Among by favorite Literotica stories are those that describe the unexpected things that happen when two people attend an event in some form of disguise, whether the full blown costumes in The_shadow_rising's The Halloween Party Dress (mother and son) or the false pretenses of SexyBeast's Stepmom Goes to the Prom (stepmother and stepson).
No slight is intended to the many excellent stories I failed to mention.
Please consider this, where a mother accompanies her daughter's boyfriend to a high school party, my submission to the genre. I initially conceived of it as a one chapter story and wrapped it up in several concluding paragraphs. However, I like the characters and am considering continuing it, although I've yet to come up with an idea good enough to do so. If I do you'll find it posted here one day.
All story characters engaged in sexual activities are eighteen years of age or older.
* * * * *
I said, "Are you nuts?"
"No Mama, I'm not. Half the girls I know are trying to steal Tommy from me, including that bitch Susie Howell, and her party is the perfect opportunity to do so. I need someone to keep an eye on him."
Tommy was my daughter's boyfriend. Experts say daughters try to work out their daddy-issues through their boyfriends and while I don't know if they're right - I'm in commercial real estate, not mental health - Tommy could be Exhibit "A" of anyone's proof. Like my-ex and Renee's father, he was handsome, sexy, a little older, a little more experienced, from the wrong side of the tracks, and sported a bad boy streak a mile wide. Women, whether fellow teenagers, accomplished professionals, or grandmothers constantly flirted with him and his unabashed enjoyment of their attention and wandering eye left little doubt he was always ready for the next conquest.
And from her flushed skin and happy smile when she got home from a date, or when I came home to a house stinking of sex and the two of them languidly sitting in front of their computers, it was clear he resembled my ex in another way, he was something else between the sheets.
So why didn't I end it? Because Renee was as infatuated as I'd been, was already talking about becoming Mrs. Tommy Hatton, and when my parents had forbidden me from seeing Charlie, well, I got myself pregnant, forcing them, and him, to agree to marry me. And once married he continued to fuck me like no one had since, fucked around on me, and was an intermittent provider, spending the little money he made on himself, leaving it to me to get the family from pay check to pay check by selling houses. He'd also insisted he had a "need to breed," but there I put my foot down. I couldn't afford to miss work and we couldn't afford another child.
When he got my best friend pregnant I threw him out. Neither Renee nor I, nor my former best friend, had heard from him since.
No, based on experience telling my eighteen year old daughter "no" was a terrible idea. Instead I made sure she had an estrogen implant - pregnancy was not going to be an issue - and decided to wait it out. He was not a one woman kind of guy; he'd eventually move on.
And why deprive my daughter of great sex; god knows it only comes along so often.
And yeah, if I dug the way he looked at me, undressed me with his eyes, what of it? I didn't stay in this kind of shape hoping no one noticed.
After disposing of my husband I moved into commercial real estate, found I was good at it. At first I had to fuck a few guys and eat a few women to open doors, but my reputation and track-record quickly spoke for themselves and soon I was making a shit load of money. I still occasionally dabbled with the clientele, but only when I wanted to and then very occasionally; as I moved up the food chain increasingly few clientele floated my boat.
So Susie's parents were out of town and she was throwing a party and it was going to be wild: women were to wear lingerie and masks. Tommy and Renee had been invited and now my daughter was stuck in New York in the middle of a snow storm that grounded all flights and Tommy said he wanted to go anyway and told Renee he'd be good but she, wisely, doubted him.
So, to take us back to the top of the page, she and I are on the phone and she says, "I want you to go in my place. I talked to Tommy about it, he thinks it would be a hoot."
The idea was ridiculous, and impractical. I started with the impractical.
"Honey, no one is going to want a parent there."
"You're not going as a parent, you're going as me. Remember, women are wearing masks."
"They'll be able to tell."
"No they won't Mama, we're the same size, we exchange clothes all the time, my hair is a little longer than yours, but people will just think I got a trim. It's going to be dark and wild, no one will be paying attention to details."
She had a point. We were both five feet five inches tall, both weighed 126 pounds, were both slim with flat bellies, smallish breasts, and firm tight butt cheek; we both wore a size four dress and measured 35-24-35. My breasts were a bit larger, smaller "B's" to her "A's," but that difference, even if noticed, would be attributed to underwire support.
And, as we talked, I studied my face in the mirror. My father is of mixed French and Italian heritage, my mother's Cambodian. I have almond shaped eyes and dark skin. My daughter's eyes were rounder and her skin lighter - you'd notice the difference if we stood next to each other - but most simply passed over the distinction, labeling us both as exotic.
