Crash Diet

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Irene’s leg jerked, mercifully jolting her away from the decaying fragments of the demented dream. She lay half out of her bed with sweaty sheets knotted about her ankles. Irene swore, violently kicked herself free, and rolling to her side, she dumped her naked body onto the carpet. She blinked at the ceiling tiles for a moment, trying to remember. And then it all came back, cascading back, landing in her brain like a brick, and she wished she hadn’t tried to remember. She slumped in a moldy heap, ridding herself of the last of the nightmare.

Her head, still swimming in vodka, felt like there was a battle-ax embedded in her brain. Irene tried to focus on the clock radio. Christ, it wasn’t even eleven. She had started in on the vodka that morning and the last thing she remembered was turning off the six o’clock news when they had announced the court’s decision: Manslaughter. Failure to perform her duties. After six months, it was finally over. She was unemployed, financially ruined, and soon to be homeless.

Irene pulled herself from the floor and sat on the edge of the mattress. She looked around for the bottle thinking a drink would help. The bottle was there, alright. On the floor. But during her convulsive thrashing, she had managed to kick it over and a pool of vodka was settling into the carpet. s**t! Irene reached for it, drained the dregs into the back of her throat before tossing the bottle against the wall.

She used the toilet, then filled the sink with cold water and forced her head under. No, she discovered, she couldn’t drown herself. But the water was sobering. Maybe if she had something to eat. At the thought, her stomach rolled and Irene realized she hadn’t eaten all day.

There was a can of chili in the cupboard, somewhere. And a saucepan in the sink.

Irene, working the can opener, looked out her kitchen window, across the dark drive and saw the light from his desk-lamp. She paused a moment and watched Adam struggling with his schoolwork.

The neighbors had moved in six years ago and Adam was always around to give Irene a helping hand. He cut her grass, weeded her flowers and wasn’t afraid of a paintbrush. Irene had never given him much concern; he was just the great thirteen-year-old kid from across the way. But one day, when she was bent over lifting a chair, she realized he was taking a sidelong look down the front of her shirt. It gave her a queer feeling, somewhere below her navel and her breasts suddenly felt weighty.

After, he had accepted a beer instead of lemonade and, sitting across from Adam, Irene was struck by how his shoulders had filled out. He was taller too and she was surprised to learn that he was at university. She felt the buzz again. A loneliness– a yearning that she took to her bed that night.

And the next time Adam dropped by, she met him at the door wearing heels and a tight skirt that showed off superbly tanned thighs. She wore a loose blouse without a bra and left a button loose. It was sinfully wicked and she could barely stand it.

She watched Adam now, through her kitchen window and those same feelings returned. Maybe Adam could help her, she thought, help where vodka couldn’t.

Irene looked down at herself. Her body glistened with beads of perspiration and her dark hair was still damp from the dunking in the bathroom sink. She was a mess. But still...

Irene dropped the pan. She soaked her hands under the tap and scooped water into her hair and handfuls onto her chest until moisture ran in rivulets across her tummy and along her thighs. Irene reached for her bag on the table, dug out her phone and scrolled down the menu. When she pressed Connect, she watched through the glass as Adam reached for a shirt pocket.

Her analyst, when she could still afford an analyst, had called them Age-Gap Relationships; something stemming from a massive guilt complex, the result of killing all those kids. The psycho-babble aside, Irene just thought of young guys as a way of getting a rousing good f**k with no strings attached. But then what did she know, she was drunk half-the-time.

“Adam. It’s Irene. Next door. I hate to call you so late but I saw your light.”

“That’s okay, Miss Ross. What’s up?”

“I got a water leak over here. Place is a mess. Could you come over; at least turn the water off until I can call a plumber in the morning?”

“Oh, sure thing.” Irene watched Adam stand. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

Yeah. Good kid, Irene thought with greedy intent.

Young Adam was almost into Irene’s kitchen before he realized she was naked. “Miss Ross...” He diverted his eyes and tried to wheel away but Irene had anticipated his move and holding him by the arm, she got the door closed.

“I got soaked, Adam,” Irene grimaced while backing his squirming body against the door-frame. She caught an insane giggle in her throat. He was average height for his age which meant Irene had three inches on him and it gave her an advantage. She held him in a sisterly hug that didn’t seem so sisterly, being she was naked, but it served to keep her face hidden. She caught her reflection in the glass over his shoulder and found she was grinning like an i***t.

