The Neiborliness Of Andrea Williams free porn video

PART ONE
Andrea Williams was ecstatic. The phone call told her that the part-time job was hers. Just what she wanted. Nine to three, five days a week. She could get her kids off to school by 7:30, jog for half an hour, shower, dress for the job, and be home by the time the kids came home from school at 3:30.

Her son, Jeremy, was in the second grade, and now that her youngest child, daughter Megan, had started first grade, Andrea at last had the time she dreamed of to get out of the house, engage in adult relationships, and make some extra money. Her husband Mark had an excellent income, allowing them to live in a beautiful home and drive the latest cars, but any extra money on the side would obviously be welcomed.

Excitedly, Andrea called Mark on his cell phone to tell him about the job. He was out of town on a business trip, as he often was, but she thought he might answer a call. When he didn’t, Andrea paced the house impatiently. She needed to tell someone! She dialed her next door neighbor Michelle, who also happened to be one of her best friends, and occasional jogging partner, to tell her the good news. Michelle Johns, who at age forty-two was eight years Andrea’s senior, was like the big sister Andrea never had. In fact, despite their hair coloring—Andrea’s was a dark blonde, Michelle’s raven black—they looked enough alike to have passed for sisters. Both women worked our regularly and had the bodies to show for it. They both had one son and one daughter, although Michelle’s were ten years older than Andrea’s. Michelle’s daughter Ashley had just begun her freshman year away at college, while son Brandon was a junior in high school.

In the seven years that she knew Michelle, Andrea had seen her cry only twice. The last time was when Ashley left for college a couple weeks ago. The first time was two years earlier when Michelle discovered that her then forty-one year old husband planned to run off with a twenty-something slut that worked in his office. Andrea provided her with the shoulder to cry on in both instances. “I got the house, he got the dumb bimbo,” Michelle was later able to laugh. “I’d call that a fair deal.” She also later admitted that the problem with their marriage was partly her fault, as she had frankly grown tired of her ex’s sexual demands, which Andrea had found strange. Who gets tired of sex?

Michelle was thrilled by the news of Andrea’s job offer, and invited her over for mid-morning coffee to celebrate. When Andrea came to Michelle’s sliding glass door at the back of the house, she saw Michelle in the kitchen, who waved her in. To Andrea’s surprise, since it was a school day, she saw Brandon sitting on the sofa in the family room adjacent to the kitchen, watching television.

“Hi, working lady!” Michelle greeted Andrea with a big smile and a hug. When Andrea nodded questioningly in the direction of the teenager in the family room, Michelle explained that he was home sick this day. “I swear, I think these kids get sick so they can go to bed and grow three inches. My mother always said that happened to my brother and me.”

Andrea waked over to where the boy sat, wrapped in a bath robe. “Hey, Brandon, how ya doin’?”

The youth looked slowly up at her. He was obviously groggy from the flu and the medications he was taking. That explained, surely, why his eyes seemed to linger on Andrea’s body on their way up to meet her gaze. “Hello, Mrs. Williams. I’m okay.” His eyes then quickly looked away, back to the TV screen. Andrea studied him for a moment. She had known the boy since he was ten, when Mark and she moved into the house next door seven years ago when her own son, Jeremy, was just a baby. Andrea had literally watched Brandon grow up, from the ten year old tyke she first met to the strapping young man he had now become. Over the years, he was frequently over at her house, helping her with chores, being a gofer, watching intently as she cared for her babies, never failing to ask a million questions. Andrea and Michelle had often kidded that Andrea should adopt Brandon since he seemed to spend more of his time at her house anyway. Andrea had always been impressed by how intelligent he was and how much more polite he always seemed to be compared to the average child. He also had always had an uncommon way while growing up of looking her directly in the eye, unlike many children who seemed incapable of maintaining eye contact with an adult. Now she noticed how quickly he looked away. He’s just sick, she thought. She also thought he was beginning to look a lot like his father.

“He’s actually mad at missing school, can you believe it?” Michelle said as she sat their coffee cups on the dinette table. “He’s really become quite the student.”

“Are you playing football again this year?” Andrea asked him. The fact was, in the past two or three years, when he started high school and became involved in a lot of school activities, she saw less and less of him and, after all, he was seventeen now, and kids that age aren’t the same as ten- and eleven- year-olds.

Brandon looked up at her again, but then once again quickly averted his eyes. It was his mother who answered the question: “No. He decided to concentrate on his studies this semester, and then do wrestling in the winter. I’m glad. I was always afraid he would get hurt in football.” Andrea noticed Brandon rolling his eyes, and she smiled.

“He’s quite the wrestler,” Michelle continued when her friend returned to the table.

“He’s so big,” Andrea said. “I saw it this summer when he was mowing our yard. And handsome! My god, the girls at school must be going crazy!”

Michelle laughed. “I hope not too crazy,” she said. “Not over my little boy.” From the sofa, Brandon could be heard moaning in disgust.

“Oh, now he’s little, is he?” Andrea chided her friend, and they both laughed.

“I know,” Michelle said. “My little baby…with guns!” Andrea laughed even more at this, surprised that her older friend was familiar with the younger generation’s slang term for muscular arms. She looked back at the teen on the couch. Yes, she had certainly noticed his arms last summer, on those hot days when he would mow her lawn after mowing the Johns’ grass. Shirtless. Yes, she certainly noticed those arms then, that was for sure.

“Last year he wrestled in the 150 pound division,” Michelle said. Then, speaking to her son on the sofa: “What do you weigh now, Brandon?”

“I don’t know,” came the mumbled reply.

“He’s got to be at least one eighty now. He eats like a horse!”

After a couple minutes more of the two women laughing and talking, young Brandon could take no more and got up from the sofa and announced that it was too noisy for him, that he was going back to bed. “Sure, honey,” Michelle said, not getting up from the table. “I’ll come and give you more Tylenol pretty soon.”

“See ya, Brandon,” Andrea called to him, not failing to notice again how tall and strong he looked, even being sick.

“Want to run together morning?” Michelle asked.

“Sure. Soon as my kids leave for school?”

“Deal.”

*****

Three weeks later, now at work, Andrea’s boss came to her at five till three on a Thursday and asked if she could stay until five to run some special reports for the CEO. Afraid to say no while still so new on the job, Andrea dialed Mrs. Connolly, a widowed lady that lived on her block whom she hired as a babysitter on those rare occasions when she needed one. She panicked when Mrs., Connelly did not answer. Looking at the clock, she knew her children would be home from school in twenty minutes. Frantically, she called Michelle Johns.

