Sylvia, Neil and Bobbie, Too

Sylvia paused, looking at her son's face. His words surprised her.

Goodness, what a mature, insightful thing for my boy to say!

"You don't mind?" She asked, just to be sure.

I guess he may be growing up after all.

"Are you kidding?" Neil looked like he was going to roll his eyes again, but didn't. He turned his gaze from the TV and looked directly at her. "I can't understand why you don't go out more, maybe have a life outside of work and being a mom."

"But, I..."

Neil didn't let her finish.

"Mom, I'm eighteen now, legally an adult. I can take care of myself."

He turned his eyes back to the TV set.

"Hmmm..." Sylvia gave her son a sidelong glance. Her slender fingers brushed across his arm. "You think so, eh?"

Neil looked back at his mother. "Well, you know what I mean." He paused a few beats, then continued. "I love you and want you to be happy, too."

What a sweet thing for my boy to say.

"I love you too, honey."

Lost in the loving moment, without thinking, her eyes dropped. She couldn't help but look at his midsection again. What she saw was a reminder of how Neil had become a man.

Oh, my God.

Her son was sporting a full erection, not that she could tell by his voice and demeanor, but there it was, fully extended underneath his old gym shorts. Sylvia couldn't help but stare. The thin fabric perfectly outlined his erection, and the loose leg holes left large gaps, revealing a glimpse of his testicles. Sylvia's eyes drank in the sight.

Damn! He never bothers with underwear around the house. This is the first time I've been grateful.

Occupied with the day's many revelations, Sylvia had managed to shelve her incestuous daydreams regarding Neil since early that day, but now they returned with a vengeance. She licked her lips.

My son has quite a package.

She averted her eyes to the TV as heat rose in her cheeks.

Jesus, Sylvia. Making out with Bobbie and now you're back home, lusting after your son again. Naughty pervert!

"You okay, Mom?" Neil's voice startled her.

Oh, shit!

"Uh..." Sylvia removed her hand from Neil's arm. She had been clutching at it like she had squeezed Bobbie's ample thigh only an hour before. "Yes, baby." She stood up and started to remove her blouse, but stopped, remembering she did that in the bedroom, away from her son. He looked up, amused at her confusion.

"Are you sure?"

Sylvia pulled herself back into focus and returned to the moment. She backed up a few steps, clutching her blouse shut.

"Yes, I'm fine." She turned to retreat to her bedroom.

Okay, girl, just move your feet. Walk! Walk!

"The wine just caught up with me."

Neil laughed, watching her disappear down the hallway.

"Ha, ha! Mom's drunk!"

"Oh, you hush!" Her muffled voice responded from the back of the house.

Later that evening, after saying good night to her son, Sylvia closed her bedroom door. Quietly, she went through her dresser drawers, looking through undergarments, panties and bras mostly, to wear on her visit to Bobbie's house the next day. An insane fantasy, perhaps, but she hoped her friend would get to see them, and perhaps remove them. If the slight chance presented itself, she wanted to be prepared.

One particular matching set of bra and panties stood out in her mind. On their wedding night, ol' Dan-O had presented these to her, going so far as to strip her out of her wedding gown, down to her birthday suit, then slipping on the new panties and bra as she passively stood, aroused and quivering, like a life-sized erotic dress-up doll.

She remembered their honeymoon in exquisite detail. For years, she mulled scenes from that night over and over in her mind when she really needed something to make her come, or merely to keep her warm on those cold, lonely nights as she clutched the well-worn pillow between her thighs.

"Now it's time to fuck." She heard her new husband's voice growl as he pushed her willing body onto the heart-shaped bed.

The bra and panties fit loosely. There was a certain amount of guesswork in Dan's search, since he didn't know what sizes she wore. It didn't matter, because she was too distracted by his tireless lovemaking to notice, his animal roughness and skill at cunnilingus, and how his shaft fit her body to perfection. Wearing the bra and panties all through this matrimonial ritual added a bit of kink to the proceedings.

The silky, red garments stayed on until morning, the fabric caressing her breasts and nether regions, while they both came again and again. Dan nearly tore her panties at one point, jerking aside the gusset once again to couple with her and leave his raw seed. His saliva coated the bra cups as he tortured her nipples both through and underneath the bra as she whimpered, caught between pain and pleasure.

