Learning with Lou

Fifteen minutes later as I stepped into the shower and began to wash away the secretions between my thighs, my mind was spinning with a worrying mix of arousal, excitement and confusion, all tinged with shame.

My body was still a little pink and flushed as I prepared dinner for the two men in my life that evening. I took care not to get too close to Richie or my husband, convinced that the aroma of masturbation and climax must still be upon me.

Whether it was or not, my mind could not let go of the images that had accompanied one of the most intense orgasms I could remember.

***

It was Wednesday morning after a particularly hot and sweaty jog through the woods when Richie and I arrived back at the house. As usual, Colin was at work so the two of us were alone in the large kitchen having long, post-exercise drinks from our water bottles.

Having downed all its contents, I went to refill by drinking bottle from the cold tap. I stood at the sink panting as I looked out of the window but then, as the water flowed into the bottle, I felt a pair of strong hands on my waist.

I froze; the hands didn't move. Something stopped me from moving them or saying anything.

Then cold tap water began to overflow the rim of my bottle and over my fingers.

What should I do? Richie's hands were on my body but it wasn't an overtly sexual move, was it?

But if it wasn't sexual, what was it?

Slowly, I turned off the tap. The water stopped.

Richie's hands still did not move from my waist and I didn't push them away.

I raised my head and looked at the window above the sink; I could see my own and my stepson's face reflected in the glass.

I looked his reflection straight in the eye but still didn't move.

A moment later I watched and felt Richie's hands sliding down my sides until his palms rested on my hips. I could feel the heat of his young body close behind mine and a firm, half-hard lump pressing against the underside of my buttocks. His hands rose and fell, stroking my sides and hips through my running top, then the tops of my thighs through my tights.

Without thinking, I leaned back gently against his strong chest. Richie's hands returned to my waist and began to lightly massage my hips and buttocks. Then they rose a little until they were level with my boobs.

Something had changed. This wasn't a casual touch anymore; this was overtly sexual.

I could have stopped it there and then; I should have stopped it there and then.

But I didn't. As Richie's hands danced lightly over my lycra-covered skin, my friend Lou's words were going over and over in my mind.

"It's only natural!"

I could feel the heat of his palms through my tight-fitting running top but, almost unable to believe what was happening, still could not bring myself to react, either responding to his touch or rejecting it.

"It's only natural; he can't help it!"

His hands moved forwards until his fingertips reached my boobs. The heat of his palms was on my chest, almost but not quite touching my nipples. I could feel them hardening until they were clearly visible through my top despite my thick sports bra.

"He can't help it. Enjoy it while it lasts!"

I leaned further back against his powerful chest, expecting, or perhaps wanting to feel the full touch of his hands on my breasts. His fingers were running up and down my sides now, from the soft underside of my bottom to my firming boobs and back, his touch light and delicate.

"Enjoy it while it lasts! It's only natural!"

My breathing became deeper, my chest rising and falling as his fingers moved around my hips towards my tummy. I felt the hem of my top slowly rising, the cool air on my belly as my top was lifted. My arms rose instinctively to his shoulders, then to his neck. The top was rising higher.

"It's the most natural thing in the world!"

Now my sports bra was exposed. I could see its darkness reflected in the window. Richie's hands were moving towards its cups; towards my nipples which were already hard. I felt his fingers sliding under the bra's elasticated chest-band, his cold fingertips on the bare flesh of my globes.

Now the bra was rising, rising; my boobs were being exposed. I could see their pale flesh reflected in the window, then the dark edges of my nipples began to appear...

'"Brrriiinnnggg! Brrriiinnnggg!'

The house phone ringing in the hallway jerked us both back to our senses. Richie's hands flew from my boobs and he stepped back. My sports bra snapped uncomfortably down on my globes, squashing them painfully.

'"Brrriiinnnggg! Brrriiinnnggg!'

Somewhat shame-faced, I mumbled something incomprehensible. Riche shuffled away as I broke free to answer the insistent call, wriggling my running top down as I almost ran from the kitchen.

I had escaped, saved by the bell. But it had been a close-run thing.

