Sorry – should have given Part 1 a different subtitle – out of practice!
*****
As he got into the car his heart was beating quickly. He glanced discreetly down at Brenda's plump thighs again, partly bared by the riding up of her skirt hem. She started the car engine and, waving back to his grandparents, they pulled out of the drive and drove off along the road.
He shot glances, too, at her modest but shapely breasts under her polo shirt. He felt a flush of embarrassment and excitement at being alone with her for an extended period of time. He had never spent over an hour on his own with her, and the prospect felt deliciously intimate.
"Your grandparents were very appreciative of being given a lift home."
"Yes, it was very kind of you to offer, Brenda."
She smiled. He thought she caught his gaze on her thigh. He made himself look away.
"That's fine. It was good of your mum to suggest that you come along for the ride – to keep me company on the ride back."
She made light conversation, but all the time he was highly aroused, torn between looking at her fleetingly and forcing himself not to. He joined in the chatter half-heartedly. Each time she pressed on one or other of the car pedals his eye was drawn to the way the muscle of her leg or thigh tensed. His excitement was heightened by shame, by fear of being spotted, and by her being twice his age.
Part of him wanted the journey to end; part of him wanted it to last for hours. All the time he was painfully conscious that the legs and breasts he had wanted to touch for a long time were just inches from his hand.
The tense debate in his mind – whether to risk advancing his attentions upon her or not – was approaching its conclusion.
"Are you all right, Stephen?"
Her face was kindly and she smiled at him.
"Yes. Yes, Brenda – why?"
"You just seem... I don't know, distracted..."
"No, sorry."
"If something's on your mind I'd be happy to listen."
His nerves were almost at screaming point, but he decided to risk all.
"Well, Brenda... I've been... er... wanting to do this..."
He placed his trembling hand just above her knee & stroked her thigh. She gave a low intake of breath and laughed nervously.
"I see."
She pushed his hand away. For a few agonising moments, he fought with himself as he tried to decide what to do next. After all she had pushed his hand away. But then again, she had not gone crazy at him, or even sounded offended or shocked.
"Sorry, Brenda. But you wanted to know what I was thinking. I was... being driven crazy by the fact that your legs are just inches from my hands..."
He placed his finger on her warm thigh again and caressed her plumpness, thrilling in the soft smooth skin. She thrust his hand from her.
"No, Stephen! That's enough. You mustn't... you shouldn't even be thinking like that!"
"I know you're a lot older than me, Brenda, but... I can't help it..."
She felt herself flush with shock, and with fear. She was alone with him, and his forthrightness and sudden change in his behaviour alarmed her. She saw his eyes rest on her thighs again.
"You CAN help it. And you MUST. I... I'm flattered that you find me attractive. But... but that's enough now. I MEAN it..."
She knew that her voice was tremoring slightly, and hoped that he didn't mistake her shock and outrage for excitement. He was torn for a few moments. Her reaction left little room for interpretation, but he knew that if he delayed any further now it would be hard to make a further move. His arousal made him cast caution aside.
"Okay, Brenda. Sorry if I shocked you. But... you asked me to share what was on my mind. I told you."
He tried to sound confident, though in fact his bravado was shrinking. Nevertheless, he raised his hand once more, and this time he placed his hand just below the hem of her skirt, and stroked her inner thigh, thrilling in the warmth and softness of her skin. She grabbed his hand and pushed it firmly away from her. She glared at him, and her eyes flashed.
"Keep your damn hands off me, Stephen. I mean it! YOU might think it's funny, but I damn well don't!"
She was shouting now, the car swerved slightly, and her partly-lisped words were racing from her. He glanced at her face; it was flushed and her small eyes blazed. He wanted the ground to swallow him up. He silently cursed his stupidity and wished he could turn back the clock five minutes.
"Twice you've touched me, and twice times I've pushed your hand away and told you to stop, yet you grope me again. Which... which... BLOODY... part of 'NO' don't you understand? In fact..."
To his horror, she slowed the car down and pulled in.
