Love at first sight, Michael meets Elizabeth, a woman with the face of Catherine Zeta Jones and the body of Sofia Vergara.

Author's note:

Even though the main characters in the story, Michael and Elizabeth, are not related by blood, as his son's mother-in-law and her daughter's father-in-law, their sexual relationship is indeed, deemed incestuous. Sex between them may not be deemed incest but it is definitely deemed sexually inappropriate, taboo, and forbidden. One would have to be sexually depraved to have sex with his deceased son's mother-in-law, just as one would have to be a whore to have sex with her deceased daughter's father-in-law.

Continued from Chapter 01:

I walked downstairs and watched her from my front porch step out of her car. Paying more attention to what I could see of her long, shapely legs and her exposed panties, she moved sideways on her car seat with her knees spread and her skirt still raised to her crotch. As if I was a peeping Tom, I watched all that I could see of her while hiding in the shadows.

As if she knew I was there watching and deliberately giving me a sexy show of exhibitionism, I watched her leaned backwards across the passenger seat to grab her pocketbook. As soon as she leaned back, her knees opened wider and her short skirt rose higher. Hoping to have some sexy fun with her later, I was pleased that she was as much of an exhibitionist as I was a voyeur.

When she leaned backwards like that, with her skirt raised to her crotch and her knees parted, she gave me a great up-skirt view of her shapely thighs and most of her white panties. As if I was having a sexual fantasy, I saw her panty clad ass and her panty clad pussy mound. Continuing to stare longer and harder, I saw her pussy slit and camel toe through her sheer, white panties. I'd love to kiss her, French kiss her, while cupping her pussy through her panties.

I wondered if I got her drunk enough to loosen her morals, if she'd allow me to have sex with her beautiful body. I haven't had sex in more than two-years and she had already made me hard and horny. Not shy about my sexual attraction to her or ashamed of wanting to have sex with her, I'd definitely do her, my son's mother-in-law.

What man wouldn't? She was so gorgeous. She was so sexy. She was everything I'd ever want in a woman. Accustomed to dating women half my age, she made me miss the companionship and the conversation when with a more mature woman.

'Wow,' I thought! 'If this is a prelude to what I can expect over the next two days, I'm glad she agreed to stay for the weekend.'

Then, when she stepped out of the car, I thought I'd have a heart attack. She looked a little like Catherine Zeta-Jones. Be still my heart. Even more sexually exciting than her looking like Catherine Zeta-Jones, with her having big tits, a slim waist, and a shapely ass, she had the body of Sofia Vergara. Much better than the young whores I've been bedding, she was one sexy and beautiful woman.

'Are you kidding me,' I thought? 'Who is this woman and how did I get so lucky?'

Obviously, blessed with the face of Catherine Zeta-Jones and the body of Sofia Vergara, unless she had no talent and couldn't act, she made me wonder why she couldn't get a starring role in a movie. If she was as sexy and as beautiful as was her daughter, she made me wonder what grandma looked like. Shocking myself that I was going that far in imagining a future with her, she made me wonder what our children would look like.

For sure, if I was a talent agent, I'd want her to be one of my clients. If I was a director or a producer, I'd hire her to star in one of my movies. If I was an actor or writer, I'd want to know her now and act with her or write her story before she became rich and famous. Other woman who weren't as beautiful and who didn't have her amazing body, made it in Hollywood. Why not her? It didn't make any sense.

Between Jennifer and now Elizabeth, the gene pool in this family is amazing. My fantasy dream woman all rolled into one, Catherine Zeta Jones and Sofia Vergara, going from negative with the deaths of my son and her daughter to positive in meeting her, maybe having Elizabeth in my life would be a lifechanging turn of events. Maybe the curse that's been positioned over my head like a rain cloud was finally gone. Maybe my luck was finally changing.

