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I could hardly believe my eyes. But I had to as there could be no mistake for right before them was the clear evidence. A white, lacy see-through bra, a matching suspender belt, a pair of see through, very brief bikini knickers edged with lace, also white and two nude coloured stockings. It was nice stuff. Good quality and sexy. The sort of gear I used to wear when younger and, as it were, in play. ‘Just the lingerie to be undressed in,’ I thought smiling ruefully as I took them downstairs with the other stuff from my son’s laundry basket; his boxers and shirts, a couple of tees, some socks, her blouse and a few other odds and sods.
“Thanks so much Mrs West,” Sophie said coming into the kitchen having showered and changed after coming home from work that evening.
“What’s that dear?” I asked as she came and stood close to me in her jeans and tee shirt without, I noticed, a bra. “And please call me Jayne, I am not old enough to be a Mrs West.”
Smiling and looking right into my eyes she said. “And you don’t look old enough to be one either.”
I turned from where I was peeling potatoes for dinner and her gaze caught mine. There was a wry smile on her face and I thought a glint in her eyes.
As I undressed for bed later that evening I looked in the full-length mirror. ‘Hmmm not bad for my age,’ I smiled to myself looking at my thirty-six-inch D cup boobs that were still fairly pert with just a little sag that I, purposefully wrongly put down to their size and not my age! The rest of my ‘assets’ were not too bad, I thought perhaps being a little generous. Looking at the mumtum and the slight excess on my hips and possibly kidding myself, I felt that the nicely rounded bum and slenderish, shapely legs made up for them. Well at least the looks I got when out shopping in tight jeans and the leers at the gym when I wore yoga pants went some way to convincing me of that.
*
Sophie wasn’t quite my twenty-one-year-old son’s live in girlfriend for she went home most weekends. She would arrive with Peter most Sunday afternoons or evenings and sometimes Mondays and stay through to Friday. She lived with her parents right out in the country, in fact in an area called Constable Country on the borders of Essex and Suffolk. They had been going out for a few months but until she got the temporary job in an office near to where we lived we hadn’t seen her that much. Now we did though. Every evening and morning this gorgeous looking young woman adorned our house.
She and Peter had met during their gap year when they were travelling through south East Asia and Australia and were now waiting to go to university in a month’s time. Tall and willowy with a lovely figure, shapely legs that seemed to go on forever and long, blonde hair she really was gorgeous and I was fearful that my husband John might make a fool of himself as he nearly had with some of our daughter’s friends. Fortunately, it was at a time when he was away on business a lot. Thus, he didn’t have to see her or, alternatively did not have the thrill or pleasure of seeing her in her dressing gown that was short with the hem half-way up her thighs and gaped at the front. He didn’t have to sit watching TV in the evenings and see her and our son almost eating each other and he didn’t have to watch her swim languidly up and down our pool or sunbathe out in a ridiculously skimpy bikini as the last of the summer warmed up our large garden. I did though.
After the gap year Peter had delicately broached the topic of her staying during the week. She had stayed a few Friday and Saturday nights so when he asked if she could stay more frequently John and I didn’t have much of a case to stay no, but then why should we?
We lived in a fairly large, six bed-roomed house in Totteridge almost next to the Orange Tree gastro pub. When the house was built it had four bedrooms but a previous owner had added a granny suite over the triple garage to the side of the house. That had two bedrooms and a lounge and kitchen separating them that we had passed over to the children. Ostensibly that was us being liberal and grown up. In reality, it was to prevent them hearing the noise we made when making love.
Once they were eighteen, we had been pretty relaxed about them sleeping with their girl and boy friends so it was not a big issue when Sophie started coming down to breakfast with Peter. It was a little awkward sometimes when our daughter Lily came home for weekends and had her boyfriend Ben to stay as well, but we all seemed to cope and things worked reasonable well.
*
“Guess what I found in Peter’s laundry basket?” I had asked John as I walked into our bedroom naked the night of my lingerie discovery.
“No idea,” he replied his gaze focused on Newsnight on TV where, as usual, the female presenter was showing more leg than one would expect on BBC.
I told him about the sexy underwear.
“Well I hope they were Sophie’s and not Pete’s,” he smiled dragging his eyes away from the TV and looking at me
“Of course, they are hers.”
“So, casino oyna isn’t that what girls wear nowadays?”
