A MILF can also be a MWLFA—Mother Who Likes to Fuck Around

I think that, in addition to “MILF” (Mother I’d Like to Fuck), there should also be a designation like “MWLFA”
—Mothers Who Like to Fuck Around.

That designation can be applied to a lot of us wives and mothers who are over 40. It’s a proven trend in our liberal modern society that wives feel the need of something new when they reach a certain age, and it is relatively easy for most of us, with all the freedoms we have now—spare time, money, mobility and so on.

In my case, it started with the feeling of being unloved and under-fucked. Especially after my youngest child grew up and found friends of his own, I was left with no role in life that seemed to justify my existence. For a long a time my sex life with Ken, my husband, had not been very significant for me. He never made any real effort to get me into the mood, and it always ended with him pulling out and ejaculating after about five minutes.

At the age of 42 I had to admit that after over 20 years of marriage, it would never be possible to have properly romantic sex with my husband anymore. If I ever wanted to satisfy the needs I was feeling, it would have to be with a hot young lover. So I went out with the idea of picking up a strange man. I was totally determined to make this work for me, so I wasn’t too particular about anything except that he would want to screw me; the rest could come later, the love and romance I thought I needed so badly.

Well, I succeeded on my very first try. Tim was a dark-haired young man of 26, a blue-collar working man from South Carolina. The first time he got me naked in a motel bed was like a fantasy for me. He was so confident and masculine, and he gave me no options about what was all right with me; he was going to do everything to me that he wanted. That was such a thrilling adventure, as though we were in a hot romance novel. I was ready to let it all happen to me, and even tried to anticipate what he would want me to do. When I saw his stiff eight-inch cock standing out so proudly, I felt like a little girl getting her best Christmas present. It was a slim, pretty cock with a nice pink head, and I was brave enough to take it in my hand immediately and squeeze it gently to feel its hot stiffness.

When he grinned and asked me to suck it for him, it was exactly what I was hoping for. I had only sucked my husband’s cock two or three times, and hadn’t cared for it that much, but I eagerly  wrapped my hand around Tim’s throbbing tool, then took as much of it as I could into my mouth and sucked hard.

He only let me suck him for a minute or two before he laid me down, got on top of me and fucked me really hard. It was such a thrill! It was all so different from what sex had been like for me for over 20 years, and I knew that from then on I would be a wholly different person. I was already determined that I wasn’t willingly going to give up the passionate fulfillment I was feeling as his vigorous young cock finally began to spasm, unloading repeated spurts of semen deep inside me as he continued to thrust strongly, penetrating me even further.

I hadn’t orgasmed, but the feelings I experienced as he went on stroking deep in my freshly buttered cunt were all that I needed, and more than I had hoped for. When, after a short rest, he was ready to fuck me again, it was in the doggie position. I had enjoyed that the few times my husband had tried it with me, and I liked it even more this time, with my new lover hitting deeper places inside me with his wonderful long cock.

Just before we got dressed to leave, I took Tim’s cock in my mouth again, partly to let him know I was all his now, and partly to see what I could do with my tongue and lips to make it a special experience for him to remember. Even after fucking me twice he soon got stiff once more, and after five minutes of sucking he came again, this time deep in my mouth. I sucked him clean and swallowed his come. I had never done that for my husband, but I knew I was going to enjoy swallowing Tim’s sperm whenever he wanted me to from then on.

Now perhaps you are thinking that I was acting like a whore. But to me it didn’t matter, because when you need to feel loved it doesn’t seem important what your lover wants to do to you; it just shows how much he wants you. It doesn’t matter that you have never done these things before. It’s just different now, and forever after you will feel that it was special for you, and that you deserved it. I had made a break with the past, and I already felt comfortable about getting naked with a new man and letting him enjoy me in any way he wanted.

For the following eight months I led a double life, functioning as a wife and mother at home, but living for the time every week when I would meet Tim for sex. I would book a motel room and pick up the tab, giddy with the anticipation of another hour or two of delicious sex with my cocky young lover.

The story of how my husband found out that I was cheating on him is neither pretty nor relevant. What astonished me was that, once he had absorbed the first surprise and shock, Ken told me that he understood. He said that this was a normal development at my age, and that I was free to continue my romance if that was what I wanted.

Needless to say, this was a huge relief for me. We talked about it frankly, and I held back nothing, even things I knew might hurt him. Ken said that it made sense to him that at 40, when a woman is nearing the end of her ability to conceive, evolution probably sends her a warning signal by making her hot as a pistol, ready for all the sex she can handle, in some atavistic hope of one more pregnancy. This force of nature  also makes strange men seem more desirable sex partners than familiar ones, since it broadens the genetic pool.

