My heart raced as I read the words from the text. The screen of my cell phone closed. I put it in my purse and got out of my white Pontiac.The summer's night was suspiciously cooler than usual. The wind blew leaves and shook the trees. The full moon was bright and high above in the cloudless star-covered sky. I paced through the parking lot filled with cars.My boyfriend doesn't know where I am. He would freak if he knew that I was here; he can be very over protective at times. But it was innocent enough, really. I'm meeting a friend -- a guy friend -- I haven't seen or heard from in a month.As I approached the sidewalk just a short distance away from the front door, I noticed a group of people standing in a circle. All male and smoking cigarettes. They catcalled and blew smoke in my direction as I walked by; a skinny little blonde woman like me was an easy target for a gang of boys.I ignored them, focusing on what really mattered to me. There was a big neon sign that read Ricky's Bar. I had reverted back quickly into the helpless boy my mum took care of all those years ago.In the mean time, I had confirmed that mum wore a 38C bra, and also had quite a selection of suspender belts and stockings. Mainly black, but a variation of colours. I particularly liked an emerald green suspender belt with black inset lace. I guess she just liked them as she didn't have any traditional tights that I could find. Despite her age, she was a good looking woman. 5 foot 3 inches tall — although she nearly always was in high heels, even in the house. Her shoulder length brown hair, was well conditioned, her smile instantly made you return one back. I was ashamed that I had thought about her last night as my masturbation fantasy. I thought of her standing at my bedside, wearing black stockings, high heels, a lace and satin basque I had seen in her wardrobe (with the labels still attached). I could see her touching her ample breasts, cupping her hands underneath them, just as I myself.
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