Moms Book Club And Other Delights

First of a 3-part series. The other parts should be added in a week or so. Thanks for reading.

If Mom was devastated by Dad's leaving to cohabitate with his twentysomething assistant, she didn't show it. Always the extroverted of the two, she took her newfound independence as an opportunity to expand her social circle even further. Although he technically kept his business, the terms of the divorce stipulated that for every dollar he took, whether salaries, bonuses or reimbursement, she would get a like amount. He still maintained full control, but he led a lavish lifestyle, for which he needed to draw a healthy amount each month. The business did well, and mom's share allowed her to go part-time with her PR job and join all manner of clubs: tennis, swimming, and what soon became my favorites: book and bridge.

Me? I'm Gunnar Cavendish, 18 and in the summer after graduating high school, set to enjoy a few free-for-flinging months before attending State on a tennis scholarship. My academics were good enough not to disqualify me, but the athletic gods were the ones who really smiled on me. At 6-3, lean and muscular, I excelled at any sport I took up. My grandmother (of all people) imparted a profound piece of wisdom: the Big Three (football, baseball and basketball) might bring glory for a few years, but tennis can be played until retirement. And, other than golf, it brought the best and longest social connections, especially with the ladies. Golf somehow held no interest for me, so tennis it was.

My dad, as I said, was good at business and we lived well. My mom, Melissa, kept the McMansion in the divorce, with its hot tub and nice-size pool--water for the winter, and water for the summer.

Dad left around New Years in my senior year, and by the time my graduation approached, Mom had begun settling into her new 'club' life, listed above. She hosted the book club at our house. It consisted of four to six ladies who would come over, and that's where my education began. No, not school, wine. Technically I was underage, but Mother had no intention of playing barmaid to her friends. Neither did she think it necessary to hire someone, so I was it--nothing like free labor. I don't know if she had something specific in mind, but she said I'd glean rewards in other forms. She had no idea how right she was.

Or maybe she did, the sly fox.

Mom pointed me to several websites and magazines during the winter and spring, and in no time I had a good working knowledge of wines, French and domestic. She was partial to wines from the Columbia River Valley in Washington, and the book club women followed suit. Of course they did--who turns down free wine?

For each meeting, they were supposed to read a few chapters in a particular book, which they discussed over a glass or two (or six) when they came together. To accompany said discussion, they had not one, but three or four wines to compare and discuss also. Expert tasters apparently never swallow (wine, you perverts--get your minds out of the gutter) but do this foo-foo thing of slurping, rolling the wine in their mouths, breathing in, making eyes at the heavens, then spitting it out before taking a piece of white bread (French, preferably) to clean the taste buds for the next wine. Good in theory and maybe for stiff upper lip snobs, but definitely out of place with four or five lusty, lively and healthy women here to pass a leisurely afternoon talking books and their love lives.

They drank a healthy glass of each of the different wines they were supposedly evaluating, polishing a bottle with each round. So what if nobody could remember at dinner time what the first wines tasted like? Did the wines produce happy smiles--that's what it was all about.

My job was akin to butler: open the door, accept fly-by hello kisses, take any extraneous items of clothing and direct traffic before opening the bottles of wine and setting out the stemware. Whites apparently required different glasses than reds. Me complain? Does a bear insist on a white porcelain throne in the woods?

All of my mom's friends were, like her, attractive and flirty. Moreover, since part of the meetings happened around the pool or tub, their clothing ranged from revealing to eye-popping.

The first book club meeting at our house happened in early spring, on a rainy day. Mom had me open the hot tub (which had an overhang roof kinda thing), clean it and get it ready. Betty Miles was the first to arrive. Younger than mom and the second (trophy) wife of an investment banker, she showed up wearing a fashionable raincoat. Swooping in the front door, she looked me in the eye, undid its belt and handed it to me with a wide grin. Underneath she wore nothing but a microscopic bikini, which displayed her gym-toned body and enhanced boobs to perfection. Show me an 18-year old who can survive a surprise like that. I gasped, dropped the raincoat, bent down to pick it up, only to drop it once more, before I could recover and start breathing again. Each time my eyes passed less than six inches from her bikini bottom whose camel-toe made it clear the little covered kitten was as smooth as a baby's behind. Breathless was the least of the effects she had on me. Was this how she became a trophy wife?