***

That night my husband tried to make love to me but I refused. I told him I had a migraine though I knew he didn't believe me. In truth I was too worried I might see my stepson/s face above mine instead of my husband's and call out the wrong name in a desperately-needed moment of passion.

***

"Well?" asked Lou as I joined her in the far corner table of an anonymous branch of a national coffee house chain. "What's the latest on your young admirer?"

It was two days later. Richie and I had hardly been in the house together since the 'kitchen incident'; it was almost as if both of us were making excuses to avoid being alone.

My mind was fuddled. In the first place there was little doubt that Richie's touch had been sexual and that a stepson should not touch his stepmother in that way.

There was even less doubt that I should have put a stop to it immediately. There was no doubt at all that I had not even tried to stop him. There was plenty of doubt in my mind as to why that was.

I told myself that, if it really was just a normal part of having a maturing teenage boy in the house then I didn't want to say or do anything to damage his development or -- worse -- ruin his rapidly maturing relationship with his father, my husband.

The disturbing truth was that feeling that young man's hands on my body in that way had given me a tremendous thrill, the like of which I had seldom experienced in my very limited sex life.

I needed advice and I needed it badly. And there was only one person I could go to so there I was in the coffee shop in a fluster. The lunchtime rush hadn't started and cafe was nearly empty. All the same, I looked carefully around to make sure I couldn't be overheard before answering Lou's question and telling my friend my shameful secret.

"He touched me," I whispered, leaning as close to Lou as I could without drawing attention to myself.

"For real?" she asked, her eyes wide and a look of satisfaction on her face.

I nodded slowly.

"Where?" she immediately demanded.

"In the kitchen," I replied quietly.

Lou burst out laughing.

"I meant, which bits of you did he touch?" she eventually managed to say between giggles. "But if you want to set the scene that's okay."

Embarrassed, I took a long slow sip of strong coffee and composed my thoughts before delivering a fairly detailed and honest précis of the morning's events. I told her exactly how far he had got and what he had touched but left out the bit about how good his attentions had made me feel.

When I had finished, Lou leaned back in her seat as if pondering the situation. Her eyes seemed to be boring into mine as if trying to read my mind. Eventually she spoke in a quiet, confidential voice.

"Linda, if I tell you something in complete confidence, will you promise me you'll keep it that way? And I mean totally secret forever?"

"Of course," I said, leaning in to get closer.

"I've never told anyone this before; you have to promise never to tell another soul."

This both worried and intrigued me.

"Of course, Lou. Cross my heart."

She looked at me strangely again then began slowly.

"You know I have -- had a stepson too, that like you I married a divorcee with a child?"

"Yes, I remember."

"Well that's not the only similarity between us." She looked anxiously left and right before continuing. "My stepson had a serious crush on me too."

"Wow! You've never mentioned that before!"

"It's not something I want widely known. You see Linda..." she was clearly very embarrassed and hesitant. "I let things get a bit out of control."

I was gobsmacked.

"You mean he wanted to touch you too?"

Lou nodded. "And, like you, I found it exciting and let it happen."

"How far did it go?" I asked. "Further than Richie and I have got?"

She nodded again. "Much further."

I sat back in astonishment. This really was news! I had thought I was the only second wife in this predicament but it seemed not. Perhaps it was much more common than I had thought.

"Did you actually have sex with him?" I whispered, my eyes wide open in astonishment.

Lou nodded slowly.

"More than once?" I asked, both excited and horrified.

She nodded again.

"How long did it last?"

"Six months."

"Six months!" this was getting more amazing by the moment.

"Thereabouts," Lou said quietly.

"Did your husband ever find out?" I asked.

"No. We were very careful. Besides, he was like Colin; always at work. We had plenty of opportunity."

"Didn't he notice?" I needed to know. "I mean you must have behaved differently with all three of you in the house together." A thought struck me. "And you must have looked different too. Afterwards I mean."

I stopped before my thoughts and words grew too graphic. Even with my very limited experience I knew my body looked quite different after sex. Surely a husband would know his wife's body well enough to realise something was going on.

