17 comments/  232570 views/  67 favorites

Show Moms Ch. 01

By: MarshAlien



Grooming always seemed to be the most time-consuming portion of these shows, from the local ones all the way up to nationals. Maybe it just seemed the most time-consuming because I hated it. I don't even like grooming me. But it was an important part of the show. She sat in front of me, on the carpeted pedestal that each of the contestants were provided for final grooming. I worked my way around her, making sure that everything sat just where I wanted it. The look wouldn't last long, of course, once the showing began. But by then it should have done its job of attracting the judges' attention.

The loudspeaker roared to life: "Attention in the Grooming Area — two minutes until the first division. Contestants should begin to assemble at the entrance to the show floor."

I gave her one final inspection.

"All right, Robin," I said, "let's hit the floor."

She slid off the pedestal and fell in behind me as we walked toward the entrance where the nine other finalists in her division were gathered. I was very pleased. After five months of training and competition, Robin didn't need to be led anywhere. We were seventh in line, and after the initial parade, we took our places, Robin on her show pedestal with me standing beside her, as the announcer began to introduce the contestants. I looked over and gave her a wink, and I heard her whisper back, "I am so hot right now." I smiled. Becca had said exactly the same thing.

It had begun, as so many things did in my life at this point, with my mother. One June morning, a week after the end of my junior year, she sat down across from me at the kitchen table. I could tell that she had something on her mind from the way she fidgeted with her napkin.

"You've heard about the National MILF Show, haven't you?" she finally asked.

I spat my coffee all over the table. So much for denying it. Of course, my mom, a high school English teacher, probably already knew as much about it as I did. Teachers always seemed to have this little network of information going.

"Well, yeah," I agreed reluctantly, mopping the table with my napkin. "It's the biggest thing on the Internet. You going to enter?"

She blushed. My mom was a real good-looking lady, particularly for forty-five, but I didn't see her as real MILF material. On the other hand, maybe it would do her some good. Ever since her divorce from Dad, she'd been in a bit of a funk. I raised my eyebrows. She threw the napkin at me.

"Jerk," she smiled. "I'm forty-five years old."

"I'm not saying you'd win," I protested, "but you'd give 'em a run for their money."

"I'm flattered you think I would even consider entering," she said, "but no, it's Mrs. Roberts."

"Becca Roberts next door? Shit, I'm gonna subscribe right now."

"Kenneth," she sighed before going on. She was always bothered by my swearing, although she'd gotten better. Or I had. Or maybe both of us. "How much do you know about the show?"

"Everyone has to be a mom," I said. "They have a bunch of contests and the finalists end up at the big show. I think it's held over Thanksgiving. We were at Aunt Beth's last year, so of course I didn't get to watch it."

Didn't get to watch it live, I thought to myself.

"Well, do me a favor, will you?" her discomfort had returned. "Here's a couple of websites. Take a look at them and then we'll talk."

It was an odd request, but hey, it was my mother. I took the piece of paper she gave me and spent an hour or so on the computer.

The National MILF Show is three years old. It had its origins a few years before that, though, when a bunch of Long Island high school kids managed to convince the older ladies that they were, uh, seeing, to meet together in a hotel ballroom. Two years later, that meeting had become the stuff of legends, and the kids, then in their second year of college, organized a national competition. It starts with a series of local and regional shows where moms perform stripteases for their "handlers." At the state level, things get serious. And sexual. The women who reach the national show are expected to engage in a ten-minute blowjob and a five-minute "compulsory" program with their handler. The winners of the five divisions (all of the competitions are judged) then advance to the finals, where they perform a ten-minute freestyle program. 

The final day of competition is broadcast live, over the Internet of course, and makes damn good money. The prize money is based on Internet subscriptions. The total purse this year for all of the shows would be 2.5 million dollars, and first prize at nationals was a very nice $750,000.

"Okay," I tried to say calmly when I returned to the kitchen. "What's up?"

"Well, Becca watched it last year, and she's convinced that she can win it."

"No sh—" I blurted out. "I mean, really?"

She smiled.

"Yeah, no shit. You've seen the pictures on those sites, what do you think?"

"Mrs. Roberts is a serious MILF," I agreed. Rebecca Roberts was in her mid-twenties with a playmate body and a face to die for.

Mom visibly swallowed and took a deep breath.

"She wants you to be her handler," she said.

"Her handler?" I barely refrained from screaming. "You mean those guys who lead the women around and show 'em off, and —"

I paused. How should I put this?

"And do that right there in the arena?!"

Was she kidding? I would have given my left and right testicles for a chance at Rebecca Roberts. And since her husband was a former professional football player, that's how I always figured it would have ended up, too.

"Yes," Mom said. "Although you only do that, as you put it, if you reach the finals in Hawaii. Anyway, Becca wants you."

"Why?" I asked.

"Well, she likes you for one. She thinks you're good looking, which is a plus. And..."

"And?"

"And she needs a well-endowed man to make her climax," Mom exhaled.

"And what makes her think I have a, um, a big one?" I asked. I did, but I couldn't imagine how Rebecca Roberts had known that. I certainly knew better than to get an erection anywhere near her, particularly when her husband was around.

"Well, she's seen you mowing the lawn in your shorts, and stuff."

That wasn't it. I waited and raised my eyebrows.

"Oh, all right, I told her."

"How the hell do you know?" I shouted.

"Look, do you want the job or not?" she shot back.

"Uh, sure, I guess."

"If she goes as far as she thinks she can, you'll have to spend one weekend a month at shows, starting in early September," Mom explained. "Why don't I have her come over?"

I watched in stunned disbelief as she picked up the phone and invited Mrs. Roberts over. Five minutes later, she answered the doorbell and ushered the entire Roberts family into the kitchen. I pressed myself back into the seat. It was a trap. I knew it!

But Bob Roberts came over and simply extended one of his meaty paws to me while Rebecca held onto five-year-old Bree.

"We really appreciate this, Kenny," he said, as bashfully as a former offensive tackle could. "I'm gonna take Bree and go to the zoo for the day so you can talk this over."

And then he left, leaving me with his wife, Rebecca, in a short, orange paisley dress held up by the thinnest of straps. Mom came back into the room before I had a chance to even say hello, and she and Rebecca both sat down at the table.

Rebecca took a deep breath of her own before she started.

"First off, why me? Frankly, I watched it two years ago, and I thought, what a hoot. But I wasn't eligible until this year, because you have to have a child who's at least six as of September 1, and Bree won't turn six until this August. I wanted to do some beauty contest work when I was younger, but my family could never afford all the time and the travel. Now I can."

I nodded, and she continued.

"Second, why you? For one thing, handlers have to be eighteen by the date of the state finals, which are in mid-October. Your mom says you turn eighteen on the fifth. And you can't be older than twenty-one on the day of the national finals. I think you're a good looking kid, I think you're nice, and you're taller than I am, which rules out a number of guys since I'm five-ten. Bob and I aren't thrilled about the idea of my trolling the Internet to find somebody else, and the only other young man I know is my nephew Jimmy. He'd do me in a — I mean, he'd do it in a heartbeat — stop laughing, both of you — but I'd have to live with him smirking at me for the rest of my life. And finally, according to your mom, you've got what it takes to succeed on the final day."

"Yeah, before we go on, how do you know that, Mom?"

"So you're not going to tell her yes?" my mom countered incredulously.

Now it was my turn to blush.

"Of course I am," I said. "I'd do her in a heartbeat, too."

Now everybody laughed.

"But seriously?" I said.

She smiled.

"Marcy."

"Marcy Rooney?" I asked. My first girlfriend? Well, to be fair, my only girlfriend until she'd moved East with her family around Christmas.

"She wanted some advice on handling your size, and she figured I might have had the same problem with your dad. Which, unfortunately, was one of the only problems I didn't have. So I asked her how big your, uh —"

"Package?" Becca prompted after a small pause.

"Yes," Mom waved a flustered hand. "So that's the story."

"There is one thing," Becca interrupted. "Bob and I agreed that you and I won't do any fucking until we get to Hawaii."

"Well, yeah, Mom said you don't do that until the finals." 

"Lots of contestants like to practice before they get there," Becca said, "in order to find out if they're compatible with their handlers. If you're as big as Marcy said, that won't be a problem. But I will need to take a look before we commit to each other."

I stood and pushed my shorts down my thighs.

"Shit!" my mother said.

I raised my eyebrows at her, and missed Becca's reaction. It must have been favorable, though, because she slid a piece of paper across the table as I pulled up my shorts and sat down again.

"Um, okay," Becca said, "why don't you read this contract, and then if you agree with it, your mother can sign it on your behalf because you're not yet eighteen. It's a standard handler contract, and I have to have one on file with the group running the show before I'm allowed to compete."

"So it says here I get ten percent of what you get?" I asked after a while.

"That's right," Becca was beaming at me now. "Just like a caddy."

"And what's this part about another handler?" I asked, pointing to another clause.

She smiled.

"Well, this is the third year, so there are already some guys who are supposed to be good handlers. What this does is say that if I drop you to pick up one of them in later rounds, you still get your full ten percent. His ten percent comes off what's left after that."

"Cool," I nodded. "Sign away, mom."

"Do you have a girlfriend you need to explain this to?" Becca asked.

"Not at the moment," I smiled back. "Maybe Marcy scared 'em all off."

Mom finished signing and Becca signed, too. Kissing me on the forehead, she told me she'd be back after lunch to go over the contest, and left to go register the contract on the website.

"You could have asked her for a peek, too, you know," Mom pointed out.

"I imagine I'll see enough of her pretty soon," I grinned. 

Show Moms Ch. 02



And then they introduced Robin. I stepped forward as the audience politely applauded and then began to titter. I looked back over my shoulder to find Robin rooted to the spot where we'd been standing before we were introduced. I gave her a glare as the titters turned into laughter. I snapped my fingers, pointing to a spot on the arena floor just in back of me. Robin jumped forward as the laughter turned into a round of enthusiastic applause. Just like we'd practiced it. We then stepped back to wait our turn. I remembered this part from last year; it was going to be a while.

** *

Even though Becca hadn't really cared about the money, she was competitive enough to want to win. So we spent the last few weekends in August watching film of previous competitions. Becca showed me what I shouldn't do, and let me know that she would take care of the rest. I felt kind of like Tiger Woods's caddy — carry the bag, hand over the clubs he asked for, collect the check.

And sure enough, we breezed through the local and regional shows. There wasn't a woman there who could hold a candle to Becca, even clothed. With her clothes off, her perfect breasts on display, her perfectly trimmed landing strip inviting attention to her perfect little puss, she was untouchable.

The state finals, in Chicago, were only a little bit more competitive. Becca easily won her division, for women with kids age 6 through 9, but the woman who won the 9-12 group, Connie Templeton, looked pretty strong as well. Even before the finals, she had started talking loudly about her upcoming trip to Hawaii.

"Mouthy broad, isn't she?" Becca muttered under her breath.

"Well, we'll see," I said.

Becca laughed so hard she got the hiccups. The state shows didn't involve any actual sex that year, but each MILF had to give head to an enormous dildo. Becca's deepthroat act proved to be more than enough to finish the other moms off.

"See, I was right," I said as Becca jumped on me for a bear hug. "Not nearly mouthy enough."

We were headed to Hawaii.

The finals were held on the weekend after Thanksgiving, but Becca wanted to get there a week earlier, to finalize our presentation and "practice." Bob, Bree, and Mom would fly in to celebrate Thanksgiving with us, along with Mom, and then attend the finals.

Becca and I finished unpacking our stuff in our adjoining rooms, and then it was time. Understand, I'd been jerking off while fantasizing about Becca long before this contest started. Seeing her naked every third weekend had done absolutely nothing to end that. I'd been looking forward to this week for a long time.

But it turned out to be incredibly anticlimactic. Well, maybe anticlimactic is the wrong word; I did actually climax, and so did Rebecca. Still, it was strange how she could keep everything on a perfectly clinical level, explaining to me, in an even voice — even when my cock was buried in her pussy — all of the little things that I could do to help her reach a crashing orgasm. She taught me various positions, and how to move from one to another almost seamlessly. By Wednesday evening, when our "entourage" was expected, I could give Becca an orgasm from any position, in any time she set for me.

We abstained on Thursday and Friday. I kind of figured it was because of Mom and Bob, but it turned out that there had been a tactical reason all along. As we waited Friday morning in the grooming area for the 6-to-9 division to walk into the arena, she leaned forward and whispered in my ear.

"I am so hot right now."

I turned and stared at her. She just giggled.

"Do you think the last couple of days had absolutely no effect on me?" she asked. "Right now I want your cock in my pussy so badly, I —"

The announcement to begin the procession prevented me from learning what she would do. Because there were 35 entrants in the 6-and-over age division, the contestants performed in groups of threee. In this case, the performance, after stripping, was a ten-minute blowjob. Once again, Becca was far and away the best, and was selected, along with five other women, to stay in the arena for the five-minute compulsory sex portion. This year, our division had drawn standing doggystyle, and with Becca's height, the other women had no chance.

The overall finals on Saturday afternoon pitted Becca against four very hot MILFs, one from each of the five age divisions. Connie was one of them. It turned out that even if you didn't win your state competition, you could enter an interstate competition. There were eight of them. Ours included contestants from Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Missouri.

If you won an age division at an interstate, you were eligible for the nationals, provided the national show didn't already have more than thirty entrants in your division and provided you were willing to pay your own way. Those competitions were actually necessary to fill out the national show. No woman in the 15-18 or 18-and-over age divisions had ever won a state title, and those divisions, at the national show, consisted only of women who took the interstate route.

The interstate competitions were designed to recognize that one state could easily produce two talented MILFs, although Connie was the first to ever win the national 9-12 division after losing her state final. Once again, though, Becca blew everyone away in the sex competition, a 10-minute freestyle routine which started with her leaping onto me from her showing stand and impaling herself on my cock, and ended with her flat on her back, screaming out my name as she banged her hands against the sides of the stand.

All in all, the whole thing was a great experience. Becca (and Bob!) and I remained good friends for years, I got a very nice chunk of change out of it (they added an additional $25,000 "tip"), and it certainly didn't harm my reputation in high school, which, up until then, was as a slightly above-average student with no athletic talent. When I got back on the Monday after Thanksgiving, all kinds of guys were high-fiving me in the hall. And a few days later, a number of girls (who probably hadn't watched the show live, which explained why it took a few days for the word to spread) intimated that they might be happy to have me call them. I figured I'd get it all sorted out after the Christmas break. In the meantime, of course, I had some serious studying to do with our semester finals only two weeks away.

The only person I tried to keep it from was my best friend, Wally Kennedy. And it was pretty unlikely he'd find out on his own. His family was more than a little conservative — hell, they didn't even have cable TV — and they had every internet filter known to mankind on their computer. His dad was some sort of deacon at one of the evangelical churches and his mom, from what I'd seen, didn't own a pair of slacks or a dress that showed her knees. His older sister Terry wore clothes like her mother did. She had been the best-looking girl in the class before ours, which was a real shame. She'd inherited her mother's looks, but her father's condescending attitude. She was currently a freshman at Christendom Bible College, which figured. I hoped it was a girls' school, because if there were boys there, she'd be looking down her nose at them just like she did at the rest of us.

Anyway, I was a little reluctant to tell Wally that I'd spent the fall fucking Becca Roberts, particularly since, as far as I knew, he was still a virgin. He noticed that I was getting a lot more attention after the holiday, but I just shrugged my shoulders when he asked if I knew why.

That didn't last long, of course. I was over at his house three days after Christmas when Terry, home from college, walked impatiently into the living room while Wally and I were playing chess.

"All right, geeks, I'm only gonna do this once," she announced scornfully. "This is my roommate Amanda. Mandy, that's my dorky brother Wally on the left, and his equally dorky friend, uh . . ."

"Kenny," I said. She knew my name, but it had always served her purposes to pretend she didn't. I stood up and offered my hand. The girl trailing Terry wasn't in Terry's league — she didn't have the long, blonde hair; the full, pouty lips; the firm, round tits; the long, toned legs — but she was cute enough. She smiled at me, for one thing.

"—on the right," Terry finished. "Okay? Let's go. My folks are probably in the kitchen."

"Dad's at work and mom's at the store," Wally said absent-mindedly as he turned his attention back to the game.

"Whatever," Terry said impatiently. "Let's go to my room."

Amanda turned to wave goodbye, and then stopped dead and stared at me.

"OH — MY — GOD!" Amanda suddenly yelped. "I know who you are! You're that guy on the internet! The guy with the big — "

She suddenly remembered where she was, or that she was a Christendom Bible College student, and clapped her hand over her mouth.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Meanwhile, though, the Kennedy kids were looking at me like I just grew a third head.

Terry in particular looked stunned.

"He's the guy you've been talking about for the last month?" she demanded. "He's the guy with that Becca Roberts?"

Wally's interest was now piqued as well. He'd been to my house. He'd met my neighbors.

"Becca Roberts who lives next door to you?" he asked. "What does she mean you were with Becca Roberts?"

"I'll tell you later," I said. "It was nice to meet you, Amanda."

"You, too, Kenny," she said as she leaned against the door frame. "So are you doing anything on New Year's Eve?"

"No," Terry said flatly. "Absolutely not."

I was surprised she didn't stomp her foot. Unfortunately, as tempting as it would have been to accept a date with Amanda and ruin Terry's New Year's Eve at the same time, I had to turn Amanda down.

"I gotta run some booth downtown at the 'family celebration. '"

"Bummer," Amanda said.

