Ever since I can remember, Helena has been a vital part of our family—I sometimes think the most indispensable part. My mother bridles anytime anyone refers to her as “the maid,” even though she does cook and clean up after us, which we certainly wouldn’t be able to do for ourselves. “Housekeeper” is more like it, but still makes her sound like a mere hired hand. “Mother hen” probably captures it best. No one could ever say a bad word about her. She is the kindest, sincerest woman, always greeting us with a cheerful grin. She says our family is her pride and joy aside from her daughter, Izabella.
I often wondered if we could survive without Helena. Fortunately, for the longest time we never had to find out! In all the years she had worked for our family, she’d only missed one day of work, and that had been when she gave birth to Izabella 21 years before. Those were some of the thoughts running through my head when I took the phone call from her that morning, wondering how on earth I was going to break the news to my mother.
Six months ago my father’s gambling put us so deep in the hole, we finally lost the house. Jason and I had been friends since we were kids. I was at his house more often than not because mine was a train wreck. His mother, Lindsay, was always there for me—for breakfast, lunch or dinner, or even a place to spend the night. Now when I had nowhere else to live, she offered me her spare room, the room she always let me use growing up.
Lindsay was one of those moms who looked good no matter what she wore—T-shirts and shorts in summer, turtlenecks and leggings in winter.
She and Jason’s father got divorced when we were in high school. While Jason went away to college on a scholarship, I managed to get enough financial aid to attend a local school. So it made perfect sense for me to move into Jason’s house. Lindsay said she could use help around the house and would love the company.
I was driving home from a party when I had a blowout. Thank God I wasn’t driving at my usual speed or I might have lost control of the car. I steered the car to the side of the road but had no clue how to change the tire. There wasn’t another car in sight, and my phone was on low battery—an attempt to call my son drained it. With just a couple of hours till daylight, I decided to make the 20- minute walk to town. Even at 45 I’m in shape from running each morning, so I took the flashlight from the glove compartment, locked the doors and headed out.
I passed the bar where my friends and I hung out during college. The neon sign was dark and the closed sign was on the door, but it was only an hour past closing time, so I figured someone might be inside cleaning up. I looked in the window and sure enough just made out the silhouette of someone wiping down the bar. I knocked on the glass; the figure shook its head. I kept knocking until the figure came to the door, unlocked the locks and opened the door about six inches. “See the sign?” a deep voice said. The figure was tall.
My wife and I stay at downtown motels some Saturday nights to enjoy the night life with no concern about driving. When we go out, I love Sandy to dress up to show off her figure with a top that really shows her cleavage, and she loves to oblige.
One Saturday as we enjoyed a pre-dinner cocktail in the motel lounge, we began chatting with a few men in their late 20s. (Let’s just say we’re a good deal older.) They were there for a bachelor party for Jim, who was getting married the next weekend. They all enjoyed checking Sandy out, and before we left told us to have a good dinner and invited us to stop in and say hi later, when the party was bound to be still going on.
As we walked to dinner, Sandy said what a good a nice, good-looking bunch they were, and noted how they were checking her out. “It’s nice to know I can still excite guys that age.”
I hate when my husband goes on business trips, because I end up doing all the chores in addition to my regular job. My son used to do these things, but he’s away at school. The last time my husband was away for two weeks, I had the house immaculate when he came back, and he didn’t appreciate it—I’d done all of his work! I vowed, never again!
There’s a younger guy at my job that I sometimes have lunch with. He’s a paid intern who doesn’t mind being at my beck and call. As soon as my husband said he had a trip coming up, I decided to get Alan to do his chores. He’s 19, the same age as my son—not too tall but built like a wrestler. I suspected that he had a thing for older women, which I intended to use to my advantage.
The morning my husband left, I told Alan I might need help around the house if he could spare the time. I said I’d fix him lunch and dinner if he came over Saturday afternoon. We were having lunch at the time, and he got so excited, he knocked his soda over. When he jumped up from the table I spotted a bulge in his pants. I’d never done anything like this, but if he felt that way, why not?
Life was getting too predictable in my hairdressing business. I could close my eyes and walk through my daily routine—have my shampoo girl Laura (fresh out of beauty school) whisk my next client to the back sink to wash her hair, then usher the lady onto my chair (my “throne,” I call it, since I make my clients feel like royalty), towel-dry her hair while chitchatting about her latest heartbreak while on autopilot I snip and sculpt her into the goddess I know she has inside her.
