I was finally on my own. I had turned 18 in April and chafed for 4 months, working at a fast-food job and getting laid if I could. Problem was, I still lived at home. Now, I was free. I had moved into the dorm and my parents had gone back to our hometown. Free!
One little thing still nagged me though. My parents' best friends, Ron and Sheila Dobbs lived in the town—in fact, Ron was the baseball coach at the university and Sheila taught in the history department. They were my legal guardians, and although I was 18 and they had no control over me, they still felt responsible for me, and every week or so they would give me a call or stop me on campus to make sure everything was going OK. It wasn't intrusive, but it was still a reminder that they could always call my parents and tell them something. It takes a while to break free from that feeling completely.
Anyway, they had invited me over for dinner next week. I liked them OK—they had no children of their own and they had always been a bit like an indulgent uncle and aunt to my brother and I. I didn't really mind going—I just didn't want it to get to be a habit.
I knocked on the door and Sheila opened it." Hi, come on in, David. Bad luck—I just got off the phone with Ron. He should have been back from that away game a couple of hours ago, but the bus broke down and he won't be home until sometime in the middle of the night. They've sent another bus, but it's four hours one way."
"Maybe I should come back another time..." I began.
"Don't be ridiculous—I've already fixed dinner, so you have to help me eat it. Come in and sit down."
I didn't mind—I had been around their house enough at various times over the years to feel comfortable. I went in and sat on the couch. We chatted as she finished setting the table. As she did, I watched her.
She was fairly short, but had a nicely proportioned body. She had big fluffy hair, which framed a cute face. Her figure was what I would call average—nice tits, but not too big, nice ass but not too prominent—and shapely legs covered in pantyhose. Her high heels gave a great lift to her ass and made her legs look smooth and taut.
"OK, come to the table, " she called. I sat down and we had a good dinner and a good conversation. We talked about general, normal subjects, and to her credit, she treated me like a real person instead of just the son of her friends.
After dinner, she invited me to go sit on the couch while she fixed us some coffee. I was flattered that she considered me a coffee drinker. After all I was only 18 years old. I sat on one end of the couch and she soon came into the living room with two coffees, put them down, and sat on the other end. The couch was fairly long, so she swung her legs up onto the couch and sat facing me.
We continued to talk about this and that, while I tried not to stare at her feet and legs. Like I said, she was wearing stockings or pantyhose, and her feet were petite and sexy looking in the shiny nylon. Even as we chatted, I was thinking how much I'd like to kiss them, then work my way up those smooth legs to the edge of her dress and then...
"Wh-what?" I stuttered. I hadn't been paying attention.
" I asked you about your girlfriend—Mona, is it? —I've seen you around campus a few times."
"Oh, yeah, sorry, my mind was on other things...yeah, Mona's fine. We get along really well together."
"I wish Ron and I were still like that." As she said this, she kicked off her pumps and tucked her feet up under her, giving me a good look at her legs as she did so. In fact, when she had repositioned herself, her skirt had slid up so that I could see the darker band of nylon at the thighs of her pantyhose. "I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but you're my friend and I trust you. Ron and I don't get along anymore."
"What do you mean?" I asked. I was still naïve enough to ask that sort of thing. I had seen them, spent time with them, and they seemed like any other middle-aged couple.
"Ron hardly talks to me, and he certainly doesn't look at me."
"I can't believe that," I told Sheila. "I mean, he must look at you."
"Oh yeah," She gave a bitter little laugh. "He looks at me when I get in his way. But you know what I mean—he doesn't look at me the way a man should look at a woman. Not even vaguely interested. I know I'm 42 years old and I don't look as good as I did when I was 22, but... I think maybe he's seeing another woman."
I didn't say that I had heard some rumors around the gym about the athletics secretary sleeping with one of the coaches. She was a student named Heather, and she had long hair and short skirts that met about two inches below her ass. Every guy I knew tried to find an excuse to go the office when she was there because you invariably got a glimpse of her panties. And if she bent over to pick something up off the floor... As far as we knew she didn't have a boyfriend, so maybe it was Ron who was lubricating her honey-hole.
She paused. "I don't know if I should tell you this."
"It's OK," I urged her, "I would never tell anyone anything that you told me in confidence—between friends."
I used the word "friends" because she had. I was beginning to hope that our relationship might go beyond that. I had this hope because she was telling me rather personal things as well as for another reason. She had taken her feet out from under herself and stretched her legs toward me. Now her feet were resting on my thigh. They were dainty and gorgeous and covered in the nylon of her beige pantyhose. I wondered if she was wearing "sheer --to- the-waist." Or if they had cotton crotch . Or if they...and her feet looked so smooth. I wanted to take her feet in my hands and kiss them and lick her toes, get her excited. I was sure she would get excited because my girlfriend liked me to lick her toes, and she always came quickly after I took them in my mouth and sucked them. My cock was starting to get uncomfortable in my jeans.
"Well, if you promise not to tell anyone..."
"Of course not," I said quickly.
"Well," and here she rubbed her feet against my leg a little bit, "a few months ago, I decided to do something special to get Ron to look at me. Actually to do more than just look. It's been months—almost a year—since we've -- since we've, uh, been intimate."
"I find that incredible," I burst out. "My God, you've got a gorgeous face, and a body to die for, and when you dress the way I've seen you, in short dresses with high heels, any man would be crazy not to be intimate ..."
I realized I had probably said to much. I had let her know that I had looked at her in more than a "friendly" way. But she didn't seem to notice—or rather, she didn't seem to mind.
"That's a sweet thing to say, David," she said , with a dazzling smile. "But it's not quite that way. I'm starting to sag"—and she cupped her tits and pushed them up—" and I'm getting some wrinkles."
Since she had responded so well to my earlier comment, which I thought was way over the top, I decided to go for broke. "Sheila," I said, " can I tell
you
something that is just between the two of us?"
She nodded.
"Given the choice between you and a 22 year old—for example, my girlfriend, Mona, I would always choose you."
"Oh."
She seemed embarrassed, and I didn't want her losing the thread of what was gong on , so I said, "You were telling me...?"
"Oh yes. I bought a couple of things—sexy lingerie and I put them on before Ron got home one day. I had some candles lit, the lights down low, some slow music on , and I was ready for him to come in. I mean, I had gotten myself excited a little before he arrived." She stopped thought for a moment, then turned that brilliant smile on me again. "You don't mind me telling you things like this do you? No? Well, as I said, I was wearing a black negligee and black silk stockings and black heels—I embarrassed the salesman at the shoe store when I bought them because I asked for "fuck-me" pumps in a size seven—but he know exactly what I wanted. I had also bought a black lacy bra and matching panties, but I decided not to put them on. I checked myself in the mirror to make sure that he would see everything-- you know what I mean..."