The following story is a work of fiction. All events are fictional and all the characters are aged 18 or over. As always, feedback, comments and votes are most welcome. I hope you enjoy it.
*****
Her phone chimed with a new text message just as she was dropping Rebecca and Justin at the high school gates. The sound made her heart skip and the bottom drop out of her stomach. The chime was the special one she had assigned to Rachel -- different to the generic tone she used for all other messages -- but only subtly so to avert any suspicion. That chime signalled a message she must read in private and before anyone else could pick up her phone; a message that always triggered an erotic charge, making her nipples tighten and her pussy moisten.
"Hurry up!" she chided the kids as they wrestled with their school bags, and then felt guilty for hassling them. She was double-parked and wouldn't be able to open the message till she found a suitable place to stop. Finally the doors slammed and she drove away from the school and into a side street where she could park legally. Her fingers trembled, as they always did, when she retrieved a message from Rachel.
"Hi Astrid xxx if netball is rained out tomoz and u can get away from Brad pleeeeese come see me. My parents are away and I so want to feel ur tongue in me again!! ;) ;) R xxxxx
She stared at the message. She read it again; and again. It shocked her. Not because it was especially graphic. She had received many more titillating messages from Rachel over the three months they'd been conducting a torrid but nerve-wracking affair. And not because of the use of first names -- something she'd strictly forbidden in their sexting.
What shocked her was that her name was not "Astrid". Never had been -- never would be. She had no interest in, nor connection to, netball and her husband was certainly not called Brad.
She was Marilyn. Marilyn Stewart, respectable 42 year old suburban wife and mother; volunteer deliverer of meals-on-wheels to the elderly; secretary of her children's school P & C Association; mundane participant in book clubs and yoga classes and coffee mornings.
But also now -- secretly -- excitingly -- impossibly -- an older lesbian lover to a stunningly beautiful 18 year old girl.
All of this ricocheted through her mind as she stared blankly at the text message. A message intended for someone else, that Rachel had inadvertently sent to her. Marilyn felt a surge of anger and jealousy rise up in her. Anger directed at Rachel and jealousy directed at this other woman; because Marilyn knew precisely who this other woman was.
Astrid Turner: athletic, beautiful, vibrant Astrid Turner: volunteer coach of the school's senior netball team; respectable wife of Bradly and devoted mother of Rachel's best friend.
Marilyn's head spun as she tried to take in the implications of this text. And no matter which way she turned it over in her mind she could reach only one conclusion: her teenage lesbian lover was also fucking Astrid Turner. It was a million to one improbability that there'd be any other netballing Astrid, married to a man named Bradley, in their small town.
She found it difficult to calm her emotions. How could Rachel do this to her after everything they'd shared? After everything Marilyn had risked to be with her? And yet she knew she had no real right to be outraged. After all -- her affair with Rachel was wrong on all kinds of levels. For a start she was of barely legal age while Marilyn was on the wrong side of 40. Rachel was also one of her daughter's closest friends. She was vulnerable and innocent (or so Marilyn had thought!). And for the first time in her married life Marilyn was cheating on her husband -- and her family. The affair had her twisted up inside and she was continually vowing to end it. But then again, since first taking Rachel into her bed, she had never felt more alive, more sexy, more womanly. Rachel Reeves was a sexual pocket-rocket. Quite petite, she had the most beautiful blue eyes and the most sensual lips. And - oh God - the most perkily perfect tits and firm little arse she could ever wish to see. The teenager had awoken a passion in Marilyn she'd never known existed. Rachel knew far more about Marilyn's body and how to excite her than her poor husband had ever known. And she just couldn't get enough of the teenager. They had to be careful of course but Marilyn still sometimes took insane risks just to be with Rachel -- to feel the girl's tight young body against her own, to suck on her tongue, to taste her tiny cunt. Marilyn shivered as a surge of lust worked through her body -- as it always did when she contemplated her sex play with Rachel.
But now she also felt foolish. Humiliated and degraded. What she had thought was unique and special between them now just seemed like a tawdry dalliance.
And what now? What should she do with this terrible knowledge. Marilyn Stewart sat there in her middle-range suburban people mover, in that middle-class suburban street, contemplating her middle-aged suburban life for almost an hour. Finally she knew what she had to do -- and she had to do it quickly.
*
"Hello, Astrid speaking."
"Hi Astrid, it's Marilyn here -- Marilyn Stewart, you know, from school."
"Oh yes, Marilyn -- sure -- um -- what can I do for you?" She sounded surprised to hear from Marilyn. But why wouldn't she? Their daughters were in the same year at the high school, and shared a mutual friendship with Rachel, but Astrid and she were really only nodding acquaintances. It's true that in recent years, as Marilyn's bisexual yearnings grew more insistent, she had paid more attention to Astrid, casually fantasising about fucking the gorgeous blonde. But they moved in completely different circles and as far as sport went Marilyn's totally un-athletic daughter wouldn't know a netball from a golf ball.
"Um, there's something I need to talk to you about. Something important."
"Really? Well sure, go ahead."
Marilyn took a deep breath. "It's actually a bit too delicate to discuss over the phone. Could we meet somewhere? Somewhere a bit private?"