"In fact, you can damn well make your own way home from here. There's a bus stop just ahead. And touch me one more bloody time EVER again and I'll tell your parents! I... I'm disappointed and shocked, Stephen. I'd always thought what a nice young lad you were. And all the time... you've been thinking about me like... THAT! And thinking I might even welcome your touching me!"
He felt himself flush with embarrassment and shame. He had never heard her swear before, and although her language was fairly mild, it was uncharacteristic and a potent sign of her outrage.
"I... I'm sorry, Brenda. I... I don't know what came over me..."
"Get out of my damn car, Stephen... I mean it!"
"Okay. Okay. I've said I'm sorry. But..."
"Never mind 'but'. Get... get the hell out!"
He swung the car door open.
"Okay. Sorry if I misunderstood. But... I didn't THINK it was funny. I was quite serious about finding you sexy, Brenda. Very serious in fact... b-but I'm really sorry..."
He almost stumbled out of the car. He couldn't bear to look back and headed slowly and wretchedly towards the bus stop with his head down. He had no idea when the next bus was due, and knew as well that the journey would take far longer than by car.
He wondered whether Brenda would tell his parents. Even if she didn't, he felt ashamed of himself for upsetting her. Sure, she was one of his abiding sexual fantasies, but she was, after all, a friend of his parents. She was a genuinely nice woman, too. He wondered how he could ever look her in the face again.
He expected to see her car pass him, but the minutes passed and there was no sign of her. He imagined her in tears, confused, angry, and upset. He felt terrible.
Another thought crowded in on him. If he was late back, what should he tell his parents? Even if Brenda didn't tell them, his story may not be corroborated by hers if they were to speak to her!
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Brenda dabbed her eyes with a tissue. Her heart was pounding. She was shocked at his actions. Yet, rightly or wrongly, she partly blamed herself for having encouraged him.
She should have known better, but she was conscious of her plain appearance. She had felt flattered when, the first time she had offered him a lift to college she had noticed his eyes resting on her breasts and on her legs. It had been a long time since she had had that experience, and even longer since she had been in a relationship. To be the focus of attention by a lad half her age was extremely flattering. She jokingly described herself to others as "married to her work", but the truth was that her devotion to her work was partly a substitute for what seemed likely to be a lifetime of being on the shelf.
Since that first lift she had given him she had flirted with him. It had been very low-key and subtle, but their conversation had been more light hearted, and they had made increasing eye-contact. She had found herself looking forward to the prospect of seeing him at the bus stop, and disappointed if he wasn't there.
She also found herself choosing slightly shorter skirts to show off her thighs as she drove, and slightly tighter fitting tops.
Yes, she told herself as she tried to regain her composure, it was largely her fault. He was in his teens and his hormones were all over the place. She was twice his age and should know better than to lead him on. There was no way she could tell his parents. They would be shocked, and might even blame her, anyway. No, she must just put it down to experience and move on, she told herself.
She would just need to avoid being on her own with him, at least for a time, to take an alternative route to work to avoid the embarrassment of seeing him and driving past without stopping on the one hand, and finding herself in a compromising position with him on the other.
She took several deep breaths and started the car engine. She told herself not to look as she approached the bus stop where he was now standing. Her heart was still pounding. Despite her intentions, they exchanged half glances as she drew level, then passed him.
Along with her shock, the truth of the matter was that she was also actually feeling aroused. His trembling, tentative touch had stirred a longing within her that had been buried for a long time. She dismissed the fact that his youth was also part of the appeal. And, although she remonstrated with herself for encouraging him, the undeniable fact remained that he was hot for her and she knew deep down that she had never encouraged him to touch her as he had done. That had been a step too far. But it was a step that half of her wanted him to take again. In truth, it was a step that she wanted to be followed by further, more adventurous ones.
She felt slightly light-headed to feel desired. She had almost forgotten the feeling it bestowed. She didn't want to count the years since she had been touched and caressed. He was her friends' son and half her age. But he had awakened a latent need within her.
The road bent to the left and he was thankfully now out of sight. After a few hundred yards, though, she found herself pulling in to the verge. Her pulse was racing and, for what seemed ages, indecision tore at her. The tension made her perspire. Then, checking the mirror, she made a three-point turn and headed back to the bus stop.
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