Bacyard Milf

Welcome to my latest idea. This series will be less of a long, continuous story arc, and more an occasional progression of stories with the same characters. I have no idea for how long it will go on, or if I'll put out other stuff in between installments. That may depend on your responses!

As always, please know that in this story, as with the rest of my works, I am not going for realism here. I just try to achieve plausibly ridiculous.

Cheers!

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THE BACKYARD MILF

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"Are you ready yet, Colleen?" my father shouted up the stairs. He and I were standing together in our bathing suits and IZODs by the front door, waiting to head out to the party.

The door to my parents' bedroom banged open, and my mom stepped out, wearing tight khaki capris and a loose, flowing blue blouse. I assumed she had a bathing suit on underneath, in case she wanted to do more than just stand around the pool later. "I told you two five minutes ago that I would be ready in five minutes", she said, her voice good-naturedly cross. "Just keep your pants on, Larry," she added to Dad as she bounced down the stairs. "Unless," she added as she reached us at the bottom, "you don't want to!"

With that she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him, a kiss that escalated rapidly to where she actually lifted a leg and wrapped it around the back of his.

"For crying out loud, you two," I groaned. "Get a freaking room!" Watching my parents make out in front of me was always an eight or even a nine on my personal Ick-ter Scale. And since I'd moved back in, they had steadily been doing it more and more. The only way it could have been worse would have been if I'd walked in on them Doing It... a fate I had so far avoided.

They broke apart with minimal but genuine reluctance, my mother smirked at me. "We have a room, Michael. In fact, we have a whole house!"

"Yeah," my dad added, looking me up and down. "Unfortunately, it is infested!"

Okay, let me give you some context. Yes, I had just turned twenty-four, yet was again living in my childhood bedroom upstairs in my parents' house. That technically made me a 'boomerang', but please! It really was temporary, and I had a defined exit date. I was already leaving, but they were reinforcing that fact at almost every opportunity.

It is completely natural for all mammals to try to drive their grown kids from the nest. Most parents do it by being total jerks. Mine seemed to have settled upon being grossly amorous in front of me.

I was moving back out at the end of the summer, and all of us knew that. Did they have to give me the push anyway?

To be fair, maybe they had just gotten used to my being gone from home for the last six years and had gotten in the habit of making out whenever they wanted. Maybe they had always been this horny, back when I was growing up, but had hid it better? Eeesh.

"No need to have the house tented, Old Man," I growled back. "On September 5th, I fly off to Emory to get my MBA so I can become insanely rich and afford to put

you

in a home."

"This home will do for me," my father chuckled. "Or at least it will again once I get rid of you and I can bend your mother over the back of that couch whenever I want to."

Yeah, they were doing it deliberately.

"Larry!" Mom shrieked. At least

she

has some decorum, I thought thankfully. "I told you," she went on, walking to the couch in question and shaking it. "This old thing is breaking down. It wouldn't take the pounding. Buy me a new one."

September 5 could not get here fast enough.

"Are we going?" I ground out. "I am flattered to be included on the Senior Circuit this summer, and would like to get over there and start being charming to all the nice people who felt I should be included."

My parents have lived most of my life in a very stable and established neighborhood--one with an active, organized social scene. Since before we moved there, there had always been a monthly backyard family party, the hosting of which rotated among most everybody, especially the families (about half) who had pools. With less than thirty homes in our T-shaped little development, a few of which were non-participants, that meant that each resident only had to host about once every two years. The parties were loud, boisterous, and always full of little kids running around everywhere underfoot. As a kid, they were always the highlights of my life. As a teenager, and much too cool for things like that, they were still a highlight.

But about seven years ago, a number of households formed a second progressive party, the sardonically named Senior Circuit. It was also a monthly series of parties, but restricted to adult residents. The Senior Circuit parties were just as loud, went later into the evening, and were much more relaxed because there was no worrying about setting a good example for the kids. They were smaller too, as the only people who chose to attend either had no kids, no kids at home, or were happy to send the ones they had off to some other neighborhood for the night.

