Mrs. Lachlan
Mrs. Lachlan. Jimmy’s mother. And our neighbourhood’s MILF. You could hear the gasps emerging from every teenage boy (and some grown men) when she glided past. She had the kind of melons older nude you felt like you could wedge yourself between and survive for days in the middle of the ocean. And the kind of mouth you thought could swallow an apple whole, or, alternatively, the kind of mouth you thought you could unload into until you were dizzy and nauseous. She was a real piece of meat. Prime rib.
“Oh, mommy, I’m thirsty, can I have some milk?” the guys would say before bursting out laughing.
None of this was ever said around Jimmy though. Not because he was huge or imposing or psychotic (he wasn't), but just because the guys had enough decency to keep it to themselves.
“I don’t know what they’re talking about, Pete,” Jimmy would tell me after school when he’d overheard something. “She’s not hot, she’s just my mom.”
Well, you’re wrong about that Jimmy, I’m afraid. It was hard, being loyal to my friend and secretly wishing I could give his mom a good rogering. I wasn’t as crude as the other guys, at least in my speech, but I sure thought the same things they did.
“I’ve had a bad dream, mommy. Can I sleep with you tonight?” I would imagine myself saying, while I was in bed, whacking myself off for dear life. It wasn’t the whole incestuous thing that did it for me though – I would shudder and feel sick if I ever pictured my mom during those times -, it was the MILF thing.
“MILF,” I would say aloud in my bedroom at night, grinning every time I heard the word. “MILF, MILF, MILF!”
Fuck...some of the bi chicks we knew were into Mrs. Lachlan. And we all know teenage girls are only bi because it gets them guys, but hey, both sides win, so who gives a shit? But they were into her.
She often come down to our soccer games, strolling along the fence with the usual low – and I mean low – cut top, bending at the waist and giving us a, “Hi boys.”
“Hi, Mrs. Lachlan,” we would reply in that drone you usually heard primary school kids using in the classroom. “Goooood mor-ning Miiisssus Smiiiiith.”
After that, no one thought about soccer any more, unless it was to try to impress Mrs. Lachlan, scoring the most goals or playing a killer game of defence.
In those early days, I tried to be loyal to Jimmy, lord I tried. But even I couldn’t ignore his mom’s ample bust and tight butt.
Not to mention it was somewhat worse (or better?) for me older nude than the other guys. Being Jimmy’s friend (his real friend, before I saw his mom), I was over at his place quite a bit, which meant I saw Mrs. Lachlan outside school and the occasionally run-in at the mall on weekends. Unfortunately, I’d never seen a bra hanging over the shower or a pair of panties under her bed. She would flirt with me though. Well, it might be flirting, or it might be teasing, simply to boost her own ego and surround herself in the knowledge that she was still a walking sex goddess. Whatever...I didn’t care.
The guys often said that it was disappointing Mrs. Lachlan hadn’t had a daughter, ‘cause she would have almost certainly been prime rib herself. Yesiree.
What made it worse though, was that Mr. Lachlan was out of the picture, meaning Mrs. Lachlan was up for the taking. If only they’d been a couple years older, or if only she was some kinky, taboo-loving chick with an underage fetish. Too bad.
Last night I’d pulled the sock up from under my covers, actually struggling to support the thing until I got it to the bathroom, where I poured out my cum in the toilet – there was that much of it! You see, recently, I discovered a much better way to get off than merely picturing Mrs. Lachlan; I found pictures of her. I’d sneaked them out of Jimmy’s house one day, while Jimmy was in the john and his mom was out shopping. There were four of them, photos, the best ones I could find. I made sure they were all shots of Mrs. Lachlan alone – no need to repress childhood memories of whacking off with my best friend smiling up at me. So there they were – my collection. Mrs. Lachlan standing in her garden wearing a floral dress and a sun hat; Mrs. Lachlan leaning on the railing of a pier, barefoot with denim mini-shorts and her raven-coloured hair blowing in the wind; Mrs. Lachlan waving to the camera in front of some hotel, wearing a different dress, striped but still low-cut; and my most prized possession: Mrs. Lachlan laying on her towel by a pool, wearing a yellow string bikini and the biggest grin I could imagine. Oh, baby.
“Mommy, want me to rub some lotion on your back?”