“Michelle,” Andrea said after her friend answered on the second ring. “Can you do me a big favor? Let Jeremy and Megan come over to your place until I get home? Probably around five thirty?

“Andrea, sure, but I’ve got a hair appointment in half an hour, but Brandon will be here. He can babysit.”

“Are you sure? He doesn’t mind?”

“No. He loves Jeremy and Megan. As long as you’re by five thirty because he has homework.”

“OK, I’ll be there by then. Thanks, Michelle”

***

Jeremy opened the front door at the Johns house. “Hi, mom!” he said through the screen door. Behind him, from within the house, Andrea heard Megan whooping and hollering. She opened the screen door and entered the house. Jeremy had already run back to where the apparent action was. Andrea followed, and found her two kids in the family room. Brandon Johns was carrying Megan piggy back around the room while she screamed excitedly. Jeremy chased after them, shouting that it was his turn.

When Brandon saw Andrea standing in the entrance to the family room, her hands on her hips, regarding the scene before her in bemusement, he stopped abruptly and looked sheepishly at her. “Giddy up, horsey!” Megan cried.

“Guys”, Andrea called. “Come on. Time to go home. Leave poor Brandon alone! He’s got homework. And so do you guys.”

“Ah, mom, do we have to?” Jeremy protested. “Can we stay? It’s my turn!”


Brandon was already lifting Megan off his shoulders and depositing her on the floor. “No,” Andrea said. “It’s late. Come on.”

Megan ran to her mother. “Can Brandon always babysit us?” she cried excitedly. “ Huh? Pleeese!”

“Yeah,” Jeremy piped in. “We don’t like old Mrs. Connelly!”

Andrea looked at Brandon who was staring at the floor, obviously embarrassed. “I don’t know, honey. I’m sure you’ve worn him out. This might be the last time he’s nice enough to help out.”

Megan ran back to the teenager. “Will you, Brandon? Huh?” The boy rubbed the top of her head, messing her long, blonde hair. “Sure, Megan, any time.”

Andrea stepped toward the teen, opening her purse. “Here, Brandon,” she said, offering him a twenty dollar bill. “Thank you so much. You really helped me out of a spot.”

“No, Mrs. Williams, you don’t need to pay me.“ He continued starring at something apparently very interesting on the floor as he spoke. Andrea noticed that he was perspiring slightly from his chores as a horse.

“No, I insist. You look like they’ve worn you out!” Looking at her two kids, who were now chasing each other around a couch, she added, laughing: “I’m sure you’ve earned double this amount.”

When she turned her head back to look at the teenager, she caught him staring at her breasts. Andrea was immediately aware that her leather jacket was open in front and that the top she was wearing happened to be a somewhat tight one that showcased her natural assets rather nicely. She smiled at the boy. That’s cute, she thought.

Knowing he was caught, the boy jerked his head downward quickly and blushed red, again finding that interesting spot on the floor to look at. Andrea smiled and stepped up to him. Taking his hand, she pressed the twenty dollar bill into his palm. In doing so, it was if an energy bolt reverberated up her arm and then down to her toes, not bypassing a particularly sensitive area of her body on the way. The sensation caused her a micro-second of confusion, and led her to not withdraw her hand from his as quickly as she might have. When she did let go and stepped back, Brandon’s eyes darted to her face before she could replace the smile that had faltered on her lips. His blush deepened even a darker red as he murmured “Thank you, Mrs. Williams.”

“No, thank you, Brandon.” He really is a cutie. “Come on guys, let’s go home.”

“Bye, Brandon,” the two children called out in unison as they headed to the front door.

***

That night, Andrea lay in bed, unable to sleep. The pressures of the day had left her frazzled. The extra hours she had put in at work, and then the effort of getting Jeremy and Megan fed and then overseeing their homework and getting them to bed had made her want nothing more than to fall into bed herself. Mark not being home had added to her stress. He was frequently away on business, and she was used to not having him around, but tonight she really could have used his help.

So, being exhausted, why could she only toss and turn? She needed to sleep, to be able to get up bright and early in the morning. Worrying about that only made it worse. She was unable to get those business reports out of her mind. Her boss—a bitch of a woman, really—had been non-committal when Andrea finally turned them in. That bothered Andrea. She had busted her butt to finish them, and they were perfect. What a bitch. Andrea suspected the woman was banging the President of the company.

Still, sleep would not come. She did not believe in sleeping pills, and therefore had none in her house even if she decided to give them a try. Finally, she gave up, turned the bedside lamp on, and read for a while. Then, she got up and went to the bathroom. On the way back to her bed, she glanced out the window and saw a light on in the Johns’ house next door. It was coming from a window about a hundred feet from her own. She knew it was Brandon’s room. She glanced at her bedside alarm clock. It was midnight. A school night. She looked back at the window next door. Was he studying this late? She felt a sudden pang of guilt: his baby sitting chores had obviously caused him to have to stay up late studying. Michelle had said he was a serious student. She would have to apologize to him. No. He would know then that she watched his window late at night….

Back in bed, the lights out again, Andrea’s eyes remained as wide as nickels. You know why, she said to herself. You know why you can’t sleep! You’re horny, girl!

She stirred restlessly and felt the empty bed beside her. She had talked to Mark on the phone before coming to bed, and wished he were her with her now to…to help her…to do something to her…something that would ease her tension and allow her to sleep. She lifted her head and fluffed the down pillow. Maybe that was what she needed. Or, lacking sleeping pills, perhaps two fingers of Mark’s single malt scotch from the downstairs bar!

She got up again and went to the window. It was twenty past midnight now and there was no longer a light on at the Johns’ house. She was glad.

Again back in bed, Andrea lay on her back under the sheets, her eyes shut. She commanded her mind to drift, to rise and float away…to wherever it would go. And where it went was…only as far as next door. The Johns’ house. Brandon’s house, to be specific. She recalled how the teen had looked at her that afternoon. She recalled the spark she felt when she touched his hand. It must have been static electricity? But…she had also felt the spark in another part of her body, hadn’t she? Her mind wandering, she remembered watching the boy mowing her lawn just a few months ago, in the heat of the summer. She had scolded herself at the time for watching him out her kitchen window for as long as she did, but he had taken his shirt off and, well, somehow the laundry in the washing machine didn’t seem too important at the moment. A little later she had taken iced tea to him. He stopped the mower to take a break, and she stayed to chat with him for more than what would have been considered politely necessary. As she lay now in her bed, two months later, thinking back, she was certain that he had looked at her then in ways similar to how he had looked at her this afternoon. The way he had looked at her three weeks ago when he was sick. He’s not a boy any longer, she decided. In more ways than one, he’s no longer a little boy!!

