The Suburban Mom Pt. 03 by The_Veil_of_Isis

Chapter 8

Marcia wanted Alyssa to stay longer, but Alyssa knew it was too dangerous. Also, even for a first time, it had been super intense and she was a little concerned that Marcia would become too attached to her too quickly. Married women were the most fun to introduce to the delights of lesbian love, but they were also the most volatile group, Alyssa had found. Marcia would need sensitive handling until she had found her feet.

After Alyssa had left, Marcia made herself a cup of hibiscus tea and sat at the kitchen table. It was past two o’clock in the morning. Connor wouldn’t be back until around noon most probably. The boys had soccer practice in the morning and she was undecided whether she’d drop them off and leave to do some errands that really needed doing or whether she’d stay. If she stayed, she knew it would only be to see Vesna. Would she have the courage to suggest they met for a coffee? Would she still find her attractive? The answer to the second question came to her in the form of a distinct feeling of light-headedness and a tingling between her legs.

When she arrived, it was raining; not hard, but steadily enough to require an umbrella. Marcia decided to leave, but Aidan begged her to stay for the first part of the practice. His group would be demonstrating some of the skills they had learned during the course so far and some of the other parents would be there. Marcia accordingly made her way to the side of the field and got into conversation with a couple of the fathers, neither of whom she liked very much, and each of whom had tried hitting on her on previous occasions.

She was about to head back to the car when Vesna appeared as if out of nowhere and asked her if she’d like to take shelter in the administration building. Her heart skipped a beat and she dithered a while (partly because that was her genuine reaction, partly because she didn’t want to appear too keen) before saying that that would be nice. Once inside, she found a place to unfurl her umbrella and let it dry, and followed Vesna into an office at the end of the building. She almost found herself asking Vesna if she wanted her to close the door before she pulled herself together and took the seat offered her by the Croatian.

The building had central heating and the room was quite warm. Vesna took off the sweatshirt she was wearing to reveal a maroon T-shirt, which was neatly tucked into her grey sweatpants. Marcia’s attention, though, was attracted by the two stud-like swellings that were straining against the cotton of the Croat’s T-shirt. Whereas before last night she would have looked away immediately with a look of embarrassment or even horror, this morning she didn’t avert her glance but took time to take in the display. She could have sworn that the nipples were growing in front of her eyes.

“Quid pro quo,” she thought, taking off her own jacket to reveal her white blouse – her sexiest white blouse – through which Vesna could clearly see the outline of Marcia’s lace bra.

They were talking about soccer (Vesna using terms she was familiar with but had no clue what they meant). Marcia, aware that time was pressing and thinking that surely they wouldn’t be alone for very much longer in the building, even though she could see that the rain was easing, secretly willed Vesna to get up, walk to the door, shut it, and then kiss her – maybe fondle her; perhaps even violate her. As if she could read her mind (“Am I so obvious?” Marcia thought), the younger woman wordlessly walked the long way to the door, avoiding Marcia, pulled the door until she heard it click, and then slowly made the short journey to where Marcia was sitting.

“Should I stand?” wondered Marcia.

“Have I misread her signals?” she asked herself.

The coach offered Marcia her hand and helped her out of her chair. Because Vesna didn’t back away at all the distance between them was minimal. In her boots, Marcia stood perhaps two inches above the younger woman. That meant that it was she who needed to bend down for the kiss. As their lips locked onto one another’s, Marcia felt Vesna’s hands cup her ass. She wriggled involuntarily and moved her hands from her sides, where they were lying idle, to Vesna’s narrow waist.

Only the elastic of the pants stood between her and the girl’s pussy. Marcia put herself on a tight hold and told herself to heed the words of Alyssa (spoken less than 12 hours before) about the need for patience. She felt so empowered that she knew she could clear the desk in one sweeping motion of her arm – sending paper and other paraphernalia flying – put Vesna onto it and take her there and then. But she wouldn’t. Not because of the danger of getting caught, but because she wanted her first time with this girl to be as good as it could be; to be as good as her first time with Alyssa.

