Perfect Mother, Perfect Slut

"Time's a-rolling," thought Debbie, as she pecked at the keyboard of her laptop, trying to get started on some serious surfing. She realized her friends were right – at least in one aspect of their oft-repeated, unsolicited advice: She'd been divorced for almost four years, and, at the age of 39, it was time to get back into circulation. As a single mother of three, everyone agreed she was a wonderful parent. But the kids were all doing just fine in school – one in each: elementary, middle, and secondary schools – and Debbie had not, until very recently, had sex since her amicable breakup four years prior.

She smiled when she thought about that recent sexual history. She had actually boinked someone at a party – someone she had just met! The recollection played across her mind. She had been feeling a bit tipsy, not, perhaps, making the best decisions. Introduced to Darren by an acquaintance, she'd thought him mild-mannered, but in good shape – cute. He'd flirted with her from the get-go, and their conversation had soon become laden with innuendo.

Giggling like a couple of teenagers, they'd wandered, snooping, about the house, and, surreptitiously, had found an apparently unused room in the back of the basement, with a bed in it. Debbie had fixed on Darren's eyes, flashing a coy smile. Suddenly they were pulling at each other's clothes, mashing lips, and tumbling onto the scuzzy mattress. Darren freed one of her boobs and began sucking feverishly on her nipple as she fished his growing erection out of his pants whilst attempting to squirm out of her own jeans. His cock was impressive as it stiffened and throbbed in her hand. It was probably not particularly big, she'd mused, but she'd lost her frame of reference as it had been a while since she'd even seen an adult penis.

Their sex was actually rushed and furtive, so as, they both realized, not to get caught; still, neither his initial penetration, nor his rabbit-like thrusts were as good – as special – as she would have liked. It was, more or less, a 'wham-bam-thank-you-Ma'am!' quickie, and while it felt nice, Debbie didn't get anywhere close to cumming.

As they made their way back upstairs, to join the party once again, Darren shyly asked her for her number – asked if he might call her. "What the heck!" she thought to herself, enjoying a warm satisfaction at his complimentary request. So, she gave it to him. He promised to call, as they each melted back into the crowd. Being a good five or six years his senior, Debbie didn't, realistically, expect to hear from him; still, it got her mind a-thinking. Maybe she could get back into circulation – maybe she should.

And so it was that she accepted when Darren called a couple weeks later, and she found herself on a bona fide date – the first in absolute years!

Dinner and drinks were pleasant. He was a good conversationalist, and the time passed easily. When they settled up at the restaurant – he, gallantly, covering the bill, he asked, rather tentatively, "Would you like to come back to my apartment for a nightcap?" adding, in a rush, "It's not far. And I'll drive you home as soon as you'd like."

Debbie smiled at his uncertainty, impressed by his lack of presumption. "Yes, that would be very nice. I'd like that."

Back at his apartment, Darren took her coat and went, right away, to fix her a night-cap at the little bar area next to his kitchen. "A great deal of water has flowed under the bridges of my life," Debbie mused silently, as Darren sat next to her on the couch, and they each sipped their drinks. They both knew what they're there for, so, she wasn't about to hold to any "no sex on a first date regime." Drinks and small-talk out of the way, Darren leaned in to snuzzle, and kanoodle. Debbie reciprocated. In fact, making out was fun. Soon they were both pawing and groping aggressively. Debbie let Darren steer her into his bedroom and onto his bed.

The sex itself even started out okay – but, that was it, sort of ho-hum. As they got naked, Debbie momentarily disengaged, to drop down and engulf his rising rod with her mouth. After only a few tries, she had him rock-hard and deep in her throat. "I'm gonna cum!" he warned, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Pulling off him, Debbie gasped, "Not yet!" and squirmed up the bed again to lie on her back beside his panting and quaking body. She felt the stirrings of arousal as he rolled onto her and thrust into her, but it barely progressed. Rapidly, frenetically pounding, he suddenly stiffened and, throwing his head back, held himself frozen as his cock bucked and spurted deep within her. "Lucky I got myself back on the pill," Debbie observed objectively to herself.