Or, so I had been told. This would be my first time actually attending a Senior Circuit event. Since I was technically a resident again, an informal vote of the neighborhood had been taken and I was declared 'welcome'. I was only the second offspring to get such an invite. Danielle Thompson had been living at home (involuntarily) last summer, and had been the first to enjoy the honor. She had managed to finally move back out on her own last winter, and so would not be there this evening. This was what was known as A Shame. I had mooned over her from afar through most of high school.

Earl Roberts and Dale Torrance had also been eligible at one time or another, but neither had been invited, on the basis of their both being running sores on humanity. My dad told me that Dale's own parents had been the ones to blackball him.

My mom led us out the front door to the sidewalk for the long walk to... next door.

"Hey, Mom," I exclaimed. "Are you wearing a

bikini

under there?" It was pretty obvious from the outline under her clothes from behind.

"I am," my mother said over her shoulder as she turned onto Kristie's front walk. "Do you not like bikinis?"

I like bikinis. I like bikinis quite a lot, in fact. I was worried about the entire bikini experience being ruined forever by seeing my mom in one...

"Or maybe I am too old for a bikini?" my mother went on dangerously.

"I... what... hey," I protested. Since moving back in, I had already made Mom mad once, and it had resulted in me doing laundry for her and Dad, in addition to myself, that entire week.

Mom laughed. "Get ready, we all take the opportunity to dress like adults, not moms and dads."

"Yeah," my father added, piling on, "didn't we tell you? The Senior Circuit is totally a Swinger Event."

My mom shrieked at Dad and swatted him. "Have some mercy on the boy, Larr. It is

not

a swinger party, darling!" she reassured me merrily.

"Yes, it is," my father insisted. "As the new guy, you get Grace," he said to me.

I knew he was joking, but I still quailed. Grace Thompson is one of my favorite neighbors (and was a full-sized candy bar stop every Halloween). But Mrs. Thompson is not... she has a great personality.

Dear God, let me make it through this evening without dying of embarrassment.

"Please don't embarrass

me

by bringing this conversation into the party," Mom told Dad firmly. "That said," she added with a smile," if it ever does turn into a Thing, I call dibs on Scott." Scott West was six-four and had to buy his shoes where the Miami Heat players bought theirs.

"You would," my father scoffed. "Okay, then I call Mimi."

Really? I would not have put Mimi Taylor in so much as the top five in the neighborhood...

Why was I gaming out this situation?!?

I asked myself desperately.

Resolutely ignoring their joking (please let it be joking), I marched forward and let the three of us in the front door. I heard some noises from the kitchen, but we went straight through to the back yard. As I stepped outside, my mortification at my parents' antics was replaced by simple uncertainty at my place in the universe. I was younger than the next youngest person there by five years, and younger than most by twenty or more.

"Urchin arriving!" Dad called out to the crowd. We had arrived later than I had thought, and most people were already there. My father's announcement of my presence did nothing to ease my sense of not belonging.

"To the urchin in our midst," called out Scott West and Damon Young, who were guarding the beer keg, raising Solo cups in my direction. The party could not have been going on that long, so I guessed those two at least had been pre-gaming a bit.

Scott wasn't even wearing a shirt. The dude clearly used his gym membership to the fullest. I'm in shape, but yeesh. I could see why Mom would...

I was going to be brain-damaged by the time I got to Emory.

I eschewed pulling a beer, and instead helped myself to a fairly strong Jack and Coke from the table by the door. Hard liquor was another change from what was on offer at the main parties of my youth.

I took my drink, escaped my parents, and moved around the gathering, saying hello to as many people as I could. I was trying to show that I deserved the trust they put in me by effectively accepting me as one of them. It was easier said than done though. The last time I had spent any real time with any of them, I was still very definitely a teenager. In my mind, it was they who were the adults, not me. Now, almost every time I called one of them 'Mr.' or 'Mrs.', I was scolded to call them by their first name. Yet, the few times I remembered to try their first name right off the bat, the person always looked caught off guard by my attempt.

