When I rounded the corner, Marisa was perched on the counter beside the sink. She had paper towels beside her, and she was soaking her nylons. "Just p...t those next to me here and relax." Marisa hung up her nylons, and then took each shoe as she scrubbed the insoles, and when she was done she washed her feet. It was a quick job but thorough. I was surprised when she walloped me across the head with a flat; apparently I was still standing next to her and paying attention to her feet! Marisa the. But if I did, and I don’t really recall it, it was just background sexual noise that was drowned out by the sexual feelings I’d had for the more legitimate and likely targets of a horny teenager. Was it her fault? Certainly she hadn’t planned anything. She hadn’t set out to seduce her daughter’s boyfriend. She’d been happy with her life, with her husband. But a subtle change had occurred in her attitude towards me. Something happened in the weeks after I’d started dating her daughter. It. More

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