"Yeah, bummer," I agreed.

"So maybe I'll see you somewhere else," she smiled.

"Maybe."

Actually, I didn't see her. Wally did, though. I filled him in on the whole MILF Show thing a few days later, and he actually came over to my house to watch the highlight video. The next time I saw him was when school started back up the day after New Year's. He was walking around with a particularly stupid grin on his face.

"What happened to you?" I asked as we were putting our shit in our lockers.

"That girl? Amanda?" he smiled. "My parents went out on New Year's Eve and my sister went to some dance, so she stayed home with me. I asked her what she'd liked about your video, and then she asked me if my cock was as big as yours. Well, it's not, really, but, anyway, we..."

"You dog," I punched him on the shoulder. "Gonna keep seeing her? She's an older woman, you know."

"Nope," Wally seemed to come back down to earth. "She's got a boyfriend who goes to some nearby college. I do have some bad news, though. My folks overheard her blabbing about you, and my dad says you can't come over to the house anymore."

"Asshole," I muttered.

"Yeah," Wally agreed. "Sorry. Mom says I can still go over to your place though."

I slammed my locker in disgust, but if truth be told, I was actually fine with that. I'd miss seeing his mom — even in those churchy clothes — but I could do without Mr. Christian and, since Terry seemed to come home from school every weekend, I could do without her snippy little remarks, too.

Not that I seemed to have the time to visit any more, anyway. Within a week I was dating Susan Collins, an awfully cute 11th grade cheerleader who wouldn't have given me the time of day before my MILF Show success. I dated some other girls on and off, too, and ended up taking last year's cheerleader captain — the college freshman sister of one of my football jock classmates — to the senior dance. Almost all the girls I went out with had seen my video, and most of them were willing to treat the video as foreplay and go straight to the main course.

All in all, it was a great semester. I made the spring golf team, although I was never going to be one of the top players. My grades had actually gone up the previous semester, too, because Becca insisted on my studying as a prerequisite for our contract, and I kept them up that spring. To top it off, I actually got into a pretty good college, something I hadn't thought possible at the beginning of the year, and something that delighted my mom no end. Handley College is a small liberal arts school a few hours south of here, and I was quite sure that I owed my admission, and the generous offer of financial aid, to one of its most prominent alumni, Bob Roberts. A week before my graduation, my mom and I dropped by Bob and Becca's house on a Friday evening with a bottle of champagne to say thanks. We were all sitting at a table around the pool when Becca asked me if I had gotten any good e-mails lately.

I smiled back at her.

"In fact, I have," I said. "I should have known that was your work."

"What e-mails?" Mom asked.

"You know, Mom," I smiled. "The same kind of e-mails that all high school seniors get. Pictures of naked women, videos of naked women, women begging me to come see them, women begging for a chance to come see me."

Mom was starting to look alarmed when Becca butted in.

"Well, I didn't know about the pictures and the videos," she said to Mom, "but some women who heard I wasn't going to defend my title this year e-mailed me to ask if I minded if they contacted Kenny. So I passed on his e-mail address to the ones I knew. I just told the others that they were free to contact him on their own."

"And which category did Connie Templeton fall in?" I asked.

She glowered.

"That bitch called me up on New Years' Day to find out if I was going to enter," Becca snapped. "I would have never given her your e-mail."

"Well, apparently she found it," I said. "Those were some very nice pictures."

"You're not going to take her, are you?" Becca seemed upset.

"I'm not sure if I'm even going to do it this year," I said. "But if I do, it won't be with her. I didn't like her any more than you did."

"Why wouldn't you do it?" Mom asked.

"School," I was surprised she'd asked. "Handley's a tough school. I can't take off that many weekends to go to those shows. Let alone train a new MILF."

We all laughed. My "training" of Becca had been non-existent; it was her training of me that had taken all of our time.

"I don't know," Becca cautioned. "First prize for states this year is a hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

"Thanks to you," I said. Prize money was based in part on the response to the previous year's winner, and Becca had been gold for the organizers. Subscriptions were already up this year by thirty percent. In addition, the rules gave the winner's home state a slightly bigger share of the overall purse for the following year. "Seriously, though, what are the chances of lightning striking again? I just don't think it's going to be worth the time."

"Well, with respect to your schedule," Becca pressed on, "the local competition takes place in early September, right before your first classes start. And states are during your fall break. So the only weekend you'll really miss is the intercounty contest to qualify for states."

"What are you, my agent?" I laughed. "I should have known you'd have a copy of the Handley schedule. And why are you pushing this?"

"I don't want Connie to win this year," she said finally. "Wining a purse that I'm responsible for making bigger. And getting the crown from me."

I laughed again. Those two just hadn't hit it off last year.

After that, we dropped the subject and carried on with our celebration. It wasn't what you'd call raucous. Since Mom had to get up the next day before dawn, we left a little after nine o'clock.

I got up to see Mom off and then went back to sleep. Mom was coach of the school's debating team (Wally was the star), and they'd qualified for some kind of championship in Chicago. She wouldn't be back until dinner time on Sunday. I was determined to make the best of the weekend. Starting with sleeping late. I was lying in bed, dreaming about Barbie Perkins doing her best to suck my socks off through my dick. The doorbell rang once, and then again, and Barbie gave up.

"I can't concentrate," she said. "Maybe you better answer it."

"Huh?"

What kind of dream was this? Whose subconscious stopped their dream in the middle of a blowjob to answer the door? I slowly realized that the doorbell was coming from outside my dream. I raised my head very reluctantly from the pillow as the doorbell sounded one more time.

As the doorbell sounded yet again, I dragged myself from bed, pulled a pair of jeans over the gym shorts that I slept in, and began to make my way groggily down the hallway toward the nuisance. I pulled open the door to find a woman wearing an oversized blue zipped sweatshirt and a pair of gray sweatpants, her face hidden under a baseball cap. 

"May I please come in, Kenneth?" she asked dully, lifting her face as I slowly realized that the woman standing in front of me was Wally's mom. I hadn't seen her in five months or so, ever since I'd been warned away from the house.

"Yeah," I said reluctantly. "Sure."

She looked up at me dully, looked around to see if she'd been spotted, and pushed past me into the house.

"Mrs. Kennedy," I shut the door behind us. "Can I help you?"



Show Moms Ch. 03



I was told afterwards by more than one person that Robin's striptease was the highlight, not just of her division, but of the entire first day. Of course, maybe they were tired of seeing women wearing bikinis. They'd certainly seen enough by the time the day ended. At the state competitions, women had to strip in bikinis (actually the rules called for swimsuits, but I've never yet seen a one-piece at one of these shows). The local and intercounty contests also had mandatory outfits: evening gowns.

At the national level, though, the only rule was that you had to wear the same outfit for both days of the competition. And unlike the state and local shows, where up to thirty or forty women could be stripping at the same time, each woman at the national show would have the spotlight to herself, at least in Robins' division. So why you'd want to look like everyone else — almost all the contestants last year had worn bikinis, too — was beyond me.

Robin and I had actually spent a good deal of time discussing what she was going to wear. Once she finally bought into the idea, she decided that what she really needed to do was create, or more likely re-create, fantasies for the young men judging the competition. The "pool fantasy" — he's the lifeguard, she's the mommy come for a swim with her kids — had been done to death. And for the 18-and-over division, it just wasn't all that successful anyway. None of those women had ever finished higher than fourth place at the National Show.

So Robin decided she wanted to go for what she called the "garden fantasy." Pretty standard stuff — older woman gardening outside the house, lawn boy puttering around with the weedeater or the lawnmower or whatever. But no one had done it last year, or the year before as far as I could tell, and Robin figured it might be a good way to get her a little extra bit of attention. So she marched into the arena in a somewhat-too-small white men's shirt whose top buttons were torn off and whose shirt-tails were tied just under her chest, the shortest pair of khaki shorts we could find, and bright white sneakers. We'd even gone the extra distance by putting a couple of small smudges of dirt on her face, her chest, and legs, and by spraying her with a light oil that gave her the look of someone actually doing manual labor. That, incidentally, is why the grooming had taken so long; you didn't think I'd actually done her hair, did you?

The other nine women in Robin's division were, naturally, wearing bikinis. And, oddly, high heels. Which was part of the pool fantasy only in porno-land. There was no doubt that Robin stood out. And she sold it, too. The handler can't dress his part; he has to wear a white smock. As Robin said, he's simply a stand-in for the judges. So it's completely up to the contestant. When it was Robin's turn, she turned away from me and leaned on the show stand as the music started. She waited a few beats, and then turned to me with a look of surprise. That was quickly replaced with a feral expression as she raked me up and down with her eyes. And then she started.

The shirt came off first, the few remaining buttons flying as she grabbed the shirttails and just yanked the shirt open and over her shoulders. The front-closing bra underneath it went next. Robin's tits weren't huge, but on the screen above the arena that most people were watching, popping open that bra had the effect of letting them explode into view.

I still have no idea how she got rid of her sneakers, but by the time she tore open the button-fly on her shorts, and kicked them over my head, leaving her in nothing but a pair of black mesh panties, the place was going nuts. I thought the hardest part would come next, maintaining her energy while she worked the panties down her legs. But Robin had a surprise for me. She'd cut most of the threads along the seams of the panties, so she just stood there for two beats, her hands on her hips with her thumbs hooked inside, and then straightened her arms. The little piece of fabric fluttered to the ground.

The other women had just stood there after they had finished stripping and waited for the applause to die down. Robin stepped forward, ripped open my smock, and dropped to her knees for the blowjob. Well within the rules, and the applause never did die down. Wow.

I suddenly realized that if I didn't concentrate, I'd be shooting a load down her throat in a matter of minutes. And at this level, that would be disaster. Because as soon as the blowjob ended, we were supposed to go into our compulsory routine. That wasn't going to be very successful if I was soft. So while this woman was busy making love to my dick, I started thinking about how far we'd come — actually, how far Robin had come — to get there.

                *   *   *

If I hadn't still been half asleep, I doubt that I would have let Wally's mom in the house quite that readily. After all, she wasn't willing to let me in hers. What right did she have to ask that she be let into mine? 

We were already beyond that point, though. She was sitting on the couch in the living room. I stumbled in after her and sat across from her as we each waited for the other to start talking. I finally raised my eyebrows. You first, lady.

"How have you been, Kenneth?" she asked nervously.

"Kenny," I said. "I prefer Kenny."

She swallowed.

"Kenny, then. How have you been?"

"I've been fine, Mrs. Kennedy. Thank you for asking. And you?"

"Fine, thank you, Kenneth, I mean Kenny. I've missed seeing you and Wally together."

"Well, it wasn't actually my choice," I said, growing angrier.

"Mine either, Kenny," she said, finally looking directly at me.

I just sat there.

"Kenny, when Allen — when Mr. Kennedy overheard Terry's roommate talking about your, um —"

"Performance?"

She reddened.

"Anyway, he wanted to forbid Wally from even seeing you," she continued. "I fought for you, Kenny, for your friendship."

"Thank you for that," I said coolly. Fought for me? What was he going to do, send Wally to military school? Put little shock collars on us to make sure we stayed fifty feet apart?

She sat there wringing her hands together.

"Can I get you some coffee, Mrs. Kennedy?"

She looked up gratefully.

"Thank you, Kenny." 

My mom had left some coffee in a carafe, so I prepared a little tray and brought it out for us to share. She apparently had taken the time to compose herself.

"Kenny," she finally blurted out after we'd each sipped at the coffee, "I don't know how to say this, so I'm just going to be blunt. And I would ask you, please, not to tell Wally. I've kept this from both kids. If you say no, please just forget I was here."

She took a deep breath, and plunged in.

"Allen has invested all of our money in some kind of computer business, and then borrowed more money on top of that to invest. He insists it will pay off, and I have to believe him. He's my husband. But it hasn't yet. And Allen's still making money at his regular job to pay for the house and all, but with the new monthly payments on what he's borrowed and our other debt, we... we..."

I fetched a box of tissues from the bathroom and waited until she was ready again. She sniffed and blew her nose and finally looked up at me with tears in her eyes.

"Terry's and Wally's tuition payments for the fall semester are due next week."

Yeah, no kidding. Mine had been, too, at least the part not covered by financial aid. I still didn't see how this had anything to do with me, so I just nodded.

"You're not going to make this easy for me, are you, Kenny?"

"Make what easy?" I finally said. "I still have no idea why you're here!"

"I need to borrow twenty thousand dollars," she said meekly.

I'm sure my jaw dropped. The idea of an adult needing to borrow money from a — well, from a kid, was beyond my comprehension.

"Wally said that you made a fair amount of money on your, um, show thing."

"The MILF Show," I said.

"The MILF Show," she acknowledged.

"And he told me that you had a scholarship to college," she continued.

"That's true," I agreed. "For the most part. So let me get this straight. You want me to lend you twenty thousand dollars, basically because you and your husband are so tapped out that you can't get anyone else to loan you the money, is that right?"

"Yes," she finally said, looking everywhere but at me. "I just can't tell Terry and Wally that they can't go to school next year. Wally worked so hard to get into Northwestern, and Terry is actually doing well at school for the first time in her life. I never got to go to college, Kenny, and it's the one dream I always had for my kids."

"Seriously?" I'd gotten caught up in her story. "I always thought you were pretty smart."

"I am," she gave me a wan smile. "Or I was. I was actually valedictorian of my high school. But then I got pregnant, and Allen's father insisted that we get married or he'd cut Allen off."

"Wait a minute," I grinned. This story was better than I thought. "You mean Terry is —"

She held up a hand to stop me.

"The product of premarital sex, yes," she started to flush again. "Allen was quite rebellious in his youth. But we were married by the time she was born. I never got to go to college after that, Kenny. By the time Terry and Wally were old enough, Allen wouldn't even discuss my going to college. He was becoming more and more religious, like his father."

"Tell me about it," I agreed. Wally and I had been friends since third grade, and I remembered Mr. Kennedy being an okay guy. For a while.

"To get back to the money," she broke my reverie. "I have some bonds, but I can't actually sign them over to you right now. In a year, though, they'll be worth twenty thousand dollars.

"And if something happens to you in that year?" I asked skeptically.

"Well..." she began, but it was apparent that I'd be out of luck.

"So you want me to loan you twenty thousand dollars with no security, no monthly payments, and no interest. Have I got that right?"

She began wringing her hands again, and after a minute looked up at me.

"Kenny, I don't have anywhere else to turn," she said. "What do you want me to do? Do you know any jobs that'll pay me twenty thousand dollars so I can pay you back more quickly?"

While Mrs. Kennedy had been looking down at her hands and feet, I'd done a good deal of looking at Mrs. Kennedy. And actually, I thought I did have a job that might net her twenty thousand dollars, with just a few weekends of work. I smiled at her.

"Jobs that Allen won't find out about?" she continued.

A little harder maybe, but yeah, that too.

"So tell me how you were going to work this?" I changed the subject. "I was just going to write you a check for twenty thousand dollars?"

"No," she sniffled. "Allen always goes over our checking account every month."

She reached in her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.

"I have the account numbers for the funds to be wired to," she said. "Oh, God, I'm so embarrassed."

She sat there sobbing for a while, while I took one final look at her.

"Will you excuse me for just a minute, Mrs. Kennedy?" I gave her a small smile. I left without waiting for her answer, and returned in a minute with a set of papers. On my way back, I grabbed the account numbers off the table where she'd put them.

"So do you have any tattoos?" I asked as I took my seat.

"I beg your pardon?" she looked up at me.

"Tattoos," I said. "Do you have any?"

"No," she said curtly. "What business is it of —"

"Ever had plastic surgery?" I continued.

"Kenny, what is the point of these questions?"

I refused to answer, and she eventually gave in.

"No, I've never had plastic surgery."

"Good," I answered. "Here."

I gave her the papers. She skimmed them and looked up at me in horror.

"You want me to enter your, your MILF Show?" she stood up.

"You lose some weight, you cut your hair," I said, "and I think you can win your division here in Illinois, for moms with kids 18 years and older. First prize is twenty thousand dollars."

"This is disgusting," she threw down the papers.

"So it's okay for you to take the money I made from the show," I said. "But it's not okay for you to make it yourself."

That stumped her for a few seconds, but she pressed on.

"Kenny, I have to think of the Seventh Commandment. Thou shalt not commit adultery."

"And it's unlikely that anyone shalt ask you to do so, Mrs. Kennedy," I smiled, already prepared with a Clintonian distinction. "You don't have to violate the Seventh Commandment unless you get to the national show. And the chance of your getting there by winning the Illinois contest — at the age of what, forty? — is pretty slim."

I sat back and grinned.

"I'm thirty-eight," she stuck her chin into the air.

"Although this year you do have to violate yourself with a nice big dildo," I said as I watched her eyes grow big, "and you will have to suck my dick."

I waved the little paper with the account numbers.

"But it's completely up to you," I reminded her. "You're the one who needs the twenty thousand dollars. I'm only the one with the twenty thousand dollars. And the one who knows something that pays twenty thousand dollars. And the one who's willing to front you the money even without your fucking bonds so that my friend Wally and his asshole sister who's never been nice to me in her life can go to college. I'll see you out, Mrs. Kennedy."

She put a hand on my chest as I stood up.

"Kenny, think of my position here in town," she said. "What would Reverend Becker say? His wife is my best friend."

"Jane Becker?" I grinned. "I don't know about the Reverend, but Jane would say, 'go get 'em, girlfriend.' At least that's what she said to Becca last year after the intercounty finals."