"There you are, Reggie," I heard a voice behind me. "I must have been stuck in the kitchen when you arrived. Welcome to the Senior Circuit." I turned around to see our host for the day, Kristie Devereaux. No, Kristie

Gaines

. She and her husband Will had divorced during my senior year of college.

My parents' prediction about everyone dressing differently at this event from what I was used to at the main parties was certainly correct. I had never seen an adult woman wear a bikini at a single one of the events I'd been to as a kid. But more than half of the women at this party were evidently wearing bikinis, and several were wearing nothing but already. Mrs. Grimes, Mimi Taylor, and a woman who must have moved into the neighborhood since I left for college were already standing in the pool, chatting and holding nearly full Solo cups of rosé. Seeing Mrs. Taylor... Mimi in a bikini instead of her usual mom sweats went a long way toward explaining my father's... appreciation.

Kristie, it was easier to call her by her first name than most people there since she was only thirty-five, was not among the bikini-clad. This was what I suddenly considered to be a Big Fat Crying Shame. She instead wore a red one-piece Speedo in a practical, full-coverage design, and a pair of ratty, khaki cargo shorts over it.

Still, modest bathing suit-clad Kristie meant I was seeing much more Kristie than I ever had before, and that was a profoundly good thing. I'd known that she was a babe since she and Will had bought the house next door when I was only eighteen. Knowing something and appreciating it are two different things. I was suddenly appreciating Kristie much more than ever before.

"Hey, Kristie," I said eagerly. "You are doing a great job with tonight."

"Thanks, but these things pretty much run themselves," she demurred. "I just ordered ice to be delivered, got the neighbors with the best coolers to bring them over earlier, and spent the last half hour organizing the food everyone brought." She grinned. "That, and I spent the last two days scrubbing everything from the blinds to the floors," she added.

A sudden image on her on her hands and knees, scrubbing the floor, flashed through my mind. After the thoughts I had been avoiding regarding my parents' antics, thinking about this older neighbor covered in suds and kneeling seemed positively wholesome.

"Well, uh, well done," I said. "Where is Libby?" I went on. Kristie's daughter was eleven. It was unusual for a parent of a kid that age to even join the Senior Circuit.

"Rob gets her for two months each summer," she said. "I'm footloose and fancy free."

"Two months?" I winced. "That is a lot of time."

Kristie shrugged. "I get her for the end of summer, and except for one weekend a month I have her all through school." She grinned evilly. "I also got the house, and not so incidentally, the neighbors. I'd say I have the better lawyer."

I could only nod.

"Beyond taking your scuzzy ex to the cleaners," I asked, having heard enough backstory from my parents to believe that the divorce had all been on Will, "what do you do with yourself now? I think you were in marketing back when? That's where I want to end up."

"I still am," Kristie replied, "of sorts. I do production and sales support for one of our UK teams. The good news is, I work from home instead of commuting fifty minutes to the downtown office. The bad news is, my work day starts at 4:30 am. The good news is that I am done by one. The bad news is that I am in bed by 8:30, which does not do wonders for my social life."

"You are hosting a party that usually goes until midnight," I said slowly.

"Yes, which is awesome," she said. "But the bad news is that I will pay for it tomorrow when I involuntarily wake up at four, no matter how tired I am."

"As long as you feel like you are in a job that's going somewhere," I mused.

She shrugged agreeably. Then, as if to change the subject, "Are you having a good time?" Kristie sounded genuinely concerned. "I imagine this is a little awkward, not having anyone your age or at your place in life here."

"I was pretty afraid of that when I got here," I admitted. "But honestly, it has been nice to catch up with people I've known most of my life. Just please don't ask me about what graduate school will be like, or about majoring in art history as an undergrad. I've gone over those subjects with

everyone

."

"Noted," Kristie smiled. "I'd have thought everyone would have been on you about your love life."

"Not enough to report to get bored with that subject," I said wryly. She just looked at me with a tinge of skepticism that I suddenly found gratifying. "I've had my share of dates since I graduated, but nothing that ended up terribly interesting, to my mother's despair," I added, not wanting to sound pathetic. I was not pathetic. I got laid... just not that much, or with any regular partners.

