Mum's Sexual Re-Awakening Pt. 02

"Well, hello," I said appreciatively. Mum flung her arms around me in an almost vice-like grip, and continued holding me as though she'd never let me go. But the rigidity of her initial embrace gradually softened as I felt her whole body relaxing against me. Try as I might to suppress it, part of me was doing anything except relax, as this was hardly the time or place. It was clear to me that what mum needed at this moment was comfort and reassurance. Eventually her arms dropped away and she took a small step back and looked at me.

"It's so good to see you again," she said with some passion, "I know you have your own life to lead, but I do miss it when I don't see you for a few weeks."

What mum needed, of course, was her own boyfriend, but that's easier said than done, especially the older you get, and in the meantime I'm ashamed to admit that I was fantasising more and more about being her surrogate lover.

"It's great to see you again," I said with equal passion, "Especially in that outfit, though I didn't think you were too keen on wearing it."

"Well, I know you like to see me in it, so I thought I'd give you a nice surprise," mum said.

"You certainly have," I confirmed, "You look amazing."

Instead of her usual response of saying it made her look too fat, to my further surprise she thrust out her chest and gave a little wriggle. "Very nice," I said, placing my hands on her shapely hips and kissing her on the lips.

"So where would you like to go for lunch?" I asked her.

"One of the women at work told me about a pub that does Sunday lunches, and then has a trad jazz band playing in the afternoon. I thought we could try that for a change," she replied.

I had expected mum to suggest a pub in town, dressed as she was, and this one was in a nearby village, but if she was up for it, so was I, and I can tolerate a bit of Dixieland, so I readily agreed. "Sounds great," I said.

So off we went. Mum certainly did look a little out of place amongst the usual Sunday lunch clientèle, and received more than a few second looks, mostly disapproving from the women, but with me on her arm she seemed quite happy to brazen it out. We were seated in a relatively quiet alcove area. I ordered a bottle of wine for mum, because if -- as I suspected -- she would be drinking more than a couple of glasses, it would work out cheaper. She certainly didn't object when I placed the bottle on the table. By the time we had finished our meal the band was setting up, and mum had finished the wine, so I asked if she wanted another glass, but she said she'd have a pint of lager.

Sitting where we were, the sound of the band, when it started, was not too intrusive, and we carried on chatting as mum drank her beer. Now we had finished eating, mum snuggled up nice and close to me, and I put my arm around her shoulder. I was making no attempt to disguise the fact that I was ogling the swell of her exposed tummy and her bountiful cleavage, but mum didn't seem in the least discomforted, and the combination of wine and beer was starting to make her quite giggly.

Out of the blue, mum looked at me and said: "What exactly is a milf?"

I answered her with another question: "Why do you ask?"

"Well," said mum, "There's this cheeky lad comes in the store sometimes, usually to buy booze, and this morning he said to me 'How's my favourite milf today?' Is it a compliment?"

"I suppose it is a compliment of sorts," I replied, "It's an acronym."

"A what?" said mum, looking confused.

"The letters m-i-l-f," I explained, "Are the initials of the expression 'Mum I'd Like to Fuck'."

Mum did look a bit taken aback at this. "I see," she said after a pause. "Well, he's quite a dishy lad, so I suppose I'd better take it as a compliment."

"Certainly you should," I confirmed.

Mum was still looking a bit puzzled: "So it must refer to someone else's mum?" she queried.

"I guess so," I replied, "Although I suppose it could refer to your own mum, if you felt that way inclined." Mum gave me a strange look, but said nothing.

"So, what do you think people make of us when we're out together?" I said.

"What do you mean?" mum asked.

"Well," I said, "Do they assume we're mother and son, or do they wonder if I'm your toyboy."

"Goodness," mum said in surprise, "I hadn't thought of that." She considered for a moment before looking at me and asking: "Do you like the idea of being a toyboy?"

"Er, well, I reckon I could get used to it," I replied. Then added: "And if I was going to be someone's toyboy, I couldn't think of anyone nicer than you."

"Really?" mum said, raising her eyebrows.

"Why not," I replied, "I could be your toyboy, and you could be my milf."

"I think I need another drink," mum declared.

It was pretty obvious that mum was already well on the way to being drunk, but I had no intention of putting any dampeners on the way things were heading, so I went and got her another pint.

"So how is a milf expected to behave with her toyboy?" mum asked me when I returned with her drink, snuggling against me again as I replaced my arm around her shoulder and drew her in.

"Well, she's bound to feel very pleased with herself and wants to show off her catch, so they need to be seen out together a lot," I explained. "And she needs to make it very obvious to everyone that they are an item, so she would be very touchy-feely, with lots of public shows of affection and kissing."

"Mmm, I'm really beginning to like the sound of this," mum said dreamily. "Maybe we should start acting the part. That would be one in the eye for some of the women at the supermarket. The older ones are mostly married, and I sometimes think they look on me as a bit of a saddo because I'm divorced and on my own."

