Good Neighbor

I can't believe he's in my arms, sleeping peacefully while I pet his hair. Our sweat has cooled and the only evidence of the wild night we've had is the lingering scent in the air and the cum leaking out of me. My mind decides that now is a good time to start overanalyzing things.

Sex is all I've ever needed from men. I've never needed or wanted a partner for emotional validation, spiritual connection or financial support. What I need is a good fuck who's reliable and adventurous. Call me jaded, anti-social or just too independent; I've been called worse for my views on sex and relationships; call me what you will but I've never felt the need to settle down. Even when I felt my biological clock ticking during my mid-30s, with intrusive thoughts of having a baby and raising a child striking me with hormonally-induced panic, no vision of such a future involved a man beside me. This is so unlike anything I've done since I was young. In my forty years on this earth, I have never met a man who kept my interest beyond what he could provide me between the sheets and to this day that's still true. Well, somewhat true.

My thinking was that men are a dime a dozen and very easy to corral. If I needed an itch scratched, they will be there at my whim. I assembled a collection of them over the years. Men of different walks of life, whom I came across under varying circumstances, and inevitably brought into my bed based on nothing other than my sexual attraction to them. If their virility and stamina earned them a second invitation, I'd keep them around until they either moved on with someone else, or tried to move things forward with me. I wanted no attachments, no matter how good he was at keeping me satisfied.

I'd keep them all one-dimensional. This one for when I feel dominant, that one for when I feel submissive; this one for BDSM, that one for watersports; this one's a voyeur, that one likes public sex; this one for when I need him young and eager, that one for when I need an experienced touch; this one's rough and degrades me, that one's tender and worships me; this one's really thick and long and it's for anal , this one's just the right size to hit my G spot and make me squirt every single time; these guys for when I want to watch two men fuck and this lot for when I want a gangbang; this one for when I go to Paris, that one in Dubai, or this one in Tokyo, and that one when I have to visit my family in Boston and want a quickie during a stop in New Haven. I like variety.

But no matter their "specialization" they were all expendable to me and easily replaced. I'd rarely have the same lover in my bed more than two or three nights in a row, unless I was in a particularly horny mood or they served a specific purpose, like the one guy I keep around for extended vacations during which I give him a leash and become his property for an entire week. Eventually my collection of studs, boy toys and live dildoes grew to a few dozen around the world, with a fluctuating number in my home city of New York, which I managed to always keep above 5 at any given time. Some of these men I have known for years now and even consider them friends. Still, I'd drop any one of them and run like they were a live grenade if they suddenly decided they were in love with me. I have before. It helps to compartmentalize.

So why is it that 11 months have passed me by with no other lover than Henry Fisher between my legs? What is it about him that keeps me coming back? Why did I lose all my preestablished rules on sexual partners and give him open access to my bedroom? Open access to my sexuality? We do any and everything to each other. He hasn't disappointed yet. He has as many limits as I do, which is to say very, very few. Is he the best I've ever had? Maybe. Maybe not. I can think of many lovers over the years who have given me just as mind-numbing an orgasm as Henry has managed over the past year. Is he just tailor-made for me, with sexual chemistry so good that there's just no reason to keep my full roster? Doubtful. Plenty of the men I've seen are versatile, and some even more adventurous than I am. So what is it about Henry Fisher?

I keep things one-dimensional for good reason. I don't want to depend on any one man to cater to all my sexual needs. But obviously, that mentality has waned. Henry can use me up or adore me. I can humiliate him or let him defile me. He can decide he wants something from me at any time and, God help me, I'm there at his convenience. That has always been the other way around. I haven't done something like this in... decades. This is as close to a real relationship as I have been in since I was a naïve, love-struck teenager. Maybe the question I should be asking isn't 'what is it about Henry Fisher that keeps me coming back?' and perhaps it should be 'what is it about me that's changed?'

It's been almost a year now, and as my fingers keep combing through his hair, and he snores softly into my chest, I think of where I was in life when I first met him. I'm pretty sure that day I had just spent a lively Friday night with a married man while his wife watched, instructing me the whole time on what to do for her husband and how he liked it. She was extremely kinky and he was very into it, obviously. When I woke up in the morning, they wanted another round and I was more than happy to make myself available for them to use. So, as Saturday morning became Saturday afternoon, I was pulling up to my neighborhood to find a moving van parked in the driveway of the house across from mine.

