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A COUGAR IN HEAT
Copyright 2016, Lizzy Eliot
All Rights Reserved
Blair Erotica Books
All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely, and sadly, coincidental.
I think of myself as a good wife and a good mother. Being a wife isn't as easy as it sounds. I've had to do things to help my husband's career along, living where he needed to live and in the style he needs. I've thrown parties and socialized with him without complaint. I've always been there for him, and never, ever said no when he wanted sex. That isn't something I can really say I should get credit for, because I am more likely to want to get laid than he is. Especially after we'd been married a few years. Not that I think he's cheating on me... he isn't like that. No, his libido just waned.
I've been good, for the most part. I've cheated on him, but not with his best friend or anything like that, just some one-off affairs, like the time we hired a guy to add on a study to the house and I screwed the contractor while the work was going on. Part of that isn't so much me being good or self control, but that we live way out near the edge of town in a suburb where there are more coyotes and other wild animals than lusty studs to choose from. And neighbors can be nosy. So, when the opportunity came up, I scratched the itch. Why turn down a pleasant fuck? But even if I occasionally encouraged a guy, I never went looking for sex. But lately the itch, the desire has been getting worse. Being in your late thirties you start to wonder how much longer you have before men won't look at you that way.
As a mother, I've done okay. I'm actually Randy's step mother. His Dad, Jeff, is in his early forties. I'm in my thirties, and Randy was ten when we married. Now he's in the local college. We get along great, and he's a good kid, if not the brightest of bulbs. He brings his friends home, which is supposed to be a good thing. I read that in the parenting books. They don't tell you about some of the downsides of that. I mean, first of all, these kids grow up quick and the athletes... wow! Randy is addicted to weightlifting. Jeff turned the garage into a gym for him. The door to Randy's room is opposite the door to the garage and he works out night and day. Sometimes when it's hot he leaves the garage door open and often as not I find neighborhood girls watching from the street, giving him the kind of looks that go with wet panties. See Randy is on the college team. He's their champion, and he looks like one, with rippling abs, and huge arms and legs. I can't blame the girls.
His best friend, Brad, is the captain of the tennis team. Brad is lean and taller than Randy--he has a nice body and a dangerously sparkling smile. I've watched them, Brad and Randy, shooting hoops in the backyard wearing nothing but gym shorts. Two different guys and both hot. It gets me climbing walls.
It's embarrassing to say that, to admit that looking at the bodies of my step son and his best friend makes my body quiver. It's difficult to stay calm when I take them iced tea or something. My brain starts playing with ways I can get him alone, and when I managed to stop that kind of thinking I get the urge to yank those shorts down and see what's under there. I probably look too openly and sometimes Brad gives me a look, almost like he knows what I'm thinking, and that makes me uncomfortable; it's like he's telling me we share some secret. I'm not sure where it comes from, other than his own cocksure attitude. I think I could've deal with the situation fine, kept my cool and all would've gone well. But then Jeff asked me to go to a conference with him. See Jeff, my husband and Randy's father, decided that I should go with him to a conference at some fancy hotel in Des Moines. “The kid'll be fine. He's a grownup now,” he said. “We leave Friday afternoon and come home on Sunday.”
On the off chance that Jeff had some romantic ideas for the conference, I went along. What a bust. We got there in time for dinner, and right after, his boss came up to us and told him that he needed him to leave immediately to make a sales presentation in Terre Haute. He said I was welcome to stay in the hotel until Jeff got back.
“Sounds boring,” I told him, trying to be nice. The idea of sitting in that room, ordering from room service and watching movies alone held no charms for me.
The boss likes Jeff, because he is probably his best salesman and also because he always does what he's told. “I really apologize. I wouldn't do this if it weren't a big contract. And since it's our fault you are inconvenience, you can stay the night and I'll arrange a car to take you home tomorrow.”
“Not too early,” I warned him.