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Chapter 1: She’s a Complete Cock-Sucker
“Happy Birthday to you!” chanted the chorus of her husband and kids, as Leslie blew out the two number 4 shaped candles atop her cake.
She smiled at her family as she cut the cake, but inwardly she took a little sigh at the thought ‘44-years-old’. It wasn’t that Leslie was scared of the aging process; if she was being immodest she was actually quite lucky. Yes, there were days when she looked in the mirror and envied her younger self, who had no wrinkles, a flatter stomach, firmer breasts and no stretch marks, even if hers were only faint, but when she looked at other women her age, Leslie was in much better shape than most.
Leslie had a caring husband, Malcolm, who had been with her since university; he was her ‘rock’, he ‘completed her’ and all the other clichés one would use to describe an other-half. She had an 18-year-old son, Lewis, who her beloved first-born; he was clever, studious but maybe a little immature. And there was Katie, her sweet 15-year-old daughter; a typical silly, fun-loving teenage girl. She really had a comfortable happy life.
However, what bothered Leslie, just a little bit, was that her life was set now. She looked at her two teenage kids and thought about herself at that age; back then she had no idea where her life would take her, all she knew was that she was obsessed with Mark, the class clown; utterly besotted with him but unable to tell him how she felt. Now she was in a junior management position at a bank, with reasonable pay, and hours that meant she could be home early for her kids when they came over for school.
It wasn’t that this was a problem; it was just that this had been her life for the past two decades and it would continue to be her life for another two decades. Secure, comfortable, routine; some people would kill for this life, so she knew she was incredibly fortunate but it didn’t stop her occasionally wondering if there was alternate universe somewhere where Leslie had a crazier, wilder life. She laughed in her head; maybe that Leslie was thinking how envious they were of her life.
Each family member had a little piece of cake and then moved from the kitchen to the dining room adjacent, ready for dinner. Lewis was last to come through and before sitting down, he pulled off his school jumper. Along with his jumper came his untucked shirt, exposing some discoloured skin on the left of his ribcage. Lewis sorted his shirt straight away but Leslie had already seen the bruise.
“Lewis! What’s that?” questioned Leslie.
“What’s what?”
“That bruise on your side. How did you get it?”
“Mum, it’s fine.”
“It’s not fine!” shouted Malcolm to his son, “Is it that boy again? Stuart?”
“Yeah,” sighed Lewis, “but just leave it. I don’t need my parents to fight my battles for me.”
She didn’t say it, but Leslie wished that were the case. She knew it would have to be up to her and her husband to sort her now adult son’s problems. To be honest, he was his father’s son, so in some ways she felt it was on her alone to fix it.
“Lewis,” his dad said, with both annoyance and concern in his voice, leant closer to the left side of his son’s face, “I can see a bruise forming under your eye.”
It wasn’t immediately visible, but after her husband pointed it out, she could see the faint signs of a welt. However, she knew now was not the time to discuss this.
“Malcolm, let’s leave it and have a nice evening,” she requested, using a soothing voice, “There’s nothing we can do about it tonight.”
Her husband sighed, and squeezed his son’s shoulder in a fatherly way, but he didn’t argue with Leslie.
*****
The rest of the evening was free of any further unwanted excitement. Her kids gave her the gifts they didn’t have time to exchange in the morning rush for school and work and then they settled in the living room, where the parents watched TV and the kids sat on the sofa with their phones, until eventually heading to bed.
Leslie and her husband were snuggled close together under the covers. She was wearing just her negligee and he was in a pair of pyjama shorts. Malcolm's hand was running along her thigh as they started to kiss, and Leslie slowly became more aroused, kissing her husband more passionately. She gently stroked her hand down his side, aiming to reach under his shorts when he pulled back.
"Les," whispered her husband.
"Yeah, Baby," she whispered back in his ear.
"We need to do something about Lewis and that boy at his school."
