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I’m 36, once divorced, now remarried since last year. My first husband Bradley and I chose not to have children, and now that I’m a step-mom to Jasper’s children I can see we were right. Being a parent is really hard and thoroughly unrewarding work.

His kids treat him with disrespect and have a tremendous sense of entitlement. Jasper always did well professionally and his family never wanted for material things. Bradley and I were – are – social workers, and never had a lot of material things.

Dating a middle-age man with children was everything I had heard – bad. They always tended to pull his attention away from me. Jasper cancelled several dates we had arranged when one of his kids suddenly “didn’t feel well”. While we were dating they were generally cool and distant with me, almost but not quite impolite. Dismissive, that’s the word. Their father’s latest girlfriend, not likely to last long; I was not to be taken seriously.

I thought I understood them. I knew they saw me as this new person who wanted to take some of their only parent’s attention from them. I loved him so much I wanted to make it work as a new family.

I knew better than to try to be “their new Mommy”. Their biological Mom would always be their only mother and they were too old to have a maternal relationship with me. I set out to be more like a new aunt or something. I invited them to call me by my name, Rebecca, instead of Mom. They were teenagers, 15 and 18, doing well in high school. Maybe this would work.

Within weeks of moving in Anders, the eldest, began to flirt with me. I was very slow to see it for what it was, mostly because he was so open about his compliments and other behaviors. At the dinner table, with his Dad and little brother with us, he would rave about what I was wearing, or had worn the day before. How well I cooked, how nice I looked. Damon, the youngest, tuned us all out at meals, worked his phone.

Jasper just agreed with any kind thing Anders said, and I seemed to be the only one feeling it was a little creepy. Or mean. I had to consider that maybe the older boy was teasing me, getting a kick out of my taking him seriously when he wasn’t sincere. These exchanges became fraught for me. First some flattery and I was pleased, then suspicious of his bahis firmaları sincerity, then cross that he was toying with my vanity. I began to pay more and more attention to him, sometimes warmly, other times defensively. He soon loomed as large in my awareness as his father. I had to pay attention when he spoke, glean the real and hidden meanings. I paid more attention to my looks, my choice of clothing. I was preening for him and had no clue.

Anders sometimes called me “Becky,” a diminutive I hated. I told him I preferred my full name, Rebecca, and thought Becky was a kid’s nickname. Anders began to use both. He referred to me as Rebecca when speaking to the others, such as “Rebecca said dinner will be ready soon.” But speaking to me, he called me Becky, and I bristled but didn’t make a big deal about it. “Rebecca sounds like a librarian. Some stuffy old spinster”, he told me. “Becky is hot, she’s a cheerleader.”

There were hugs, too, again both alone or with the others present. A hug when left for school and again when he came home. The hugs were only a second too long, the accompanying embrace only a bit too tight. His father never seemed to notice. I mentioned the hugs to Jasper, alone in our bed at night. He said I was maybe misunderstanding, and that all teenagers have a crush on a pretty older woman. The younger boy had spent the previous year crushing on a teacher. I hadn’t thought of it that way, as a sincere crush, as opposed to willful misbehavior. For the first time that night, in bed, I marveled that old me – Rebecca the librarian – might be sexually attractive to a high school boy. The sex that night with my husband was better than usual, and I knew why, and was slightly ashamed of myself. I let my inner Becky loose.

I ceased to perceive Anders’ previously unwanted attentions as vaguely disrespectful, or hostile. I realized that contrary to resenting me, he was thinking of me as a sexual being, and it was flattering. I no longer cringed when he hugged me, or kissed me on the cheek. And one day I realized that I had begun to primp a bit, check my hair and clothing, mid-afternoon just before the boys arrived from school. One day, looking in the mirror as I adjusted my brassiere “just so”, I had the thought “who is this woman?” Why was I now looking forward to the positive attention that radiated from the boys? I had just never before paid much attention to how I looked. Years working alongside men for whom I never preened. A first husband who never cared what I wore, or how it fit my body. “Look at you now, Rebecca,” I said to the smiling, perfectly made-up wife in the mirror. “You’re becoming Becky.”

Anders knew. I don’t know how a young man with so little experience with women could tell, but he knew kaçak iddaa I now welcomed his attentions even though I did nothing to encourage them. His hugs became a bit longer, a bit tighter. He gave me footrubs when we all couched in front of the TV. Short-lived but tender neck massages if I complained at the dinner table of tight shoulders.

