I'd Rather Have Her Mom

I was almost twenty when I finally discovered the main difference sexually between the girls I had been dating and the older women I saw all around me. Being young, I was always attracted to the tight-figured, fresh-faced girls in my classes, and being relatively attractive in my own fashion, I got the chance to Braille-scope their charms. There is noting quite like running your hands over a young girl who is just getting the idea that her body is made for pleasure. If you are careful, generous and take your time, you can ignite the passions of a raging horno-maniac, and then spend the next weeks of your life (before you die of exhaustion) trying vainly to put out the fire you lit.

The only problem I found with girls my own age is that I wanted to learn more about lovemaking than trial and error could teach me, and even though I picked up every book that sounded like it could have even a scrap of useful information useful to my feverish, testosterone-fueled brain (and other, assorted parts), I wasn't getting very far. I got laid a lot, but aside from the sexual gymnastics an inventive couple of kids can yark up, the situation remained pretty uninformed.

Ok, so that's not entirely true. What I was, mostly, was tired of the games my young girlfriends played, and they played them a lot. Even worse was the fact that I genuinely hungered for something more substantial than I was getting. I remember telling someone I was in love, then realized (for the first time) that the words actually said "ok, I said the love thing, and we both know that what we want to do, really, is fuck like rabbits, so now we have the excuse." The thing is, though, I had watched my parents around each other, and there was genuine affection there. Yeah, they argued and stuff, and I actively discouraged my imagination from thinking about what they looked like in mid-fuck, but they had something I lacked, and I was finding out it was something I really wanted.

But, in the meantime, I wasn't about to stop getting laid.

Still, I can remember finding myself bored, actually bored the evening everything began while hanging with my girlfriend at the time. Several of us were at her house, shooting pool on her dad's full-size table, drinking his beer and making out. Cindy's best friend, Lynne, was getting smashed and had a bit of an argument with her boyfriend.

We couldn't make out what it was about, because they were talking generalities, the "you said-no, you said" school of debate, but it was getting interesting just because it was getting loud. Finally, exasperated, her boyfriend took her face in his hands and said, "You know what your problem is? You don't know a goddamn thing about getting laid, and you think that because you're a fuckin' girl you know everything! You think sucking me off means sticking my dick in your mouth and being a great lay means spreading your goddamn legs and moaning a little. Grow the fuck up, and don't call me until you do!"

He flung his hands from her face, stepped back sharply, and walked out the patio doors. Lynne sat there for a minute, eyes wide and shocked beyond belief, then she just evaporated into tears and ran from the room. She locked herself in the bathroom, and didn't come out for an hour. When she did, she started drinking again, and then passed out under the table. We left her there to sleep it off for awhile, and the party kind of broke up then. Cindy and I wandered into another room to fuck, her parents being out of town, and I noticed a lot of little things that had always pissed me off, but I had never bothered to quantify.

For starters, she was incredibly selfish. Men always catch hell for getting theirs and leaving women out there high and dry, but Cindy could have been a guy…except for the size 38 guns. She liked to have her pussy chowed, but wasn't too careful herself when giving head. She often nibbled too hard, which I had wondered about, and finally decided right then that she did it on purpose so she could stop. Which pissed me off some. So I resolved to work her over. I undressed her the rest of the way (she had her top off) and really went to work on her.

I used every trick I could think of to get her hot, including a few I made up special for the occasion. I traced the insides of her thighs with my tongue, the backs of her knees, all along her ankles, and worked my way back up. I kissed and nibbled her bottom, working around and around her cute little butt, then started up her back…slowly and carefully. I really took my time. I turned her back over, and licked and caressed every inch of her besides her pussy and her nipples. And then I did it again. She was beside herself, her pussy was a swamp and she kept trying to get her hands in between her legs, but I wouldn't let her. She worked her nipples over instead, pinching them and pulling on them, cupping and squeezing her tits. She was practically crying.

Finally, I had her on her back, pulled her legs up to her chest and just drilled her slick cunt, sinking to the balls with one thrust. She reached for my ass, trying to pull me in farther, whimpering and crying out for me to fuck her. When my dick was completely soaked, I took reached down and took some of her flowing juices and rubbed it all around her ass, then stuck a finger in. She practically went nuts, even though she never cared for it before. I worked the finger around for a bit, timing the strokes to coincide with my thrusts, and then I pulled my dick out of her.