Irene promptly bite down on her lip. “Water was flying everywhere. I had to get my clothes off. You’ll understand when you see my bathroom.”

Adam was flustered, felt inadequate. “I’ll wait until you find a robe or something.” He tried to keep his eyes focused above Irene’s neck.

“Oh come off it, Adam. I’m not that hard to look at, am I?”

It was true. At age fifty-two, Irene Ross was remarkably well preserved. She had never married, never had children, had been a diet junky most of her life, and she was athletic. Irene had a body that many twenty-year-olds would kill for: Straight shoulders that supported the weight of fine breasts, a flat tummy that curved down into a crowning knuckle that was covered with thick dark curls. Heavy puckered lips protruded from between the rolls of her s*x. She had good legs.

Irene released her grip on Adam’s arm. “And we’re friends, right?”

“Well, I guess. I mean yeah. Friends...”

“Okay then.”

Irene turned and moved toward the fridge, giving Adam a chance to appreciate the gait of a firm behind. “Well the way you reacted, it made me feel, I don’t know, cheap somehow. I thought I had misjudged you.” Irene yanked on the fridge door. “I got beer here, you want one?”

“No. Better not. Got classes tomorrow.”

Irene opened a long-neck and slipped her round bottom onto a stool at the breakfast bar. She c****d an arm and tipped the bottle back, knowing full well he couldn’t miss the lift of her breasts. Irene swallowed deep to kill the thirst the vodka had left behind. His eyes rose from the sight of her brown n*****s to the pumping of her pale throat. And he saw her knees drift. Poor Adam couldn’t help himself; he had to look. Her s*x was gaping and he could see the secretions gathering in the folds. Despite all efforts, his p***s had taken on a life of its own and started to uncoil in his jeans.

“You like me Adam, don’t you?”

The color flushed in his cheeks and his eyes came up. “Of course. We’ve been friends since I was twelve.”

“That’s good, Adam. I didn’t think it would matter between us. We’re close, like family. I mean, I don’t let just anyone see me parading around. Now, while I find a robe, why don’t you go into the basement and turn off that valve thing before my house floods.”

“Oh gosh!” Adam took a step toward her basement stairs. “I forgot. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.” The relief was evident in his voice and Irene almost laughed as he pounded down her basement steps. This was delicious.

Irene pulled a hip length beach-wrap from the bedroom closet, draped it around her shoulders and loosely belted it about her waist. By the time she had returned to the kitchen, Adam was back, his hands covered with rust stains.

“Here. Come by the sink. Let me help.” Irene took his left hand and worked a damp cloth between his fingers. “You’ve got strong hands,” she said and felt the jolt range through his body when she pushed a breast into his arm. “Girls appreciate that in a man.” She reached across for the opposite hand.

“Thank you, Miss Ross. But my girlfriend doesn’t seem to appreciate anything about me.”

Irene glanced up. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone.” Irene sought out his eyes. “How long has this been going on?”

The color came up into his neck and he glanced down to where Irene still had hold of his fingers. “Almost a y-year; since I met her. Pamela, I mean.” His breath staggered as Irene moved closer.

God, he was so shy and Irene felt a rush of hedonistic delight as she tickled her n*****s with a sweep across the front of his shirt. Back and forth.

“And you’re not sleeping together? With Pamela?”

“No ma’am.”

“Are you having trouble, Adam? Do you have an erection in the mornings, when you wake up?”

Adam blew out a breath. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you masturbate?”

“Oh God.”

“Are you hard, right now Adam? For me?” Irene ran a hand down along the front of his jeans and discovered the answer for herself. “Oh baby. That’s so wonderful?”

“Ma’am?”

“Show me Adam.”

“Miss Ross, I can’t. I mean you’re my friend and all, but it’s not right. My mom will kill me.”

Irene tucked her fingers into his belt. “Your mother will never find out,” she said, playfully rocking his hips. “And you’re a big boy now; old enough to make your own decisions. Or maybe you don’t like older women?”

Adam felt trapped. “What do you want from me?” he asked despairingly.

“I want to watch you masturbate.” Irene said with a silly smile and tugged suggestively on his belt.

“That’s crazy.”

“Yes. But you’ll do it for me, won’t you; because I asked. And because I can help you with Pamela.”