“Not like that stuff, well Lily and her friends who have stayed don’t.”
“What was there then?”
“Oh, a skimpy bra, suspender belt, remember those?”
“Mmmm yes I do, fondly actually.”
“You randy sod.”
“Me? Why not go and put them on for me?”
“I have given them back to her with the flimsy thong.”
“So, all the raunchy gear then?” he went on as I sat naked at the mirror brushing my hair.
“Yes, and I’m surprised that at their age they need that sort of titillation aren’t you?” I asked as in the mirror I saw john push the duvet back and get out of bed in his boxers. He stood up, as I thought to go to the loo and I saw his bulge. Our eyes caught in the mirror and he smiled. “Does thinking of Sophie in her sexy underwear do that to you?” I asked.
“No not really but seeing your tits like that does,” he said probably lying as he stood behind me.
“Not her, not even one teeny, weeny bit?” I asked as he pressed his near full erection against my back, between my shoulder blades.
He shook his head.
“Hmmm I bet,” I grinned leaning back enjoying the feel of it against me.
“Well perhaps a tad Jay, but not as much as these do,” he went on cupping my breasts and pinching my already hard nipples.
“Fuck these are hard love, you sure it’s not you thinking about Sophie in her skimpy, sexy gear.”
“You know I am not that way,” I smiled pressing my tits against him as he pressed his now fully erect cock against me.
“Mmm, such a shame,” he said kissing my head and sliding his hand down my body between my legs that I opened for him. “I would love to see you with another woman.”
“What Sophie perhaps?” I smiled lifting my head and turning it so we could kiss.
“No not her, she’s too young,” he went on pushing my legs open and fiddling a finger inside me. “Someone older, more our age?”
“What couldn’t handle a young bird?” I grinned pushing my tits against his hand.
“Something like that, what do you reckon?”
“I’ve told you I have no interest in women I am strictly a man’s woman.”
“Oh fuck come on then get on the bed and let me fuck you.
*
“That’s kind Sophie, thank you,” I replied looking at her and seeing her gaze holding mine as I added.
“Well I feel as old as a Mrs West now and then.”
Smiling as she came and stood behind me at the sink and put her hand on my shoulder she said.
“That’s having Peter and Mr West to look after and now I am making it worse, I’m sorry.”
Turning my head so that our faces were almost touching. “No need to be sorry Sophie you’re very welcome.”
“Even when I dump all that washing on you?”
“It only takes a few minutes to wash.”
“But the ironing as well you shouldn’t have done that, I would have done it.”
“Well there wasn’t much to iron was there?” I smiled.
“Actually, Jayne I should not have put them in the laundry basket really should I?”
“Well I was a little surprised to see them.”
“Well it was Peter’s and my anniversary and that was a………” she stopped and giggled before adding. “A present.”
I was surprised and a little shocked at how open she was as she dropped her hand from my shoulder and looking me right in the eye said. “You know how men are and what they like us to wear?”
“Mmmmm, yes I do,” I mumbled feeling embarrassed.
*
Over the years I’d had opportunities. Of course, I had. Most girls who partied, went to clubs in the West End and lived life up in the nineties did. It became almost fashionable to have relationships or at least to ‘snog and grope’ other girls, even close friends. Bi or lesbian stuff was everywhere; in books, films, TV and plays, it was more openly talked about and fuelled by the likes of Madonna and Britney Spears on stage and of course by the gorgeous Sharon Stone in Basic instinct.
Looking back to the nineties, it seems more likely that twenty-something-year-old girls like me would have at least dipped our toes in the water of Sapphic sex than have remained blissfully straight. But I had. I hadn’t strayed, been seduced, kissed other women or done anything that could be considered sexually deviant. And that continued when I played tennis at a reasonable level where full on lesbians were rife and when I worked in a quite female dominated, very non pc industry.
It also continued when the magic of being married had worn off a little and having sex on tap with my husband was no longer the mysterious luxury it once had been. It’s that period when most or at least many couples look for more. When the wonders of the first few years have produced a couple of babies that are marvellous but, as they become children and no longer need to be asleep early become sex inhibitors. It’s then that especially the men have new ideas. Ideas, usually discussed immediately after sex such as:
“Why don’t we try swinging?”
“Ever been curious canlı casino about dogging.”
