Dad's Wife


	Dad's Wife - 2008-03-12 Almost every college freshman I knew or heard of was cooler than me -- not to mention that they all had lost their cherries. Except me. Hell, I hadn't even gotten a good case of stink finger, unless you can count scratching your own ass. Instead of spending that first year getting out there and copping some actual pussy like the rest of the known world, I continued doing what had occupied my last year and a half of high school: shooting up at the dark ceiling at night, aiming between the legs of the hovering mental image of a writhing, moaning, very erotic Monica. My roommate Darrell never gave up. Every couple weeks he would try to get me to go out with a friend of a friend. `Guaranteed squat' or `Best head in Lambda Chi' he'd tout with enthusiasm. But I always found a reason to go to the library or stay in the dorm. Yeah, I know how crazy that sounds. Go figure. 'Course, I didn't end my freshman year screaming and trying to tear the urinal out of the wall when I took a piss like Darrell did. I guess it's true that God takes care of angels and idiots, and I know that I'm no angel. I had no idea what had happened at home since I had left for school, but the atmosphere between Dad and Monica when I came back for the summer was, for the first time in my awareness, uncomfortable. After the first few days, Dad seemed to always have to work late, and Monica and I just sort of had to look after each other in his extended absences. I didn't mind. I continued to worship the heavenly body my father had somehow hooked into marriage during my junior year in high school. I remember the Tuesday with perfect clarity -- like it was this morning. Monica lay on a deck lounger in my favorite peach bikini, baking to a gorgeous bronze while hiding behind sunglasses and a magazine. I spent an hour hiding my boner while keeping my face turned toward her, staring from the tiny slits of my squinting eyes. `God, you're wonderful,' I kept zapping her with ESP. I couldn't see her eyes, but pretended that she was watching me with a matching hunger. And receiving my messages. "Warren's going to Cleveland this afternoon," she said suddenly, wetting a finger on her pink tongue to turn a page of her mag. "For a two-day seminar. Did he tell you?" "Nah," I mumbled. I turned and sat up, then slid into the chill water of the pool in a single motion. When I came sputtering up near her chaise, I grinned at her. "Course, it won't be like I'll miss him -- no more'n he's home these days, anyway." It wasn't a kind thing to say, but Monica didn't comment. I made a few laps and got fairly presentable before climbing back up on the deck. Then I sat there beside Monica, kicking the This story is copyright © to No Author Author:No Author Visit Authors Website Category:Wife Sex Stories
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