the heat not just in my face, but my neck, my shoulders...my chest. Yes, way down my chest between the swell of my breasts, and that's where his eyes went. And stayed for a moment, before returning unapologetically to mine.

Anthony's attention toward me was flattering and flustering, but to be honest, it wasn't the first time my son's friends had taken notice of me. Sometimes they'd let their eyes linger on me or hit me with an awkward compliment. Usually, it was easy to ignore or laugh off.

But the flirting with Anthony was going a little beyond just lingering glances and stumbling flattery. Anthony's approach was anything but awkward. He was smooth and confident, and at times playfully aggressive.

And then there was the fact that he was standing so damn close to me, crowding me with his testosterone-infused Alpha male presence. Touching me, even, his fingertips grazing my arm and shoulder as we laughed. And when I didn't stop him there, he brazenly touched my cheek as he brushed aside a loose strand of my hair. I could have, and should have, put a stop to this, of course, stepping back or pushing him away or admonishing him. I didn't because...I didn't want to embarrass him or make a scene? Or because I just didn't want to stop him?

And finally, he wasn't just satisfied with flirting. He was pressing deeper into the realm of the taboo.

"I miss you. We should hang out some time," he said.

"Hang out?" I kept the tone neutral, masking surprise and incredulity.

"To get caught up," he said. "We haven't talked in a while. We can grab a coffee or something."

"Coffee. Sure, we can do that sometime."

"Or dinner."

Dinner is not the same as coffee. Anthony was actually asking me out. On a date. Me, more than two decades older, his friend's mother. Even if he couldn't see how implausible that was, I should have called it out. But I could only manage a half-assed attempt to discourage him.

"Sure," I said. "My husband would love to see you too." My voice was level, even though my heart was inexplicably pounding.

"Really?" he asked in a tone bordering on sarcastic. The delivery included a smirk and a side eye. The smirk stayed in place as he waited me out, silently demanding a real answer.

I could have shut him down with "sorry I'm married"; or sucker punched him with "I don't date my son's friends"; or just dropped a simple "no, I don't think so". Instead...

"Maybe...let me think about it." Yeah, girl, way to shut it down.

He'd gotten something close to what he wanted, so he knew better than to push his luck for the moment. He gave me another sexy smile.

"Think about it," he said, then turned to stroll away.

"See you around, Sexy Mel," he said, loud enough that a few of our fellow gym members turned their heads in surprise.

□ □ □ □ □

Over the next couple of hours, the intensity of the encounter faded. My heart was no longer pounding and the flushed, hot feeling in my face and chest was mostly gone. It left in its wake a cocktail of milder but still distracting emotions: disappointment in myself for not handling it better; indignation over this cocky Manchild's audacity; but also, an illicit thrill over the whole thing, hitched to a dash of guilt for actually, on some level, enjoying it.

No matter. It was over and done with. Although we belonged to the same gym, there was no guarantee Anthony and I would see each other anytime soon, so the whole thing might just fade from memory. If I did run into him, and he dared to bring it up again, that would give me a chance to set him straight. So, I could stop stewing over it and move on. Not a big deal at all.

It was certainly not something I needed to tell my husband about, right?

Right?

"So, I ran into Anthony today at the gym," I blurted out as I rinsed off the dinner plates and utensils and loaded the dishwasher. What made me bring it up? Guilt, I guess, or a previously undiagnosed case of OCD. Dan, my husband (and Josh's stepfather) of seven years, still sat at the dinner table, checking emails and sports scores on his phone.

"Anthony?" he asked distractedly, not raising his eyes from the phone.

"Yeah." I was already kicking myself for bringing it up. Did I REALLY want to talk to my husband about getting asked out by a 19-year-old? Luckily, he wasn't paying attention, so I'd dodged a self-inflicted bullet.

"Anthony who?" he asked. Oops, not dodged quite yet.

"Josh's friend." I kept my back to him as I did kitchen stuff.

