Encounter at the Big Box Store

She was dressed in yoga pants,
That,
Probably,
Fit much sexier,
Before she was pregnant,
With the little boy,
She was now talking to.

They were tight,
Probably,
Too tight,
And,
The way she was,
Bent over,
They showed more,
Than,
I suspect,
She realized.

Anyway,
I overheard,
"Boys do not lick girls,
They just don't."

I couldn't help myself,
"Really?
Never?"

She stood,
Her top was stretched,
As tight,
Maybe tighter,
Than her top;
And,
Clearly showed,
Not just larger than average,
Boobs,
But flaccid nipples.

As she stood,
She blushed,
The most,
Delightful,
Shade of red;
And,
Her nipples,
Began to rise.

She saw that I noticed them,
And,
Quickly folded her arms,
To hide them.

The little boy,
Was patting his mommy,
As little boys do,
To get her attention --
The problem,
(If you want to call it a problem),
Was where he was patting her.

I saw,
And,
Smiled.

Her blushing,
Went from delightful,
To down right,
Delicious --
It began with her face,
And,
Disappeared,
Down the scooped front,
Of her over stuffed top.

She reached a hand down,
To grab the hand,
Of her son,
And displayed for me,
A now very hard,
Pointed,
Aroused,
Nipple.

I smiled.

She stammered,
"I can't.
Not with my son."

As she turned,
To walk away,
The little boy,
Stuck out his tongue at me.

I chuckled,
And went about my business.