CLIMBING THE FAMILY TREE, CHAPTER ONE
The older Cindy got, the more attention she got. 5'9" and most of that legs, if her husband got her tipsy and asked her what her best feature was, Cindy would confess in her sweet, southern accent, "my tits," and she would not be telling any lies.
After three kids delivered naturally and without any drugs; organic produce and diligent exercise preserved her slender hourglass figure. Her breasts had not only survived motherhood, they had thrived.
Cindy sported full, round D-cups with luscious, suckable pink nipples with ideal pink areolae. The band size might range from a 38 to a 42, depending on brand and depending on her monthly hormone cycle, but she had such great tits, they looked hot in anything she wore.
Her husband, the successful dentist, liked to take Cindy out on their power cruiser, where she could go topless. After their kids were taken care of, nursed as necessary and laid down for naps, then he could nurse as necessary and they could both get laid down.
Cindy had a full head of chestnut locks that suggested trouble, and dark blue eyes as troubled as oceans; eyes quite capable of landing her in any situation that caught her fancy.
Wifehood and moneyhood and most of all, motherhood, had caught Cindy's fancy.
She caught the fancy of most who saw her. Early in the morning, along the roads of the comfortable small town where she lived, Cindy in her short runners shorts with her sexy runners legs and her still-tight, still-ready-for-one-more-at-least mommy MILFy hips... even in her thirties, Cindy noticed that she was making drivers slow down to take her in and drink her in, and, no doubt in Cindy's mind, fantasize about her when they were with their own wives.
These were nice cars in this nice, semi-suburban small town; these were her neighbors in their tricked-out all-leather-interior Bose sound-system extended-cab trucks; these were German import luxury sedans that needed to be taken to Tallahassee to be serviced. These were the many for whom Cindy's hips on an early morning jog was proof of what made life worth living for one more day.
Cindy caught the fancy of women, too.
Early mornings, diving into the pool at the town's YWCA. Her one-piece swimsuit tight and efficient, a respectful dark navy, so as not to show anything. Cindy swims her laps until she gets her mile, then she heads to the showers.
When she gets out of the pool, she discreetly pulls the bottom out of her suit, where her powerful kicks have let it ride up into the crack of her ass.
The locker room and showers are from an earlier era and the showers are communal. Hot and steamy, so nice after an early-morning swim on a cold morning.
Cindy takes her time, closing her eyes while she shampoos her hair slowly, her hands in her hair and her back to the hot water spray, lifting her already-perfect, plump, mommy tits to the other women showering at the Y that morning.
What makes them her best feature, she knows, what makes them so sexy, is not that they are big, but they have a full, round symmetry.
Natural hangers.
Baby feeders, quite literally.
After a long, slow lathering of her full, chestnut hair, Cindy lets the shampoo soak for another second, opening her eyes and seeing whom she catches checking her out that morning.
Even women have a recessed, natural biological impulse to suck such suckable nipples as Cindy's, she thinks.
Always one or two older matrons from that morning's Oldercise class, looking at Cindy and remembering what once was their own yummy mummyhood. But Cindy always enjoys seeing one of the twenty-something or college-age staffers, showering after leading an early-morning class at the Y. Often, when they see Cindy looking at them, they giggle, embarrassed, but Cindy always keeps eye contact and smiles, letting them know, it's alright. And perhaps, another time, they might...
Cindy's look and poise and beauty suggests to them things too naughty for women to say out loud.
"Oh my god," Cindy thinks, "they look like your nieces," or sometimes she thinks "they're legal but not much older than your daughter," but those tinges of guilt go away with how right these flirtations feel.
With how good it feels to catch their twenty-something eyes glancing long across the water rushing down her chest, down her mommy tummy, down her hairless and flawless cunt.
Cindy knows that whatever hang-ups they feel about their own pussies, they don't feel that at all about hers. There's a power in that, and Cindy feels that power from their sweet, discreet glances at her older, stronger body.
Cindy loves it the most when she catches the women she knows from her kids' schools' PTAs in the Y showers, eyeing her like their horny husbands or ex-husbands wish they could. Comparing and contrasting themselves with how athletically fit and erotically apportioned Cindy is, tits and hips and ass, and long legs to get them there fast.
