Mums Day out

Mum's Day Out

[This story follows on from "A Hot Saturday" which sets the scene for the following.]

It was a few days after a very hot, oppressive week when I queried Mum about her looking unusually happy after going swimming with her friend, Irene, at the local swimming centre. I was sitting at the kitchen table watching mum fussing around with pots whilst preparing the evening meal. It seemed the best time to asked her,

"What happened last Saturday to make you look so pleased with yourself?"

"Whatever do you mean, Jean?" she asked. Mum always answered a question with a question, so I expected it. She also did it when she had something to hide and I think that was the reason this time, so I probed her further with my questions.

"When you came home your seemed to be unusually pleased with yourself, did you get lucky in the pool?" I asked directly.

Her face flushed a brighter pink, "What possessed you to ask a question like that, Jean?" she rebuked me, but I could see there was more to this story.

"Well? Did you? Get lucky I mean." She nodded and answered,

"Well, to tell the truth, it wasn't our usual swim day, it did take an unexpected turn and it turned into quite an odd afternoon," she confessed.

"So, you got lucky? Yes?" I waited for her response.

"I am not sure you would call it lucky, but it certainly was different. The whole afternoon was very different. It was difficult to swim in the pool -- it was more crowded than usual. It seemed there were more children in the large pool, not in the intermediate one where they normally swim. Their yelling and squealing were unbearable, so Irene and I headed towards the café to have a cold drink, when two men stopped us." I went to ask her a question, but she put her hand up to stop me and continued her tale, "It was the same two men I told you about some time ago. You know, the ones who let us touch them?" I knew who she meant.

"I remember you telling me about a hand-job in the pool, but surely not in the café?" I asked her.

"No, don't be silly. Of course not. I'm not like that, you should know that," she snapped back and went on, "as we were walking towards them, they were heading back from somewhere in the complex. They asked us where we were going. We told them we were going to the café. One of them, the one I now know as Ian, suggested that if we wanted a cold glass of chilled wine, he could arrange it.

"From where we were standing, we could see that the café area was crowded, with more squealing kids, so the wine sounded like a great alternative. It was now that the other man introduced himself as Chris. He asked Irene her name and so it seemed to work out that he would escort Irene to the wine and Ian would walk with me. I told him my name was Shirley, then added my friends call me Shirl, so he immediately adopted the shortened name, which aroused me," Mum explained.

"Where were they going to get wine at an alcohol-free public venue?" I asked her.

"Well, that is where the day started to get more interesting, they said they both had cooler boxes in their cars if we wanted to walk to the car park. I suggested we needed to change out of our swimwear first, but Ian said it wasn't necessary, besides they were wearing their swimwear, which had not gone unnoticed by me."

"Where were their cars, then?" I asked in extreme curiosity. It was a very hot day and I suspected the cars would be hot too.

"In the car park. Where else would they be?" she retorted harshly, making my question sound silly.

"It's OK, Mum, your story is confusing," I tried to quieten her, "are you able to move to the car park dressed in swimwear?" I asked her.

"Irene and I sometimes leave our clothes in the car and walk to the pool in our swimsuits if we aren't going to stay long, that's normal," she explained.

"Well, go on," I urged her, "So you went to their cars for a drink?" I wanted to find out what made Mum so happy when she arrived home and the car park story wasn't doing it for me.

"They both had their own cars there, Ian has a Toyota and Chris has a Ford, just in case you wanted to know that too," she said sarcastically.

"No, not interested, but what happened next?" I asked.

"I can tell you my story, but after comparing notes with Irene later, after the wine, it was a similar experience for her with Chris. It was almost like those evil men had pre-planned the meeting."

"I sat in the front of the car with Ian. He asked what type of wine I liked and I suggested a chardonnay. He went to the back of the car and came back with a well-known label on the bottle and two nicely chilled glasses. He gave me the two glasses to hold while he poured a liberal amount of wine into each one," she explained.

I interrupted her by saying, "It sounds like they have done that before."

