“I’m not breaking up with your boyfriend for you,” I said, staring at Hannah, my youngest, from across the table, in between stirring the chicken soup so it wouldn’t boil over.
“I already broke up with him, Mom. I just need you to pick my stuff up from him.” Hannah said, picking and putting her phone back down.
“That’s worse! Honest to God, you got some chutzpah, getting me involved. What am I gonna tell him even? I barely even know him,” I said, already fuming. Hannah just rolled her eyes and tutted, the spitting image of her father, all curly locks and a face you want to punch and kiss at the same time.
“What are you talking about? He was here on Zot Hannukah; brought the wine, remember?” Hannah said. I paused, digging for the memory in the back of my head in between the haze of alcohol, the night after…
“Just…tell him I need some time. And that I’ll make it up to him,” Hannah said, snapping me back to reality, before turning back to her phone “somehow.”
I grit my teeth and was about to give Hannah a piece of my mind when the chicken soup began to boil over. By the time I’d gotten it off the flame, she’d already left.
“I left the keys on the table, mom! Love you!” Hannah shouted, shutting the door behind her, leaving me behind to stew.
“What about the soup?” I shouted. The empty house came back with nothing.
***
I’m sorry about Hannah, she means well, but…I began, trying out what I’d say to her boyfriend (now ex) when I saw him.
“Maybe he’ll be out,” I told myself, as I fumbled with the keys to his apartment building that Hannah had given me. “I’ll just leave the soup, get Hannah’s things, be out in a flash.”
What do you want me to say? My daughter’s meshuggeneh. Better luck next time, I said, playing out the conversation in my head as I went up each flight of stairs. Finally, I stopped at the third floor, pausing for a breather in front of the full-body mirror in the hall; There I was, dressed in my overcoat, my hair done up in a bun, a Tupperware full of chicken soup and half a dozen beers in one hand, standing in for my airhead of a daughter. I’d raised four of them, ran a tight ship on the first three, but somehow Hannah had always gotten her way. She was so much like her father, that one…
“Knew what strings to pull with you, didn’t she?” I muttered, before knocking on the door. What was his name again? Something starting with a G: “Gus or Gerry. No, not Gerry, couldn’t be, too much of a goy’s name…”
There was no response, so I started fumbling with the keys. “Grayson or Gord or Grady…”
I’d just stuck the key in the lock when the door opened and I was staring right into his face.
“It’s Grant. We had this conversation last time too,” he said, standing in the doorway, all arms and legs and blonde-brown hair, framed like a picture “hello Mrs. J.”
I made a polite noise, offering the soup. Grant took it, his fingers brushing against mine: they were rough, calloused, strong hands; the kind made for grabbing fistfuls of your hair as you bit the pillow…
Oy, it has been a while, I thought.
“Thanks. Would you like to come in?” Grant offered and I followed, eyes wandering across the apartment, the messy kitchen, the living room made up of two couches, a coffee table piled high with takeout boxes, and one wall-to-wall screen. I’d been slowly hovering for a peek into the bedroom when Grant called out “care for a coffee?”
“I don’t think I’ll be staying but thanks,” I said, pulling back to the living room, letting the soup and beers down on the coffee table “also, lunch. You look like you’ll need it.”
“Sorry about that. Guess I let myself go, lately,” Grant managed, looking embarrassed, clumsily trying to clear the table “with everything going on…”
“I don’t think I’ll be helping much either. Hannah sent me for…her things,” I said, cringing even as I said it. Grant just stared. “She said she’d make it up to you, somehow.”
“I’d rather she didn’t,” Grant said, pushing himself off the couch. My eyes wandered to his behind, all sculpted and tight. I looked away as he turned the corner, too late. Minutes trickled by, slow as molasses until Grant came back with a cardboard box filled with Hannah’s things. There was a little box nestled on top.
“Keep the late birthday present for someone else,” I said, pointing at it “take it from me.”
“It’s not a birthday present,” Grant said, putting the box down, suddenly self-conscious “I was going to propose. Don’t see much use holding onto it now.”
I blinked, slowly, taking the box in my hand, testing the lid. The ring inside glittered, the rock on it the size of a chickpea. Grant was blushing now, as I handed him a beer.
“Sit down. You need this more than I do,” I said. Grant took it without comment.
***
Grant was a welder, moved from the boonies to the Big City. He made good money and took night classes learning French, which was how he met Hannah. He had big, strong hands I couldn’t take my eyes off and, unlike me, he could take his liquor.
