Mum's Mate Sharon

Sharon is here again.

Every Friday it's the same—she shows up around seven with two bottles of wine, plonks herself on our sofa, and proceeds to drink my mum under the table while they gossip about everyone on the estate.

I've learned to stay in my room.

Not because Sharon's unpleasant. Because Sharon is too pleasant. Too loud, too friendly, too fucking present. She's forty-eight, massive in all the right ways, and has absolutely no filter.

"Your boy's looking fit these days, Linda," I heard her say last week. "Proper grown up, hasn't he?"

I turned up my music and tried not to think about it.

Tonight Mum passes out early.

Two bottles in and she's snoring on the sofa, empty wine glass still in her hand. It happens sometimes—work's been brutal and she's not as young as she used to be.

I'm in the kitchen making toast when Sharon appears.

"Your mum's gone, bless her." She's swaying slightly, wine glass in hand. "Lightweight."

"You should probably go home then."

"In a minute." She doesn't go. Instead, she leans against the counter, watching me. "You eating toast at eleven at night?"

"Hungry."

"Growing boy, innit." She takes a sip of wine. "That's what I've been telling your mum. You're not a kid anymore. She needs to stop treating you like one."

"Sharon—"

"I'm serious." She moves closer. Too close. I can smell the wine on her breath, the perfume that's probably been on since this morning. "You're what, twenty-two? Got a good job, your own car. You're a man."

"Thanks?"

"And yet you're here. Friday night, making toast in your mum's kitchen, while she's passed out on the sofa." Sharon shakes her head. "It's a waste, that's what it is."

"A waste of what?"

"Of you." Her hand lands on my chest. "A good-looking lad like you, hiding away. When there's women out there who'd appreciate you."

"Women like who?"

She smiles. Slow. Knowing.

"Women like me."

"You're my mum's mate."

"And she's unconscious in the other room." Sharon sets down her wine glass. "What she doesn't know won't hurt her, will it?"

"This is mental."

"Probably." She presses closer. I can feel her body against mine—massive tits, soft belly, the whole package. "But I've been thinking about this for years. Watching you grow up. Wondering when you'd notice me noticing you."

"Sharon—"

"Shh." She presses a finger to my lips. "Just tonight. Just this once. No one ever has to know."

She kisses me before I can decide.

Her mouth is wine-warm and aggressive, tongue pushing past my lips. She tastes like the Pinot Grigio she's been drinking all night and something else—desperation, maybe. Loneliness.

Her hands are everywhere—my chest, my back, my arse.

"Upstairs," she breathes. "Your room. Not mine—I mean, not hers—your mum's—you know what I mean."

I do know what she means.

I take her upstairs.

Sharon's body is exactly what I expected.

Massive tits with big pink nipples. Belly that's soft and round, marked with stretch marks. Hips that flare wide, thighs that take up space. She's big in a way that demands attention, that refuses to be ignored.

"Well?" She's standing there in just her knickers, hands on her hips. "You gonna stare all night or you gonna do something?"

I do something.

I push her onto my bed.

She squeals—delighted, surprised—and spreads her thick thighs.

"That's more like it, love. Take what you want."

I bury my face between her legs. She gasps, hands gripping my hair.

"Oh fuck—fuck—didn't expect that—"

I eat her out until she's shaking, until she's moaning loud enough that I worry about Mum waking up. She comes with a cry, flooding my face.

"Get up here," she demands. "I want you inside me."

I fuck Sharon in my childhood bed.

She's loud—can't help herself—and I have to cover her mouth while I pound into her. She's wet, willing, her massive body bouncing with every thrust.

"Harder—come on, love—give it to me proper—"

I give it to her proper. I fuck my mum's best friend like I've been wanting to since I was old enough to notice her, and she takes every inch of it.

"Gonna—fuck—gonna come again—"

She does, clamping around me. I follow her over the edge.

After, she lies in my arms like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"Well." She traces patterns on my chest. "That was worth waiting for."

"How long have you been waiting?"

"Years, love. Since you turned eighteen." She laughs. "I'm not a complete slag. I waited until you were legal."

"That's very noble of you."

"I thought so."

We lie there, listening for sounds from downstairs. Mum's still snoring.

"Same time next week?" Sharon asks.

"My mum—"

"Your mum passes out every Friday. Has done for years." She kisses my cheek. "It's like she's giving us permission."

She sneaks out before Mum wakes up.

The next morning, I come downstairs to find Mum nursing a hangover and Sharon gone.

"Did Sharon stay long after I fell asleep?"

"Not long." I make her a cup of tea. "She said to tell you she had a good time."

"She always does." Mum sighs. "I don't know how she drinks so much. Must be all that... energy she has."

I think about where Sharon's energy went last night.

"Must be."

Friday becomes our thing.

Sharon arrives at seven. Mum passes out by ten. Sharon finds me in the kitchen.

Every week. Like clockwork.

Mum never finds out. Why would she? Sharon's her best mate. Comes over every Friday. Drinks wine, gossips, goes home.

The fact that she goes home via my bedroom is our little secret.

"You're a good lad," Sharon says one night, curled up against me.

"For fucking my mum's friend?"

"For making me feel wanted." She kisses me softly. "That's worth more than you know."

I don't know what this is.

It's not a relationship. It's not just sex. It's somewhere in between—this Friday night arrangement with a woman twice my age who's been part of my life since I was born.

But when Sharon shows up at seven with her wine and her smile, when she catches my eye over my mum's head, when she mouths later while Mum's not looking—

I know exactly what it is.

It's ours.

And that's enough.