Trixie stood in the kitchen pretending to wash the dishes.  The window above the sink afforded her a view of most of the backyard, including the pool, where Brody was using the skimmer to extract leaves and dead bugs from the water.  His full name was Broderick, as was his father’s.  Dad got Ricky, junior got Brody.  Trixie thought of him as Brick.  As hard and solid as a brick.  Males still in their teens shouldn’t have the capacity to look like that.
.        She watched the muscles of his tanned back stretch and contract as he reached into the middle of the pool, piercing the water with the net end of the pole, surfacing, dragging it back slowly and lifting it completely out.  He shook the debris from it, then repeated the process.  She licked the sweat beading above her lip.  Whew, she needed a fucking cigarette.  And she didn’t even smoke.
.        Cougars.  That’s what they called women like her.  Well, not like her; she didn’t know if a woman could still be categorized as a cougar if all she did was ogle a younger man.  Those people were referred to as peeping Toms.  Creepers, her daughter called them.  Anyway, it had been so long since she had sex she didn’t think she’d know what to do with him.
.        You just lay there, her ex-husband had complained.  Paraplegics move their hips more than you do.  Tony always had been crass with his criticisms.
.        Paraplegics have more sensation below the waist than I do with your dick in my ass, she wanted to snipe back, but she just wasn’t willing to get into the gutter with him.  Maybe if she had, they’d still be married.
.        She shivered at the thought.  Ugh.  Imagining sex with Brody was ten times more satisfying than any sex she’d ever actually had with Tony.  And Tony was the only man she’d ever been with.
.        Maybe it’s just broken, she thought, recalling the times Tony had gone down on her with is mouth, flicked her bean with his fingers.  Nothing.  The closest thing she’d ever had to an orgasm was the tingly sensation she got while grinding on Santa’s knee at the mall when she was six.  He’d practically thrown her off his lap.
.        “Repulsive little girl,” he hissed.  Since then, an orgasm remained the one gift she never got for Christmas.  Or her birthday.  Or her anniversary.  Or Valentine’s Day.
.        “Oh, Christ, buy yourself a bullet and get over it,” her sister Maggy said when Trixie confided in her, then deftly turned the conversation back to her own marriage woes.  That piece of advice had come back when her first husband Wyatt was having an affair with some hot pants at the office.  Now she was on spouse number two, a tall, athletically built handsome chunk of cock she was currently honeymooning with in Bermuda.  Orgasms weren’t going to be a problem for Maggy this week.
.        Maybe Brody was too young to understand a woman’s body, anyway.  What could a nineteen-year-old possibly know about the female orgasm?  He was probably poking one empty-headed chick after another, too drunk or stupid to realize she wasn’t having any fun.   Then again, she’d fucked Tony from ages twenty-two to forty-three and he knew zilch about the female orgasm.  She was female and she knew nothing about it.
.        Maybe she could just straddle one of his thighs and rub rub rub.
.        She wondered what dad Ricky knew about pleasing a woman.  An equally attractive, older version of his son, he also kept himself in excellent shape, going for daily morning runs and playing for two amateur sports teams, one basketball and one ice hockey.  He swam a lot, too.  She knew this because on practically every sunny summer day he came down to his mailbox in swimming trunks, dripping wet.
.        “The perks of working from home,” he’d told her once with a dazzling smile.  He was a happy guy, that was for sure.
.        Yet another reason why she wouldn’t classify herself as a cougar:  cougars didn’t go after men their own age.  So what was a woman called who liked all men, regardless of age?
.        A slut.  And one who fantasized about both father and son?  A deviant.
.        But what she was was just a suppressed, sexually frustrated  woman who needed a good stiff dick.  Or two.
.        She often thought of inviting the two men over for dinner, Ricky for her, Brody for Mercy, a little get-to-know-you-better double date for her and her daughter with the two cuties across the street.  But these days all Mercy talked about was some out of work writer she’d fallen in love with at the book cafe and thus had been rendered blind when it came to any other man.  And then there was that little problem of Ricky’s wife.
.        Would she like it any better if I went after her son?
.        Trixie cleaned the two glasses that were in the sink, a plate, a coffee mug and two spoons, and set them in the drain board.  She was folding the dish towel after wiping up the excess water that had splashed onto the countertop when she heard the sliding glass doors open.  Brody poked his upper body through the opening.
.        “Just wanted to let you know I’m finished.”
.        Trixie nodded, staring at him.  There was no need for him to announce his departure; usually he just let himself into the yard, and slipped out when the work was completed.  That work was mowing, shoveling, weeding, leaf raking, pool maintenance.  For the past two years, at least once a month depending on the season, Brody was in Trixie’s yard, and Trixie hid her excitement at finding him there.
.        Today he’d dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved white cotton pullover.  The pullover now lay across the back of one of the patio chairs.  The jeans hung low on his hips, revealing a rippled torso that tapered into a muscled arrow of flesh that trailed down to what she thought had to be an equally beautiful spear of thick, hard meat.
.        “So when do you think it will be ready for use?” she asked, finding her voice.  The pool, she wanted to clarify, before reminding herself he couldn’t read her thoughts.
.        He shrugged, stepping inside.  His light brown hair was turning almost dirty blonde from all the exposure to the sunlight.  He had a friend who attended college in Miami and Brody made frequent trips down south to see him.  He’d returned from one such jaunt three days ago and his golden skin attested to his time spent on the beach.
.        “Turn the heater on and you can use it now,” he said.  She knew that.  She just wanted to hear him talk, keep him there a little while longer.
.        “Yeah, Mercy’s been asking me about it, she likes to swim, she’d be in there in December and January if she could, she takes like a dolphin to water.”
.        She was rambling, sounding so stupid, this kid didn’t want to hear her going on about her daughter.  He wanted to let her know he was finished and heading out.  Still she couldn’t stop herself from adding, “And she looks so hot in a bathing suit, if I looked like her I’d want to be in a bikini twelve months a year, too.”
.        She was contemplating reaching into the knife drawer and removing the biggest one and using it to cut out her tongue when he said, “I’ve seen you both in bathing suits, Trixie, and as far as I’m concerned you look much hotter in yours.”
.        Her cheeks flamed pink and her nipples began to tighten.  Embarrassed, she looked away from him, not quite knowing how to respond.  Should she thank him?  Or even believe what he just said?
.        Old fool.  He’s mocking you.  He knows you’re creaming your granny panties right now over such an insincere, stock compliment.
.        Sure, she was a decent-looking woman.  She knew that, and she worked hard at it.  She was active.  She had a gym membership that she used five days a week, taking a variety of classes, utilizing both cardio and strength training machines.  Her body looked better than most women her age, but in comparison to the taut curves of her nineteen-year-old daughter?  There wasn’t a contest.
.        “So much so that I’ve often wondered what you would look like out of it.”
.        Holy shit, did he really just say that?  She swore she felt her clitoris jump.
.        He chuckled, looking away from her.  “Wow.  That was waaay inappropriate.  I’m sorry.”
.        “No, um, it’s okay.”
.        “I should have never said that.  Wow.  God.  I’m just . . .”  He shuffled backwards toward the sliding glass doors.  “I’m gonna go.  See you next week, Trixie.  Unless, you know, you don’t want me to.  I’d completely understand.”
.        For a moment they stood, staring at each other.  She realized he was waiting for her to speak, to either tell him to never come back again or that indeed, he could resume his work next week, what he said hadn’t changed things between them.
.        But it had.  And she couldn’t pretend otherwise.
.        “Of course you can come back next week,” she said, looking directly into his beautiful hazel eyes.  “Or later tonight, if that suits you.”