Enter the Fishers. The whole family was so well-put together that you'd think they'd stepped out of some alternate universe where the '50s nuclear family template never ended. As I stepped out of my car, a tall, dark haired young man waved at me with a smile. I waved and smiled back. He seemed kind of cute. I couldn't help but give him one more glance as I closed my front door.

Not two hours later, my doorbell rung. When I looked through the peephole, I saw that my new neighbors were on the other side. The whole family. I sighed. They seemed nice but I didn't want to play along with the "good neighbor" routine. That being said, the young man who'd waved at me when I first got home was there too, and so I decided that it might be worth being friendly just to get a good look at him. I have to admit, though it was a short conversation, it was surprisingly nice. It made me realize that for all the years I'd been living there, not one of my neighbors had ever bothered to reach out for even a basic introduction. These were the first. Julian and Miriam Fisher, their little cutie pie, 6 year old Hailey, and their... big... gorgeous boy... Henry. He was 180lbs of lean muscle poured into a 6' frame which couldn't be more than 21 years old and immediately inspired 100s of terribly filthy thoughts out of me.

I introduced myself.

"Charlotte Williams, nice to meet you, neighbors."

I had never called someone "neighbor" before in my life. It felt strange. . It made me want to cringe at myself but I tried not to give much thought to the fact I was being so disingenuous. After all, the only thing that convinced me to open the door was having another look at the young man who'd waved at me earlier. A nice surprise was my interaction with the little girl. I never liked kids but she was so personable. I told Hailey she could call me Charlie and earned a giggle, and a compliment.

"You're pretty, Charlie." she said. I melted. Absolutely too cute.

We made a bit of small talk, which is usually the bane of my existence but, again, I seemed strangely comfortable doing things with them which I would usually consider a pet-peeve. They invited me to dinner in the evening and I thought of saying no, but then the boy spoke up.

"I made rhubarb pie for dessert, Mrs. Williams." he said.

"Well, I'm sold. But it's Ms. Williams, young man." I said, with a wink and a chuckle.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, I meant no offense!" he said, with a worried frown on his handsome face.

"She's messing with you, Henry." his mother said. The both of us burst out laughing. His father also had a grin on his face while he stared at his son's embarrassed reaction.

"I couldn't help myself, Henry. Please, call me Charlotte."

A few hours later, I was the one knocking on their door. As I stepped in, I saw that the family obviously operated like a very detail-oriented and well-oiled machine. They'd moved into their new home just hours before I came but already it seemed as if they'd been living there for years. The place was set up with thoughtful attention to Feng Shui.

We talked and I got to know them all better. Miriam and I were fast friends, bonding over our mutual love for literature. In fact, we got along so well that we found we needed to shelve our conversation or we would be monopolizing the evening. We planned a trip to my favorite little bookstore, which I claimed would be her new home-away-from-home. Julian was also riveting conversation. He was hired to teach philosophy at NYU. Not only that, but he was hands down the most handsome professor I'd ever seen. I immediately hoped he had good self-control, as I imagined all the young girls in his class would be throwing themselves at him soon enough. He and I talked a little about our respective fields. Since I'm a lead researcher in neuroscience we had a ball debating Dualism and Monism. Little Hailey proved to be a real gem. She asked me to come meet her dolls "whenever you can, Charlie", then told me yet again that I was pretty, and didn't even protest when she was told it was her bedtime.

The Fishers were all very lovely people, as I feared. The boy was impossibly charming, too. A young man his age who looks you in the eye and smiles while he shakes your hand? Calls you by your last name when he addresses you? Engages in conversation with the other adults? Makes rhubarb pie? Where had he even found the time? Henry's certainly a rare breed these days. It would be hard to ignore the Fishers after such a pleasant first meeting.

When it came time for dessert, Henry's parents explained how baking had become a hobby he'd developed as a teen during the pandemic. Nowadays, they rarely had a dinner that didn't end with some fantastic creation of his. Miriam also brought out a bottle of wine with four glasses to accompany dessert. After the table offered Henry many oohs and aahs over his wonderful rhubarb pie, which disappeared within minutes, his father began pouring us all a second glass. That's when Henry's confidence, which seemed well-beyond his years, proved to be more than just that. The boy was actually very mature for his age. He simply waved his hand over his glass with an accompanying 'thank you', indicating to his father he'd had enough. A 21 year old who declined ? offered by his own parents, to boot? He was making a strong impression on me.