"Kenny," she looked like she'd been pole-axed. "You will never get me to believe that Jane Baker went to watch your intercounty finals."

"That's true, she didn't. She was there because she'd won the local contest in the 9 to 12 age group. She barely got beat at the intercounty. That Jane Becker is one nice-looking lady. I think she'd get to move up this year to an easier division, 12 to 15, but I understand she's dropping out."

"I don't believe that, either, Kenneth."

"Fine," I said, motioning toward the door. "Maybe you should ask her about it after church tomorrow. And it's still Kenny. Nice talking to you."

I closed the door behind her and returned to my day off.

The doorbell rang at about one-thirty the next afternoon and I let Mrs. Kennedy back in, wearing the same outfit.

"So you talked to Jane?" I asked her.

"Jane told me I was a prude," she said. "She told me that if you'd asked her to do it this year, she'd have jumped at the chance. She told me you could have your choice of women this year anywhere in the country, let alone in Illinois."

I had a big grin by now.

"She told me to 'go get 'em, girlfriend,'" Mrs. Kennedy said. "So why me, Kenny?"

"You remember that time you took me to the beach with you guys, and I had just gotten my first camera?"

"Yes?" she nodded.

"I got this one picture of you wearing that hideous one-piece suit when you were leaning forward. I even convinced myself that this one shadow was actually one of your nipples."

She blushed furiously.

"I've been jacking off to that picture ever since," I laughed. "And you need the money, right? Wally's still my best friend. Even if his father and sister are assholes. So you have the application?"

She took it out from the pocket of the same jacket she'd been wearing yesterday. I could see she'd filled it out.

"And the money?"

"I had it wired yesterday morning," I said nonchalantly.

"You cocky son of a bitch," she said angrily. "You think just because you've got a big penis that I... that I..."

"Actually, I didn't think about that, no," I said as she realized what she'd said and reddened again. "I think I wanted my friend to go to school. You and Jane must have had a nice chat. For now, though, I do need to see what we're starting with."

I nodded at her clothes.

Biting her lip, she slowly unzipped her jacket and let it drop to the ground. Underneath that, she had on one of Wally's T-shirts, which she just as slowly pulled over her head. Finally, she got down to her bra, which looked like an industrial model that she'd inherited from her mother.

"Now the pants," I said.

She pushed her pants down, undid her shorts, and pushed those down as well, to show me the granny panties that perfectly matched the bra. Finally, she reached behind her back for the catch to her bra.

"No need," I stopped her. "I just wanted to fix the 'before' picture in my mind.

"All right," I finally said after an appraisal that clearly made her uncomfortable. "First, I think you need to lose about fifteen pounds."

"More like twenty," she said nervously.

"No, we want to leave a little," I smiled. "Trust me. But you will need to let your hair grow a little longer, and then cut it a little softer. And add a little more muscle. And buy some new underwear."

"I can take care of that, thank you very much," she said.

"Yeah, right," I said. "I think we'll do it together. All of it. Starting with your training. Now, I know Wally leaves for space camp a week from Tuesday. That's a really cool job, by the way. How about Terry? Do we have to work around her?"

She shook her head.

"She's a counselor at Christian camp all summer," she said as I rolled my eyes. "She's already gone. She'll be back in the middle of August for a few weeks before she goes back to school."

"Good," I said. "Then we'll start on Wednesday. I think this'll be fun..."

I looked at the application, and looked back at her with a grin.

"... Robin."



Show Moms Ch. 04-05



DISCLOSURE: If you're looking for a sex-filled romp featuring a younger guy and an older woman, this probably isn't the story for you. Allow me to recommend "The Accidental Gigolo," my attempt to write exactly that kind of story. Just click on my name above, and you'll find it on my member page under Stories/Poems. Despite the sex that introduces the following chapters and the "Mature" category this story falls in, this story is actually much more of a romance. 

Chapter 4

Trying not to cum was a difficult thing to do with my cock in Robin's mouth. For a thirty-eight-year-old mother of two teenagers who'd spent the last twenty years in Christian Land, that woman knew how to give head. And as much as I'd like to take credit for it — and I like to think I played at least some role in Robin's having gotten this far — I had nothing to do with that part of it. Absolutely nothing.

* * * * * *

Wally and I graduated on the Saturday after my talk with Robin. Wally was the valedictorian, just like his mom, and he took off on the following Tuesday as scheduled. His mother's training began the next day. With Mr. Kennedy at work from seven in the morning until five at night, Robin had the whole day free.

Robin didn't want anyone in her neighborhood to know what was going on, though, so at eight o'clock each morning, Monday through Friday, I'd run to a park about four miles from my house. Robin would drive over at eight-thirty, complete with her sweats, baseball cap, and sunglasses. I'd lead us in stretching, and we'd do some running. Afterwards, she'd drive us to her house — straight into the garage, of course — and get us some OJ and a bagel or English muffin. Meanwhile, I would I set up the free weights in the basement of her house. Apparently, Mr. Kennedy thought that the sole purpose of the basement was for the laundry, and had never set a foot there in his life. So we hauled in a carpet and an old couch and a bench and actually made it a pretty nice place. She'd bring down the breakfast, and then we'd hit the weights. Finally, when we were done working out, she'd drive me home, usually around eleven.

She made excellent progress. By the first of July, she'd gotten rid of the sweats and felt comfortable in running shorts and a T-shirt. After another month, she was wearing lycra shorts and a jog bra top. Her body looked great, and her hair was growing out nicely. In another week, we'd get it cut, so it could grow out a little bit before the first show on Labor Day weekend.

Plus, she'd turned out to be as pleasant as I'd remembered from when I was younger. We would chat over breakfast, and by the first of August we had actually become pretty good friends. She'd tell me what she'd heard from Wally and Terry (after a while I gave up reminding her that Terry couldn't stand me, and probably wouldn't want me to know what she was up to), and I'd tell her about my summer job, as an afternoon and weekend caddy at the club. She was even more pleased than I was when I told her about this one guy who had shot a hole-in-one, in part because he'd used the club I'd recommended rather than the one that he pulled out, which would have bounced the ball across the green into the pond.

"So there is some skill involved with this caddying?" she prompted me.

"Sometimes," I agreed.

"Just like handling a MILF," she teased me.

"Some guys require more caddying, some MILFs require more handling."

"Don't you think it's time for me to get some handling?" she said.

I looked up at her in shock.

"I mean," she blushed, "I'm supposed to play with myself, right? And give you a blowjob, right?"

"Well, yeah," I said. "But not until, like, the middle of October."

"And of course that's only if I win both the local and the intercounty," she said unsmilingly.

"Look at yourself," I said.

She looked at me, a question in her eyes.

"No, I mean look at yourself in the mirror," I said, nodding at the mirror we'd set up in one corner of the basement.

She walked over to stand in front of it, and looked back at me with shock.

"Wow," she said. "You've done a great job."

"Thanks," I grinned. "I had a lot to work with."

She grinned back.

"I wouldn't have thought this much," she said before turning back. She continued looking at herself, and then reached down and yanked the jog bra up and over her chest. Putting her hands on top of her head, she wiggled her torso, making her tits swing from side to side.

"God, I feel like a kid again," she turned her face toward me with a delighted look.

"You don't look like one," I choked out. I wish I'd had that picture when I was jerking off for all those years.

"So if getting to the state finals is a sure thing," she said, turning so I had an even better look at her, "I still need to learn to play with myself, right?"

"Learn?" I stammered.

"Well, re-learn, anyway," she said, pulling the top back down. "I haven't done it for twenty years, since I've been married."

"Seriously? Your husband must make you pretty happy then, huh?"

"Allen? Please. When he remembers to make love, he doesn't last any longer than he did when we were teenagers. No, it's me. It's like I can't . . . it's like I've lost the ability to climax. So I just kind of, um, stopped."

"Seriously?" I repeated. "Well, I know where I can get the dildo you need, and we need to go shopping anyway for the lingerie you've never owned. But climaxing . . . huh. Let me ask around."

"No names," she reminded me.

"Oh, give me some credit. I might not have been the valedictorian, but I'm not an idiot."

"That's quite true," she gave me a kiss on the cheek. "You've done a wonderful job with this whole thing. I'm like your Galatea, aren't I?"

"Exactly," I agreed. I could look it up when I got home.

"And since you've gotten me this far, I think I'll trust you to do the shopping on your own. Now let's get back to the weights."

The solution to her problem, according to Becca, was quite simple.

"Show her the tape," she smiled later that morning. She'd been smiling ever since I told her, soon after I arrived, that I'd decided to enter the contest again this year.

"The tape? Of what?"

"Of us. You and me. The highlight tape. I had one girlfriend tell me she couldn't stop getting herself off every time she watched it. You and I were really, really hot together."

"The tape," I said slowly. "You think I should show this woman a tape of me having sex with another woman."

"It'll show her what she's lost, and help her get it back. All women can climax. Some just get these incompetent partners early in life, and they lose the feel for how to do it. I suspect that's what happened to your friend, huh?"

"Yeah," I nodded absent-mindedly. "Probably so."

"So?" she leaned forward. "Is she good enough?"

"To?" I prompted.

"Take down Connie Templeton," she slapped me on the arm.

"No," I said honestly. "Her goal is just to make it to the state final. Where she'll probably lose to Connie."

Becca frowned.

"If I have to give my MILF Illinois trophy to Connie Templeton," she said pointedly, "along with a check that I'm responsible for making bigger, I'm gonna be really, really pissed."

"Sorry," I held up my hands. "Maybe once she learns how to climax, huh?"

Becca laughed. The moment passed.

"Yeah, maybe."

Sweetheart that she is, Becca also volunteered to go shopping with me. I begged a day off from work, and Becca had no qualms about accompanying me into our little city's only sex shop. She even signed a few autographs for the, er, clientele. Then we got back into my car for a trip to the mall.

"Five six, thirty-six C, twenty-six, thirty-eight," Becca read off the list of sizes that Robin had given me. "Sounds nice."

"Yeah, she could probably get her waist down to twenty-five, but she looks better with a little more weight," I said.

"Which division?" she asked.

"Eighteen and up," I smiled.

"Oh, fuck you," she said heatedly. "You're not even trying. Nobody in that division has ever come close to winning."

"No, fuck you," I said with equal passion. "I'm helping out a thirty-eight year old mother of two college age kids who can't afford their tuition and who doesn't remember how to climax, and all you can think of is Connie fucking Templeton."

I concentrated on my driving, and the inside of the car was silent for an awfully long time. Finally, I felt a set of fingers tracing along my arm. I looked over.

"I'm sorry," Becca said. "You know, it's no wonder that I fell a little bit in love with you."

I furrowed my eyebrows in alarm and almost drove off the road.

"Just a little," she laughed. "Don't worry, Bob knows all about it. He knew back last fall. He's not going to beat you up or anything."

"Uh-huh," I said as we pulled into the mall.

It didn't take Becca long to approve some lingerie, and then she announced she needed to do a little shopping of her own. When we met again, twenty minutes later, she handed me a book and a wrapped package.

"'How to Please Yourself,'" I read off the title of the book. "Obviously for her. I'm already quite pleased. And this one's for me?"

"No," she laughed. "Something a little more personal for her."

"More personal than 'How to Please Yourself?'"

"It's a present for the lucky MILF you're handling," she said. "Tell her it's from your ex."

"Well, thank you," I laughed. "I hope."

She leaned forward and kissed me lightly on the lips. The trip home was a lot better than the trip there.

The next morning after our run, I walked to the bike I had ridden to the park that day, and fetched the bag I'd tied to the handlebars. We sat together in her car as I presented Robin with everything Becca and I had bought. She raised her eyebrows when she saw the lingerie, and looked a little alarmed by the dildo and the book. When I gave her the wrapped package, she just looked at me.

"You got me a present?"

"Actually no," I said. "Open it up."

She tore open the wrapping paper and stared at the contents, a gorgeous red gown. There was a note on top from Becca: 'From one MILF to another. You'll do great! Good luck at States! Becca Roberts, MILF America.'

"Kenny, it's gorgeous," she whispered, pulling it half-out. "I can't accept this."

"Becca can afford it," I told her. "Besides, you remember what I said about winning the early contests?"

She nodded.

"Well, this will cinch it. Everyone has to wear a gown at those contests. So there are a whole bunch of women stripping them off at the same time. The only problem is making sure that you get the judges' attention while the striptease is going on. I guarantee you that the judges will be looking at you in this."

"Thank you, Kenny," she said. "Just . . . thank you. Time to hit go home and hit the weights?"

"Not today. You were right yesterday. It's time to move on. Terry's home in two weeks, right?"

"August 15th," she agreed. "I think it's a Tuesday."

"And after that, I assume we're not going to have a lot of time together," I said.

"That's true."

"I've seen you move, and I don't think we're going to have to put a lot of time in on your strip act. You have excellent rhythm, and you're very sinuous."

"Thank you, Kenny," she said, pleased with the compliment.

She was smart. I'd had to look that one up, too.

"But you do need to learn how to climax. Those judges can spot a fake a mile away. Probably from downloading too much Internet porn. So that's what you'll be doing today."

"I'll be doing? What about you?"

"Today's just for you. I want you to look at that book, practice with the dildo, and look at this CD."

I pulled out the CD I'd burned the night before.

"You'll need to put it in your computer. It's the tape of me at the MILF Show last year, with Becca Roberts. I told Becca about your problem — no, no, I didn't tell her your name — and she suggested that you watch this. It sounds wacky to me, but what the hell, she's a woman, you're a woman, what do I know?

"I biked over today," I continued, "so I'll just see you tomorrow."

I kissed her on the cheek — I was starting to kind of like this cheek-kissing thing — and got out of the car. I took the scenic route home, enjoying the fact that I hadn't been on a bike for a while. An hour later, I stowed the bike in the garage and walked into the house to hear the phone ringing.

"Kenny," my mom shouted from upstairs. "Is that you? Can you get the phone?"

I picked it up and never even got the chance to say 'hello.'

"I want your big, fat cock over here," the voice hissed, "and I want it now."

I was a little taken aback. Suppose Mom had answered?

"Fine," I said. "This time I'm coming through the front door."

That'll show her.

The front door was wide open when I arrived. Maybe it wouldn't show her. I leaned my bike against the porch and went in. I closed the door behind me.

"Robin?" I called. "Oh, my God."

At the top of the stairs was a vision in red. She walked down seductively, knowing full well that I was watching the way her breasts made the silk shimmer, and the way that her hips pulled the fabric tighter first one way and then the other.

"What about the Seventh Commandment?" I spluttered.

"I don't want to fuck you, Kenny," she said in a husky voice I'd never heard before. "I just want to see it.

"Couch," she pointed. I walked over to it feeling a little bit like Dr. Frankenstein.

"Turn," she said just before I reached it. She was directly behind me, and her voice scared the shit out of me. How could someone be that quiet in high heels on a hardwood floor? As I turned around, she dropped to her knees, and with one skillful tug, she had my sweats and shorts down to my knees.

"Just like on the tape," she muttered, pushing me onto the couch with one hand while she reached for my dick with the other.

She leaned forward, and with her lips mere millimeters from my rock-hard cock, she looked up at me.

"Tell Becca that it worked," she said. Then she dove forward.

I think this was the point at which she really bought into the whole MILF Show thing. Because this was the point at which it became her MILF Show. I was apparently done with my role as coach. I was once again just a handler. I just leaned back and enjoyed it. Robin told me later that she'd given blowjobs back in high school, but that Allen had seemed to enjoy them less and less as time went by. Finally, their sex had settled into little more than missionary work.

Her skills hadn't deteriorated a bit. I thought that Becca was a pro at this, but Robin had her beat hands down. And Robin wasn't even using her hands! When I opened my eyes to look down, I noticed that Robin's hands were both down in front of her, cut off from my vision by the blond head engulfing my cock. In what seemed like seconds I was on the verge of exploding.

"Robin," I mumbled, "I'm gonna cum. Robin. Robin, I'm cumming."

I finally heard the muted "mm-hmm" from deep in her throat, and I stopped trying to hold it back.

She tried to swallow all of it, but it was just too much. Well, that coupled with the fact that her hands had supplied her with her own orgasm just seconds after I started spraying. Moaning, she collapsed forward onto my lap, letting the rest of my cum spill out of her mouth onto my groin. Finally, she pushed herself erect, with a quick look to make sure she hadn't spilled anything on the gown.

I figured it was time for a snappy remark.

"Well, there's one problem we don't have to — " I started.

She slapped me. Hard. Right across the face. I was stunned.

"Ouch," I whined.

"Don't mock me, Kenny," she said. Apparently it hadn't been that time.

Robin's face settled back to its old self as she wiped a strand of cum off of her cheek with a finger and pulled a towel out from underneath the couch. Advance planning was important.

"How long has it been for you?" she asked with some surprise as she began cleaning me up. "Or do you always cum this much?"

I thought back. It actually had been a while. Between my morning training sessions, my late afternoon caddying (I could usually fit in a second round, although it meant going until just about dark), my weekend caddying, shit — I hadn't fucked anyone in three weeks. What kind of high school graduate was I?

"Three weeks," she pondered after I told her. "Hmmm."

"What?" I asked finally.

"I think it would be a much more effective presentation if you can give me this kind of effort at the state contest, don't you?"

"Oh, sure," I laughed. "I'll just stay celibate during my first semester of college."

That was a great idea. Didn't everybody do that?

