It took nearly twenty-nine years for me to feel comfortable in my fluff. And after a weekend of camping in August with all three of my siblings, my little sis and I decided to pay a visit to our baby bro at Indiana University. He’d been begging us to visit since he started almost three years ago. Well, I was knocked up and nursing for the first two years and plan to be knocked up and nursing again real soon, so we decided it’d be better to go sooner than later. One of those deals you do out of sibling obligation, really. Neither of us was too pumped. Long drive. Long nights out. Long hang overs. Hrumph.
Always the optimist, I decided to reframe. Here was my opportunity. My chance to show off my feathery fluff frock of MILFdom. So it took six hours to drive there -- time to catch up with my little sis. So we’d be out until the wee hours of the morning -- good to pretend you’re REALLY young and carefree again. So we’d be hung over -- just an excuse for McDonald’s breakfast with a big bubbly fountain pop to ease the swimmy head.
And off we went.
Got in late that Friday night. Decided to just crash at the hotel since we knew the next day would be a real ringer. Woke up the next day, met our baby bro for breakfast at lunchtime, because that’s when you eat breakfast in college. Sported jeans and fleeces. Not a care in the world. Put everything on Mom’s charge card. (I told you she’s the best.)What to do next? Off to the frat house.
Into the frat and into heaven. Smelled of beer and weed. And stinky socks. Couple of girls walking around in boxers and what can most closely be described (loosely) as blouses. Ahhh…the good old daze. Up to his room to chill out. And by chill out, I mean puff, because that’s what you do on a Saturday afternoon in college. (And by puff, if you don’t know what I mean, then we wouldn’t have been friends in college.)And then the real fun started.
A few tips for any MILFs on a college visit in a frat house:
1.) Pick a seat on the couch with observatory access to the bathroom. So you can watch each and every young man come out of the bathroom after his shower. In just a towel. Smelling squeaky clean. Lookin’ to get dirty later that night.
2.) Bring homemade baked goods. For all the boys looking to get baked. They will flock to you and your fluff.
3.) Let them get you whatever you need. (Orgasms, however, excluded since typically to be a MILF, this requires a DILF, aka your husband.)t them fetch you a beer, a lighter, toilet paper, what have you. And enjoy every minute.
So, after watching ESPN for over and hour and after having seen all showered boys exit the bathroom, it was time to leave. Time to shop. Time to eat. Time to wander aimlessly for the duration of the day because that’s why you do late on a Saturday afternoon in college. A sweatshirt, a silk scarf, and a smorgusbaord of nachos later, it was time to head back to the hotel to get all MILFed out for the evening ahead.
Now before I continue, allow me to introduce my little sister, Em. One of those that wakes up looking ready for the prom. (We’re adopted. I didn’t even look good at prom.) Kind of girl that has guys giving her engraved Tiffany bracelets, even if he’s not her boyfriend. (I got my Tiffany bracelet from my parents.) Always good for a vicarious story that may involve mature firefighters on cruises, paper lantern launches with a Brit in Thailand, and Big Ten quarterback boy toys. (I’ve had two boyfriends…married one of them.) With brains to boot. Thus arises the importance of getting particularly primped for this college evening. She CERTAINLY could pass for college while I, nose ring or not, could not. I had to bring out the big dogs. Tight jeans. Tall shoes. Taut tits -- check, check, check.
Back to the frat we went. Strutted down the street sending out strong MILF messages. “I know I look hot and you can’t have me.” “I know I look old and you still think I look good.” “I know you know that I usually don’t dress like this and I know you know I used to dress like this and I know you know I’ve got tricks your little college co-ed girls don’t even know exist yet.” And alas! A young car full of college co-ed boys picked up my MILF transmissions. Just as we turned into the frat house walkway, a bunch of assholes roll down their window and shout, “MILF!” As they start to giggle, I turned around. I’m sure they were expecting a finger, a foul word, or a fit of sorts. On the contrary, a real MILF keeps them guessing. “Thank you!” I shouted with sincerity and a friendly wave.
Em and I giggled the rest of the way inside. Where we sat and drank beer with a bunch of boys watching football. WTF?!? This was supposed to be some kind of wild weekend. Wild, my ass. I had to pound a Pepsi to stay awake. Eventually, we made it out to the bars. After our little bro (who also wakes up looking ready for the prom) got denied with his lousy fake ID – because that’s what happens to twenty-year-olds in college – we ended up at a cool joint playing Bob Marley, the Bee Gees, and The Beatles. Which lead to my little bro telling me not once, not twice, but FOUR times that he saw a Beatles cover band at this bar, as my little sister got her mack on with any good lookin’ college boy that passed her way. For real. Let me set the scene:
MILF (not over-served) sits in booth with over-served little bro. Em (also over-served) stands in the middle of the bar (which was surprisingly sparse), dancing with herself, awaiting her prey. MILF observes little sis stalk three separate boys in the following manner:
1.) As she sways to songs, she approaches said boy mid-sway and
2.) grabs his arm, pulls him in while she stands tippy-toed (as only tall boys were harmed) and
3.) begins whispering into his ear with a giggle and a hair toss (as hair is approximately two and a half feet of flowing, wavy, auburn locks) and
4.) said boy attempts to resist her grip and
5.) she bats her eyes and flashes a smile and starts whispering into said boy’s ear yet again and WITHOUT FAIL
6.) said boy stays a while to talk.