So there was this day...hot as all fuck. Little kids cried as their ice-creams melted before they’d taken their first lick, people took deep breaths and tried to squeeze into the swimming pool, and the air smelled like fried bacon, only it wasn’t bacon, it was our skins that were frying.
My parents had this kind of paradoxical circle going when it came to air-conditioning. During summer, I’d say, “boy we need an air-con,” to which they’d reply, “we’ll get one in winter, honey, they’re a lot cheaper then.” Good logic, I thought. Who buys an air-conditioner in winter? They’ll be dirt-cheap. So winter comes and my parents ask themselves that same question: who buys an air-conditioner in winter? They don’t even want to think about an air-con now; it’s freezing outside! So we had no air-conditioner. But Jimmy did.
He offered before I had to ask and I was eternally grateful. The heat was spreading through the schoolyard, fucking everyone until they were left completely and utterly stationary. Don’t move, just stay perfectly still and, if you can, die. It was that fucking hot.
I mustered what energy I had left to make the walk back to Jimmy’s place. It was like stepping through a dimensional portal, into another world where it was cold instead of hot, where skin was dry instead of sweaty, where your hands didn’t look all hazy and trippy. A world where MILFs existed.
“Oh, hi Pete.”
“Hi, Mrs. Lachlan,” I said in my schoolboy voice, the voice I couldn’t quite seem to shake when I spoke to her.
“How are you?”
I tried to deepen my voice, which made it sound worse. “Good.”
Mrs. Lachlan chuckled. “Hot out there?”
“Yeah,” Jimmy said in a “you think?” tone of voice, taking off his cap and wiping the back of his arm across his forehead.
“Can I get you boys a drink?”
Yeah, how about some milk, straight from the...
“Sure, I’ll have an OJ.”
Mrs. Lachlan opened the fridge, took out a bottle of OJ and poured me a glass. Jimmy wanted Coke. She buried her head back in the freezer, calling out in a muffled voice. “You want me to put ice in that, Pete?”
You can put ice wherever you want, you saucy...
“Yeah, thanks Mrs. Lachlan.”
“No problem.”
She handed us our drinks. I sculled mine, staring through the bottom of the glass at the deformed version of Mrs. Lachlan. Even with four eyes and a body about an inch tall she looked hot.
I put my glass in the sink and turned to Jimmy with an expectant look. “Let’s go on the computer,” Jimmy said, putting his own glass beside mine. “Nothin’ else to do.”
So we went into the study, sitting down on leather swivel chairs and waiting for the black behemoth to boot up. Jimmy had some really cool stuff in his house, aside from his mom.
While we waited, I remembered a dream I’d had about a week ago, which was strange because I didn’t normally remember my dreams – the night variety that is.
I was sitting with Jimmy in this very room, waiting for the computer to boot up, as we’d done loads of times. The Windows screen came up and I turned to Jimmy.
“What game are we gonna play?” Only Jimmy didn’t answer, he had fainted. He was on the floor, snoring. Mrs. Lachlan appeared in the doorway.
“Oh, no,” she said in a not overly concerned sort of voice. “Did Jimmy faint again?”
“Yeah,” I’d replied.
“Well, we’d better go read some books then. How about you, Pete? Would you like to come and read some books with me?”
Something about the way she said “read some books”, like she loved to say that phrase, her tongue curling around it perfectly, enunciating the syllables clearly.
I didn’t answer, but she took my hand nevertheless. “Come on, Pete, let’s go read some books.”
We were in another room then, one I’d never seen before. I couldn’t remember what it looked like, but I remembered it was a nice room, a big room. I looked over at a larger four-poster bed, where Mrs. Lachlan was already lying, a silk sheet draped over her naked body.
“Come on, Pete,” she said, raising up like a venomous older nude snake, “let’s eat some strawberries together.”
Strawberries? Yeah. Yeah, I wanted to eat strawberries.
I climbed onto the bed, the sheets feeling more like a liquid than a solid. The sheet had dropped from Mrs. Lachlan’s body now, but I couldn’t see her tits or her pussy or any of it, for some reason. Maybe I wasn’t looking, maybe it wasn’t there, I don’t know. I couldn’t see it.
“Here’s your strawberry, Pete,” she’d said, holding it out to me. Only it wasn’t a strawberry, it was one of her breasts, detached somehow from her body. She was holding it out to me in her hand, a large ball of flesh with a nipple at the end, sagging in her palm.
