She had been dressed only a few minutes when Sharon, her thirteen-year-old daughter, returned home. Sharon was a pretty girl who was well-aware of it, and who dressed to show her budding little titties and wore tight jeans to show off her nicely rounded behind.

Mary had spoken to her about that a few times, but Sharon used the stock answer that all the girls dressed that way and she couldn't be different or they would laugh at her.

There had to be some argument to use against that, Mary felt, but she had never found it, and so she let it go and her daughter continued to display her wares in the sexy packaging. When Sharon got a little older, Mary promised herself, she'd have to do something about it, though she didn't know just what that would be.

After all, at thirty-two Mary could recall her teen years quite clearly. She remembered how it felt when her little tits began to develop, how carefully she had watched them grow. She recalled the long sessions of posing before her mirror, watching as her body began the long, long trip from girl to young woman.

But Mary didn't have any reason to envy Sharon her nice figure, since she had retained hers. She was a little heavier than she had been ten years ago, but the added weight had been distributed nicely. Her tits, ass and thighs were still firm and shapely, and she was pleased to observe that men still looked at her, sometimes turned around to do so; she had remained conscious of diet and exercise, determined to keep her figure as long as possible, even though, in times of depression, she told herself it was wasted when her only lover was a dog who didn't care what she looked like as long as she had a cunt to offer when she got down on all fours.

"How was school?" she asked her daughter, and then they chatted about little things, the girl pleased that her mother liked to chat with her, to share her interests, unlike the mothers of most girls she knew.