Such ideas were usually cast aside by the wife, as they were by me, when John suggested them.
But of course, as marriages go on and sex between couples needs spicing up more ideas crop up.
“I would love to see you with another man?”
“What being fucked?”
Or.
“How about going with another woman, Jay?”
“I have no interest in them I have told you?”
I have no idea how many couples ever take up any of those ideas, but we didn’t.
*
“It’ll be totally boring and full of old people,” I said to Sophie and Peter but we need to support the club so please come and John has one two competitions.”
It was a dressy do, evening suits for the men and ball frocks for the women. I had bought a new dress for the occasion that was tight round the top and low cut, perhaps on reflection a little too low as more of boobs were on show than should have been. It was a vivid Irish green in colour and the slit up one side of the figure-hugging skirt almost reached the tops of my holdup stockings. I felt good and that was made even more so when I came downstairs. John, Peter and Sophie were already there having a drink on the patio.
“Hey mum, you look great,” Peter grinned coming up to me and giving me a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Scrubs up alright for an old biddy doesn’t she?” John smiled handing me a glass of champagne.
“Now, now John don’t be nasty to Mrs West,” Sophie said grinning at me because of our private joke of a few weeks ago. She went on. “Come on all three together,” brandishing her Hasselblad camera reminding me that she was a keen semi-professional photographer and a rather spoiled daughter of a doting father crazy enough to spend several thousand pounds on a couple of cameras.
She looked lovely in a simple, high fronted, black sheath dress that was just about as tight as a dress could be. It showed every subtle curve of her lithe and youthful, yet womanly rounded figure giving a strong impression that she was not wearing any underwear and certainly not Peter’s presents!
She took several shots of the three of us together then each of us alone and then John and me.
“Put it on the timer and take all four of us,” Peter suggested.
She put the camera on the table using some books to get extra height.
“Right the guys on the outside with their arms round the girls, ok?” she said rather bossily fiddling with the timer and the camera angle before skipping across the room and slipping in between Peter and me. She slid her arm round my waist and squeezed as we all smiled for the camera. As we posed I felt John stroke my bum and I wriggled my bottom away from him.
“Stop buggering around you dirty sod,” I giggled as my movements pressed my upper body against Sophie confirming the impression given by the dress that she was not wearing a bra. My curiosity piqued I ran my hand as surreptitiously as I could a little way up and down her hip. ‘Hmmm no knickers either,’ I thought.
The dinner and dance at the club wasn’t that bad. The food was fine, the company was ok and the evening moved along quite well. It was a traditional golf club awards evening where I won nothing, as usual, but John got a few prizes, he’s an excellent golfer and Peter was taking after him.
As usual, after an initial flurry of activity when the dance floor was crowded most of the men gravitated towards the bar leaving mainly the women dancing with just a few of the guys.
“Come on Mrs West,” Sophie said grabbing my hand and pulling me up as the DJ played ABBA’s Dancing Queen.
She was a fantastic dancer and in the skin-tight dress her movements were very provocative. I saw several guys who were brave enough to have stayed on the floor quite blatantly ogling her lithe body as she danced or, really more writhed to the music. Following that the music slowed and became more of a smooch and I went to leave the floor.
“Oh no Jayne, you don’t escape me that easily, if your son won’t dance with me, at least I can pull the mum,” she said holding onto me and moving into a slow movement almost on the spot.
It was not unusual at the club for women to dance together in a similar way to this so I didn’t really think that much about it, but I was a little surprised at just how close we danced with our breasts brushing against each other a few times and how Sophie’s hands rested on the swell of my bottom. She didn’t quite caress me, but it was very close.
*
“It’s ever so kind of you Jayne, thanks so much,” Sophie said when she arrived at the house in her car at just after mid-day, a couple of weeks after the golf club dance
“Not at all love,” I replied opening the door wider so she could get through with her large bag as we pecked each other on the cheeks and I added. “After all it would hardly be the weekend without you would it?”
“No,” she smiled adding. “I’m the permanent visitor aren’t I even when my boy-friend isn’t here?”
John kaçak casino and Peter had gone away on a golf weekend to St. Andrews in Scotland and Peter had asked if Sophie could still come to stay as one of their friends was having a bridal shower on the Saturday afternoon and evening. Quite looking forward to the company I had agreed.