Betty's eyes sparkled at the reaction. "Thanks, Gunnar." She held out her car keys. "After you hang up the coat, would you be a dear and fetch the bag from my car? Hubby has guests for dinner and I can't arrive back in this."

She cocked her head and assumed a model pose with one bent knee. "You like?"

The bathing suit had obviously been through a too-hot dryer, where it must have shrunk two sizes below anything designed to fit this luscious woman. I nodded furiously, desperately trying to slam my mind into gear for a coherent response and refrain from slobbering. Those tits just kept gumming up the works, however, with their aureolae not quite able to duck under the skimpy top. The hard nipples straining the fabric didn't help, either.

"Y..Yes, Ms. Miles, very pretty."

"Betty, Gunnar, Betty. You're an adult now," she glanced at my un-hidable boner and lifted an eyebrow. "And that means I'm Betty to you now. Got it?"

Another frantic nod. My hardon gave an uncontrolled pulse, which attracted her eye again. "Hmm, a real adult. So who am I, again?"

"B..Betty." No matter how I tried, I couldn't get the stammer from my voice. I grabbed the key to her Bentley and fled out the front door as the throaty laugh moved further into the house.

Next to arrive was Sandra (please, not Sandy) Houghton, the mayor's ex-wife. According to rumor, both had had affairs and had divorced amicably. Coming from money, she'd been the one who'd funded his political career, but was happy to cut him loose when, between his age and other 'interests,' he had neglected her, and she apparently had taken advantage of that neglect with a fitness club stud or two.

Unlike Betty, Sandra arrived fully clothed and composed, carrying a small bag with what I assumed was her swimwear. The smile she gave me was more amused than flirting, almost like a cat sizing up a mouse before she started toying with it.

Miranda Kilian, the fourth club member, was going to be late--some family drama, apparently. So, while mom, dressed in her bikini with a light, short robe, laid out a charcuterie board, I poured the whites and Sandra disappeared to change into her hot tub outfit.

As I poured, I noticed my mother added an extra plate for me. Although I was not an official member of the book club, she wanted me to hang around the hot tub so I could keep the bubbles going and their glasses refilled without any of them having to 'brave the cold.' I assumed I'd sit at one of the tables on the patio while they enjoyed the hot tub.

Right as everyone had their plates and moved toward the deck and hot tub, Miranda came flying in the front door. "Sorry, everyone. Let me change quickly." Passing the table, she grabbed her glass of wine, drained it and hustled to the guest bathroom to change while I refilled it.

Soon, the women sat in the bubbling water, snack plates in hand and wine glasses on the deck beside the sunken tub. Frustratingly, the water level covered their breasts, leaving me nothing to perve at.

Their first glasses emptied quickly, or in Miranda's case, her second. Whether it was their chatter or the hot water, they soon murdered the second bottle, too. Actually, Betty beat them. When she raised her glass and an eyebrow, I quickly fetched the bottle of white from the ice and walked toward her. She twisted out of the tub to face me with the empty glass. The unusual movement caused her shrunken top to slide down while her back was to the others, giving me a full, naked view of one of her enhanced girls, it's nipple at full attention. To make sure I knew it wasn't an accident, she looked down and then, making no adjustment, she looked me in the eye and then at my crotch. When she saw Little Gunnar jump to attention again, she grinned and said, "Fill me up, dude, I'm ready." Her raised glass might have fooled the others, but her eyes, flitting from mine to my dick, left no doubt what she wanted filling up from.

"It'll be my pleasure," I replied with a new boldness, "filling you up is what I'm here for." She appeared to like being in control, so I filled her glass slowly while keeping my eyes on her boobs and twerking my cock. Her nipples stayed hard under my gaze.

When I straightened up, she could see my erection tenting out my shorts, and licked her lips. I quickly turned back to set the next bottle in the ice bucket and adjust myself so the others wouldn't see my predicament.

I arrived back at the tub as the others' glasses ran dry, so I was kept busy filling glasses from another new bottle.

By then the discussion in the hot tub had moved on to a sex scene in the book. "I can't believe how soon Emily let Brett fuck her," Betty said. "I think she should have held him off a little more, made him work for it."

"No way," the chubby Miranda said. "She was hot for him. Why wait?"