And with that, she kissed me full on the lips. After a few seconds she paused and looked at me questioningly, so without hesitating I returned the favour whilst placing my free hand on the top of her thigh and giving it a squeeze.

"I could get used to this," I said, when our lips parted. "Me too," mum agreed, smiling broadly.

We continued cuddling up close as we listened to the band playing. I manoeuvred mum so that she was sitting in a sideways position with her back to me, which enabled me to put my arms around her invitingly exposed midriff and caress her full tummy. I kissed mum's neck and nibbled her earlobe just like a genuine lover would, to which mum responded by letting out a long contented sigh. I even ventured to discretely fondle the underside of mum's braless boobs through the thin material of her top.

"You'll get us thrown out," mum whispered, but she didn't attempt to stop me.

As the afternoon wore on it became increasingly obvious that mum needed to pee, but she didn't seem inclined to move.

"I think somebody needs to go to the toilet," I chided her, "You must be getting awfully full,"

"Oh, I am," mum confided, wriggling in her seat, "But it's so nice and cosy sitting here with you, it seems a shame to move. But I really am bursting."

"That's what comes of drinking so much," I teased.

"I know," mum sniggered, "I'm a naughty girl, but you shouldn't be encouraging me."

"I don't think you need a lot of encouragement," I said, laughing.

"Anyway," mum said, "Where is the Ladies?"

"It's right over the other side of the pub," I replied, "So you'll have to parade yourself in front of all those people in that revealing outfit, so everyone can admire your boobs and those amazing nipples."

Perverse though it might appear, I was now deliberately trying to embarrass mum about just how sexy she looked, but I judged - correctly as it turned out -- that she was drunk enough to take it as a challenge.

"They can look all they like," mum said petulantly, sticking her chest out, "I've got nothing to be ashamed of."

"And plenty to be proud of," I said, "You show 'em."

"I will," mum said, trying to stand up, and falling back clumsily onto the seat in a fit of giggles.

"You drunken milf," I said, pretending to look disgusted, before giving her a big kiss, and squeezing a handful of tit.

At the second attempt, mum managed to stay upright, and began to make her way slowly through the pub, trying to look as ladylike as possible with the twin handicaps of inebriation and an uncomfortably full bladder. She was certainly attracting plenty of attention, many of the men allowing their gaze to linger, to the chagrin of their wives or girlfriends. But the change in mum's demeanour was remarkable. Far from looking contrite or even apologetic, her manner was proud and almost defiant, contemptuous of some of the women who were giving her disapproving looks.

Although I could hardly believe it, I'm sure she was deliberately taking her time in order to show herself off, even pausing a couple of times as though she wasn't sure of the way. When mum reappeared out of the Ladies she was in no particular hurry on her return journey either. Two of the unattached men in the pub briefly talked to her, presumably bestowing some compliments, to judge by mum's response.

Mum had nearly finished her drink, the band finished their set, and time was getting on, so we decided to go home. When we got back to mum's I made us both a cup of coffee, and switched on the TV.

After several minutes of quiet companionship I said: "I think you looked irresistible today. In fact I really wish I was your boyfriend."

She looked directly at me and said: "Really?" though in a tone of voice that suggested the idea wasn't entirely abhorrent to her. "Even though I'm old enough to be your mother?" she added, although I'm not sure if the irony was intentional or not.

"Especially as you're old enough to be my mother," I assured her, "I think a mature woman as attractive as you is something to be savoured, like wine. A full-bodied wine."

She didn't reply, but gave me a kind of appraising look and leaned her whole body in towards me, so that I could feel the swell of her breasts resting against my chest. She sighed and closed her eyes, which was just as well, as she couldn't then see the obvious erection straining within my jeans.

A while later it was time for me to go.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to head back home," I told her.

Mum stirred and looked at me with bleary eyes and said: "I wish you were staying the night."

I wasn't sure how to respond to such an unequivocal statement, but I said something about having to go to work the next working. (I lived some distance away, and my girlfriend would be expecting me home.)

"I know," she said, "But it would be so comforting to have someone to cuddle up to in bed, I really miss that."

"Well, I don't think you'd be short of offers," I pointed out.

Mum laughed. "Maybe," she said. "The trouble is, I'm sure most of the men you meet in pubs are only interested in one thing. Don't get me wrong," she added, "It's very nice to be considered desirable that way, especially at my age. But I'd sooner have somebody that appreciates me in other ways as well, like you do."

"Well, you might be pleasantly surprised one day," I said, rather ambiguously, as I found myself wondering how I could engineer a weekend stay with mum. I was becoming more and more obsessed with thoughts about what might happen if I did.

We said our goodbyes with a long hug, and I promised to come and visit again as soon as I could.

(to be continued)