"Have any design ideas for the new townhouse, Sarah?" asked Maxine, as they waited for third period to begin.
"Yes, I have," she replied, twisting in her seat to face her stepmother, "but I'm in a bit of a quandary. I'd really like to go with animal prints - brown, black, beige, and white, with a pop of red for accent, but everything in my apartment is coastal - turquoise and green. If I switch to a jungle theme, it's going to take a lot more effort... and money."
The conversation continued to ping-pong over Don's heavy chest, which occasionally netted a thought-provoking response, interrupting the HGTV-type banter.
"You don't have any spare time or money right now, Sarah," he said, patting her knee, "Just use what you have. If you're anything like Maxine, you'll change your mind 100 times anyway."
Sarah smiled weakly, somewhat defeated by the suggestion she should restrain herself at such an exciting time in her life.
"It's Ryan," she said, flatly, looking down at her cell. "Just a minute; I can't hear you!" she shouted, placing her palm on her other ear as she stood and made her way towards the aisle.
Don turned to look at his wife.
"Well, what do you think?"
"About the townhouse?" Maxine guessed, "I think it's great; you're a very generous fath-"
"About Ryan," Don interjected.
Maxine hid her surprise.
"Ryan?" she said, clawing around in her bag for a package of peanut butter crackers, "What about him?"
"He's a rather unconvincing boyfriend, wouldn't you say?" Don asked, raising his brows.
"Well, gee I don't know," Maxine said, pretending to seriously consider the question, as she fumbled with the overly defensive plastic wrapping.
"Well you SHOULD know," Don huffed, "You've certainly been spending enough time with him to have an opinion!"
Sarah rested her hand on her father's shoulder and sat down beside him, her arrival rescuing Maxine from having to formulate a response to Don's probing question.
"Everything OK?" he asked, shifting in his daughter's direction.
"Yes dad; everything is fine. Ryan and DeShawn ran into some friends from high school, and they're having a beer together - going to watch a bit of the game from the bar."
Don furrowed his brows.
"He didn't ask you to join them?"
"Sort of," said Sarah, "but I could tell it was a guy-thing; I didn't want to intrude."
Don put his arm around his daughter and squeezed her to him, then shot Maxine a look of paternal concern.
"Here we go!" Sarah said, standing and clapping as the Tampa Bay Lightning and the Washington Capitals poured on to the ice.
ANNOUNCER: Ovechkin was the story in the first two periods, with the Washington Capitals now two up - the Lightning so far unable to slip one past Samsonov.
I want to make sweet passionate love to you - and then fuck your brains out!
Maxine flushed as she scrolled up through Ryan's highly improper texts; why wasn't she entirely turned off? Surely she could have found a far finer fellow to entertain her wayward ambitions. Instead, she'd indulged Ryan's crass language and behavior - more than that - she'd actively participated in it.
She felt her phone vibrate; it pricked her nerves.
"What's wrong?" Don asked, feeling his wife startle against his lardy arm, which had spilled over into her domain.
"Nothing," she said, "Just got a little shiver, that's all."
"Well I knew you'd be cold," he said, "Hey Sarah, can you pass me that blanket?"
"I'll be fine," Maxine said, accepting the gesture while sneaking a side-glance at her cell.
Ryan: Go to the bathroom
Maxine: I can't
Ryan: Yes you CAN! Trust me. It will be OK
Maxine stared ahead blankly at the action on the ice as she considered her options: sit still and hope the Bolts rally and make the game worth watching, or risk a rendezvous with Ryan to complete the jigsaw puzzle. For though they'd fascinated each other to climax more than once that night, they hadn't truly consummated their indiscretion.
And when she stepped onto the Promenade, he was waiting for her.
******
"Where are we going?" she asked, "I can't be gone long; Don is suspicious."
Ryan smiled but didn't answer. He took her hand and led her to the far side of the arena, down three flights of stairs, and into an unfamiliar area that was clearly off-limits. Shortly thereafter, they found themselves in a dark hallway that dead-ended at a nondescript metal door. Standing in front of it with a flashlight in his hand was DeShawn Williams.
"After you, Mrs. Robinson," said Ryan, his hand on Maxine's lower back as he gestured towards the rarely used side door.
"Thanks bro," he added, winking a smile at DeShawn as he and Maxine passed by. DeShawn didn't return the nicety; he held up his wrist and tapped the face of his watch with his index finger.
"Oh my God!' Maxine gasped, her fingers flying to her lips as she took in the majesty of the newly renovated locker room, "Don will be so jealous when he hears about this!"
"Exactly," said Ryan, crossing his arms, knowing Don could hardly admonish his wife for disappearing under these very special circumstances.
