I don't even know. Enjoy!
Her girlish body intrigued and enamored him as she shuffled around the kitchen chopping garlic, pouring seasoning, adjusting the stove's fire. The way she would look up at him and smile every so often, as if she knew she was the cause for the tightness of the front of his jeans. He always looked forward to these days: he and Steve would rush to the lot after school, play a bit of football, and then arrive at Steve's house at about five in the evening, just as Steve's mom was starting dinner.
They started on their homework at the kitchen counter, occasionally swiping away pieces of garlic that landed on their worksheets.
"Soda, what number you on?" Steve stretched over to see how far Soda had gotten on his worksheet.
"Uh, I haven't started" replied Soda sheepishly.
He was trying to focus, he really was. But he kept getting distracted in how Mrs. Randle's body moved so hap-hazardously from one place to the next. He knew she was tipsy already. Especially since he saw her pour a quarter of a bottle of wine into the dish on the stove, and continuously drink from the bottle every so often. Soda admired the modest dips and curves of her body in her house dress and how if he tried hard enough he could imagine how her body looked moving beneath. He had readjust himself in his chair.
"Soda, look, all's you have to do for number one is divide the six beneath the thirty-six. And get six,"
"Oh okay that's what I thought," Soda still kept glancing up at Mrs. Randle. She bit her lip in concentration in finely mincing the garlic.
His obsession with her started one day when he walked to Steve's house one afternoon, expecting to go play some tackle football but instead found an auburn-haired Mrs. Randle rolling around with Mr. Randle on the couch. He really only caught a glimpse of her flushed, damp skin and her damp hair as she lay on her back before he made for the door. Soda still heard her raspy moans in his head at night as he tried to think of something else. And whenever he was with Mrs. Randle he would take advantage of every opportunity to see or touch her. He'd let his hand linger on her waist after a hug goodbye, or how he'd put his arm on the small of her back just before picking up something she dropped, or even when he would "accidentily" walk in on her while she was showering or dressing. He would often have dreams about her that left him so frustrated, wanting to pleasure her more than anything in the world. He was just a confused, horny teenage boy after all. He couldn't help himself.
She, on the other hand, had a slight obsession with Sodapop Curtis, and he did not go unnoticed by Mrs. Randle either. She'd always found his movie star smiling and developing muscle and build very sexy. The way his big honey-chocolate would sparkle, or how his full pink lips would move when telling her a joke. His blemish-free face and freckled nose cracking into a smile when she would ask him about his day. Of course, she'd never admit that to herself or anyone for that matter. But she still loved to watch how he'd rush to help her put groceries away the minute she was in the door, or how he'd be the first one to compliment her on a hair change or how pretty her dress looked today, and then lick his lips. And how he'd look over to make sure she was watching first before throwing a football, or doing a hand stand, or taking his shirt off to borrow one of Steve's night shirts, shaking his hair out to fix it. She found herself wanting to touch the boy to hear him yelp and watch his face blush. She would purposely squeeze the boy's head against her chest when greeting him with a hug, or grabbing his bicep when she wanted his attention. She knew he was young and horny, but she loved the attention he gave her.
"You boys need help?" asked Mrs. Randle without looking up from her kitchen task.
"We got it, ma,"
"No thank you, Mrs. Randle. You look awful nice in that pink frock today,"
"Thank you Soda, you look rather handsome yourself," and Soda blushed and smiled to himself at this.
Soon, Soda and Steve were somewhat done with their homework, Steve's father came home from the factory, gave Steve and Soda light bops on the head, and dinner was ready.
All during dinner, Soda noticed Mr. and Mrs. Randle making eyes at each other. He also spotted Mr. Randle's fingertips scraping up and down and around Mrs. Randle's smooth, pale thigh. Soda even saw Mr. Randle take his middle finger and slowly drag up and down between Mrs. Randle's core. Steve just continued to read his baseball cards and frown at the vegetables he didn't like.
Sodapop felt a dangerously maddening heat build in his core from the sight of Steve's parents fooling around under the table. He knew he shouldn't have been watching, or he should have pretended that he didn't notice like any intelligent kid would do. But Soda was impulsive and all for indulging in pleasurable moments, even in his 14 years of age. So he indulged in the sight, and imagined it was him with his boyish face, sharp jaw, big brown eyes, and soft hand touching up Mrs. Randle to her silk white panties instead of Steve's dad with his tanned, bearded face and calloused hands.
He cursed Steve in his head when Steve stood up suddenly to put his plate in the sink, startling his parents into ceasing their hidden ministrations. They cleared their throats and continued eating. Soda blushed heavily and sunk down into his chair when Mrs. Randle caught his knowing eye and innocently winked at him.
Criticism? Compliment? Continue?