Pursuit of an Orthodox MILF

Everyone in this story engaged in sexual activity is 18 or over. Resemblance of any kind to real people, places, events, things, planets, etc are purely coincidental.

That said, please enjoy what I hope to be Part 1 of an Orthodox MILF series.

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My friend's name is Kamila but she goes by Kimla and she is one hell of a Mediterranean beauty. Tall at 5 ft 8 in, dark eyes, olive complexion, long slightly curled jet black hair, full lips, and a perfect mom bod. She never offered and I've never asked for her measurements but I'd place a strong bet on 36-32-38 with heavy mom breasts on the larger side of a C cup and motherly hips. She is Lebanese by birth but lived in Jordan, where she married, and later Egypt where her husband, Samir (or Sammy) where they worked until moving to the states some 10 years ago.

That's when I met them. They moved into my upper middle class neighborhood and we hit it off immediately. At the time I was 22 and recently divorced but had a new girlfriend who had 2 preteen children about the same ages as their 3. The kids got along wonderfully and we spent long hours drinking wine and talking to them into the wee hours of the morning nearly every weekend.

They have three children, two boys and a girl. Being from Lebanon they were not Muslim but rather strict Eastern Orthodox Christian with a strong Maronite influence. So, very much on the conservative side. Kimla and her daughter were always in calf length dresses which didn't reveal much but were usually very alluring, at least to me, and, as I mentioned, conservative.

Eight years went by and I had broken up with the girlfriend. Turned out she wanted a friend with benefits but not a partner. I was seeking more, at least at the time I was. Sammy and family still lived next and our relationship had grown quite close. I had had a swimming pool put in and we had put a gate into the backyard privacy fence separating our yards so they and the kids could use it when they wanted. My natural olive complexion and black hair, allowed me fit right in with them socially. In their social settings Sammy kept introducing me to friends as his brother. Seems in Jordan it is a great compliment and expression of endearment. It was Sammy who patiently taught me passable Syriac. Other than being a chain smoker, which I always bugged him about, he was a great guy.

Their daughter, Giselle, the oldest and quite intelligent, used the pool quite often until she left for university about a year ago. She graduated 2 years early so was only 16 when she went to the local Uni. She was a young less physically mature version of mom but still, quite a beauty.

The lady's bathing suits always made me smile. They were high necked one piece things with a skirt which went to the mid thigh. Pretty damned concealing in this day and age, but once again reflected their faith and cultural modesty. Some of my education in their personal grooming happened near the pool. Being good looking women of course I looked. Although not Muslin and not practicing fitra I noticed Kimla and daughter shaved their legs and armpits.

Arabic women sometimes get an undeserved reputation as being hairy. Mediterranean women in general are thought to have more hair than others when it's really a matter of darker hair being more visible. Muslim women are encouraged by the sunnah to trim their hair. Culturally it bled over to the Orthodox women. At the time I had suspicions about whether they shaved or trimmed pubic hair from puffy pubic areas in wet bathing suits. I guessed trimmed.

As for Sammy, well he was a great guy but along the topic of "packages" he was, at least from my perspective, lacking. Look, I'm no John Holmes with a giant horse schlong but I'm longer than normal at 17 cm (or 6.7 inches) but I've been told by partners that my girth of 14 cm (or 5 1/2 inches) is quite thick. But hell, who am I to say? A woman decides what is or is not "sufficient" and apparently Sammy, with 3 kids and a loving wife, was at the very least sufficient.

We had become close to the point that I began attending church with them. I think they, particularly Sammy, had the hopes I'd convert but I never seriously considered it even though I liked their faith's beliefs quite a lot and had even learned passable Arabic. I was a non-practicing Catholic. He had mentioned several times that their eldest daughter and I would make a good match. There was only a 12 year difference between us and I seriously considered it but she didn't seem interested. Suffice to say I blended in completely with them. If you didn't know otherwise you'd think I was Orthodox.

One day I was puttering around on the back porch and could hear Sammy mowing. I was startled and shocked to hear a scream come from next door. I sprinted through the back gate and found Kimla in the back yard kneeling over Sammy. I dialed 911 and the operator talked me through resuscitation until the responders arrived. By the lack of pulse and blue lips it was clear to me he was gone from the moment I got there.