Maybe we could help one another get through such a devastating tragedy while naked in bed and having sex. A deplorable thought to have but one that gave me some comfort, sacrificing my son and his wife for the opportunity of meeting Elizabeth, maybe meeting her and subsequently having sex with her was my destiny. After never wanting to get married again, love at first sight, I'd love to have her in my life as my wife.

'Wow,' I thought! 'She's so hot! Hello sexy Momma. Elizabeth, I love you.'

Again, as the sex crazed cad that I am, I wondered what grandma looked like. Maybe her mother looked like Mary Steenburgen or Jaclyn Smith. Maybe grandma would want to come for a visit, too. Now that I may have sex with a woman my age, if this doesn't work out, I wouldn't mind having sex with a much older woman, especially an older woman who as hot and as sexy as her daughter and granddaughter.

So, this is what Jennifer would have looked like at 47-years-old had she survived the car accident on her Honeymoon and lived longer. Elizabeth was absolutely stunning. Truly, much like most women her age, I figured that she'd be short and hippy and look nothing like her daughter. Boy was I wrong. Maybe my son and her daughter, working as matchmakers from Heaven, knowing that we'd be the perfect fit, are smiling down at us.

The genetic makeup of Elizabeth and her daughter was spectacular. Even though they weren't blonde, they must be Nordic because they certainly aren't one of us fat Americans. I could just see them both skiing down a mountain slope in the Bavarian Alps, while representing Sweden, Norway, or Denmark in the Olympics. Tall, shapely, and beautiful, unless they're from Texas, women around here just don't look like that.

Now, I know where her daughter received her beauty from because Elizabeth was a knockout. Definitely, she didn't look her age. She looked ten-years younger. Had I not known her age, I would have guessed that she was in her late thirties. She looked that good.

'Wow! Momma is as hot as her daughter,' I thought.

Then, not having noticed them before, she was wearing white gloves.

'Oh, my God,' I thought. 'I'd love her to give me a white gloved hand job.'

# # #

Chapter 02:

Wanting her to feel welcome and to show her that I had manners, I ran down the front steps to greet her and to help her with her bag. Surprising me, she gave me a hug and I returned her hug with my hug. She felt good in my arms. Even if I was a blindman, without having to feel her tits or grope her ass through her clothes, just from hugging her, I could tell that she had a sensational body.

When I hugged her, weaving its way up my nostrils and making its way through my horny brain, her perfume sensuously assaulted my senses. She smelled wonderful. She smelled like a woman, a real woman, and not like the girls that I had been bedding lately. Gum chewing tattooed, classless women in their late twenties and early thirties with dyed blonde hair, bad attitudes, and stinking of cheap perfume and sex, she was a real gem compared to costume jewelry.

Instead, already knowing she had a brain in her head from our marathon telephone conversation, she had class. In the way she looked and carried herself, especially while wearing nylons, a garter belt, and white gloves, she was class, real class. I'd be upping my game to bed someone like her. Only, why would someone who looked like her want to have anything to do with me, a cheater, a gambler, and a drinker?

To my benefit, especially with me not having a woman in my life, I haven't cheated on anyone since I divorced my wife. After losing way more than I could afford, before gambling away my house, I quit gambling. Finally, cutting my drinking way back, I couldn't remember the last time I was drunk enough to forget where I was and what I was doing. Long gone, those days are over. Those days are in my past.

"I love your perfume," I said reluctantly breaking her hug and taking a step back to look at her. "What fragrance is it?"

Obviously, pleased that I noticed her perfume, she smiled.

"Chanel," she said staring at me.

I knew for it to smell that good that it had to be expensive. It had been a while since I had experienced the sensation of Chanel. To my nose, there's not a better perfume in the world. My wife used to wear Chanel but stopped after I gambled away all of our money.

Now that I think about it, with Elizabeth born 47-years ago, it had been a while since I've been with a woman who was born more than 35-years ago. Meeting my women at the local bar, suddenly, I've become such a dirty, old, degenerate man. With me getting older and the women getting younger, if I'm like this now at 50-years-old, what will I be like at 60-years-old? I could only imagine.

