Most mothers would never confess to having an affair with a younger man. Even fewer would confess to seducing innocence and forcing their wiles on a clueless 18-year old boy. Wondering how this anonymous temptress can sleep at night? She doesn't, which only makes things worse.
Women like me, the ones that would confess to having an affair with a younger man, prefer to say that the young lion was the aggressor. They feel more comfortable confessing that they were seduced by a passionate spectacle, an uncontrollable superstar that overpowered their ladylike restraint. This makes my revelation all the more shocking. The young man that I seduced could be called innocent, even ignorant of my designs. In turn, his innocence, his complete ingenuousness to temptation, is what inspired me.
I am a woman of 40 years old, with curly brown hair and a body of average proportions. Being an active housewife keeps me busy and averagely fit. Sometimes I spend time with my grown daughter and handle her two babies for that extra "lift", which keeps my arms strong even if I still qualify as a plus size dress. I am proud of my body and delighted when my husband tells me that I look as sexy now as I did 20 years ago. That said, most people could never fathom why I would have lustful desires for such a younger man.
His name was James. When I first heard that an 18-year-old boy was coming to housesit for my husband Barr and I, I was slightly unnerved. I admit the thought of a horny young boy in my bedroom sniffing my dirty panties was unsettling. I tried to warn Barr of the possible danger, but he laughed off my worries. I even had Barr playback the security footage just to show him how harmless this man-child James really was. I was slightly embarrassed when all the footage revealed was the young man eating pizza and watching syndicated sitcoms. Now that I look back, maybe my paranoia was fueled by a glimmer of wishful thinking.
James was physically fit; he was a farm boy that had just recently come to the big city only to land the job of a gas station cashier. James had broad shoulders, strong arms, thick blonde hair and a shy smile. His eyes were pure and unpretentious. He was the type of young man who would run across a block just to track you down and give back extra change. I knew of him because he was the son of my former housekeeper, a woman who I was very close to even after she retired. My attraction to her son developed over time; I failed to realize, it was a latent attraction for many years.
I wasn't foolish enough to believe that I loved James. I did love his innocence, and wonder how much better the world would be, if everyone were a bit more childlike. However, my love only deepened for Barr as the years passed. What I felt for James was an attraction. I admired his body. I began to long for his face in quiet moments. Sometimes I would think unmentionable thoughts about him and snicker, just wondering how he would blush to hear me repeat them. I began to hear his docile voice at night and wondered how he would sound in bed whispering to his own future wife. Barr is a good husband and rarely ever leaves me alone at night. However, when he does, the intensity is unbearable. On those rare, lonely nights I started to think of James and wild sensations came over me, of inviting him to my house for no apparent reason. I wondered what he would say or do. That boy, always so selfless and positive, I know he would never say no to me. Though I do wonder if confronted with me in a sexy red camisole and dry martini, if he would have faintest notion on what to do next.
I still remember the day that Barr told me had to take a week-long business trip and would have no choice but to leave me unattended and alone in the house. He apologized for moments on end but all I could hear was my pounding heartbeat, becoming increasingly painful as each moment passed. I realized then and there, that I could not resist this temptation. The idea of one free week, and seven days of restless, quiet boredom, would either give me too much opportunity or at least drive me to the brink of insanity. The only way to cure this throbbing in my soul, and yearning in my intimate parts, would be to invite him to me. To speak to him alone. To seduce him. To force him to make love to me. If I didn't do it, I would be a better person; I would have resisted a terrible temptation. I would live a happy marriage and have no regrets. But if I didn't take him, my curiosity would never rest. If I did, and if there were fierce consequences to follow, I would have to accept them. Reality would scorch my flowing oasis.
I waited until the third night of solitude and then called my former cleaning woman, with the message that I would require the services of her son for house sitting. I remember chatting with her so innocuously, improvising details about a fictitious "trip" that Barr and I were going on. How odd, that I loved this woman so much, but felt no remorse of lying to her, and ordering her son to be delivered as fresh meat. I was using him, taking advantage of his youthful, virile body. Part of me even wanted his mother to watch the rape unfold, so that a pair of mournful eyes would judge me. Does that make me a psychopath? Anonymously, I asked both a psychologist and a swinger to explain my obsession to me. One said I was a very sick woman and the other applauded my efforts to explore my peaking sexuality. The idea of rationalizing my behavior turned me off. The fact that he was of legal age, as opposed to the first time I lay eyes on him, was becoming a slight disappointment. I was destined to taste his forbidden fruit.
When James first arrived I inquired about his method of transportation. The dear, he had none, and walked a good mile to come to my humble home. His generosity brought a smile to my face and a stain to my panties. Every look he gave me was one of friendship and loyalty. He would make a better woman than I weep at herself and feel remorseful of thinking such awful things. I suppose that means I'm incorrigible.