"It's amazing what a husband can ignore or not see at all," she said frankly. "And of course at first our own sex life burst into life too. He loved that so much he didn't question what was causing it."

This puzzled me. I would have thought that having a young lover would have reduced rather than increased her desire for her husband. I would have thought it would have made him suspicious too but when I said so, Lou was insistent.

"Don't you believe it, Linda. Once my stepson and I started sleeping together my libido absolutely soared. It might have partly been guilt but I found I needed my husband in bed more and more too. Our sex life blossomed; I had never had as much good sex in my life, even when I was a student."

"And your husband," I asked, realising for the first time that Lou almost never talked about her ex at all; that I actually didn't even know his name, let alone his son's.

"For most of the time he was like the cat that got the cream. He'd seldom had as much sex either. It would never have occurred to him that I was having a little youthful assistance on the side."

This was incredible. My friend's affair with her stepson had actually improved her relationship with his father!

"How did it end? Happily?" I asked. "I mean, assuming it has ended," I added in shock.

This time my friend smiled.

"It ended and it ended well. He went to college, found a girlfriend and moved on. I missed the attention and the sex of course but it ran its natural course."

"You're very relaxed about it Lou."

"What else should I be? It was a wonderful experience, we both got a lot of pleasure out of it. He grew up quickly, learning about sex in a safe, controlled way; I had a wonderfully pleasurable experience. My husband and I rekindled our love life."

"And you think it might do the same for me?" I suggested.

"Linda, something as big as this has to be your decision. All I will say is that it was an amazing experience for me and for my stepson. It did no harm to anyone -- in fact it did us all a great deal of good."

She looked around the room which was filling up. The tables next to ours would be occupied soon. Lou raised a finger to her lips.

"Enough for now okay? Walls have ears!" she grinned.

I sat back in my seat amazed, my head spinning.

***

Richie and I ran together before breakfast for the next three mornings without incident -- well almost. My fitness had improved beyond recognition; although he could have outrun me anytime, no longer was I trailing miles behind my young stepson as we sped through the nearby streets and local woodland.

After each run we did our stretching exercises before showering. At first, as he helped me get into just the right positions, Richie's hands remained in innocuous places on my body. To my shame, I found myself disappointed, a feeling reinforced by the vivid erotic dream I enjoyed that night, one in which I found myself waking, calling out my stepson's name into the darkness of the bedroom.

Thank God Colin was a sound sleeper!

By the end of the second post-run session however those wonderful, youthful hands had resumed their 'accidental', tentative straying; finding their innocent way onto my boobs, hips and buttocks as if testing to see what reaction they would produce.

And what was that reaction? Although I tried so hard to give him no encouragement, my body kept betraying me with clearly visible, hardening nipples and dampening shorts that the young man couldn't fail to notice.

On the fourth morning, Saturday we arrived back at the house after a particularly long and challenging run through the woodland behind our garden. Colin, as usual, had gone into work for the morning so there had been no time pressure. It had been beautiful; early morning sun, the smell of the trees, the song of birds and only our footsteps to break the magic.

I had run well too, was still feeling strong and was on a real physical high as we stretched and cooled down outside the kitchen door.

"Need a drink?" I asked, beaming at Richie as I went into the house.

"Just water thanks Linda," he replied, continuing his exercises.

I went into the house, took two long glass tumblers from the cupboard and went to the sink to fill them. I ran the tap for a while to let the water get cool, watching my young stepson through the window.

He looked amazing; young and strong with long, powerful legs, a tight torso and well-defined, muscular shoulders and arms. A moment later he had stripped off his running top. I gasped as I saw the clearly-defined lines of the pectoral muscles on his chest and beneath them, the impressive beginnings of a six-pack belly.

My own tummy ached and rumbled as I stood frozen, unable to tear my eyes away from the teenage Adonis before me. I felt cold water overflowing the tumbler in my hand but ignored it, my attention fixed on the scene through the window.

In all my life I had never felt like this before; for the first time I knew what lust really meant. Then Richie looked up, his gaze flashed onto the kitchen window and through it, onto my own admiring eyes. For a second or two our eyes locked onto each other, both of us frozen to the spot.