Leslie sighed and rolled onto her back. Why couldn't he have left this discussion until after they were done? She and her husband had sex twice, sometimes three times, a week. From glossy magazines and gossiping with her friends she got the impression that was more often than most of them, so Leslie knew her physical relationship with her husband was pretty healthy. However, she had always entertained quite a high libido and that sometimes meant she was left not satiated.
It wasn't really the frequency that she had a problem with, though she wouldn't say no to more sex, it was just the routine of it all. Sex didn’t often last more than 15 or 20 minutes and it was usually her on her back or some spooning before her husband finished, kissed her neck, and then went to sleep. She came sometimes, but it wasn’t like the days when they first got married, before kids, before responsibilities and before they both got older.
She knew she could be more proactive; she could initiate things more often, she could maybe suggest changing positions around, but she liked when Malcolm took control, she wanted him to be strong and dominant. She didn’t need things to be done her way but she did want to feel like someone manly was seducing her. She wanted to feel like a sexy, desirable woman, not just a middle-aged mother who had average sex with her husband when they had some spare time.
She knew she was being a bit of a diva though, and she knew her husband had a chip on his shoulder from being one of the, in his words, ‘loser kids’ at school, so he was sensitive when he felt the ‘popular clique’ was picking on his son. Leslie, to her husband’s disdain, used to have crushes on the ‘popular’ guys, but that didn’t mean she approved of anyone making her son miserable. She just wished she could have had her 15 minutes of sex before she had to have a discussion about it.
“I’ll go to the school tomorrow after work and see if I can go talk to this kid,” said Leslie, having thought of that idea earlier in the evening but not wanting it to mention it in front of Lewis.
“Are you sure talking to the boy himself is the best idea? Shouldn’t we go to the teachers?”
“They’re all adults now, so hopefully he’ll listen to reason. Besides, that stupid guidance teacher has clearly done nothing after we complained last year.”
“Maybe we should go directly to the head teacher. I don’t know if Lewis would react well to you turning up and talking to this kid.”
“Malcolm, we should either butt out or, if we’re going to interfere, we do what we think is best, and I think that is confronting this kid directly,” replied Leslie, her tone firm.
“OK, I’ll leave it to you,” said her husband and leant in to start kissing again.
Pecking him on the lips before pulling away, she replied, “I think the moment has passed…”
Mumbling a reluctant ‘sorry’, her husband rolled onto his side, facing her, and draped his arm over her body. Leslie rolled over too, and let her husband shuffle himself closer until they were spooning. Annoyed and aroused, Leslie drifted to sleep.
*****
It was after classes had ended and Leslie was walking through the school corridor.
“Leslie! Leslie!” shouted Mark, her long-time crush, the boy she absolutely loved.
Leslie’s heart pounded against her chest. Mark never spoke to her, let alone called out her name. She turned around to face him; he had thick black hair that was always in a mess. He looked so big and muscly and in shape compared to the rest of the teenage classmates.
Wearing that gruff, commanding expression that drove her mad, he shoved her against the wall. He reached under her grey pleated skirt and pulled her tights down forcefully. Leaning his body against her, he slipped his hard dick inside her. She screamed out in excitement and elation.
“Yes, Mark! YES!”
A dozen people walked by, some stopped to look, but Leslie and Mark didn’t stop or flinch or hide they kept going, Leslie begging him to make her cum.
“Yeah you dirty…BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP”
Leslie took a second to realise the man next to her was her husband and that she wasn’t a schoolgirl about to realise her teenage fantasy of being fucked by her unrequited love. Gratefully, through bleary eyes, she watched her husband hit the snooze on his phone’s alarm.
As her mind came out of sleepy stupor, she thought her dream particularly strange. This wasn’t her first sex dream; she had them very infrequently, usually only when she went to bed really horny, but what was strange was that she hadn’t thought about her teenage crush in years, probably not since she had kids.
As her husband left the bedroom and went to have a shower, Leslie reached over to her phone as it charged on the bedside table. She dismissed a few email and other notifications she didn’t care about and then went to the Facebook app. Feeling a little guilty, she searched for ‘Mark Fischer’.