It Escort Sarıyer would explain why he kept his composure, even as I kept scooting my tuchus over to him.
“You want a bit of advice, Grant? Never fall for a girl you haven’t split the power bill with,” I said, leaning a little too close for comfort. Not that he seemed to mind, as his hand ran along my shoulders, down my back. It ran down me like a current, that caress, made me shiver all over.
“I just felt we could work out the kinks,” Grant said, leaning closer. His lips parted, then turned his head at the last second, placing the bottle on the table.
“She’s had them for 18 years. They’re fixtures by now,” I said and Grant’s laughter turned into a groan, even as I ran my fingers across his jeans, up his thigh. My nails grazed against something that tented up against the fabric and I lingered there for a while, tracing its tip.
“We really shouldn’t,” Grant said, not pulling away as we stared into each other’s eyes. Slowly, my fingers began to circle and trace the head of it, teasing.
“What’s the harm,” I said, my voice all deep and breathy like it hadn’t been in years “we’re just talking…”
Grant muttered something unintelligible as his lips brushed against mine. He lingered there, then moved again, this time testing me with his tongue. I let him have a taste, as my hand wrapped around the tent in his jeans, grasped the tool under that, and moved along it.
“Oy I can’t find the end of it,” I moaned even as I tried to wrap my hand around it, pumping over the fabric. Grant’s hips bucked against my motions as his hand grasped my hair in a handful and tugged. It stung just right.
“I’m gonna…” Grant moaned and I leaned into him, both hands on his bulge, gasping into his mouth, our foreheads pressed into each other as he bucked against my hands…
I felt him twitch under the jeans, watched as the wet spot grew under there. Grant bucked in my hands as I kept going, draining him with every touch. The sight of it, the feeling of him shuddering against my hands, made me flood my panties.
“Mrs. J, that was…” Grant began. I grabbed the box of Hannah’s things and headed for the door before he’d say something we both regretted.
“Happy holidays,” I muttered back and headed for the door. Grant only watched me go, a slight smile on his lips.
I looked at myself, on the way out; the messy bun, the flushed cheeks, the ruffled clothes.
“What the hell was that?” I told the woman in the mirror. She didn’t have anything to say.
***
“Ma, phone’s ringing,” Rachel said, not looking up from her book. The phone went off on the table next to her, half an arm’s reach away.
“Ma! Get the phone!” I said in a little sing-song voice. Rachel just pouted. Must have been that face that got her all that modeling work, because it certainly wasn’t her brain. I picked up the phone, wiping at my hands as I went “Yes?”
“You left your Tupperware at my place. Great soup, by the way,” Grant said, from the other end. There was that shiver again, running down along the back of my neck to crash between my legs.
“It’s okay, you can keep it,” I lied. It was a good piece of Tupperware. I should have taken it with me.
“I can bring it over. Is today good?” he said and I could feel the smile on that punim, hear his breath, thinking how it looked with his mouth hanging open when I had my hands around his…
“No. House is a mess. I’ll come over,” I butted in “today. I’ll come over today.”
“Looking forward to it,” Grant said, hanging up.
“Who was that?” Rachel said, suddenly looking up from her book, all invested.
“Don’t you have any lines to memorize? Why do you have to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong?” I said. Rachel just shrugged.
“It’s lingerie modeling, Ma. I don’t have any lines. Just gotta stand there and look good,” Rachel said “I get to keep the stuff, too.”
“Is that what all this is? I thought that was for Goodwill,” I said, referring to the big blue plastic bag Rachel had thrown on top of her bed in her old room.
“Not unless Goodwill is looking to help poor people spice things up in the bedroom, Ma,” Rachel said. I just nodded, then headed off to the kitchen, before slowly drifting to the bedroom. Rachel didn’t once get her eyes off the book long enough to notice.
I began to rifle through the bag, checking the camisoles, the body lingerie suits, the fishnets. There was a pair of bras with top half of the cups missing and a pair of panties with a hole down them.
“What kind of modeling job is she doing, she has to walk around all but naked?” I tutted, then began to pick out what looked more presentable: a bra, about my size. Rachel’s breasts weren’t as big as mine but it looked like would do. I searched for the matching pair of panties but found only a handful of strings and straps before I settled for a thong that looked like it matched.
