xYoung_at_heartx
Typical mom
- Joined
- Apr 6, 2024
- Posts
- 7
I came here for peace — the warm sun, soft breeze, and a quiet escape from everyday life. I packed my favorite dresses, the ones that feel like me without shouting. Nothing too revealing, but not hiding either.
But today, something shifted.
A group of them — late teens, early twenties — gathered near the pool, laughing and moving with easy confidence. Sun-kissed skin, lean bodies, that restless energy of youth. Their eyes found me, as if pulled by some invisible thread.
I caught their gazes one by one, bold and curious. Not shy, not polite — hungry, unfiltered. I felt their attention like a slow burn, warm and intense.
One of them, tall and lean, hair still damp from the water, held his gaze just a moment longer than the rest. When our eyes met, he didn’t look away. Instead, a sly smile curved his lips, daring me to feel the charge between us.
I know what they want. I can’t deny it. Yet, I don’t want to admit it to myself. There’s a part of me that feels guilty — ashamed, even — because I have daughters their age. Girls who could be standing where I am, who I want to protect and nurture, not compete with in this secret, electric game of desire.
Still, my skin tingles beneath their stares — a quiet, fierce lust that simmers just under the surface. The kind of desire that hasn’t yet learned to hide, raw and unrefined.
I’m married, of course. My husband is nearby, chatting with friends, unaware. So I wait for those stolen moments when he isn’t looking — when the group’s eyes can meet mine, and I can smile back without consequence. Those secret glances feel electric, almost forbidden.
It’s not really about them. It’s about being seen, desired in a way I hadn’t expected anymore. Their youthful hunger stirs something deep inside me, a spark I thought was long buried.
For those fleeting seconds, I forget the years between us. I’m not just a wife or a woman who’s lived — I’m alive, radiant, and fiercely present.
Their eyes say what words cannot. And I listen.
But today, something shifted.
A group of them — late teens, early twenties — gathered near the pool, laughing and moving with easy confidence. Sun-kissed skin, lean bodies, that restless energy of youth. Their eyes found me, as if pulled by some invisible thread.
I caught their gazes one by one, bold and curious. Not shy, not polite — hungry, unfiltered. I felt their attention like a slow burn, warm and intense.
One of them, tall and lean, hair still damp from the water, held his gaze just a moment longer than the rest. When our eyes met, he didn’t look away. Instead, a sly smile curved his lips, daring me to feel the charge between us.
I know what they want. I can’t deny it. Yet, I don’t want to admit it to myself. There’s a part of me that feels guilty — ashamed, even — because I have daughters their age. Girls who could be standing where I am, who I want to protect and nurture, not compete with in this secret, electric game of desire.
Still, my skin tingles beneath their stares — a quiet, fierce lust that simmers just under the surface. The kind of desire that hasn’t yet learned to hide, raw and unrefined.
I’m married, of course. My husband is nearby, chatting with friends, unaware. So I wait for those stolen moments when he isn’t looking — when the group’s eyes can meet mine, and I can smile back without consequence. Those secret glances feel electric, almost forbidden.
It’s not really about them. It’s about being seen, desired in a way I hadn’t expected anymore. Their youthful hunger stirs something deep inside me, a spark I thought was long buried.
For those fleeting seconds, I forget the years between us. I’m not just a wife or a woman who’s lived — I’m alive, radiant, and fiercely present.
Their eyes say what words cannot. And I listen.
