Abbie here. Liz shocked me when she suggested we offer our lessons to Jeff and Benjamin's friends. I couldn't believe my luck. She was making all this too easy and I was all for the idea in a heartbeat.
I know now how dishonest Liz and I were being with each other, but at the time neither one of us knew how to approach the subject. I confess that I didn't feel the least bit guilty about what I was doing with Benjamin -- even if Liz and I were the best and closest of friends. The only thing that truly bothered me was not having someone to talk to about this wonderful change in my life. I suddenly felt like I had been a sleep-walker for the past ten years. Now, all I wanted to do was tell everyone how much I now adored the attention of a young man and how much I had loved rubbing bellies with a young, horny stud. I wanted more -- much more -- of all I had tasted last night and I wanted at least one person to know just how much I had loved it all.
Since I couldn't tell Liz, I've decided to tell all of you instead. The second Liz left my patio I called Benjamin, told him to find two friends to join him for a dancing lesson the following night and that they were to pick me up at my place at seven. We talked about going some place else for the evening and we finally agreed that Benjamin would make the arrangements. The only restriction I placed on him was that the two friends be earnest young men like himself and that wherever they took me should be safe, private and have a way to play music so we could dance. Our lesson was not to be disturbed. I also instructed him to call me back to let me know who he had invited and, if I didn't already know them, I wanted a brief run-down on each of them. I was sure Liz would never allow Benjamin to have the wrong kind of friends but it never hurts to be cautious.
The second thing I did was dash down to the mall to a tanning salon I had used off and on for a while. While I was on the phone with Benjamin, I had begun to look at my legs and arms and suddenly realized how pale I was. It was still early in the summer and I hadn't spent much time gardening and walking yet. I had visited the tanning salon the week before but I decided it was going to take more than that. I wasn't shooting for a deep shade of bronze in the next twenty-four hours but I certainly didn't want to look like a pasty old zombie for my first class. (I guess that statement sort of implies I expected to hold more classes -- and you're right!)
I grabbed up a bottle of tanning oil and rushed out the door. Time was a-wastin' and I had so much to do before tomorrow night. I was able to squeeze in another tanning session late the next morning and I have to say I was at least showing signs of a tan. I wasn't the color of a sack of flour anymore and the faint tan lines from last year's dowdy old bathing suit had at least disappeared. I had decided not to bother wearing a swimsuit at the salon. After all, I wanted my students to appreciate
everything
about me and an all-over tan was a part of that
everything
.
While lying there under the sunlamps a few minutes later, I mulled over my ideas on what to wear. There was some clothing stores nearby that would have a lot to choose from. My first priority was to wear as little as possible. My second priority was to select an outfit that was easy to remove. I didn't want to wear a new outfit for very long tomorrow night and I wanted to make it easy and simple for my students to remove. I know from my experience as a mother that young men learn truly lasting lessons when they can discover things for themselves. I didn't want to complicate their first lesson with too many hooks, buttons, zippers or straps. I wanted something simple enough for an inexperienced young man to figure out quickly but I also wanted an outfit that would knock their socks off.
I found the perfect outfit in the very first shop I visited. It was a little shop next door to the tanning salon that catered to teenaged girls. Why any self-respecting mother would ever permit their daughter to wear the dress I selected escapes me. It was a vivid, sinful pink. The hemline stopped long before it reached my knees and had a halter top with a deep 'V' in front and tiny strings that tied at the neck. It was made of a thin, stretchy satin-like fabric that did very little to conceal lumps, fat or wrinkles. Fortunately, I didn't have any of those problems to conceal. I did however, have two very prominent round, swollen nipples that any self-respecting young man would find absolutely fascinating when they were poking out from this material. They looked rather striking as I admired my appearance in the mirror. There was no way my wayward big nipples could be hidden in this little number. I even found a little hot pink thong to go with it.
The dress came in two sizes. The larger size fit me quite nicely. The smaller size had a shorter hem, pinched a bit at my waist and squeezed my poor big boobs until they were almost ready to jump out of the dress. I chose the smaller size. I must confess that the snug feel of this dress got me awfully hot and bothered. As I stood there in that little dress shop in front of the mirror with my pussy growing damper and damper, I wondered for just a split second if I should be doing any of this. That feeling didn't last and I rushed right out to get a mani-pedi in a hot pink shade to match my dress.
