During the summers, while I was in college, a couple of friends and I often got together to drink. None of us had real jobs, and we all lived with our parents. Broke college kids. It was normal for us to crash in someone’s basement for the night, and we usually went to my best friend Robert’s. Robert’s parent’s, Mr. and Mrs. S, were well off. They had large TVs, a fully stocked pantry, and a roomy finished basement. A perfect place for young men to hang out. It didn’t hurt that Mrs. S was hot as well. Her dark hair and portioned curves, perfectly held on her petite figure, were always a welcome sight.
On this particular night, Mr. S was out of town on a business trip. All of his wealth had a cost, and he traveled often. Mrs. S was particularly friendly as usual when her husband was gone. We always thought she was just lonely, or afraid to be upstairs alone. She would come down and offer us food, drinks, or see if we needed anything else before she would saunter back up the stairs. Nobody else seemed to pay her much attention, but the more I drank, the harder it was to push her out of my mind. I always had a thing for older women, and the thought of warming her bed crossed my mind more than once.