Poof! Like magic, she melts in my hands. Her problems—typically dissolved relationships, cheating spouses, backstabbing friends or family dramatics—all fade away by the time I blow her out. My clients leave feeling on top of the world, which is why they always come back to me, however deep they have to dig into their pockets. My services don’t come cheap, but they seem to feel that the price of beauty is worth it. My ladies leave radiant, looking like they stepped off the pages of a Hollywood gossip rag, feeling like rock stars!
1. “Remember to wear your Armani tux tonight”
The banquet to raise a cure for some-disease-or-other is being held tonight on my parents’ sprawling estate. My mother lives for charity events. She’s all about “giving back,” which she can afford, since she has enough money to eliminate the hunger crisis in Africa. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a tad. Actually, it’s amazing that we have any money left. It’s “old money” now, but Mother came by it the good old-fashioned way: through her bloodline of robber barons. Miraculously, it has sustained four generations of greedy, grubby hands, including mine.
Life as a trust-fund kid has been, well, highly satisfactory. I noticed early on that I seemed to worry way less than my less fortunate friends, hardly ever experienced shame and never heard “no.” I have a passion for fast cars and even faster women. As soon as they find out who I am, they seem to go down on me like it’s a competition for Slut of the Week, with the prize being a chance of becoming my wife.
As if! At age 26, I like things just fine just the way they are, and plan to keep them that way. A lifetime of fucking is kind of what I have in mind.
Over breakfast Mother reminds me, “Douglas, remember to wear your Armani tux tonight,” adding, “You have to look your best for the auction.” While I roll my eyes, our live-in maid Dolores refills my coffee cup. I’ll need all the caffeine I can get flowing through my veins in order to get through tonight.
My first sexual encounter was with my best friend’s mom when I was 18. I never told Arnie about it, and to this day we’re still best friends.
At that time Jessica was a gorgeous woman in her late 30s, and even when Arnie was not there I used to hang around their house and do odd jobs for her just to be near her.
One day, as I was mowing their lawn, I looked into the kitchen window and saw Jessica crying. I wasn’t sure what to do, but as she continued to sob I stopped what I was doing and went to her.
She was embarrassed when she saw me, and tried to turn away so I couldn’t see her face. I put a hand on her shoulder and asked her if there was anything I could do to help. She patted my hand and thanked me, but told me she’d be fine. She started to walk away when something fell from her hand. Before she could stop me I bent down to pick it up. It was a photograph, and when I looked at it I could feel my face get flushed, and I totally understood why Jessica was devastated. The picture was of her husband Cliff, naked in bed with a young blonde girl. The girl’s legs were splayed open, and Cliff’s face was making its descent to her pussy.
Even before it happened I had the hots for Rita, who was my friend Alan’s mom. All our friends called her a MILF, and she was a lot younger and sexier than most of the other moms.
She’d been divorced from Alan’s dad for a few years, and had gotten a nice settlement out of it. She was pretty loose and liberal with Alan, and often let his friends, including me, spend the night.
On a lot of those nights Rita would go out with her friends, or one of her sisters, all of whom were hot. It was on one of those nights, after she came home, that it all began.
A bunch of us were spending the night at Alan’s, but at that point I was the only one still awake. I was feeling horny and was actually jerking off to a porno flick in the living room when Rita came in. I had my eyes closed and wasn’t aware that she was even there until I started shooting off, at which point I opened my eyes and saw her sitting there, watching me quietly. What flipped me out even further was that she was rubbing her pussy under her skirt as she did so.
When my husband left me for a younger woman last year I was devastated, and I thought I would never find love again. After all, I was 37 years old and about 30 pounds overweight. I basically went into hiding, and I lost my appetite. I ate so little that I lost about 15 pounds without even trying.
One Saturday night, several weeks after the divorce was finalized, I was sitting home alone, feeling sorry for myself, when the phone rang. It was Rex, my now ex-husband’s 18-year-old nephew. He asked what I was doing, and I told him nothing. “Good,” he said. “I’ll pick you up in an hour. We’re going to a movie.” Then, before I could protest, he hung up.
I sat there for a minute or two, and then decided, why not? Rex and I had always gotten along well, and I really did need to get out of the house. So I bestirred myself to get ready.
15273 viewed
11917 viewed
10773 viewed
9035 viewed
8423 viewed
8295 viewed
8009 viewed
7639 viewed
6151 viewed
5983 viewed
7 comments
4 comments
3 comments
2 comments
2 comments
2 comments
2 comments
2 comments
2 comments
1 comments
© GMCI Internet Operations Inc. All rights reserved.