"Who's your favorite player?" Ryan asked.
"Kucherov," she said, pointing at his station and walking towards it. She reached to run her hand down the impressive player's pants hanging on a hook under his name.
"Yeah well The Russian Rifle hasn't fired a single successful round tonight," chuckled Ryan, lining his body up behind hers and easing her black leather jacket off her shoulders, "and I can smell his cheap cologne from here."
"That's not cheap cologne," said Maxine, placing her palms on the wall and bending to sniff at Kucherov's clothing, "That's Chanel."
"You sure?" asked Ryan, wedging his feet between hers to spread her legs, "Better check again."
"Mmmmm, Ryan," moaned Maxine, as he flexed his hips against her backside and kneaded her pillowy breasts, "How about I close my eyes and pretend you're Kucherov?"
She giggled.
"Fuck that!" Ryan said as he moved a hand to her zipper, "How about you imagine your hockey crush sitting on this bench with his dick in his hand while he watches me score."
He chuckled to himself. Someone would be watching all right, but it wouldn't be Kucherov.
Ryan hooked his thumbs under the waistband of Maxine's jeans and worked them down until her white doe of an ass popped free.
"I'm just kidding," Maxine said, looking over her shoulder as Ryan lowered to his knees and stripped her down, her musky scent tangled up in her brick red bramble releasing into the air and wafting up his nostrils, "I'm old enough to be his mother."
"You're old enough to be my mother too," Ryan said, as he rose to hoist the Brady teeshirt over her head, "but that's not going to stop me from making sweet passionate love to you."
Ryan wrangled Kucherov's clothing from the hook and threw it on the floor, then eased Maxine down onto the makeshift bed. The cold air blowing from the vent above induced an eruption of goosebumps along her pale naked flesh, prompting her nipples to contract into dark wooden knots. She was shivering as she raised her arms, and when he cloaked her with his clothed body, she octopussed herself around him.
DeShawn watched with studied surveillance as Ryan demonstrated his love-making prowess: kissing, caressing, and dry humping Maxine, drawing out her stormy spirit until she had morphed into someone almost unrecognizable from the restrained and refined Mrs. Robinson he had just been introduced to.
"Fuck my married pussy, Ryan," she hissed.
"GodDAMN!" DeShawn whispered to himself.
"What was that?" she asked, rolling her head towards the sound.
"I didn't hear anything," Ryan lied, pecking his way down her translucent torso.
He pressed her legs apart with his warm palms.
"Damn woman!" he said, marveling at the red wet flesh beneath her fire crotch, before burying his nose in her.
Maxine threaded her fingers into Ryan's tousled hair, pulling him face first into the abyss, drowning him in her lavender juice box, her white skin and red hair in motion against the backdrop of Kucherov's clothing as it twisted and dragged along the cobalt blue carpet. When Ryan pressed a finger into her, then another, and another, priming her for his pump, she could barely form the words.
"I came here for your cock," she choked out.
Ryan rose to his knees and retrieved a safe from his front pocket. He held it up between two fingers - like a cigarette.
"Don't know why, but I had a hunch I might need this tonight."
Then he slowly unzipped, lowering his jeans and boxers to just below his balls, torturing Maxine with his deliberate procrastination. And DeShawn, hypnotized by the pornography playing out just 30 feet away, rubbed himself to rock hardness behind the zipper of his uniform trousers.
"Please hurry," Maxine gulped, looping her arms under her knees, widening her offering, and Ryan tore the condom wrapper open with his teeth, suited up, and nudged the tip of his latex-wrapped shaft into her red carpeted corridor.
"You're my Roxy," he said, as he half-inched his way inside her, "and I'm never going to let you forget it."
And once fully coupled, Ryan began to do what all young men do when they find their bo-bandy buried in a MILF: reminding her what she'd been missing. Maxine's gratitude wrapped him like an electric blanket, charging him with her unending enthusiasm. When she cried out, "Make me cum!" raking her nails down his back and almost drawing blood, he had to unplug her to keep from short-circuiting.
"Have you ever had a g-spot orgasm," he asked, sitting back on his knees and wiping his sweaty brow with the back of his hand.
"No. I've heard of it though," she answered, reaching for his arms to pull him back down onto her, "I think it might be a myth. I've never met a woman who's had one."
He laughed.
"That's because whoever is fucking her doesn't know what he's doing," he said.
Ryan gripped Maxine's ankles, criss-crossed them, then placed them on his shoulders. When he entered her again, it was shallow and at the tightest of angles - his torso pressed forward and down against the back of her thighs. She planted her palms on the floor to steady herself.
"How's that feel baby," he said, as his curvaceous cock rode over the rough terrain just inside and upwards in her.