Andrea stirred and inhaled deeply. Brandon. Yes, she had definitely caught him staring at her breasts earlier that evening. That was so cute. Hmmm. Do you like my breasts, Brandon? Andrea licked her lips in the darkness of her bedroom. Slowly, she allowed her hands to sneak beneath her pajama top and caress her breasts. Do you like them?

Andrea knew these were indecent thoughts. Yes, he is still just a boy! He’s only seventeen, for god’s sake. A minor! I’m twice his age! And, above all, he was her best friend’s son! But…well…this was only a fantasy, right? Nothing wrong with fantasies, is there? Even a fantasy that’s a little…well…naughty? Okay, this is, like, really naughty, but hey, I need to sleep!

Thus assured, Andrea allowed her hands to remain at her breasts. She gently squeezed them, feeling her nipples respond and also feeling a special, delicious warmth in a lower part of her body, as well. Hmmm. Her legs stirred beneath the sheets. Mrs. Williams. She could hear his voice saying her name—a voice well past puberty, and rather deep for a boy his age, but still not a man’s voice. He’s just a boy! Yeah, a really big, strong boy. Mrs. Williams, you don’t have to pay me. No, I insist. Do you like them, Brandon? Do you like my breasts? Yes, he says. Do you want to touch them? she asks. Yes. Then, why don’t you?

Andrea now took—for her—a daring step. Leaving her left hand on a breast, she tentatively sent her right hand slowly trailing down her body. Her thighs parted in anticipation as her hand crept beneath the loose band of her pajama bottom. She had not done this since marriage. But her husband was not here for her tonight. What was she to do? Her parted thighs allowed a finger to find a very delicious spot on her body. Did respectable married women do this? Do mothers do this!?

This mother does! she cried to herself, her self-denial melted away now by the heat she felt from having her finger where it was. She could tell she was wet there.

Touch my breasts, Brandon. I know you want to. You’ve looked at them…so touch them now. The finger between her legs became more aggressive now. Kiss them, Brandon. Kiss Mrs. Wiliams’ breasts, Brandon. She will let you. You know you want to.

As her fantasy progressed, Andrea made herself into a seventeen year old girl who pushes Brandon Johns down on his bed and crawls all over him. Somehow, being seventeen herself makes this…maybe not so perverted? Maybe?

As she heated up, Andrea anxiously took her hands away from what they are doing long enough to push her pajama bottoms down to around her knees. She was finding them to be too confining against her hand. Quickly, the hands returned to the scenes of the action. At her breast, fingers of the left hand caressed and puledl lightly on the hardened nipple. As the palm of her hand brushed lightly against the tip of the nipple, its sensitivity caused her entire body to twitch. As she did this, her right hand reacquainted itself with a certain wet spot between her legs. Meanwhile, the hands of a seventeen year girl reach for the manhood of a seventeen year old boy. He’s huge. Of course he is. Andrea squirmed on the bed, her breathing becoming harder. She impatiently kicked the upper bed sheet off her body, finding it also too restrictive. Anyone equipped with night vision goggles and lucky enough to have been present in Andrea Williams’ bedroom at this moment, would have been treated to the very sensual view of a hot, thirty-four year old woman with her pajama tops pushed up in a bunch around her neck, the bottoms in a heap around her knees, with a wide expanse of female nakedness in between.

The seventeen year old girl now has Brandon’s cock in her hands, but in a flash the girl is banished from the scene. It is me, Brandon! You are going to have me! Not some silly young girl. You’re going to have Mrs. Williams! Andrea had decided that “perverted” would do just fine, thank you!
I am going to be your first woman. You are going to have Mrs. Williams, Brandon. She is twice your age, but you want her, don’t you? I know you want her. I know you want me. You have been watching her. You have been watching me. She is yours, Brandon. You can do whatever you want with Mrs. Williams. Anything, Brandon. Anything at all...

Her orgasm came quickly. It was sweet, profound, and exquisite. She cried aloud as tiny swells of pleasure ripple outward from her core. The fingers of her hands continued to dance and play, one on a breast with a very erect nipple, the other between a pair of thighs that now pressed tightly against that hand, keeping it where it is until the last currents of her orgasm faded away. Her body then relaxed as she sagged back into the mattress and lay still in the darkness, shocked at what she had just done. At what she has just admitted to herself.

The thought of Michelle popped suddenly into her head. “My god, the girls at school must be going crazy!” she had told her friend. “I hope not too crazy,” her friend had replied. “Not over my little boy!” Just as quickly, though, she was able to expel this thought. She rolled over and buried her face in her down pillow. There were two things that she admitted to herself at that moment. The first was that, yes, she had a terrible crush on her neighbor’s teenage son. The second was that the orgasm she had just had was better than the sex she had been having with her husband for at least the past five years! Andrea smiled into her pillow. She felt remarkably guilt free, her unwanted thought of Michelle notwithstanding.

Suddenly there was a timid knock at her bedroom door, startling her. “Yes?” she called out. Slowly, the door creeped open. Andrea never locked her bedroom door. Realizing that she was practically naked—her pajama top around her neck and the bottom around her knees—she frantically reached for the bedsheet and pulled it over her. A nightlight from the hallway created the long shadow of somebody standing in the doorway. “Who is it?” Andrea called.

The person stepped shyly into the room. “It’s me, mommy,” Megan said in her little girl voice. “I can’t sleep. I had a bad dream. Can I sleep with you?” She padded toward Andrea’s bed while her mother quickly pulled her pajama top down and then struggled in trying to pull the pajama pants up, finding them too tangled to do so. She had to leave them around her knees.

“Sure, sweetie, come here.” Andrea lifted the bedsheet, careful not to expose her naked lower body to her daughter, though the room was so dark, and the girl so groggy, that she would surely not have noticed anyway. Thank you for the timing of this! Thank you, thank you.

Megan cuddled next to her mother who soothingly patted her head. In the reassuring embrace of her mother, the little girl was soon fast asleep. Thanks to her naughty fantasy, Andrea was soon soundly asleep, as well.