Recollections of that nuptial night never failed to get her hot and wet. That night, she was a new bride, fresh and full of hope, and Dan's passion for her was at its peak. Even after the ensuing days, weeks and months wore down their marriage, and Dan finally vanished under mysterious circumstances, she made sure those matching bra and panties were clean and well maintained, stashed away in her top dresser drawer under a pile of white, decidedly conservative granny panties.

From time to time, she would pull them out of the drawer, slip them on and, in the dark privacy of her bedroom, torture her nipples and masturbate herself to completion again and again, reliving that night of indescribable passion. Childbirth and the ensuing years had added a few pounds to her frame, but the once-loose garments still managed to fit without discomfort.

"Oh, Danny boy," she'd whisper to herself, moonlight filtering through the bedroom curtains to inundate her face with a silvery glow. "You were a fucking bastard, but God, how you made me come." Her fingers blurred against her throbbing, pink wetness. "How you made me do naughty, perverted things." The sensation in her body started to escalate. "How you made me cry..." She felt it coming. "How you hurt me countless times." The climax was nearing its peak. "And you made me beg! On my hands and knees!"

The orgasm hit. Sylvia felt the fabric of the panties caressing her fingers as she dug into her pussy, two fingers wriggling, as she dragged out a long, hard wave of pleasure. Then another.

"Bastard...bastard!!!" She hissed between clenched teeth as her body convulsed, her juices soaking her panties. "Goddamn, you son of a bitch, how you made me come so hard!"

In the aftermath, she licked the juices from her fingers, tears streaming down her cheeks, incapable of forgetting her lusty wedding night -- a night she would never experience again. She never missed Dan's abuse, his indiscretions and his unreliable behavior, but now, at arm's length, she could use it to her advantage, to fuel the twisted needs he brought out in her.

Now she huffed as she rifled through her collection of white panties, looking for a single, familiar flash of red satin.

Now where the fuck are they?

Sylvia took everything out of the top dresser drawer, her brow scrunching up with deep annoyance. She couldn't find her special bra and panties, dammit! She so much wanted to wear them to Bobbie's.

After meticulously searching through every drawer, her night stand, the closet, under the bed, then the laundry hamper, a place she would never leave them in a million years, she sat on her bed. The bedsprings creaked gently under the weight of her body. Sylvia found herself panting and weeping gently, tears flowing.

Where have they gone?

After a moment, she slapped herself on the face, trying to gain control of her emotions.

Come on, girl. Pull yourself together. They must be somewhere.

She took several deep breaths, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

Just when you stop looking for them, they'll show up. Not to worry.

After the day's events, poor Sylvia just had to come, and she did, quickly and violently. Then she came again. Sleep crept up on her as she languidly rubbed her breasts and pussy, longing for that bare-chested prince to come satisfy her, thinking of her young son's barely-concealed cock springing free for her to behold and touch, wondering what would happen with Bobbie tomorrow, and where the fuck were her special bra and panties?

She managed to sleep until well after dawn peeked around the blinds covering the bedroom windows. The sun rose in the sky until a strong, errant shaft of light came down upon her face.

"Ugh," she grimaced, pulling the blanket over her head, realizing it was late morning.

Today was the day.

Neil also slept late on the weekend, so she sleepily padded into the kitchen alone to get a pot of coffee going. Buttered toast with strawberry jam was in order, and Sylvia sat on a barstool, watching her sliver of the outside world through a large bay window facing the suburban street.

She could see her neighbors out in their yard, raking the lawn, pruning immaculate hedges lining the driveway. He was semi-retired, with greying hair and a thick pair of horn-rimmed glasses. He always wore a plaid shirt with short sleeves, and never failed to have a pouch for his glasses in his shirt pocket. A cigarette hung from his lips.

She was younger and somewhat plump, but Sylvia thought she carried it well. Like Bobbie, she was matronly and appealing at the same time, with an ample bust balanced by a full, round ass. She kept her hair long, not cutting it short like most women her age, nor did she color it. Streaks of grey punctuated her dark brown locks.

Sylvia thought of her friend as the neighbor wife bent over to pull some weeds around the mailbox, her rump presenting itself like a juicy peach. Sipping from a mug of black coffee, she glanced over to the tail end of a new, two-tone Buick Special protruding from their two-car garage, right next to a yellow Volkswagen Beetle. She munched toast, pondering her evolving relationships with Bobbie and with her son. No question things were changing rapidly and she had a bad habit of overthinking situations. This time, though, she wisely decided otherwise.