He had passed of a heart attack while mowing his back yard. It was completely out of the blue. One moment here, the next gone. Worst was that at 40 he was a pretty young and left a young wife and family behind. Kimla was the same age.

For reasons I'd learn in the future the church was adamant the funeral be strictly family but Kimla and the kids considered me family and, much to the consternation of her mother and priest, insisted I attend. In fact they had me drive them to the memorial service.

For several months Kimla had loads of family around with her mom and younger sister Selah staying with her. They were from the Hasbayya region of Lebanon and it was their first trip to the US. It was traditional the family gather to protect and care for a family who lost the paternal rudder. Financially they were fine, in fact more than just fine. Sammy had invested well.

Without being asked I'd taken to doing things she needed done such as lawn care, taking her trash cans to the curb when it was collection time, doing some light maintenance as I noticed it, taking care of her pets when she was gone, etc.

Initially I had hopes of, well taking advantage of the situation (wink wink nudge nudge), but I came to the realization the longer I was with her family that as a foreigner and non-orthodox I had little chance of being taken seriously let alone a chance to get between her lucious legs. But patience and surprising cultural rules would wind up being decidedly in my favor.

At first I think her family was more than a bit suspicious of my intentions being 10 years younger than Kimla, but I grew on them. They would ride with me to church and then I'd treat them to breakfast after the service. Mom especially loved Belgian waffles with strawberries and whipped cream. I even had them over for an American BBQ. First time I'd smoked a lamb though. Whether it worked out or they were just polite I never really figured out which.

Mom refused to let anyone swim with an unmarried man around. Had to love mom. But I knew I'd been accepted or at the very least trusted by them when I wound up driving Kimla's sister and mother to the airport when they flew back to Lebanon. They both hugged me. I was shocked when mom took my head in her hands and made me promise to watch over Kimla. I promised to keep her safe and sound.

But, I was relieved when everyone left and it became calm again, just in time for summer to really set in. It got hot, really hot and I as usual dressed in my swim trunks most of the time so I could dive in the pool a few times a day as it struck me.

BTW, its not that I don't work, I work quite a lot but my IT Security consulting work allows me to work from home. My hours can be weird due to some overseas clients and their time zones. It does require overseas travel fairly often and I took the travel opportunities to purchase gifts for Kimla and the kids.

Unlike when Sammy was here, Kimla would never swim with me, again it was the conservative optics of such a thing. Likewise, the kids weren't allowed over unless with mom. Sammy's death had changed the permitted relationship. She would however sit in her bathing suit with a light shawl over her shoulders and a large beach towel over her knees and watch me frolic with her son. I like to frolic. When we got out she'd get in. We talked the entire time, casual, no innuendo or suggestions. Just friends talking. I was the recipient of some might fine hugs during these times.

I tried not to read too much into them but damn, each time I could feel the fullness of her breasts pressing against me.

This is not to say I wasn't interested in her either sexually or romantically. Kimla was not just an attractive woman, in my eyes she was hot, and getting hotter by the day. So ya, either situation would be great.

More than once I got an eye full of nipple pokies as she got out of the pool and once or twice she caught me looking. I'd smile sheepishly and she'd blush. She was a certifiable undeniable MILF.

16 months after Sammy passed and after another child had gone off to university I could sense she was annoyed. She was under considerable pressure from her mother to remarry. Once again, a cultural thing but I sensed a deeper reason that they didn't let on to. However, a woman her age with children, especially a marriageable aged daughter, was expected to quickly remarry. Mom also was in contact with friends who were constantly trying to get her set up on dates. Kimla rebuffed all attempts and confided in me during one of our over the fence conversations.

I listened as her frustrations poured out, she repeated over and over again that she just wasn't ready and that when she met "the right man" she'd know it. She was in conflict with at least a few cultural traditions, clearly being in the US for over a decade had softened her a bit.

At one point she took a deep breath and sighed. I filled in the pause by blurting out, "you're young, smart, wonderful sense of humor, you have three beautiful children, " I smiled, "you're stunningly beautiful, and you have me as a friend and neighbor, now how lucky is that?"