"Private? Really? Sounds very mysterious. I'm a bit tied up this afternoon..." I'll bet you are, Marilyn thought with a sudden spurt of jealousy. "... but how about tomorrow after the netball. I have some shopping to do and I could meet you at the Globe Shopping Centre. Would that be okay? "
"Yes, that would be fine. I'll park in the rear carpark. We can talk in my car."
"In your car?"
"Yes, for the privacy."
"Well, sure, I guess. It's a white CR-V isn't it?"
Marilyn was surprised that Astrid would know what sort of car she drove. "Yes that's right. Would midday be okay?"
"Yes -- that should be fine."
"Great -- I'll see you then. And ... thanks."
*
The hours between the phone call and their meeting the next day dragged out interminably. Marilyn went through the motions of the good wife and mother: cooking, washing, cleaning and driving the mum taxi to various activities, but the whole time her mind was on Rachel -- and Astrid -- and the impending meeting. For the past few months Marilyn had been much happier to submit to the drudgery of her family life because in the background there was Rachel. She could endure hours of routine activities because her mind and her body were alive with thoughts of Rachel -- reliving the activities of their last meeting and plotting the activities of the next. Her frequent masturbation sessions were so much more enjoyable now because she knew she could actually live out the Sapphic fantasies that had been the mainstay of her self-love for decades. But now that pleasurable preoccupation had been snatched away -- by that fucking misdirected text. She supposed she should have been grateful that she'd discovered the deception first. She'd considered confronting Rachel with the text and having it out with her. She'd considered simply telling Rachel the affair was over and walking away with her dignity intact. But she couldn't do either of those things, simply because she did not want to lose Rachel. She was pathetically desperate to keep their affair alive and couldn't bear to be the discarded woman.
Marilyn didn't actually regard herself as lesbian -- more bi-sexual. She rationalised her fixation on Sapphic pleasures as a natural consequence of being in a heterosexual but largely unexciting marriage: she most wanted what she didn't have. And now she had Rachel -- or thought she'd had. The teenager's faithlessness triggered all of Marilyn's feminine anxieties. Was she not beautiful enough? Was her middle-aged body not sexy enough? Was she too old? Too boring? Too straight?
Those doubts redoubled in her mind as she watched Astrid Turner stride across the shopping centre car park the next day. Astrid really was beautiful. With her hair pulled back in an efficient ponytail, and her relaxed athletic walk, she could easily pass for someone a decade younger. She was still dressed for her netball coaching in a team polo shirt and one of those sports skirts that could be provocatively short as they actually incorporated shorts underneath. Marilyn's jealousy surged again as she took in the tall, lithe body of her rival. Her blonde hair, blue eyes and clear complexion gave away her Scandinavian roots. Marilyn was vaguely aware that Astrid originally came from Denmark or Sweden or one of those countries. Her waist was slim which made her modest breasts seem bigger than they actually were -- Marilyn guessed a B-cup -- and by the way they barely moved as she walked, they were obviously still firm and perky. Marilyn sighed: how could she possibly compete against all that for Rachel's affections? Suddenly an image came into her mind of Astrid and Rachel entwined naked on the teenager's bed and a quiver of lust ran through her own body. She tried to push the image from her mind as Astrid strode up to the car.
Marilyn leaned across to push open the passenger door, and then Astrid was right there, sitting beside her in all her smiling Nordic radiance.
"Hi Marilyn."
"Hi Astrid." The greeting was a bit awkward on both sides. They didn't really know each other well enough for a hug -- but a handshake would have been ridiculously formal. Astrid was half turned in the passenger seat, with her lovely tanned legs parted unselfconsciously. Marilyn couldn't help glancing down, but the "skort" garment did the trick of appearing both sexy and modest. She cleared her throat. "Thanks for agreeing to meet like this."
"Sure, no problem. But why all the secrecy?" Astrid was still genuinely puzzled.
Marilyn took a deep breath, fixed Astrid's gaze with her own and said: "I have something you need to read."
"Read?"
"Yes, read." Marilyn slipped her mobile phone from the console between the seats, thumbed a few characters and passed it to Astrid. She watched closely as the blonde frowned and glanced down at the screen. Marilyn couldn't help but feel a surge of triumph as she watched Astrid's eyes widen in alarm and the colour drain from her face. When she looked up at Marilyn again there were clear signs of panic in her eyes.
"I -- I -- don't understand," she stumbled. "What is this?"
Astrid's undeniable anxiety made Marilyn feel calm and confident. "Oh, I think you do know what it is. That message was clearly intended for you but was sent to me by mistake."
"No -- I -- I still don't understand..." but her denials were falling away as quickly as an embarrassed flush was rising in her cheeks. Marilyn watched her closely for the few seconds that it took for the implications of the message to play out in Astrid's mind. She tried again for denial. "I don't know anything about this -- who is this "R" -- this must be some kind of trick ... a joke..."
A moment's doubt flickered through Marilyn's mind. Could it actually be a trick? She hadn't thought about that. Something intended to besmirch Astrid's character? But she dismissed the notion immediately. The message hadn't been sent anonymously. The sender's name was plastered across the top of the screen:
Rachel Reeve.