Sylvia, girl, you've been a good mother and you're also a good person. What with all the violence and unrest in the world these days, people loving one another shouldn't be wrong.

She licked the jam from her fingers and sipped more coffee, letting her lips remain on the rim so steam rose over her face.

Just let it happen for once. Be adventurous, like you were with Dan on your wedding night.

As visions of liberating taboo sex and red undergarments seeped back into her thoughts, a groggy voice croaked from somewhere behind.

"Good morning, Mom." A bleary-eyed, disheveled Neil wandered into her field of vision. "What's for breakfast?"

Sylvia smiled, turning to gaze at her son. He hadn't bothered to slip on a shirt, and she marveled at his developing body, no longer a boy, but a man. Mangled hair sprung from his head like a thick patch of weeds. Placing the coffee mug on the counter, she embraced Neil, kissing his cheek as he rubbed his sleepworn face back and forth on her shoulder. In that moment, he was again a needy child, seeking love and comfort from his mother. Sylvia caressed his naked skin, love smoldering in her breast.

"How about a stack of pancakes? She mumbled into his neck, inhaling the scent of his skin. He nodded.

Ah, my handsome, young man.

Part Three -- Sylvia and Bobbie, Sittin' in a Tree...

Afternoon arrived, and although Sylvia had been to her friend's house for the Tupperware party years before, Bobbie drew out a detailed map so she wouldn't get lost.

"Bobbie's in a jam. She and I have to sort out some paperwork for a legal case before Monday," she lied to her son. "I'm sorry. This was so unexpected!"

Neil shrugged and wandered off to the living room, turning on the television set.

"Sandwiches in the fridge, honey." She slipped the strap of her purse over her shoulder. Opening the door to the garage, she paused, turning back.

"Bobbie's number is written on the pad by the phone if you need me."

"Okay, okay, Mom!" Neil's voice came from the living room. Only an annoyed teenager could have that tone of voice. He had forgotten the sleepy child from that morning and returned to his quasi-independent self. "Don't worry about me for once!"

She also remembered that tender moment and smiled inwardly.

"Don't worry, kid...I won't." She teased.

Sylvia made a quick stop by the liquor store to grab a bottle of wine. Nothing expensive, since she wasn't a connoisseur, just a domestic Pinot Noir. She hoped it would suffice.

Memory served her well. She didn't need directions to find the correct house, situated on a corner lot in an older, middle-class neighborhood. The simple, rectangular abode sported dark grey asbestos shingles with white trim. The roof's apex was capped by a wooden cupola with a black metal wind vane on top. A small porch accentuated the front of the structure, featuring a swing that could seat three. Several old-growth trees provided ample shade. A white picket fence surrounded the back yard, and a separate garage contained an aging turquoise Studebaker sedan.

Sylvia parked her Falcon on the curb, mindful of the fire hydrant nearby. The noise of her pumps stepping up the concrete sidewalk sounded louder than usual. She felt as if she were being watched by the neighbors, gripping the bottle of wine, wrapped in a brown paper bag. Perhaps they knew what naughty mischief was afoot.

Oh, what kind of sin and shame am I getting into? Hopefully the good kind.

She lowered her head, smirking, nervous, yet aroused.

Bobbie opened the door before Sylvia had the chance to knock.

"Come in, honey," Bobbie smiled. "I'm so glad you could make it."

Sylvia half-expected a kiss, but her friend stopped at a hug.

"Oh, thank you!" Bobbie took the brown paper bag. "You didn't need to bring anything, but I'm grateful."

"I know nothing about wine, but the guy at the liquor store said this goes well with salmon."

As they entered the neat, cozy living room, Sylvia sensed she was not the only nervous one. Bobbie's voice was higher pitched than usual, and she prattled on, avoiding eye contact. Of course, they were outside of the usual work environment, which provided some amount of distraction. Here, in Bobbie's home, there were no such distractions. It was now one-on-one.

"Did you have any trouble finding the place?"

"No, honey." She replied, hanging her purse on a hook next to the door. "Piece of cake."

Sylvia looked around the tastefully-decorated room. A tall, wide, built-in bookcase occupied the left wall, shelves featuring a range of hardcovers, paperbacks, magazines and framed photos. Reproductions of old Japanese woodcuts hung on either side of the case. A big, plush sofa lined the opposite wall flanked by end tables sporting small lamps and ashtrays.

