by Matt Tims
An undeniable excitement flowed through her once she got past the sound. She curiously tested out the fourth level, one thing becoming crystal clear: this new toy would only be used when Jake was out of the house. How else would she explain why it sounded like a car was running in her bedroom?
She raised her tank top to her nose to take another whiff. She couldn’t believe she’d actually considered going to bed without showering. Maybe spending all her free time around a group of high school boys was rubbing off on her? Her eyes bolted to the broken plastic packaging that was scattered across her bed, where the word “Waterproof” jumped out at her thanks to the front panel managing to stay intact. She hopped off the bed with a new-found energy, and joyfully skipped to the shower at the end of the hallway with her new vibrator in hand.
She had three really good friends in her life: her bullet vibrator, her longtime friend from college Trish, and the seven spray handheld showerhead she’d purchased by mistake off of Amazon last year. Jake took a few weeks before he got around to installing it; but once he did, she couldn’t believe what she’d been missing out on all this time. The seventy-two inch hose worked perfectly for both her showers and baths, and the center jet flow shot off just the right pulsations to make her forget about whatever stress was on her mind. She was a friendly girl who was always up for making new friends and acquaintances, so if her new pal who she’d already nicknamed “Mr. Pink” was ready to live up to expectations, then Trish just might find herself on the outside looking in when it came to her list of besties.
It didn’t take long for her to detach the showerhead after stepping into the tub. Maybe she would make a habit of this becoming her new warm up routine? Warm up? That sounded awfully nice, didn’t it? It was a strong reminder of the new toy she had waiting for her.
A soft moan escaped from her quivering lips when she found her clit with the strong jet flow. This showerhead was truly magically. Had it ever let her down before? Nope, this piece of heaven was putting up hall of fame numbers when it came to its perfect orgasm success rate.
Trish loved to remind her about how lucky she was regarding her ability to cum. Apparently her girlfriend’s husband would end up with his neck in a brace someday due to how long it took him to get her off. That certainty wasn’t a problem when it came to her own sex life; and if she didn’t ease up with this water, then her first and likely most powerful orgasm of the night, wouldn’t be courtesy of Mr. Pink.
She reattached the showerhead and picked up her new vibrator, deciding to gently run it along her legs and inner thighs on level three. The vibrations and sensations on this setting were strong—very strong. What in the world would level five feel like? Would it kill her? She would worry about that later; because right now, that buzzing head was moving directly for her clit.
“Oh my God!”
Claire reached out with her free hand to prop herself up against the shower wall as her knees buckled, her new toy dropping to the shower tile floor while she attempted to collect herself. She hadn’t expected that. She was well aware of her bullet’s lack of oomph in the power department, but she’d put off on ordering a much-needed upgrade for years. That probably had something to do with sharing an Amazon account with Jake. What mom wanted her son to find out that she was purchasing sex toys, after all? Or maybe the showerhead was enough to satisfy her needs? Or perhaps deep down, she was holding out for a man?
Screw men. No guy had ever made her feel anything close to the intensity that she’d just experienced moments ago. She bent over and retrieved her still buzzing toy, lowering the power to level one before taking a deep breath. It was time to give her new boyfriend another try.
Voice analysts would be debating for years if audio ever surfaced of what came out of Claire Vetter’s mouth over the next thirty-three seconds. Was she undergoing an exorcism? Was she mentally challenged? Was this the sound of a woman screaming in an unidentified language of some hidden and never-before-discovered South American tribe? But whatever the noise would be labeled as, all the evidence you really needed was in the disheveled blonde sitting on the tub floor, while streams of hot water poured onto her body courtesy of her former best friend.
Her eyes were closed. Her breaths short and rapid. Her heart pounded. Her ears heard the sound of Mr. Pink continuing to buzz before her now opening eyes processed the noise. She’d never cum like that, and as much as she would like to credit her new favorite toy, a certain someone had a little to do with it as well.
