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.
I was about 35 years old when I realized that the women I was most strongly drawn to were older than I was—much older, in most cases. I was drawn to them emotionally, intellectually, socially and above all physically—particularly if they were still fairly attractive, and open-minded about sex.
Over the last 10 years I have come to know many such women—cougars, as they are called—and I remember them all fondly. They were all different, with varying tastes and preferences when it came to sex. I had never dreamed that I could enjoy such a sheer variety of sexual experience.
Lynn, for example, was every man’s fantasy, in that about 90 percent of the time all she wanted was to satisfy me orally. This was not a pretense on her part, nor simply a desire to cater to my whims; she simply and sincerely loved giving me blowjobs, which she did enthusiastically and on a regular basis—in the car, in the shower, in the middle of dinner or at five in the morning. Any time, any place. And she had the most talented mouth I had ever known.
My wife Lavinia is 67 and gorgeous. For those readers who might think 67 is too old to be of interest and are considering jumping to the next letter, let me say that if you saw my Lavinia, you would immediately want to fuck her. She regularly gets hit on by all age groups, from 18 up. All our male friends think she is the hottest thing around and can hardly hide the lust in their eyes when they look at her, whether young or mature, married or unmarried.
Well, after 46 years of marriage, my very beautiful, still shapely, very sexy wife got her first outside fuck. It happened during the planning for her high school’s 50th reunion party.
Sean had been one of Lavinia’s boyfriends in high school. He was not a long-time, serious boyfriend, but they had gotten as far as jerking each other off, which was rather bold in those days. Of course he wanted more, but she had denied him, largely because of her religious background. Their limited relationship had ended when they both went off to college.
Last summer my husband and I decided to treat our daughter Louise to a beach vacation in celebration of her finishing her first year of college. Everything was set up when my husband had to cancel at the last minute, due to a crisis at work. I was a bit disappointed, but Louise seemed more thrilled than ever. When I asked her why, she said it would be a girls-only vacation now, which would make it even more fun. That she enjoyed the idea of spending some quality time with me really made me feel appreciated, and I was determined to have as much fun with her as I could.
The drive went fine, and we arrived at our condo by late morning. I had just started unpacking when Louise announced she was going down to the beach, throwing on a bikini that was much smaller than anything she had worn before. I had some reservations about it, but then remembered my vow about having fun with her, so I relaxed and said nothing.
For about a year now my wife Olivia, a really hot cougar/MILF, has been getting fucked once a month by a young man half her age, with an unusually large prick. She loves it, he loves it, and I’m okay with it, for reasons I will tell you about.
It all started with my wife’s niece, Alice, who lives and works in a nearby city. She is in her late 20s and is an unusually attractive lady, tall, slim, and shapely. About three years ago, Alice’s long-time best male friend, Ross, finally became a “friend with benefits.” The two of them had not hooked up previously because neither of them wanted to risk their friendship on an affair that might or might not pan out. But then Alice began hearing from some of her female friends that Ross was unusually well endowed, and that he knew how to use what he had. The word was that his cock was nearly nine inches long. Alice was intrigued, but resisted for a time her impulse to bring up the subject with Ross.
But one evening, over a dinner accompanied by a liberal amount of wine, she found herself probing and even teasing him a bit over what she had heard about his manhood. Ross took it in good spirit, and admitted that his endowment did indeed measure up to the rumors she had referred to.
When I got divorced and moved to a new neighborhood two years ago, I met a lady named Letitia, who hung out at a local bar which I also frequented. She was a good looking, mature woman, who I guessed to be in her late 40s or maybe early 50s. She was pleasant to talk to, and we often sat at the bar and chatted over a few drinks. Over the course of a few months we became good friends. She was really a hell of a nice lady, widowed but not bitter, and very outgoing.
I often wondered why she didn’t have a man. I couldn’t see a gray hair on her head, and no stretch marks or wrinkles, other than some very faint crow’s feet around the eyes. She had curly dark hair, blue eyes and a nice smile. She also had the prettiest pair of legs I’d ever seen, smooth and shapely. I told her several times that her legs should be on a billboard somewhere, advertising stockings or high-heeled shoes, but she just laughed. I sometimes heard other people making comments about her legs as well, even though her hemline never rose more than an inch or two above her knees.
I found her legs so attractive, along with the rest of her, that after a time I began to flirt with her a little. Since I had never seen her come in with a guy, I figured I had a good chance. Letitia knew what I was after, and she was good-natured about it, even seeming to enjoy the chase, though she would scold me gently whenever I suggested that she go home with me.
I used to play pro soccer until an injury sidelined me permanently. I went back home, got a job and tried to put it all behind me, until one day a friend called and asked me if I would coach a local girls’ soccer team. At first I said no, but once I got to thinking about it I realized how much I missed the game. So, even though it was just coaching, I figured, why not?
At the first team practice I met a bunch of the girls’ parents. Among them was a woman in her 40s, with teased blonde hair and a very big set of tits, wearing a tight white T-shirt and red shorts. During a break in the practice session this woman approached me. I now noticed that her shorts were tight enough to show that she had a great ass. Her thighs were slightly thick, but nicely tanned. She stood close enough for me to inhale the sweet perfume she was wearing as she said, “I’m told you played pro soccer, is that right?”
I looked into her blue eyes and then at her tits as I said, “Yes I did, until I got hurt.”
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.”
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