“It’s a little weird being called Mrs. Bryant,” Brie’s smile became genuine as she relaxed, laughing at herself. “I think you are old enough to use my first name now, anyway. Brianna, or Brie, either way.” She touched a couple fingers to her temples. Sure enough, there was a headache budding between her eyes. It wasn’t much yet, just a dull annoyance, the best time to get it before it got started.
“I would love an aspirin, though,” she went on, giving Brandon an apologetic look. She wasn’t as young as she once had been, but her face hadn’t completely lost the blush of youth just yet. Her hair was still a mass of soft, auburn curls cut about shoulder length, the occasional copper strand shining when the light caught it just right. Her skin carried a soft olive tone that gave away a hint to her oriental heritage, even if her dark eyes didn’t slant anywhere near as much as her mother’s or her grandmother’s. Her mouth and nose were small in her heart shaped face. Standing at perhaps 5’ 5”, she was a short woman, but carried an air of confidence that made her seem more impressive than she was.
Everything about her figure was petite, but Brie had never really envied women of more curvatious forms. She liked her body, lean as it was, and she dressed it simply. For Brandon’s party, she had picked a high necked cocktail dress that draped across her collar bone, and then dipped low in the back, the fabric hugging just below the curve in her lower back. The skirt ended around her knees, loose and flowing, the soft green complimenting her skin so that the soft, yellow tone shown in her light tan.
Errol had been a little put out that she had chosen to wear this particular dress to the party of an x-student, but Brianna loved the dress.
“Which way to your car?”
---
Vivian was settling comfortably into her cigarette, savoring the taste of the minty smoke on her tongue. The soft light of the moon and distant street lamps shown off her dark, black hair in various tones of silver. She had always died it black. It’s natural, mousy-brown color made her sick. Her eyebrows were artfully shaped before being died as well, and she kept a soft, bronzed tan to her skin so that the dark color of her hair did not wash out her complexion. She’d kept in shape, but being in her forties, there were a few things she couldn’t do much about.
Her breasts had always been full, D’s since the day she had given birth to Brandon. Her waist had never been the same petite, 23” it once had been, but the slight pudginess about her middle and her hips didn’t seem to stop her husband from rutting. On the contrary, the added bit of meat on her bones had only seemed to increase his appetites for the following 15 or so years. Recently, they hadn’t seen much of each other.
The red dress she was wearing was supposed to be helping with that. The front plunged daringly deep over her cleavage, the back ended so close to her ass that she had chosen not to wear underwear, afraid it might show. The sheath fit clung to her breasts and hips, and then fell loose in a slight a-line to her mid-calf. All in all, she had rather liked the image she had presented in the mirror earlier today, but he didn’t seem to notice at all.
Vivian sighed, feeling absurdly lonely as she took another drag. There was a crunch of grass and gravel behind her, and she turned to smile belatedly at Mike. He, like her son, as good bit taller than her, but she had known the young man for nearly as long as she had been raising her own son, and like with her son, his height never seemed to intimidate her.
“Coming out to smoke, too?” she asked quietly, making sure her voice was stable before fully trusting it. “It’s a little crowded in there, isn’t it?”
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