Dave had been on her mind for the entirety of those thirty-three seconds.
She couldn’t explain why the hunky teen had drifted to the forefront, but there was no denying that he had. She wasn’t even sure if he was the one who’d gifted her this toy. Was it the dancing from earlier in the day? Or what about that sexy muscle shirt he was wearing? Who was she kidding? This wasn’t exactly the first time she’d thought about one of her son’s friends, and Dave making an appearance during her personal time was becoming a bit of a recurring event.
She was becoming worked up again by the idea of her favorite of Jake’s friends gifting her this toy—not to mention the trouble he must’ve went through to set up that fun scavenger hunt. Suddenly, she was in the mood for round two.
She struggled to her feet before shutting off the water, grabbing a towel from the rack to wrap around her wet body. Her damp feet carried her down the hallway toward her bedroom with a silent Mr. Pink in hand. Forget about this vibrator being her best friend. It was her soulmate now.
She found herself flat on her back in bed as the clock showed twelve-thirty in the morning. The forty-four-year-old mother of one was dressed in a pair of black cotton panties and a plain red tank top with spaghetti straps—just like she would be on any other night—except she no longer felt sleepy on this particular occasion. In fact, her mind was locked in a vicious debate between reason and her own sexual desires.
Her blue eyes constantly drifted to the right where Mr. Pink was resting against her thousand thread count sheets. Beyond her new toy was her cell phone, and further to the right was the note that had been hidden inside the pack of batteries. She must’ve read it twenty times over the past minute. How couldn’t she? It was so unreal!
By the way, I’m always around for my favorite girl if you need a little encouragement to help you along :)
Claire’s mind was tangled in a feverish fight with itself.
Text him.
Are you out of your mind? It’s one of your son’s friends!
He’s eighteen and you’re a single woman. What’s the harm? Actually, it’s natural.
Natural? You’re twenty-six years older than him, for God’s sake! What’s wrong with you? You can’t fantasize about one of Jake’s buddies!
Just hear me out, Claire. Seriously, give me a second! Think back to what your new vibrator made you feel. Remember? I want you to really reflect on your orgasm. Okay, got it? Yeah, it was pretty awesome, wasn’t it? Now imagine having an eighteen-year-old jock to play with instead. Do you think Dave needs batteries? And is there any doubt that kid is hung with how confident he is? And what about that body? He would turn your world upside down!
The devil on her shoulder was making some very solid points. On one hand, the pure part of her was reminding herself that she was a mom to a wonderful son. On the other hand, her naughty side couldn’t stop thinking about what a physique like that could do to her significantly more petite frame. Guys her own age sure as shit weren’t built like high school football players.
Screw it. She was going to text this stud. Why not treat herself tonight?
Thanks for the new toy :)
And just like that, her inner-dialogue was back.
Thanks for the new toy? Really? That’s the best you got? These guys are sharp and witty. How about trying to step up and match them?
She deleted her text and took a deep breath to think.
Witty banter over the phone wasn’t exactly her strong suit. Actually, it reminded he
r quite a bit of her experience signing up for that dating site a few months ago. How many guys would message her with some clever opener, only for her to respond with a simple one word answer? It wasn’t due to a lack of interest or effort either. She just hated not being able to have a face-to-face conversation with someone. She could more than hold her own in person, but the familiar sense of being overwhelmed by this new era of flirting was starting to set in before she knew it. She couldn’t blow this!
Even though you’ve devoured thousands of dollars of my food over the years, I think we can call it even after what I just experienced ;)
She audibly groaned after reading what she’d typed, quickly deleting it.
That’s a good one, girl. Accuse him of wasting your money, and then admit to having a four thousand dollar orgasm. You’re a real charmer…
A smile suddenly appeared on her formerly-confused face. Flirting 101: if you can’t match a man with cleverness or wit, then go for what drives every single one of them crazy. Eighteen or eighty, they’re all basically the same.