"I think that's a great idea," Robin agreed.

"Are you kidding?" 

"No."

Obviously she wasn't.

"Look," I said, "you can't expect me not to have any sex for the first, like, seven weeks of college. It's just . . . it's unreasonable!"

"Kenny," she answered me. "We've been working on this for two months now. I know it started off as a lark for you, but it's become important to me. Even beyond the twenty thousand dollars. When I was sitting in front of my computer, watching you and Rebecca Roberts, I decided that I was going to start taking this just as seriously as she did."

"Right up until the Seventh Commandment," I said.

She smiled at me.

"As you've pointed out, Kenny, no woman my age has ever won a state tournament. I don't have any unrealistic expectations. And don't worry, I'll give you a blowjob after the local contest and the intercounty contest. We have three weeks between that and states, don't we? That way we'll make sure you don't ruin it with some adolescent wet dream."

I was speechless. And when I left, a few minutes later, I was apparently committed to being some sort of collegiate monk.

We continued running for the next two weeks, but for the rest of our mornings, after our breakfast, we worked on Robin's performances. By the end, she could strip off the red gown with practiced ease, and tease me with the black bra and garter-and-stocking set she was going to wear underneath. She'd turned the dildo into an extension of her fingers, and I found myself wishing that Moses had come down with only nine commandments. I was jealous of a nine-inch piece of plastic, for crying out loud.

And she sucked my cock. Man, could she suck my cock!

The final day we'd have to ourselves was a Monday, the fourteenth of August, and we decided to make it a dress rehearsal for the whole fall campaign. We'd do everything: the striptease, the masturbation, and the blowjob.

We'd finished our morning run and Robin had driven us back to the house. She was going to make me a real breakfast to celebrate — steak and eggs — and I'd just gotten comfortable on the couch downstairs when I heard the door open.

"Mom? I'm home!"

Chapter 5

Robin finished blowing me with a flourish, taking a long, loving lick up the entire length of my cock.

"What do you want now?" I asked her harshly.

The dialogue was our own addition. Last year, Becca and I had had to wait until she was one of the five women selected from her division to do the compulsory routine. With only ten women in Robin's division, though, all of the contestants had to do the compulsory, and had to do it immediately after the blowjob. There was nothing in the rules against a little dialogue for the sake of transition, and I knew from last year that the whole arena was miked to let the audience hear the sounds of sex. The script, of course, was all Robin's.

"Fuck me?" she said submissively.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Fuck me," she whined.

I reached down and grabbed her underneath her arms. By this point, she'd dropped enough weight to allow me to lift her fairly easily, particularly since I'd done some of my own weight training with her over the summer, and kept it up in the Handley gym that fall. Our compulsory routine this year was cowgirl, requiring her to ride me for five minutes. It had turned out to be a fairly poor choice so far, with the earlier contestants just riding up and down their handlers' poles. Robin, of course, had come up with a variation.




Show Moms Ch. 04-05



I lifted her up, and dropped her directly down on my cock. She'd reached her hand down to guide me home, but had turned out not to need it, and returned both hands to my shoulders. I felt the tip of my cock enter her, and sat back on her showing pedestal. 

"I asked you what you wanted, bitch?" I growled, holding her in place.

"Fuck me, you bastard," she screamed, hitting me on the shoulders with both fists, and then groaning loudly as I slammed her down into my lap.

I shifted my grip to her hips and let her fall back. Having my cock bent that far backward was far from comfortable. But it was well worth it. When we finished our routine, with me keeping her moving and in place, the audience exploded into prolonged applause. After all we'd been through, it surprised me that it went that well. It shouldn't have. By that point, I knew that Kennedy women were full of surprises.

* * * * * *

"Mom? Are you here?"

Shit! Terry wasn't supposed to be home until tomorrow. I froze. Maybe Robin should handle this. You know, the mother-daughter bond. I should probably stay right here.

Since there wasn't any insulation between the Kennedys' first floor and the basement, I figured I'd be able to hear pretty much the whole thing, and figure out when to make my escape. I really doubted that Robin wanted to introduce us, particularly while she was wearing her body-hugging workout outfit. Of course, even that would have been better than if Terry had showed up just a little later. Seeing her mother doing a bump and grind for her brother's best friend might have been a little freaky. Seeing some of the other things might have been even worse.

The first thing I heard was Robin walking out of the kitchen to the front hall.

"Mom?" Terry was stunned.

"Hi, honey," Robin said. "I'm sorry it took me so long. I didn't expect you until — "

"Mom, you look amazing! What have you been doing?"

"A little running. A little weight lifting. A haircut. You know, just some little things. So, er, I thought you weren't coming home until tomorrow."

"A couple kids got chicken pox. They were afraid of it spreading all over the camp, so they sent us home a day early. But seriously, how did you do this, you get a book or something? One of those exercise shows?"

"Um, no. I actually enlisted one of Wally's friends. Do you remember Kenny Winston?"

Robin was probably afraid that I was going to burst out of the basement, demanding breakfast, and wanted to prepare her daughter for the possibility.

"Kenny?" Terry answered. "Well, yeah, but I thought Dad wouldn't let him in the house after that, you know, thing of his."

"Actually, your father just said that Wally couldn't invite him over."

It was a fine distinction. I was very proud of her.

"Although I haven't told your father about my workout routine," Robin said. "I've just been kind of surprising him with the results."

Robin had told me that he hadn't noticed at all, which made her furious.

"I'll say," Robin agreed. "I was shocked. You're, like, gorgeous. Nobody's gonna believe you're my mom now."

"Thank you, honey. That's very nice of you to say. Anyway, I'd appreciate it if you'd help keep my little secret for the moment."

"Sure, Mom," Terry agreed. "So Kenny helped you do all that, huh? Wow!"

"Do you need any help with your stuff?" Robin changed the subject.

"Naw, I got it," she said.

I heard the front door open again and the basement door right behind it.

"Kenny!" Robin hissed. "Kenny! Get up here!"

I hustled upstairs, and Robin practically threw me out the back door.

"Tomorrow?" I whispered as I stumbled down the steps.

"Wednesday," Robin whispered back before she closed the door on me.

Robin's SUV arrived at the park on Wednesday and disgorged not one but two blondes. Robin had decided to go back to her T-shirt and shorts, probably so she wouldn't scandalize poor, innocent Terry. Poor, innocent Terry was wearing the same outfit as her mother, the white shorts highlighting her tanned legs.

"Hi, Kenny," she came bouncing up ahead of her mom, her long hair pulled back in a ponytail. "Mom was telling me about your workouts for her, and I hope you don't mind my horning in on them like this."

"Um, sure," I said as her mom reached us. "Fine. Let's just start with a little bit of stretching. Then we have a three-mile course here that goes around the park twice, and if you need to, you can drop out after the first loop."

"Sorry again about Monday," Robin said after Terry did drop out.

"You mean sorry about my missing the steak and eggs or sorry about my missing the show?" I grinned.

"Which are you more sorry about?" she countered.

"Well, I went down to the IHOP and had steak and eggs," I said, "so I'd have to say the floor show."

"Can't get that at the IHOP?" Robin laughed.

"Not unless you tip an awful lot," I agreed. "Fortunately, you don't really need another practice session. You're as ready as you'll ever be."

"I know," Robin smiled. "I wasn't going to be doing it for me."

I had a big grin on my face as I told her she probably didn't need to run every day any more either. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays would be fine to keep her in shape.

"Terry's changed," she said after we had run in silence for a little longer.

"Yeah, she apparently learned my name." 

"That, too," Robin laughed. "No, I don't know what it is yet. She just seems a little less — "

"Snobby?" I offered.

"Kenny," she whacked my arm. "I wonder if something happened at camp."

"Alien abduction?" I suggested, ducking out of the way of the next whack.

I was still sticking with alien abduction when Terry sat down with us at the kitchen table for the usual OJ and bagels, and actually started a conversation.

"So, how has your summer been, Kenny?" Terry asked.

"Fine, thanks," I said. "Caddying, mostly. Playing a little. And how was —" I swallowed the word 'God' — "camp?"

"Very nice, thank you. So when do you head off to college?"

"Day before Labor Day," I said. "You?"

"Daddy's taking me the day before that, on Saturday," she said.

I exchanged a quick glance with Robin. She hadn't told me that, but it would certainly make our lives easier. Earlier in the summer, she'd been worried about what excuse she was going to come up with to let her get out of the house for the local MILF Show that Saturday morning.

"So, um, are you rooming with, um, Amanda again this year?" I asked.

"No, she's transferring this year to be close to her new boyfriend," Terry said. "Walter, I think his name is. He's going to school somewhere in Chicago."

"Well, isn't that a coincidence?" Robin interjected gaily.

"What's that?" Terry asked.

"Well, your roommate is leaving to go to Chicago to be with her boyfriend Walter. And my son, whose name is Walter, is also leaving to go to Chicago."

"Yeah, that's really weird, Mom," Terry looked at me and rolled her eyes with an indulgent smile.

"I just think it's odd," Robin said defensively. "Don't you think it's odd, Kenny?"

"Odd?" I asked. "Are you two serious?"

"What do you mean?" Robin asked.

"What I mean is, here's another coincidence," I said. "What did you do on New Year's Eve, Mrs. K?"

"Mr. K — Mr. Kennedy and I went to a dance at the country club," she said. "Why?"

"And where was Walter when you left?"

"Right here. What are you suggesting, Kenny?"

"So where'd you go, Terry?" I turned to her.

"To a dance," she said. "At the church."

"And where was Amanda when you left?"

"Here," she said.

"And what do you think they did here, alone, together?"

Both of them were gaping at me.

"You think they played Parcheesi?" I continued. "I met Amanda, remember. I saw the look in her eyes. She didn't look like a Parcheesi girl."

"But — but," Terry sputtered. "He's a virgin."

"Not so much anymore, no," I said, taking another bite of bagel.

Terry threw down her napkin and ran upstairs. Robin gave me a look of consternation, and quickly followed.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I said to her departing back. "See you Friday."

This time it was just Robin who showed up on Friday.

"Terry okay?" I asked.

"She'll be fine," Robin said. "She apparently thought her brother was saving his virginity until he got married like she is. She agreed that he'd never really said that, and I assured her that I'm sure that her brother admired her stance.

"And then she asked when I lost my virginity, and I hemmed and hawed, and then she did the math, and realized that her father and I had to get married."

She put those little air quotes around 'had' as we ran.

"Wow," I said. "Tough day for Terry. Sorry about that."

"Oh, she would have learned it eventually," Robin sighed. "It was kind of a shock for me too, though, about Wally. I never got around to the birds and bees talk with either one of them. But anyway, Terry just spent yesterday sitting in her room, staring into space, or taking walks."

"Maybe I'll pass on breakfast then," I said. "So what's the plan for next Saturday? When are Mr. K and Terry leaving for school? We should probably get there by eight-thirty or so to register, although it's probably going to be eleven 'til your division goes on."

"They're leaving at six," she grinned at me. "And he won't be back until late that night. So I'll be able to give you your post-contest blowjob in the comfort of my own home."

"Sounds like a great plan," I smiled back.

"Remember your promise," she teased me. "You're not seeing any girls behind my back, are you?"

"No, ma'am," I said.

And I wasn't. Not until, oh, three o'clock that afternoon. I was standing at the fence between the Roberts' driveway and ours, my mom on my right and Becca on the other side of the fence. We were talking about college when I saw Becca's eyes grow wide.

"Oooh," she said. "Hottie at six o'clock."

"I'm not falling for that," I said. "I look over there and you two start pouting. No, no, I'm perfectly happy with the hotties at twelve o'clock and three o'clock."

I looked over at my mom and got a grin, but I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. There was somebody back there, waving at us. I turned. It was Terry. She was dressed in her running outfit, and was a little out of breath.

"Hi, Kenny," she waved again as she got closer.

"Hi, Terry, out for a run?"

"I still can't believe what you did for Mom," she said. "So I figure I'll keep at it. Hi!"

She'd directed that last to my mom and Becca and I realized I'd been seriously ungentlemanly.

"Excuse me," I said. "Terry, this is my mom, and this is Rebecca Roberts. Mom, Rebecca, this is Terry Kennedy."

They all said how nice it was to meet each other, and then Terry turned back to me.

"So, um, Kenny," she said, turning suddenly shy, "I was wondering if you'd like to go to the carnival tonight? With me?"

The fire department was hosting its annual cheesy carnival, an event I normally avoided like the plague. But I could feel the pressure from the two women standing next to me, looking on, I was sure, with proprietary, self-satisfied, smug little smiles.

"Um, sure, um, that'd be great," I stammered. "I'll, uh, pick you up at six?"

"Maybe I should just meet you there, huh?" she smiled with a raise of her eyebrows.

"Oh, yeah," I remembered about Mr. K. "Maybe so."

Terry gave me an even bigger smile and then turned to Mom.

"Mrs. Winston, could I use your powder room?"

"Certainly," Mom said. "It's right along the front hall there. Shall I show you?"

"No, I'm sure I can find it," Terry said. "Thank you."

We all watched her walk inside.

"Wow!" Becca teased when she was out of earshot. "Aren't you Mr. Popular."

"What a lovely girl," Mom said. "Where do you know her from? Was she in your class?"

"No," I said, a little distracted. "She's Wally's sister."

"Wally Kennedy's sister?" Mom stared at me. "But you always said she's a bitch."

"She is a bitch," I said half-heartedly as her cute little butt disappeared inside our front door.

"She was a bitch," I went on, mumbling. "Now she's just a witch."

"I guess that makes you b'witched, huh?" Becca crowed.

"Uh-huh," I agreed, not even giving her the groan she expected.

I was still b'witched as Terry came back out, said her goodbyes and took up a slow jog back toward her house.

"Oh, my," Mom said, looking at her watch. "I've gotta get going. I've got a meeting at school in fifteen minutes. See you guys."

"So what exactly have you been doing to her mom this summer?" Becca asked.

"Oh, shit. Robin. Becca, I gotta go."

I sprinted toward the house, but nobody was answering at the Kennedys'. The phone rang half an hour later.

"Kenneth," she hissed. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Look," I said. "Your daughter asked me out in front of my mother and Becca Roberts. What the hell was I supposed to do, say no, I have to save myself for when your mom blows me at the MILF Show?"

I heard a giant exhalation of air, followed by a long pause.

"Look, Kenny," she finally said. "You understand that nothing means more to me than my kids. And you understand that Terry's very vulnerable right now. And you're very experienced. And you're supposed to be . . ."

She started to chuckle.

". . . saving yourself for when her mother blows you at the MILF Show."

"Don't worry," I said. "In another week, she'll be back at school. I'll be away at school. Nothing's going to happen. I know what she's going through."

I knew that because I'd been the rebound guy before. You couldn't just put the moves on a girl in a situation like that. It wasn't right. It wasn't ethical. I was rather proud of my self-control with my first girlfriend, Marcy Rooney; we had just been friends for, hell, almost two weeks. 

Of course, I hadn't figured on having a magical evening with Terry. We wandered through the carnival, looking in all the booths, laughing at all of the same things. I won her a goldfish in a little baggie in the ring toss, and she promptly gave it to an 11-year-old boy who hadn't been quite as successful for his 10-year-old girlfriend. I won her a little fuzzy bear by knocking down some bottles with a baseball, and that she clung to like Linus's blanket. Finally, we ended up on the Ferris Wheel. At one point we were stopped about halfway up the "up" side, and I turned to her and asked, "So why?"

"Why what?" she blushed.

"Why this?" I said. "Why me?"

She blushed again.

"I saw your tape this summer, at camp," she said.

"At God camp?" I couldn't hold it back this time.

"At God camp," she smiled, "where it turned out none of the other counselors were virgins, actually. Anyway, I mentioned that I knew you, and they all started asking about you. And I had to tell them that you were a little dorky, but that you were nice, and smart, and yeah, kinda cute. And I realized that maybe I should have treated you a little better. You know, before."

She took a deep breath.

"And then when you said that thing about Wally, I thought, after a while, anyway, that well, maybe I should, you know, at least try dating regular guys a little. So I I.M.ed Wally, and of course it was him with Amanda. I can't believe I was that clueless. Anyway, he said you weren't seeing anybody, so I took a chance and came over."

"Yeah, big chance asking me out in front of Mom and Becca. If I'd said no they'd have had me committed."

"That was Becca?" she put her hand on my arm.

"Yeah," I laughed. "She thought you were a hottie."

"Oh, God, if I'd known that was her I never would have been able to talk."

The Ferris Wheel jerked into motion, and this time we ended up at the very top. It was a hazy, muggy August night, with a half-moon hanging low in the sky. The haze blocked out most of the stars. There certainly weren't any shooting stars.

Terry turned to me.

"Kiss me," she said quietly.

I put an arm around her and kissed her.

I felt her warm lips pressed against mine, and suddenly the air around us didn't seem warm at all.

I felt her tongue at my lips, pushing its way gently inside, not wrestling, but exploring, touching, tasting.

I felt my soul slip into the softness of her kiss.

I felt someone poking my calf with a stick.

"Let's go, buddy. Gotta keep the wheel movin.'"

What I hadn't felt was the Ferris Wheel starting again, nor stopping when our seat reached the bottom. I got off, tripped on the step leading down from the wooden platform where they loaded the Ferris Wheel, and fell flat on my face. 



