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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...