Only wearing a white bra and thong, Liz Adams stood in front of her bedroom mirror and examined her body.
Not bad for a forty-eight year old woman. Liz's tanned light brown skin had not yet begun to wrinkle, and contrasted wonderfully with her white underwear. Her long blonde hair framed a face, which, although tired-looking, was not unattractive. Liz often thought that her hips were a little on the wide side, but for some reason, they seemed to have an alluring charm of their own towards men. She slipped off her thong, letting her legs free loosely.
Running her hands up her firm torso, Liz arrived at her breasts. They were full, firm, and large, the best part of her aging, and thankfully, they were apparently the only sign of it, too. Snapping off her bra, Liz's breasts seemed to bulge out, free of their restraint. She slowly touched and felt them, feeling warm shivers as pleasure from the touch coursed through her.
It was then that her doorbell rang. Jolted back to reality, Liz jumped and blushed at the thought of what she was doing. A middle-aged woman, lustfully behaving like a cheerleader!
Throwing on her clothes, a simple white blouse and jeans, as fast as she could, Liz rushed downstairs and opened the door. She was halfway through an apology for taking so long to answer the doorbell when she took a good look at the young man who was standing there. Her mouth dropped open in shock.
"Excuse me, but, uh, Ms. Adams, I, I need to talk to you, I-"
Liz was hardly listening. She stared at the man, whom she had never seen before, and yet looked like someone she had known very well. He had a handsome face, short dark brown hair, an athletic build, and bright brown eyes that displayed both charm and intelligence. All features very familiar to her.
"I'm sorry, miss, I just..." The young man was clearly very nervous. "My name is, uh..."
"Mark," breathed Liz. "Mark Johnson."
The stranger looked surprised. "Yeah. Yeah, I am. How did you..."
"You look just like your father," Liz murmured. "Steven...he talked about you a lot. Here, come in. We should talk."
Mark thanked her and stepped through the door, casting a sideways glance at the woman who was technically his...stepmother? His parents had only been twenty years old when they had him, and his mother had died in childbirth. His father gave him up for adoption afterwards, and it was years before he made contact with his biological son. And even though he had told Mark that he was married, he had never given him any clues as to who it was. Mark certainly hadn't imagined his father's wife to be so attractive.
***
Liz put on a pot of coffee to boil, and then sat down at the kitchen table across from Mark.
"I'm sorry we haven't already met. I'd have liked to have seen you before...but Steven, he, well..."
Mark smiled, feeling his confidence return to him. "I know, my father insisted on you never meeting me. He told me the exact same thing himself. In fact, he didn't really tell me much about his new life at all. I always got the feeling that he was hiding something from me."
He looked up, suddenly afraid that he might have sounded too accusatory. After all, he was talking about a man she had been married to. Fortunately, Liz nodded and weakly smiled.
"Yes, sometimes I had that same thought, too. I loved him, but he had his secrets. No offense meant, of course..."
Mark laughed, put at ease by her hesitance to avoid insulting him. "Hey, I'm the one who should be worried about offending people. I didn't choose who my dad was, but you made the decision to marry him!"
The laugh died off his face as he remembered for the second time in less than thirty seconds that he was talking to a widow. He tensed, this time certain that he had gone too far.
Liz looked at Mark for a few seconds, only to smile at him. No quick grin, but a full, beaming expression of joy that lit up her entire face, from her blue eyes to her blonde roots. Mark felt dizzy for a few seconds as the smile continued. For a moment, Liz seemed years younger.