Cindy loves it when those fine women, the secret partners of all of their husbands' and daddys' and uncles' and pappys' and big daddys' business ventures and business scams, with their unkempt, unmannered pubic growth, catch sight of Cindy's diligently waxed and regularly smoothed and tended to, bare milf pussy. Waxed every four weeks at the same salon that all the sorority girls up at State go to. Cindy knows because they are all in the waiting room together, Tuesday afternoons, she and the co-eds, waiting for their aesthetician. Each one on her phone until her name is called.
Cindy looks at them and wonders if they are paying for this wax themself, or if they have a sugar daddy in town who is taking care of them, keeping them presentable.
Now that Cindy's children are all in school most of the day, her body is as fetching and as attention-getting if not more so, as any of the women who end up naked in the gym showers with her. Cindy knows they want to look at her, and she gives them ample opportunity to, lost in the deniability of the steam.
She tells her husband none of this.
Nor does she tell her husband how much she has been enjoying the internet's more salacious anonymous communities.
Cindy snaps selfies of her tits and posts them anonymously to internet exhibitionist milf chat boards.
She loves the positive feedback. She loves all the words that all her anonymous fans have for her chest.
But all of that is who Cindy was. A tease. A tease with great tits, but a tease more or less, a tease nonetheless.
And then, Cindy decided to do something that changed her life forever in ways she and everyone around her never expected, and maybe, never wanted.
But, it happened anyway.
Cindy got interested in finding her birth parents once her children were in high school. She had a happy marriage to her husband, still a successful dentist. They had a lovely house, a cabin in the mountains, and the power-cruiser had upgraded to a cabin-cruiser on the Gulf.
Cindy had been adopted; her adoptive parents were now both dead. But Cindy wanted to find her birth mother, and she did. It took a short while, but was successful much faster than Cindy had expected or planned. But, there was no doubt. Cindy knew immediately.
A wild, crazy, woman, she was a hippie living down in Parador, raising goats and practicing free-love with the locals, the other expatriate Americans, and the eco-tourists hiking their way across the most beautiful country on earth.
After utilizing all the modern modes of surface communication across great distances, meaning largely weeks of emails, and phone calls, and videocalls, and text messages, and all the digital tricks for creating a relationship out of nothing more than biology left to mature over three decades, it came time to reunite in person for The Big Tearful.
Cindy flew down by herself, the longest time she had ever been away from her husband or her kids. But it felt right to Cindy, it felt like her time.
Her birth-mother's live-in lover was nothing like Cindy's dutiful, earnest, balding dentist husband. He was younger than her mother by nearly three decades and younger than Cindy herself by nine years. He had a beautiful, mellow joy and a beautiful body from spending long periods of time out in the tropical forests.
He also loved to walk around the house of Cindy's mother, naked most of the day and night, a practice that Cindy's mother often joined him in, as did many of their frequent guests.
Cindy would pretend to be doing something else, looking at her phone, looking at a box or a bottle on a table, when Cindy would actually be admiring the shape of the man's ass, or the shape and girth of his penis.
He and her mother made love often throughout the day and night, and did so loudly without inhibition.
He was not the only lover of Cindy's birth mother, nor did he have any jealousy sharing her with others. This was made unashamedly apparent for Cindy on the second day of her visit. On the fourth day of Cindy's visit to Parador, there was a groovy party fired by locally-sourced sangria and locally-sourced sativa and indicas. The air was filled with laughter, and delight, and good vibes, and the focusing scents of pinene, and the hypnotic skunky scents of myrcene, and the energizing citrus of limonene.
And the air was full of the sight of Cindy's mother as the centerpiece of the party, in the middle of her living room, getting made air-tight by three men, one twenty-something, one forty-something, one sixty-something, and so obviously, enthusiastically loving it.
But what blew Cindy's mind the most was when her mother's live-in lover casually came up to her and he made a casual remark that caught Cindy extremely off-guard, as flushed with complex emotions as she already was.
"Yeah," he said, referring to the men loving her mother at the moment. "My brother has a real steady style, loves to keep his thumb on her clit while he fucks her, but my father is all about steady, deep strokes into the throat and out."
This shook Cindy, because the older man fucking her mother's mouth was indeed fucking the older woman--for she was so much an older version of Cindy herself, same great shape, same long legs, same terrific tits (same whorish core, Cindy thought to herself)--
