Chapter 11
Natalie
Am I playing with fire? Probably, but I’m not scared of a little burn.
That sneaky little Stepford isn’t as innocent as the part she plays.
I was in a glass shower, not a room with no windows.
I could clearly see her watching me, but didn’t want to scare her off.
If she wanted a quick glimpse, who was I to refuse her?
Soaping up with her loofah was a turn-on enough, but add in her intense gaze…
so hot. My clit was throbbing, begging for some attention, but the Prez isn’t ready for that show, just yet.
Sleeping next to her was a dream come true, except in mine, I’m not surrounded by hundreds of lacy pink pillows.
The sheets were buttery soft, probably a high thread count, whatever that means.
Her detergent was fragrant, with a hint of lavender, knocking me out as soon as my head hit her pillow.
It’s a bad idea to experiment with a straight woman from the burbs, but what makes it even worse is messing with a single mom.
“You’re gonna burn that if you don’t flip it in time.” Madison’s running the kitchen like a miniature dictator and reminds me of Candace, but with darker hair and a meaner scowl.
“Please, I’ve been cooking pancakes since I could walk. I know what I’m doing,” I tell her, flicking a burnt piece of batter towards her.
They both laugh and crank up the music. Candace forced them to go get coffee from the neighbor’s house, and thank fuck, because I can’t remember the last time I survived a morning without it.
I left her upstairs to put herself together.
It’s not a big deal to me, but I can see how getting caught being a peeping tom might be embarrassing.
We’re at this fork in the road in our friendship, and it’s unsettling that she doesn’t know more about me.
There’s a lot about my past that I haven’t had time to fill her in on.
It’s always scary meeting someone and divulging your life.
Not to sound cynical, but what if they don’t make the cut?
Looking back, there are old friends, lovers, and even bathroom acquaintances who know too much about my life and aren’t even in it anymore.
What if I let Candace in and she becomes one of those people?
I’d be miserable. For the time being, we’re going to stay in the safety of our little bubble and not let the heavy stuff weigh us down.
“Turn it up, Nat. We love this song, but Mom always makes us turn it off because there’s a bad word,” Kate mumbles under her breath.
“What’s My Age Again” plays loudly through the kitchen as the girls and I work on the food. One of them brought down a boombox, and they’ve been schooling me on alternative rock– as if little homies.
They each grab a wooden spatula and sing along to the chorus, prompting me to jump on the counter, Coyote Ugly style, to jam out to one of my favorite bands. The girls are laughing and taking turns going solo when the high-pitched doorbell interrupts us.
Candace comes flying down the stairs, still in her lounge set, and answers the door like a frazzled mess. What was she doing up there? Her hair's matted, cheeks flushed, and an evil part of me hopes she was upstairs touching herself to thoughts of me naked.
Madison cuts the music abruptly, as an older couple in matching blue jogging suits walk in wearing the meanest expressions I’ve ever seen.
Chills run down my spine as they witness our rock band moment.
Looking around, I take in the mess we’ve made.
Gooey batter covers the counter, dripping down the white cabinets.
Blueberries are smashed on the white tile, and the pancakes are definitely burnt.
“Shit.” I jump off the counter, hurrying to shut off the stove and plate breakfast before we light the place on fire.
“That’s our grandparents,” Kate whispers to me. We’re all standing like guilty children with our hands in the cookie jar. “They’re not very nice to Mom. This is gonna be really bad.
“What are you guys doing here so early?” Candace asks, brushing down flyaways and working through tangles with her fingers.
Her dad walks towards us in the kitchen, eyeing me suspiciously, then nods to his granddaughters before turning back to his firstborn.
“What on earth is going on here? Candace, is this really how you run your home? No wonder Greg moved on to another woman, You should be ashamed. You let your daughters listen to devil worship music with a woman who looks like someone you picked up off the corner last night.” He shakes his head and grabs his wife’s wrist, pulling her outside.
There’s no time for Candace to rebuttal or fight back before the door slams shut, leaving us speechless.
My track record with parents isn’t great, but I know bad ones when I see them, and I want no part of that, and my girl shouldn’t either.
“Let’s clean up, guys.” I hand out paper towels to the twins.
“No, actually, I’ll do that. I think it’s best if you went home now, Natalie.” She’s looking around at her kitchen with a frown.
“Why?” My brows scrunch together. “Afraid Mom’s gonna come back and ground you? This is your house Candace, Why do you even give a shit what they think?”
Shaking her head, she folds her arms and moves her attention to the tile floor. “You don't understand, they have very high expectations. And they’re not wrong. Look at this place, it’s an absolute disaster. It’s nine o’clock and nobody’s even dressed and ready for the day.”
“Ready for what day?” I stroll over to her right as tears run down her cheeks, and dribble to the floor.
“On the weekends you get to stay in your pajamas all day and rot on the couch. It’s a very strict rule.
” I gently run my fingers across her knuckles.
“If you really want me to, I’ll leave. But I’d like to stay and hang out with you guys. ”
“I don’t want you to leave.” Her eyes are big and watery as she looks up at me, and it breaks my heart a little, knowing I can’t kiss her and make it better.
“Go, shower and get ready. The girls and I will work on the kitchen.” I point to the pre-teens battling over the boombox again. “I promise we’ll turn the music down so the neighbors don't riot.”
“Okay, but no more swearing.” She pinches my arm before heading upstairs to her shower.
“Fuck,” I tease.
She heads upstairs without another word, and every part of me screams and begs for me to follow. My fantasy turns into a full-blown porno as I let my filthy imagination run wild, picturing her stripping off her clothes until she’s in nothing but a silk bra and matching panty.
The thin material would slide easily off her creamy skin, littering the floor.
Goosebumps would erupt over her as she slowly entered the shower, adjusting the temperature.
Her breasts, big and heavy, would drip with soapy water as she rinsed her hair before shampooing those big blonde waves.
Pink nipples would perk up when she lifted her hands to scrub her hair, allowing shampoo to slide down her toned stomach and bare pussy.
“Nat, come help us, dude,” Kate scolds, obliterating my dirty dream of her mom.
Grabbing a handful of blueberries from the counter, I drown out my nasty thoughts to better focus on the twinners and act like a respectable adult. Instead of the degenerate that’s itching for a taste of the soaking wet woman upstairs.
“Alright, girlies. Let’s discuss how Travis Barker is better than Dave Grohl in today’s lesson of Rock 101.”