Trapped with my Step Son
Copyright 2012 By JB Richards
Disclaimer: All characters in this story are at least 18 years of age.
“I’m hitting the shower, mom,” Eric said as he slid into the house. I grunted an affirmative, and he shuffled away, dragging his gym bag along with him. He was caked with sweat, the ratty old t-shirt patchy and dark with it, and his skin glistened as he passed through the kitchen. I paused, glancing up from my magazine at the table, drink in hand, letting my eyes drift appreciatively across his form. At twenty-two, Eric was shaping up to be everything his late father had been - and more.
I wore my usual evening attire - my comfortable and well-worn robe, a t-shirt, and sweats. I didn’t have a husband to impress any more, so I went for relaxing. Still, I had a bit of pride, and they weren’t trashy or anything. They clung to my ample curves like they’d been painted on, and I’d noticed Eric sneaking glances at my body on more than one occasion.