Kimla's mouth was agape but her eyes were darting back and forth. I had unintentionally crossed a line? But I had embarrassed her and she blushed, a lot. I'd never seen her so flustered.

She headed for the gate.

Our conversation had ended and as I walked away I half turned and said, "hey, your mom knows me, you could always tell her you're dating me."

Kimla stopped and turned back to me while back peddling saying as she shook her head, "Knowing you and me dating an ajnabi? Well I suppose the scandal would either quiet them down or you'd be getting a visit from our priest."

Then she stopped completely and got a quizical look on her face, "wait, did you just ask me out?"

I smiled and motioned to my ears as if I couldn't hear her. As I stepped into the house she was still standing there looking.

"Fucking idiot," I thought to myself, "fucked that up." Her calling me an ajnabi wasn't meant as an insult but revealed that I was still "not one of them." Sort of the same way Japanese consider outsiders gaijin.

A few more months went by. The pressure didn't let up and Kimla was showing alot of strain. I finally decided to act and called her mother with the intent of seeing if I could ease their pressure on her. After the conversation ended I had to shake my head and just hope my talking to them had helped. It had... kind of.

The next day very early in the morning the phone rang.

To my shock it was Kimla's Ommi or mother. We had a short mostly one way conversation which left me speechless.

I wanted to ask a myriad of new questions but decided better of it.

Without intending it, I'd gotten the green light to "befriend" Kimla. I wasn't entirely sure what this meant but knew it had to be a good thing. Given the next call I received I was right.

Shortly after Ommi's call I got another one. This was from our priest who asked if I could come speak with him "on an important matter."

Our conversation started out quite normal. He was friendly even jovial at times and then he leaned forward with his elbows on her knees. "As you may not know our faith and congregation can be quite diverse. This is especially true of our very ancient families. You're familiar with this of course because I speak of The Kairouz, may they be blessed." He crossed himself when he said that.

I sat up, this was Kimla's family name and no I didn't know there was a diversity it appeared quite homogeneous. Everything I'd experienced suggested a cohesive societal framework with little deviation or diversity in beliefs. I wondered what he meant.

Instead of announcing my ignorance I did the wise thing, I nodded knowingly.

Much to my shock he continued by saying quite off handedly, "The family has chosen you as Kimla's suitor and as your priest I felt you might have questions and there were, um, things you should be aware of." He smiled at my reaction.

I sat up straight, "I was told I could befriend Kimla, not that I was going to court her." I said in all seriousness.

The priest sat back, "You're against this?" he said his eyes wide open.

"Oh, no, no, that's not what I meant."

There was a long silence before he smiled and nodded. "Ah" the old priest nodded, "a translation misunderstanding then?"

Almost under my breath I said, "God I hope so."

"This is not a problem?" he asked.

I saw the great honor I was being given and, at least for the moment, to hell with the idea of actually marrying Kimla. "No, there is not a problem. I love Kimla, I welcome and will abide by any advice you give me," I said with open arms. "I ask that she not be told, at least for the moment."

He nodded, "Yes, time to think, wise. Now, as I was saying, you should be aware that some of our ancient families have equally ancient beliefs and traditions. Some of which are frowned upon by the church and some of which are condemned by it. When it involves... an ancient family I allow," he paused in thought then closed his eyes briefly nodding his head to the left and said, "indulgences. The Kairouz have an ancient tradition concerning their children. I do not go into details. However, if you become aware of something, disconcerting, I am here."

I thanked him for his advice, received his traditional blessing and left much more confused than when I arrived.

Full of hope for the future, I dove in. In order to alleviate the pressure on her I would ask her to go out to supper with me. Not as a date but as two friends enjoying each other's company. picking the right time was problematic.

One Friday evening, this is about about 6 months after my stupidity and a month after my conversation with Ommi and the priest, we were chatting in the seats next to the pool and I saw an opening. We were talking about upcoming events and she mentioned due to her son going to a summer camp she'd be alone on her birthday this year.

Since Sammy's passing she'd refused to have much to do with family type celebrations. The kids were the only real deviation. I had dropped off flowers and presents for those events but I had had enough.