After he'd climaxed Darren turned his attention on her. He was, she realized, perceptive enough to realize that she hadn't yet achieved orgasm during either of their sessions. So, Darren valiantly threw himself into trying to get her there. Unfortunately, he only managed to make her nipples sore and her pussy numb, as what excitement she had felt slipped quietly away. Debbie felt bad for him; nonetheless, she had to fake an orgasm to get him to stop. As they got dressed and Darren drove her home, Debbie, in deference to his male ego, fibbed about her pleasure and fulfilment.

She said goodnight at the curb and let herself in through her front door. "That was too bad," she muttered to herself, as she closed the door. It had been, in the end, a sadly unsatisfactory evening. She knew she would be employing her vibrator before she would be able to sleep that night.

Of course, her dissatisfaction was, in no small part, due to the fact that that was actually the third of the three recent bops – the third event of her re-entry into the world of sexual affairs. But, the second time, that was the one she couldn't stop thinking about. An encounter of anonymous, rough, spontaneous sex, that had pretty much blind-sided her. And the orgasm – or orgasms – it had produced.

It had happened, she dreamily recalled, staring idly at the computer screen, while she was at a bar with girlfriends – a sort of 'girls'-night-out'.

Vacantly scanning the room, she had made eye contact with a hunk at a neighbouring table. She remembered thinking that he was very easy to look at – solid and angular, and very macho. He'd looked up while she was staring blankly at him, and caught her eye. He held her gaze like a tractor-beam, for a very long moment, a mischievous grin forming on his lips. Then, he'd gestured with a slight nod. Standing casually, still watching her, he'd sauntered over toward the washroom hallway.

Excusing herself with a preoccupied mutter, Debbie rose and followed, trancelike. Consciously resisting the urge to hurry, she headed after him towards the washrooms. Waiting just inside the hall entrance, he'd quietly and firmly grasped her elbow and guided her into disabled restroom.

"This'll work," he said quietly, closing the door behind them. From his accent she surmised he was an Aussie, although they hadn't said much – they didn't even exchange names. Still, she'd somehow deduced that he was a real macho chauvinist – not, typically, her type, at all. She'd thought all of this in the instant before he grabbed her by the cheeks and crushed his mouth against hers. The kiss held more raw passion than she was used to. Debbie struggled to maintain her equilibrium, while attempting to return the seething lust in kind. He virtually slammed her against the wall, as he began pulling at her clothes without letting up his aggressive assault on her mouth. Debbie's pussy had clutched tight then blossomed, letting go a gush of her juices. She could, even now, at the vivid recollection, feel a tingle in her pussy.

As he undid her jeans and shoved them off her hips, she kicked one leg free. Smoothly, with little apparent effort, he lifted her, depositing her onto the vanity with a 'plonk', perching her there, crowded next to the sink. Reaching in, he grabbed the gusset of her panties, and with an abrupt tug, tore them off her, leaving the shredded remnants dangling from her waist and her thighs. Still pushing his mouth against hers, holding her back against the mirror, he dropped his hands to fumble briefly with his fly, and open his jeans.

Debbie suddenly felt the unmistakable bulk of his impressively growing erection pressing against her pubis. "He must be going commando," some objective back corner of her psyche observed, with a smirk. "Obviously no underpants to slow him down!" She could feel his weapon, lying amongst her bush, long before she could see it. He wiggled his butt for a moment, tilting his hips, until his hot, fleshy cockhead bulled against Debbie's drooling pussy. Her puffy labia separated eagerly, allowing the rampant prick unencumbered access – access to her damp, slick, fully-blossomed quim.

As he thrusted into her, he swung her off her precarious seat, and held her off her feet, pressed against wall. Debbie was staggered by the violence of the entry, but she was even more surprised by the heady ecstasy it produced. It lit up her senses, igniting a hitherto unknown level of stimulation. Her vagina offered absolutely no resistance. Flooding, as it was, with copious natural lubrication, it welcomed his penetrating shaft, her hot flesh grasping, gripping, and throbbing around him. She could almost imagine that she could feel the veined texture of him as he relentlessly drove himself into her, and her excitement sparkled behind her eyes and down her spine.

As he pounded her mercilessly, she felt a sharp spike of hyper-arousal. A monster orgasm was breaking the surface, inundating her with sensation – exciting every nerve in her being. And she could feel, too, his steely sceptre jolt and pulse as he came simultaneously with her, persistently hammering right through the thundering echoes of their shared climax.

As they came back to earth, he gently lowered her to the floor, then, tucking himself in, he smiled, thanked her, and left.