I’ve been a bad girl.
Send.
What man could possibly turn down the innocent slut routine? She couldn’t care less that she was in her forties, that this kid was eighteen, and what she was doing was about as inappropriate as humanly possible. Tonight, she was going to behave like some slutty high school cheerleader.
Chapter 5 – Retarded Ricky
Six Years Ago. Tuesday. 2:07 PM.
“Please don’t say anything.”
Dave watched Ricky and his gang of goons mercifully walk away. It wasn’t a particularly hot afternoon, but the lack of clouds in the sky caused everyone who ventured out on this summer day to feel the sun’s wrath. His arms propped up his upper body as he eyed the group of eighth graders growing smaller and smaller in the distance from his position on his stomach.
“Please, dude, we’re severely outmatched here,” Mike pleaded once more, sprawled along the grass directly next to his best friend.
A seemingly innocent game of three-on-three basketball had morphed into a full-fledged fight in the field next to the concrete court at Miller’s Park. Dave, Mike, and Phil had made quick work of the first trio of eighth graders in the opener, but when Ricky and his much larger two friends stepped onto the court for the following game, the physicality ramped up to an entirely different level. Elbows, dirty screens, blatant pushing: apparently nothing was off-limits.
Dave and his buddies were about to start the sixth grade and had yet to hit their growth spurts, and they definitely didn’t possess their muscular frames of present day. You would have a hard time finding three more lanky and scrawny teenagers. The faintest of breezes could get an erection out of Dave, Phil was battling a strong case of acne, and Mike’s voice seemed to crack more times than not. They weren’t exactly a pack of studs.
As if Ricky and his crew being in the eighth grade wasn’t enough, Ricky Zimmerman should have actually been in the tenth grade—and he would’ve been big for a tenth grader as-is. No one knew what was wrong with him for sure. He wasn’t retarded (even though the nickname “Retarded Ricky” had caught on. This was used exclusive behind his back, however), but something was definitely off in that head of his. The school counselors couldn’t identify the cause of his incredible amount of aggression and rage, and they sure seemed to be taking their sweet time in finding out. Dave and his friends had unfortunately made a habit out of being the victims of their school’s lack of urgency when it came to Ricky’s situation.
“Jesus…” Mike moaned as he propped himself up higher to check on Phil. It was like every bone in his body was broken. “You alright, dude?”
Phil was lying flat on his back, his shirt ripped in half and blood running down his right arm. A painful moan at least let Mike know that his friend was alive. Speaking of Mike, he wasn’t doing much better himself. Blood slowly trickled from somewhere on the side of his neck, and his head was pounding. It most likely had something to do with that big asshole’s fist hammering into it God knows how many times.
But as bad as Mike was doing, Dave was in even worse shape. The skinny twelve-year-old resembled that of a car accident victim. There were open cuts on his face, arms, legs, and his shirt had been completely torn off—not to mention the welts and bruises that were already forming on his back. It made sense that Dave received the worst beating though. He was the one who’d hit the game winning shot over Ricky’s outstretched hand after several attempts at cheating by the bully toward the end of a 10-10 tie, after all. There was a decent chance some kind of physical confrontation would have happened regardless, but Dave’s “Go fuck your mother” certainly seemed to speed things along.
“Hey, you big fuckin’ idiot!”
“Oh my God, dude…” Mike groaned, watching in horror as his friend took another deep inhale to yell out the rest of whatever was on his mind. They were off the hook, but now Dave was encouraging the crew of older boys to come right back for round two.
It made sense in a weird way. Mike wouldn’t realize it at the moment, but the exact thing that had gotten them into this situation, would be what he grew to love most in Dave. He had this unbelievable ability to think he could accomplish anything. A fight against six eighth graders? No problem. A twenty point fourth quarter deficit in basketball? Bring it on. Dave had never encountered a situation that appeared too daunting to overcome.
