Well, that wasn't going to happen. She wouldn't let the impertinent bitch have the chance. Rita ground her hips back and forth, making the silky dress swish higher and higher on her legs. Not bad for a thirty-eight-year-old mother. She rose on one foot and turned quickly, making her long blonde hair fly out and the dress billow up around her waist, showing her stockinged thighs and lacy black garters.

That rude little bitch was way out of her league.

***

It was 11:00 p.m. when Rita brought a sandwich and a glass of milk to Tommy's room. Her son, dressed in pajamas, sat in the spill of light from the desk lamp, with text books piled to the side.

"I brought you some food for thought," she said.

He closed a book while yawning, smiled, and stood up. "Thanks, Mom, but I'm about finished cramming."

"Gonna pass that test tomorrow?"

"Darn right. I'm ready for it."

She squeezed his shoulder, "I'm proud of you, Tommy. You have a bright future ahead of you. Just don't blow it."

His forehead creased. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well… don't run with the wrong bunch of people. I'd hate to see you get hurt."

"Mom, are you talking about Mitzi?"

Warm blood rushed to her cheeks and she nodded. "I guess Mitzi's okay," she said. "There are just some things about her I don't like."

Her son looked at her with an expression more serious than she'd seen before.

"Mom… I don't know quite how to tell you this. I'm grown up and there are times when I get the urge…" He looked down, blushing.

She suppressed the urge to laugh and took his arm and said, "I know all about those urges. I was eighteen myself once. When you have those urges, you have to take care of them or they'll take over your life."