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A short story where the read is the voyeur.

I poured the four once glass to the brim and handed it to her and sat on the sofa beside her. I inhaled the aroma of the sherry in my glass and took a couple of sips; I recalled, "sherry is a lot like a woman," my grandfather used to say, "You can enjoy her taste and aroma at the same time."
Mrs. Bergman wasn't in a sipping mood; she took a gulp and paused to savor it as it spread through her body. I thought better of telling her about my grandfather's saying.

"Mrs. Bergman, I'm glad you came over, it gives me the opportunity to talk to you about something that needs to be out in the open once and for all; something I need to be honest about with you."

"Well," she snapped, "Your mother is my dearest friend and she deserves to know the torrid things which go on between you and "that woman" when she in not home."

She was wound tighter than a coiled rattlesnake and the top foot of her crossed leg was going ninety miles an hour as she took the last sip, actually gulp, of her sherry. I wondered if the pumping action of her leg was creating a bit of friction in her panties that caused her to be so flustered.

I quickly poured another full glass of sherry and pretended to fill my glass too as I tried to push thoughts of what might be going on her panties out of my mind.

"Mrs. Bergman, "that woman" is Marcie and she has been a good friend to you for years, but that aside, you should know the reason she was here; Marcie and I haven't been cavorting." Okay, so it was a lie, but I had to gain control. "As a nurse, she has been counseling me some on a serious issue I have had for a number of years; an issue that includes you."

"Me? What on earth are you talking about?"

"You see, I have something called, Associative Behavior Disorder or ABD."

Of course I made it up, but she was half way through her second "little glass" of sherry and it was obvious that she was mellowing out a bit; her foot was bouncing much slower and there was less tension in her jaw; perhaps there was something going on in her panties after all.

"You see, a person with ABD develops certain feelings for someone that society deems taboo, a mother, for instance and because of that they often redirect those feelings toward another person that would not be considered taboo.

She interrupted, "What does this have to do with me?"

"The reason I'm telling you this, Mrs. Bergman, is that I have certain strong, maternal feelings which are considered taboo and, for obvious reasons, I have redirected those feelings toward you."

She immediately squawked, "What? Towards me? What kind of feelings?"

She gulped down the last of her second glass of sherry and moved to the front edge of the sofa, almost as if she was about to run away.

"Mrs. Bergman, there's no need to be alarmed. My psychologist tells me that it is only natural that since my mother is a very pretty and a very desirable woman that I would project my feelings onto another very pretty and very desirable woman close by."

There was confusion on her face as she processed my statement. I poured another small glass of sherry. Between the shocking revaluation and the sherry, Mrs. Bergman batted her eyes several times very quickly; she pulled a lace handkerchief out of the sleeve of her sweater and dabbed at the perspiration around her neck and upper chest then fanned herself lightly.

"You would be much cooler if you removed your sweater; here let me help you."

She looked confused about what she should do for a moment, but let me help her remove the light sweater from her shoulders. I caught the aroma of her perfume, "Mmmm, you are wearing my favorite perfume, White Shoulders;" I laid it on thick, "how appropriate seeing your lovely, white shoulders."

She blushed and, again, batted her eyes quickly at the compliment and attempted to be gracious, but there was still that look about what she should do.

She snapped again, "You still haven't told me what kind of feelings you are talking about; do I need to be concerned f

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