She selected the Mark with ‘5 mutual friends’ and saw it was indeed ‘her’ Mark. He was now two-and-a-half decades older but, scrolling through his pictures, he still looked good. He had a bit of a tummy now, and his once thick messy hair was now short and thinning at the front, but he still exuded masculinity.
Leslie’s husband was a corporate law consultant, and Mark appeared to be a bouncer at a nightclub back near where they grew up, but she was definitely a little jealous of the late-20s/early-30s peroxide blonde woman who appeared in the occasional photo with a toddler. She knew that was mostly down to the really intense dream she just had, but she still indulged the feeling by looking through a few photos of Mark topless on holiday.
“Your turn, Honey,” announced her husband as he re-entered the bedroom, and Leslie, unnecessarily jumpy considering Malcolm couldn’t see her phone, quickly closed the app and put her phone back down straight away.
She hopped out of bed and grabbed her towel, before going over to Malcolm and kissing him on the cheek.
“Morning Sweetie, I’ll make sure to tell you tonight how it goes at the school.”
“I’m sure you’ll sort it out,” he replied as he picked up the hair drier, “Were you having a bad dream, by the way, you were tossing and turning just before we got up?”
“Oh… um… no… not that I remember,” she said, with a guilty glance at her phone.
*****
It was 4pm and Leslie was by the school gates. She didn’t have the school’s permission to enter the building, so she waited in the car park opposite the courtyard until she could see the students exiting.
She had been stewing for nearly half-an-hour, aggressively sipping an over-priced take-away coffee from a coffee shop around the corner, when she spotted Lewis, with a couple of his friends, walking towards the front gate when another kid walked up to him, grabbed his bag’s shoulder strap and yanked down hard.
Leslie leapt out of her car and stormed across towards the gates, as fast as she could in heels and a pencil-skirt dress. She saw Lewis bend down to pick up his bag when the other boy, Stuart she presumed, slapped the top of Lewis’s head, causing him to recoil and a few onlookers to laugh.
“YOU!” she bellowed, index finger extended in the direction of the boy bullying her son.
He looked up, somewhat startled but squared up to Leslie as she approached him.
She could see him briefly flinch, but he looked around at the small audience behind him and then, cockiness oozing from his voice, replied, “Can I help you, Miss?”
She stared him for a second and for a moment was struck by how much she was reminded of Mark; strong jaw-line, messy black hair, chiselled features and, most of all, unmistakeably manly, even down to the slight musky scent of maleness.
“You’re Stuart.”
“Yeah? Don’t think we’ve met,” he said, his accent unrefined and his tone still arrogant, “Woulda remembered a pretty face.”
Leslie ignored the taunt and stood less than a foot from Stuart. Her heels gave her an extra three inches of height, taking her to 5ft 9, but Stuart was at least 6ft tall; with his broad shoulders and sturdy stance it seemed impossible she could intimidate him at all.
“I would like you to stop bullying my son,” she said, each word punctuated with frustration.
“What? Little Lewis over here?” replied Stuart, “No fucking way you’re his mum, you’re not old.”
“I don’t need to provide you a birth certificate to tell you that’s my son and you’re to treat him with respect from now on.”
“For fuck’s sake, lady,” he said, sarcastically emphasising ‘lady’, “We’re just playing around.”
She took half a step closer to Stuart, enough to feel his warm breath on his face, and to strongly smell his muskiness.
“Well take your games and play them with someone else,” she demanded, as she put her left hand on his chest and made a motion to push him.
His body barely reacted to her attempt to move him, instead, her hand was left delicately resting on his lean pectoral, looking more a gesture of affection than of aggression. He exhaled a short laugh, and with his right hand he gripped her wrist between his thumb, index finger and middle finger, with a surprisingly gentle grasp that sent a not unpleasant tingle down her spine. With his hand, he guided hers back down to her side. Perhaps forgetting where she was for a second, she turned her palm to face him, so their fingers tenderly stroked for an instant, sending her another tingle.
The strange, tense moment was broken by Stuart, “I think it’s time you turn that fit little body of yours round and march that tight ass outta here with your ickle baby boy.”