# # #

I carried her overnight bag inside and gave her a quick tour of the house. In the way I had been eying her, unable to keep my eyes off of her, she continually eyed me out of the corner of her eye. Nothing sexual, it was more of a curious, coy look of interest. A positive sign, as if we were horny teenagers again, in the way that she continued eying me, I continued eying her. Thankfully, in the way that I liked what I saw of her, hopefully, she liked what she saw of me too.

"What?" I checked my fly and looked down at myself to see if there was something wrong. "Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

She chuckled me a smile.

"Like what?"

Obviously, she was toying with me. Refined, properly poised, and educated, she even sounded like Catherine Zeta Jones, but she had the sexy moves of Sofia Vergara. When talking to Elizabeth on the phone, never did I imagine she'd look like Catherine Zeta Jones and have the body of Sofia Vergara.

"You look at me like you're curious about me and unsure what to make of me."

She laughed again.

"I'm sorry. Please forgive me. It's just that you look so very much like Michael. You are a carbon copy, albeit an older version of your son."

I looked down at myself before looking back up at her.

"Do I look that terrible?"

She laughed.

"No, not at all," she laughed making me laugh with her. "Actually, much like your son, you're quite handsome albeit in a more mature way. With your touch of grey hair around your temples, men grow better looking with age while women grow fat and angry," she said with another laugh.

Not accustomed to receiving compliments from younger women and not knowing what to say to her compliment, I blushed.

"Thank you," I said with a laugh. "You're not so bad yourself."

She laughed too.

"You're quite delightfully charming and fetching in a manly sort of way, much different in that regard than Michael. Even though he was 25-years-old, Michael was a boy compared to you. Innocently naïve, he lacked the worldly experience that you obviously have in spades."

I smiled.

"Thank you," I said.

As if unsure if she should tell me, she paused without saying anything for a minute.

"As my test of your son's true intentions with my daughter, I sexually teased him while giving him the chance to make a sexual pass at me. Curious what he'd do, more than once, I allowed him to see me in my panties and bra, topless, and even naked," she said. "The gentleman that he was, proving his commitment to my daughter, he looked away. Still, whenever he stayed over, it was fun flashing him," she said with a sexy laugh.

She gave me another long look, this time a more approving look.

"Thank you, I think," I laughed away my awkwardness at being judged as if I was auditioning for an acting role. I looked approvingly at her in the way that she looked approvingly at me. "From the photos I've seen of Jennifer online, she was quite beautiful, and you look exactly like her. You could be her older sister instead of her mother," I said hoping that flattery would get me everywhere, especially in bed with her.

Obviously, enjoying my compliment, she blushed.

"Oh, you're such a flirt, you bad boy," she said with another blush and touching my arm with her white, gloved hand.

# # #

Too busy noticing her beautiful face, her nylons, her garter belt, her panty clad pussy, and her sexy and shapely body, that's when I noticed them again. She was wearing white gloves, not the long evening gloves that cover her forearm but the small white gloves that a traffic cock or Minnie Mouse wears. Other than someone in service to the Queen, who wears white gloves today?

'Oh, my God. Be still my heart,' I thought.

I haven't seen women wearing white gloves since Lucille Ball of the I Love Lucy Show, Donna Reed of the Donna Reed Show, and June Cleaver of Leave It to Beaver show in the fifties and sixties. Where do you even buy those things? Creepy, scary, and erotic all at the same time, suddenly, I imagined those white, gloved fingers wrapped around my cock, as she slowly stroked me to an erection, before she took me...

'Stop it,' I thought! 'What's wrong with you? You can't be left alone with a woman for five minutes before wanting to fuck her and wanting her to suck you.'

As if she was about to challenge me to a duel and slap me hard across the face with her glove, I was consumed with lust for her white gloved hand. As if she was doing a slow strip tease that started with her gloves, I was transfixed watching her remove her white gloves, one, slow, sexy finger at a time. She put them in her purse, along with her vibrator, dildo, tube of lube, and condoms, I imagined. Maybe later, after we've had a couple of drinks, I'll ask her to wear her white gloves again.