"Anthony Sherman? From football?"

"Yeah." I snuck a glance over my shoulder, hoping he was still focused on his phone. But he wasn't, he was looking at me now.

"Good kid," he said. "What's he up to? Going to college?"

"Taking some classes at the junior college, but mostly working." Okay, this was a safe conversational direction.

"Playing football?"

"No. Said he might play next year."

"Hmm, okay. I hope he does; I think he's got the talent to get recruited by a four-year school." And that seemed like a good place to leave it, so I didn't respond. A couple of heartbeats passed. Yeah, bullet dodged. I was done with the dishes, so I turned back toward him. He was looking at his phone again. I leaned back against the counter, facing him as I sipped a lemonade.

"At the gym, you say?" he asked suddenly.

"Hmmm?"

"At the gym. You ran into him at the gym?"

"Uh, yeah." I tried to play it off like I was bored and not really focused on it, but he was staring at me with a shit eating grin.

"He must have enjoyed seeing you in those tight little yoga pants."

"WHAT? Dan, for fuck sake!" I tried to act annoyed and disgusted, but I was fighting a losing battle to keep from laughing at his exaggerated leer.

"Don't laugh," he chuckled. "That kid had a serious crush on you, I'm sure he still does."

"That's bullshit Dan, come on --"

"All Josh's friends did."

"No way. How would you even know that?"

"Well, I'm not blind. Also not deaf, and teenagers as a rule have no idea how loud they talk."

"Oh my god. This is disgusting. You're talking about me like I'm a...like I'm some kind of..."

"Some kind of MILF," he growled, and he was out of his chair, stomping across the kitchen, shoving his body into mine, pinning my ass against the counter. His hands grabbed my hips, his chest and groin pressed into me. I was laughing, until he kissed me, with fire and passion, like he did back when we were still dating.

Dan is a great man in so many ways. Strong, handsome, hardworking, successful. An outstanding role model and stepfather to my son.

A great man...a good lover. With a nice above average cock. Our sex life was...fine. Good. Maybe not quite what it used to be. What the hell, what do you expect, we've been married seven years. So maybe the fire had dimmed a bit.

But that night the flame burned so hot that our bed seemed to be on fire. Dan was rock hard, I was dripping wet.

He pounded me missionary style, getting deeper into me than I thought he could reach.

And for such a good man, he was being a very naughty boy.

"My fucking hot little MILF," he growled.

"Don't....oh my god...call me that," I gasped.

"Hot college studs drooling over your sexy body!"

"Stop it, you...oh fuck...you freak."

"I bet Anthony got hard for you. Looking at that tight little yoga ass."

"Oh my god you sick bastard...fuck yes right there baby...harder..."

"I bet he's jerking himself off right now."

"Will you for fuck sake shut up OH GOD YES I'M CUMMING OHHH..."

Then I was on top, straddling him and riding him as his hands groped me. And then he gave me a good hard spanking and told me what a bad girl I was for teasing horny young college guys, and that seemed to put him over the edge. I shivered with pleasure and sexual relief as he ejaculated inside me, and I came with him. But just as I went off, my mind was invaded by the Denzel smile and the smooth chocolate skin and the bulging muscles of Anthony the Manchild.

□ □ □ □ □

We lay in the dark afterwards, mostly in a slightly awkward silence. Despite the hot, dirty release we'd gotten from the hot, dirty sex, we weren't quite relaxed. There was a trace of tension in the air. Something was off.

It almost felt like there was someone else in the room with us.

"How did it feel?" he asked out of the blue. The sudden rupture in the silence gave me a mild jump scare.

"It was good for me," I said. "Was it good for you?" He snorted.

"It was amazing, but that's not what I meant. How did it feel to be half naked at the gym, flirting with a young stud like Anthony?"

"Jesus, Dan, will you let it go? We weren't half naked, we were...in gym clothes."

"Okay, seven sixteenths naked..."