"They were in her living room, all alone," my mom said. "They were kissing, his hand was up her skirt, and she opened her legs. If that's not an invitation to be fucked, I don't know what is." It was the first time I'd ever heard my mother even talk about sex, let alone drop the F-word. Even though it was my mother, my dick gave a jerk. If anything said I was now an adult, this revelation was it.

Sandra, evidently the quiet one, spoke up. "Look, Brett is a man. All men are horndogs, just waiting for any panty to drop. We all know that, she had to know that. So, inviting him into her living room was inviting him into her love box. The only question after that was when."

Evidently, they'd all forgotten I was just outside the tub. I felt like a fly on the wall--this was beyond great!

"But she didn't reach for his cock or anything," Miranda said, "so she'd given him no indication that she wanted more. He should have waited."

I noticed Betty's glass was close to empty so I silently rose to fetch the bottle, but made sure to stay quiet, not wanting to miss any of this discussion.

"What, you don't think opening her legs was an invitation?" my mom said. "If she wasn't keen to fuck, she could have kept them closed. We've all been there, done that. I think a woman opening her legs like that is sending a clear signal."

"Yeah," Miranda said, "And all he did was slide his hands over her panties. That's a respectful declaration of intentions, don't you think?"

"I agree. Especially when he felt her panties were wet," Sandra said.

"Not wet, just moist," my mom said.

"Oh, Melissa, you know as well as I not all women lube up at the same speed. When a man rubs your pussy, do you get wet quickly?"

Ooooh, I was about to get TMI about my mother, but was it T? This was an entire world opening up to my newly adult brain, and I was curious as hell. My stinger missile was on full alert now, and my ears perked.

Betty giggled. "I get really wet really fast and I love it. I love being teased and flirted with. Most of the time I take spare panties to social get-togethers, and even the gym. If I was in Emily's place and Brett ran his hand over my pussy he'd have no doubt about what he was doing to me."

"And what would you have done about it?" Miranda asked, slurring ever so slightly.

"Oh, I would have grabbed his hand and pushed it tighter, letting him feel how wet he was making me. I'd take his middle finger and press it into my slit." She looked at my mom. "Melissa, what would you have done?"

Silence fell over the tub as I could see everyone's faces flush a bit. To break the tension, I appeared, as innocuously as possible, and began refilling the glasses.

"Ohmigod," Miranda said. "Did you just hear everything we said?"

"Were any state secrets revealed?" I stood up straight and headed to Betty to fill the last glass. My erection tented my shorts. At first I was embarrassed, but then I thought, what the hell, and turned so everyone could see before I bent over and filled Betty's glass.

All of them noticed my condition and, as if directed by a conductor, pulled in their breaths at the same moment. After filling Betty's glass I stood up again. All four pairs of eyes were riveted on my crotch, which prompted a spasm and more growth.

"Well young man, since you've heard everything, why don't you join us in the tub?" Miranda said, licking her lips. "You are, after all, an adult now."

No red-blooded male was going to pass up an opportunity to join four scantily-clad hotties, so, before my mother could voice any opposition, I took off. In my room, I wondered, should I go for my normal (loose) bathing suit, or the Speedos I'd used for competitive swimming at school? What the hell. They were into raunchy talk, and it wasn't like anything was going to happen. So I figured I'd make their day and slipped on the Speedo.

When I walked through the sliding door to the deck around the hot tub, the chatter stopped instantly. My hardon had subsided but I still sported a noticeable tumescence. All of their eyes locked onto Little Gunnar. Happy with their attention, he figured it was time to stand up and be counted. So, right before their eyes, its tumescence transformed into steel.

"Ohmigod," Betty said, "You're sitting next to me, stud."

Having four women regard you with admiration, even lust, is every man's dream, and I wanted to stretch it as much as I could. I moved over to one of the empty chaise lounges and slowly set my towel down.

"Anybody need a fill-up?" I nodded toward the reds, which I'd opened to breathe.

They all nodded while keeping their eyes glued to Little Gunnar. New glasses for the reds, I remembered, and poured. Betty swallowed hers in one gulp and held out the glass, which took the last of the first malbec.

Drinks done, I turned to the tub.

"Aren't you afraid that thing will fall out?" Sandra asked with a leering grin.

