Frank Brown - Mom peeps on the boys

Alice wondered what it would be like to have a young stud to fuck her regularly. It seemed that every married woman in the world was having an affair these days except her. Even Zenobia Grant – that decrepit old bag on the soap opera Alice sat here watching as the rain poured down outside – was having an affair. The old bag, with her six face lifts and inch-thick makeup, was presently locked in the muscular embrace of the young stableboy who tended her husband's prize horses. The stableboy had to be at least a half century younger than Zenobia. Alice she'd never be able to figure out the stableboy's lust for the old bag. She also knew that if there was any justice in the world, Zenobia would be caught in the act one of these days by her husband and banished forever from his luxurious estate.

Admit it, Alice, you're insanely jealous, she told herself as she switched off the TV with the remote control and turned her attention from the blank screen to the rain sliding down the windowpane. You're jealous because Zenobia has something you don't have – a young lover.

Alice glanced at the pictures of her three sons that were arranged on a walnut table nearby. All the pictures were recent school portrait photos. Her three blond sons stared back at her.

Mark, the oldest, captain of his high school swim team, gave her a cocky grin, almost a smirk. He was broad shouldered, long limbed and exuded self-confidence.

Shawn, two years younger than Mark, gave Alice that blank, serious look. Shawn was the musician of the family. He spent more time at the piano than he did sleeping. Compared to Mark, he was frail and pale.

Ricky, the youngest, gave Alice his usual wicked grin, his nose upturned and freckled, his teeth dazzling white in contrast to his deep tan. The only thing missing from the picture was his little league baseball cap, which he wore backward almost all the time.

What do I have to be jealous of? Alice asked that accusing voice in her head. I have three gorgeous sons and Zenobia doesn't have even one. I have a rich husband, a big beautiful house, all the free time I want, and three of the best sons in the world. If anybody should be jealous, it should be Zenobia.

Zenobia has a lover, that persistent little voice said. Zenobia is having an affair with a muscular young man, no less. Zenobia is being satisfied in ways you've almost forgotten about, Alice – in ways you've almost forgotten.

Alice jumped up off the couch and went to the window.

What a rotten day, she thought, trying to quiet that nagging, taunting little voice. Why does it have to rain and rain and rain?

Alice couldn't remember when she'd last seen the sun. The winter rains were depressing. Being cooped up in a mansion day after day while the rains hammered the windows put depraved ideas into her head. It was during rainy season that Alice sometimes wished she lived in a small ranch-style home instead of this monstrosity.

She checked her watch. Thank God she'd be leaving for the health club in a half hour. She would put in a hard hour with the weights, then hit the swimming pool for fifteen minutes before her massage at five. She especially looked forward to the massage. Thomas, the 19-year-old masseur, was the most talented masseur Alice had ever met. Those big warm hands of his could relax her magically. He could put her sleep in minutes.

And he looks just like Zenobia's stableboy, said that nagging voice. Doesn't he, Alice? You'd like to fuck him, wouldn't you, Alice? Just once, you'd like to fuck him and see what it's like to fuck a cock other than Paul's. Paul isn't quite the man he used to be. You hardly ever see him anymore. And when he's home from his continent hopping, he has so little time for you. It's as if he's forgotten he even has a wife.

Alice watched the rain come down. She wondered if it was raining in Japan right now, which was where Paul was supposed to be. Paul's business was international trade. He spent ten months of each year outside the U.S., much of his time in the Orient. Alice wondered – Paul being abroad so much of the time – whether maybe he hadn't gotten involved in some affairs.

He's probably got a whole harem over there, that nagging voice said. And here you are, afraid to even flirt with a man. Here you are, thirty-nine years old, and you've only fucked one cock in your life. How many cocks has Zenobia fucked, Alice? And when was the last time Paul's middle-aged cock really satisfied you? Be honest, Alice. You're lonely, you're frustrated, and you're not getting any younger. You work out hard, you take care of yourself, and you've got the figure and looks of a younger woman. But how long will that last? Take a chance, Alice. Grab your pleasure while you still can – before it's too late.

"Oh, that boy!" Alice ran from the TV room, down the hall and into the foyer. She threw open the front door.

Ricky, resembling a drowned rat, trudged in through the door, his sneakers squishing. "Gotta get my raincoat," he said, panting hard from his sprint through the rain and up the front walk. He shivered, clutching himself.

Alice whisked off his baseball cap, showering the oak wall with rainwater. "Why didn't you wear your raincoat to school?"

"Forgot it. Got a ride to school, remember?" He started for the hallway, leaving a puddle behind.

Alice caught him. "Take off your shoes. Hilda's on vacation and I'm not going to clean up after you."

The boy groaned and tugged off his sneakers, plopping two bare feet on the brick floor of the foyer.

"Didn't you wear socks?" Alice said.

"Forgot," the boy said, turning for the hallway.

"Wait. On second thought, you take off all those wet clothes right here."

"But Mom, I just wanna get my raincoat. I'm going right back out. I'm late already because I had to run all the way home for the raincoat."

"You're not going anywhere soaked to the bone," Alice said. "Your newspapers can wait. In fact, I want you to get in the bathtub and warm up before you get dressed."

"But Mom, I might get fired if I'm late. I'll lose my paper route."

"If you get fired for delivering late on a day like this, then they can have their old route. You don't need a paper route, anyway. Your father gives you an allowance each week worth what you'd make on twenty paper routes."

"But I like it, Mom. I just like being a paperboy."

Alice shook her head. "All right, paperboy. You can go out and deliver, just as soon as you warm up and get on some dry clothes."

The boy groaned, but he undressed as she'd asked, keeping his back to her. His teeth chattered, and his skinny body shook all over. The water beaded on his tanned back and rolled down like water off the back of a duck. As he peeled off his pants, he revealed skin that was shockingly white in contrast to his deeply tanned torso.

"Get up into the bathtub," Alice said. "You're on the verge of hypothermia."

"What?"

"Just get up there." Alice followed her naked son down the plushly carpeted hall way and up the carpeted stairs. Her eyes never left his flexing little asscheeks.

She hadn't seen any of her sons naked in a long time. Ricky was still a boy, still completely hairless, but there was something about the shape of his body that hinted of manhood. Maybe it was a hint of muscles about to sprout, or a slight wideness of his shoulders and upper back in contrast to his boyish hips. Whatever it was, Alice found herself wanting to see more of the boy.

She followed him into the bathroom. "Get under the shower. Quick."

"But Mom…"

"You're shaking like a leaf. We've gotta warm you up." She stopped the boy before he could close the shower door, then reached in and turned on the water, adjusting it to a steamy temperature.