"What was that?" Debbie mused, aloud, giving her head a shake. "Since when do I get off on rough sex?" Dazed, her mind in a post-orgasmic haze, she straightened her clothing, got herself together, then exited the corridor back into the bar. She just caught sight of him as he settled back into his seat at the table with his buddies. He didn't even glance her way. Returning to her girlfriends' table, she felt more than a little shell-shocked and distracted, trying vainly to process the encounter. The girls all gave her questioning looks, and she quietly had to reassure them that there was nothing wrong – nothing at all. For the rest of the evening, though, Debbie stole glances in the direction of her erstwhile lover, but never once caught his eye.

Debbie remained preoccupied for the rest of the night, mulling a question over and over. "Why is it that I shiver and tingle, every time I run that... whatever, through my head? How come sparkles run down my back and gather in my cunt, every time I relive it?" Was it, she asked herself, his complete domination that fired her up? How is it she could be so enamored by the no-nonsense, take charge attitude of a complete stranger? Or was it, and this required quite a bit of consideration, more her complete submission that really turned her on! "Boy, oh boy," she murmured to herself, "that's scary! Thrilling, but scary."

And what about her climax. She'd cum so hard and so fast, it'd made her head spin, even more. "I mean," she explained, silently, "that was, really, my first real orgasm in years!" The ones she got with her vibrator, every month or so, paled in comparison. In fact, she realized, sadly, so did the ones she had had with her husband, as far a she could remember. "Maybe," she mused, later, at home, alone in bed, "maybe, that was – no! No maybe about it – that was the best, the very best, the most intense climax I have ever had – ever experienced!" Certainly, the very recollection of it sparked a more powerful arousal than any other daydream – any fantasy she had ever had.

So, Debbie began to think about how to get herself back into dating. She was long out of practice and was beginning to understand; it really was a new world out there. Her life, it seemed, had been consumed by her family, as primary caregiver to kids aged eleven, thirteen, and fifteen, and her job – as part-time resource teacher at an elementary school. She had been 'Mom' or 'Ms McLaughlin' for so long, she worried that she'd missed her chance. But maybe there was still hope. There was, after all, what she'd come to think of as 'the washroom incident'.

Her best girlfriend, Carla, repeatedly exhorted her to try internet dating. "It's the new reality, you know," she'd said, coaxing Debbie to try a popular free dating site. After her uninspired date with Darren, Debbie finally relented. And with help from Carla, she came up with an appropriate, if rather benign, profile.

So, there she was, sitting at her laptop, perusing the offerings, cruising the profiles; looking to find some more suitable, compatible dates. Darren had been more than a bit of a washout. Doug, her ex, the only other person she'd dated in the past couple of decades, had left her for a younger, cute and vivacious girlfriend. Of course, Debbie was actually well over that. In fact, she was fine with them, and good with their arrangement. Doug and his bimbo – oh, she really wasn't that bad; actually, she was quite sweet – took the kids every second weekend and occasionally on weekdays. That gave Debbie some time to pursue – pursue what? Love? Sex? Companionship? Time would tell.

It all worked out well, actually, as Debbie already took a night out one or two times a week. She did book club once a month, citizens' advisory committee to the regional district once a month, and taught in an adult literacy program two or three times a month. On those nights, she had a regular university student as baby-sitter, unless kids were with their dad. Quietly withdrawing from some of those commitments, freed up some time.

Plunging right in – "Doing something," she thought, "before I change my mind." – Debbie went on a few reconnaissance dates. She didn't know what to expect, but, was a little disappointed to find out they were not much more than coffee and small talk with a stranger. Nothing clicked. Debbie tried a few more, not yet willing to give up, but they were mainly boring, with the only exceptions being one or two clods who were downright offensive in their self-aggrandizing conceit. She started to feel that there was no one out there with whom she could really connect.

She tried another site, with the same results, then another. In surfing through the web, looking for other possibilities, Debbie got curious about the variety of dating sites available. She discovered sites that were... what? Different? Less mundane? Soon she found herself captivated and intrigued by some specialty sites she'd discovered; quite fascinated by some rather kinky sites she'd stumbled upon; and charmed by the variations.

For a lark, or so she told herself, Debbie developed an online alternate persona: Suzi Carlton; five years younger at 34; no kids; with only a terse comment, "Just 'curious'." And, with that, she pseudonymously signed onto some of the more risqué sites, she'd found.