"So, I am left with nothing to make conversation about but whatever you have been doing with yourself professionally since you graduated," Kristie said agreeably.

I, equally agreeably, explained about my job in production at an ad agency in Tampa. It had been relatively interesting and had paid quite handsomely, letting me live well and still save up a bit for when I went back for my MBA.

"If you liked it so much and it paid so well, why quit with so much time to go before you started at Emory?" Kristie asked. She was more perceptive than most when the subject had come up.

"Because I didn't quit," I laughed, able to do so now that a few weeks had passed. "I was a conscientious employee, so I told them I was leaving this fall, and why. I did it that far in advance so that they would have time to find a replacement for me and I could train that person. I expected I was giving them just enough time. Instead, they found a fully qualified girl in four days, who needed no training. I got given two weeks notice the day she arrived."

"Assholes," observed Kristie.

"I used stronger language," I replied dryly, shrugging.

We laughed and talked a bit more, but I did not try to extend the conversation. It wasn't because I didn't enjoy standing with her, but I was finding it increasingly hard not to just openly check her out. Once I moved on, I could keep a more subtle eye on her while talking to others.

A few conversations later, I looked her way to discover that she had shucked the shorts and was getting into the pool. I considered moving to sit on the edge of the pool and talking to the people milling around inside, including Kristie, until I realized that my mother was in the pool now too. And yes, she was indeed wearing a bikini.

I instead moved to talk to my father and his buddy. We argued back and forth about whether the Dolphins would be dreadful or just merely stink this upcoming season. I positioned myself with my back to the pool, which seemed to suit them both, as it let them both stare in that direction.

After I had been there an hour and a half, I was ready to punch out and leave the 'grown ups' to their fun. I told Dad that I had been summoned by some buddies to drink and make passes at strange girls, and was therefore going to ditch him and the rest of the geezers. Son of a bitch just waved me away, wishing me good hunting. Then he warned me to text in advance if I decided to bring my catch home, so he and Mom wouldn't be tearing up the couch back when we came in.

Was it my fault he was standing on the edge of the pool when he said that shit? My only regret is that his full glass of beer went to waste in the water as it entered with him? I left to loud applause from the multitude, most of whom had not heard my Dad's words, but knew him well enough to know he had deserved it.

It had been a good debut, I figured.

*

I encountered so much as the mildest of interest from precisely zero girls that night.

When I got home, I was mildly drunk and majorly horny. There had been no girls interested me out that night, but that did not mean that there were no interesting girls.

*

The following Monday afternoon, I was sitting at the desk in my old room, trying to be productive. I did not say my old desk, because, despite my being an only child, Mom is not one of those sentimental types who keeps Junior's room just they way he left it for a decade after he moves out. Nothing much beyond the drywall under the new paint remained from my old room, really. She had even changed the doorknob. But the desk that was in the new Guest Room was nice, and the chair even nicer.

I sat in it, reading a recent book by a professor at Emory whom I expected to have classes with my first year. The book is not required reading, so I considered it to be Pre-Sucking Up. As it happens, I thought it was a pretty good read.

My parents, despite living in South Florida, are not air-conditioning fanatics. Most of the time, we live with windows open and the air off. My windows were therefore wide open, and a light breeze made the early afternoon pleasant.

I heard a bird call and looked up eagerly. Open windows as a kid, combined with an ornithology class my Freshman year in college, had made me into a birdwatcher. Several times in recent days, I had heard the loud cry of the small, insanely colorful songbird called the Painted Bunting coming from the woods behind our cul-de-sac. Here it was again, and close this time.

I grabbed my spotting binoculars and scanned the brush where I thought I had heard the call. A flash of multiple colors, and I saw the bird, or birds actually. There were two. They were very pretty and I followed them as they moved through the scrub for a bit before I lost them.

If they stayed around for a day or so more, I might have to go dig my long lens out of my storage locker and take some pictures. I've read that they used to be a lot more common, but nowadays they are sadly rare.