"I didn't ask, but the coolness of the glass on my lips and the taste of a good wine was better than whatever the café could serve," she said. I waited for Mum to continue, "As we sipped the wine, he asked about me and my family, you know, idle chat, like most men do at a first meeting. Then he put his finger under the shoulder strap of my swimsuit, you know, my new one, and slid it down the front. 'Can I slip it off your shoulder, Shirl?', he asked me. I didn't know what to say, but I did say it wasn't what I expected of him. He just smiled and took his finger away."

I was keen to hear more of this odd liaison, "Is that it?" I asked her, "He stopped doing it, did he?"

"No, of course not. He pointed to the bulge in his swim trunks and said to me, 'Do you remember this, some weeks ago, in the pool?' Of course, I did, I told him what I did then was not my usual behaviour, but he said I did it with such expertise and asked me to do it again." Mum came to the table and sat on the chair opposite and gave me a very stern look. She looked me in the eye and said, "I hope you don't tell your father about this; what I did wasn't all that bad, just fun and I hope you know how to keep secrets, at your age." I nodded.

"Did you do it to him?" I asked. I was really interested now. She looked at me and said, rather guardedly, "Well, not then. He suggested we sit in the back seat of his car to avoid passers-by from seeing us through the windscreen." She paused and I was curious to hear more, so I urged her,

"Did you get into the back seat with him?" She half-smiled and nodded, as if she had stolen the last cookie from the cookie jar.

"Mum! How could you?" I asked in a loud voice and feeling rather ashamed at her behaviour. "You were encouraging him, that's worse," I tried to reason with her.

"Well, it seemed sensible. There was more room and the tinted side windows did prevent us being seen from outside. Besides that, the whole car was cool, because Ian had parked it under a huge gum-tree. Ian was very thoughtful; he also put the ice-bucket, with the wine bottle on the console, within easy reach." She seemed as if what she was telling me had become her normal behaviour, but I had some uneasy feelings about where this would end; my curiosity has increased. I couldn't help thinking how all this would sit with Dad, if he knew.

"Did Ian say why he wanted to be in the back seat, Mum?"

"He didn't have to, Jean, it was very clear what was on his mind. Perhaps just a jerk off, or maybe a blow-job. Before you say anything else, I was up for it, whatever he wanted, I really was ready, Jean. I thought it would be fun -- and harmless." It seemed Mum went along with him, she seemed so unashamed by talking about it.

"Mum, did you do it... with him?" I asked. I was feeling embarrassed about asking, but I wanted to know.

"Not immediately. He put my hand on his cock and asked me to squeeze it through his trunks. It did feel big. It was then he tried the approach of slipping his finger under the shoulder strap of my swimsuit again; this time I said it was OK. He pulled the strap off my shoulder and down my arm, exposing one boob which he kissed." I looked at her in silence, not believing what I was hearing -- this was my mother! She took a breath and continued to tell me, "It didn't take him long to slip the other strap off my shoulder and I was exposed down to my waist. My tits were naked. It felt good, Jean. I didn't think I would let him do it, but I did. I let him feel them too! Maybe the wine had something to do with it, I was enjoying his attention."

I stood up to switch the kettle on and to collect my thoughts about my mother's wanton behaviour. I guess she is only human, and what Dad had told me last week, she may have been craving some sexual affection too, which this Ian person so readily provided.

I sat down again and asked her, "So, you let him feel your tits?"

"Not just my tits, Jean. You saw how brief the lower part of my swimsuit was, didn't you? Well, it was enough for one of his fingers to find its way into my muff. I let him move it around in there for a while before he stopped. He looked at me, took the wine bottle out of the ice bucket and poured the remaining wine into both our glasses. He put the empty bottle back and said to me, 'Maybe I will be more comfortable if I took these off.' He spoke as he slipped his trunks down over his knees, exposing his big cock, now ready for action."

"Mum. How could you?" I asked her, looking into her eyes for some justification, but her expression seemed quite neutral.

"Oh, come on dear, I bet you have done things like that yourself, so don't play the innocent one with me." I just looked at her as she continued her story.

