For an introverted person, I have a slutty confession to make.

For the last week, my husband’s friend’s 19-year-old son, Jack, has been staying with us while he takes a course nearby.

He’s a lovely young guy—extremely polite and quite handsome. He’s always called me Mrs. Bee, which I’ve secretly found a little sexy.

Last night, while serving up dinner, I thought I caught him staring down my top as I bent over the table. I was braless in a T-shirt since I had been in the pool with the kids shortly before dinner. I had quickly changed out of my bikini and into yoga pants and a T-shirt when my husband arrived home with takeout.

Initially, I grabbed the top of my shirt in shock. After sitting down and taking a few bites of my dinner, I had the urge to lean over the table again to see if he was trying to get another glimpse. I stood up and leaned over in his direction, feeling my 34DDs hang naturally. When I looked up, his eyes were locked down my shirt—and it really turned me on.

I worked from home today, as I do most Wednesdays. Jack’s course didn’t start until 11, so when I returned from dropping the kids off at school, I met him in the driveway as he headed out for a run.

“Join me for a run, Mrs. B,” he asked. I politely declined, thinking to myself that I was going to use this alone time to address the feelings this young man stirred in me the night before.

However, as soon as I got inside, I received a Teams call, which put my plans on hold. Towards the end of the call, I heard the side gate open, and Jack appeared on the back deck. Wearing a sweaty Chicago Bulls tank, he started doing push-ups and sit-ups. Pretending to stack the dishwasher, I was fixated on his ripped upper body. My nipples were rock-hard, and I felt my pulse throb between my legs.

A minute later, he came inside. “Shower time, then I’m heading in a bit early today, Mrs. B, so I’ll be out of your way shortly.” I was the one who needed a cold shower—I was a hot mess at this point. I didn’t know what was wrong with me; I’d never felt this way about another man.

I watched Jack reverse out of the driveway and drive off. I went to our bedroom, stripped naked, and dove deep into my bottom drawer to find my clitoral vibrator. I suddenly had the urge to put on his sweaty basketball tank while I pleasured myself to the thought of him. I made a naked dash downstairs to the guest room where he was staying. There it was, crumpled on the end of his unmade bed.

My heart raced as I put on the tank. I could feel and smell his sweat as I rubbed the sweaty fabric across my tits. I thought, fuck it, why not? I’m going to do this in his bed. There I was, in the hunk’s bed, wearing his tank with my breasts pulled out on either side, my hands pleasurably pinching my rock-hard nipples, and my vibrator on my clit, edging myself to orgasm while thinking about his athletic body and his eyes on me the night before.

BOOM—it was possibly the most intense and animated orgasm of my life. When I opened my eyes and looked towards the doorway, I saw Jack standing there in shock.

Follow for part 2 of this confession.