She was lying back in the lounger that was adjusted to about a forty-five degree angle. She was wearing, he assumed, the new swimsuit from the mall la...t night. It was a turquoise string bikini, not the smallest Tony had seen, but far from conservative. The fabric stretched enticingly over her top showing a generous amount of cleavage that was dusted thoroughly with light freckles. The bottom of the cups never quite connected together. They were held together only by the string that ran under. When it did so, her legs parted so willingly I found myself at one point with a coffee cup in one hand and my other cupping her silk-encased vulva. Her husband Clive was pretending not to notice but I could tell his eyes were fixed on her groin. Although over sixty and technically old enough to be my mother, Hilary was like no mother I had ever met. Surprisingly tall and extraordinarily slim, she was bright and friendly and managed to work some kind of sexual reference into almost everything. More

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