As far as it went, this explanation sounded plausible to me, partially explaining my recent actions, though not completely. I said I thought there were other elements involved as well. Ken shrugged and said there were probably things like female hormones to be taken into account, as well as endorphins that cause a woman to react so positively to a new lover. The stimulation of getting naked with an interesting new man, with his fascinating new sexual equipment and heated desires, releases a heavy shot of adrenaline into the system. This can trigger what she takes for a “love response,” which feeds her romantic hope that this joyful experience might turn into something longer lasting, perhaps even permanent.
This rang true to me, because it had only taken two dates with Tim for me to feel positively in love with him, without knowing why. I guess that’s what love is about—as with faith in God, there’s no way to explain it. But it disturbed me to think that Ken had so easily reduced my romance with my lover to the effects of hormones and evolution.

When I expressed this, Ken said that he knew I would probably go with my heart anyway, because there doesn’t seem to be any easy turning back from what happens there. Don’t even try, he said. Do what you want, because that kind of fire inevitably burns out in a 20-year marriage, and can’t come again as it does with a new love.

This made me sad, but at the same time happy that I was now free to have sex with my lover whenever I could, and to enjoy it without regret or a sense of responsibility.

But though he accepted and supported my new-found freedom, Ken also now began to think up ways to open our married life to other kinds of stimulation.  We had gotten friendly at neighborhood parties with a younger couple, Andy and Joy, and considered them to be friends. One night Ken told me that Andy had confided in him that the two of them belonged to a swingers’ club, where couples partied on weekends and exchanged sex with other couples they met there. Ken’s suggestion was that we visit this club to see if it might add even more excitement to my life, as well as possibly leading to a more interesting existence for the two of us together.

This was another big surprise for me, and though I was hesitant at first, I finally agreed. Ken and I went there with the intention of letting Andy fuck me, and when he did I found that it didn’t feel much different from what I had been doing with Tim for eight months. Andy said he’d been looking forward to doing me ever since we met, and he showed it by his passion and his apparently limitless desire.

In a way I felt better about that trial screw with Andy than I had about my first trysts with Tim. I guess it was something Ken had wanted me to learn—that screwing men other than your husband doesn’t mean that you need to love them first. Well, I got the message. Now I could keep screwing Tim all I wanted, but I knew that I would get much the same kind of sexual satisfaction from fucking at the club, where every weekend I could screw as many men with as many different cocks as I could ever desire. I only had to like them enough to think it might be interesting to see what kind of equipment they had, and how they liked to do it.

Again, you might think of me as a whore, but after all, I don’t get paid for fucking these strange men. I’m just a very friendly not-so-young but still attractive lady who enjoys making men happy. The way my husband puts it is that I seem to be just a cock-loving fuck-groupie on the loose. Who would ever have guessed it?

A few months ago Tim moved back to South Carolina, so I don’t see him anymore, and that’s sad. All my fuck dates are swingers now; other women’s husbands mostly, but also the occasional single guy. It’s the single guys who sometimes fall in love with you after screwing you two or three good times. When that happens I often start getting those old love feelings myself, and wind up letting the guy fuck me privately, outside the club, without letting on to Ken that I have another romance going. For instance, there was a certain black sports announcer who would drive 60 miles to fuck me in Ken’s and my bed while Ken was at work, then drive back for his shift on the air. But those things don’t last long—not the love part, anyway.

So by now, seven years after my first extra-marital fling, I guess you could say that I don’t draw the line at anything sexual, just as long as it’s a fairly friendly encounter with a guy who treats me right. I have reached the point where I will happily do far more extreme sexual things than the average woman, even a swinger, will agree to. That includes lesbian play, 69, anal fucking, and gang bangs with up to seven men at once. I often wonder how that got to be acceptable for a little Lutheran girl from St. Paul’s, but I have no regrets.

The way it typically goes for me now at a swingers’ party is this: by 10 o’clock I will have had two vodka martinis, and will be getting impatient with how slowly things are getting started. I might catch the eye of some guy who at least looks interesting, and if he comes over to hit on me for a quickie, I smile and go off with him. If it’s a house party, we just find an open bed and get naked. I ask him what he wants to do, to give him the option, but almost every time, whether it’s his choice or mine, I will start by getting my hands on his cock and sucking it for him, to make sure he won’t have a problem getting stiff enough to fuck me. That’s what gives me real satisfaction as a swinger— never turning down any sincere guy’s request for a fuck, and making sure that he gets it up and has a pretty good time of it.

Actually, what I would call an even better time is when I have had two men in a row, or maybe three. That’s when I get to feeling extra hot and am ready for even more. “More” frequently means being continuously screwed by from four to seven men, until I have been fucked a dozen or more times in a couple of hours, not counting how many cocks I might have sucked meanwhile.

I suppose that some day I might chill out and start regretting what I started with Tim seven years ago. But for now I have let myself get so unrestrained as to be considered a swinger queen, having experienced maybe 150 men, doing all that wonderful nasty stuff that men want you to do for them. That’s just who I am now, and I can’t help it. I like it, all the men I fuck like it, my husband likes it, and God probably doesn’t care anyway.—Name and address withheld