I'm sure I must've been looking at him much more frequently and for much longer than was appropriate for a woman my age, especially considering it was in front of his parents. However, my lingering eyes thankfully seemed to have gone unnoticed by everyone, including Henry. I couldn't help it. Henry's handsome face would be too much for any woman to resist staring.

As the evening concluded, Miriam and Julian instructed their boy to walk me home. All two dozen or so steps back. I found it ridiculous but so charming that I couldn't say no. Henry escorted me out and on the very short walk down their drive way, across our street and then up my own driveway, I held on to his arm as if we were on a date. It was cute. Henry asked me what kind of desserts I liked, promising to make my favorite for the next time they had me over for dinner. I told him I loved the more decadent stuff.

"Lava cake it is, then." he say, surprising me.

"Oh, my. Well, you won't hear me complain."

I told him to thank his parents again on my behalf for the lovely evening and Henry shook my hand, saying it was a pleasure meeting me. That's how we parted ways. As soon as my front door was closed, I looked out of the peephole and caught him smiling before he turned around and walked away. Immediately, I put a hand down my pants and found I was dripping wet. Something had struck me during that surprisingly wonderful dinner with my new neighbors. Not only did I feel oddly comfortable with the whole family, but I just could not get over Henry Fisher.

Over the next two months, I had dinner with the Fishers every week. Sometimes Henry wouldn't be there. When I'd ask his parents why, it was always because of work or school. I found myself dreading the day when they'd tell me he wasn't there because he was busy with a new girlfriend. It never happened, though.

Miriam and I were quickly becoming best friends. We'd see each other at least once a day just to ask how work was going. I'd complain about some research assistant forgetting his APA citation formats, and she'd tell me all about how some idiot at her accounting department messed up an invoice. Julian took to mowing my lawn every other week despite my telling him he didn't need to do such a thing. He was stubborn and irritatingly likeable. For my part, I actually babysat Hailey twice so the Fishers could have a nice date night at home and Henry was busy with school. I liked thinking that my new friends had a healthy sex life, and I could contribute in some small way. They were happy people, and I thought their love for each other was the most genuine and open I'd seen in years.

As for Henry... every time he'd make dessert at home, the boy would set down a plate for me on the little table on my front porch, ring my doorbell, and be walking across the street before I even opened it. It became a habit for me to try and catch him in the act just so I could thank him, and it became a habit for him to run away from me, as if this was a childish, malicious prank he was playing on his neighbor. Every dessert was better than the last.

Time went on. The Fishers and I, especially Miriam, formed a closer bond than I ever would've expected to with a suburban mom. As an absolutely lovely Autumn gave way to a brutal winter, one day I found myself coming back home from work during a storm. I somehow managed to get a flat not three blocks away from my driveway. I was far too underdressed to step out and replace the tire. I didn't even have gloves on. There was no way I was about to wait 45 minutes for some company to show up and overcharge me for a 10 minute job. I was considering just driving on my flat when I heard two quick honks and saw a car pull up beside mine.

"Hey, Ms. Williams." Henry said.

"Hey, yourself, young man. What did I say about calling me that?"

"Sorry... Charlotte." He said, smiling. "Got a flat?"

"Yeah. Flat tire for a tired woman."

"Pop the trunk, I'll replace it quick."

Maybe it's because he had come out of the blue to save me, or maybe it's because there was something about his 5 o'clock shadow after a long day of studying but Henry looked too delectably handsome to me in that moment. He insisted I remain inside the car while he worked, so I wouldn't be cold.

"As much as I enjoy your company, I don't want you out here in this weather. Stay warm, please." he instructed.

"Yessir, Mr. Fisher, sir!" I said, giving him a mock salute. I remember that immediately after my response, I found myself wishing I'd said it with a different tone altogether. Maybe blow him a kiss to go along with it. No sooner than he was done, I was already trying to stop my mind from wandering to dirtier thoughts. Something about daydreaming of fucking Henry felt way too comfortable, despite the fact Henry was the son of my friends and neighbors. Hell, I almost considered Henry to be a friend at this point, too. Despite that fact, it felt so right to think of putting into rotation for me to use in bed.

