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" I mean who talks like that, for Christ's sake? Nobody, that's who." He punctuated with the long cigar. "It's pure smut-writer bullshit and I want you to change it." Change it? I'm sorry, I...." My lips kept moving but no sound was coming out.I'm a we'll-spoken, articulate person, but I don't handle confrontation well. My thoughts sort of freeze up on me sometimes, like some of those chat boxes on the internet.He gestured slightly with the cigar at the yellow legal pad in my lap, "Write these down. Juices, we already said that one. And add 'dancing.'" Dancing," I mumbled as I wrote."No more 'dancing eyes,' or 'our tongues danced together this and that' shit."Sounds like a fucking tango going on in their mouths."And milking! God, I hate that one! If I read that she 'milked every drop' one more time I'm gonna puke." No...more...milking." My head was drawing closer to the yellow pad as I wrote and I felt liking curling into a ball. He was grumbling something indecipherable about a. He could slide back into my pussy. Return to his mother. Was that so wrong? I knew it was, but the more wine I drank, the hornier and hornier I grew. Things like morality didn't matter. Not with something as carnal and passionate as my desire for Ian. I would love my son. Teach him about how to please a woman. Let him enjoy every bit of my body. I'd gotten in shape. For him.I hoped to feel his eyes on me. To notice my tighter ass and flat stomach. The toned thighs. He'd glance at me in my yoga pants and a sports bra as I prepared to do my exercises. Sometimes, I hoped he masturbated to me. But he never grabbed me. Never fulfilled my fantasies of seizing his mom and taking her hard. He was a good boy. He would never do something so sordid and depraved. He wasn't a dirty whore like his mother.“I'd be your dirty whore,” I moaned, my body so warm. I tipped the wine bottle and frowned as only a splash dropped into my glass. I turned over until was upside down, watching the red wine drip.
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I didn’t understand why he wanted to spend time with his college friends when he could have been spending it with me.I felt rejected and used.He’d been so attentive and lovely right up to the time I’d let him stick his cock in my special place… and then I’d barely seen or heard from him. I’d never felt closer to anyone in my entire life and here he was ignoring me.I’m not ashamed to say that it hurt.A lot.*** I had a Saturday job helping out at the local charity shop, although I wasn’t feeling very charitable and had spent a miserable morning throwing various dirty bits of clothing around.“What’s wrong, love?” Mrs. Attenborough asked. I told her about Mike through my tears.“I thought it might be boy trouble,” she said. “What is it you want?”“Erm. I…” I wanted him to want to have sex with me again.“You want him to fuck you, is that it?”“I… erm.” I looked at Mrs. Attenborough with wide eyes. That was exactly what I wanted.“I might be old and crusty, my dear. But I know a thing or two.

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