***

At the breakfast table the next morning, Megan, after silently eating her cereal, suddenly piped up, as she often did after giving a particular issue some thought. “Isn’t Brandon nice? I like him.”

Andrea wondered if she blushed. “Yes, Megan honey, he’s really nice.”

***

After seeing Jeremy and Megan off at the school bus, Andrea hurried back to her house, ripping off her warm-ups once inside. Underneath she wore her running outfit: tight black compression shorts with a wine red, bare midriff top. It was a beautiful late summer morning, and she looked forward to getting her morning run in before going to work. She paused in the driveway to stretch before taking off, when Michelle, who was standing on her back porch, saw her and called out. Andrea, guilt ridden, panicked as she saw that Michelle was also wearing her running outfit, and was afraid that her friend would ask to join her. Not this morning. She didn’t know if she could look the woman in the eyes whose son—who’s “baby”—she had masturbated to the night before! Or to engage in small talk with her as they jogged.

“Have a good run, sweetie!” Michelle called out in a voice loud enough that Andrea, a hundred feet away, could hear.

That gave Andrea a sigh of relief. “You’re not running this morning?” she called back.

“I went out before fixing breakfast for Brandon. I have to do that these days or I get busy after getting him out the door and I put it off.”

“That’s dedication!” Andrea said.

“Hey, these hot bodies of ours don’t just happen, sweetie!”

Andrea smiled and, with a quick wave to her friend, started off down the street. This day she did have a nice run. The morning was brisk and sunny and she felt great, having had a good night’s sleep. She smiled as she ran, thinking of what had allowed her to get that sleep. She had her shoulder length, dark brown hair back in a ponytail which bounced jauntily as she glided along the roadway, impervious to the middle aged man in a dark Mercedes sedan who slowed down to check her out as he drove past.

***

The day continued on a good note for Andrea. After her run she took an invigoratingly long shower. As steam from the exceedingly hot water filled the bathroom, she carefully shaved in three specific areas on her body. Her husband would be home that evening, ready for her, she knew, and she also knew that he appreciated it when there was not a lot of hair anywhere except on the top of her head.

After the shower, and dressing in Friday casual, it was off to work. Her boss’s boss, a man whom Andrea thought was quite good looking, liked her reports of the previous day very much and let her know it rather enthusiastically, in front of, and much to the chagrin of, her boss. Andrea smiled to herself as she watched out of the corner of her eye as her boss went back into her own office and shut the door without saying a word.

Late that afternoon, Andrea drove with the kids to the airport to pick up Mark. It was great to have her husband home because the kids now showered their full attention on their father and left her mercifully alone. She was able to enjoy a glass of wine and prepare a sumptuous dinner in peace.

Jeremy informed his parents that since it was a Friday night, with no school in the morning, there was no need for them to go to bed at the normal hour. Megan, standing beside her advocate brother, nodded in agreement. Andrea could only smirk when Mark begrudgingly acquiesced to their petition because she knew very well that her husband, after being gone for five days, was rather impatient to take her into their master suite and shut and lock the door behind them.

Being the excellent father that he was, Mark dutifully played with, and read to, the children for another hour and a half. It was when he caught Megan trying to stifle a yawn that he finally scooped the pair up and carried them off to their respective rooms with one under each arm chattering happily.

When that moment finally came for the door to the master suite to shut behind them, the lock in the door had no sooner been turned than Andrea was thrown onto the bed and an eager pair of hands was pulling off her casual Friday jeans. “My, are we quite the gentleman!” she exclaimed, the huskiness in her voice belying the mock indignity that she attempted to affect. Her legs hung over the foot of the bed and her husband now stepped between them. Andrea shrieked, as her panties became the next thing to be roughly pulled down her legs and removed. Then she giggled and lie back on the bed and her husband’s face was between her legs, tasting her there, noting with approval that a careful shaving of pubic hair had been recently performed. Andrea grabbed for the hair on either side of her husband’s head and tried to control it, but the hair was too short for her to get a good grip, and she wasn’t going to control anything anyway so she gave up and tossed her arms above her head, the hands plopping to the mattress while her husband’s tongue had its way with her.

Andrea knew she could not scream out loud for fear she would awaken her children. She grabbed a pillow and pulled it over her face and screamed into it. Her thighs, firmly conditioned from miles of running, pressed against her husband’s head in the fashion of a giant nut cracker while her body writhed on the mattress like a slow moving snake. Mark, kneeling on the floor at the foot of their bed, held the cheeks of her ass while he ate her sex, never coming up for air for several long minutes. Gradually, Andrea’s screams morphed into constant little pig squeals muffled by the pillow.

When at last he pulled his face away from the juncture of her legs, Andrea moaned in protest from beneath the pillow. She had been on the verge of climax, and now this was going to be denied her? No! She remained on her back, her thighs parted, her legs, from the knees down, dangling off the foot of the bed. Restless, she shifted impatiently. Waiting….

With the pillow still covering her head, Andrea could hear the zipper of her husband’s pants and stirred in anticipation. As he hastily removed his clothes, Mark looked down upon the heavenly vision of his hot cougar wife, naked from below the hem of her business casual blouse that had ridden up past her belly button. While he was taking off his shirt, he decided that he would leave Andrea’s blouse on her. This vision of her half naked body, in tandem with the erotic way in which her head remained hidden by the pillow, added firmness to an already stiff erection.

Andrea felt him come onto the bed. She allowed him to push her body more into the middle of the bed so that her legs were no longer dangling off the edge. She reached to remove the pillow from her face but Mark’s hands caught hers. “No!” he commanded. “Leave it there. You’re being raped.”

Andrea affected protest as her husband kicked apart her thighs and mounted her. “No!” she cried, but her voice was smothered by the pillow and at that moment her husband’s penis entered her. Her body jerked in reaction to his filling her in this fashion.

“It’s not me fucking you, Andrea,” he hissed as he began doing precisely what he said he wasn’t. “It’s someone else. Someone else is doing you.” His penis went in and out of her and she met his thrusts with her own. “Think of who it is, baby. Who do you want this to be? Who is doing you? Who is he?”