The idea of mingling incognito with a bunch of high school students appealed. I took care of myself, stayed on the edge of fashion, and Renee and I were close. She told me most everything (often more than I wanted to know). I was more a wiser experienced friend than a taskmaster, which meant I knew more about her life and friends than most parents. Could I blend in with her crowd?
It would be fun to try.
"I need you to keep an eye on Tommy and keep Susie in her place."
The idea of putting that brat in her place also had its appeal. I'd recently beaten out Susie's dad on several big projects and he and I were presently competing for a major deal with the school board. While I couldn't prove it, I knew the recent rumor that my daughter and I'd been born out of wedlock (only the latter was true) had started with him.
"I'll think about it. Where is the mask, and what were you were planing to wear? I'll try them on, let you know what I think."
* * * * *
The mask covered the age wrinkles around my eyes and mouth and while I mostly fit into her corset, my breasts spilled out a bit. It would be fun to wear my Agent Provocateur corset, I hadn't in awhile. Would these kids wonder how my daughter could afford one? Unlikely, these jackanapes probably had their own. I returned to my room, dimmed the lights, approximating what it would be like at Susie's, put the mask on, studied myself in the mirror. I'd need to redo my nails, something younger, hipper, but who doesn't love a manicure?
* * * * *
"Lookin' good Mrs. Young, damn good."
Nicely dressed, new blue jeans, pressed shirt, Tommy was looking good himself, and already flirting with me.
"So you think we can get away with this?"
"Sure, as long as you stay in character."
"And how do I do that?"
"Follow my lead and remember, you dig me, can't keep your hands off me, want my hands all over you."
"Well, I guess I'll find out how talented those hands are."
* * * * *
On the way there Tommy asked about the real estate business, his questions showing he'd done his research, thought hard about it. His ideas on the use of social media merited some study. Since, in my present garb I was without pen and paper I asked him to send them to me by e-mail; he said he'd text them to me.
The Howell's house was, of course, large and stately, a symbol of the family's wealth and importance. Before we pulled onto the long driveway I could already hear the pulsing music. We parked, he held the door for me, slid his arm around me.
Tommy opened the front door to a sea of bodies; I could smell the beer and pot.
It could have been one of my high school parties, although we had humbler surroundings, lower grade marijuana, and better music.
"Tommy, Renee."
It was Susie Howell and a very good looking young black man.
I kissed her cheek; he fist bumped Tommy, hugged me - nice muscles - his hands slid down my back, grazed my ass - nice, if naughty, hands.
Clearly, I knew this guy.
Luckily the next couple came through the door.
As we moved away Tommy leaned over, placed his hand on my lower back, and shouted into my ear, "That's Antonio Sharpe, all state tight end, going to Clemson, he's Susie's most-recent 'fuck you' to her parents. Neither's loyal to the other; he's been after Renee for years."
If my daughter hadn't grabbed a piece of that, perhaps she had more a bit restraint than I'd credited her for.
* * * * *
It wasn't hard blending in: the music was deafening, the house dark. Conversation, at best, consisted of shouting half-heard small talk. Tommy, as promised, kept his hands on me but showed more restraint, I suspected, then he would have with my daughter: there was no ass squeezing, no feel copping.
And if I haven't been clear, my ascension in a business that required respectable society's approval had resulted in me, not abandoning exactly, but circumcising my not entirely conventional sexual appetites. Freed of that restraint, I was enjoying myself; I understood why my daughter couldn't keep her hands off Tommy's firm body.
We were moving in the general direction of the music when Tommy waved to a couple across the room. It took me a second to recognize them, for Ella Rose, my daughter's cute preppy best-friend, was playing the slut, heavy make-up and wearing a teddy that left little to the imagination. She and her boyfriend Ezekial, a behemoth of a kid who was an all-district offensive tackle, bulled their way through the throng towards us, where the boys bumped fists and Ella hugged me, brought her mouth to mine, dragged her tongue across my lips.
I'd suspected my daughter went both ways.
I thought about Ella Rose's straightlaced mom, the president of the school board and my inside contact for that school board contract I mentioned earlier. Did she know?
Taking our time, stopping to chat with people we met along the way, the four of us worked our way through the crowd towards the music, I thoroughly enjoying observing my daughter's contemporaries in their natural habitat. When we arrived at the source of music - a large room, furniture pushed against the wall, full of writhing bodies, Tommy yelled who knows what, grabbed my hand, pulled me onto the dance floor.
