“Why shouldn’t we?” Ms. Cole said, touching my knee and slowly teasing her fingertips along the line of my thigh. “After all, you’re eighteen now."
I’d never seen her like this, this older woman, best friend of my mom and a constant presence in our lives since I was five. Her behavior was strange and creepy, the kind of thing that mom had warned us about, though I’d always thought she was talking about men.
And yet, despite knowing that what she was doing was wrong, I couldn’t escape the fact that her caress felt impossibly soft, impossibly warm or how the look in her eyes made me feel flushed and dizzy.
"I don’t think you should do that,” I breathed, pushing her hand away.
She licked her lips and frowned, then shuffled in closer to me until her knee was touching my leg, an electric point of contact that made me shudder far more than it should have. “Why not?” she said simply. It wasn’t threatening, I want you to understand that. It wasn’t a demand or an attempt at intimidation. It was, simply, a question.
“Because,” I started, slipping into the autonomic response mechanism that my mom’s warnings had instilled in us. “How To Deal With Breach Of Trust: 101”, a primer for good girls in the event of a pervert incident. The trouble was, all of my mom’s lessons assumed a lack of reciprocal interest and I wasn’t sure this applied here. “Because it’s not right,” I managed to say. “My mom wouldn’t…”
“Forget your mom,” the older woman said, sliding ever so slightly closer to me. She reached out and stroked my arm with the back of her fingers, causing meadows of gooseflesh to bloom wherever she touched me. “What do you want?”
I melted back into the sofa, feeling my heart hammering in my chest. My cheeks were burning, my body felt as thought it was buzzing. There was a constant, demanding ache in the pit of my stomach.
“I don’t know,” I breathed truthfully, reflecting the strange conflict that raged in my mind - the border skirmish between my loyalty to my mom and the surprise incursion of my womanly desires.
Ms. Cole smiled and touched my leg again. “Well, let’s just take it slowly,” she purred. I could feel her breath on my skin, I could feel the heat of her body, radiating over me in waves. “What if I was to do this? How does this feel?” she said quietly, stroking my inner thigh with her finger tips.
I sighed and closed my eyes. “Good, it feels good.”
She moved again and leaned towards me, sweeping my hair off my shoulders. “What about this?” she breathed, then leaned in and kissed my neck, twice in quick succession. Her lips felt warm and wet, burning points of contact that thrilled me beyond measure.
I rested my head back and moaned quietly, as if surrendering to a vampire in one of the childish novels I loved so much. “Good,” I managed to say.
Her hand pushed further up my thigh and I felt my legs part without conscious decision from me. It seemed my mom’s warnings hadn’t counted on the fact of my treacherous body!
“What if I did this?” whispered Ms. Cole, lazily stroking her tongue over my ear lobe.
A supernova of sensation erupted in my mind, fireworks of pleasure. I sighed for the longest time, allowing the twin stimulations of her fingertips and her warm, wet tongue to wash over me. The nagging ache between my legs had become a drumbeat of entitlement, an insane demand for more. Wild urges rippled through me, strange desires that had never occurred to me before, but which seemed like obvious solutions to problems I hadn’t realized existed. Solutions that began and ended with Ms. Cole’s tongue and the painted tips of her fingers.
“Oh gee, Ms. Cole, that feels so good,” I moaned, shivering with pleasure.
She moved her body and leaned her forehead against mine, brushing our noses together softly, tenderly. “So, I ask again,” she sighed, breathless, her hungry eyes narrowed and predatory. “Why shouldn’t we?”
I closed my eyes. I had no answer. Her seduction was complete, her persuasion incontestable.