Andrea, to her surprise, rapidly became turned on even further by this role play. And it did not take her long to latch on to a make believe partner. As her husband made passionate love to her, the image popped vividly into her brain of a hot young teenager mowing her lawn and looking at her breasts and drinking her iced tea and looking at her breasts some more and touching her now through her Friday casual blouse and the captivating Victoria’s Secret bra beneath it, and even kissing her now and fondling her ever more aggressively because what red blooded teenage boy is not mesmerized by a Victoria’s Secret bra and now he is actually fucking her with his huge insatiable teenage stud cock and feeling her breasts through the blouse and bra while he does so and when she explodes in orgasm she tears the pillow from her face because she cannot breath in enough air with the pillow there but with the pillow off she can and now her chest rocks and rolls beneath her Friday casual blouse and the bra that had recently mesmerized a certain teenage boy as she takes in copious amounts of wonderful air in huge gulps and her husband is still fucking her and he watches her and realizes how hot she is in more ways than one and this causes him to release his semen into her and she feels it shooting inside her body and she screams when she feels this and it doesn’t matter if the children hear her because she has not been fucked this well for a long time and now she collapses back onto the mattress and so does her husband whose full weight falls on top of her and crushes her until she successfully wiggles out from beneath him and pushes his dead weight off her and then stares up at the ceiling and she can see the ceiling because the bedroom lights were never turned off and she thinks to herself oh my god what was that, what in the love of god was that?

***

The delicious smell of an apple pie baking in the oven wafted throughout the kitchen. The pie was a recipe handed down to Andrea from her mother-in-law, and Mark had always said that Andrea’s were every bit as good as those his mother used to make.

Mark was reading the morning paper at the breakfast table. He had fifteen minutes before needing to drop Megan off at swimming class and then taking Jeremy to soccer practice where Mark was an assistant coach. The kids were ready to go and were waiting in the family room, watching cartoons on TV. Andrea, who was wearing skintight, black running shorts with a yellow tank top and warm-up jacket that matched her yellow running shoes, poured her second cup of coffee and sat at the table. She was planning to go for her morning run once her brood was out of the house. On Saturday mornings, when she had more time than on weekdays, she usually did 10Ks.

From behind his newspaper, Mark asked, “So, who was he?”

“Who was who?”

Mark turned the page of his newspaper without lowering it. “The man who made you come like a machine gun last night. You obviously were very attracted to him.”

“I’m not going to tell you!” Andrea exclaimed.

Mark put down his paper and looked at his wife over the upper rim of his reading glasses. Andrea hated when he did that, and scolded him. “Don’t look at me like that, over your glasses. That’s what old people do!”

“Was I ‘old’ last night?”

Andrea started to say something, took a deep breath, and merely said “no” in a weak voice.

Mark grinned. “So, he was he?”

“I said I’m not going to tell you!”

“I’ll tell you who I was fucking,” he said. He said this in a very low voice that would not carry into the next room where the children were. Andrea got up to reheat her coffee in the microwave. She was not certain she wanted to hear this. “The stewardess on my plane yesterday,” he continued. “She was a real hottie. And flirtatious. I’ll tell you, most of the stewardesses these days are old cows with no personality.”

Andrea returned to the table and picked up a section of the newspaper. “But I’ll tell you what,” Mark continued, “when you took that pillow off your head, and I saw you there, it was you, baby. It was you all the way from there!”

Andrea smiled and stared at her coffee cup. She felt a pang of guilt. She had achieved her best orgasm in memory while fantasizing the entire time about someone other than her husband, someone who lived quite near, someone who was quite young….

“So…?” he asked, looking at his wife with a sly smile. It shook Andrea from her momentary day dream and she looked at her husband quizzically. He repeated his question: “Who was he?”

“Okay,” Andrea said, exasperated. “It was Brad Pitt, okay?!”

“Brad Pitt!” Mark exclaimed. “Come on, Andrea, that’s so…unimaginative!”

Andrea meekly sipped her coffee and then nearly spit it out, for suddenly, standing at the glass door to the back patio, was Brandon Johns, holding a large package.

Mark got up and went to the patio door and opened it. “Hello, Brandon,” he greeted the boy. “What’s ya got there?”

“This package for you guys was delivered to our house by mistake.”

“Oh, it must be some stuff I ordered on line,” Andrea said as she got up from the table. Mark stood aside to let the boy come into the kitchen. “Just set it on the counter, Brandon,” Andrea said. “Thank you so much.”

Andrea then puttered nervously about the kitchen as her husband began to chatter amiably with the teen. Stealing a glance at Brandon at one moment, she was impressed by how the boy stood erect as he spoke, his shoulders back, his eyes confidently regarding her husband. The two men I had sex with last night! This thought popped into her head out of the blue and she turned away from them, not certain what kind of expression she had on her face.

The two of them covered all the male bases in two minutes: sports, cars, women, and then sports again. Pretending not to pay attention as she checked on the apple pie in the oven, Andrea’s ears picked up when Brandon said at one point, in answer to a question, that, no, he didn’t have a girlfriend.

“Well,” Mark said finally, looking at his watch, “I’ve got to get the kids going. Nice seeing you, Brandon.”

“Yes, Mr. Williams, nice seeing you, too.”

Mark walked toward the family room to gather up Jeremy and Megan. Brandon turned to leave.

“Brandon,” Andrea said. “Why don’t you stay and have some apple pie. You always loved my apple pies. I’m taking it out of the oven right now.”

The boy hesitated. “Come on,” Andrea insisted, pulling back a chair from the kitchen table and flashing him a big smile. “Just like old times.”

“Well…okay,” he said, although in a very tentative voice.

“Do you drink coffee?” Andrea asked this question after her husband and kids made their noisy departure and the house was quiet now and Brandon was sitting at the table with a fresh slice of apple pie before him. Steam rose steadily from the pie as he waited for it to cool.

“Yes,” he said. “With cream.”

“Brandon Johns drinking coffee,” Andrea said amusedly as she poured some into a cup. “You are getting to be quite the young man. But I suppose you’re getting tired of hearing that all the time.” She then joined him at the table with a slice of pie herself—a very slender one, since she was going to take off on her run shortly.

“Brandon, we used to be best buds, but I hardly see you anymore.” She paused after taking a bite of pie, wincing because it was still really too hot to eat. “I guess our lives get busier as we get older, huh?” When he didn’t respond, Andrea looked up at him and was shocked to see tears in his eyes.

“Brandon! What’s the matter?”

“I…” he started to say, but his voice faltered.

Andrea pulled her chair next to his and put her arms around the boy’s shoulders. “Brandon, what is it? Tell me. We’re buds, remember?”