“I DO NOT,” she yelled, before tempering her voice, remembering she was in a school courtyard and didn’t fancy drawing any more attention to this situation, “think that is how you should be speaking to anyone.”
“Hey, Mrs Lewis’s Mum, you came here and stood in my face, now you can go.”
“This isn’t over,” she said, huffing, before she turned to mute Lewis, who looked completely mortified, “Come on Lewis.”
She grabbed Lewis by the wrist to hurry him up, as she started powering towards her car.
“Mum, you’re hurting my arm,” whined her son.
She let go of his wrist, and with irritation in her voice, she ordered to him, “Don’t you tell your father anything.”
She looked back at the courtyard and saw Stuart looking over. He gave them a thumbs up and Leslie opened the car door with such fury she almost hit her son, who moaned at her despite the fact she missed. She sat down in the driver’s seat and took a deep breath. She was so angry… but she was also feeling something else, something she cared not to admit.
*****
The evening after Leslie had confronted Stuart, her son had respected her wishes and corroborated Leslie’s story that Stuart agreed to lay off Lewis, rather than force Leslie to admit Stuart had completely embarrassed her.
Wednesday passed without incident, which made Leslie hopeful that Stuart had indeed taken on board what she had said, but this hope was dashed when Lewis walked in on Thursday with a slight hobble and a wince as he sat down on one of the living room couches.
“What happened?” exclaimed Leslie, walking over to her son, “It was that boy again!”
"What do you mean?" he replied, with a look of bewilderment on his face.
"Your leg... what happened," she continued to interrogate.
"Playing football during PE I got tackled... it happens sometimes."
"Was it him?" she asked, instantly feeling this strange desire that it would be Stuart, maybe so she’d have a reason to give her son’s bully an earful.
“What? Stuart? Um… yeah but it was a tackle, I don’t actually think he was trying to hurt me. Please don’t turn this into a big deal, Mum?” protested her son.
She took a deep breath and prepared to let it go when he rolled up his trouser leg to reveal a long fresh graze covering the length of his outer left leg between the knee and ankle. Without words, she went to the downstairs bathroom and grabbed the antiseptic cream and a wet-wipe for Lewis to clean his scrape.
As he started to apply the cream, like he was reading her mind, Lewis looked at her and discouraged from taking action again, “Mum, honestly, it was just an accident during football, just leave it, and definitely don’t make a deal of it to Dad.”
Leslie intended to abide by her son’s request for that evening, but she wasn’t content with just ignoring the situation. She didn’t think that Stuart had ‘accidentally’ tackled him and, well, even if he had, she was just too riled up; she just couldn’t ‘leave it’. Long after her husband started snoring, she lay in bed, teeth clenched, before she finally managed to drift off.
*****
Lewis and Stuart were playing football in the school’s front courtyard. Leslie was watching the game when Stuart threw Lewis to the ground and took the ball from him.
“HEY!” she yelled to the people around them, “HEY! Did NO ONE see that?”
“Mum, just leave it,” said her son, from the floor, whilst he clutched his knee, “It was an accident.”
Stuart stopped dribbling the ball and walked over to Leslie, standing just a centimetre from her face and grabbed her buttocks.
“Yeah, little lady, it was just an accident,” he whispered in her ear, “I love your tight little butt.”
“You better stop this right now!” She demanded but it fell on deaf ears as Stuart leant in to kiss her.
The pair of them fell to the floor and he pulled up her skirt before roughly mounting her.
The spectators around Leslie and Stuart were cheering and Stuart was shouting ‘Leslie’ as he pounded her.
“Leslie! Leslie! LESLIE!”
With a groan, Leslie stretched and looked up at her husband.
“Leslie, it’s you turn in the shower.”
Leslie took a few seconds to haul herself out of bed, partly because she was exhausted from staying up but partly because she felt embarrassed about her dream. She picked up her towel and pecked her husband on the cheek as she passed him out the bedroom. She forced the dream out of her mind; it was nothing, it was just her subconscious telling her that this Stuart boy had got under her skin.
