”“Thank you, Mrs. Thomas!” Stephanie untied her apron and slipped into Jason’s shirt. As she opened the back door, the older woman spoke.“I ...ope my son knows how lucky he is.”Pausing, Stephanie turned back. “Thank you, Mrs. Thomas, but I’m lucky to have him.”Jason both loved and hated pep-rallies. Sure, he got excused from social studies—the worst class to have at the end of the day—but stuffing the participating students into the gym was a terrible thing to do. The “Sports Arena” already. The gap widens as my hand continues to grope a breast through my bra, unveiling the deep oval belly button nestled in the gentle swell of my tummy. I'm no supermodel. My waist doesn't taper like they do, but you never object to my unrefined curves. Quite the contrary. You adore kissing my naked skin regardless of its elasticity and the extra inch or two that spills above the waistband. You call me your 'girl next door' who happens to have moved in. You celebrate my shape, and from this. More

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