Tears were flowing down the boy’s cheeks by now. His body trembled in her arms. Between sobs, the boy spoke. “I…seeing…Mr. Williams…with Jeremy and Megan…going places…I miss my dad.…”

Andrea’s mouth dropped. She had always wondered what effect the divorce of the boy’s parents had on him. As far as she was always able to tell, it had had no effect. At least, he never outwardly expressed any emotional damage. But of course, outward expressions mean nothing!

“Why did he have to leave us!?” the boy cried.

Scooting closer to the teen, Andrea hugged him tighter. “You poor guy,” she said. “I know it must be hard on you.” She wiped his tears with her fingers. He leaned over and buried his face on her shoulder and cried. Your mother cried on my shoulder like this when it first happened, she thought. Now it’s your turn.

Andrea did not know what else to say. What could she say? Doing the only thing her instinct told her, she gently kissed the boy’s cheek, tasting his tears. She hugged him tighter still. “It’s okay, Brandon. It’s okay to cry.”

The boy lifted his head, shook it, and then landed it on Andrea’s other shoulder. Their mouths brushed as he did this. Andrea now kissed his other cheek tenderly. As he cried, he leaned into her. The pressure of this caused Andrea’s chair to push out from beneath her. She would have fallen to the floor had she not been holding onto him, hugging him, his shoulders now supporting her. When she slipped, their mouths lightly brushed a second time and then, as she attempted to press her cheek to his, the boy’s head twisted suddenly and their mouths again touched quite by chance. Andrea quickly averted this contact but it was only for a second because their mouths found each other’s yet again only this time it was not by accident and this time there was no pulling away. There was instead this time the parting of lips and the pressing together of open mouths and this time they stayed together.

Brandon’s sobs were effectively extinguished in his throat as they kissed. Andrea grasped the boy by the back of his head and ran her fingers madly through his hair as she pulled his face against hers. Having already fallen off her chair, she needed only to shift her body slightly until she was essentially on the boy’s lap, facing him, her legs straddling his. Their kiss continued. Andrea knew this was wrong and the fact that her heart had never beat this wildly from kissing anybody in her entire life didn’t make it right. As she felt the meeting of their tongues, her conscience told her that a married, thirty-four year old adult woman should know better than this, should not be passionately kissing a seventeen year-old boy, and she knew she must stop this insanity at once and she was about to marshal the will power to stop it but then she felt Brandon’s hands grasping her buttocks through her running shorts as her bare legs straddled him and she was now helpless to stop anything at this point and instead kissed the boy more wildly than ever, moaning into his open mouth from the feel of his strong fingers kneading her ass through the ultra-thin material of her skintight shorts.

Brandon rose from his chair, holding Andrea by her buttocks, lifting her with him. Her shorts were so tight, so much like a second skin, that it was almost as if she was wearing nothing. She shimmied upward, wrapping her bare legs around his body as he stood and then threw her arms over his shoulders, their mouths never losing contact. Aside from the kiss itself, and the wrongness of it and the feel of his hands on her body, two other things excited her at this moment. One was the raw strength that the teen exhibited as he lifted and held as if she were the child. The other thing exciting her was the erection which she felt through his jeans as it pressed against her widespread crotch, and she tightened her hold on him with her legs wrapped around his waist. Little Brandon, who as a curious ten-year-old would watch her bake cookies, who as an eleven-year old would show her frogs that he caught in the back yard, and who as a fourteen-year-old would ask her for advise on acne, was now a seventeen-year receiving her tongue into his mouth and pressing his hard-on against the junction of her opened thighs.

At long last their faces pulled apart and their eyes locked, both of them panting more than just breathing. Andrea, mad with a wild, carnal lust that she could not comprehend, wished desperately that the boy would pull her shorts off and fuck her right there on top of her breakfast table. But as she gazed into his eyes she saw a combination of competing emotions. There was desire there, certainly, but there was also fear and confusion and she realized suddenly that he was only seventeen after all and he was not ready for this and she was abruptly ashamed of herself because she was a trusted adult who was supposed to be consoling him for the pain he felt at the divorce of his parents and here she was a child-molesting predator. Shocked and sorry, Andrea loosened her legs from around the boy’s waist and he let go off her and her feet hit the floor but her legs were jelly and she spun slowly like a top onto the floor, landing in a sitting position at the boy’s feet. She looked up at him as he took a tentative step backward. He looked like he was going to cry again.

“I…I have to go,” he mumbled. He turned and rushed toward the door.

“Brandon!” she called after him. “Brandon, I’m sorry…”, but he was out the door and gone.

***

For a long while Andrea remained sitting in a daze on her kitchen floor in her running outfit, her legs crossed in yoga style, her face buried in her hands, wondering what she had done. Would he tell his mother what happened? That thought paralyzed her. What was I doing?

She eventually found enough renewed strength in her legs to stand. She leaned against the sink and ran a hand through her hair as she surveyed the kitchen. She noticed that the chair in which she had been sitting had been knocked over. Two plates of untouched apple pie and two cups of mostly cold coffee remained on the breakfast table.

***

By early afternoon Mark was back with the kids and Andrea had lunch ready for them. Mark gave her a peck on the cheek as he came into the kitchen. “How was soccer practice?” she asked him, unaware that she was running a hand through her hair as she asked the question.

Mark looked at her with narrowed eyes. He knew his wife quite well and knew that when she ran her hand through her hair it was because she was nervous about something. “Practice was fine. What’s wrong with you?”

His question caught her off guard and she flushed. “Huh? Nothing, why?” Nothing other than while you were out being an exemplary father I had cheating on my mind!

To her relief, Mark did not pursue his questioning. Instead he asked her how her run was. She was now dressed in jeans and a blouse.

“Oh, I didn’t feel like going,” she said, and that was definitely the truth. Since Brandon left, she had been lost in a strange, unfamiliar funk.

Mark nodded, picked up his plate of lunch and took it into the family room to watch a college football game on TV. Jeremy joined him. Andrea sat at the kitchen table with Megan to eat.

Andrea took Megan shopping in the afternoon. All during their outing, Andrea became more and more nervous about her encounter with Brandon. What if he does tell his mother? She almost ran a red light and hit another car when that thought came around to hit her again. Well, I can always say Brandon is an impressionable boy and that quite frankly he’s just imagining a bunch of stuff.