Before she knew what had hit her, I had my dick in her ass, and was pushing in deeper. She cried out, but couldn't speak. Her eyes were really wild, and I stuck my left hand partly into her vacated cunt as I stroked her ass. I got in three fingers at once, then started moving my hand around and found I could get almost the whole thing inside her. And everytime I moved my hand, she shuddered violently. Then I pulled out everything and stood up. She was shocked, it seemed, and I pulled her to her feet, turned her around, and bent her over the back of a couch. We had never done that, and I loved the view of her ass. Before she could say or do anything else, I spread her out, and parked my dick back into her ass, then reached around and worked her clit. She was crying out, her tits were banging the couch and flopping around all over hell and back, and my thighs were slapping into her ass like hands clapping.

I could feel her tensing up and she shrieked, exploding. I reached around and took her nipples between my fingers, twisted them and then pulled them downwards. Her ass clenched onto my dick like a set of vise-grips onto a pipe, and I nearly blew my wad into her then. But I had other plans. I pulled out, went to the sink and washed my dick, then went back to where she was collapsed over the couch. I went around to her face, and stuck my dick in her mouth. I was ready to burst, and when she moved her tongue on it, I blew a huge wad down her throat, which made her choke, and she stood. I watched it drip off of her lips. I couldn't tell if she was mad, and didn't really care. She had a blank sort of look, and wiped my cum off with her forearm. She went to the bathroom and I heard the shower flip on. I went back to the poolroom, hauled Lynne out from under the table, threw her over my shoulder, and left.

I got her into the car and started home with her. She lived in a bit less luxurious part of town with her mom, but she always dressed well, so I figured they were doing ok. Lynne kept falling down across my lap. I would sit her up and she would flop back down, so I finally left her there. As we neared her house, I felt her hands move up my leg to my crotch, and begin moving around there. I stopped the car and looked down. She was awake, sort of, and was trying to get into my zipper. She finally got it down, then reached in a haphazard sort of way and pulled my dick out. Her eyes were closed, and I had no idea whether she knew I was not her boyfriend, but I didn't care that much, either. She was lightly stroking the length of my Johnson, and I wondered what she had planned. Turns out she had nothing planned, because after she got her mouth around it, she swirled her tongue briefly, and then fell back asleep, even sounder than previously. Then she started to snore. I zipped up and drove even faster to her house.

When I got there, the lights in the living room were on and from the shadows around the curtains, it was apparent that someone was moving around. I pulled into the driveway and stopped, then got out and threw Lynne over my shoulder again and stumped over to the house. She moaned, and I quietly warned her she would wear it if she puked. She moaned again, but shifted to put her face over my shoulder at a steeper angle. Satisfied, I rang the doorbell, and after a moment, Lynne's mom opened up. She wore a tank top and a pair of cut off Levis, and had her hair up in a pony tail. Notwithstanding the fact that I was carrying her daughter, I took a good look Lynne's mom, who was, to be blunt about it, a fine looking piece of tail.

She wore no bra, and while her tits did sag a bit, it was an earned sag based on pregnancy and the fact that she had quite a set of guns in the first place. Her nipples were tight against the cloth, and her legs were brown and shapely. She did not seem too happy about the condition of her daughter, though, and she asked me to put her on her bed. She led the way up the stairs, and I thoroughly enjoyed the way her ass moved as she climbed. Nice, tight, and had a suggestive sort of sway to the action that bespoke sheer talent.

We got to Lynne's room, and after I set her on the bed, I started to excuse myself, saying I could find my way out. She stopped me, asking me to wait for her downstairs, and that she wanted to see to her daughter first. I went down and waited, looking at the pictures on the mantel.

One of the pictures, obviously a wedding shot, displayed a radiant, and stunningly beautiful version of the lady upstairs. I was absolutely struck by how incredibly gorgeous she was. I looked at some other pictures, and while some showed the same sort of haunting beauty, others, clearly of the same woman, displayed an attractive and pretty, though not out of the ordinary, female. Very odd, I thought. But before I could get any farther with the thought, she came back down.

