Let the girls have a move (Mary tidies up)

Mary Forbes enters, her wet dark hair pulled back severely into a bun behind her head, but still naked.

"Upsie daisy, lovebirds, we need to get Taylor and me to work," Mary says.

Taylor jumps up, "Can I use your shower?"

"Of course, honey, like always," Mary says. "Tom, will you help me tidy up? My girls will be getting home today or tomorrow on break."

You remember the pictures of Mary's daughters on the fridge, in their graduation gowns and later in their college sweatshirts. Something of Mary in their eyes and their smiles, but nothing like Mary's well-developed hourglass figure. Lighter hair, too, something between a honey-brown and a medium dark brown.

You pull on some clothes and help Mary strip the bed into the washing machine, put new sheets on, and tidy up her kitchen. You enjoy the show as she bends, twists, and reaches, unselfconsciously nude. She sings a little song under her breath in a slow, swinging rhythm, something spiritual.

In a few minutes, Taylor is out, her hair pinned up for work, dressed in her uniform.

"If you'll excuse me for a minute, hons," Mary says.

You look Taylor in the eyes. "We did it," you say.

"We did." She gives you a crooked smile. "Let's do it again sometime."

You get a shiver inside. "Yeah, let's."

Mary returns, fully dressed in her uniform and apron for work. You blink. For a moment she appeared to be the prim, dowdy working mom you only knew as Taylor's veteran shiftmate. Now you know her as Taylor's sometime Sunday lesbian lover, a born-again doggie style enthusiast, and one of the hottest lays you've ever had. As well as a devoted wife, mother, churchgoer, and angel collector. You look back at the fridge, wondering if her daughters might be chips off the block of this mighty **** of nature. You grin. Maybe they were "saving it for marriage."

Mary says, "Sorry Tom, we've got to run, or I'd offer you a turn in the shower. But we've gotta scoot."

"See you after your shift," you tell Taylor.

"Sure Tom," she says. "I'll probably be ready to crash." She narrows her eyes. "Probably."

You laugh.

Mary and Taylor get into in her car. It takes Mary a couple of tries to start it , but she gets it to catch, and it rolls away. You're left sitting in yours, smelling a little -- well, more than a little -- of sweat, sex, sister, and hot mom.

You wonder if Mary's daughters are going to check in with their mom at the end of her shift too, or whether they're just going to head back to the double-wide.