When I worked at a counter, or the sink, in the kitchen, he would come up behind me and hug me from behind. “How is Becky today?” he would ask softly next to my ear. No resistance from me, no rebuke. I lapped it up. Jasper wasn’t an inattentive husband, but we were a married couple and we spent only some of our time focused on each other. Time with Anders was like being on a date, two people relentlessly focused on each other. I could often now feel his hips pressed into mine from behind. Soon I noticed he was often erect in his trousers.

I periodically checked in with Jasper, told him most of what was happening. No, I kept the erections to myself, but I said I had noticed more attention and affection from his son. He was not merely unconcerned – he brightened and smiled. His greatest fear about a second marriage, he said, was the sons resenting and rejecting “the new Mom”. He was thrilled that the boys liked me.

One of the boys, I never knew which, was hamper diving, stealing my panties from the laundry hamper. The garment would return to the hamper the next day, crusty with cum. As a trained social worker I knew all about boys’ fascination with women’s underwear, and was not a bit surprised. Well, not surprised that somebody was curious. Boys from coast to coast raided the hamper for mothers’ or sisters’ panties. I was surprised that I felt vaguely honored to be someone’s masturbation fantasy.

The next time Anders hugged me from behind I reached up from the sink and gently held his wrists in my hands. He couldn’t release me the way he usually did. I held him tightly, and when I felt his pelvis press into my rear I pressed back against him. A few seconds later, I released his hands and he promptly left the room, trying to hide his erection from his father and brother. I felt a delicious naughty thrill. He’s slipped his arms around Rebecca the step-mother and like magic she had turned into Becky, his fantasy girl. When my panties went into the hamper later, they were soaking wet from me, not from one of the boys.

Months before the Senior Prom, Anders asked his dad if he could take dance lessons. On impulse I told the two of them that I was a pretty good dancer when I was young and could show Anders most of the basic steps. Jasper moved a chair while Anders fired up a playlist of old-fashioned songs and we were soon busy dancing. The first few nights it was clumsy and all kaçak bahis at arm’s length, Anders mostly watching his own feet as he learned one step after another. Two weeks later we were dancing more normally, and Jasper had long before lost interest and left us alone. Anders was a strong young man, and I became quite comfortable in his arms as we swayed and danced.

Then he began whispering things in my ear, and nuzzling my neck as we danced. “Becky, you are so beautiful.” Being called Becky gave me a little thrill, like I was one of the girls. “You are so graceful, Becky.” I was prettier than the girls he knew. Rebecca was his step-mother; Becky was the girl in his arms, swaying and rubbing against his hardness. Then one night the nuzzles became a kiss, and I held it too long, and his tongue touched my lips, and I was lost. We were making out like teenagers when we heard Jasper approaching and broke our embrace. I quickly ran out of the room and down the hall, ashamed, humiliated, and aroused. I masturbated in the shower.

I stayed in my room the rest of the night, and did not get up with my husband the next morning, pleading a headache. I waited until the house was empty to come out for coffee and self-recrimination.

I found a note on the kitchen table. “I’m sorry if I did something wrong. I just love you, and don’t know how to behave. A.”

There was music playing when he got home that afternoon. He looked at me sheepishly when he entered the living room where I was dancing with myself, a set up, having heard him come in. “Dance with me, Anders,” I said, and his smile lit up the room. He came to me, and we put our arms in place to dance. As we moved, I thanked him for the sweet note, assured him he had done nothing wrong returning my kiss the night before.

“Rebecca,” he said respectfully, repeating the sentiment in the note, “I don’t know how to behave with you. You make me so excited.” I knew that – his erect penis was trapped between our grinding pelvises. I kissed him again, and slipped most of my tongue into his greedy mouth.

“You behave like this,” I whispered to him, moving his hand to my breast. “And you call me Becky.” I soon had his erection in my hand, and then crouched in front of him to open his pants.

No, he wasn’t “bigger than his father.” But he was a lot harder, and stayed hard longer. He was inside me in seconds, raw, and almost immediately climaxed. He remained hard and we soon had an orgasm almost together. Our sex since has been mostly on Sunday afternoons, while his father is golfing for 4 hours.

***

Jasper is thrilled that he is going to be a father again, in December. For my part, having put off motherhood almost until it is too late, I am also happy. Bradley, who always wanted to be a father and only reluctantly agreed to let me be childless through our marriage, is mad that I gave the honor of impregnating me to Jasper.

Only Anders and I know the truth, and we’ll never tell.

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