'Do me a favor,' I imagined asking her. 'Would you mind putting on your white gloves on again,' I imagined saying while unzipping myself. 'I, um, just wanna try somethin'.'

I berated myself again for thinking of her in such a sexually disrespectful way.

'I have to stop thinking about her like that. Everything I think is sexual. She's my son's mother-in-law. She deserves more respect from me than sexually lusting over her. I can't go there. What's wrong with me for even thinking of her in a sexual way? It was nice enough for her to reach out to me and call to tell me my son had passed. It was nice enough for her to make the long drive to meet me and agree to stay for the weekend,' I thought.

Trying to get my mind right, I took a big breath of self-control.

'I need to behave. The last thing I want to do is to have a sexual relationship with my deceased son's mother-in-law. How wrong is that? Yet, look at her. Just look at her. How could I possibly resist myself from hitting on her?'

Stopping me in my tracks and preventing myself from making an ass of myself, if it's not bad enough that my son thought poorly about me in life, I don't want him thinking poorly about me in death. After having worked hard to turn my life around by quitting gambling, stopping from chasing women, and drinking less, I may need for him to put in a good word to God on my behalf when the time comes. I needed to act like the mature adult instead of the horny teenager by having sex with women half my age.

# # #

Checking off all the boxes off my definition list of hot women, a solid 9 on the scale of 10, she is very beautiful and has a hot body for a mature woman. Nearly my height, Elizabeth was tall. I figured without her heels and her hair that she was 5'9" tall. Yet, with her heels and hair, in the Nicole Kidman range, my kind of woman, she was easily six-foot.

She was thin but shapely, a size 8 or 10. I can never tell with women, and she, judging by her side profile, was a full C cup or even a small D cup. Real arm candy for those rich, powerful, and influential men, she was a good-looking woman. I could clearly see why she'd be allowed to crash exclusive parties of the rich and famous.

I laughed to myself with the sudden sexual thoughts of bedding my son's mother-in-law. If he was alive, he'd hate me for wanting and for hoping to have a sexual relationship with his wife's mother. That would just be wicked of me to do something like that, and, immediately, I erased the thought of having sex with her naked body from my mind. Still, I couldn't help but wonder what she looked like beneath her short skirt, her low-cut blouse, her bra, and her panties. I couldn't help but wonder what she looked in her panties and bra, topless, and/or naked.

She surprised me by wearing nylons, a garter belt, and white gloves. Other than strippers, hookers, prostitutes, and high class call girls, no one wears sexy lingerie like that anymore. The erotic part of that was, instead of feeling older as I did with younger women, I felt younger in Elizabeth's presence. Truth be known, able to have a real conversation without having to explain everything, I liked that feeling of being with someone more my age.

"May I get you cup of coffee, tea or—" me, I wanted to say, but didn't dare?

She gave me a sexy smile.

"Do you have any scotch? After that long drive, I could use a drink."

I gave her a surprised look over my shoulder.

"Scotch? I have several brands," I said walking to the bar. "What would you like?"

I had pegged her for a tea sipper and not a scotch drinker but with all the exclusive parties she attended, I wouldn't be surprised if she indulged in cocaine or something even more addicting.

"Well, I'm a little fussy as to the brand of scotch that I prefer but—"

She looked over my shoulder at the bar.

"I have some Glenlivet that I occasionally have a drink when I'm alone and watching television late at night and just want to relax after a long day."

For fear that she'd make a related comment and think me preoccupied with things in their 20's, I didn't dare tell her the age of the scotch. If only she knew that I routinely had sex with women half my age, women young enough to be my daughters and with me old enough to be their fathers, she'd probably flee from my house.

"Glenlivet is good," she said giving me a smile.

Knowing as soon as I asked the question, I'd be thinking of her making a sexual comment, yet, knowing that she didn't share my dirty mind, I asked the question anywhere.

