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"Ah, does the thought of touching my boobs get my little man excited, does it Robbie? Here, let Ellen help you out."She took his arm, pulling it so that she could take his other hand and bring it up to her breast, pressing it against herself. Robbie couldn't believe how firm it was, how hard her nipple felt pressing into his palm. He couldn't believe he was actually standing here with one hand on Ellen McKenzie's bum and one on her boob. His head was swimming.Ellen could feel her excitement physically leak from her pussy. She knew she had to have Robbie, could feel how hard he was, knew this was a chance to live out her fantasy."I think my little man needs some help," she said, pulling away from him and taking his hand, leading him towards the bedroom.Ellen took control. She backed him up to the bed and let her hand drift down to lightly stroke over the bulge in his pants."Is my little Robbie sore, are you in pain, can Ellen make it better?"She let her hand grip his shaft through his. Butstrong as he was, determined as he was, he couldn't protect her fromeverything and she knew how badly that would wound him."So?" I don't know Walt...I mean, for me, it's an easy question to answer."Which was a lie. Well, not really a lie, more like an oversimplification."So answer it." I just don't think you know what you're asking. What you're lettingyourself in for." What am I letting myself in for? Tell me."Oh, Christ, did she really have to spell it out? It was too embarrassing.Why was he making her say it? Surely he had to know all the complicationshe would be courting, all the problems he would be subjecting himself toby marrying her. The petty intolerance, the gossipy innuendo, the smugasides, and sidelong glances. He couldn't be unaware of what his familywould think, for one thing. Yes, they might tolerate her now at the veryoccasional family get-together, because they loved Walt and knew that ifthey dared to exclude her they'd never see him again, but she sensed thatthey.
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Do it now!”Normally, I roll my eyes and begrudgingly comply with most of my mother’s ‘requests’. This one however, was very different. Because in this case, I was excited in a multitude of ways. I had known Mrs. Isaacs my entire life. She was a neighborhood mom, my mother’s longtime friend, rival, and occasional sworn-enemy. She was about 5 years younger than my mother, and most egregiously (at least from my mother’s perspective,) she was prettier, taller, thinner, and blonder than my mother as well. Under such close quarters, the lives of our two families had been inexorably intertwined every step of the way. Both my sisters (but not me) had counterparts in Mrs. Isaacs’s family, and there were carpools, sporting events, Fourth of July events, and suburban life in general to keep us always on top of one another (but not in the fun way). The relationship between Mrs. Isaacs and my Mother was reasonably friendly, but in certain ways, also involved obligatory “good little Mom”.

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