*****
“Happy Birthday to you!” chanted the chorus of her husband and kids, as Leslie blew out the two number 4 shaped candles atop her cake.
She smiled at her family as she cut the cake, but inwardly she took a little sigh at the thought ‘44-years-old’. It wasn’t that Leslie was scared of the aging process; if she was being immodest she was actually quite lucky. Yes, there were days when she looked in the mirror and envied her younger self, who had no wrinkles, a flatter stomach, firmer breasts and no stretch marks, even if hers were only faint, but when she looked at other women her age, Leslie was in much better shape than most.
Leslie had a caring husband, Malcolm, who had been with her since university; he was her ‘rock’, he ‘completed her’ and all the other clichés one would use to describe an other-half. She had an 18-year-old son, Lewis, who her beloved first-born; he was clever, studious but maybe a little immature. And there was Katie, her sweet 15-year-old daughter; a typical silly, fun-loving teenage girl. She really had a comfortable happy life.
However, what bothered Leslie, just a little bit, was that her life was set now. She looked at her two teenage kids and thought about herself at that age; back then she had no idea where her life would take her, all she knew was that she was obsessed with Mark, the class clown; utterly besotted with him but unable to tell him how she felt. Now she was in a junior management position at a bank, with reasonable pay, and hours that meant she could be home early for her kids when they came over for school.
It wasn’t that this was a problem; it was just that this had been her life for the past two decades and it would continue to be her life for another two decades. Secure, comfortable, routine; some people would kill for this life, so she knew she was incredibly fortunate but it didn’t stop her occasionally wondering if there was alternate universe somewhere where Leslie had a crazier, wilder life. She laughed in her head; maybe that Leslie was thinking how envious they were of her life.
Each family member had a little piece of cake and then moved from the kitchen to the dining room adjacent, ready for dinner. Lewis was last to come through and before sitting down, he pulled off his school jumper. Along with his jumper came his untucked shirt, exposing some discoloured skin on the left of his ribcage. Lewis sorted his shirt straight away but Leslie had already seen the bruise.
“Lewis! What’s that?” questioned Leslie.
“What’s what?”
“That bruise on your side. How did you get it?”
“Mum, it’s fine.”
“It’s not fine!” shouted Malcolm to his son, “Is it that boy again? Stuart?”
“Yeah,” sighed Lewis, “but just leave it. I don’t need my parents to fight my battles for me.”
She didn’t say it, but Leslie wished that were the case. She knew it would have to be up to her and her husband to sort her now adult son’s problems. To be honest, he was his father’s son, so in some ways she felt it was on her alone to fix it.
“Lewis,” his dad said, with both annoyance and concern in his voice, leant closer to the left side of his son’s face, “I can see a bruise forming under your eye.”
It wasn’t immediately visible, but after her husband pointed it out, she could see the faint signs of a welt. However, she knew now was not the time to discuss this.
“Malcolm, let’s leave it and have a nice evening,” she requested, using a soothing voice, “There’s nothing we can do about it tonight.”
Her husband sighed, and squeezed his son’s shoulder in a fatherly way, but he didn’t argue with Leslie.
*****
The rest of the evening was free of any further unwanted excitement. Her kids gave her the gifts they didn’t have time to exchange in the morning rush for school and work and then they settled in the living room, where the parents watched TV and the kids sat on the sofa with their phones, until eventually heading to bed.
Leslie and her husband were snuggled close together under the covers. She was wearing just her negligee and he was in a pair of pyjama shorts. Malcolm's hand was running along her thigh as they started to kiss, and Leslie slowly became more aroused, kissing her husband more passionately. She gently stroked her hand down his side, aiming to reach under his shorts when he pulled back.
"Les," whispered her husband.
"Yeah, Baby," she whispered back in his ear.
"We need to do something about Lewis and that boy at his school."
Leslie sighed and rolled onto her back. Why couldn't he have left this discussion until after they were done? She and her husband had sex twice, sometimes three times, a week. From glossy magazines and gossiping with her friends she got the impression that was more often than most of them, so Leslie knew her physical relationship with her husband was pretty healthy. However, she had always entertained quite a high libido and that sometimes meant she was left not satiated.