"And who the hell said we were flirting?"

"Were you flirting?"

"Dan, for fuck sake, we were just talking...and joking around a little..."

"That sounds kinda like flirting," he said. Fuck. I was starting to get annoyed, tired of being on the defensive.

"You can call it what you want. We didn't do anything wrong. We were just talking. if you're gonna get mad about it --"

"Baby. Sweetheart. I'm not mad. I promise." He reached out in the dark and tenderly caressed my cheek. "It's just...interesting. Intriguing. Kind of..." he trailed off.

"Kind of what?"

"Kind of...hot."

"WHAT? Oh my god..."

"Baby. Relax. It's just...you're beautiful and sexy and I'm proud that you're my wife. And guys check you out all the time. All the time! And I guess it kind of strokes my ego, and... and..."

"And it kind of turns you on."

"...yeah..."

The conversation dropped off for a bit. I was thinking about what he said. He was probably thinking he said too much.

"Okay," I said. "I mean, I get it. I guess. It's...interesting."

"And...kinda hot?"

"Maybe."

We were lying on our sides. He was spooning me, cuddled against me from behind. And I could tell that he found this conversation arousing, because his cock was hard against my ass. But I didn't feel like going another round. I was tired and Dan had given me some stuff to process. I lay still and went silent, and after a bit, I felt him soften again. And then I started to drift off.

I was only half asleep, so I was aware that he was moving around a bit to get comfortable. I had to adjust my position as well, which unfortunately signaled to him that I was still awake.

"Well," he said with a chuckle, "at least the kid didn't ask you out."

Fuck.

I hadn't expected that, and I didn't have a reply ready. So I said nothing, which was not the right response. One heartbeat, two, three...and then the bed shook as he sat up suddenly.

"Oh my god! He DID ask you out!"

"What? No, baby, if wasn't like that...just go to sleep baby..."

"He did! He asked you out, didn't he?"

Fuck.

"Baby. It wasn't like that," I said.

"What was it like?" I tried to pick up the nuances of his tone, but I couldn't quite figure it out. He sounded surprised, animated...but not angry.

"He just wanted to go have coffee..." Or dinner. "Or something."

"Or something? What's something?"

"Okay, look. I think he was just kind of joking; I didn't take it seriously. Anyway, don't blame him, maybe I could have handled it better -- "

"I'm not blaming anyone. I'm just...interested. Anyway, I assume you shut him down."

*Of course."

"What did you say?"

"Ummm...I just kind of blew him off and said...'I'll think about it.'"

Yeah, okay that explanation sounded better in my head before I said it. There was silence from Dan. I sighed heavily.

"I blew it," I said. "I made a mistake. I should have just said forget it, but I was trying to spare his feelings. I'm sorry Dan, I'm so sorry."

"Baby, I --"

"I'll text him tomorrow. No, I'll call him. I'll set him straight, I'll make it crystal clear. And then I hope you'll be able to forgive me."

"Wait, Mel! Hang on, baby. I get it, I understand. I told you, I'm not mad. It's just...wow."

"Yeah, wow, your slutty wife, running around in yoga pants, luring young men --"

"Baby, stop. It's okay, I'm not mad at all. I told you, I think it's sexy. You're a gorgeous woman, maybe I take that for granted sometimes, but hearing this...it's just wild, I can see you through the eyes of a young man who is drawn to you..."

"Jesus, Dan..."

"And also," he began, but then hesitated. He was on the edge of revealing something secret. I wasn't sure I wanted to know it, but I wanted him to trust me.

"Also?" I prompted.

"Also...I wonder how it feels...to you. I trust you; I know you'll always be loyal to me, but...I wonder if it's exciting for you to be desired like that. I wonder how you feel about him; he's a handsome kid who was always surrounded by girls, you can't tell me you aren't attracted to him. I wonder about the emotions you felt. I wonder how your body felt. I wonder if you were aroused. I wonder if you were...tempted."