When he was done, he drove ahead of me, leading the way on the short trip back into our neighborhood. When we pulled up to our respective driveways, he crossed the street towards me just to wish me a good night. I gave him a hug as a thank you.

"Oh, my hero! Thank you for saving me from the cold winter's night, where there be dragons and whatnot!" I declared dramatically as I gave him a tight hug.

"I would not leave such a beautiful damsel in distress to a cruel fate!" He said, mirroring my theatrics.

"Oh my, young Henry. Are thoust hitting on me?"

"But of course, good lady Williams. I am but a mortal man." He said in the most over the top, amateurish Shakespearean voice he could pull off. I laughed. It was too cute.

Leaning back from the hug to look into his eyes, but keeping my hands on his wide shoulders, I said. "Then you deserve a damsel's kiss for your bravery." His hands slinked down to my hips as he smiled back and chuckled. I leaned forward again and gave him a loud, friendly kiss on his cheek.

"Mwah! Thank you, Mr. Fisher. How's school?" I asked him.

"Pretty good." He said, and his hands began slipping away from my hips, as if he was expecting an end to our contact. My hands remained on his shoulder though, and my hips didn't move. "I... uh." he stammered, suddenly hesitating from releasing me too.

"Yeah?"

"I'm on track for a 4.0 GPA. I'll see if finals kick my butt but I'm pretty confident." he accented the word by confidently placing his hands back on my hips. The oddly familiar contact I was maintaining was encouraging him.

"Good. Very good. I'm proud of you." I said, smiling. "If you do finish with a 4.0, I'm making sure your parents reward you properly. If they don't, I will."

"Oh-ho-ho! Are you gonna make me dessert for a change?" He said, teasingly.

"Mmm... any kind of dessert you want, handsome!" I moaned seductively while smiling innocently. I was actually hitting on him. I felt him tense up as his eyes looked everywhere but back into mine. He was embarrassed.

"Sorry, Henry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." I said, putting my hands on his face so he would look at me. Suddenly, I was glad I didn't have gloves.

"No, it's o-" he began but I interrupted.

"You are handsome, though." I said with a cheeky smile. This seemed to put him at ease.

"Oh my, you're the one hitting on me!" His confidence was back. He replied with the same cheekiness.

"Maybe I am..." I said, cocking an eyebrow at him. His smile turned into a shy grin. He was blushing. I leaned in again and gave him a kiss on the lips. The tension came back to his shoulders and he was absolutely stiff, for all of one second. Then, he was suddenly kissing me back.

This is when things changed. I could feel his perception of me as a friend of the family, neighbor, and an acquaintance bordering on friend completely evaporating as we kissed. His image of me was being out of his mind by pure biological chemistry, replaced by something new, something he may only have considered in secret corners of his imagination while touching himself.

I felt myself change too. Inhibition was gone. I realized that, were it not for our circumstances, I would've taken this boy weeks ago. That's when the true depths of the taboo hit me. I'm nearly twice his age. He's my friend's son. Our beds are only a stone's throw away from each other. We're going to fuck. I'm only one imperceptible moment away from making that decision. He should not be put into this position. I should feel horribly guilty for doing so.

When I myself to pull away, I looked up at him, fully intending to apologize. However, something about the way he stared back at me gave me pause. Instead, I let impulse take over.

"I'm going to leave my front door open tonight. You'll sneak out an hour after your parents are asleep." I said, and then I kissed him again, with more intent. When this final kiss was done, I let out an audible gasp as I pulled back, my eyes closed due to some uncharacteristic self-consciousness. I couldn't look at him directly again. I turned away from him wordlessly and walked back into my home. I only looked back as I was closing the door, making sure to do so as slowly as possible. I wanted him to know I was serious. Henry simply stood there, shocked.

It was around 6 in the evening. By then, I knew the Fisher's schedule well enough to know Miriam and Julian would be asleep by 11, and I should expect Henry here around midnight. I only had a few hours to get ready. I ate with unnecessary hurry. I cleaned the entire place despite the fact we would only be spending time in my bedroom. I took a shower and touched myself until I came twice. I knew there was no risk I'd find any kind of post-orgasmic clarity that would make me reconsider my invitation. I knew there was no chance my libido would go away after two orgasms. I was right on both counts. I realized I wanted this to happen, and it was going to happen. Even worse, I was entirely too comfortable with the idea of corrupting this wonderful relationship I'd built with the Fisher family by fucking Henry. I was so disappointed in myself, yet so eager to abandon all modesty.

