I had just finished my freshman year of college, having somehow existed through months of frustration. My grades were excellent but my sex life was a failure. With hormones pumping throughout my body at breakneck speed, and a goodly amount of attractive girls running around campus suffering with the same condition, one would have thought that I would have connected with at least one member of the opposite sex. Alas, it did not come to pass. I was heading home without any good stories to tell to my old high school buddies and especially my best friend, George Simmons. Before leaving for college, we had made a bet, wagering one hundred dollars on the best sexual encounter we would have before seeing each other again. George had always been lucky with the girls in high school, and I was sure that he would have one hell of a story ready for me when I saw him. I had had a few backseat car adventures with a rubber covering my cock at high school too, but this was college. This was different and I had nothing to tell him. Honor being utmost to our story, I had resigned myself to loosing this bet. That was until Mrs. Simmons called and talked to my mom.
Mrs. Simmons and my mom go way back. They had been best friends when they were young and had somehow ended up living very close to each other, one block to be exact, after marriage. Pregnancies seemed to have been planned also, leading to my friendship with George. Naturally, living so close and parents knowing each other had made frequent visits to each other's house the norm. Mrs. Simmons had always treated me well, never minding my presence. George's father had a good job with an investment firm, so his mom didn't have to work. Instead, she had devoted her life to pleasing the kids of the neighborhood. Having spent so much time with the area kids had seemed to stop the aging process for Mrs. Simmons.
While my mom and the rest of the mothers of the surrounding homes got older in their actions and appearance, George's mom stayed as fresh and as young as my first clear memories of her. She would play baseball and football with the boys, getting dirtier than most of us. She even took a bunch of us camping once and did a better job than any of the fathers ever did. She was voted "Best Mom in Town" by all of the boys we hung around with. She had also won a vote that George never knew about. The rest of the boys in the neighborhood had unofficially elected her in a secret ballot, "Prettiest Mom in the World." Mrs. Simmons blew all of the other moms away in that vote. You know, it's hard to vote against your own mother in a beauty contest, but no other mother even got one vote. Thinking back, she reminded me of that physical fitness guru Denise Austin. She was blond, beautiful, fit and trim, and bubbly. A little while after Mrs. Simmons and my mom had finished their chat, I learned how blond, and how beautiful, and how bubbly she remained.
My mother talked with Mrs. Simmons for quite a few minutes and then relayed the expected message from George to me. He had arrived home a couple of days earlier and couldn't wait to see me. Seeing me wasn't what he wanted. Money was. I had known George all of my life and he couldn't wait to brag about himself. It was a quality his mom had always hated but had no control over. She blamed it on her husband, saying that it was a fault that almost drove them apart. She would always say, "Why can't you be like your friend Paul. He doesn't need to brag." She warned him that, "bragging would get him in trouble some day or lead to something that no one would be able to control." I'd get embarrassed as she put her arm around my shoulders as she said this, but I also liked the soft touch and smell of her skin when it happened.
Unfortunately, due to my lack of sexual activity at college, I was now in store for another round of boasting from George. Mrs. Simmons had told my mom that George would be leaving for the day quite soon, and that I should come over as soon as possible. I left as soon as I could, wanting to get this entire episode of my life over with. Little did I know that Mrs. Simmons would make me want this day in my life to never end while she helped me win my bet with George.
Summer had taken hold with a vengeance this year, with heat and humidity reigning and showing no signs of abdication. I put on a pair of cut-offs and tank-top and headed for George's house. Memories of my youth flooded my mind as I walked; fun and worriless summers seemingly so far away now. I didn't have a job lined up and I was going over my friends' house to lose one hundred bucks. As I walked around to the back door, which was my old and familiar entrance to the Simmons' house, a slight feeling of depression began to fill my body. I knew that I would have to endure the usual spouting off by George, as he would wallow in his own self-proclaimed glory. Most of his other shortcomings were easy to overlook, but I just could not take his arrogance, just as his mother couldn't. At that moment, I would have done anything to change the outcome of our bet. I would have sold my soul to the devil for just one wild incident with a girl. I walked through the unlocked door, just as I had done thousands of times before. The familiar aromas that one becomes accustomed to with frequent exposure eased the tension I felt throughout my entire body. I quickly recognized the smells of their kitchen, the fresh linen in the laundry room, and the soft perfume that Mrs. Simmons always wore. I called out as I seated myself at the kitchen table.