That evening she and her daughter were busy in the kitchen preparing dinner. As a six year old, Megan wasn’t really a lot of help, but Andrea was very pleased with her for wanting to help, and gave her some uncritical chores to do to keep her interested and encouraged. In the middle of preparing a chicken casserole, Andrea was beating eggs in a bowl when her cell phone rang. She carried the bowl and continued beating the eggs as she walked to where her phone was resting on a counter to check the caller ID. She saw the ID by the third ring and froze in mid stroke with the egg beater, which fell from her hand into the bowl. She needed to have a hand free so that she could run it through her hair. The phone rang a fourth time and then a fifth as Andrea stood there indecisively. Mark called from the family room to ask if she was going to answer it.

Tentatively, she picked up the phone and hit the green icon. “Hi, Michelle.” She meant her voice to be light, cheery, upbeat, but was afraid as soon as she spoke that she had been unsuccessful. She could hear the fear in her own voice.

“It’s Brandon.” The voice on the other end was soft, almost as fear laden as her own had been.

Andrea gasped. She glanced at her daughter and saw that the girl was looking at her. She turned and walked quickly toward the door leading to the garage, out of earshot of her curious daughter. “Brandon!” she whispered hoarsely into the phone. “What is it?”

The voice on the other end was tentative. “I…I just wanted to say…”

Andrea waited a long moment for him to finish his sentence. When he did not, she prompted him: “Say what, Brandon?”

“I…I liked what we did….”


Andrea gasped for a second time. She looked around furtively to make sure that no one was within earshot, then turned again with her back to the kitchen.

“Brandon…” she said, but her voice trailed off. Her knees had gone weak on her. She had spent the entire afternoon relentlessly scolding herself for being such a bad person and swearing that she would never again make such a foolish mistake as she had that morning with her neighbor’s teenage son, but suddenly all of that resolve melted like a handful of snow in hell. “I did too, Brandon.” Her voice was but a whisper into the phone. There was then a long, pregnant pause on the line, at last broken by the woman: “Would you…” she started to say, but paused to look around once again to make sure she was alone, something that in her household was often difficult to be. “Would you…like to do it again?” Her heart pounded in her chest as she said it.

After the briefest of hesitations, the boy spoke. “Yes.”

Andrea had to support herself by holding on to the wall. What was there about this seventeen-year-old boy that enthralled her so? “Me, too, Brandon. Listen, I can’t talk now. We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Brandon, this is our little secret, you know that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

But then paranoia struck and caused Andrea to freeze. Could it be that he was recording the call as proof that she had molested him? Could Michelle be listening on the other line? Andrea’s hand raced through her hair. Frantically, she repeated in her head the specifics of what they had just said. The teen had never used the word “kiss”. Surely he would have used that word if he had been trying to document evidence of what they had done that morning. Wouldn’t he? But then, she had mentioned their “secret”. That didn’t sound innocent at all, did it?

“Brandon, I want to help you...about your feelings. About your dad.” She thought it best, in case she was being recorded, to steer the conversation in this direction. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Brandon…” she started to say, but then decided she had said enough. Her hair was a mess from her hands running through it. “Let’s talk tomorrow, okay?”
“Sure. I’d like that.”

Andrea hit the red icon on her phone but stood holding it for a long time. No. Brandon’s not the type who would do that to me. He’s not!

From behind her came the call of her neglected daughter. “Mommy!” Andrea turned and went back to the kitchen to finish preparing dinner.

***

They had just gotten into bed and Andrea was hoping that Mark did not want sex this night. Her mixed feelings of excitement and concern over Brandon’s phone call had left her very nervous and exhausted, and she was not in the mood for anything but sleep. That is why she wore her pajama bottoms to bed this evening. They were something she normally only wore at night when Mark was traveling, preferring to sleep naked from the waist down when he was home because they both liked to feel each other’s bare legs as they slept. When she wanted to avoid the potential for sex, however, she would put on the pajama bottoms. They were what she called her “tiger protection”. Mark, obviously, had caught on to the trick years ago. Most nights when Andrea wore the “tiger protection”, he would respect her wishes and leave her alone. Once in a while, though, he wouldn’t. On those occasions, their unspoken agreement was that he if he really wanted her, he could take her. He could use her body. She would not object, but neither would she respond. Her husband would simply pull her pajama bottom off her in the dark and fuck her unresponsive body until he was finished, and then he would roll over and go to sleep.

That was precisely what happened on this evening. When he was done, Andrea remained on her back staring at the ceiling in the dark, thinking of Brandon. She continued to be excited and yet concerned simultaneously. Excited by the possibility that she might get to know Brandon a lot better, yet concerned that the boy may have set a trap for her. Also, she had to admit that the fucking her husband had just given her had aroused her more than her unresponsiveness might have indicated. Unable to sleep, she recalled her remedy from two nights previous and slowly allowed her hand to go there. Mark had removed her pajama bottom, so there was no clothing obstruction to contend with. She closed her eyes and touched herself and knew immediately that she could make herself come quite easily.

Andrea stuck a finger into her vagina and withdrew some of her husband’s semen. She spread the semen over her clitoris as a lubricant and began to stimulate herself. She is straddling Brandon’s legs as he sits on a chair in her kitchen. She is wearing her tight fitting sports bra that showcases her breasts nicely, and black, skintight compression shorts, but ones with a convenient three inch diameter hole sown in the crotch. (It was her fantasy, and the compression shorts could have that hole there if she wanted it.) She could hear the gentle breathing of her husband beside her in the dark. Brandon then stands and lays her out on her back on the breakfast table with her bare legs dangling over the edge. She quickly brings her feet to the table top, her heels lose to her buttocks, her knees in the air and spread wide to show Brandon that a hole is very strategically located in her shorts and that she is ready for him, he will not have to bother with ripping off her shorts. She anxiously watches as her teen stud withdraws his cock from the fly of his jeans. See sees it stand at attention between them, thrillingly close to the hole in the crotch of her compression shorts. The virile young teen steps to the table and guides his swollen cock through the hole of the compression shorts. Their eyes lock, then Brandon, knowing that he has full permission from this adult woman, thrusts his pelvis violently forward, sending his seventeen-year-old manhood into her, feeling for the first time in his young life the sensation of his cock buried inside a woman. Andrea orgasms and whimpers softly, controlling herself lest she awaken her husband sleeping beside her in the quiet dark of the bedroom.

***

The next morning, Sunday, Andrea awoke early and could not go back to sleep. Quiet so as not to awaken Mark, she stole into the bathroom, shut the door, and took a long, hot shower. Her pussy smelled of the sex she had had at bedtime, and she wanted to get squeaky. After toweling off, she sliped into a bathrobe, with nothing on underneath.