"How do you take it?"

After asking that loaded question, I couldn't help but think of bending her over my couch, lifting her short skirt, pulling down her panties, and fucking her. I couldn't help but think of her on her knees and stroking me with her white gloved hands before taking me in her mouth to suck me. I wondered if she took it in the ass. Yet, interrupting my sexual fantasy, as if scotch was serious business, she gave me a serious look.

"Straight up with just a splash of water."

I gave her an approving look.

"Ah, a connoisseur." I smiled. "I take it the same way. Ice ruins the taste and the bouquet." I turned to get her a scotch while talking as I poured her a drink. "You can tell a true scotch drinker by how he or she takes it."

# # #

She stopped me before I made her a drink.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to freshen up a bit first, before I relax with a drink. May I use the lady's room?

'Lady's room,' I thought? 'She must think she's in a hotel or a restaurant.'

"Certainly. The bathroom is down the hall. The first door on your right," I said.

When she emerged from the bathroom, I poured her drink, splashed some water in it, and handed it to her. She took a long sip as if she needed it. Probably, she needed it after that marathon drive from Rochester, New York to Boston.

"Very smooth." She took another small sip. "Glenlivet eighteen?"
I smiled with what I was going to say next.

"Glenlivet twenty-one," I said with pride. "It was a gift from a friend."

I waited for her to make a twenty-something-year-old comment, but she didn't. Obviously, she had more class than that to take a cheap shot at her host bedding women half his age.

"I'm impressed. I've had Glenlivet 18 before but never 21. I'm sure they had that at some of the parties that I attended but mindful of not getting drunk, I was more interested in making connections that would help me get an acting role," she said. "Something they'd always remember and would never forget, not wanting to be the gangbang entertainment, the last thing I wanted to do was to lose control, stripped naked, and photographed while attending one of those parties."

She held her glass higher to look at the color while smelling the bouquet.

"Yeah, well, along the way, I tried many of them. I waffled back and forth between Glenlivet 12 and Glenfiddich 12, that is, until I discovered Glenlivet 18. There's a huge difference between the 12 and the 18 but a very subtle difference between the 18 and the 21. Yet, once you go from 12 to 18, you just can't go back to 12. I received this 21-year-old bottle as a gift," I said.

She lifted her glass as if toasting me to look at the color and smell the bouquet before taking another sip.

"It's nice having friends with money," she said with a sexy laugh. "Something I never had and struggled with all of my life, money eluded me. Yet, I'm comfortable enough now," she said.

I watched her uncross her legs and cross them the other way. As if she was Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct, every time she slowly uncrossed and crossed her legs she deliberately or inadvertently flashed me her white panties.

"Most people can't taste the difference between 18 and 21 and if you can't tell the difference than you can save some money by sticking with the 18, but I can. The 21 is lighter and is so much smoother that it's almost syrupy sweet," I said still going on about the scotch.

I hadn't been with such a beautiful woman in a long time and I was nervous. I was talking too much and talking too much about scotch. She's going to think that I'm full of myself or worse, a drinker, even worse, a drunk, when I'm not any of those things anymore.

"Well, I see you know your scotch, as well as your women."

Hmm, what did she mean by that? Maybe she's not as classy as I thought she was. Maybe in the way that I'm a whoremonger, she's a whore. I let her remark pass. Omitting all the innuendos, I didn't want to start a game of tit for tat. Maybe she knew about the young women I dated and was referring to that.

# # #

"Excuse me for a moment," I said.

I got up and went to the kitchen and took out the food that I had ready in the fridge, a plate of cheese and crackers and a plate of fruit and vegetables. I opened a bottle of bubbly while, after a few drinks, hoping we'd be doing something sexually erotic with the fruit and vegetable plate. Suddenly, I imagined Elizabeth lying on my dining room table naked but for a couple of Ritz crackers on her nipples and a thick celery stalk covering her pussy. I imagined her covering my cock with whipped cream, as she...

