Author's note: My current boyfriend* is less than half my age (27/57) and he recently told me that I am the first M.I.L.F. (his description, not mine) that he's fucked. What follows is my version of his life since becoming a 'Toy Boy'. I have shown him the completed story, and he loved it, and he also loves my version of the same story, which I have entitled 'Ploughing Her Own Furrow.' Check it out! I hope my loyal band of readers will enjoy them both as much. Even though this is an edited version of real events, (because vanilla life gets in the way much too often) I am obliged to note that all the sex described takes place between consenting adults of at least eighteen years of age. Please consider using the star system to show your approval of this story, and as usual, all constructive comments are welcome.
*Sadly, this is no longer the case, but I had a good time while it lasted and I've had his blessing to submit this story for publication.
First of all, I need to establish that I am not your typical twenty-something year old male. Yes, I'm horny all the time, and yes, I love lots of sex, but a lot of my mates think I'm weird, because I am not attracted to girls my own age. My ideal date would be a MILF in her forties, someone who is uninhibited, and if she happened to be a smoker, so much the better. I told you that I'm not typical. I have a huge smoking fetish, despite the fact that I don't smoke myself. So, that's my cards laid out on the table. I'm nothing if not honest, and if you don't like what you've read so far, then no hard feelings. Just move on and find some author who writes about what turns you on.
The story I am about to relate began just before Easter last year. I should explain that I'm a librarian in a quiet, small Welsh town. I'm responsible, amongst other things, for organising exhibitions and events in the library, and at the time when my story begins, I had arranged for an exhibition of modern art which reflected the traditions of Easter around the world to be shown in the upstairs gallery.
A week before the exhibition was due to begin, I was informed by my boss that the council had invited a local primary school choir to attend. The thinking was that it would boost the number of people attending the opening night, and it was, it seemed, a fait accompli. I wasn't happy to have a bunch of sprogs wailing on my opening night, but my boss told me to get on with it and make the arrangements. I did as I was told.
A rehearsal was arranged for the afternoon of the opening. The children arrived, accompanied by two of their teachers, and a young man, whom I later discovered was the bus driver. He had been recruited to carry the keyboard into the library, and once it had been set up, he disappeared back to his vehicle.
When I introduced myself, I had the feeling that I might get something out of this situation after all. The teacher in charge shook my hand and introduced her young colleague. The young woman, whose name was Marion, blushed, shook my hand and immediately began to organise the children into some sort of order.
The older woman smiled at me and began to make conversation.
"Thank you for having us," I remember her saying at one point.
"I'd love to have you," I thought to myself. She was quite tall, well built, with a beautiful pair of tits, and it suddenly struck me that her subtle, musky perfume indicated that she might well be a cigar smoker. (Remember, I have a smoking fetish, and I know the smell of cigars very well indeed!) I replied that it was a pleasure to showcase the local village school and all the hard work they were doing at our opening evening. I hoped she wouldn't notice the bulge in my trousers. Mrs. Simpson, as she had introduced herself to me, was making me very horny indeed.
The rehearsal went very well. Mrs. Simpson was the accompanist, and her younger companion conducted the choir. Much to my surprise, they sounded very tuneful, and they obviously adored their young conductor, because they listened intently to what she had to say, and they all did exactly as she instructed. I found myself looking forward to the evening's performance.
When they had finished practising, Marion began telling the children the details of what was required of them that evening. I heard her saying that they must wear their school uniform, and that the girls who had long hair must have it tied back out of their faces. It took me back to my own schooldays, when all the children hung on their teachers' every word. I suddenly became aware that Mrs. Simpson was standing next to me. I inhaled deeply, catching her subtle aroma, and I was aware of my cock stirring in my trousers.
"I've arranged for the children to be picked up from here," she informed me with a smile. "Getting them back to school on the bus at going home time would be a nightmare. So their parents and grandparents will be picking them up from here. I hope that's ok?"
"No problem at all," I smiled, "but how are you and your companion going to get home if you're not going on the bus?"
"Marion's wife is coming to pick her up," Mrs. Simpson replied, "and I'm staying in town. I thought I'd grab something to eat, come back here by about six o'clock, and change ready for the concert. Will that be possible, do you think?"
My mind went into overdrive. I was still trying to manufacture a scenario whereby I could find out more about this woman when the butchest dyke I've ever seen turned up. She kissed Marion quickly, nodded to Mrs. Simpson, and totally ignored me.
"See you back here at six," Marion said, holding hands with her wife and smiling her goodbye. I turned my attention back to the object of my lustful intentions.
"Would you like to join me for a snack and a coffee?" I began. "I'm on duty tonight, and I usually go to the deli when I'm working late. The coffee is amazing, and they do tasty snacks as well."
To my delight, Mrs. Simpson agreed to accompany me, and as we strolled the hundred and fifty yards or so to the deli, she slipped her arm through mine and informed me that she was looking forward to getting to know me better. I couldn't believe my luck, and neither, it seemed, could my cock, which was definitely showing an interest. I had a hard on all the way to the deli!
To my surprise, Mrs. Simpson was greeted warmly by the deli owner when we arrived. The late afternoon rush was beginning to slow down and there were plenty of tables available. We decided to sit outside in the early spring sunshine, and no sooner had we sat down than the owner came up, carrying two menus.
"How are you, Mrs. Simpson?" she smiled, handing over the menus. "We haven't seen you for a while. You're still teaching in the village school?"
Mrs. Simpson confirmed that she was indeed still teaching, and enquired about two people called Rebecca and Richard.
"Richard is a solicitor up in north Wales," she was told, "and Rebecca is living with her partner down in Cardiff. She'll be thrilled when I tell her that I've seen you. She loved you when you were her teacher."
Eventually, the deli owner moved off to clear some tables and serve other customers.
"Sorry about that," Mrs Simpson smiled, "as you might have worked out, I taught Mrs. Ellis's children, more years ago than I care to remember."
"You're not that old," I protested gallantly, and she smiled at me.