Show Moms Ch. 06-07



DISCLOSURE: If you're looking for a sex-filled romp featuring a younger guy and an older woman, this probably isn't the story for you. Allow me to recommend "The Accidental Gigolo," my attempt to write exactly that kind of story. Just click on my name above, and you'll find it on my member page under Stories/Poems. Despite the sex that introduces the following chapters and the "Mature" category this story falls in, this story is actually much more of a romance. 

*

Chapter 6

The announcement that Robin had won her age division wasn't completely unexpected, but she jumped into my arms like we'd just won the lottery. And that was a pretty good analogy. By winning the National MILF Show division for women with kids 18 years old and above, and becoming one of the five national finalists, Robin had guaranteed herself another hundred thousand dollars.

Becca had quite clearly expected to win everything up to the national divisions. Usually I got a high five; once I'd gotten a peck on the cheek. The only time she got excited was when she won the whole thing.

Robin, though, was really excited every time she won. Except for the first time, maybe. After that one, she just turned to me and asked, "Ready to go?"

* * * * * * 

That was just about the only thing she had said to me all day up until that point. I had arrived at her house at 8:30, where I dutifully pulled into the garage. She came out in the same sweats, jacket, and ball cap that she'd worn three months ago, and slammed the car door behind her.

"Morning, sunshine," I said.

"Kenny?" she said.

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

I made several other attempts at conversation, but I was pretty clearly getting the silent treatment, the worst punishment, in my view, ever invented by women.

I pulled into the parking lot of the high school and said hello to the principal (I still couldn't believe we were doing this in the high school gym, but apparently the baseball field needed reseeding). Robin hustled in ahead of me, pulling the cap low over her eyes. Fortunately, when it became clear to her that they didn't allow the general public in for this round, and that there was no one there who knew her, she finally started to relax. Not enough to talk to me, but enough her stop looking around the gym every twenty seconds.

While the next-to-last group performed, she changed into her gown. She was stunning. And that, rather than her performance, is pretty much what got her into the next round. By the time it was our turn, the place was almost completely empty; there wasn't anyone left to applaud or even offer encouragement. In addition, the college guys who were judging had gotten their fill of twenty-somethings during the earlier divisions, and weren't all that excited about seeing the ten or eleven older women in the final group. Robin wasn't that enthusiastic either, but after her only real competitor fell over while trying to pull her evening gown over her head, they pretty much had no choice but to give her the title.

"You perform like that next time," I said when we were driving home, "and you're going to be out."

"Maybe next time I'll try to forget that you're also fucking my daughter," Robin snapped back at me.

I couldn't help but laugh.

"Did she tell you that?" 

"She didn't have to. I know the look."

"Not as well as you think you do. Although she did offer to do my head last night."

"To what?" Robin asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"You know, I really like your daughter," I smiled, keeping my eyes on the road. "Last night was our last night together, and she was so cute. She said to me, very shyly, 'I want to do your head, Kenny.' I had no idea what she meant either, so I asked, 'Do what to my head?' She said, 'You know, suck it.' And I still had no clue."

Robin had started laughing now, too.

"So I asked her straight out, 'You want to suck my head?' And she said, no, she wanted to, you know."

Robin was holding her sides, unable to get enough air to laugh.

"You really ought to go ahead with that birds and bees stuff," I said. "So at least when she wants to offer to give somebody head she knows how to do it."

"So what did you tell her?" Robin finally asked, wiping the tears away.

"I told her it was the wrong time of month," I said.

She whacked me on the arm.

"You did not," she said, laughing even harder. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her that I didn't want to do it in my car, parked on a road by a lake, when it was going to be her first time."

"She loves you, you know that, don't you?" Robin said. "That's what that look was, wasn't it?"

"I think I love her, too," I admitted. "Of course, her feelings may change after she finds out about me and her mother."

Robin looked over at me with a smile.

"I think we can keep it a secret. Now, how about we head back to my house and let me do your head?"

So Friday had been a heavenly day, Saturday turned into a heavenly day, and Sunday was hell. That's when I met my roommate, the Devil. Or the Chipster, as he wanted me to call him. As in, "Hi, I'm the Chipster, you must be Kenny, huh?"

"Yeah, um, hi," I said, looking around for a square foot of space to put the things I'd brought. "This is my mom."

"Hi, how are you?" the Chipster said, looking her up and down.

"I'm fine, thank you," Mom was doing her best not to laugh, bless her soul. Go ahead, mom, laugh! "So you must have been here a while already."

"Yeah, football practice," The Chipster said. "I'm the team's new QB."

"Cubie?" Mom asked.

"Quarterback," he nodded. "Team leader, you know."

Oh, give me a fucking break. We're going to be living together for a year, and this asshole's trying to pick up my mother.

"So one of these desks is mine, right?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah, dude, sorry," he said. "I been studyin' my playbook at your desk."

He swept his shit off and I started moving in.

From there, it just got worse. I seemed to have landed in some football players' hallway. Only about a quarter of us weren't jocks, and of those, I got along with maybe two or three. The jocks? There was a guy named Alec who was decent enough. The rest were simply greater or lesser assholes.

Alec was actually going to be a starting safety this year as a freshman. He kind of had to be friends with the Chipster, but he saw through him pretty quickly. It was Alec who told me that the Chipster was going to be redshirted this year. The Chipster explained that nobody wanted to embarrass the team's current quarterback, who'd be graduating this year. Alec's explanation seemed much more likely: The coaches thought it would take the Chipster at least another four years to mature enough to play quarterback in college, and that he would finally be the starting quarterback after the rest of us had graduated.

His having been left off the playing team didn't stop the Chipster from asserting his entitlement to everything in a skirt, though. Once classes started, and football practice got cut back, Chip (Alec also explained that everyone just called him Chip) pulled out two rubber bands, a blue one and a red one, and put them on the inside of the door handle. If the blue band was on the outside of the door, he told me, I should plan on finding somewhere else to spend the night. And, of course, he laughed, if the red one was there, he'd do the same, although he told me that Friday nights were off limits for me if the team had a home game on Saturday. He absolutely had to have that time.

"To rest up before the game?" I asked, doing my best to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. Holding clipboards, which would apparently be his job, was probably real hard work.

"No, man," he laughed. "I gotta get rid of a lot of energy before the game. So I'll always have a bitch in here on Fridays, dude."

Well, that wasn't that bad, I figured. The team only played ten games, and half of them were away. So that was only five Fridays. And, I soon found out, five Saturdays, since he apparently had to get rid of a lot of energy he built up during the game, too. I wondered if his willingness to expend energy on something other than football was the reason he'd been redshirted.

And apparently, my assumption that it would be limited to weekends was wrong, too. I found the blue rubber band outside the door on Wednesday night the first week, and on Monday night the second week. I found myself hoping that he'd found most of these girls off-campus, because I really didn't want there to be that many Handley coeds with that little self-esteem. 

"Look," I told him when I finally got back into the room on Tuesday after my classes. "We gotta come to some kind of agreement about when this room is off-limits. Now I don't mind Fridays—" even though I'd spent last Friday night in the lounge on the third floor and my back was still killing me "—but I got eight o'clock classes during the week, and I this is where I live."

"Look, dude," he laughed. "Just 'cause you can't score any pussy doesn't mean everybody else can't."

"And just because you don't have to go to class doesn't mean everybody else doesn't. Dude."

"Hey, man," he said, "I gotta —"

"You got all day Friday," I cut him off. "I'll give you that. You get here first on Saturday, you can have that, too. But Sunday night through Thursday, no. Room's gotta be free then, unless we both agree, in advance. Don't make me go to the RA on this, Chip."

"So you don't want a day?" he sulked. "You and your friends do it at the Gay and Lesbian Dorm then? That's probably better all around, if you know what I mean."

He perked up, apparently having found the worst insult he could dredge up. And after that, of course, the longer I went without female companionship the more names I got called. When he found out that my middle name was actually Gabriel, I went from 'dude' to 'Gay-bo.'

On the third Thursday we were there, I told him that the room was his for the whole weekend, and headed out. Not home, of course. I hadn't told my mother I was doing the MILF Show again, so I decided to get a motel room near the site of the intercounty competition, about an hour from where we lived. Robin showed up the next morning, and we met in the Dunkin Donuts for coffee.

"So how's school?" she asked as I brought my coffee and donut over to the table she'd been sitting at when I arrived.

"'Sokay," I said. "Only two weeks of classes so far."

She didn't need to hear right before a competition that I'd failed my first quiz in Economics, or that I'd identified Thomas Paine on a Colonial History quiz as the leader of the Massachusetts Colony, or that my English Comp instructor and I didn't see eye-to-eye on my writing ability. I mean, honestly, if, God forbid, I actually found myself inside of a paper bag, how did she think that writing would ever help me get out of it?

"And the roommate?" Robin asked. I'd e-mailed her a few times, and told her a little bit about my main problem.

"Still an asshole," I said. "And since I haven't scored since I've been there — because I'm a monk, Mrs. Kennedy — he's convinced I'm gay. And he and his cronies are having all sorts of fun with that."

"Why don't you just tell him what a big MILF stud you are?" she suggested, her eyes twinkling.

"Nah, that's just playing his game," I said. "Who's got the most marbles, who's got the most girls, who's got the biggest cock."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Well, yeah," I said. "I do. But that's not where I'm going with this, ya know?"

She smiled and changed the subject.

"Do you think we're the only couple in here who's going to be performing a striptease at the MILF Show in a couple of hours?"

I looked around.

"I hope so. I don't really want to see any of these others there. Most of them look like they're regulars on the donut circuit."

"Do you think we're the only couple at the show where the MILF's daughter is dating the handler?" she grinned.

"I hope that's true, too," I smiled back. "I'd hate to think some other poor schmuck's got himself into something this stupid."

"She says she's been e-mailing you," Robin teased me.

"Yes, and I've been e-mailing her back," I said. "I'm scared I'm gonna send one of your e-mails to her by mistake. Like the one where I critiqued the video of you and your little purple friend. The last video was excellent, by the way. Did she tell you that she invited me to come to a dance three weeks from last night?"

"But that's the day before the state finals!" Robin protested.

"I know that," I pointed out. "But she knows it's my mid-term break. She originally wanted me to come spend the whole weekend with her.

I leaned forward and lowered my voice.

"She said I could spend the nights in the men's dorms," I grinned. "They have an arrangement when visitors come over."

Robin rolled her eyes at the air quotes I put around the word "arrangement."

"I thought we'd sent her to a nice religious school," she complained.

"Sorry. Anyway, I've been trying to figure out some way to say avoid telling her the truth — can't, babe, your mom's gonna be doing my head that weekend — and not looking like a complete dork for turning down an invitation to spend a nice long weekend with a beautiful girl that I just happen to be falling in love with. And then, thank God, she got invited to — how did she put it? — submit her name for consideration for membership in some chi-chi sorority."

"She mentioned something about that to me, too," Robin said. "Though not all the details."

"Well, apparently, it involves making a good impression at this dance on Friday night. And if you do that you get called back for the interviews on Saturday."

"So how do you figure in?" Robin asked.

"She says she needs me for the dance. So meanwhile I'm thinking that if she makes the cut, she won't give a damn where I am on Saturday. You and I can, uh, do our thing in Springfield, and then this whole thing will be over."

"Your long national nightmare," she touched me on the cheek. "Poor Kenny. Too many women want his time."

"Too many Kennedy women," I chuckled. "What are you telling your husband, anyway?"

"At this point," she finished off her donut, "I feel like telling him I'm divorcing him. I mean look at me. Am I the same woman who came sneaking into your house at the beginning of the summer?"

"Ummmm, I'll say no."

Another whack on the arm.

"He hasn't said a thing," Robin said with disgust. "Not about the weight. Not about the haircut. Not about the fact that I offered to give him a blowjob the other day for the first time in, like, fifteen years!"

"So how was that?" 

"He turned me down!" she was almost shouting now. "The asshole said he had to go into work and didn't have time."

She continued after a long pause.

"This weekend I'm supposed to be meeting my sister for all-day shopping. For the state show, I told him I have to go to some church women's retreat for the weekend. I'm going to leave my car outside the Beckers and Jane's driving me there."

"Jane Becker? The minister's wife?"

"She thinks it's a hoot. Of course, all this is assuming I make the state show."

"Oh, you'll make it. As long as you show a little more interest in me today than you did last time."

"Interest in you?" she snickered. "Who the hell are you?

"I know, I know," she waved me to silence as I started to talk. "You're the screen on which those young judges will be projecting their fantasies. I'm just teasing you. Don't worry about me this time. After all, I'm the one who's so horny I volunteered to give my own husband a blow job."

I waited until she started laughing, and then joined her. It was funny, but also sad.

And of course, she was the hands-down winner of her age division at the intercounty contest, channeling her obvious frustration into a look that said to each of the judges that if it was a real man like him standing in front of her instead of this bozo in the smock, she'd have his cock buried inside her as soon as this striptease was over. With twice as many women competing, she won it twice as easily as she had the local show. This time she squealed and jumped into my arms.

I do like naked women. Particularly when they whisper, "So you have a motel room, right?" into my ear while they're in my arms. Even if they are my girlfriend's mother.

And I did enjoy the show she put on in my hotel room, and the way she delivered on her promise to relieve me of the effects of the last three weeks of celibacy. I came so much she started choking on it.

"That's not gonna be really effective," I told her after we'd cleaned up. "You know, if you start gagging and coughing while you're giving me a blowjob."

She just smiled at me and gave my limp dick a squeeze.

"You just worry about bringing the stuff to the show," she said. "I'll worry about getting rid of it."

Our mid-term break was another three weeks away, and, if anything, those three weeks were even more miserable than the weeks before the intercounty contest. Chip really didn't bother me that much, although I was getting a little tired of "Gay-bo." What really made me miserable was that I still just wasn't getting it. My last history quiz had been okay, but my last English paper had been trashed, and my last Econ quiz had been worse than the first one. Now, to top it all off, we had an Econ mid-term exam on the Friday before the mid-term break. By the time I got to Terry's dance, I was going to be in one really pissy mood. I just hoped I didn't communicate it to Terry, and spoil her chance at her sorority. Or to Robin, and spoil her chance at twenty thousand dollars.

Very fortunately, I never got the chance. On Thursday afternoon, I was sitting in my room studying for the test. Alec was in the same class, and he'd hauled in his book to ask me some questions.

"What makes you think I know this?" I asked. "I got a 63 on the first test and a 59 on the second one."

"I know you know it," he said. "Every time I ask you a question, you know the answer. And you explain it a hell of a lot better than Old Foreman does. You just got some kind of test anxiety, man. Don't worry, it'll come."

Chippy then almost broke down the door, bursting into the room with two of his fellow jockos behind him.

"Dude!" he greeted Alec, "you'll never fucking guess who I just met. Becca Roberts!"

I allowed myself a small smile. But it was clear that Alec hadn't heard of her.

"Becca Roberts!" Chip repeated. "MILF America! She's fucking married to Bob Roberts!"

"The woman who won the National MILF Show?" Alec had heard of that. "Is married to our Bob Roberts?"

"Fuck, yeah," Chip said. "They were sellin' a new DVD of last year's show at the bookstore, and she was there, dude. You know, Roberts is gonna address our pre-game dinner tonight, right? So I asked her to sign it for me."

"To number ten," Alec read, "best of luck for the '07 season."

He passed me the DVD.

"I thought Vinny was number ten," I said, naming our current quarterback.

"Yeah, this year," Chip said. "That's why I had her put down good luck for next year."

Yeah, good luck gettin' any playing time, I thought to myself, taking a last look at the tape before tossing it back to Chip. It was a new "Collector's Edition," featuring "more in-depth coverage." Honestly, I wondered, I couldn't even watch this many versions. And I was in all of 'em.

"You dudes don't mind if I take a quick look, do you?" Chip asked, not really waiting for the answer.

"Nah, if I don't know this shit now I'm never going to," Alec closed his book.

"How 'bout you, Gay-bo," Chip grinned. "Gonna bother you to see a little hetero action here?"

"Not at all," I smiled. "Go right ahead."

The film wound through the first rounds and, as I should have guessed, all of their eyes were glued to Becca each time she was on the screen. These guys wouldn't have noticed if the guy she was with had been a gorilla.




Show Moms Ch. 06-07



After that, they cut in some interviews with the five finalists. So I had to watch five minutes of Connie Templeton going on about how great she was. Finally it was Becca's turn, and when she was asked for her secrets, she allowed as how she worked out regularly, ate well, and got plenty of loving from her husband.

"And of course, having the big guy here is a big help," she added with a particularly hot smile.

"The big guy?" the off-camera interviewer said.

"My handler," Becca answered. "My husband's a big guy, but my handler might be just a little bit bigger. And he makes me go off like a rocket."

She waggled her eyebrows at the camera and waved goodbye, and Chipper decided that this was a good time for another dig at me.

"Say, Gay-bo, is that true for you guys, too, the bigger the better?" he said as his friends joined him in laughter.

"Aw, man, give the dude a fucking break," Alec said.

They started showing Becca's final performance in full then, using more camera angles than I'd seen before and capturing all of the wonderful sounds she'd made deep in her throat. All the other guys were squirming in their seats; probably if there wasn't a gay guy in the room they would be engaged in some sort of mass jerk-off.

Chip reached for the remote when her performance ended.

"Wait a minute," I said. "I wanna see this next bit."

Puzzled, Chip let it run. They announced the winner, and I smiled as I saw myself turning toward Becca to celebrate, only to watch her run right past me, out of the arena and into her husband's arms.

"Man, look at that poor guy's face!" Chip laughed. "Makes that bitch cum like that and then sees her run off to her hubby!"