After my nail treatment I slipped into a shoe store and picked out a pair of white high heeled strappy sandals to complete my look. On the way home I stopped by the corner drugstore and bought new makeup. I hadn't worn much makeup in a long time but it seemed awfully important that I have a dramatic, sophisticated -- and perhaps slightly 'trashy' look. I was beginning to think of myself on this adventure as "the tramp-for-a-night."
I accomplished all of that in the five hours following my conversation with Liz. All that remained for me to do was get my hair done. I called my hairdresser and made an appointment for the next morning and then I started dinner for Jeff and I.
I was an efficient, organized mom and I was proud of that. Raising a son like Jeff was my proof. Sometimes I can be too efficient and too well-organized, though. The next morning, I slowly came to comprehend just how challenging my own efficiency could make my life.
It was 11:30 in the morning and everything except for my bath and dressing for the night, was complete. I had nothing to do for the next five hours. I felt like a million bucks. I looked like a million bucks too. My nails were a gorgeous bright pink. My long blond hair was nicely trimmed and had been freshly highlighted. I couldn't do any housecleaning or gardening for fear of damaging my manicure or working up a sweat that would muss my hair.
Even more daunting was my arousal. Lordy, but I was horny. My body twitched all over with anticipation. Sitting at the kitchen table, idly trying to read the newspaper and shifting about on my chair, I felt like a long-tailed cat in a room filled with rocking chairs. I was going crazy with the anticipation of the coming evening's lessons. I couldn't wait to show Benjamin and my two new students a thing or two. The two new students were Preston and Marty and I had met them before. They were both nice young men and I had even done some charity work with Preston's mother a few years ago. I had approved of Benjamin's choices.
Still, I was feeling like a horny little cat in heat and now, because I'd taken care of everything yesterday, I had nothing to do for the rest of the afternoon. After stewing and sputtering around the house for a few minutes I decided to prepare for the evening by little bits. First, I would shave my legs. I could stretch that out for at least forty-five minutes, I thought.
I miscalculated. The act of running a warm sponge over the smooth flesh of my legs had a strangely bracing effect on me. Smoothing the shave cream over my thighs nearly sent me into a tizzy. I began purring and humming to myself. I even spread some of the foam up into all that curly blonde fur covering my slit. That only made me more excited. I shouldn't be doing this, I told myself. I wanted to be positively at my peak sexual arousal when my young students arrived. I didn't want anything to take the edge off my raging sexual excitement before tonight.
I wasn't managing any of this very well. Before I knew what was happening to me, my hips were rolling, my legs, bent at the knees so I could shave my ankles, were opening and closing slowly and I had unwittingly shoved two shaving cream-covered fingers up my twat. I hadn't masturbated in years and now, here I was lathering myself up into a hopeless frenzy. When my husband Ernie was living and we'd had an active and rich sex life, part of our sex play had been for him to watch from the bed while I got myself off perched on the edge of the dresser. When I had finished my dirty little deed and I was out of breath and squirming there in front of him, Ernie always delighted in lifting me off the dresser and telling he could do much better than that. He always proved his point by fucking me senseless. He really could do better and I dearly needed his strong, knowing touch in those strung-out moments after I had gotten myself off.
My first orgasm was small and helped take the edge off my excitement. I extracted both fingers from my hole and forced myself to get back to work with the razor. Things went well and I managed to take my time with the process until I reached my upper thighs. Each time I looked down and set the razor upon the smooth flesh of one thigh or the other, I was forced to look at the sight of my pussy with that dollop of shaving cream smeared all over it. It only served to remind me what my pussy would look like tonight. I thought of a hard, young cock inside me, erupting like a geyser with all that creamy goodness. I couldn't help myself. I dropped the razor and plucked up my clit for a bit more personal attention. I was a hopeless mess by now and I couldn't stop. I came again. This time it was bigger and I made a little bit of noise as all that pleasure swept over me.
