Note: This is the first "Coffee Club" story. There's no "sex"; just a sexy situation. If you readers like this one, I'll start a series of increasingly lusty stories as the MILFs open up to discussing more of their dirty little secrets.
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Hi, I'm Cathy with a C. I belong to a group of women who get together on Monday mornings. We originally started out as a church group, and we were commissioned to talk about plans for a landscaping project at the church, part of the integration of the church property into an adjoining planned community. At first there had been huge interest, and the first day about 20 church ladies showed up. The second week only about 10 showed up, and then attendance began to dwindle further. In a month, there were 8 with one or two showing up only occasionally, then one girl moved out of town, a new mayor was elected, and (without going into all the details) the original purpose for the group went away. Eventually, there were only four of us regulars, and we didn't talk about church business anymore. At some time or another they needed the room at the church so we started meeting at each other's houses.
We enjoyed each other's company so much that we just couldn't imagine facing a Monday morning without first getting together. The group had originally been called the Ascension Methodist Intervalley Landscaping Fund group, (AMILF) but even the name had to change. The men at the church started openly calling us the MILFs and something about the way they said it made me google it up on the internet. I couldn't believe my eyes. I talked to my husband Frank about it one morning in the kitchen.
"Do you know what that means?" I asked him, wide-eyed.
He stared into his paper. "What what means?"
"MILF."
He paused, a little too long. Then he cleared his throat and replied, "Uh, isn't that the name of that group you belong to?"
Uh, huh. I read him loud and clear. All these guys knew what it meant and they were going around telling each other that we were Mothers I'd Like to Fuck. Great. I yelled back, "Fix your own damned breakfast you bastard!" and stomped out of the kitchen. Later, he acted all innocent and tried to seem surprised when I told him what it meant. He denied it to the end, but I made him buy me some clothes before I let him off the hook for that one.
There was no way I could stop them from saying it, and actually it was a bit true. We were an exceptionally attractive group of ladies in their forties, if I do say so myself, and I secretly felt a little thrill every time I thought of it. All those guys at church secretly saying what they'd like to do to me, thinking I was too innocent to know what they were saying. When I thought of some of the guys, it positively made me moist to think about it. In my mind I would spell it out, like when I saw Bob one Sunday. He said, "So how are the MILFs?" but in my mind I heard "So how are the mothers I'd like to fuck?" and then I decoded it further to "I'd like to fuck you!" and I blushed and looked down because Bob is thoroughly luscious.
I swallowed and stuttered, "I, I, I'm doing fine." Then I realized that wasn't even the answer to his question, and started to blush, and then I realized that if I didn't know what it meant I wouldn't be blushing and he knew that and then I really blushed a deep red. And all the bastard could do was grin back at me. I'd been caught out. I've never been so embarrassed, but why in all that embarrassment did I feel such a surge of electricity in my most private place?
When I first decoded MILF for everyone in the Monday group, we all had a huge laugh and I realized I wasn't the only one who got a kick out of being called that. We continued to call ourselves "the MILFs" among ourselves, although we were careful not to use the term in public. As the term MILF got to be more generally known in the world, someone must have said something to someone else and they stopped calling us that at church too, except occasionally for some of the older boys, usually just before their fathers slapped them on the back of the head.
Last Monday at our coffee group the other wives and I sat around in Martha's living room talking about things that were going on in our lives. The subject had come around to embarrassing situations. Pat told about the time she got locked out of the house in her nightgown while her husband was out of town. I told about the time some papers blew into a vacant lot near the shopping mall and when I ran out to retrieve them a skunk sprayed me. I was already late for an appointment and had to yell through the door that I smelled too horrible to come in, and then I had to drive all the way home with the car windows open and strip to my underwear in the yard.
Martha told about a time she farted on an empty elevator just before a group of Japanese businessmen got on. The way she told it, after they got on, there was dead silence as they looked nervously at each other. Then one of them said something in Japanese and they all burst out laughing and chattering in Japanese. When she got off they all looked at the floor, but as the doors were closing, she could hear them all laughing again. You could just picture it. We hung on every word, and laughed uproariously at each turn in the story. We were howling at each other almost to the point of tears.
It had come around to Ev's turn to speak. She's healthy and relatively thin, but still well rounded and soft looking. She has long legs and a body that makes men forget what they're saying. She looked hesitant, seeming to debate with herself, and then made a decision. She got serious for a moment. "If I tell you this, you girls have to keep it to yourselves. I don't want anyone in this town to know about this." She looked directly at each of us, holding our eyes until we promised.
"Sure."
"OK"
"I won't tell a soul."
No one could hear us, but nevertheless, we leaned forward conspiratorially as Ev began her tale in a hushed voice. This was going to be good.
"This happened a couple of years ago when we lived in Slickrock, New Mexico. It's a little suburban community with two shopping malls, about ten churches, a police force and a volunteer fire department. I used to like to go out in the morning after Glenn went to work and do my grocery shopping. In the summer it could get terribly hot, so I wore these short loose little cotton sundresses that came down to about here," she indicated a spot at about upper mid-thigh," and a pair of flip-flops. I like to show off my legs, you know." She smirked naughtily.
She didn't have to say it, but, knowing Ev, there had probably been somebody at the store she was teasing on purpose. She had long, beautiful legs, "to die for", and she really knew how to show them off to the boys. She loved to flirt, and watch men's reactions when she crossed her legs, or absent-mindedly lifted her hemline to scratch her thigh. She pretended to be innocent, but she didn't fool anyone who knew her. That included her husband Glenn, who laid the law down because he was the jealous type. That didn't mean she stopped; she just made sure Glenn didn't see her do it. We all need our thrills, and I think that doing it against Glenn's wishes was part of the fun.
Ev continued. "I got my groceries and wheeled them out to the car. It was a new Camry and I didn't want anyone to screw up the paint job, so I liked to park way away from the other cars. So I get out there, open up the trunk, and set my purse in the trunk while I put the bags in the back. When I was putting in one of the bags, it knocked my purse over and all the stuff inside spilled out. I scrambled to get everything back in the purse." She paused a moment for a sip of coffee.
"I thought I had picked it all up when I saw my lipstick. It had rolled up right in the crack at the back of the trunk. I guess I could have left it there, but I didn't want it to melt and make a mess in my nice new car. You know how big those trunks are? I leaned forward and I could just see it in the dark. I sort of stretched out and groped around, with my ass stuck up in the air, and I reached around with both hands, but it was sort of behind this metal thing and I just kept feeling around with my fingers and knocking it back and forth, and then..."
"Yes?" "Then what?" we said.
Ev took a breath and another sip of coffee, then resumed. "Then I just got stuck. My finger with the wedding ring went through this metal hole and got wedged in there. The more I pulled the tighter it got, like one of those Chinese puzzle things. My right arm was pinned under me so I couldn't even get my other hand back there. I was stuck but good. I must have been a sight."