“Pamela?”

“Sure. You bring her around and introduce us. How about Saturday? I’ll throw some burgers on the grill.”

“She doesn’t eat meat.”

“Doesn’t eat meat...” Irene took a moment to reassess. “Well salmon then. I’ll pick up three salmon steaks.”

“She’s a vegan. Doesn’t eat fish nether.”

Irene tried not to roll her eyes. No wonder Adam wasn’t getting any; the girl didn’t suck on anything except carrot sticks.

Irene’s eyes lit up. “Nachos! Re-fried beans, salsa, melted cheese; it’ll be Mexican night. I’ll make a pitcher of margaritas and pick up a case of Dos Equis. How about it?”

“Might work, but she doesn’t drink.”

“Of course she doesn’t. Look, doesn’t matter. After dinner, Pamela and I will sit down together and have a little girl-girl chat. I’ll tell her how good you are. You are good, aren’t you Adam?”

“Christ. How should I know?”

Yeah, exactly! Irene stepped back. “Let’s find out, shall we? Masturbate for me. I like to watch.”

“Right here? In the kitchen?”

“Sure,” she said, slipping her bottom back up on the stool. “It makes clean-up, after, so much easier.”

Adam dragged a hand along his face. “Oh Jesus. Please.”

“C’mon Adam. Do it for me. Right now. I’ve got hand cream here, by the sink.”

“No Miss Ross. I can’t. Really.”

“You’d like me to go first? Is that it Adam? You want to watch, Adam? I know you do. You’re nineteen and the hormones are raging.”

She perched her ass on the very edge of the bar stool and opened her knees.

“Miss Ross, I… I should be going.”

“Shut up, Adam. Look at my p***y and tell me how much you love her. Tell me, Adam. C’mon.” She suckled each word.

Irene reached down with two hands and holding herself either side, spread the folds. She was heavy with secretions and the lips clung stubbornly a moment before slithering open to present the slippery pink.

Adam pulled his eyes away. “Oh Jesus, Miss Ross. I shouldn’t...”

“Dammit, Adam. Look at it. You think I open my legs for just anyone? Look at my p***y and appreciate what I’m going to do for you.”

There was a whimpered response from Adam and he dragged his eyes back.

Irene widened her knees. “Say something, Adam. For christ-sake.”

He tilted his face up and sought out her eyes. “You’re beautiful, Miss Ross.”

“Not to me,” she snapped. “Tell it to my p***y. Tell her how delightful she is; how lovely. That you want to kiss her; taste her. Tell her that you want to watch as she’s stretched, opened up and explored. Tell her how much you want to see her finger-f****d. Tell her you want to watch as she cums and cums. C’mon Adam. Talk dirty to my pussy.”

Adam lower his eyes once more. Looked at the drooling gash. “Miss Ross, I can’t.” He had turned brick red.

Irene reached with a finger and touched the c******s. “Sure you can, Adam. Tell her how lovely she is. Then ask me to masturbate for you.”

Adam wiped perspiration from his forehead, hesitated and struggled to find his resolve. “You’re the– the sweetest p***y I’ve ever seen,” he formed the words carefully, “and I want you to c*m for me. While I watch. Please.”

Irene couldn’t help herself. She laughed in his face. “And?”

“And I want to watch you masturbate.”

“Then watch, Adam. Learn something you can use on that peevish girlfriend of yours.” And Irene reached behind for the tube of vasoline. She watched Adam gaze in amazement as she ran a line of goo along the tip of a finger. His eyes followed her hand down. She spread the lips with the fingers of the opposite hand and applied the vasoline to her c******s in sweeping strokes. And as Adam looked, his face tight in concentration, she slipped two fingers up inside.

Adam gasped when he saw her knuckles disappear between the lips.

“Yes Adam. Pamela will love it when you do this for her. And don’t forget here...” With a sly smile, Irene pulled her fingers free and traced a mucky line down along her crotch. Adam’s jaw worked as he anticipated what she was about to do; a look of disbelief spreading across his face. And Irene didn’t disappoint him. She found the smaller orifice and drove a fingertip in.

“Watch, Adam.” She didn’t have to remind him as she finger-f****d her anus; her thumb worrying the c******s above. “Get dear sweet Pamela’s underpants down and stick your finger up her ass. She’ll love you forever.”