"Look, it isn't every day that some-one wants to be with a woman my age, I was enjoying the attention, I have to tell you. Don't you know the new 30 is the old 50? I am not quite that old, but I do feel a lot younger when I am with him." I sat in silence as Mum continued her sordid story. "I started stroking his cock, just slowly, not wishing to rush things. His cock felt bigger than it was in the pool a few weeks ago. It was then Ian suggested I take my swimsuit off too. My first thought was that he would see the stretch marks caused by having you and your brother, but I finally relented and slipped it off and down my legs." She looked at me and smiled.

"It felt good too, although somewhat naughty, but I enjoyed feeling naughty with him. This was all different, but it felt so right. Now he was able to use his fingers effectively in me which gave me great pleasure. I was stroking his penis while he was finger-fucking me."

"Mum. What are you saying? You don't usually speak like that, what has got into you?" I asked her. I changed the topic and asked what happened to Irene in the other car.

"Much the same, dear. We compared notes in the changing room before we came home. Chris was able to get to Irene's tits more easily, by pulling the string at the back and it just fell off. Her bikini was quite small and revealing and the bottom part was also easily untied by Chris. According to her, 'they just slipped off her onto the floor.'"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I was hoping it was Mum just teasing me for the sake of making it sound worse than my imagination allowed.

"Are you telling the truth, or are you making this up?" I asked her.

"No dear, it is all true, I can assure you. It was a really fun day. I would never have made the approach, it was Ian who suggested it, but that is what men do, isn't it? However, it was good and I went along with the mood of the afternoon. Good wine, good company, much cooler in the car than outside, so what else was there to do, except enjoy what the afternoon had to offer. So, I did."

"Did you do anything special with his dick?" I asked her.

"What do you mean 'special', Jean? I started sucking it and then relieved him at the end with a long blow-job. He was very appreciative, I know that, he told me so after. So, before you ask any more questions, yes, I let him bring me to my orgasm with his fingers. He knew where to find my G-spot -- unlike your father, who doesn't put much effort into finding it."

"Mum, you can't say that about Dad. He loves you and you are telling me private things about what you two do. Maybe he gets tired after working all day and prefers to rest in bed." I reverted to her activities with Ian in the Toyota. "Did you let him go any further with you, like, having proper sex?"

"I thought about it, but after seeing what he already had shot into the towel he had hidden under the front seat, I don't think there would be any left for a fuck. That's what you meant, isn't it?"

"Mum!" I exclaimed rather loudly; I was shocked by her language and asked her, "You don't talk like that normally, so why now?" I asked.

"It is girl talk. We are girls talking about men, aren't we? Just like when I was at college, and I bet it is the same at your university when you students get together." She was right, but it was strange to hear MY mother saying it. She is not a 'girl'; she is 42 years old and acting like a teenager. However, I appreciated her candour and trust in me. I am not sure I can keep it a secret from Dad after what we did on that weekend.

"So, how far did you go?" I persisted with the questions. "Did it all stop there, when the wine ran out, or did you carry on with more 'tricks' after that?"

"What's with all the questions? I feel like a criminal being interrogated by the police, not my daughter. Look, I was having innocent fun, it wasn't sex, or love, it was just fun, F-U-N. Ian and I were just having fun." She was getting overwrought, so I had to bring her back to a quieter emotional state, so I changed tack.

"Did you get dressed to come home. Your clothes were still in a locker in the pool changing room, so you had to get dressed again to leave the car. Is that what you did, Mum?"

"Eventually we did, but we had a '69' before that. Does that answer your question?" she asked rather aggressively.

"Yes, it does. But you can't blame me for wanting to know. When you walked in on Saturday afternoon you looked like the proverbial cat that got the cream. Don't you think Dad would have noticed your breezy attitude when you came in? Did he ask you anything about the afternoon when you were in the bedroom? If I noticed your odd behaviour, I am sure he would have noticed it too."

"Before I left Ian, I asked him where he lived. He told me his address was in Brenna Park. I asked him his surname and he said, 'Let's just keep it to first names, it can get complicated if you know too much', but he did give me his cell phone number. Of course, I gave him mine too. He helped me get dressed and I tucked his cock back in his trunks as he pulled them up. When we were dressed, we had a proper kiss and he said he enjoyed the afternoon and asked if we could do it again. I said 'yes' to that."