The countless number of comeback wins and upset victories that had been spearheaded by their all-state quarterback and star point guard over the years was evidence of that. The local newspaper had nicknamed them “The Comeback Kids” after nine come-from-behind wins over the course of last year’s football season. It started with a twenty-one point comeback win in their season opener, and ended with a twenty-four point comeback at the state semifinals which they eventually lost in double overtime. But as much as he grew to admire that attitude in Dave years later, Mike’s current self was flabbergasted at his friend’s inability to accept defeat.
“I bet that sister of yours tastes like strawberries!”
Mike couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. “Are you fucking kidding me!? Are you trying to get us killed!?”
Ricky’s gang was hurrying back in their direction. They were maybe fifty or so yards away from the physically beaten trio of friends. Well, more like forty-five now. They were moving awfully fast.
“This isn’t the movies, shithead!” Mike snapped at Dave again. “We just got our asses kicked! Why the hell would you invite them back?”
“We got this,” Dave announced with a confident grin.
Mike took a deep breath in an attempt to discover what he was missing. The one thing they most certainly didn’t have was “this.” The entire situation was fucked. He was fucked. They were fucked. Everything was fucked! It wasn’t like there was any point in running. The beating would come eventually.
“No one cares more about their sister than their mom,” Phil faintly moaned, still lying on his back to the side of Dave. “Maybe they’ll go easier this time.”
“I don’t think so, dude…” Mike sighed, now able to make out the sight of Ricky’s livid face. He was only twenty yards away.
“You could talk shit about my sister all day,” Phil said with a cough. “I couldn’t care less.”
“Your sister’s sixteen,” Mike said, bracing himself for the inevitable. “Ricky’s is four.”
A burst of laughter rang out from Phil mouth, continuing until Ricky’s size fourteen Nike slammed into his kidneys. The kids playing in the park that afternoon would talk about that beating for years to come. It was unlike anything they’d ever seen, and who knows how far it would’ve went if not for the pair of college couples who were making their way to the tennis court to play doubles?
Phil ended up with a broken arm, Mike with a mild concussion, and Dave with blood pouring from the majority of the orifices on his body. That still didn’t stop Dave from having the last word even as Ricky’s gang scurr
ied away from the four college friends who’d gotten in between the brawling teenagers. He just couldn’t help himself.
“I’ll find out how that little sister of yours taste in fourteen years; you big, dumb, Frankenstein lookin’ motherfucker!”
Fortunately for them, Ricky was sent off to a boarding school in the fall, and that was the last they ever saw of him.
Not a day went by without Dave reflecting on that afternoon. Something about that event motivated him. It pushed him to never back down. To never shy away from a challenge. To always show you had the backbone to accomplish anything. That day was the best example of his ballsiness—until now. Today was an entirely different level of gall. Today, he may have taken things a step too far.
–
Hours Earlier.
“You guys want to do something?” Mike asked as the three friends gathered around Jake’s front door. The final game the boys had wanted to watch just ended at a quarter to nine.
“I don’t know, I’m pretty beat,” Phil answered with a loud yawn.
“Tough day?” Mike sarcastically inquired. A light football practice in the morning before sitting around and watching football on TV for the next eight hours wasn’t exactly exhausting. He wasn’t sure what his friend was “beat” from.
Phil bumped fists with both of his friends before heading for his car. “Yeah, I think I’m gonna call it a night. Later, fellas.”
“Later, dude,” Dave yelled out before turning his attention back to Mike. “I’m going to call it a night too.”
Mike hadn’t expected to hear that. “Really? Kelly has that party going on tonight, and her parents have a heated pool. I mean, who doesn’t want to see that body in a bikini, am I right?”
He definitely had a point, but there was another body Dave would prefer to see in a swimsuit, and her name wasn’t Kelly. “Honestly, I’m beat too. Maybe next week.”
Mike was going to give it one last shot. When had his friends all become so lame? “Scott texted me that all the cheerleaders are over there.”