The email exchanges resulting from those sites were noticeably more interesting, more engaging, and she found herself testing the waters on a few 'let's-meet' dates. On about the third or fourth of these, having met a fellow named Anders in a coffee bar, Debbie felt the stirrings of a possible attraction germinating. In the course of the conversation, Anders asked, "Why is a woman as good looking and apparently intelligent as you still working the dating scene? I would have thought you would've been snatched up ages ago."

The question seemed sincere, and Debbie took that as a compliment. Blushing, she briefly explained her history – motherhood and career, marriage and divorce. When she revealed that she actually did have kids, she learned that she would definitely be considered a MILF.

"What's that?"

"A Mother-I'd-like-to-fuck," Anders stated matter-of-factly.

She got a chuckle out of that, and, hardly missing a beat, she asked him if that was true.

"Is what true?"

"That you'd like to fuck me." She couldn't believe she'd heard herself correctly!

But when he replied, "Absolutely!" she thought, "Why not?"

They got a room in a cheap motel nearby. Regardless of the rather tawdry circumstances, Debbie thought it felt good to have a chubby cock grow stout and stiff at her touch. It felt good to have her paramour grow urgent in her mouth. And to luxuriate in the protracted penetration of her pussy, by an honest Steely Dan. Anders' strokes were long and deliberate. Pulling out until just his plum remained nestled within her, he stopped to lean down and tongue her nipples. A fire glowed within her, as she thrust her hips up, trying, with success, to bump start his pounding again.

As her arousal flared within her, Debbie grabbed Anders by the biceps, and, on his in-stroke, pulled him in tight and deep, pushing her pubes hard into his. Her lips sealed against his throat to muffle the scream that rose out of the blinding orgasmic rush exploding within her. Dropping her grasp to his ass, she held him firm as his juddering cock splashed her insides with its hot nectar; her vaginal walls gripping and pulsing until every drop of his issue had been wrung from his prick.

It was good. It was very good; but something was missing – something intangible. Oh, yes, it was very good, but not great, not stellar.

In the end, as they dressed in a sort of modest silence, they came to the mutual conclusion that they hadn't really clicked. So, with an oddly platonic hug, they parted amicably, wishing one another good luck.

At that juncture, Debbie dropped the alias. It was a complication she didn't need. She would rather just date as herself: Debbie McLaughlin, part-time school teacher and divorced mother of school-aged children.

It was after the next couple meeting-dates that she realized she was not really interested in establishing a relationship. She got bored with the chit-chat, with the sitting around assessing; and anyway, she had a lot of friends; had a vibrant support network. She didn't need that, now. She was almost ashamed to admit it, but, there it was – what she was really interested in was getting down to and establishing the sexual aspect of this whole dating dance. Basically, she just wanted to get laid.

She continued to be disappointed with the initial meets, with the notable exception of Anders'. She felt increasingly horny with every passing day, every missed opportunity. She would fantasize while checking sites and profiles, and was soon, routinely, fingering herself while sitting at her laptop. The washroom incident was never far from her mind. Gradually her concentration shifted to hook-up sites rather than dating sites. She found herself including the term 'no-strings sex' in her many of her profile-updates, until, finally, she arranged a meeting with the explicit understanding that they were connecting strictly for sex.

They met at a bar. He was a big blonde who called himself Helge. He had drinks waiting and began with a little inconsequential small-talk. But Debbie was nervous to distraction. The unforeseen outcome of her meeting with Anders was still fresh in her mind – only the second in a very long time; although lately she'd been masturbating like a madwoman, reliving, mainly, the Aussie bar-fuck. Sadly, she thought, she hardly even considered her two bops with Darren.

"Okay, let's cut to the chase," she silently encouraged, as she sipped a drink she didn't particularly want, and tuned out her date's inane, forced chit chat. Putting her drink down abruptly, mercifully interrupting him, Debbie blurted out what was foremost in her mind – his, too, when it came to that – "Do you want to sit here and talk, or do you want to fuck?" Surprised by her own bluntness, she was embarrassed by her crude forthright manner. How could she act like such a slut? Her date just smiled, as the colour rose in her cheeks. He drained his glass, and stood, abruptly hauling her to her feet.