"Thanks for bringing her home," she said, "she said she had a fight with her boyfriend, and knowing him, she could have stayed in her car, for all he cares."

"Really, I said, "he's not that bad. He would have brought her home himself, if…" I stopped, seeing the slightly mocking skepticism in her eyes. "Fact is, he left after a fight, and she started drinking like a fish"

"Any idea what they were fighting about,' she asked, sitting on the back of the couch.

I sat down facing her. "No idea," I said, "I didn't hear."

She smiled a bit, then said "It doesn't matter. She told me a week or so ago that he was a bit of a shit, but that she loved him." She tossed her hair slightly, then frowned. "Can't say I see the point, actually, but I understand the sentiment."

I must have looked puzzled, because she continued. "It's just the same old same old. I've been in love, and been married, and then got divorced because I found out that nothing is ever permanent." She slid down onto the cushion of the chair, legs slightly spread. She watched me watch her, and looked mildly surprised, and then amused. "Fact is," she went on, "most of the relationships I've had are long gone, starting with my parents and continuing to my two ex-husbands. And Lynne will leave soon for her own life. That's just how things are." She smiled ruefully. "Too much information, I can tell. Would you like something to drink? Coke, Dr. Pepper? No booze, sorry, I never drink." She got up and padded off to the kitchen. I followed her like a mute little dog and perched on the counter, watching her rummage through the fridge.

When she leaned sharply over, looking in the bottom of the thing, I got a birds-eye view of an absolutely tremendous ass. In the ass hall of fame, there are two pictures, one of her ass and the other of her pretty face so the fan can find the owner of the former more expeditiously. I came explosively not more than an hour previously, but I felt things tighten up down there, and I hoped like hell she was either horny or had a sense of humor. I would settle for a sense of the ridiculous, I thought, as I reached as full of an erection as I could muster while wound around in my jeans.

She pulled out the sodas, then stood straight and turned, handing me a Dr. Pepper. Parenthetically, I hate Dr. Pepper, but would cheerfully have quaffed a DDT, Agent Orange and dogshit cocktail for an up-close view of her bottom. As I took the can, her eyes narrowed slightly, then glanced down my torso…and stopped. Then her eyes moved back up. "Want to go out onto the patio," she asked, innocently. As she walked ahead of me, I adjusted my Johnson so I wouldn't pass out from lack of blood.

I followed her outside where there was a redwood deck and a two lane lap pool. "There you go, an illustration about permanence," she smiled. "My last ex just had to have a lap pool. He was forever going to the gym and swimming, spending time in the sauna, then swimming some more. Finally had the thing built, used it for a couple of weeks, and decided that he liked the gym better." She smiled wider. "Seems that this pool lacked something he'd been getting used to, and he sent the divorce papers around a couple of weeks later, after he moved out."

I shook my head slightly, then, brightly, said "so, he was gay, right," thinking she'd get a laugh. Instead, her eyes clouded slightly and her smile slipped a bit. "Well,' she said, "as a matter of fact…" She turned and sat on a lawn chair.

"Oh damn it," I said quickly, "I'm sorry. I was just joking…" She smiled slightly. "It's ok. I'm used to it, and sometime I laugh, too." She sat there for a moment while I looked for furniture to crawl beneath and hide. This went on until I was about to excuse myself and run, and then she looked at me directly. "Do you know how old I am?"

"I, uh.." I looked at her carefully. "I can't tell, really. Early to mid-thirties, I guess." She looked at me mockingly. "Oh, sure…and that 18 year old upstairs was born when I was a teenager." She shook her head, then stood in front of me. ""I am 42 years old last month. I have two children, a boy who never calls unless he needs money or a care package. He 's away at college. Then there's Lynne. She's young, beautiful, and is getting ready to screw it up, just like I did. Her boyfriend dumped her, didn't he?"

I was watching her eyes flash and didn't register the question for a moment, and then I got it. I nodded. "Why?" she said. I moved uncomfortably. "He said something about being unsatisfied with the relationship."

"Sure he did," she smiled again. "I'd be willing to bet he has another girl on the string, and traded up, as they say in the car business. Who is she?"