“Eat your strawberry, Pete,” she said, pushing her disconnected tit into my face. I smothered it in kisses, licked it and sucked it for all I was worth. It grew bigger in my hand, covering my face entirely.
“Do you like your strawberry, Pete? Show me how much you like your strawberry?”
After she’d said that, I took her breast down to my crotch, noticing I was naked now. I shoved it between my legs and humped my balls against it, moaning and gyrating until Mrs. Lachlan disappeared...
...and I woke up in bed, my hand between my legs, my underwear sticky with cum.
“Pete,” Jimmy said next to me, snapping me from my daze.
“Yeah?”
“Man, this heat must be stuffing your head up,” Jimmy said, shaking his head. “Check this out,” he said, looking at the screen and typing on the keyboard.
I followed his eyes, seeing Internet Explorer open. A moment later the screen changed to the entry page of a porn site I recognised. Credit card required.
Jimmy didn’t seem fazed by this. He scrolled down to the login box and entered an ID name and a password. The screen changed again, this one with headings down the left-hand side: Home, Contact, Models, Picture Galleries, Video Galleries, Bios and Chat.
“No way,” I said.
“Yeah,” Jimmy replied, grinning. “I got the ID and password off this chick in a chatroom. You believe that, Pete? A chick!”
“Yeah,” I said dazedly, staring at the screen. OK, so I was a little old for looking at porn, and I’d seen heaps of it, but this was the holy chalice of porn; a membership site.
Gallery after gallery, video after video, gangbang after gangbang. I could’ve kissed Jimmy. Bleh.
Jimmy ran to shut the door and I clicked on Picture Galleries. He sat back down. “Blowjob, man, blowjob!”
“Nah, lesbian.”
“Oh. Yeah!”
The page came up, thousands of thumbnails, each one representing a gallery. Written beneath them in small writing were things like, “148 pictures”, “196 pictures”, “203 pictures”. This was the real thing. The real motherfucking thing! No more samples of about 10 or 12 pictures, this was the full thing. Get a hold of yourself, Pete!
“You gotta give me this,” I said, my eyes glued to the screen.
“Definitely,” Jimmy said in that same distant tone we’d used for the last two minutes.
“That one,” Jimmy suggested, pointing at one of the thumbnails. I squinted, making it out. I counted five girls, all nude, all about our age. I clicked it, the screen filled with more thumbs, real pictures this time.
And that was the best thing. They weren’t disjointed pictures like those sample pages I used, two girls wearing their school uniforms in the first picture and half-undressed in the next. These showed everything, like a slideshow taken from the video, which was certain to be here too.
I scanned my eyes along the rows, recreating the scene in my mind.
“Ooh, you look nice in that dress.”
“Thanks, mind if I take it off?”
“Nah, knock yourself out. Let me help you.”
“Thanks, can I kiss you now.”
“Sure, no problem.”
“Mmmm.”
“Mmmm.”
“Oh look, here come three others.”
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Can we join in?”
“Sure.”
“Ooh, will you lick my pussy for me while I finger my friend here. And while I do that, she can lick that other girl, while that other girl is squeezing that last girls huge tits.”
“Wow, this is so awesome. I think I’m going older nude to come.”
“Wait, don’t forget to scrunch up your face properly. This is the real thing, not just the samples.”
“Oh, yeah, lick my pussy you naughty girl.”
“Ah, I’m coming!”
“Me, too!”
“Me, too!”
“Me, too!”
“Me, too!”
“Wow,” I said. This was fucking awesome. And if I squinted, that older girl with the big tits kind of looked like Mrs. Lachlan. Maybe she had four long lost, illegitimate daughters.
“Mommy, we want to have an orgy with you and let you lick out cute little cunts.”
Oh, God, I needed a bathroom and a fat lot of tissues.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I said, getting out of the chair and heading toward the door.
Jimmy laughed. “Your choice, man. But you won’t feel like this after you pop.”
Fuck that, I needed to pop, right this fucking second. I wandered through the house. Fuck, where was Jimmy’s mom, maybe I could take a look at her tits before I jacked off. I found her in the kitchen, sitting at the table, flipping through the paper.
“Hey, Pete,” she said, looking up. “You lookin’ for something?”
“Uh, just on my way to the bathroom,” I said.