This is a story that probably has to do with a fantasy i have of meeting and older woman please write me some feedback
I can't begin to tell you what Hope means to me. My mother died when I was very young, so young in fact, that I hardly remember her. She is a faded image in my mind, and only old photographs remind me of what she once looked like. She was very pretty my mother, and I guess I miss her. That may sound a little cold and callous, but I never really knew her.
Hope, on the other hand, was another story. Hope is my best friend's mother, and I have had a crush on her for as long as I've known what girls and boys do together in the bedroom. It got very, very bad during puberty, and now, at the tender age of 18, it's finally levelled off. But there's a good reason for that.
Hope and I... wait. Let me start at the beginning.
Hope is the kind of wife and mother that reminds you of those perfect women in sitcoms. Always ready with a plate of fresh-from-the-oven cookies and a ice-cold glass of milk, Hope helped form my opinion of what a woman should be. Even at that tender age, I knew that Hope was different from other Moms. She was smarter, funnier... sexier. It wasn't like she was slinking around the house in a silk dressing gown, flashing glimpses of her underwear at my tender, underage eyes. She never looked inappropriate; it was just that she has this... fresh, sexy appeal, kind of like one of the girls you see in a beer advertisement, or a chewing-gum commercial. I know how stupid and insipid that sounds. My father summed it up: There are girls you want to meet, and girls you marry. Hope was both.
When the first stirrings of my teenaged lust started appearing, Hope was the primary focus of my fantasies. In my fevered jack-off dreams, I saw her and I together, doing things that I still had no names for, things I only knew would feel perfect if I were to do them with her.
Looking back now, I know that Hope was aware of my feelings, painful and immature though they were. She always treated me well, and I like to think that she thought me the son she never had. I mean, I know she had a son, but... you know what I mean.
Jesus was her son, and my best friend. We met in the first grade, and it was basically set from there. Even now, after all that's happened, he and I are still best friends. He doesn't understand it, and I'm sure he doesn't agree with it, but I know that he'll be my best friend until the day I die. Just as Hope will be my one true love.
What happened is that during the summer between my junior and senior year, several things happened. Jesus's father left Hope and moved in with his bimbo secretary. It was an old story, but no one had seen it coming. Hope had always thought she'd had a happy marriage, that her husband was satisfied and content. Amazing what a pair of nineteen- year old tits can do for a man, huh?
What also happened is that I broke up with a girl that I'd been dating for about six months in a futile attempt to get Hope out of my soul. Erin dumped me for a better-looking jock, crushing me. And Jesus started dating his first serious girlfriend.
What happened, then, was that Hope and I found ourselves spending a lot of time alone. I would go over to Jesus's house to see if he was doing anything, and more than likely he was screwing around, out with Heather somewhere. Hope as all alone, and she was starting to show some of the wear and tear the separation was causing her. Hope still thought that her husband would return after his midlife crisis, but with each subsequent day, it looked like the divorce was actually going to happen.
In all fairness to Jesus's dad, he was handling the thing as well as could be expected. There were no money problems. He'd agreed to make sure that Hope and Jesus were well taken care of. Hope didn't have to worry about finding a job or losing the house. She just missed having a husband around.
As I was to find out.
One Friday night I got to feeling kind of lonely, so I headed on over to Jesus's house. He was out with Heather again, and Hope was obviously feeling kind of down.
"So, what are your plans for tonight, stud?" Hope always called me that and whenever she did, it made me feel... good.
"Well, since Jesus is going out, I'll probably just go back home and watch a video." I tried to keep the hint of desperation and loneliness out of my voice.
Hope stopped what she was doing and glanced at me. "Tell you what. I was just going to read a little and then go to bed. Why don't we watch the movie together. I could really use some company tonight, Sean."
Suddenly, my throat was dry.
"Uh," I said. "The movie is, uh, at, uh, home."
Hope waved a dismissive hand. "We'll see what's on cable or pay per view. No problem. What do you say? I'll pop some popcorn, get some sodas..." She raised her eyebrows, "Maybe a beer or two...? What do you say, huh?"
Into the breach, dear friends.
"Sure." Hope laughed gleefully and clapped her hands. She set to work instantly. In ten minutes we had a big bowl of popcorn, a beer for me and a glass of wine for her.
Pay-Per-View was showing one of those heavy-duty R- rated movies that had lots of nudity and sex in it. Hope looked at me, embarrassed, but I just shrugged, and we went back to watching. The plot of the movie was a gift from the Gods. An older woman's husband leaves her for a younger woman, and she gets her revenge by taking over the company she inherited from her father but the dallying husband runs. In one later scene, she's talking to the Dictaphone, remarking about how since she doesn't have a man in her life any more, she'll have to make her business the focus of her life.
I was reaching for my third beer when I heard the sound next to me. Hope was on the other side of the couch, and I saw that she had sniffled. She was crying softly, staring at the screen, her eyes out of focus, her thoughts obviously somewhere else. As she continued to think about whatever it was -- and I knew what it was -- the tears increased. Even crying, she was beautiful. Hope was so wrapped up in whatever it was that she was thinking about, I had a moment to really, really look at her. I'd always been shy, and I preferred to look at pictures of Hope that were around the house.
I was reminded again just how beautiful Hope was. She wasn't wearing any makeup that night, and at the tender age of 36, she looked better than some of the girls I went to high school with. I studied the soft line of her jaw and suddenly wanted to kiss it very badly. She was wearing soft chinos and a blue oxford. The first three buttons were undone, and I suddenly realized I could see the edge of her lacy bra. That was somehow more exciting than if I had seen her naked. The thought that her full, round breasts were just underneath that smooth, silky material made my blood pound. I actually started to salivate.
