Making out with her girlfriend.

How did she look when she was making out with her girlfriend?

Veronica froze. Where the hell had that thought come from? Martha had never given the slightest indication that she was gay. Sure, she had a lot of female friends, and some of them were scorchingly hot. Lindsay, the busty blonde, who would be physically perfect if not for the birthmark shaped like New Jersey on her shoulder but still qualified as a ten... Joan, the captain of Martha's debate team, who looked like a young Nichelle Nichols... Connie, with the spiky black hair and the longest, most lickable legs in the state... visions of girl after girl kissing, playing with one another's breasts, stroking young, firm, legs... of introducing naive, innocent girls to the joys of lesbian love...

"Mom, are you okay?" Martha asked.

"Wh... what?" Veronica stuttered.

"You've got the weirdest look on your face," Martha said. "What's with you?"

"I'm just distracted," Veronica replied -- a true enough statement, if somewhat misleading in its incompleteness. "I think I should go shower." Without waiting for a response from either of her children, she headed upstairs.

She turned the shower on, setting the water to the coldest temperature she could stand. It just wasn't normal to think of her daughter and her friends in so sexual a way. It wasn't normal, and it wasn't fair to them, and it certainly wasn't realistic. After all, what could turn a bunch of perfectly normal girls and women (some of her own friends from work had crept into the fantasies too) into lesbian sex maniacs?