Soda slept over Steve's house that night, taking the couch in the living room. He lay on the sofa in the dark room with only the orange glow of the streetlight serving as a nightlight. He replayed the scene at dinner over and over again: he'd imagine getting himself off right at the table, or maybe crawling under the table and putting his face where Steve's dad's hand had been, or even Mrs. Randle hopping across the table and doing unspeakable things him.

At the images in his mind, Sodapop felt a wave of heat over his body, and he groaned softly and shut his eyes. He gently trailed his hand down passed his flat teenaged stomach to his boxers and rubbed himself heavily. Just as he was getting started, he heard a girlish giggle from the hallway. His eyes flashed open as he swiftly put his hand at his side. A still tipsy Mrs. Randle sauntered into thr room in a vixen-like manner.

"W-what were you just doin' on my sofa, Sodapop Curtis?" she purred and laughed breathily on him as she sat down right next to his body

"I – nothin'..." Soda blushed twisting the hem of his t-shirt in his hands.

Mrs. Randle stared into Soda's brown eyes with her green. She took in all of his features, and scanned down his body noting his broad boyish chest, and even lower to an unmistakeable erection through his boxers. Soda could smell her cheap wine and perfume.

"Soda,"

"Hm?"

"Look at me,"

Soda immediately looked into her eyes, heart racing.

"You ever done stuff with a woman before?"

"What?"

"You heard me, Soda,"

"W – well not really. Well, I mean, one time Sandy and I – ,"

"No, forget Sandy. I said a woman," she snapped.

"Oh, no." Soda frowned feeling like he'd done something wrong.

Mrs. Randle began scraping her nails up and down Soda's chest through his t-shirt.

"Sit up," she commanded. Soda slowly sat up and placed his hands crossed in his lap.

"Would you like to try...something?" She grabbed for his hand and he let her without a fight.

She paused, and pried at him with her emerald eyes.

"Do you?"

Mrs. Randle knew what she was doing. She knew he had no willpower as a teenage boy, and she'd always noticed his eyes following her every move.

"Sure?" Soda rasped unsure of himself.

She brought his hand to her cheek, down to neck, between her breasts, and stopped on her flat stomach.

Soda's heart was racing and blood rushed to his core again.

"Mmm..." Mrs. Randle hummed.

She then dragged his soft trembling hand down over her thighs and under her night gown. Soda's breath caught in his throat. His hands were now where he'd always dreamed of them being. She firmly placed his hand on the front of her panties and threw her head back. Soda's hands could now feel every detail of her. The heat of his hand radiated onto her as she made him rub her.

"Go ahead Soda," she muttered breathlessly, "I know you want to, honey,"

So Soda began to rub circles on her and he began to rub himself with his other hand while looking into her glazed eyes.

"Mrs. Randle – I – I think I love you?" Soda's voice cracked as he moaned out to her.

"Oh, Soda, shut up, doll," she laughed and disregarded what he'd said. Soda's eyes widened as he felt her moisten and then completely drench her underwear and some of his hand. He looked up at her when she made loud noise in her throat. He felt a tingle in his body when he saw her begin to tremble and curl her toes as if in pain, allowing a single tear to escape her eye.

"Did you feel that Soda? You made me cum,"

"I – I did?"

"Yeah, you did. You're gonna make some lucky girl very happy one day. If only you were twenty-two years older," She laughed and grabbed Soda's face and soft blonde hair giving him a deep french kiss that left him feeling dizzy and horny.

"Mm, good with your tongue too," she winked and Soda nervously laughed.

"Wait, what about me?" Soda motioned to his boxers.

"Ah, yes," but just then they heard a shuffling from the hallway

"Ma?" a sleepy Steve Randle in just his underwear called while rubbing his eyes, "What are ya doin' up?"

"Just making sure Soda wasn't cold," she tried nervously

"Ma, it's like eighty-six degrees in here," Steve replied, walking in and surveying the room: Soda had a pillow on his lap and a red face, sitting next to his mom. Steve looked between them two. Mrs. Randle smiled sheepishly.

"Hiya Steve," Soda mumbled not looking Steve in the eye.

"...Ma, you should get him some aspirins, he's actin' like he got a fever or somethin'..." Steve walked back to his room.

The alcohol began to wear off of Mrs. Randle. She began to feel guilt in taking advantage of Sodapop. He looked so conflicted and confused. The poor thing hadn't learned how his good looks affected him yet.

"I – I'm sorry Sodapop. I didn't mean to bother you. Good night," she said and left Soda alone in the dark, confused and ashamed. He laid back down on the couch and vowed to never tell Steve about what happened.

It was awkward between Soda and Mrs. Randle after that. It was noted by Steve how Soda no longer liked going to his house when his mom was home, or how he got quiet at the mention of her.

Soda had to pretend he wasn't relieved when Mrs. Randle walked out on Steve and his father when he held a crying Steve in his arms. Maybe he could hold on out telling Steve that minor part of his life just this once.

Compliment? Criticism? Continue?