"Hello," I said. "It's me, Paul."
I waited for George's piercing voice to fill my ears, but it never came. Instead, the pleasant voice of Mrs. Simmons chimed from somewhere down the hall. I heard her light footsteps before I saw her.
"Hi Paul," she said happily. "It's just me. You missed George. He just left."
"Oh," I said with little enthusiasm. "I came as soon as I could."
"Well," she answered as she approached the table. "You don't have to sound so disappointed that it's only me here to greet you. I thought you might be a little more pleased to hear my voice instead of George's."
"I'm sorry," I said as I got up from the table. "It's nice to see you again Mrs. Simmons. It's been a long year. How are you doing?"
"Well," she said as she came over to give me a hug and quick kiss on the cheek. "That's a little better. I'm doing just fine. It looks as if college life suits you just fine Paul. Seems that you've grown a bit more from last time I saw you."
She stood back and took a good, long look at me. It was as if she were sizing me up, preparing to buy me and take me home. I took the opportunity to evaluate Mrs. Simmons too. As usual, she had not changed one bit, still resembling a vibrant Denise Austin. She still looked as young as when we played our games together with the rest of the kids some ten years ago. She was wearing a pair of shorts that came to the middle of her thighs. Even though she was a year or two older than my mother, she was probably sixty pounds lighter. Had my mom been wearing those shorts, flesh would have been exploding from beneath the hem. On Mrs. Simmons however, there was more than enough space to put a hand up inside between the material and her skin. Her legs were tanned and trim, muscles still as visible as they had always been when she ran the bases during our backyard baseball games. She wore a loose fitting shirt, the top two buttons undone in a vain attempt to stem the heat of the day. Mrs. Simmons must have been working pretty hard around the house because her sweat had stained a good portion of her shirt. Beads of moisture that had probably collected on the inside surface of her tits had succumbed to gravity and rolled down the middle of her chest. A large dark area of wetness discolored the stomach area of her shirt. Patches of darkness also marked the underside of her tits, allowing her bra to be quite visible through her shirt.
"Would you like a glass of iced tea Paul?" she asked as she made her way towards the refrigerator. "I've been doing some work around the house and I've been sweating my ass off."
"Sure Mrs. Simmons," I answered as I watched her walk away.
A dark stain of wetness had created a thick line of discoloration right down the middle of the back of her shorts. Material had gathered into the crack of her ass, defining the round and firm shape of her cheeks. As she opened the door and bent down to get the container of tea, her shorts fought to ride up. Friction, caused by the heat of the day and her body, was finally overcome. Her shorts sprung up as if launched from a catapult, sticking to the alluring underside of her ass. When she stood up, her shorts stayed where they were. Automatically, she reached around with her arm, pushing the index finger of her right hand under the legs of her shorts and pulling them down. Maybe she had forgotten that I was sitting there, but when she turned around she didn't seem to realize what she had done. She continued to talk to me as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. We sat and sipped on the cold drinks as we informed each other about of lives over the past year. Even though we were only sitting, sweat soon began to spill out of our pores. Mrs. Simmons didn't have the air-conditioning on in the house. She said that it was her way of keeping her weight down. She'd put the air on before her husband came home. She said that she had grown accustomed to the heat and that she didn't mind sweating.
"In fact," she said leaning over and talking softly, as if someone else might hear, "now that George is away at college and his father is at work, I can walk around with little or no clothes on. I just have to make sure that the curtains are pulled."