It wasn't really the frequency that she had a problem with, though she wouldn't say no to more sex, it was just the routine of it all. Sex didn’t often last more than 15 or 20 minutes and it was usually her on her back or some spooning before her husband finished, kissed her neck, and then went to sleep. She came sometimes, but it wasn’t like the days when they first got married, before kids, before responsibilities and before they both got older.
She knew she could be more proactive; she could initiate things more often, she could maybe suggest changing positions around, but she liked when Malcolm took control, she wanted him to be strong and dominant. She didn’t need things to be done her way but she did want to feel like someone manly was seducing her. She wanted to feel like a sexy, desirable woman, not just a middle-aged mother who had average sex with her husband when they had some spare time.
She knew she was being a bit of a diva though, and she knew her husband had a chip on his shoulder from being one of the, in his words, ‘loser kids’ at school, so he was sensitive when he felt the ‘popular clique’ was picking on his son. Leslie, to her husband’s disdain, used to have crushes on the ‘popular’ guys, but that didn’t mean she approved of anyone making her son miserable. She just wished she could have had her 15 minutes of sex before she had to have a discussion about it.
“I’ll go to the school tomorrow after work and see if I can go talk to this kid,” said Leslie, having thought of that idea earlier in the evening but not wanting it to mention it in front of Lewis.
“Are you sure talking to the boy himself is the best idea? Shouldn’t we go to the teachers?”
“They’re all adults now, so hopefully he’ll listen to reason. Besides, that stupid guidance teacher has clearly done nothing after we complained last year.”
“Maybe we should go directly to the head teacher. I don’t know if Lewis would react well to you turning up and talking to this kid.”
“Malcolm, we should either butt out or, if we’re going to interfere, we do what we think is best, and I think that is confronting this kid directly,” replied Leslie, her tone firm.
“OK, I’ll leave it to you,” said her husband and leant in to start kissing again.
Pecking him on the lips before pulling away, she replied, “I think the moment has passed…”
Mumbling a reluctant ‘sorry’, her husband rolled onto his side, facing her, and draped his arm over her body. Leslie rolled over too, and let her husband shuffle himself closer until they were spooning. Annoyed and aroused, Leslie drifted to sleep.
*****
It was after classes had ended and Leslie was walking through the school corridor.
“Leslie! Leslie!” shouted Mark, her long-time crush, the boy she absolutely loved.
Leslie’s heart pounded against her chest. Mark never spoke to her, let alone called out her name. She turned around to face him; he had thick black hair that was always in a mess. He looked so big and muscly and in shape compared to the rest of the teenage classmates.
Wearing that gruff, commanding expression that drove her mad, he shoved her against the wall. He reached under her grey pleated skirt and pulled her tights down forcefully. Leaning his body against her, he slipped his hard dick inside her. She screamed out in excitement and elation.
“Yes, Mark! YES!”
A dozen people walked by, some stopped to look, but Leslie and Mark didn’t stop or flinch or hide they kept going, Leslie begging him to make her cum.
“Yeah you dirty…BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP”
Leslie took a second to realise the man next to her was her husband and that she wasn’t a schoolgirl about to realise her teenage fantasy of being fucked by her unrequited love. Gratefully, through bleary eyes, she watched her husband hit the snooze on his phone’s alarm.
As her mind came out of sleepy stupor, she thought her dream particularly strange. This wasn’t her first sex dream; she had them very infrequently, usually only when she went to bed really horny, but what was strange was that she hadn’t thought about her teenage crush in years, probably not since she had kids.
As her husband left the bedroom and went to have a shower, Leslie reached over to her phone as it charged on the bedside table. She dismissed a few email and other notifications she didn’t care about and then went to the Facebook app. Feeling a little guilty, she searched for ‘Mark Fischer’.