Then, slowly and deliberately, Richie picked up his damp shirt and disappeared from view. I turned off the running tap but otherwise was simply unable to move.

I heard the kitchen door open and close. I heard soft footsteps across the tiled floor. I felt movement in the room behind me but couldn't turn my head. I felt the heat of a human body at my back. I felt the touch of human hands on my waist and on my hips.

I did nothing but close my eyes.

Unseen hands ran up and down my sides, over my bottom then came around my torso and up to my chest where they cupped my boobs through my running shirt.

I did nothing.

The hands descended to my waist then I felt my shirt beginning to rise, higher and higher until it was bunched under my armpits.

Still I did nothing.

I felt the hands under the elastic of my sports bra, flipping it up as they had before, exposing my boobs with their already-rock-hard nipples.

Instinctively, I leaned back against the young, strong chest I hoped was directly behind me. It was there, even younger, even stronger and smelling of fresh, masculine sweat.

The hands began to toy with my bared boobs, cupping their globes, running my nipples between their fingers, kneading and squeezing with an expertise I had never expected. I sighed loudly, my hands still ridiculously holding the glass tumbler as my body responded in the only way it knew; lubricating for all it was worth.

Deep inside me a faint voice nagged that this was wrong; that I had already had one lucky escape; that I couldn't reply on the telephone bell to save me this time.

But I didn't want to be saved this time. This time was completely different.

Richie's hands left my boobs and slipped down my body until they found my shorts. A moment later the rough warmth of his palms was on my bare buttocks, cupping and squeezing them as they had my boobs, his fingers tracing the soft crease at the top of my thighs.

I sighed again.

"Richie..." I began to protest but there was no conviction in my voice.

"Shhhh!" he hissed in my ear.

"But..."

"Shhhh! It's okay!"

I knew it wasn't okay; it was anything but okay. But still resistance was beyond me.

I didn't resist when he lowered my shorts to my knees, exposing my sparse dark triangle.

I didn't resist when his fingers danced over my mound.

I didn't resist when a long, strong, positive digit ran the full length of my dripping slit.

I didn't resist when he turned me round to face him, when he took the tumbler out of my hand, when his lips found mine, when his tongue found mine.

We kissed and kissed and kissed, my mouth at least as active as Richie's as his young hands explored every inch of my exposed body from the shorts that bunched at my knees to the bra wedged under my armpits. Strong, young but surprisingly expert fingers touched my throat, back, boobs, belly and buttocks before retuning once again to the growing heat between my thighs.

My legs parted instinctively as far as my shorts would allow, giving him a little more precious access to my most private places. For a long time, my gorgeous stepson fingered me, his stepmother. My belly filled with heat, my loins burned, my thighs turned to jelly as that young man's magic fingertips found and toyed with every part of my vulva.

I could feel my clitoris swelling, surging forwards from its hooded hiding place as if begging for attention. And he delivered that attention; not even at school had I received a fingering like I received that day. My tummy still aches when I remember the sensations that pulsed through me.

Then we were moving; Richie was steering me away from the sink. I backed slowly and compliantly without breaking our embrace until I felt the hardness of the large kitchen table against the underside of my buttocks. His hands gripped my waist, lifting me slightly until I was perched on the its edge.

Then his fingers moved quickly to the hem of my running shirt. Just as before my hands flew to his neck but this time when he peeled the tight fabric upwards, I made no attempt to stop him and in a trice, the vest top was lifted up and away, leaving me in my dark, ugly lifted sports bra.

Our mouths had parted to make way for the damp sweaty garment to pass but as soon as it was gone, we fell into a passionate embrace again. Mouth locked on mouth; lips pressed hard against lips, tongue entwined with tongue, my bra flipped up, fully exposing my boobs.

His hands were on them again in an instant and as his tongue plunged into my open mouth once more, his fingers worked my soft pale flesh with a firmness just short of painful but which made the lustful side of my nature surge ahead. Bewildered by the speed things were happening, I could only stroke his arms and sides in completely inadequate response.

My befuddled mind told me that things were going too far; much too far; that I had to stop it now before it was too late.