Moving on tiptoe, I checked through the crack in the door. Rachel was still there, at the edge Silivri escort bayan of the couch, nodding off with her book. Carefully, I shut the door to her room and began to undress, pulling off the top and my skirt. I glanced at my body, still holding on after four children and twenty-three years of marriage. Carefully, I took off the bra and pulled down my panties, feeling them peel off, wet from just Grant calling me, the schmendrik.
“I’d have to change, anyway,” I said as I pulled on the tiny little pair of panties, feeling it hug me snugly, the fabric slipping inside. I wriggled against it, feeling like it tickled, then started to pull on the bra. The straps and hooks fought against me but gave in at the end.
When I was done, I checked the mirror again and gasped. There I was, all dolled up like some floozy, my breasts barely held into my bra, nearly spilling out, my body all naked, the flesh near the waist sticking out around where the thong had wrapped around me. It hugged the front of me snuggly, tracing the whole thing out for all to see. I turned around and saw the little strip of fabric disappearing under the little triangle on the small of my back.
I wondered how Mort would have liked it if I’d dressed up like that for him. It would have probably sent him to an earlier grave.
“Will he know I’m wearing them, do you think?” I said to no one in particular as I began to put my clothes back on, pulling up my skirt and blouse. I tugged at the fabric, until the outline of the bra could be seen, my nipple sticking out. I pulled at my skirt until it was taught, hugging my behind, and turned to look at the tiny outline, pushing up against the skirt
Tutting, I started to run my hands over my clothes. They were all crumpled and a mess and I couldn’t get them straightened out. The fabric from my Rachel’s underwear was so thin it was like nothing and I gasped, as I ran my hands over my breasts and felt the fingers running over my nipples, all standing at attention. A little noise came out of my lips; more a gasp than anything and I tugged at my nipple again, rolling it over my top and the fabric. It stung, just right, and stuck out against the top. I rolled the other one, thinking about those big, welder’s hands pinching and rolling them, tugging them. I wrapped my hands around the flesh and squeezed it, digging my nails over the fabric. He looked like a rough one.
“Who knows what he’s like,” I gasped, both hands tugging my nipples, rolling them. I thought of him, pushed up against me, his knee parting my legs. My eyes wandered over to the round nub on the foot of Rachel’s bed. Without thinking, I lowered myself down against it and ground between my legs against the wood. It was hard and cold, but it rubbed me well enough over my skirt and I grabbed onto the wood, leaning into it, turning and turning, the lacquered surface feeling hard against my lips as it parted them. My knees began to wobble and I leaned into it, driving myself faster across it, feeling something build-up down my loins. I bit my lip so Rachel wouldn’t hear even as I made a mess in her thong, then-
“Ma! The knishes are burning!” Rachel’s voice came from the living room and I burst out the door and into the kitchen. Of course, she hadn’t moved a muscle.
***
“Just came over for the Tupperware,” I told the woman in the mirror in Grant’s apartment building, dressed in the too-tight blouse and the skirt that just went down to her knees. Looking at her, I couldn’t tell what kind of sheer, tiny underwear she was wearing or how she’d washed and cleaned herself for half an hour before she got here.
Grant took his sweet time getting at the door, Tupperware already in hand. He smiled down at me, pearly whites showing through his rough, unshaven face.
“Thanks, Mrs. J, this was great,” he said, handing me the Tupperware, then looking down at me without a word, like a schmendrik.
“Going to need the beer bottles, too. For recycling,” I told him. Grant invited me inside, then started to schlep down the hallway. I looked at his back, all covered in sweat, the fabric sticking to his muscles, the sweat trailing down to his sweatpants. He’d been working out and smelled all rough and manly and I found myself taking three steps for every two of his just so I could be closer. Grant led me to the kitchen, then began to fish the beer bottles out of the recycling bin.
“I made too many knishes, so I brought a few over,” I said, placing the little foil-wrapped package on the counter, feeling Grant as he moved up against me, placing the beer bottles over my shoulder and across the counter. Something hard pushed against my behind and I gasped as I felt him lean against me, wordlessly. “Thought you might need some…”
His hands moved down my body, across my breasts. I felt his fingers flick my nipples, then move down. Biting my lip, I started fiddling with the foil, while Grant’s hands moved down across my chest, my belly, my skirt, pulling up the hem of it…
“Aren’t you in a-” I started, then Topkapı escort stopped, as I felt his hands pull up my skirt, exposing half my behind, the little patch of almost transparent fabric, so sheer I could feel his finger run down across me, finding and teasing my nub. I made a noise, the kind I hadn’t made since Mort passed, then yelped when he took the sides of the fabric and tugged, making it slip up in me, making it hurt just right.