Mad skills. One wonders if little sis will ever, in fact, be a MILF as she simply has way too good a gift of Grab-and-Gab with boys to waste on one little man in a monogamous relationship. (Just kidding, sis, your knight in sweatshirt armor is out there!)
MILF that I am, I got called a MILF not once, but TWICE in the presence of my prom queen little sis. As she used the old Grab-and-Gab on her last puppy dog prey, his friend, while not chosen as her pick, decided to give the old MILF a try. Now, I’ve never been good at being flirted with. Always gave me the willies. Maybe because most guys that flirted with me either:
1.) turned out to be gay
2.) looked like cartoon characters
3.) or I actually thought they were cute so all I did was worry that they would think I was cute, too, and then we’d end up dating and then what if we got in a fight and I had to break up with him and I really hate break ups since I’ve never been good at confrontation and even ended a long term relationship the phone so maybe it’d be easier us to just be a bitch so he won’t even like me to begin with.
However, as a MILF, one needn’t worry about any of the above as said MILF has already attained handsome husband. And being flirted with suddenly becomes a breeze. Until the conversation suddenly becomes a bit inappropriate as said MILF can suddenly detect said friend has Grab-and-Gab plans all his own. Words of wisdom for all MILFs being flirted with out there: suddenly mention the word “married” or “birth” and all will be well again. Who ever ends up with said friend is getting a real catch. Tall, strapping, David Cook beard, all the essentials. Best of all, as soon as being married was mentioned, he dropped all flirtation and quickly switched to focusing on said MILF’s, in fact, MILF status. Even REALLY pushed the envelope by insisting I must only be twenty-three, twenty-four at the oldest. Sigh.
So by the end of the night, I had my little bro, who had pretty much left us for a booty call. Good for him. I had my little sis, who had pretty much found a guy that wanted a booty call somethin’ fierce from her. Good for her. And I had me, who had pretty much had the best day of her MILF life and if not a committed MILF, would have certainly had a booty call all her own. Good for me.
Ahh, college…life at its best.
Always the optimist, I decided to reframe. Here was my opportunity. My chance to show off my feathery fluff frock of MILFdom. So it took six hours to drive there -- time to catch up with my little sis. So we’d be out until the wee hours of the morning -- good to pretend you’re REALLY young and carefree again. So we’d be hung over -- just an excuse for McDonald’s breakfast with a big bubbly fountain pop to ease the swimmy head.
And off we went.
Got in late that Friday night. Decided to just crash at the hotel since we knew the next day would be a real ringer. Woke up the next day, met our baby bro for breakfast at lunchtime, because that’s when you eat breakfast in college. Sported jeans and fleeces. Not a care in the world. Put everything on Mom’s charge card. (I told you she’s the best.)What to do next? Off to the frat house.
Into the frat and into heaven. Smelled of beer and weed. And stinky socks. Couple of girls walking around in boxers and what can most closely be described (loosely) as blouses. Ahhh…the good old daze. Up to his room to chill out. And by chill out, I mean puff, because that’s what you do on a Saturday afternoon in college. (And by puff, if you don’t know what I mean, then we wouldn’t have been friends in college.)And then the real fun started.
A few tips for any MILFs on a college visit in a frat house:
1.) Pick a seat on the couch with observatory access to the bathroom. So you can watch each and every young man come out of the bathroom after his shower. In just a towel. Smelling squeaky clean. Lookin’ to get dirty later that night.
2.) Bring homemade baked goods. For all the boys looking to get baked. They will flock to you and your fluff.
3.) Let them get you whatever you need. (Orgasms, however, excluded since typically to be a MILF, this requires a DILF, aka your husband.)t them fetch you a beer, a lighter, toilet paper, what have you. And enjoy every minute.
So, after watching ESPN for over and hour and after having seen all showered boys exit the bathroom, it was time to leave. Time to shop. Time to eat. Time to wander aimlessly for the duration of the day because that’s why you do late on a Saturday afternoon in college. A sweatshirt, a silk scarf, and a smorgusbaord of nachos later, it was time to head back to the hotel to get all MILFed out for the evening ahead.