Bobbie had collected a great deal of indoor plants, making the room look even more warm and inviting. An antique floor lamp stood in the one corner not breached by filtered daylight. Vines crept up the wall behind the television, all the way to the ceiling. Off in another corner, a hallway led to the rear of the domicile.

Sylvia smelled something wonderful.

"Come into the kitchen, love." Bobbie took Sylvia by the hand, leading her through a swinging door. Sylvia squeezed her friend's hand.

This is a good sign, the touching. Let's keep this going.

The bright, cheerful kitchen sported light turquoise ceramic tiles for about five feet up the wall. Above that was painted a subdued yellow. A large, white porcelain sink with a wall-mounted faucet dominated the back area, with expanses of Formica countertops on either side. Large windows above the sink provided a great deal of sunlight and a view of the tree-shaded back yard and garage.

On the right side of the kitchen was a spotless white gas range festooned with chrome handles and knobs, more counter space, and a bulbous white refrigerator with a massive chrome handle on the front. A rectangular wooden table sat to the left, covered with a thick, checkered tablecloth. Custom metal cabinets that matched the tiles lined the walls.

Bobbie slipped the wine out of its paper enclosure.

"Let's get this in the fridge to chill a bit. I just put the salmon croquettes in the oven to keep them warm. There's also some roasted asparagus and rolls."

"My goodness, you went all out!" Sylvia said. "I'm really impressed."

Bobbie had already laid out the plates and silverware on the kitchen table. "Salad?" She pulled a large bowl of leafy greens and other colorful accoutrement from the refrigerator.

"Yes, please!" Sylvia responded. "This looks wonderful."

Poor dear, she's so nervous. We're both out of our element. How can I relax her without looking like a needy, horny slut? Maybe she's changed her mind about the whole situation.

"Thank you," Bobbie reached back into the fridge. "Until the wine gets cold, what's your preference? Coke? Seven-Up? A cold beer?"

I need a beer, honey. We both do. We need to loosen up.

"I'll take a beer, yes!"

"Take a seat, and I'll serve you."
Sylvia pulled herself up to the table, spreading the checkered linen napkin across her lap.

"I have Thousand Island, Bleu Cheese or Italian."

"Thousand Island, please." Sylvia watched Bobbie's round butt as she fished a bottle of salad dressing out of the fridge, thinking about her buxom neighbor pulling weeds only a few hours before.

Through the salad, they ate in silence, except for the crunching of lettuce and croutons and the clinking of silverware. Bobbie's nervous chatter had ceased. Sylvia managed to let out the occasional yummy noise in approval of her friend's culinary skills. It was halfway through the main course that Bobbie finally spoke.

"My son called this morning." Her voice had returned to a normal tone, perhaps even calmer than usual.

She had mentioned William on several occasions, but never elaborated much, except to say when he and his wife were going to visit.

"Oh, really?" Sylvia brightened up, grateful to have something to say. "How is he doing? And his wife?"

"I'm not sure." Bobbie let the fork slide from her mouth. She paused, chewing for a moment. "The marriage is having some trouble."

Oh, lord. Maybe that's why she's acting the way she is.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Sylvia laid down her fork, looking at her friend with concern.

"They just had their first child, a daughter, and I think finances aren't what they could be. I think she expects more from him."

"Oh, God." Sylvia jumped in, wanting to relate. "I remember when Neil was born." She eyed her half-eaten croquette, wishing there was a bottle of Jack Daniels somewhere. "What with the new routine, the lack of sleep, constant nursing and that jerk Dan going AWOL, I'm not sure how I made it through."

"But you did," Bobbie looked up, eyes again smiling. She poked her fork at an asparagus spear.

"We both did, honey. You and I. We didn't choose to, but we did it on our own!" Sylvia reached out to touch her friend's arm, squeezing it. Bobbie placed her hand over Sylvia's. For several seconds, they gazed into each other's eyes, silent.

That's more like it.

"It can't be easy for them, being so young and all."

Bobbie gulped from her beer can.

"He's going to visit in the next week or so." She smacked her lips, letting loose with a tiny burp. "'Scuse me. Just him alone."

"Some time alone to think and plan?" Sylvia finished her beer.

"Very much so." Bobbie drank the rest of hers as well.