After my shower, I went into my room and decided to pull out all the stops. There was no way I'd let a young man like Henry be the one in control during sex but I wanted to give him a variety of options for how tonight would go, under my guidance, of course. I brought out every single article of lingerie, every toy and all paraphernalia I owned: corsets, teddys, bodysuits, thongs, babydolls, garters, even some of my wilder nightwear, like gimp suits and roleplay costumes; vibrators, plugs, wands, dildos, strap-ons, pocket-pussies, cock-rings, and I even pulled the Sybian from the very back of the closet; straps, ropes, cuffs, gags, blindfolds, whips and clamps, and definitely a sex-swing, just in case Henry was willing to get wild. I made sure the boy would have a cornucopia of things to choose from.

I realized I knew nothing of his experience, seeing as I hadn't even asked him if he'd ever had a girlfriend during the time we'd known each other. It didn't make me worried in the least. Even if he was a virgin, I was not only happy to take that away from him, but actually excited by the possibility. On the flip side of that coin, the boy could be banging every single class mate and professor of his at NYU and I knew I would still be expanding his horizons.

I decided that condoms were simply not an option in my mind. This was going to happen. I wanted him raw. He was going to fuck me bareback, and he was going to cum inside of me. I was being completely irresponsible, too. I have always used condoms, as I've never taken the pill and never even considered forcing an IUD into my body. But when it came to Henry, I simply didn't care for some reason. Something about this whole situation was making me lose all the wisdom and logic I'd cultivated throughout my sex life.

I decided to take the initiative, though. It was 10 at night by then and though I still had two hours to go, I knew I needed to be more thoughtful that I was being then. I would have intimidated him with how far and fast I was going. I needed to establish some kind of introduction to my sexuality. I couldn't have him walk into my bedroom only to be taken through a tour of everything two people can possibly do to each other. That would make sure he'd stay flaccid out of fear. At 21, I knew there was only so much he could have done, even if he was a total slut like me. Experience is just time plus opportunity, divided by adventurousness. He hadn't had enough time with his sexuality to be anywhere near my league.

I decided to keep things to two simple principles: that night, Henry would be introduced to an elevated form of sex. At the same time, I would make sure he felt perfectly safe and cared for while I brought him into a new . Inspired by the dynamic of my relationship with Henry at the time, I decided I would be dominant that night. The role I would play would be authoritative, but not authoritarian. I needed to teach with positive reinforcement, not punishment. As much as the thought of Henry being a virgin excited me, I knew there was little chance of that considering how handsome the boy is. However, I also knew that it was unlikely he'd ever been in a situation like this before. To that end, I picked out the most sordidly austere outfit I had in my wardrobe. A custom job which I called "The Virgin Killer".

"The Virgin Killer" was a skin-tight white latex bodysuit which went as high as my neck and as low as mid-thigh. It's main feature was the fact that both my chest and my sex were left completely exposed while I wore it. It came with complimentary shoulder-length latex gloves and I accented the look with black knee-high leather boots that had far too many belts and buckles. The boots were so ostentatious that they drew the eye's attention downward, which would then be arrested by the sight of my bare pussy. I decided that glasses and a pony-tail would complete the look.

I looked at the clock. It was 11:45. I put away everything else I had brought out during my excitement and made sure the bedroom was perfectly presentable. Henry would have no distractions. I expected his full attention on me. I left the door ajar and kept the hallway light on while my bedroom was dark. When he opened the door, the light would flood in and illuminate me sitting at the foot of the bed, looking like a hungry predator of the night. I inhaled through my nose, exhaled through my mouth and focused on thinking of what I should say when Henry finally did open that door. I couldn't think of anything. That's when I heard my front door open and close. My heart skipped a beat. I was nervous. I couldn't believe that I was nervous. I had to think of something to say. The stairs up to my bedroom creaked. I wanted this night to be perfect. I wanted Henry to be so overwhelmed by what he saw, that he'd give up control without me even asking him to. And that's when it came to me.

The door opened, painfully slow. The light flooded in and I saw his unmistakable silhouette.

"You're overdressed, Henry."

"Ch-Charlotte?"

"That's Mrs. Williams to you, young man."