After a minute (maybe more) Marcia stepped back and told Vesna to text her. She would be free for a few hours later in the week, and they could get together then. Marcia didn’t say where, but she imagined it would be at Vesna’s place. She didn’t know her living arrangements, but if the girl wanted her as much as she wanted the girl, then she would find a way. She left the ball in her court. Time would tell how genuine she was in her pursuit of Marcia. Whether she just wanted to notch up another soccer mom, or whether she felt the same kind of passion for her as Marcia felt for her.

By the time she’d left the coaches’ office, there was no time to run the errands before the end of practice, so Marcia decided to do it with the boys – muddy knees and all. They actually enjoyed food shopping (especially Mark), and would insist on pushing the trolley down the aisles, sometimes at a speed that wasn’t venue-appropriate, as the assistant manager of the store had once pointed out to them. By the time they got back home, Connor was there, having got a lift from one of the hotel staff, whom he knew quite well, who was going off shift at the same time that he was checking his options transport-wise in the foyer.

“My God!” said Marcia, while the boys went into the yard to play some more and thus put off the dreaded hour when they would have to have a shower. “You look as if you’ve been run over by a bus!”

“It did go on quite late,” Connor admitted, although he only had vague memories of that part of the evening that had continued in an out-of-state colleague’s room after the ballroom had finally shut down around 2.30am.

All he knew at the present moment was that he had the mother and father of all hangovers. Every sound Marcia made around the house reached him as if through an amplifier. He really wanted to sleep, but lying down made it worse, so he decided to go to the garage and tinker with his pride and joy, his light blue 1966 Ford Mustang GT convertible. He only took it out on special occasions (such as vintage car parades and sometimes on Marcia’s birthday), and it still went pretty well, but there were always things to be looking at and checking. Parts were difficult to get, but he had a number of friends who worked in the motor trade and they would generally be able to fix things in one way or another.

Marcia was touched to see that she had received a message from Alyssa. She had been very discreet and had just said that she had enjoyed looking after the kids and that Marcia should call her if she had any further need of her. She wasn’t expecting to hear from Vesna for a day or two. She couldn’t quite make the foreign girl out and she now wondered if she’d been too pushy, or too desperate, or even too aloof. She expected that Vesna had faced considerable culture shock coming to the States and she was afraid that she’d added another chapter to her book of “Strange Ways Americans Behave”.

Marcia enjoyed a quiet weekend with the children and a slowly recovering Connor.

“I’m getting too old for this kind of thing,” he said to Marcia as they lay in bed on Saturday night. “I just can’t seem to hold my liquor like I used to.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing, darling. We don’t want you succumbing to cirrhosis of the liver any time soon. It might play havoc with your life insurance!”

“It was only a year or two ago that I was one of the bright young things; well, if you can have such a thing in an accountancy firm. Now I feel more like an uncle – there are so many young guns joining from the top schools.”

“It’s the economy, I suppose,” said Marcia.

“Yup, people see the industry as a safe haven during troubled times, with the possibility of a recession around the corner, war in Europe and even the chance of us being dragged into one in the east. Accountants may still be boring, but at least they’re boring at a much lower median age these days!”

“All this drinking with the CEO there. How did that work?” asked Marcia.

“Oh, he left not long after you. Rumour has it that one of his flames lives in the state – not a million miles from here – and that he was heading there and not for the airport when he left.”

“By the way, I never asked,” Connor continued. “How did Alyssa work out? Did you two have a chat before she headed home?”

“Of course. She told me about the different things she’d done with the kids: games they played together, even one she’d invented. They had a ball. They’d like her every week if they could get the chance.”

“It’s funny, but she’s changed a lot. Grown into a very mature girl; I suppose I should say young woman. She looked so odd when she had studs stuck in every part of her body with all those black clothes and black make-up, but now she looks really attractive.”

Marcia said nothing, but she didn’t have to. Her look said everything for her.

“Oh, hun, don’t get me wrong. I’d never hit on her or anything like that. Don’t let that affect you if you’re thinking of using her again.”

Seeing that his wife was still giving him the silent treatment, he added, “Dick at church says that she’s gay…you know, a lesbian. He said her father still doesn’t know because her mother knows he’d be devastated. Apparently, her mother tried to get her to go on one of those conversion therapy courses, but Alyssa said she’s old enough to know her own body and to make up her own mind.”