Grant turned me around, and I looked into his eyes as he pulled up my blouse, exposing my bra, my breasts almost spilling out. He tugged it down, letting them fall down, and tugged at my nipples, making me yip like a dog before letting them go, only to fill his hands and squeeze them, taking first one in his mouth, sucking, nibbling it with his teeth, grazing it, then slurping the other up, like an animal. My knees buckled with every roll of his tongue and grazing of his teeth and all that held me up was the kitchen counter.
“Oy, slow down there,” I said but didn’t fight him, yelping as he pulled me up onto the counter and tugged the thong from underneath me. I pulled down the skirt, trying to hide, but Grant dove down anyway, kissing his way down my thighs until I made them part. When his tongue finally touched me, I almost whooped. He ran across the lips and flicked the top, circled it, kissed it again and again, each lap of his tongue making me jump. He groaned, loving the taste before he dove his tongue into me and I wrapped both legs around his head, pulling him in. I moved my waist against him and he moved his lips in tandem, taking long, deep laps across all of me, dipping his tongue until finally, I exploded against his mouth, leaning into him and shaking all over. I must have gripped him so hard he was choking before I finally let go.
“One good turn deserves another,” I said to him, uselessly, as I slipped off the counter and onto the kitchen floor. Grant leaned against the table, watching me as I found the tented outline of his cock and grasped it over the fabric, squeezing and caressing it. Finally, I pulled the fabric down, gasping as the whole thing sprang up and smacked me in the chin. Grant laughed and I stared taking it in.
Of course, Hannah would go for a goy like that, I thought as I looked at the length and girth of it, almost the size of my forearm, the skin at the top halfway pulled back and dripping. I stared at it, then ran my hands across it, tracing the veins, staring at the way the skin folded over the tip. Without thinking, I took it into my mouth, sucking the flesh, tasting the salty thing trapped inside it, rolling it with my tongue before letting it go. Grant moaned and I took it back into my mouth, teasing it with my lips and tongue, letting the tip of it slide into the skin, and lap at the head inside. I looked up at Grant, his mouth hanging open and gasping as I began to circle my tongue around the skin, peeling it back slowly, tasting him, kissing the tip of the head. I played with the skin and the head, peeling them back until they filled my mouth and I began to ease my way down it until it stuck to the back of my throat and I choked.
“It’s okay, you don’t gotta…” Grant began, then gasped as I breathed deeply in through my nose, sticking my tongue out to feed more of him into me, down my throat. He bucked his hips, shuddering as he felt me choke around him, then pull back, pausing for breath by taking his balls into my mouth, rolling them with my tongue before I kissed my way back up him and sucked the head. He grasped the sides of my head and I let him use me, sliding me up and down him, as he moaned like an animal “Mrs. J, I’m gonna…”
I pushed myself down against him, letting him finish in my mouth, letting my tongue get coated in his hot white mess. I swallowed as much as I could before I couldn’t anymore and I pulled off him. Gobs dripped onto my breasts and my skirt and I fished for a napkin to spit the rest out in. I was about to speak when Grant grasped me by the neck and pulled me onto my feet, laying me against the kitchen table. I laid my legs wide open for him, watching as his uncut meat slid across me, making me shiver, the tip of it around my entrance.
Then the doorbell rang. Again and again, followed by a knock.
“Grant? You in there?” Hannah’s voice came from the corridor. We froze, staring at each other but Grant kept his cool, tucking his schlong into his sweatpants.
“Wait here,” he whispered, walking back to the hallway, where Hannah waited. I leaned against the wall, trying to listen in while also hoping this would make me invisible, somehow.
“Is this a bad time?” Hannah asked, after having come all the way to her ex’s house to knock on the door “I can come later.”
“What for? You got all your things,” Grant said, trying his best to sound bored and also cruel “your mother did, anyway.”
“I’m sorry for that but I just…I couldn’t…you’re looking at me that way again,” Hannah said and I could hear her pout through the wall “can I come in?”
“I was just getting ready to go out. You can call me,” Grant said and I heard Hannah slinking in, under his arm, through the door behind him like a cat. I kneeled down, holding onto the table, suddenly feeling the leftover drying spunk on my lips itching worse than ever before. I fumbled for a paper towel while Hannah stepped into the house.