'Stop it! What the Hell is wrong with you,' I thought?

Maybe because I was nervous being alone with my son's mother-in-law, but the letch that I am, I found myself staring at her legs, especially every time she crossed and uncrossed them. She had such long, shapely, and sexy legs and I was horny. I was always horny. I hadn't had sex since my last girlfriend moved out and here sitting across from me was some fresh meat, albeit a woman my age instead of a woman half may age. Nonetheless, she still looked tender rather than tough.

Indeed, she had great legs. I was glad she wasn't wearing pantyhose. I hate pantyhose. No doubt, pantyhose was invented by a gay fashion designer because no heterosexual man would ever invent pantyhose. All heterosexual men would rather see panty clad pussies than pussies concealed by pantyhose.

Yet, much sexier than just wearing panties beneath her short skirt, I was titillated that she was wearing nylons and garters. Every time she crossed and uncrossed her legs when she wasn't flashing me the tops of her nylons and garters, she was flashing me a quick up-skirt peek of her white panties. Between her white gloves, her nylons and garter belt, and flashes of her white panties, Elizabeth was one sexy mama.

By rubbing her thighs together in the way of a grasshopper, wondering if she was secretly masturbating herself every time she crossed and uncrossed her legs, she crossed her legs yet again. Only, this time, she crossed her legs slower and more deliberately. Was she sexually teasing me? I wondered if she was deliberating flashing me her panty clad crotch? While hoping she was, I wondered if she was as much of an exhibitionist as I was a voyeur.

Perhaps that first scotch went straight to her head. Then, when sipping her second drink, it was as if the effect was a slow knuckleball, instead of a 100-mph fastball thrown right down the middle of home plate. With her a little glassy eyed, I saw the top of her nylons, the clip of her garter belt, and the triangular patch of bright white panties again. Seeing a flash of her bright, white panties made me so horny. Seeing a flash of her bright, white panties made me want to have sex with her.

'Oh, Baby, Mommy is an erotic, sexy bitch,' I thought mesmerized while staring at all that she was showing as if I was hypnotized.

With her no longer careful how she was sitting, her knees were parted enough to give me a continual view of her panty clad crotch. Suddenly, my cock grew to my new appreciation of her sexy lingerie and of her flashing me. Then, with the thought of her white gloves that lay hidden in her purse, I wanted her to don her sexy white gloves again. Suddenly, between her white gloves and her sexy lingerie, I saw her in a whole new light.

'Hello, sexy MILF of a mother-in-law,' I thought.

Making my cock throbbing and hard, all that I could think about is Elizabeth flashing me her bright, white panties. Damn, I haven't seen a garter belt since the sixties. I didn't even know they still made them. She must have sent away special and ordered it from Frederick's of Hollywood, along with those white gloves. Now, I couldn't help but wonder if she wore her sexy lingerie and those white gloves to bed. I couldn't help but wonder if she wore her lingerie and those white gloves especially for me.

"May I freshen your drink?"

She uncrossed her legs and flashed me her panties again when leaning forward.

"Yes, that would be lovely, thank you," she said handing me her glass.

# # #

When not preoccupied with her panties I was preoccupied with her white gloves, when I saw her naked hand, I wished she was still wearing those damn, sexy gloves. I'd love to fill her white, gloved hand with my hard, erect cock. I'd love her to give me a white, gloved hand job and a white gloved blowjob. I'd love to cum all over her white gloves.

'Gees, that's enough. I need to stop thinking that way about Jennifer's mother in such a disrespectful, sexual way,' I berated myself yet again.

We sat there talking while sipping our scotches, eating cheese and crackers, and fruits and vegetables. It was getting late, well after 1:00 am and Elizabeth was working on her third scotch, a double. Actually, they were all doubles and she suddenly looked as if she was feeling the effects of the drinks. That 21-year-old scotch has a way of sneaking up on you.