“You’re very welcome Sophie. Come and have a cup of tea. Was the journey Ok?”
“Yes thanks Jayne, apart from a little hold up on the M25 it was fine.”
As I made the tea she sat down at the kitchen table.
“I agreed to take some photos,” Sophie explained. “And that means so much clobber.”
“I thought most people used phones nowadays,” I said as I poured the tea and sat opposite her.
“Well yes most do, of course and the standard is remarkably good, but not excellent and when you are looking for memories or taking a special shots, excellence is required.”
“What like at weddings and stuff like that.”
“Yes exactly.”
“I find it difficult to tell the difference.”
“I’ll show you later.”
“How?”
“Well you take a few shots of me on your phone and I will take some similarly posed shots of you on mine.”
“Ok good.”
“But now Mrs. West,” she said looking into my eyes. “I must shower and get ready, if that’s ok as I promised Emma I would take some shots before the do gets going.”
“I won’t put the alarm on tonight.”
“Oh, don’t worry I won’t be late. Are you out this evening?”
“No, I’m a golf widow tonight all home alone. I might pop to the gym though.”
“Well I should be home by nine as Kelly has an early start tomorrow they’re going to visit her friends in Greece, but if you are in bed I’ll come and tuck you in.”
“Oooo promises that’s all I get,” I retorted in the light-hearted manner that had recently become the norm between us, particularly when Peter was around, but not so much with John who I suspected had quite a thing for Sophie.
“Ah well, you never know what you’ll get on an all-girls weekend do you?”
I looked up and our glances caught. Looking far more serious than before she held mine for a moment or two then smiling she looked away.
As Sophie showered and got ready I changed into my gym gear; black yogas with vivid pink markings, black sports bra, a tight, singlet matching the colour of the markings on the yogas and a white track top. As usual, I didn’t bother with underwear and went commando.
Just as she’d promised Sophie got home an hour or so after me at just before nine. I hadn’t done any cv stuff or weights at the gym so I hadn’t worked up a sweat so I hadn’t bothered with a shower but I was barefoot.
“They fly from Stansted at six,” she explained so have to be there at four and must leave home by two thirty so an early night for the bride and soon to be groom.”
As she sat down on the sofa, her short, denim skirt slid up her slender, tanned legs almost, but not quite, to the point of knicker flashing. I looked away quickly wondering whether she had seen me looking.
“Would you like a drink Sophie?”
“Are you having one?”
“Well several actually,” I smiled back. “I’ve had a couple already, haven’t you?”
“Just a glass of Prosecco to toast the impending marriage, they are not a very wet family,” she smiled. “And I had to drive.”
Going to the kitchen and getting the half-empty bottle of Pino from the fridge I said. “Come on then let’s make up for lost time,” as I sat down on the sofa next to her.
“Heard from John have you?” Sophie asked sipping her wine.
“Yes, about an hour ago.”
“Everything going to plan.”
“Well the golf did, no idea on the evening yet, but it was early.”
“Will they stay in the hotel or go out?”
“Probably go into Dundee I imagine, but I don’t ask.”
“Why not? I will Peter.”
“Well there’s an old golf maxim. What happens on tour stays on tour.”
“Oh really?” she smiled. “Have you been on many tours Jay?”
“Yes a few.”
“With the girls?”
“Yes, and mixed ones with John.”
Tucking her feet under her bottom she leaned towards me and smiling said. “So, was there much that had to stay on tour Jay?”
“A little here and there,” I grinned. “I’m a respectable married woman aren’t I?”
Standing up and getting the bottle I filled Sophie’s half empty glass. As I did that she leaned forward so that her top gaped and I saw her bare breasts down it. That view and the long expanse of her tanned legs sent a shudder through me making me wonder what was happening.
Looking right into my eyes she said quietly. “Are you Jay, I don’t know do I?”
Although having nothing to hide I felt strangely embarrassed talking to my son’s girlfriend in such a manner.
“So how was the shower?”
“Not bad it was pretty low key and as you see only went on for a few hours.”
“The photos go well?”
“Yes Emma’s lovely looking she’s modelled for me a few times in the past.”
“What posing?”
“Yes, she’s got a great figure a little like yours actually Jay, rather busty.”
“That what you call it in the modelling world is it?”
She laughed. “Yes, it’s becoming much more popular than the stick insect Kate Moss look.”
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