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.