Now before I continue, allow me to introduce my little sister, Em. One of those that wakes up looking ready for the prom. (We’re adopted. I didn’t even look good at prom.) Kind of girl that has guys giving her engraved Tiffany bracelets, even if he’s not her boyfriend. (I got my Tiffany bracelet from my parents.) Always good for a vicarious story that may involve mature firefighters on cruises, paper lantern launches with a Brit in Thailand, and Big Ten quarterback boy toys. (I’ve had two boyfriends…married one of them.) With brains to boot. Thus arises the importance of getting particularly primped for this college evening. She CERTAINLY could pass for college while I, nose ring or not, could not. I had to bring out the big dogs. Tight jeans. Tall shoes. Taut tits -- check, check, check.
Back to the frat we went. Strutted down the street sending out strong MILF messages. “I know I look hot and you can’t have me.” “I know I look old and you still think I look good.” “I know you know that I usually don’t dress like this and I know you know I used to dress like this and I know you know I’ve got tricks your little college co-ed girls don’t even know exist yet.” And alas! A young car full of college co-ed boys picked up my MILF transmissions. Just as we turned into the frat house walkway, a bunch of assholes roll down their window and shout, “MILF!” As they start to giggle, I turned around. I’m sure they were expecting a finger, a foul word, or a fit of sorts. On the contrary, a real MILF keeps them guessing. “Thank you!” I shouted with sincerity and a friendly wave.
Em and I giggled the rest of the way inside. Where we sat and drank beer with a bunch of boys watching football. WTF?!? This was supposed to be some kind of wild weekend. Wild, my ass. I had to pound a Pepsi to stay awake. Eventually, we made it out to the bars. After our little bro (who also wakes up looking ready for the prom) got denied with his lousy fake ID – because that’s what happens to twenty-year-olds in college – we ended up at a cool joint playing Bob Marley, the Bee Gees, and The Beatles. Which lead to my little bro telling me not once, not twice, but FOUR times that he saw a Beatles cover band at this bar, as my little sister got her mack on with any good lookin’ college boy that passed her way. For real. Let me set the scene:
MILF (not over-served) sits in booth with over-served little bro. Em (also over-served) stands in the middle of the bar (which was surprisingly sparse), dancing with herself, awaiting her prey. MILF observes little sis stalk three separate boys in the following manner:
1.) As she sways to songs, she approaches said boy mid-sway and
2.) grabs his arm, pulls him in while she stands tippy-toed (as only tall boys were harmed) and
3.) begins whispering into his ear with a giggle and a hair toss (as hair is approximately two and a half feet of flowing, wavy, auburn locks) and
4.) said boy attempts to resist her grip and
5.) she bats her eyes and flashes a smile and starts whispering into said boy’s ear yet again and WITHOUT FAIL
6.) said boy stays a while to talk.
Mad skills. One wonders if little sis will ever, in fact, be a MILF as she simply has way too good a gift of Grab-and-Gab with boys to waste on one little man in a monogamous relationship. (Just kidding, sis, your knight in sweatshirt armor is out there!)
MILF that I am, I got called a MILF not once, but TWICE in the presence of my prom queen little sis. As she used the old Grab-and-Gab on her last puppy dog prey, his friend, while not chosen as her pick, decided to give the old MILF a try. Now, I’ve never been good at being flirted with. Always gave me the willies. Maybe because most guys that flirted with me either:
1.) turned out to be gay
2.) looked like cartoon characters
3.) or I actually thought they were cute so all I did was worry that they would think I was cute, too, and then we’d end up dating and then what if we got in a fight and I had to break up with him and I really hate break ups since I’ve never been good at confrontation and even ended a long term relationship the phone so maybe it’d be easier us to just be a bitch so he won’t even like me to begin with.
However, as a MILF, one needn’t worry about any of the above as said MILF has already attained handsome husband. And being flirted with suddenly becomes a breeze. Until the conversation suddenly becomes a bit inappropriate as said MILF can suddenly detect said friend has Grab-and-Gab plans all his own. Words of wisdom for all MILFs being flirted with out there: suddenly mention the word “married” or “birth” and all will be well again. Who ever ends up with said friend is getting a real catch. Tall, strapping, David Cook beard, all the essentials. Best of all, as soon as being married was mentioned, he dropped all flirtation and quickly switched to focusing on said MILF’s, in fact, MILF status. Even REALLY pushed the envelope by insisting I must only be twenty-three, twenty-four at the oldest. Sigh.
So by the end of the night, I had my little bro, who had pretty much left us for a booty call. Good for him. I had my little sis, who had pretty much found a guy that wanted a booty call somethin’ fierce from her. Good for her. And I had me, who had pretty much had the best day of her MILF life and if not a committed MILF, would have certainly had a booty call all her own. Good for me.
Ahh, college…life at its best.
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