He noticed that nobody else was laughing. He looked around and saw that they were all staring at me.

"Man, why didn't you ever say something?" Alec asked me.

I smiled back.

"About what?" Chip asked.

Alec grabbed the remote, hit the rewind button a few times, and then hit the zoom button.

"Recognize anybody, Chipster?" he asked.

"Fuck me," Chip said.

There was a knock at the door. One of Chip's buds got up to answer it and then backed slowly into the room. I could see into the hallway from where I sat; it was Becca.

"Hi," she said. "Is this Kenny Winston's — there you are, big guy. Bob's got some boring football speech to give tonight so he suggested I take you out to dinner. Are you free?"

"Fuck me," Chip said quietly.

"Normally, I'd love to," I told him as I pulled on my shoes. "But I got a date."

I closed the door behind me, leaving four speechless dudes sitting there staring at my face on the television screen.

Chapter 7

Because the schedule at the National MILF Show called for the 18-and-over division first and the 6-9 division last, Robin and I didn't have to remain there after her victory. She could leave now, and we could hang out in Las Vegas all day. Then come back the next day for the finals. She wanted to stay, though, to assess the competition.

"Assess the competition?" I laughed. "Who are you now, Joe Paterno? I remember when you would have been happy with the twenty thousand dollars!"

Again with the arm. I was going to have a real bruise there.

"I just want to see if that slut makes it to the finals," she said.

It really surprised me just how quickly people took an active dislike to Connie Templeton.

* * * * * *

We arrived at the Springfield Coliseum for the state finals early Saturday morning. Robin's division was fourth. They generally went in order of age at the state show, but they always moved the 6-9 division to the end because they thought that everyone would leave after the younger women performed. So we had a bit of a wait ahead of us.

She'd already asked me about school, which was going great. I told her about what had happened on Thursday, and how, for whatever reason, I'd gone into my Econ mid-term with this amazing confidence. Maybe it was what Alec had said, maybe it was Becca's very timely appearance. I didn't care. I told her that I was convinced that I'd nailed it. I didn't tell her the other good news, that my English Comp instructor had been hit by a bus. Oh, she was fine, just a couple of broken bones. But she'd be out of commission for a while, and we had a really hot-looking replacement. I mean, I was sure that this new instructor was an excellent teacher.

And she had asked about my love life. I told her that the dance was fun, and that her daughter had never looked more beautiful. I didn't tell her about the conversation I'd had with some girl named Carrie, the president of the sorority, while Terry was in a back room. Carrie basically told me that they would have dumped Terry much earlier in the process until she let slip that she knew me from high school. She told me that she knew we weren't really dating because everyone knew Terry was a virgin. And then she asked me if I wanted to join her upstairs for a private party. I very firmly told her that no, I didn't want any such thing, and that if they didn't give Terry at least the courtesy of a full interview the next day, I was going to report them all to the inter-Greek council or whatever they had here. I would have told Terry to dump them if she hadn't looked so pleased when we arrived at the dance.

Finally, after we'd exhausted the chit-chat, Robin settled down with the book she'd brought. I looked up to see Connie Templeton advancing on us.

"Kenny," she said, inspecting Robin as she greeted me.

"Connie, how are you?" I said. "Robin, I'd like to introduce you to Connie Templeton. Connie, this is Robin Kennedy."

"Nice to meet you," Robin smiled.

"Sure," Connie said. "Kenny, I just wanted to let you know my offer's still open."

Connie had e-mailed me earlier in the year to find out if I was available, and then continued to send me little pictures of herself throughout the summer and fall, even after it had become clear that I was going to be handling another contestant.

"Thanks, Connie," I said levelly. "That's very sweet of you."

She waited a few more seconds, but when it became clear that she wasn't going to get the answer she wanted to hear, she finally turned to go.

"You have my e-mail address," she said as she left.

"I do," I agreed.

"What offer?" Robin put down her book.

"Oh, it was nothing," I said.

"What offer, Kenny?" she asked again.

"She wants to drop her current handler and take me on for the national show," I said.

Robin looked down the corridor where she could still see Connie walking away.

"And what makes her think she's going to make the national show?" she asked.

"She made it last year," I told her. "She actually lost to Becca here at the states, and then went through the regionals to get to Hawaii."

"And she wants you to take over as her handler, after she beats me and I don't need you any more," Robin returned her attention to her book.

"Uh, yeah," I said. "That's about it."

"She should be so lucky," Robin never lifted her head. "Bitch."

"That does seem to be the consensus," I agreed.

After they finished with the 9-12 group, which Connie won, and moved on to the 12-15 division, I decided to go for a walk on the concourse that surrounded the arena floor. On my way, I saw Becca heading for her seat. She threw me a wave, and yelled out, "I saw your girlfriend! Tracy? Terry?" before giving me a thumbs up and disappearing with the guy escorting her to her seat. I waved back, and probably walked another hundred feet before I processed what she'd said.

Terry? Here? Oh, shit. I'd kill that fucking sorority bitch. What happened to those interviews? Somebody must have figured out I'd be here and told Terry. By now she would have eagerly skipped through the program, looking for my name. And she would have found it, right next to her mother's. She might have just left, but I really didn't think so. I took off at a run, scanning all of the concession areas, and finally, about halfway around the entire coliseum, I saw her sitting by herself. She looked gorgeous, of course. But the hard expression on her face wasn't a hopeful sign. She saw me approaching and her eyes narrowed.

"What do you want?" she sneered.

"I want to tell you what's happening here," I said. "May I sit down?

"It's a free country," she said, looking at her watch.

"Okay, where to start?" I began, rubbing my hands through my hair. "Okay, your mom came to me back in June, and —"

"I called Daddy," she interrupted me.

"You what?" I asked.

"I called Daddy," she said. "He's on his way here to take mother and I home."

"What makes you think she'll go with him?" I asked.

"Do you think she wants to hear her husband standing in the arena, preaching the wrath of God to her?" she smirked. Then she suddenly burst into tears.

"I can't believe you did this," she said between sobs. "Carrie said she heard you were doing it again this year. And I thought to myself, no, he would have told me. But she had some press release she found on the internet, and so I had to pretend that I knew all about it, and that I was one hundred percent behind you. The whole sorority came to watch you because I told them how great my boyfriend was. Do you know how embarrassing it's going to be for me when they find out that you're doing it with my mother? How could you even agree to go out with me?"

I knew instinctively that my explanation was pretty lame: "Your mom didn't want anyone to know." So I shut up.

"And what if you win?" she pressed on. "You and my mom are going to have sex out there this afternoon?"

Once again, "no, it's only a blowjob" would have sounded pretty lame, so I remained silent.

"I can't believe what a jerk you are," she sobbed. "I can't believe I let myself fall for you."

Now I was getting angry. I was a nice guy; there was nothing wrong in falling for me.

"I can't believe my mother's such a slut," she added.

I reached across the table and grabbed her arm.

"Now you listen to me," I said. "Your mother's doing this for you."

"Oh, yeah, right," Terry spat. "Trying out my boyfriend."

"Your mother came to me last spring, when you wouldn't give me the time of day, because your family had absolutely no money left to pay for college. Your father has invested every penny you guys have in something that still hasn't paid a cent, so when your mom's the only one in the house, she lives on macaroni and cheese. The basement's full of fucking macaroni and cheese boxes behind those sheets she hung up. When I was there, or when your father finally makes it home for a meal, or you come home, or Wally comes home, she takes the money she's saved and makes real food. But otherwise she's been surviving on fucking macaroni and cheese."

I was on a roll now. I'd seen the mac and cheese boxes before one of our workouts, and it hadn't taken me long to figure out what they meant.

"So last spring, when your tuition payments were due, she came to me. And I loaned her twenty thousand dollars so my best friend and his assholier-than-thou sister, who could never even remember my name, didn't have to spend this semester working in a 7-Eleven to earn enough money to go to community college next year."

"You're lying," Terry murmured.

"So she's here because first prize in her division is twenty thousand dollars. And she's gonna try to give it to me, to pay me back, and I'm going to say no, you keep it so my friend Wally and my former friend Terry can stay in college for the next semester until your father's fucking fantasy investment comes in."

"I don't believe you," she said through her sniffles.

"Yeah, well, believe what you want," I said. "Just let her win the twenty thousand dollars. Oh, and when Daddy gets here, ask him where the money came from to keep you in college this year. Your mom told him you got all this great financial aid this year, but we both know you didn't, don't we? See you 'round, Theresa."

I stormed off, my stomach doing little flips, my body shaking. I had to calm down. Robin was much too attuned to my moods now. She'd know something was up. I kept on walking. By the time I made a couple of circuits and returned to the contestant area, I'd settled down a little bit. Enough, I hoped, to be able to go through with this performance. Fortunately, I didn't have a really big role. Robin would do her striptease with all the other women, and then, after fifteen contestants, do her dildo routine. She was already in her bikini when we got back, and I changed into my smock.

"I feel so stupid in this," she said, gesturing at the outfit. "I can't believe they make us wear these. And with all those people out there."

"Yeah, well, everyone else in this contest is wearing one, too," I said. "And I've had a look at them. Not one of them has your body."

"Really?" she looked into my eyes.

"Really. The only advantage they could possibly have over you at this point is that they feel really, really sexy, and you just feel embarrassed."

She looked around.

"And how do I fix that?" she said.

I bent down and lowered my voice.

"You remember," I said, "that if you win this competition, you'll be able to suck the biggest, fullest dick you've ever had in your life."

Her eyes involuntarily dropped to my crotch.

"And if I don't?" she said after moistening her lips.

I reached down and cupped her chin with my hands, probably the most intimate gesture I'd used in two seasons of competition. I pulled her up to look into my eyes and smiled.

"It won't come to that," I said.

She looked back down.

"No," she said quietly, a shiver running through her body.

Good. Now only one of us was scared to death.

The procession went fine. I could hear Jane Becker screaming as we marched. Probably Mr. Kennedy hadn't gotten here yet. I couldn't check my watch, but the clock in my head said it must be close to eleven. I figured he couldn't get here before one or one-thirty. We might actually pull this off. At least Robin could win her division. The finals weren't until three, though. There was no way he wouldn't be here by then. But I couldn't believe that they would take away the divisional trophy just because the winner's husband was an asshole.

Robin's striptease was excellent. I'd lied to her — just a little bit — about having the best body. One of the women was only thirty-four, which meant she'd had a kid at age 16, and she was in excellent shape. I found it hard to believe that she hadn't had those puppies enlarged, too. But the judges, particularly once you got to the state level, were pretty savvy about that. And there was another woman who, I'd noticed in warm-ups, appeared to have been some sort of cat in a previous life, she moved that gracefully.

I wasn't watching them now, of course. I was concentrating on Robin, letting her know that her seduction was working. At this level, she needed everything I could give her. I tried to use my eyes to let her know how hard my cock was getting while I watched her untie the front of her bikini. I licked my lips when she reached for the strings of the bottom, tugging them free but still holding the fabric in place around her hips. I let my mouth fall into a shy gape when she finally yanked it free. And finally it was over. I took my place beside her as the judges began their inspection of the MILFs.

All in all, I felt pretty confident. I'd figured if Robin could finish the striptease in the top three, I could win her the money. And I couldn't imagine that she hadn't done that.

The inspection ended, and the women began their masturbation routines. They were all pretty good, some a little more obviously fake, some really getting into it. Finally, it was Robin's turn. I walked out away from the podium, the required five steps for handlers. Like all the others had, I reached into the pocket of my smock for the dildo, pulling it out into the air. There weren't any rules about dildos; the one I'd pulled out was purple, the same one that Robin had been practicing with. Holding it high in the air, I lowered my hand, stretched it out toward Robin, took a step forward, and then turned and fired it into the stands.

I heard Robin gasp, and I turned to see her with her mouth opened, stunned at what I'd done. To her, that dildo was worth twenty thousand dollars. I smiled at her, and reached into my other pocket. Her eyes were locked on my hand as I pulled out another dildo, one I had ordered custom-made for this competition back in late August. As closely it could, it matched the length, the thickness, the head, the color, and the bumps and ridges of my own erect cock. Robin recognized it immediately, and her look changed from one of shock to one of sexual hunger. We had lost maybe thirty seconds. I wasn't worried about it.

The crowd was going nuts. They had no idea what my cock looked like, but they could tell exactly what I'd done from Robin's face. Plus from the way her guttural voice came out over the loudspeaker: "Now give me your fucking cock."

I strode forward and held it out for her. She grabbed my wrist, and used my arm to plunge the dildo deep inside of her. Grabbing hold of the dildo with one hand, she raised her leg and put a foot on my chest. Our eyes locked, and she pushed me away as I let go, falling backward onto my ass in the sand of the arena floor. Then I just watched as she began to fuck herself.

The audience never stopped cheering. At the end, when Robin finished her exquisitely timed orgasm, she became the first woman, at least in the two years I'd been attending the Illinois show, to get a standing ovation. I smiled at her and took my place back by her side.

There were some more competitors, I don't really remember how many. The audience was very polite to them. But they were all taken aback by Robin's performance — including the babe with the nice rack and the Catwoman — and when the judges came out to present the divisional trophy, the audience expectantly rose to its feet once again.

"The winner of the division for MILFs with children ages eighteen and over," the announcer began, "is Robin —"

I assume he said Kennedy, but neither one of us actually heard it. Apparently, the audience assumed he was going to say it, too, because the roar from the crowd almost knocked us off our feet. The judge with the trophy smiled and headed for us, and that's when Robin turned to me and threw her arms around my neck.

"Oh my God," she cried. "We did it. We did it, Kenny! We did it!"

"We did," I patted her on the back. "Yes, we did."

She sniffled her way through the presentation, waved to the still-cheering audience, and grabbed my arm to walk out together. I saw Connie in the distance as we left the arena, and gave her a little wave. We were now officially competitors in the finals for the second year in a row. Well, she was actually Robin's competitor, but I was sure she didn't see it that way. She gave me a frosty look and turned away. I just smiled.

As the time for the finals grew closer and closer, I got more and more worried about what Allen Kennedy was planning. He must have gotten here by now; it didn't take that long to drive to Springfield. My guess was that he was standing out there, fuming, planning how to achieve maximum disruption.

Just before we went out, I took Robin aside.

"I want you to promise me one thing," I said.

"All right," she agreed.

"No matter what happens out there, even if the roof caves in, promise me that you won't lose your focus. That you'll spend the entire time we're out there, from the minute we come out of that tunnel, concentrating on one thing."

"Your dick," she said.

"My dick," I agreed.

"I promise."

She did it, too. The five finalists paraded in one after another, with Connie second and Robin last. The MILFs were naked, and as they took their place on their show pedestals in the middle of the arena, their five handlers stripped off their smocks. I watched Robin's eyes lock onto my cock. Her focus was so intense that I swear I forgot about her husband, even as we waited for all of the other finalists to perform.




Show Moms Ch. 06-07



Connie had gotten better at giving head, I had to give her that. Last year, she'd managed to get into the finals based on her body, and hadn't given much thought to the fact that the other four finalists would have bodies just as good. She'd treated her handler like she probably treated her husband, and everyone knew it. And she had lost to Becca. Now she had at least learned to pay some attention to the cock in her mouth rather than to the reaction of the audience around her.

As I said, she was good. The other three women were okay; apparently they'd all gotten their attitudes from the same store Connie had visited last year. Robin was awesome. As far as anyone in the audience knew, she really did love my cock. Up and down, in and out, sucking the balls, kissing the head — I was in ecstasy. And once again her timing was perfect. It was a five-minute blow job, and with twenty seconds left I was ready to blow.

"Robin," I whispered. There was a reason I'd spent the last three weeks storing semen, and it wasn't to let it run down the back of her throat. With both hands wrapped around my cock, she pulled her head as far back as she could and aimed me at her face as she rubbed her thumbs down the front of my cock.

"Oh, God," I groaned, firing the first salvo directly into her mouth. She used me like a hose, spraying her face, her chest, and her tits with everything she could pump out of me. The bell went off to signal the end of the five minutes, and she sat back on her haunches in dead silence.

She licked her lips and swallowed.

And the place went nuts again. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the woman in the 6-9 division rubbing herself, while her handler grabbed hold of his dick to try to keep it from going off. I figured we'd beat them, at least.

We all stood there for the next ten minutes, our eyes all finally fixed on the judges' box, where there was clearly an argument going on. Finally, they left the arena to go argue in private, while the announcer asked the audience to please stand by for the judges' decision.

Robin leaned over to me.

"Yeah, well, they're not standing by with a monster load of cum drying all over them."

They'd apparently forgotten to turn the sound system off, and the audience erupted into laughter. When Robin gave them a big grin and a wave to show she didn't give a fuck what anyone thought of what she said, it changed to applause.

The judges came back during the applause, and walked out to the center of the arena with Becca, carrying the trophy and the checks for the winners. Becca handed out the check to the poor girl in the 6-9 division, and similar checks to the winners of the 12-15 and 15-18 divisions. That left Connie and Robin.

"Ladies and gentleman," the announcer blared. "For the first time in the history of the Illinois MILF Show —"

I had to stifle a laugh. What was that, four years?

"— and for the first time at any state MILF show," he continued, "the final round has ended in a dead heat. The judges have accordingly added together the prize money for the winner and the runner-up, and will present half of the total, or eighty-five thousand dollars, to Connie Templeton and Robin Kennedy."

