The Playground by Phoebe Alexander

Author:Phoebe Alexander
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: swingers, swinging, plus size heroine, later in life heroine, beach read, BBW, menage romance, marriage and relationships, humorous erotica
Publisher: Mountains Wanted Publishing
Published: 2016-03-29T00:00:00+00:00

The afterglow of a successfully-hosted Thanksgiving dinner is almost as good as the meal itself. The teens are in the family room digesting while a movie plays in the background. Rob, Steve, and the brother-in-law, Tom, are watching football as expected. My mother, Becky, and Brandi are helping me in the kitchen. Why is it that the women have to prepare the entire meal and clean it up? No wonder feminists are so pissed all the time. All their hard work and the division of labor on Thanksgiving remains unchanged after decades of fighting for equality.

“So what do you think of Eric's girlfriend?” Carol asks as she scrubs remnants of sweet potato fluff out of a pan.

“Oh, she seems nice, a little quiet though,” I answer.

“She looks like she has spent too much time in a tanning bed,” Carol observes. “She's going to look eighty when she's forty. Not to mention she's literally cooking her insides with that ultraviolet light. Do you think I should mention it to her?”

I feel my eyes involuntarily roll before I can stop them. “Mother, no. Please, please don't scare the poor girl away. Okay?” I shoot her my most concentrated warning look.

“Have your sons dated much?” Brandi asks.

I shake my head. “Not too much in high school. They had a big group of friends and everyone hung out together.”

“They seem like really good boys,” she answers. “I just hate seeing kids get too serious when they're still so young. That's what I did and it was such a huge mistake. They should be out sowing their wild oats!” She winks as if we won't get the sexual reference.

Eww. The last thing I want to think about is my boys having sex, even if she did use a nifty euphemism for it. “I got married young,” I answer. “Rob was my high school sweetheart.”

“And look at you now!” Brandi jokes, as if it proves her point.

I fire some imaginary daggers at her from my eyes. Teachers have perfected a wide range of ocular weaponry. We are used to disciplining students with but a glance. My sons always called it “the teacher look” when I could put a sudden stop to their behavior just by changing my expression. They knew if they didn't obey, there would be hell to pay.

“Rob and I are very happy,” I remark, trying not to let on that there is anything to read into her statement. “I don't regret settling down so young at all.”

Later, after Brandi and Becky and her family have all gone home, it's just Carol and myself chatting over a cup of tea. While we're both contemplating eating leftovers for dinner, she asks about Brandi's comment. Nothing, and I mean nothing, escapes the woman's notice.

I start to answer, but then my phone, which is lying face-up on the counter between my mother and me, illuminates with an incoming text. It's a photo. It's only on the screen for two seconds but the image imprints itself on my brain.

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