"Oh no, no, no", I said, "that's not happening again," I paused and put on my serious face with sad begging eyes, "Please, please allow me to at least take you out for supper," to avoid immediate rejection I quickly added, "just supper, nice and quiet, well minimal fuss anyway. After all it is a birthday. Pleeeease? You neeed it."

She just opened her mouth to reply and I tilted my head slightly to the left, brought up a finger and said, "No is not an acceptable reply."

"I wasn't going to say no," she began, "It's very thoughtful. You've been, what did Ommi say? A blessing."

"A blessing, uh oh," Butterflies in my stomach turned into dive bombers, I though, "what else say Ommi to her?"

"But..."

"Oh damn, here it comes," I thought thinking the end was nigh.

"It really should be me thanking you for all you've done for me, for us, over the last many months" she hesitated before adding, "Ordinarily, as you know, I couldn't, but this once, I would love to." She emphasized once.

I smiled and tried to lighten the moment for her saying, "Only once?"

She stood up, fussed with her towel and just as she walked to the gate said, "Unless of course something dramatic happens."

I said, "Dramatic, care to be more vague? or did you mean me proposing marriage?" I had a big smile on.

She spun around and said quietly but seriously, "That is nothing to tease."

Realizing I'd overstepped my bounds and confirming Ommi after all hadn't spilt the beans, I spontaneously walked to and hugged her. Her arms were wrapped up in her towel and up against her chest, kinda between her breasts so she couldn't hug me back.

"I'm sorry, I understand completely." Kissing her lightly on the cheek I let go of her and walked her to the gate.

Only when I was in the house did it dawn on me she hadn't protested or moved away from the kiss. Given her reaction I wrote off her birthday supper but was in for a surprise.

I hadn't seen her for a few days when there was a knock on the door.

"Well hey, where you been?" I asked.

Kimla dove right in, "About the other night, I was... startled."

I nodded, "I understand, bad timing."

She ignored this, standing up straight and looking me in the eye said, "I'd love to have a birthday supper with you."

Expecting rejection and cancellation I perked right up, "Outstanding! I'll make the plans."

Her body language showed she was relieved to have said it and it felt to me like a new bridge had might have been crossed.

I was flabbergasted when she stepped up, hugged me and lightly kissed my cheek. Then saying, "I guess it's a date" as she turned and walked home.

She'd kissed me, in broad daylight on my front porch, for all to see. That alone was highly unusual bordering on sordid and her use of the word "date" left me wondering.

Little did she know that I had other hopes for our "date".

No, not those kinds of hopes, get your mind out of the gutter. Mine doesn't need company or encouragement. I had hopes that a night out relaxing with friends would rejuvenate her.

I contacted every one of her friends I could and arranged a big birthday party like they used to have.

The big night arrived and I dressed in a European style suit I'd bought on my last trip to London. Standing on her door step I knocked precisely at the agreed upon 7pm.

The door opened and my jaw nearly hit the floor. Kimla was dressed like I'd never seen her before.

Her lovely long black hair was parted on her right and combed or brushed over her head to the left, lightly curled with a gold barrette. Her thick eyebrows... oh! I noticed something.

One thing I really like about her was that she wore little to no make up. But tonight she'd put on a little eye liner and a very light shade of pink lip stick.

But her clothes, OMG. She was dressed in a black pull over style dress. It wasn't low low cut but did reveal just the hint of cleavage. Form hugging her torso, but not revealing, the dress was heavily pleated from the waist and fell to her mid calf. Around her hips was a belt made up of what looked like gold coins linked together. Just as the belt rounded her hips it changed to black material, nearly invisible against her dress, they connected at about where belly button would be. But the gold coins didn't stop, they hung down, the two ends meeting about 4 inches below where belly button should be. The gold seemed, at least to horny old me, to be pointing to her treasure pot.

Her shoulders were left bare by the dress but covered by a light shawl she had wrapped over her shoulders and under each arm. Her breasts were full and well contained by a bra. Around her lovely olive neck was a triple strand of gleaming gold coin like things which hung just to the top of her cleavage and accentuated by matching ones hanging from her ears. Thick gold bracelets on each wrist with a few matching rings as well.