The audience applauded politely, not quite sure what to make of this turn of events. They probably didn't like ties any better than Woody Hayes had. But Robin couldn't hold it back. She turned to me with an expression of triumph, and plastered her naked, cum-covered body against mine. The applause started to grow louder, and the announcer faltered and then picked up again.

"The rules of the National MILF Show, however, permit each state to submit the name of only one contestant. For that honor, the judges have selected Connie Templeton."

I've been to a few Cubs games. I've been to see the Bulls play. And yet, I've never heard booing like that in my life. People were going to start throwing things soon. Becca stepped forward with the trophy and a check and walked up to Connie.

"Good luck," she said with a catty smile, practically thrusting her burden in Connie's arms as if she couldn't get rid of it fast enough.

Then she stepped forward with a check for Robin, and a big grin spread across on her face.

"Good job, MILF" she said, handing Robin the check and spreading her arms. Robin fell into her embrace, and the audience began to applaud again. Becca came over to give me a hug as well, and with Becca on one arm and Robin on the other, both waving to the crowd, I walked out of the arena.

We were packing our stuff when Connie made one last approach.

"Nice job," she murmured with a fleeting glance at Robin. "Kenny, what about my offer?"

I was speechless. Robin wasn't.

"Your offer to have him join you in Las Vegas?"

She finished packing her bag and looked at Connie for the first time.

"He'll be happy to join you in Las Vegas," she smiled. "So will I. You can buy us dinner before we perform."

She turned and left a speechless Connie standing there. I grabbed my bag and caught up with her as we walked down the tunnel to the entrance to the coliseum.

"You have to win a regional contest to do that, you know," I said under my breath.

"I've heard that."

"You have to have sex at those contests, you know," I continued.

"Yes, I've heard that, too," she said, slipping her hand through my arm as we walked.

"So, uh, what about the Seventh Commandment?" 

"There are ten commandments, you know," she countered.

"Well, yeah," I said. I may have been an agnostic but I wasn't a complete idiot.

"Well, I'll still have nine left," she looked at me with her eyes twinkling.

"True," I smiled back at her. "You could still get an A-minus."

She laughed, and then grew serious.

"Of course, I guess I will have to tell Allen," she sighed.

I looked ahead of us, and saw Terry waiting at the end of the tunnel.

"I think that ship has already sailed," I said, nodding ahead. "You guys need to talk. If you still want to do it, send me an e-mail. The regional's in three weeks. I have had the time of my life, Mrs. Kennedy. Robin."

I kissed her on the cheek and made a sharp left turn for a side door. I really am a coward. 



Show Moms Ch. 08-09



DISCLOSURE: If you're looking for a sex-filled romp featuring a younger guy and an older woman, this probably isn't the story for you. Allow me to recommend "The Accidental Gigolo," my attempt to write exactly that kind of story. Just click on my name above, and you'll find it on my member page under Stories/Poems. Despite the sex that introduces the following chapters and the "Mature" category this story falls in, this story is actually much more of a romance. 

*

Chapter 8

The woman who won the 15-18 division was a very attractive redhead who was clearly the class of the group. Robin and I were both clapping when they announced that she'd won. The 12-15 division was a tossup; I liked the woman who won, Robin liked the other woman. And then it was Connie's group. She did look good in her bikini, I'll give her that. And she had learned how to give a blow job. And she gave her handler an awesome ride during the compulsories.

"Fuck," Robin said, even before they'd announced the results.

"Oh, come on, what fun what it be if somebody else beat her?" I teased her as we sat together watching the rest of the contestants.

"And what fun will it be if she — " Robin began, stopping immediately when she caught my glare. "I know — have fun, have faith."

That was what I'd been preaching ever since we arrived.

"Kind of odd learning about faith from you, though," she smiled at me.

I smiled back. All I knew was something was going right.

* * * * * *

The Friday after the state show, I was walking back from my last class of the afternoon, hoping against hope that I had time to get a couple of books out of my room before the blue rubber band went up. It was a late afternoon class, and I didn't always get back in time to get some books out for the evening. Then, during tomorrow's home football game, I'd put them back, because I wasn't going to be using them on Saturday night. Earlier in the week, I was very surprised to received a brief e-mail from Robin, scheduling a "practice session" for a fancy nearby hotel on Saturday evening. A small part of me wondered what her husband thought of that. A bigger part wondered what her daughter thought. 

There was a group of guys gathered outside the door to the dorm, and as I approached, they all stepped backward. One grabbed the door handle and pulled it open for me.

"Enter, highness," he said with a bow.

I had no earthly idea who he was, other than a guy from the next hall over, so I just thanked him and went in. Along the way, four other guys briefly bowed their heads and muttered things like "your Majesty" or "your highness." Maybe they'd been at the show. You'd think college guys would be a little more, I don't know, adult about this. I mean, it's not like I had won a Nobel Prize. Hell, I hadn't even won the state MILF Show, for Pete's sake. The guys in high school had just high-fived me after I'd won the Nationals.

Finally, I saw Alec coming toward me. He gave me a much more sweeping bow, along with a "your Majesty."

"What the fuck's going on?" I said, stopping in front of him.

"The goddess awaits," he answered with a grin. "The men of Corcoran Dorm have decided that you must be the prince of legend, and we salute you accordingly."

He bowed again.

"What are you talking about?" I insisted.

"The girl? In your room?" he chuckled.

"There's a girl in my room every fucking Friday afternoon," I complained. "I think it's starting to permanently affect my spine."

"Those are the Chipster's girls," he said knowingly.

"Yeah, no shit." 

"Seriously, man," he said, "I was in there talking to Chipper earlier this afternoon, trying to help him understand the offense — which is, like, well, never mind. Anyway, there's this knock on the door, and he opens it up, and there's this goddess there, with a bunch of guys trailing behind her like the dust behind that Road Runner dude. And Chipper just stands there, with his mouth opening and closing and no sound coming out.

"So I lean around him and ask if I can help her. And she says, 'Is this Kenny Winston's room?' And I said, yeah, and she asks if you're there, and I say no, you're not, but you should be back soon. So she says, 'May I wait for him, please?' And by now Chipper's found his voice and he croaks out, 'Gay-bo? You wanna wait for Gay-bo?' And she smiles — God, what a gorgeous smile — and says, 'If Gay-bo is Kenny, yes. May I wait for him, please?'

"And then, get this, Chipper says, 'I gotta get dressed, honey, but if you wanna sit there and watch me, I ain't gonna stop you.' And she says, 'That's okay, I brought a book.' And she sits down on your bed, opens her purse and pulls out a book, and just starts reading.

"So then — this killed me, dude — she's just sittin' there, readin' this book, and Chipper decides he needs to change his shorts. He's standin' there bare-assed, and finally he can't take it anymore. So he turns around and says, 'You sure you don't want any of this, honey?' You'd think he would have known better after that tape, huh? So she looks up from the book at him, looks down at his dick, and gets this little smirk on her face, looks back at him with one of those little raised eyebrow things, and then just goes back to readin'. So Chipper starts mutterin' to himself and pullin' on his clothes and we finally head for the door."

Another "your Majesty" went by, tugging on his forelock as he bowed his head.

"And just before we get there, she says, without looking up, 'Those rubber bands on the door knob, I assume one is for you and one is for Kenny?' Chipper is, like, speechless, so I tell her which is which and she lifts her head up and looks Chipper in the eye and says, 'Be a sweetie and put the red one on the door on your way out, please, honey.' I nearly bust a gut laughin', man. Chipper just stalks off down the hall, and I'm standin' outside your door holdin' my sides."

"So there's a girl in my room, right now?" I asked.

He blinked his eyes, looking at me like I'd turned a different color.

"There's a fucking goddess in your room," he put a hand on my shoulder. "The honor of the dorm is at stake. The honor of Handley College is at stake."

"Is she foreign?" I asked. "Is the honor of America at stake?"

He clapped me on the arm.

"Man, all I can say is that if she was in my room, I wouldn't be out here talkin' to no wiseass asshole like you."

I nodded.

"Good point. See you, Alec."

I approached the room with some trepidation. True, there was the red rubber band on the door knob. And true, she was supposed to be gorgeous. But still, suppose she was some sort of stalker or something? Suppose she went around from one MILF show to the next, selecting her next victim?

Aw, who the fuck was I kidding? I put my key in the door and pushed it open.

She wasn't reading now. Hell, she wasn't dressed now. Terry Kennedy was sitting on my bed wearing nothing but a smile. I closed the door quickly behind me.

"Terry?" I asked, even though it was quite obviously her.

"Kenny," she said softly.

"What are you doing here?" 

"Waiting for you," she told me.

"Because?"

"Because you're going to make love to my mom this weekend, aren't you?"

"Well, I don't know if 'making love' is right," I ran a hand through my hair. "I guess I'm going to fuck her, though. We have to practice for the —"

"Kenny, I know you," she smiled indulgently. "You can't fuck anyone without making love to her. But she can't have you until I do."

I just kind of blinked at her.

"But you're a — I mean, this could really hurt you," I finally said. "I'm kind of big for your first time."

"I've been practicing," she said. She had a purse by the side of the bed, amid her pile of clothes, and she reached down and pulled out the dildo that I'd had made for her mother. Without taking her eyes off of me, she opened her mouth and took the whole thing down her throat without batting an eyelash.

"Mmmm," she moaned, slowly pulling it out and planting a kiss on the tip before she reached down and just as slowly pushed it into the slit between her thighs.

"Mmmm," she moaned again. "Oh God, Kenny." She was looking at me through half-lidded eyes.

I thought my cock had been hard before. Now it was trying to tear a hole in my jeans. Still, the big head had one last argument.

"But I thought you were saving your — you know, saving it for marriage."

Her laughter was like bells.

"That could be, like, months. I decided just to save it for the guy I want to marry."

That took a second or two to process.

"You want to marry me?" 

Her face lit up. She pulled the dildo out and tossed it onto the floor.

"Why, yes, Kenny, what a sweet proposal. I'd love to marry you. Now come to bed and let's find out what I've gotten myself into."

The big head shut itself down. I tore off my shoes, my jeans, my socks, my shorts, and my shirt, and dove head first into her waiting arms. It would be just the first of many places I ended up diving into that night. Sometimes head first, sometimes not.

I woke up first the next morning, just staring down at the beautiful goddess lying on my shoulder as sunlight flooded the room. Finally she woke up, too, and looked up at me with bright, smiling blue eyes.

"I owe you an apology," she said.

"No, no, no," I insisted. "You were great. That was — it was amazing. I can't believe it was your first time."

"I owe you an apology for last weekend," she said.

Oh. I couldn't help it. I started laughing. And Terry, bless her heart, started laughing right along with me.

"Okay," I said after we finally stopped. "Let me take you out to breakfast and you can tell me what happened."

Terry borrowed a bathrobe and trooped upstairs to the women's hallway to take her shower. She came back to tell me how much she liked the women I was going to school with. And how impressed they were when she told them about my success at the show. And how cowed they were when she mentioned that if they made one move toward me while she was back at school, before her transfer came through, she'd come back and rip their hair out, one strand at a time.

On the way out, I saw Chip sleeping in the first floor lounge, his feet hanging uncomfortably off the end of the couch. I opened the door.

"Yo, dude," I yelled.

"Huh?" he woke up slowly.

"Room's all yours, honey."

Terry and I took our seats in the cafeteria with our trays of food.

"So?" I asked.

"Well, obviously you were right about the money," she started. "But you know that. I talked to Dad, and he couldn't believe that she had borrowed the money from you. I told him that I couldn't believe that he had used up all the money they'd saved for Wally's and my college. So then he said that he couldn't believe that Mom was here, at a disgusting exhibition like this."

She started to giggle.

"And then Mrs. Becker came by? Our minister's wife? And told us that she thought it was so great that we were there supporting Mom. She said she wished more husbands were this supportive. And then she just smiled at us and walked off.

"That was kind of like the final piece for me, after what you said, and what Dad said. But Dad was kind of, like, shell-shocked. He just sat there, like he couldn't decide what was happening. And I told him that he probably still hadn't noticed how good she looked, had he? And that if he did one thing — just one thing — to prevent Mom from doing this, from trying to educate her kids, from being able to eat something other than macaroni and cheese when she was by herself, which by the way she better not ever have to do again, I told him, I wouldn't speak to him again for the rest of his life. And that shut him up pretty much completely. He kind of wandered off and I never saw him again."

Terry smiled at me and reached across for my hand.

"So I just sat there, crying. And then Mrs. Becker came back."

"The minister's wife," I nodded.

"And I told her I'd fallen in love, and that I'd just ruined it by making a total ass of myself in front of the only guy I'd ever love.

"She asked if I thought that you loved me, and I said that at one point you probably did, but that now you couldn't possibly.

"And she pointed out that I would never know for sure until I came right out and told you that I loved you. And you know what she said then?"

I mouthed the words as Terry spoke them.

"'Go get 'em, girlfriend.'

"So then I met Mom — well, you saw — and we talked, like forever, and, well, here I am. Engaged and, with any luck, pregnant. Just like Mom."

She looked at me for a couple of seconds and finally exploded into laughter.

"I've been on the pill for a month-and-a-half," she finally told me. "But you should have seen your face just then. I really do love you, Kenny Winston."

"Sorry," I said, after my heart had returned to its normal rhythm. "I'm usually very good at that whole responsible, taking care of the birth control thing. I'm just a little out of practice."

"Yeah," she smirked. "Mom told me about your celibacy thing. Poor baby. No wonder the girls here didn't really know you. There's one really cute brunette on the floor above yours who has the tape. She couldn't believe you were hiding right below her all semester. Lucky for me, though, huh?"

"And me," I grinned back.

"So, um, what about your sorority thing?" I asked. "That seemed to mean a lot to you."

She gave me a little half-smile.

"After I talked to Mrs. Becker, I went back to sit with the girls. But before I got there, I heard Cassie talking about how she'd stolen your phone number from my cell phone the night before, and that after I was, quote, back in my place, unquote, she'd give you a ring and get a real party going."

"So we won't be inviting her to the wedding, huh?"

"No, but I will send her an announcement," Terry started laughing.

I spent the rest of the morning showing her the campus, and we spent the afternoon at the football game. I pointed out Chip, standing next to the coach with the clipboard, and Alec, who was the team's kick returner. Right before the kickoff, she stood up and screamed, "Come on Alec, you stud, run it back!" Everyone, including Alec, turned to look. And then he scored a touchdown, his first of the year. When he came up to us after the game, I asked him about it.

"Hey, man," he said, "a goddess tells you to bring it back, you gotta do it, right?"

No argument from me. Terry just beamed at him.

"So what time are we supposed to meet Mom at the hotel?" she asked as we walked out of the football game.

"We?" I asked. "How did 'we' get to be meeting your mother?"

"You can't honestly think I'm not going to be there when my mother meets my fiancée for the first time, can you?"

Put that way, no, it was a perfectly reasonable request.

"Well, then, I guess we're leaving in about half an hour," I said.

For the second day in a row I woke up next to Terry Kennedy. I lifted my head and looked across Terry's prone form; the light was struggling to get in underneath the hotel curtains. Terry had apparently been waiting for me to wake up. She sat upright in bed and turned the light on.

"Good, you're awake," she said. "What's a MILF?"

"How are you so chipper?" I asked groggily. "What time is it?"

"Seven-thirty," she said. "Seriously, what's a MILF? I never did figure out what that was, and it's been bothering me all night."

"A Mom I'd Love to Fuck," I told her. "M-I-L-F. MILF."

"My mother is a mom you'd love to fuck?" she asked me.

"You were at the Coliseum," I said. "Your mother is a mom that every guy there would love to fuck."

"So what does that make me?" she demanded.

I was slowly waking up, clearly not fast enough.

"I guess you're a Daughter I'd Love To..."

I was straining for something different, something expressive, when I heard a noise from my other side. I looked over at the tousled hair of the woman lying there on her stomach, with her face turned to the far wall. I had thought she was still asleep.

"I'm sorry?" I asked her.

"Do," came back her muffled voice.

"Do," I turned back to Terry in satisfaction. "A Daughter I'd Love to Do. A D-I..."

I was in serious trouble.

"A DILDO?" Terry squealed. She leaned across me, frowning at the woman whose body was now shaking with laughter. "I'm his DILDO?"

She stretched her arm out, located the woman's ass underneath the covers, and gave it a hard swat.

"You are such a bitch, mother!" she sat back. "See if I let you fuck my fiancée more than five or six more times."

Robin turned her head to look at us. She couldn't stop laughing.

"Yeah, very funny," I agreed. "Thanks for your help."

But it was infectious. I joined in. Terry joined in. When it finally wore down, Robin gave her daughter a serious look.

"I don't think I could survive fucking your fiancée more than five or six more times," she said. "But since it's still early, and we have the room until eleven..."

"Count me out this time," Terry said. "It was weird enough last night. Let me take a shower and then I'm going to go get some breakfast."

She got up out of bed.

"Okay," Robin said. "What time did you say it was?"

"Seven-thirty three now," Terry said.

"I'm supposed to meet your father for breakfast in the lobby at eight," Robin said. "Maybe you can tell him I'm going to be a little late."

"Daddy?" Terry squeaked. "Daddy's here? In the hotel?"

"Mm-hmm," Robin acknowledged with a smile. "We had a nice time last night. Or the night before last, I guess."

"Really?" I asked. I was delighted.

"Really," Robin said. "Do you know what cunnilingus is? I hadn't done that in - I don't know, probably before Wally."