She selected the Mark with ‘5 mutual friends’ and saw it was indeed ‘her’ Mark. He was now two-and-a-half decades older but, scrolling through his pictures, he still looked good. He had a bit of a tummy now, and his once thick messy hair was now short and thinning at the front, but he still exuded masculinity.
Leslie’s husband was a corporate law consultant, and Mark appeared to be a bouncer at a nightclub back near where they grew up, but she was definitely a little jealous of the late-20s/early-30s peroxide blonde woman who appeared in the occasional photo with a toddler. She knew that was mostly down to the really intense dream she just had, but she still indulged the feeling by looking through a few photos of Mark topless on holiday.
“Your turn, Honey,” announced her husband as he re-entered the bedroom, and Leslie, unnecessarily jumpy considering Malcolm couldn’t see her phone, quickly closed the app and put her phone back down straight away.
She hopped out of bed and grabbed her towel, before going over to Malcolm and kissing him on the cheek.
“Morning Sweetie, I’ll make sure to tell you tonight how it goes at the school.”
“I’m sure you’ll sort it out,” he replied as he picked up the hair drier, “Were you having a bad dream, by the way, you were tossing and turning just before we got up?”
“Oh… um… no… not that I remember,” she said, with a guilty glance at her phone.
*****
It was 4pm and Leslie was by the school gates. She didn’t have the school’s permission to enter the building, so she waited in the car park opposite the courtyard until she could see the students exiting.
She had been stewing for nearly half-an-hour, aggressively sipping an over-priced take-away coffee from a coffee shop around the corner, when she spotted Lewis, with a couple of his friends, walking towards the front gate when another kid walked up to him, grabbed his bag’s shoulder strap and yanked down hard.
Leslie leapt out of her car and stormed across towards the gates, as fast as she could in heels and a pencil-skirt dress. She saw Lewis bend down to pick up his bag when the other boy, Stuart she presumed, slapped the top of Lewis’s head, causing him to recoil and a few onlookers to laugh.
“YOU!” she bellowed, index finger extended in the direction of the boy bullying her son.
He looked up, somewhat startled but squared up to Leslie as she approached him.
She could see him briefly flinch, but he looked around at the small audience behind him and then, cockiness oozing from his voice, replied, “Can I help you, Miss?”
She stared him for a second and for a moment was struck by how much she was reminded of Mark; strong jaw-line, messy black hair, chiselled features and, most of all, unmistakeably manly, even down to the slight musky scent of maleness.
“You’re Stuart.”
“Yeah? Don’t think we’ve met,” he said, his accent unrefined and his tone still arrogant, “Woulda remembered a pretty face.”
Leslie ignored the taunt and stood less than a foot from Stuart. Her heels gave her an extra three inches of height, taking her to 5ft 9, but Stuart was at least 6ft tall; with his broad shoulders and sturdy stance it seemed impossible she could intimidate him at all.
“I would like you to stop bullying my son,” she said, each word punctuated with frustration.
“What? Little Lewis over here?” replied Stuart, “No fucking way you’re his mum, you’re not old.”
“I don’t need to provide you a birth certificate to tell you that’s my son and you’re to treat him with respect from now on.”
“For fuck’s sake, lady,” he said, sarcastically emphasising ‘lady’, “We’re just playing around.”
She took half a step closer to Stuart, enough to feel his warm breath on his face, and to strongly smell his muskiness.
“Well take your games and play them with someone else,” she demanded, as she put her left hand on his chest and made a motion to push him.
His body barely reacted to her attempt to move him, instead, her hand was left delicately resting on his lean pectoral, looking more a gesture of affection than of aggression. He exhaled a short laugh, and with his right hand he gripped her wrist between his thumb, index finger and middle finger, with a surprisingly gentle grasp that sent a not unpleasant tingle down her spine. With his hand, he guided hers back down to her side. Perhaps forgetting where she was for a second, she turned her palm to face him, so their fingers tenderly stroked for an instant, sending her another tingle.
The strange, tense moment was broken by Stuart, “I think it’s time you turn that fit little body of yours round and march that tight ass outta here with your ickle baby boy.”