"Yeah, but that's not the worst. My worst fear is that I won't be able to get it back in again."

Their raucous laughter broke the sexual tension that had sprung up. Turning to face my audience fully, I walked the long way around to where Betty sat, my cock bouncing with every step. It was a weird feeling, not unpleasant at all, but weird. Never having been ogled before, I realized I could get used to this. It did feel a little odd to see my mother staring at my bouncing erection like the other three, but I kept going.

When I got to Betty I picked the opening between her and Sandra, and slid in quietly.

"Well, don't let me derail your discussion," I said.

"You're a man," Mom said, "how would you have reacted?"

"To what again? I didn't read the book, so I'm not sure what the situation is."

"Brett, the guy," Sandra explained, "had just taken Emily out for their first date. They went dancing, which turned hot when she plastered herself against him for several slow dances. When he took her home, she invited him in and sat in the middle of the sofa. He sat next to her and they began kissing and making out. I'm not going to tell you what happened, because we're discussing what should have happened, or not happened. So, what do you think?"

I looked from one woman to the other. "I gather from your discussion he slid his hand up her thigh." At that moment, Betty put her hand on my thigh under the bubbles and began sliding it up. Suppressing a surprised yell, I swallowed and tried to continue without raising my voice to a squeak. "If I'm there doing that, I'm definitely wanting to go further, but at the same time I don't want to blow any future chances, so I'd be waiting for a signal. If like one of you said, she closes her legs, that would tell me that's as far as we go for the night."

When nobody reacted, I decided to take a chance and put my hand on Betty's leg, more than halfway up.

She opened her legs.

I said, as casually as I could, "A woman opening her legs can't be anything but a green light, saying she wants that hand on her treasure."

The women holding their breaths in the hot tub was almost palpable.

"Then," I continued, "once my hand covers her panties, I'll rub softly." The tension in the tub jumped several notches. "Nothing turns a man on like a woman wanting him and welcoming his advances."

Betty exhaled as my hand covered her pussy. She immediately stuck her hand into my waistband and took my steel cock into her fist.

"I would rub her panty softly, waiting for her wetness to ooze out her welcome, or for her to stop me. A gentleman will never force himself on a woman. Like I said, I haven't read the book, but her opening her legs would appear to be an invitation--not a shred of doubt about that. My guess would be she'd begin to rock her body slowly to encourage him. If he's confident, he'd slip his finger inside her panties and explore her pussy, gently and softly." I dropped the reference to her pussy to see if there'd be any indignation or shock after several glasses of wine and the prior discussion. There was none, only faster breaths, even from my mother, whose mouth was open slightly.

Betty's breath hitched as I did just that to her. The angle was a little awkward, but my middle finger slipped into her wet slippery snatch. Her eyes closed and a long soft sigh escaped her lips.

Suddenly I realized where we were as three pairs of eyes stared at us. Sitting up, I returned to a normal voice. "Did that answer your question?"

My mother looked down, Sandra looked away and Miranda looked into my eyes with a huge grin. "Did it ever! Maybe we should appoint you our special book club consultant."

My mother coughed. "Speaking of which, how come our glasses are empty?"

Seeing as I'd not gotten any pushback, I lifted Betty's hand from my Speedo, straightened myself up a bit and got up. My hardon was full steel and once again I stretched, flashed it at everyone, casually opened a merlot, and brought each one their new wine to "taste." While I walked back and forth, four pairs of eyes followed me, or more specifically, my boner-stretched Speedo, which tented from my body, so it looked like a tight-fitting glove. Not a word was spoken to break the spell. Betty again was the last. When I stood from handing her red to her, I looked around. "Is there anything I can give anyone?"

"Yes, get down here and give me a kiss," she said.

Hoots, hollers and caterwauling erupted immediately, breaking the tension. Setting down the empty bottle, I slid into the tub, held out my hand and lifted her. Without wasting a second, I bent down and softly touched our lips together. Her tongue drove into my mouth and we commenced a duel, to cheers and applause. Miranda stood up and tapped Betty on her shoulder. "Can I break in?"

I turned and her mouth locked onto mine. Where Betty's kiss was demanding, Miranda's was softer. It was like she was inviting me to chase her. She ground her lower body into my hardness. On and on we went until Sandra said, "Hey, get a room, you two."