That was the end of her story, which I believe to be true, but I am still shocked at her talking like that. It was the smutty college girl talk she was using that concerned me. Talking like that is not normal for her. Something has changed in her.

"Brenna Park? Where is that?" I asked Mum, trying to justify all of what she had just told me.

"Still more questions. Will you stop with the questions, Jean," she demanded, but she answered me, "It's a new housing development near the Carmody River, it is about 10 kilometres north of here, so close if I want to get laid at his house."

"Mum, that's gross. You've got Dad to think about," I reminded her.

"Yes dear, I do think about your dad then my mind goes back to Ian again and his big cock."

She poured a second cup of tea and I sipped mine, in total silence. I didn't know why Mum was so quiet, but I was trying to get my head around what Mum had told me. It goes contrary to what she has been teaching me and my brother, but the practice of our family talks was not followed by her.

I suppose it is difficult for a 20-year-old to understand the needs of a 42-year-old, but I was trying. When I am her age will I be running around fucking 40-year-old men, or will my mother's teaching guide me? I guess time will tell.

The realisation of that thought came like a bolt out of the blue -- my dad IS already 42-years old NOW! I'm ALREADY doing that! Maybe I am just providing dad with a necessary service, but the truth was that it not planned, it only just happened due to a set of coincidental circumstances. It was a hot day and we were both trying to stay cool. With both of us being naked on his bed it became all that much easier.

Another week has passed. The days were cooler now. I arrived home from college much earlier than usual and Mum wasn't home. If she wasn't at Irene's place, she might be at the swimming pool. I noticed Irene's car was missing too, so were they together at the pool or had both of them made separate arrangements?

Later that afternoon I saw Irene return home, but Mum wasn't following. I called out to Irene and asked if she knew where Mum was. I wasn't really surprised when she called back, "She was going to Ian's place today." I should have guessed that. I can't phone her because it may interrupt 'something important' there. I spent part of the afternoon wondering what story she would tell me when she returned home this time.

It was quite late when she arrived home, almost bounding up the path from the car, swinging her tote bag as she walked. I opened the front door to greet her and she said she had a wonderful day and gave me a kiss. Usually, after swimming her hair is wet, but not today. She was still looking like she was about to go out on a date, so, I asked, "Do you want me to put your swim gear in the laundry, Mum?"

"I didn't use it," she replied quite quickly.

"So, you didn't go swimming today?" I chided her, "Was the pool empty?" I asked sarcastically.

"Don't be silly, Jean, you know where I was, so stop the silly stuff." She gave a giggle and I just glared at her in return.

I went into the kitchen and switched the kettle on for a cup of tea for her. She went to her bedroom before returning to the kitchen. "Did you have a good day, Mum?" I asked her.

"The best!" she replied without explanation. She sat heavily on the chair and said, "It was better than my honeymoon." I was stunned and didn't know what to say. Some fanciful thoughts ran through my mind. I poured the tea and started to sip mine, she spoke again,

"He's a good cook, I can tell you that," she volunteered, unexpectedly.

"What did he cook for you?" I asked her.

"Oh, I don't know, some Italian delights; pasta, salad and some things I had never eaten before. It was great. Even better when we washed it down with a glass or two of Chianti," she added.

"So, you enjoyed the food. Were there other treats?" I asked her then quickly added, "A dessert, I mean."

She drank her tea and smiled at me, "I know what you mean. You have to see it to believe it, Jean. Such a good one," she said. I was shocked at her frankness about the subject of her story.

"In what way?" I asked her. She was silent for a moment, sipping her tea then she responded,

"He was married, you know, now divorced. She was silly to leave him, I can tell you that." The sentences staggered out, but I was left in no doubt what the topic was about.

"That good, eh?" I said, to tease out more information.

"A woman doesn't usually tell another woman about what a man's equipment is like, but I will say, it's more impressive than your dad's, and that's the truth."

I know about Dad's, I thought his was pretty impressive, but it seems Mum thinks it was less so.

"How do you mean, Mum?"

"Stop asking questions. If you must know, it was like your father and me on our first night -- quite tight, but after 20 or so more years and two babies later, this one felt like my first night all over again. Does that satisfy your curiosity?" I nodded and could not help smiling. Her comparison was quite clear.