I'm single and pushing forty. Why do people insist that divorced is different to being single? It's not. In both instances you don't have a wife. I used to have one but we came to an amicable parting of the ways a few years back. We'd just grown and developed in different ways and, while friends, we decided we were both better of going our separate ways.
I have a son, Ian, recently turned eighteen. He's currently living with me but I suspect that won't be the case for much longer. The advantage of living with me is that I tend to pick up the bills. The disadvantage is that I'm always there in the background. A teenager doesn't really want his father always there. He's already sounded me out as to my helping him get a place of his own.
My son was the cause of what happened. He came home one evening and he had a lovely young lady in tow. Even from a doting parent's perspective, my son is only average. Reasonably intelligent, reasonably fit, reasonably handsome. So it was a bit of a shock to see him turn up with a young lady who was a bit of a stunner, to say the least.
Lyn was blonde and beautiful. A very shapely figure, with high, full, (very full) breasts. She had a charming smile and seemed full of life. I was prepared to swear that she was also a couple of years older than my son, so how the hell did he latch onto her?
I was even more startled when he said that Lyn was staying the night. We only have the two bedrooms, mine and his, and I didn't think she'd be sleeping in mine. As a matter of fact, I'd guarantee that if she spent the night in my bedroom it wouldn't be sleeping.
"Geez, Dad, get your mind out of the gutter," Ian growled at me, blushing. "It's nothing like that. Lyn is a friend and she needs somewhere to stay tonight and I told her she could stay here. That's all there is to it. I'll make up our spare bed for her."
I hadn't said a damn word. Ian was just jumping to conclusions as to what I was thinking. Pretty accurate conclusions, I'll admit.
I spread my hands, trying my best to look innocent of any evil thoughts, quickly re-dressing Lyn in my mind.
"Whatever you say, Ian," I told him. "I hadn't thought anything else."
The look on his face showed that he still suspected me of low thoughts. The slight smile on Lyn's face told me that she didn't suspect me of low thoughts. She knew with a hundred percent certainty that I had them. Ian was totally wasting a golden opportunity in my opinion.
Ian caught me alone and gave me the background. Lyn was, as he said, a friend. She shared a room with another girl. The other girl had a boyfriend staying overnight and sleeping in the same room as an amorous couple was not an option Lyn wanted to take. When I asked why she didn't just go and sleep on a couch or something Ian hedged a bit, and then told me that Lyn didn't trust her friend's boyfriend. She was concerned that he might come and visit her during the night and as far as she was concerned it was over her dead body, so she'd been looking for somewhere to stay for the night.
So Lyn had dinner with us. She had quite an engaging personality and I found her a genuinely likable young woman. I also revised my opinion about her and Ian. Too much woman for him. She'd eat him alive. He needed a gentler personality, also someone a little younger than him, rather than older. Strike Lyn as a prospective daughter-in-law.
Eventually we all retired for the night. I didn't bother to check what sort of arrangements Ian had made for Lyn. I knew perfectly well they would be quite chaste. I just went to bed and spelt the sleep of the just and righteous.
In the morning, instead of wandering out to the kitchen in my underwear, I took an extra couple of minutes to toss on a track suit. Ian, I knew, would have already risen and gone to work. He was on an early shift this weekend. Me, I had the weekend free. Lyn, I had no idea. She might have risen and departed at the same time as Ian and she might still be asleep. I didn't want to shock her, if she was still here, hence the tracksuit.
I was brewing coffee when Lyn came wandering into the kitchen. It was obvious from her tousled condition that she'd just got out of bed. She was wearing plain flannelette pyjamas, the type that are normally referred to as passion killers. They failed to live up to their reputation. Lyn looked adorable, a sexy and sleepy kitten, ruffled hair, still half asleep.
"Good morning," I said cheerfully. "Like some coffee?"
She nodded, smiling and I poured her a cup. We drank our coffee and chatted, not saying anything much. She'd just finished off her coffee when I broached the subject that I was interested in.
"So, you and Ian, just friends," I said.
"Mmm," she said with a nod. "I like him, he's a nice kid, but just friends."
Nice kid. Those words were the death knell if Ian had any thoughts at all of the friendship developing.
We talked for a few more moments and then I got up and put my breakfast dishes in the sink. Turning away from the sink I promptly bumped into Lyn who was standing there, waiting to put her cup on the sink. The first thing I noticed was that she had very soft bumpers. The next thing was how sweet and sexy she felt against me.
Now my arms had automatically gone around her to make sure that I didn't knock her over, with my hands closing around her bottom. I didn't squeeze her or try to take advantage. I did, however, decide to tease her a little. I lifted my hands to her waist and slipped them under her pyjama pants, meaning to pluck at the edge of her panties, as though my hands might slip under them.
I'd just made one little error. She was wearing pyjamas and only pyjamas. No panties. My hand was wandering over a nice warm bottom.
"My, my," I murmured. "No panties. Naughty girl. You know, it makes one wonder?"
Just what I was wondering became evident as I slid my hands out from under her pyjama pants and up under her top, running my hands up her back. Reaching where her bra strap should be and finding only warm skin, I shook my head.
"Oh, dear, what do have we here?" I said softly, my hands moving around to her front, sliding smoothly over her breasts.
Lyn was blushing furiously and breathing a little harder. Her nipples were peaking under my caress, even though I wasn't paying them any special attention.
"Take your hands away, please," Lyn demanded in a husky sounding voice, and I reluctantly moved them away from her breasts.
That's not to say I took them right off her. I just sent them back where they started, sliding under her pyjama pants and caressing her bottom.
As well as caressing Lyn's bottom I was also holding her against me. Something was stirring and from the slightly flushed look on Lyn's face she could feel it. I know I could.
"Take your hands out of my pyjamas, please," she requested, apparently still determined to be polite about it.
"If you insist," I said, not moving my hands.
Actually, I was moving them, up and down and round and round, gently massaging. Just not moving them out of her pyjamas.
"I insist," she said, sweetly. "I really do."
So I withdrew my hands, or most of them, anyway. I left my thumbs hooked over the waist of her pyjamas, an elasticized waist, not a tie cord. I started to push the pyjamas down.
"What do you think you're doing," Lyn demanded.
"Trying to satisfy both our requirements," I pointed out. "You don't want my hands under your pyjamas and I want to stroke your bottom. The simplest solution is to get rid of the pyjamas."
I already had the pyjamas a fair way down and there wasn't much Lyn could do about it. She couldn't bend down and grab them because she was still plastered against me. I left her pyjamas down around her knees, hands coming back up to claim her bottom.
"But I don't want your hands on my bottom," Lyn protested.
"Well, why didn't you say so before I pushed your pyjamas down?" I asked. "However, if it makes you happier. . ."
My hands moved back up to cup her breasts.
