This story is protected by copyright and may not be copied or reproduced without the explicit approval of the author.
*
I peered thru the window at my daughter Megan and her friend Rachel as they strenuously practiced their cheerleading routines in the back yard. I was envious of their innocence, their youthful energy. It only seemed to magnify the despair and depression I was experiencing.
I thought of my own teenage years, a time when I radiated a girlish mystery, when my popularity with the boys had nothing to do with my mind.
I realized I had no rational reason for being unhappy. I was leading the good life...a handsome husband who was an excellent provider, a loving, beautiful daughter, and the home of my dreams.
My husband and I belonged to all the best clubs and socialized with all the right people. Yet, my life seemed out of whack, and keeping up appearances was becoming increasingly difficult by the day.
I detested my daily routine of being a housewife and mother. I was only thirty eight years old, the prime of my life. But I had no purpose...no reason to get out of bed every morning. Even Megan, now eighteen, only needed me to feed her and wash her clothes.
"MOM, DO YOU HAVE ANYTHING FOR LUNCH?" My daughter's voice startled me out of the lethargic state I was in.
I opened the sliding glass door, trying to appear normal. "I have tuna sandwiches. Is that okay?"
"Yeah, that's alright...and some potato chips too."
As I prepared their lunch, they came barging in, giggling and whispering, no doubt about boys. After all, some things never change...that's what being pretty cheerleaders was all about.
They sat at the kitchen table like prima donna's, waiting for me to wait on them. I put on my best face, forcing myself to act motherly...to be what they expected of me.
"I like what you've done with your hair, Rachel," I said." I love the way it frames your face."
"Thanks Mrs Jordan. It was mom's idea. She's pretty good about visualizing things like that, you know being an artist and all."
"How is your mom?" I asked. "I haven't seen her in a while. How come she doesn't play tennis any more?"
"She's really wrapped up in all that arty stuff, Rachel sighed. You know, sculpting, painting. This week she's giving art classes at the Boys and Girls club downtown. You know, for the inner city kids."
"That's nice," I said. Actually, I didn't really give a damn. I had to admit, though, the woman knew how to keep herself active. My idea of busy was keeping myself attractive, shopping for the latest styles. I was vain and I knew it.
As I stood across the kitchen listening to them giggle, I thought how unfair it was we all had to lose our innocence at some point in our life.
I suddenly had a curious urge. While looking over at Rachel, I had this strange impulse to smell Rachel's curly blonde hair!
It was a bizarre impulse, to say the least. Especially when it felt erotic. I hadn't had sexual feelings for sometime, and never towards another female. But more disturbing, I had known Rachel since she was six years old!
Rachel had always had an effervescent personality. It was hard not to notice her. But she was like a second daughter to me, and that made this sudden attraction all the more puzzling. I wondered...could itbe some kind of side effect from the drugs I was taking for my depression?
"How were the sandwiches?" I asked, trying to regained my composure. "How about you, Rachel...do you want another sandwich. I have cookies too.""
"No, no more for me Mrs J. But I'll have a glass of water."
I tried not to be obvious, eyeing her as she pranced over to the kitchen sink, her tight round butt arousing me. I was both frightened and excited...and shocked.
I was so ashamed...a strange emotion for me. I didn't recognize it at first, but my depression seemed to disappear. Feeling shameful was almost therapeutic, in fact, it was euphoric.
My parents taught me to have a strong, moral compass...and as I ogled Rachel, those moral alarms were going off in my head. I ignored them. I liked the absence of my despair.
My daughter's best friend...so cute in her short, skimpy outfit, her petite body perfectly proportioned, her curly blonde hair cascading around her angelic face. And those lips...those full, pouty blow job lips.
When Megan suggested they continue their practicing, I was relieved. Teenagers can sometimes have a sixth sense about unwelcome vibes.
But, just as quickly as they returned to the back yard, just as quickly I was at the window, watching, like a young school girl trying to get a glimpse of her favorite rock star. I desperately wanted to maintain my euphoria, if only for an hour or so.
As illogical as it seemed, I had accidentally discovered something that short circuited my depression. How could I dismiss it, however short lived it might be. Even ugly thoughts were acceptable if it rid me of the painful darkness in my mind.
I knelt on the sofa, never removing my eyes from Rachel. The first thing I noticed was the outline of her breasts as they strained against the thin, tight T-shirt.
I barely understood the dynamics of a same sex fantasy, but I understood feeling alive. It was a sick little game I was playing, but it was MY mind...and I wasn't actually hurting anyone. Justification comes easy to someone as desperate me.