Suddenly, I remembered her telling me over the phone that her daughter, Jennifer, was unable to hold her alcohol. Now, watching Elizabeth begin to nod off and slumping to the side, I knew where Jennifer got her inability to handle her liquor. Not wanting to disturb her, with her knees parted, her short skirt raised higher than the tops of her nylons, and her panties exposed, I was enjoying the view.

"C'mon, let's get you off to bed," I said standing.

As soon as I said the words, C'mon, let's get you off, I thought about getting her off by masturbating her while in bed. I'd love nothing more than to strip this sexy bitch naked. I love nothing more than to touch and feel her everywhere while she was sleeping.

'Stop it,' I thought! 'How dare I think that way but I was horny? I needed to focus my thoughts elsewhere. I need to act like the gentleman that I need to be to impress her and win her heart. A respectable, quality woman, Elizabeth is the mother of my deceased son's deceased wife, Jennifer.'

"Oh, I'm not tired, yet. I could go all night," she said suddenly appearing wide awake but while slurring her words. "I'm having a relaxing time talking to you."

She hadn't said anything in the last ten minutes.

"Okay," I said.

She was nodding off.

"Let's have one for the road," she said holding up her glass. "Shall we?"

I stood to make her a drink.

"Okay, sure."

I made her a fresh drink, a small one this time and, in just a few minutes, I watched her down the last of it. Then, her eyes closed and her mouth opened. As if I had drugged her, she fell fast asleep. If I was a pervert, I'd walk over to her and stick my cock in her sleeping mouth but, in memory of her daughter and my son, I couldn't do that to Jennifer's mother.

# # #

I sat in my favorite catbird seat, where I prefer sitting, when entertaining an attractive woman wearing a short skirt while hoping she'd flash me her panties. She sat across from me on the soft sofa and I sat higher up in my Queen Anne chair. If Elizabeth was showing anything, I'd see it from this angle.

Not one to disappoint me, towards the end of the last drink, she had become a bit careless about the arrangement of her skirt and the way that she was sitting. No longer sitting like a lady with her knees cemented closed, she sat with her knees parted enough to give me a continual view of her bright, white panties.

'Hello sexy Mama,' I thought.

Especially now with her above the knee length skirt had risen to the middle of her thighs, she was giving me a real voyeur in between her legs show of herself. Continually, she flashed me her white panty and with the scotch weaving its magic on me, too, if she wasn't shy about showing, I wasn't shy about looking. I stared at her exposed crotch, while wondering what she'd look like without her clothes and what she'd taste like with her lying on her back and her legs spread and draped down my shoulders.

It was all so very erotic seeing flashes of her nylon and garter that culminated in me seeing her bright, white panty and that further rewarded me with the display of her camel toed crotch. Between the alcohol and my innate horniness, she was turning me on a bit. Imagining that I was there with Catherine Zeta Jones and Sofia Vergara combined as one, I so wanted to sit next to her on the couch and play tongue hockey with her. I imagined running a slow hand over her bra clad breasts, before slowly sliding my hand down her slim waistline to her panty clad pussy.

With one hand feeling her breasts while fingering her nipples through her blouse and bra, I imagined running my meaty palm down and up her skirt to her panties. I imagined my long, experienced fingers pushing the edge of her panties out of the way for me to explore and deftly part her moist pussy lips with my probing fingertips. I imagined rubbing her clit and fingerfucking her wet pussy. I imagined masturbating her and giving her a sexual orgasm with my fingers before giving her second, sexual orgasm with my tongue, and a third, sexual orgasm with my cock.

'Stop it! Stop it, now,' I thought while berating myself again for having such perverse thoughts. 'This is crazy.'

Now, almost 2:00 am it was so very late and she was slouching again.

"You need some rest, Elizabeth. C'mon, let's put you to bed."

She looked up at me with glazed, half-opened eyes.

"Okay," she said now with her legs fully spread wide open as if she was a drunken sailor.

When she struggled to stand from the softness of the sofa, I reached out my hand to take her arm.

"Let me give you a hand," I said with a devious smile.

To be continued...