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Click, click with the mouse button. Page after page of images skimmed along before her eyes: boys. Some of age, others so close to reaching their timbre she could almost taste the sap slipping down along their breastbones. Soft chests, warm and broad. They reminded her of her teenage years, backseats and cloudy windowpanes, wishing she'd told her parents she'd be home an hour later than her original promise. Hands against the glass, face pushed into the back of a leather seat, all orgasm waiting to turn over. So long ago, so long before her marriage.

Some of the men in the photos smiled broadly at her. Others brooded, eyes sad as their penises cried thick tears of semen. A few, restrained at impossible angles, made her laugh a little. My, how that must feel, she thought. Such lovely bodies, such pain, such power. A warm breeze lifted the white, translucent curtain from the window, fluttered it, let it drop back down. She hiked her pale blue linen skirt up a little and ran her palm along the inside of her thigh, stroking against the garter belt straps and humming lightly to herself as the images filled her screen.

Click, click with one hand. Light brushing with the other. A song came to her, one that often came when she was alone with the machine and the boys again. When she'd first heard it, the words of it frightened her. Offended her. Over time they'd ticked themselves against her imagination, basting her slowly in its yellowed fantasy.

She would sing it more slowly than its original tempo, almost a lullaby, rocking herself. "We-hell-I see them every night in tight blue jeans in the pages of a blue boy magazine..." Barely above a whisper. She didn't want the children to hear her. Her hand slipped higher up her thigh, pulling the skirt tight against her hips. "Hey I've been thinking of a new sensation... I'm picking up... good vibrations..." The words of it moved her, warmed her southern regions, swamped her. She eyed the pictures from under half-closed lids as her fingertips brushed the silk of her underpants. Blue-eyed men returned with stony looks, oozing libido from every pore. She slid down in her chair so that her pelvis clung to the edge of it and her chin came forward, hair in her eyes.

This time she sang to the screen. "Do I wanna go out with a lion's roar? I wanna go south and get me some more..." her lips parted on the word "more" and she licked against them with her tongue. Slowly she eased her panties off and pulled her knees further apart. Warm air kissed against the soft hair between her legs, her unadorned scent rising through the afternoon.

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Finally she settled on an image she liked, a slender man with tanned skin and a bleached, gentle smile. As he reached for his pleasures in the still image, so she sought her own. She let go of the mouse and imagined him watching her as her fingers circled ever closer, ever closer, ever closer. Laughter encircled her voice as she softly sang, "Hey, they say that a stitch in time saves nine. They say I better stop," laughter again, "or I'll go blind..." Her eyes fell shut.

With her mouse hand she reached up and unbuttoned the crisp silk blouse, opening it so that it slid back against her shoulders, down her arms. Then her bra, unhooked in the front with one smooth motion, fell to either side and she toyed with one nipple, then the other. Even after years of nursing three beautiful children they were still supple, sensitive, and oh -- a pinch and a shiver ran down her spine. She swayed into the movements of her hand on her pelvis, blunt and smooth, pushing the sensations further within.

Dizzy, she slid completely from the chair and removed her shirt and bra, pulling the skirt up and out of the way. She slid two fingers deep inside her, aware of the deep rhythmic pulsing of her blood. With her other hand she reached behind and found the secret places there, the ones so few people ever mentioned. Her nerves screamed with pleasure. She bit her lip to try and keep quiet, still humming the melody to herself every so often. With every motion her fingers plunged deeper and deeper into her, and she had to gasp for air.

Suddenly she thought she felt a tongue on her -- tasting, probing, noticing her smells and flavors and her vulnerable position on the pale carpeting. She didn't open her eyes yet, but between his unhurried sipping she heard his voice finishing the last verse of the song, cooing as softly as she had been. "They say I better get a chaperone," he mumbled, "Because I can't stop messin' with the danger zone." Gentle licks turned more persistent. "No, I won't worry, and I won't fret -- ain't no law against it yet..." The tension built inside her and she cried, "Al, Al, Al..."

"You know how I love to watch you," he whispered, gasping for air between her heavy thighs. "Love to watch you work..." Spasm. She bucked against his lips and tongue and her own fingers, tangled and cramped as they were, then fell limp against the floor.

"Tipper," he said, laying a hand against her rounded belly. "Tipper, you all right?" He pulled up next to her, his expression never once changing. She opened her eyes sleepily and smiled at him. She brushed his short brown hair away from his eyes as he laid a hand in hers, scattered around her head.

"Albert, hush," she said. "Just load up the machine and find something you like, and we'll do this all over again when you're ready." She grinned promisingly at him. He nodded, nearly cracking a smile, and sat down at the computer to search.

Click, click with the mouse button....