"Yeah, we know what it is," I answered witha smile.

"No we don't," Terry answered.

"Yeah, you do," I said.

"No I don't," Terry told me.

"Maybe not by name," I said, "but..."

I looked down her body and wiggled my tongue at her. I looked back up to see her blushing fiercely.

"Anyway," Robin continued, "he was waiting up for me when Jane drove me home last weekend. I was ready for a big fight, but he told me that he'd seen the whole show, and that he remembered seeing that look on my face before, earlier in our marriage, and that he'd give anything to see it again.

"What look?" Terry asked.

"The look on my face when your boyfriend pulled that little dildo trick," Robin smiled. "And the look when I finally got to, um —"

"Do his head?" Terry asked.

"Do his head," Robin acknowledged with a low laugh.

"You know, I can't believe I'm lying here listening to my mother talk about doing my boyfriend's head."

"I can't believe my daughter was dragging her boyfriend's cock up and down my slit last night before aiming it for him," Robin shot back.

But the two women were both smiling at each other.

"Speaking of your boyfriend's cock," I started. Terry pulled away the covers and looked at it.

"You're just insatiable, that's your problem," she said. "Time for my shower."

"I think I'll go back to sleep 'til you're done showering," Robin said.

"If you do anything else, I'm lowering your quota even further," Terry said.

"What about me?" I protested. "What about this?"

"Yeah, you better hope that doesn't go off on its own," she said, with a last look before she dropped the covers back in place. "Mom used to get real upset when Wally or I made a mess. I wouldn't want you to have to clean it up by yourself."

Terry took her shower, and Robin and I both watched Terry dress when she came back out — me with unalloyed lust, Robin with pride.

"So when should I tell him you'll be down?" Terry asked with her hand on the doorknob.

"Depends," Robin said, with a quick look at me. "How long do you think he'll last?"

Terry looked over at me, and back at her mother.

"I'll go ahead and order for you," she said with a grin. "It should still be warm when you get there."




Show Moms Ch. 08-09



She skipped out so fast that my pillow harmlessly hit the inside of the door. We could both hear her laughter as she went down the hall. That little minx! I'd gone for forty-five minutes straight with her the day before. After the foreplay. And before the afterplay. Still be warm, hah!

"So," Robin said. I looked down to see her turned on her side facing me. "Time to fuck me, big guy."

I sighed.

"I can't," I said.

"You didn't seem to have any problem last night," she protested, an edge in her voice.

"No, your daughter was right," I said. "She told me yesterday that I wouldn't be able to just fuck you. She said I couldn't fuck anyone; I could only make love to them. But you know, I don't actually think that's true. I fucked Becca just fine. I think it's just Kennedy women I have a problem with."

A tear formed in her eye and dropped off her face onto the pillow below.

"You know," she said, "if I hadn't reunited with my long lost husband this weekend and you hadn't become engaged to my daughter, I could probably fall in love with you, too. But I did, and you did. So just fuck me, Kenny. Here. I'll make it easier."

She threw the covers off, and turned back onto her stomach. Bringing her knees up underneath her, she pushed her ass up into the air. Grinning, I got behind her and took my position. I reached out with my hand, petting her gorgeous backside as I slowly traced my fingers down toward her pussy.

"Kenny," she said with exasperation. "What are you doing?"

"Uh, foreplay?" 

"Is there foreplay at the MILF Show?"

"Uh, no," I admitted. "But I wanted to make sure you were, uh, wet."

"Honey, I've been wet since I woke up in bed this morning with my daughter and her boyfriend. Now shut up and get fucking."

Alec was right. My new motto: when one of the Goddesses Kennedy gives you an order, don't keep asking stupid questions.

Chapter 9

The final group on Saturday afternoon was the 6-9 division, and Robin and I were both captivated by one of the contestants. Angela Pritchett was a little firecracker. All of the women in that group had great bodies, but most of them were using the unoriginal bikini. Angela, though, had on business attire, albeit very short business attire. And she sold the whole thing — the woman at her desk, surprised by the mail clerk, the striptease, the blowjob, and the cowgirl. What made the cowgirl particularly effective was that she kept her high heels on. Nothing in the rules against that, and a few other girls did it as well, but knowing that it was all part of Angela's businesswoman fantasy made it just that much better. As I watched her, with those spikes planted on either side of her handler's hips as she pumped herself up and down, I figured there was no way they couldn't give her the prize. It's nice to be right once in a while.

"So you want to get together later tonight?" I asked Robin as we finished collecting our stuff.

"Why?" she smiled. "Is there something we haven't covered?"

"Last minute strategy?" I shrugged. "Tactics?"

"Thanks, general," she said, "but I think we're as ready as we're going to be. I'll just see you tomorrow."

"Sure," I said. "I understand."

"Good," she said. "Have fun. Have faith."

I didn't understand, though. Not really. Robin had been so gung-ho up until this point. We'd gotten together every weekend since the state show. The first one, of course, was my double-Kennedy combo weekend. But the second weekend was just me and Robin, with the "Do Not Disturb" sign hanging on the outside of the hotel room door from 7 o'clock on Friday evening until noon on Sunday. By the time we were done, we were comfortable with every sexual position and combination we could think of. The interstate competition was the following weekend, and there was no telling what we were going to be asked to do.

And, in fact, we got asked to do stuff we hadn't thought of. I couldn't believe how crude and nasty that show was. It was like it was being run by a whole different group. These guys apparently enjoyed hearing women grunt when they had sex, enjoyed seeing their hair pulled, enjoyed watching them humiliate themselves by having their hands tied behind their back while they duck-walked across the stage blindfolded to try to find their handler's cock with their mouth.

The good news was: We didn't have to do any of it! I hadn't realized that there was some sort of MILF network. They apparently had little MILF chat rooms and everything. The network started humming right after Robin lost the Illinois show. Robin forwarded me an e-mail that alleged that Connie Templeton had been sleeping with the head judge. Another MILF chimed in to say she'd seen them together in Evanston two weeks before the show. Well, that was all the proof these girls — sorry, women — needed. By the time we got to the interstate show, the MILF collective had decided that an injustice needed to be avenged, and none of the other women eligible for Robin's division showed up to contest her right to a ticket to Las Vegas.

In horse racing, they have something called a walkover. The horse gets saddled, gets a rider, and walks over the finish line. The race is over. The MILF Show equivalent? Robin sedately took off her clothes (she would have hung them up if they'd provided hangers), took my cock in her mouth, and let me put my cock in her pussy. The 18-and-over division was done. The judges were furious, but there was nothing they could do. We were headed for Vegas.

We'd spent the remaining weekends before Thanksgiving working on our compulsory and freestyle routines. We got the cowgirl down pretty good, obviously, but our freestyle routine never really seemed to click. At least, not the way that Becca's had. All in all, though, I left Handley on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving thinking that if we reached the finals, we stood a fair chance — maybe not a great chance, but a fair chance — of making some sort of MILF Show history. Yeah, yeah, I know. What history? It's only been around for four years.

By that point, I was really starting to enjoy the college experience. I was doing well in all my classes now. My new English instructor turned out to really be a good teacher, as a matter of fact. And I'd reached a sort of truce with the Chipster. Of course, the fact that I was away every weekend probably helped. But I think that after the MILF tape, and Becca's appearance, and Terry's appearance, he developed a sort of grudging respect for me. For my part, I developed a sort of grudging tolerance.

"So, dude," he asked as I hoisted my bag onto my shoulder on Wednesday afternoon, "headed home?"

Handley's last football game of the year was on the following Saturday, so Chip was stuck in the dorms.

"Yeah," I told him, "at least for the first part. Then I'm off to Las Vegas."

"Vegas?" he brightened up.

"Yeah," I shook my head, "another one of those damn MILF shows."

"Again?" he seemed not to feel real sorry for me. "You got another bi — er, another MILF?

"Yeah." 

"So what does, uh, the goddess think about it?"

"Oh, she's fine with it. She's very supportive. Actually, that's kind of how we met. It's her mother."

"Fuck me," his eyes glazed over.

"I keep telling you, that's not gonna happen," I laughed as I closed the door behind me.

Robin's life had gotten better, too, in the last few weeks. In addition to the eighty-five grand she'd brought home from the state show, some dividends had finally started to trickle in from her husband's underperforming investment. She'd assured me, though, in person and by e-mail, that the money wouldn't affect her performance. Now, she claimed, what she really wanted was Connie Templeton's ass.

But when I got to Vegas, Robin seemed a little distracted (Mom stayed home this time. Terry and Allen were both there, but I hadn't yet seen them). She got through the Saturday session easily enough, fueled in part by lust — hell, I was hot for her, too, in that outfit — and in part by the sheer joy of performing. But afterwards it was as if the expenditure of all that energy had just sapped her.

I found myself glad that, unlike last year, the final session wouldn't be held on Saturday evening. The powers-that-be in Las Vegas had offered the show's organizers extra cash to get them to switch the finals to Sunday afternoon, in order to give the show's patrons a free evening to lose money at the casinos. That bumped the prize money up even more, and that led to a series of subsidiary prizes of significant amounts of money. As a result, none of the MILFs had objected when the format had been changed.

And, I figured, the delay couldn't help but work to Robin's advantage. Becca had carried a lot of energy over to her evening performance. Robin, on the other hand, would have been sleepwalking through it. I remember hoping that she got a good night's sleep.

I got to the arena the next morning around eleven-thirty. Robin was already there, greeting her "fans." The five finalists were required to put in an hour signing autographs and the like, but that didn't start until noon. Here was Robin, a half hour early, gaily chatting with these complete strangers who'd watched her blow and fuck a nineteen-year-old the day before. She kept on signing and chatting as Connie, Angela, and the rest showed up to join her.

"That was fun," she told me during the half-hour break before the show was supposed to start.

I chuckled.

"What?" she asked.

"You," I said. "Having fun. I was just remembering the woman who threw the show application back at me at the beginning of the summer."

"I remember her," Robin said. "A little uptight, wasn't she?"

"Maybe a little," I said.

"Well, thank God she's not around here, huh?" Robin said as we both laughed. "She had a lot of faith, but she never seemed to have a lot of fun."

At one o'clock, the five finalists paraded out into the arena. They'd drawn lots for the order: Connie was third; Angela was fourth; and Robin would go last. That was a mixed blessing. Robin would know what she had to beat, but if somebody turned in a really stunning performance, her confidence might wane pretty quickly.

I wasn't really worried about the first two women, though. They hadn't been that impressive yesterday, and they weren't any better in today's striptease. Connie, in her bikini, did her usually effective bump and grind, certainly enough to get the audience hooting. Angela followed with her businesswoman's special, and they appreciated that as well.

Neither performance bothered Robin in the least; whatever she'd used to recharge her batteries had worked perfectly. Her striptease had the same effect on the audience as it had the day before, and the change she made to the ending was brilliant. Unable to transition directly into cocksucking, she simply leaned backward on the pedestal, spread her feet about two feet apart, and stretched her hands out toward me with a look of pure want. It was all I could do not to run forward. The guys in the audience were probably having the same problem.

The striptease, though, was only a small part of the second day's score. It was really only there as a filler, to stretch the finals out long enough to justify making people pay another admission fee. The winner would be decided based on the freestyle. And watching Connie and Angela in the freestyle portion shook even my confidence. Connie had clearly studied everything that Becca had done the year before, and repeated it with just enough variation that she could call it her own. It had worked for Becca, and the audience ate it up this year as well.

Angela's was even better, at least in my view. She was young, she was flexible, and it quickly became clear that nobody wanted to win this more than Angela did. That was the first time I'd ever seen anyone even try anal sex at a MILF Show, let alone pull it off in the middle of a routine. Watching a woman suck a guy's dick after he's had it in her ass didn't really appeal to me, but I was pretty clearly in a very small minority. And Angela was so cute, and apparently so clean, that the potential grossness of it never entered anyone's mind. When she was finished, she got the second standing ovation I'd ever seen. Whether the judges liked it better than Connie's, though, was an open question.

The applause was beginning to die down, and I was taking off my smock, when Robin whispered to me.

"I can't win this, can I?"

The words "have fun, have faith" were on my tongue, competing for space with "of course you can, Robin." But I looked over at her eyes — smiling all the while, of course; we were up next — and decided that both answers were a little too facile.

"Honestly?" I said. "No, probably not. But we can still give it our —"

"Kenny, shut up," she said. "I might not even beat Connie, huh?"

"Maybe not," I didn't really want to agree to that. I knew Connie's routine had been pretty damn good, though. "Why are you —"

They began to announce our names for the final freestyle performance.

"Kenny, my husband wants me to be here," she whispered through her smile. "My daughter, your fiancée, wants you to be here. And we'll never be able to do this again."

"Yeah?" I agreed. Your point, lady? They'd finished the introductions and the audience was starting to wonder when we were going to begin. I was kind of wondering that myself. Robin stepped in front of me and put her arms around my neck. Her eyes sparkled like they never had before. I'd never seen that particular smile before, either.

"Let's forget the faith and just have fun, " she said. "I want you to make love to me, Kenny Winston."

My knees almost buckled.

I picked her up and laid her on the pedestal. I slowly pushed into her, everything else obliterated from my mind. I wanted to make love to Robin Kennedy. I wanted her to feel special, to be able to pay her back for everything that, I now realized, she'd given me over the summer and fall. Her utter faith in me. Her incredible commitment and dedication. Her willingness to find laughter in everything we did. Her daughter. I kissed her, on the lips, on the face, on the neck, on the shoulders, and I began the delicious process of bringing this wonderful woman to orgasm.

"Oh, yes, Kenny," she whispered in between tonguing and biting my ear. "Oh, Kenny, please. Kenny!"

It would have been really cheesy for her to dig her fingernails into my back. It would have felt wrong. But it didn't feel wrong to have her press the tips of her fingers into my shoulder blades, nor did it feel wrong to have her use them to tell me exactly how fast she wanted me to go, and exactly how hard she wanted me to penetrate her.

I couldn't believe, afterward, that Robin had still been able to keep track of the time. But I watched the tape, with Terry actually. With forty seconds to go, well on her way to her own climax, Robin squeezed my cock with muscles she'd never let me know she had before.

"Oh, God, Robin," I grunted. "Unnnnnhhhh."

"Yesssss," she whispered, clinging to me as her body shook. "Kenny, yessss."

I let go deep inside of her, and she let go at the same moment.

The buzzer went off, and I suddenly blinked open my eyes. I looked down to see Robin smiling back up at me. I could hear us both breathing in a completely silent arena.

"Thank you, Kenny," she said.

"Thank you, Robin," I answered.

The applause began slowly and then started to spread. I pulled out and looked around, watching one section of fans after another rise to their feet for the second time that afternoon. I was a little stunned. No changes of position, no degree of difficulty, no money shot. With a big grin, I pulled Robin up after me, and we basked in the ovation. Evidently these people were just as big a bunch of emotional saps as the two of us were.

Of course, that was only the audience. The judges, I was sure, had much different standards. When the applause died down, they pulled the stand out with all the trophies. Becca came out with the judges, her face flushed, her eyes teary.

Robin and I waited in line, holding hands, as the announcements began. They started at the back, giving out fifth place to the woman in the 12-15 division. Robin had been right; the other woman probably would have been better. Fourth place, and a prize for "Best Blowjob," went to the redhead from the 15-18 division. Well, I thought, good for Robin. Nobody in her division had ever finished higher than fourth. I turned to whisper congratulations to her, and she put a finger to her mouth as she tried to suppress her smile.

"Third place," the announcer intoned, "and the Las Vegas Showgirl Prize for the Best Body, worth an additional one hundred thousand dollars, is awarded to MILF Illinois, Connie Templeton."

As a clearly disgusted Connie got her check and her prize from a clearly delighted Becca, Robin reached out her other hand to Angela. I glanced over to see both women smiling, practically bouncing up and down on their toes.

"Second place," the announcement blared over the loudspeaker, "comes with an additional two hundred and fifty thousand dollar prize for the Best of Vegas award, given to the finalist who best exemplifies the spirit of Las Vegas, in this case to a woman who visited the Cupid's Paradise Chapel last night to renew her wedding vows. Ladies and gentleman —"

I was staring at Robin in shock. She was looking at Angela, who knew perfectly well that she hadn't visited the Cupid's Paradise Chapel last night, and who was slowly realizing that she was the new MILF America.

"—Robin Kennedy."

Robin and Angela both squealed and fell into each other's arms. They hugged all the way through the next announcement, declaring Angela the winner. Then Angela turned and leaped into the arms of her handler.

Robin turned and ran right past me, out of the arena. Right to the same spot that Becca had, and where Robin now jumped into Allen's waiting arms. This time, though, I got an even exchange. My own blonde goddess had left Allen's side and was running toward me. I opened my arms and caught her, swinging her around as she began kissing my lips and face. Finally, I just hugged her close.

I could see Becca out of the corner of my eye, fumbling with the trophies and checks as she tried to figure out whether Angela or Robin would be done celebrating first so that she could make the appropriate presentation. But I was looking at Robin, and she'd turned around so that she was looking back at me as she hugged her husband.

"I love you," she mouthed silently when she saw me look.

"I love you, too," I mouthed back.

She had Allen, I had Terry.

But I'd always have my MILF.

And as Robin pointed out during our dance together at the wedding reception, while Terry was dancing with Allen, she'd always have her MILF.

"I'm sorry?" I asked.

"Mother-In-Law Fucker," she said. "I wonder if there's a show I can enter you in."

I still love that woman.