“I DO NOT,” she yelled, before tempering her voice, remembering she was in a school courtyard and didn’t fancy drawing any more attention to this situation, “think that is how you should be speaking to anyone.”
“Hey, Mrs Lewis’s Mum, you came here and stood in my face, now you can go.”
“This isn’t over,” she said, huffing, before she turned to mute Lewis, who looked completely mortified, “Come on Lewis.”
She grabbed Lewis by the wrist to hurry him up, as she started powering towards her car.
“Mum, you’re hurting my arm,” whined her son.
She let go of his wrist, and with irritation in her voice, she ordered to him, “Don’t you tell your father anything.”
She looked back at the courtyard and saw Stuart looking over. He gave them a thumbs up and Leslie opened the car door with such fury she almost hit her son, who moaned at her despite the fact she missed. She sat down in the driver’s seat and took a deep breath. She was so angry… but she was also feeling something else, something she cared not to admit.
*****
The evening after Leslie had confronted Stuart, her son had respected her wishes and corroborated Leslie’s story that Stuart agreed to lay off Lewis, rather than force Leslie to admit Stuart had completely embarrassed her.
Wednesday passed without incident, which made Leslie hopeful that Stuart had indeed taken on board what she had said, but this hope was dashed when Lewis walked in on Thursday with a slight hobble and a wince as he sat down on one of the living room couches.
“What happened?” exclaimed Leslie, walking over to her son, “It was that boy again!”
"What do you mean?" he replied, with a look of bewilderment on his face.
"Your leg... what happened," she continued to interrogate.
"Playing football during PE I got tackled... it happens sometimes."
"Was it him?" she asked, instantly feeling this strange desire that it would be Stuart, maybe so she’d have a reason to give her son’s bully an earful.
“What? Stuart? Um… yeah but it was a tackle, I don’t actually think he was trying to hurt me. Please don’t turn this into a big deal, Mum?” protested her son.
She took a deep breath and prepared to let it go when he rolled up his trouser leg to reveal a long fresh graze covering the length of his outer left leg between the knee and ankle. Without words, she went to the downstairs bathroom and grabbed the antiseptic cream and a wet-wipe for Lewis to clean his scrape.
As he started to apply the cream, like he was reading her mind, Lewis looked at her and discouraged from taking action again, “Mum, honestly, it was just an accident during football, just leave it, and definitely don’t make a deal of it to Dad.”
Leslie intended to abide by her son’s request for that evening, but she wasn’t content with just ignoring the situation. She didn’t think that Stuart had ‘accidentally’ tackled him and, well, even if he had, she was just too riled up; she just couldn’t ‘leave it’. Long after her husband started snoring, she lay in bed, teeth clenched, before she finally managed to drift off.
*****
Lewis and Stuart were playing football in the school’s front courtyard. Leslie was watching the game when Stuart threw Lewis to the ground and took the ball from him.
“HEY!” she yelled to the people around them, “HEY! Did NO ONE see that?”
“Mum, just leave it,” said her son, from the floor, whilst he clutched his knee, “It was an accident.”
Stuart stopped dribbling the ball and walked over to Leslie, standing just a centimetre from her face and grabbed her buttocks.
“Yeah, little lady, it was just an accident,” he whispered in her ear, “I love your tight little butt.”
“You better stop this right now!” She demanded but it fell on deaf ears as Stuart leant in to kiss her.
The pair of them fell to the floor and he pulled up her skirt before roughly mounting her.
The spectators around Leslie and Stuart were cheering and Stuart was shouting ‘Leslie’ as he pounded her.
“Leslie! Leslie! LESLIE!”
With a groan, Leslie stretched and looked up at her husband.
“Leslie, it’s you turn in the shower.”
Leslie took a few seconds to haul herself out of bed, partly because she was exhausted from staying up but partly because she felt embarrassed about her dream. She picked up her towel and pecked her husband on the cheek as she passed him out the bedroom. She forced the dream out of her mind; it was nothing, it was just her subconscious telling her that this Stuart boy had got under her skin.
*****