Hosting her son’s and his young male friends’ outdoor barbecue this weekend, while having a few of the boys sleep over as well, was definitely getting under Leslie’s dampening pink skin. It was stirring up some irreversible, quietly raging, sexual need, in ways that surprised even her.
“I’ve been too fucking long alone” she whispered to herself, as she acknowledged her own incessant, carnal drip from the male horde surrounding her.
All that young, virile testosterone being spattered hither and yon, and those taut asses and obvious bulges jumping about, and wiggling by her all too closely, had Mrs. Forman in a spin.
And the ones who blatantly flirted with her, hoping to bag a “cougar”, were really pushing the envelope. Leslie was about ready to climb onto the kitchen island naked, and offer herself to the next boy who came in, flashing his flirty teen eyes. flexing his pecs, and begging her for something to eat.
All she would have to do is open her thighs a bit, smile and say “Dinner is ready. Eat up. Pack it in.” Yeah, that might just do it.
Maybe she’d send her son on a long errand, and take a few for the team.