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She heard Art turn off the water and stop singing. A sharp tingle assailed her and she tugged the blanket up to her chin, annoyed at this evidence that she was still not free of her baser nature. 'Still a wicked, wretched creature!' she told herself. 'Just like Grandma said! Lustful and crude!' So crude and lustful, she remembered, that she tingled like this when Barry looked, heavy- lidded, at her body - or even when Danny tilted his head to one side and pretended in his adolescent way to leer at her. 'Wicked! Wicked! Wicked!' she thought.Art came out of the bathroom without his pajamas. He stared at her with an expression of hunger, his cock jutting boldly at a forty-five degree angle, rising steeply from the thick, blonde mat of his pubic hair.Helen gasped, furious at her own involuntary surge of interest. "Art!" Yeah!" He crossed to the bed and threw back the covers.Too late, Helen snatched at the edge of the blanket. She shrieked. "ART! For God's sake, what's gotten into you!". Gerry always perspired when he visited. Heather knew that it was more his nerves than the temperature. He was worried about his wife discovering that he was seeing someone else, even someone who lived so far away. And he also felt very guilty. What would his daughters think? When Heather had judged that both she and Gerry were sufficiently relaxed, she strode seductively across the kitchen, one impossibly long leg in front of the other, and smiled as Gerry became visibly more aroused by her presence. And it wasn’t just that he perspired the more heavily: sweat trickling down his high temple and onto his reddened cheeks. He was getting more excited in another area that in a sense mattered much more. She placed a hand on the front of his trousers. His penis was rock hard and a splendid seven inches of manhood it was too. He flinched slightly as Heather squeezed his testicles through the loose fabric of his trousers and the boxer shorts she knew he wore underneath. She kissed him.
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