To set the scene:
George is my daughter’s friend. They are both 18 and though they are close there’s nothing romantic between them. So I don’t feel bad for what went on between us. I used to see him staring, catch him holding that glance too long and I would respond by wearing tighter clothes when I knew he was coming around, leaning over with a lowcut top on and even going braless on a couple of naughty occasions. I had my fair share of fantasies about this young, dreamy, arty boy and I was pretty sure he had a few about me.
One summer evening my daughter had been hanging out with a few friends but they had all gone off into town. George lived up the street and wasn’t going off with them. He was about to leave when I offered to share the last of my wine and a joint with him. I knew the kids drank and smoked, nothing I didn’t do at that age and would rather my daughter did it and felt comfortable enough to be safe and honest rather than get into trouble.