Luckily, I was in bed, because if I'd been standing, my jaw would have broken when it hit the floor. I don't live a completely sheltered life; I hear things, I read things, I know there are men who get aroused by the thought of their wives being with other men. I knew some people took it to the level of fetish, and some even acted out their desires.

But Dan didn't fit my stereotype of a willing cuckold. In my mind, I associated that kink with guys who lacked self-esteem or weren't comfortable with their masculinity. Dan was confident, strong, proud, and as masculine as you could want.

Of course, stereotypes are mostly bullshit; I should know better than to think that way. And of course, Dan was far from diving headfirst into a bold new lifestyle. He was opening up and confessing an interest, maybe a fantasy, about other men finding me attractive. At most, he was just sticking a toe in the water.

But...it felt like something more than that. He'd struggled at first just to get the words out, but once he started talking, I couldn't miss his intensity...his urgency. His fascination with my sexuality. It wasn't a momentary whim. It had deeper roots in him. Did I really want to know how deep? Maybe not, but at least I owed him some honesty after he'd trusted me with his secret.

"I liked it," I began. I heard a sudden intake of his breath. But he said nothing, not daring to interrupt. "He was totally focused on me, and his presence is...overpowering. It was intense.

"He was standing close to me, crowding me. I had my back to a wall; I felt a little bit trapped and vulnerable. Not on the surface, but underneath. And...it was...it made me feel...okay, I guess a little bit aroused. And he touched me, just a little bit, my arm, my shoulder...my, my, ummm, my face..."

There was another silence, until he cleared his throat.

"Were you tempted?" He was repeating the last of his questions, the one I really didn't want to answer. But I took a leap of faith and decided to come clean.

"It was tempting but I wasn't tempted," I told him. "Yeah, I was attracted to him, and I was...feeling something for him. In a simple world, sure, maybe I'd want to...hang out with him. But life's not that simple. I wasn't really tempted because it's not a realistic possibility."

"Just being devil's advocate here...why not?"

"It's just too much of a leap. I'm married, I'm a mom, I've never done anything like that. How do I suddenly get from where I am, to running around with guys 20 years younger than me?"

"Maybe you don't do it suddenly," he answered. "Maybe you take baby steps."

□ □ □ □ □

Anthony had told me that Wednesday night was his biggest workout of the week. He got home from work at 5:00, then had time to eat, do some homework, and get to the gym by 7:30 or 8:00. Since it was midweek, the opportunities for dating or doing stuff with friends were limited, so he had time to throw himself into a long, hard workout.

I usually swam at a pool across town on Wednesday nights, then did a yoga class at the gym on Thursdays. But it was easy enough to switch those around. So, I strolled into the gym on Wednesday just a few minutes before the 7:30 yoga class.

Anthony was at the gym, and he spotted me first. By the time I saw him, shooting the shit with a couple of guys while he waited for a weight machine, his eyes were already tracking me. That gave me a jolt of adrenaline, enhanced perhaps by a side of dopamine and a dash of estrogen.

He knew, of course, that there was a possibility, or even a likelihood, that I would avoid him or give him the cold shoulder after his aggressive move on me. So, he simply watched me, waiting for a sign. He'd taken his shot, and the ball was in my court.

I gave him a flirty smile and a little wave. Your move, Manchild.

I rarely used the locker rooms, which were all the way to the back of the gym. Instead, I headed for a rack of cubbyholes near the entrance to the big dance studio, which was used for yoga, aerobics and the like. I slipped off my shoes first, since, like most of the yoga crowd, I preferred doing the class barefoot.

Next, I unzipped and shed my hoodie. I had long ago made the leap to working out in just a sports bra, which I found cooler and more comfortable than covering up with a sweaty T-shirt. As a still-active competitive swimmer, I had the body for it: long and lean build, with sculpted shoulders, back and upper arms. The C-cups complemented the look quite nicely.