As I continued spying, another cheerleader friend of Megan's strolled thru the back gate. Now I had two girls to leer at.
Annie was quiet, sultry, the complete opposite of Rachel. But what a curvaceous body...petite, like Rachel, but much more developed.
As they continued practicing their routines, I was getting a generous view of their tanned thighs, even a glimpse of Annie's white cotton panties.
It was exciting, feeling something other than despair. I felt bold, bold enough to slip my hand up under my skirt and gingerly touch my mound. I was wet, actually juicy wet.
I remained glued to the window, rapidly becoming consumed by lust. It felt so naughty, touching myself...my fingers slipping under my panties in search of my clit. Fumbling at first...like riding a bicycle, the art of masturbating came back to me.
The girls, apparently tired from their workout, moved to a blanket Megan had spread out on the ground. When Rachel sat down, her short skirt allowed a clear look right up to her crotch! Her white panties, stretched thin, were pulled up in the crack of her small, virgin slit.
My fingering became rhythmic, my heart pounding, my breathing erratic. I was close to an orgasm...
As the first gush coated my fingers, I panted for air, my body in a full blown spasm. The pleasure...so much pleasure.
"MOM...what are you doing. My god...are you...that is so sick"
My daughter...staring at me...and I couldn't stop! Not with all that pleasure gushing out of me...
Our eyes locked, yet I continued the assault on my pussy. I couldn't stop...and Megan watching me seemed to excite me all the more!
As one orgasm waned, another began! I should have been devastated, Megan watching me masturbate. But her presence seemed to enhance my orgasm's intensity, especially when I read the disgust on her face.
It had been exhilarating. Even as my orgasm ebbed, my body continued to quiver. I withdrew my hand from under my skirt, fingers dripping with cream. .Megan stared in disbelief. I realized the precarious position I was in.
I held my hand in front of me, trying not to drip on to the couch. I was suddenly tired, and it was all I could do not collapse on the couch.
"Let...let me explain, honey," I pleaded. I'm sorry...I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for you to see this. I know it looks terrible...It's just that...uh....I've never done anything like this before. I've been feeling so down...I was just trying to feel better. You understand, don't you?
"Were you watching us, mom? You were weren't you. I thought you were acting funny earlier. You're like so sick, watching my friends. Are you like queer for Rachel or something?"
There was no explanation she would ever understand. And I couldn't blame her. Maybe I was sick...
"It's Rachel isn't it mom," she cried out. "Your hair looks so nice, Rachel, Do you want another sandwich, Rachel. I have cookies, Rachel."
She ran from the room. I couldn't go after her, not in my condition. I stood there in my own sweat, cum juice dripping from my fingers. Being less in my daughter's eyes was devastating.
I felt numb, stumbling to the bathroom to clean myself up. As I washed my hands I began to cry...sobbing...the "distraught beyond hope" kind of crying.
After a half hour of beating myself up, I finally ventured out of the bathroom. I didn't see Megan anywhere. I went to the window. There they were, all three girls, still practicing their routine.
And Megan....Megan was laughing, keeping up appearances, just like anyone in our circle of friends would do. Whatever it required, we protect our reputation.
I was actually relieved....she could have easily collapsed. My unforgivable conduct had to be killing her. Her laughter, out in the yard with her friends, almost sounded genuine.
I calmed a bit, even though I knew the problem wasn't over. I knew I would have to face her as soon as her friends went home. Thank god her dad was out of town on business. Maybe, just maybe, I would be able to resolve this without him being involved. On the other hand, maybe it was just the thing to turn him on! Nothing else seemed to work on him for the last six months.
As dinner time approached, the three girls were still out in the yard. Rachel and Annie rarely stayed this late.
Suddenly, they came bursting through the door. "Mom, I'm going to spend the night with Rachel, okay?"
Without waiting for approval, she ran up the stairs to pack a change of clothes. She had the upper hand for the moment and was using it. My fear...was my own daughter too disgusted to be alone with me?
She returned, bag in hand. "Are you girls all hot and sweaty, like me?" she asked snidely. "I'll sure be glad to take a shower tonight...a nice "private shower."
She glanced over at me...her icy eyes piercing my heart. My own daughter, cleverly insinuating I was a pervert...someone who couldn't be trusted.
Once they were gone, the silence was welcome. I knew it was going to be difficult to repair my relationship with my daughter. But, for now, I was glad she was out of the house. It gave me time to reflect on everything that was happening to me....
Megan returned home the following afternoon. I was upstairs in the master bedroom shaving my legs. I knew it was her...who else would slam the front door and stomp up the stairs. This was her way of letting me know she was still upset with me...typical teenager behaviour.