I thought about it, actually wondered for a moment…then had a sneaking suspicion about a certain long-legged, 38-gunned blonde who was a lot more difficult to locate in the evenings recently than she had been a few months back. There were clues I could see now, smiles on the side, his being at her house "for a swim" in the evenings, etc. The signs were all there. I was angry for a second, just a second, and found it really didn't matter. I fundamentally did not give a serious damn. I had been dissatisfied myself for months now, only vaguely knowing why, and started to understand a bit better as I stood there on a sunlit deck .

"Do you mind if I ask you a personal question," I said. "Not really nosy, but it has to do with the pictures in the front room. Those are all of you, right?"

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other slightly. "Yes, they are. Most are fifteen or so years old, but yes."

"Were you a model then?"

She raised her eyebrows slightly. "No, not really. I was married by the time most of them were taken, deeply in love," she said, "with a man who turned out to have eyes for anything with legs and a size 36 chest."

"Oh, you mean you married an idiot?" I found myself flirting, or trying to.

"Why do you say that?"

"I've seen your pictures, remember? And I've been here for awhile talking to you. Like I say, an idiot."

"Well, thanks, but I'm hardly the same person now that I was then."

"I think you look exactly like your pictures."

She looked at me sharply, then walked over to her chair and sat. "What are you doing here?" She sounded almost tired, dismissive.

I was surprised, I admit it. I stared for a moment. I temporized. "I brought your daughter home, remember?"

Her eyes tightened slightly. "I mean, what are you doing here." She waved her arm slightly at the deck. "Right now."

I didn't know what to say. I tried to think of a Cary Grant like reply. I summoned the best of my brain cells to get on the task and stop me from looking like a jackass. The cells ran and hid behind the brain stem, peering out, obviously hoping I would leave them the hell alone. My mouth hinged up and down for a moment, and then I simply replied "enjoying your company."

She looked at me closely for a moment, then held out her hand. "Call me Laura," she said. "and sit down."

I did, and sat there, looking at her look at me.

"How old are you…your name is Tracy, right?"

"Yes, or Trace..I like that better. I'm 22. 23 in a couple of months."

Laura shook her head. "Jesus God," she said, "younger than I thought." She sat back a bit, and some of the light in her eyes dimmed slightly. "I can't even remember what being that young feels like anymore."

"Doesn't feel like much of anything, really. Just like normal."

"I know the difference, " she said, "and it's mostly outlook. I still feel great, I work out, I take care of myself. But things have happened in my life, you know, events, happy things, disappointments. Changes." She looked at me squarely. "When you get older, you get used to some things, get scared of others, and get over some of the things that used to bother you a lot. Getting older is easy, though, cause it just takes time…"She started twisting a ring on her finger.

"Maybe," I said. "The thing is, though, let's look at right now. We've been out here for awhile, talking. We've been aware of each other for the same length of time…and age doesn't matter a damned bit."

"Of course it does," Laura frowned, "because it's made up of all the decisions and living we've ever done. We carry it around with us like a big sack of albatrosses (I giggled at that- she smiled)…well, something like that, but the thing is that, for instance, you and I are always going to be separated by 20 years of living."

"Nope. Let's say, for instance, that we are both 42. We'll still have distance, maybe more, because maybe I can't commit, or have issues about my money, or maybe like guys…sorry. Anyway, the thing is, whenever you meet somebody, the only time you have together and the only time that counts is the time you spend with each other. You know? And if I am 22 and immature, someone older would find it annoying and not want to be around it. And if I am 42 and immature, no one will, either."

We sat a bit in silence, each looking around the yard. We kept stealing glances at each other. Finally, she stopped. "It's starting to get dark, and I have some dinner to fix. Come on." We went into the kitchen, and I took a chair and watched her get an assortment of things from the fridge and cupboard, then put a couple of pans on the stove and start cutting and chopping. "Here," I said, "let me do that."

"Fine. Cut them small, and try not to squish the mushrooms." She threw together a quick bite to eat that could have been Italian, and might have been something else, but was mostly just good and flavorful. We ate by the sideboard, saving some for Lynne when she awoke. In mid-bite, she stopped and looked at me very carefully. "Can I ask you a question? Promise you won't laugh."