I began by having him undress, and I appraised his amazing body as if I were inspecting a chore he'd completed. I took his rapidly hardening cock in my hand and told him he was "more than big enough" to fuck me. I complimented him on his trimming and maintenance, then told him next time I would expect him completely shaved. I turned him around and groped his muscular ass, and told him I would be enjoying it in every way I could think of. Finally, I told him to crawl on all fours. I spread my legs while remaining seated at the edge of the bed. I instructed him on exactly what to do with his tongue. After I came, I had him go on the bed and hold his legs open with his hands behind his knees. He seemed to shy yet eager to expose himself like that. I rewarded him with the sloppiest, most thorough fellatio I'd given in a long time, making sure he enjoyed his rimjob as an integral part of the experience. When he was close to coming, I straddled him and told him he would be coming inside of me tonight, and that he was not allowed to fuck anyone else raw unless I gave him permission from now on.

I commanded him to fill me up with his cum and to "not worry, I'll make sure it gets deep inside". Those were the words I had used. I was depraved that night. I praised him as he came and rode him mercilessly through his orgasm. His moans and grunts as he climaxed, followed by his squirming and groans as I continued to fuck his oversensitive cock, and the fact I'd just let him cum inside of me like we were breeding are what pushed me over the edge. I tensed every muscle, then began trembling, until I eventually crumbled on top of him, both of us fighting for air.

Our first time was short in comparison to some of the moments we've managed to steal away since then. We showered and I sent him home before 1:30 in the morning, but not before telling him to come back the next night.

That night was the first of so many. Over the past year, Henry has seen me in every piece of lingerie I have. He's worked me over with every single toy I own. I have bound, gagged and blindfolded him even more times than I've had him do the same to me. He's called me almost every name I could think of during roleplay: Professor Williams, Dr. Williams, Sister Williams, Ms. Williams and, of course, we've gone back to Mrs. Williams a few times just because of how kinky it was to imagine I had some non-existent husband I was cheating on; he's called me things like Goddess, mistress, mommy, baby, my love, my fuck toy and more; he's used every possible combination of adjectives and nouns like dirty, filthy, little, hungry, good, bad, slut, bitch, whore and cunt that was grammatically correct. I got off on all of it, and whether it was worshipping or degrading me, it was always said lovingly. My favorite is when making love takes precedence over any pretense that we have a purely sexual relationship. During times like those he calls me Charlotte, and I feel myself slipping into a role I haven't played in a long time. It's as if true intimacy is my ultimate kink, and he's the only one I allow to have me that way.

So many nights have been etched into my mind by some of the most mind-blowing and satisfying orgasms of my entire life, many of them even better than that first night's memories. Yet it's that first night I am most fond of. Not just because it was new, taboo, and so unexpectedly good, but because that's when Henry first showed me that as long as I could have him, I would want for nothing else. That promise through action has lingered in the back of my mind. Obviously, since I haven't bothered to call any of my other men since I first took Henry's cock, it seems a part of me is perfectly comfortable with the notion.

As I run my fingers through his hair, and he sleeps with his head on my chest, I consider what comes next between Henry and I. We've done everything I could think of by now. Perhaps what I need to do next is admit to myself that this is more than I ever expected. Perhaps what I need to do next is let my neighbor, friend... lover... know that I'm feeling something I hadn't expected to feel again. But even if what I think I feel is true, how does this fit into our relationship? He's so young. The experience he has now is something I gave to him. He has no way of knowing what else might be waiting for him out there. What else might be better for him...

Even if it is love, what's so important about that? Why should I sacrifice what I've built for myself over what is basically a glorified infatuation? This is bordering on limerence! He's a boy! Just another man! Say I do admit I love him. What if he doesn't love me back? What if he does?! Say I open up and tell him everything about myself. Say he feels and does the same. Say we decide to actually try for something that we have no way of knowing will work out in the long run. Say nothing works out and I feel true heartbreak for the first time in... so long that it might as well be the first time all over again! Worse yet, say everything does work out, and all we want is to take this further?

What I am going to do then? Tell Miriam that I've been fucking her son for the past year? Tell Julian that he's the same age as his son's girlfriend? Be little Hailey's sister-in-law? Be the same age as my kid's grandparents!? Ridiculous. I could never.

Or maybe... I need to ask myself what I'm more scared of: telling them the truth of what's going on between Henry and I, or admitting to myself that I'm not so sure what exactly that is anymore?