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I can’t . . I just . . can’t!
Linda Weatherby struggled with herself. Lying naked that evening on her bed, the attractive thirty-four-year-old blonde kept her hands pressed tightly against her thighs as she struggled with that tight itchy feeling between her legs. It had been so easy to fight off before. Common sense had told her that a woman in her thirties with a teenaged daughter shouldn’t be thinking about herself in that way. Life as far as sex was over for her. After Doug had left her and she moved in with her ailing mother, such things as privacy ended. Sex. Privacy. The words meant nothing to her now. All that mattered was a good education for her daughter, Christina, something her puritanical mother’s money could provide.
“Ohhhhh!” she sighed.
It was hard to keep up the act. The old woman watched her daughter and granddaughter like a hawk from her sick bed, making sure nothing “happened.” No men, nothing. Well, if that was the price to pay for Christina’s future, it was worth it. God only knows she had paid far worse for what little she had. She had had to sit and listen to her mother lecture about men, about the dirtiness of sex even in marriage, about how college was supposed to give her instant intelligence and wit!
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.