Downstairs she made coffee and stared out the kitchen window in the early morning light toward the Johns’ house next door. Her nerves were frazzled and she needed to know what Michelle knew, if anything. She looked at her watch and saw that it is 6:30. She wanted to call Michelle—she would make up some excuse for the call—but it was much too early. She ran a hand through her hair.

A couple minutes later she saw Michelle coming out her back porch in her running outfit. Taking a last gulp of coffee, Andrea ran out her patio door, dressed only in her bathrobe, and sped across the lawn barefoot to Michelle’s driveway. Her heart was in her throat. Does Michelle know? Has she already called the police about me? She would be able to tell just by looking at her face of her best friend, a woman she had known so well for so many years. If the woman knew that Andrea had taken indecent liberties with her teenage son, it would show on her face. Andrea needed to know immediately. She could not bear the dear of uncertainly another moment.

“Hi, Andrea, what’s up?” Michelle called out as she saw her friend coming hurriedly toward her.

Think fast. Why did I come here? “I’m glad I caught you,” Andrea gasped. She tried to smile, but the fear she felt probably made it a twisted one. “I…I need to borrow some coffee before Mark wakes up. We’re all out.”

A look of concern had come over Michelle’s face, believing that something serious had caused her friend to rush over like that. The look changed quickly to a broad, radiant smile. “Thank god!” she exclaimed. “The way you were running, I thought something bad was happening!”

She does not know! Hallelujah! The relief that Andrea experienced at this was overwhelming. She took a deep breath, partly due to the thirty yard sprint she had just made, but mostly due to her great relief that her worst fear had been lifted from her shoulders. Her own smile now became a genuine one. In fact, she was laughing as she clasped her friend’s arm. “Something bad would happen if Mark wakes up and there’s no coffee!” Andrea says, and both women laughed at that.

“Sure, sweetie, go in and help yourself.” She glanced at her wrist watch. “I’ve got to get going. I’m doing an hour run this morning and I want to get back before Brandon wakes up. The coffee’s in the upper cabinet to the left of the sink. Take the whole can, it’s pretty low, anyway.”

“Thanks, Michelle.”

“Just pull the door shut when you leave. I don’t bother locking it anymore. Such a nice neighborhood,” she laughed.

“Will do,” Andrea said, and watched her friend as she took off running down the street. She marveled at how great her friend looked for a woman her age, or any age for that matter. She had really gotten into running after the divorce, and the results were fantastic. She had recently asked Michelle how her love life was going (had she tried harmony.com?), but her friend didn’t open up much on that subject. Andrea and Mark had racked their brains trying to think of some guy they could introduce her to, but everyone they knew was either married, gay, fat, or had bad personal hygiene.

Andrea waited until Michelle was out of sight and then began to turn and head back to her house, but stopped in her tracks after a few steps. Hmmm, I’d better go ahead and take the coffee can. She’ll wonder why I didn’t. She turned and went to the back porch door of her friend’s house and went inside. She found the coffee right where Michelle said it would be, and then turned to leave. As her hand touched the door knob, she paused. A thought had popped into her head. The thought of a strong, beautiful, teenage boy...asleep just upstairs. They were all alone in the big house. His mother wouldn’t be back for an hour.

The house was deathly quiet as Andrea stood just inside the door, weighing the situation, the coffee can in her hand. She could hear the ticking of a wall mounted clock in the kitchen. She ran her fingers through her hair. What she was contemplating sent a quiver of excitement through her veins. She glanced through the glass door at her own house, and judged that nobody there would be awake for another half hour at the least. She set the coffee can down on a table and very stealthily walked in her bare feet to the stairs that lead up to the bedrooms. She paused at the foot of the stairs and looked up the carpeted staircase. The upstairs hallway was dark. She put her bare foot on the first step leading up.

***

Slowly, soundlessly, Andrea took the stairs one careful step at a time. She was a predator feline stalking a prey. Half way up the staircase her bathrobe fell open in the front, revealing her well-toned thirty-four-year-old body. She closed the robe and pulled the sash tighter around her waist as she continued stealthily up the carpeted stairs.
Gaining the second floor, Andrea looked to her right, which she knew was Michelle’s master bedroom. She has been there before on several occasions over the years when visiting her neighbor. She now looked to her left and saw three doors. Two of them were open. One was to a bathroom. Andrea moved silently past that door and peered into the room of the second opened door. What she saw told her that that had been Ashley’s room before she left for college. It reminded her of how Michelle had cried when Ashley left. But a cat on the prowl had no time for maudlin remembrances. She moved on. To the thid door. The closed door.

Her hand carefully touched the knob. What if it’s locked? Boys often lock their bedroom doors, don’t they? You never know when your mother might decide to come in.

The knob turned in her hand. Andrea took a deep breath. The predator was nervous. Wasn’t it the prey who was supposed to be the nervous one? Her heart racing, she slowly pushed the door inward, lifting up on the knob slightly to keep the weight of the door off the hinges and reduce the possibility of a squeak. With the door ajar just enough, Andrea slipped silently into the room. There was a good amount of morning light coming in through the window and she immediately saw what she has hoped to see on the bed. He was there. He was asleep, his breathing soft and regular. He could have been on a sleep over at a friend’s, but he wasn’t. He was here. And now, so was Andrea.

She tiptoed into the middle of the teen’s bedroom, looking around carefully. Not a terribly un-kept room, she thought, considering it belonged to a seventeen-year-old boy. Standing five feet from his bed, she looked fondly at his tousled dark blond hair. Her instinct was to go run her fingers through that hair. But she remained standing where she was, and ran fingers through her own hair, instead. Surveying the bedroom again, she glanced out the window and saw her house across the way. In fact, she saw the window to her own bedroom quite clearly. She remembered seeing from her bedroom window the other night that the light was on in this very room.

Softy, she called the boy’s name. When he did not respond, she called a second and then a third time, each time a little louder. “Wake up, Brandon,” she now said in a firm, loud voice, and the boy’s eyes blinked and then opened wide and he was looking straight at her but she knew that what he was seeing was not registering with his brain, not until he gave a start and lifted his head off his pillow. “What the…” he cried, his eyes heavy and blinking from sleep. “Mrs. Williams?” His voice was laden with incredulity.


“Yes, Brandon. You’re not dreaming.” She smiled at him but was not sure that he