Climbing The Family Tree Ch 01

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)--

--And the man fucking her mother's mouth was indeed going balls deep, then out to just the tip-of-the-tip, then smoothly balls deep again into the depths of Cindy's mom's throat, then smoothly out again--smoothly, except for Cindy's mom's gag--and then back into her throat as deep as before, no exceptions, Cindy's mom gagging even more on the cock's way down now, but taking it like a pleaser, taking it like a sleeve, taking it like a woman who could handle all the extra-sticky saliva and throat-scratching tickles that occur when a woman is loving a man's most magnificent member with every part of what is available to her to use for the cause, especially that wonderful sleeve where her breath and her words came from.

No need for them for awhile. Only need that space to suck dick.

Cindy could tell her mother was well-experienced at this type of play. After all, she threw this party and invited these guests, not because her long-lost put-up-for-adoption daughter was in country, in town for a visit, but because this was the regular Thursday party she threw or attended with this revolving group of ex-patriates and locals and partiers extraordinaire, all.

But the words of this younger man confused her. "Brother? Father?" Cindy's tone was quizzical, because she was, on her placid surface, sure that she had misunderstood, or that this handsome, sexy, stocky younger man had misspoken, the words of Paradorian English having perhaps a different connotation.

"Yeah, we've made love with your mother a lot, she was a special guest at my sister's Quinceañera last year. The uncles and she got very well acquainted."

Cindy was sure this was a very dirty, very inappropriate joke. But then, given what she was actually seeing...

And given that his tone was so earnest and natural... and the night air was so hot and so humid and rich, full of the perfume of flowering trees in full-bloom... and these are trees that only bloom at night...

"So..." Cindy said, pointing, hoping he got the hint. "That's your..."

"Brother," he said, getting her hint. "Fucking your mother, like I know you've heard me doing. My brother is the one fucking your mother right now, and my father is fucking her mouth right now. How you say--blowjob?"

That makes Cindy laugh, because she can say, "stop pretending, I know you speak English in Parador."

He laughs. "So, Cindy, let me ask--your mother's skills. Does it run in the family?"

Cindy looks at his pirate eyes and his rogue's smile. She makes a choice. She has given her dentist husband not the slightest hint of what she's found in Parador, hiding behind the lie that WiFi service is abysmal in the mountains (Parador actually has the best WiFi in all of the Americas; North, Central, or South).

She's not going to tell him about this either.

"So are you asking," Cindy says to this sexy, brown-eyed hunk of fuckboi, "if cocksucking is instinct?" She sees she has gotten his attention now. "Or if it's learned? Nature versus nurture?"

She's so eloquent, he's now the one blushing and stammering. She rescues him.

"You're the perfect test-subject, aren't you?" Cindy asks him, boldly. "Since you've had my birth mother suck you off, you'll be able to tell if I suck cock like she does, or if I do it differently?"

He's regained some of his composure. "Sure," he agrees. "I would." History's fastest volunteer in the name of science.

Cindy takes him to the only place in the house that isn't being used by groups or couples or groups of couples to party and fuck, indiscriminately and with abandon.

But Cindy does more than just suck the dick of this man whose dick has been in her birth-mother. Cindy makes out with him first, and they kiss and touch for what seems like hours, and then that proceeds naturally into two sensual humans making love in the darkness, alone and private and ignorant of any orgy happening all night long around them.

He is a good lover and even better than Cindy has been imagining he was, she realizes.

She knows exactly why he has her mother make those sounds and why her mother has such loud and long orgasms, and so many. Because he makes Cindy make those sounds and feel those waves of pleasure, easier here, as if somehow Parador really is closer to heaven than any other part of the planet, as the local tourism likes to say.

Joking, but not really.

But that night is no joke and the next morning, Cindy is sore in ways she has not been in a very, very long time if ever. It hurts to walk the next morning, which starts very late for her, and she is still sore the next night, as she packs for home.

That day after was a detox and cleanse day, a day of hangover after the excess, a time of rejuvenation and relaxation and resuscitation and rehydration.

There's an exclusive spa there at the heights of hippie ecotourist Parador, and Cindy and her mom get a package Doubles (separate tubs) Mud Wraps, so they can talk, but they don't talk about the wild group sex or in Cindy's case, wild adulterous sex with her mother's lover, but talk instead about the little details of flora and fauna and foods that Cindy's mom so enjoys about Parador.

The soaking in the tub, followed by the massages from the therapists after, help Cindy's hips and thighs start to release.

"Have you been hiking a lot while you've been here?" Cindy's massage therapist asks. "Your hip muscles feel really tight."

"That's because they stretched wider for longer than they have in a very, very long time for a very, very long time last-night," Cindy thinks-but-does-not-say, "when I got pounded like I needed by one of my mom's lovers, he did a sun salutation on both my clit and my g-spot at once with his supremo dick, and now I'm eskimo sisters with my own mother."

"Oh, no, they always get that way," Cindy babble-lies to the therapist, instead.

"Oh," says the massage therapist, "remember to drink lots of water."

Cindy promised she would. The last day, with the spa visit in the afternoon, was Cindy's favorite day with her mom. The vibe in the air was fun, and calm, and chill, and stable. Cindy soaks up all the good energy from those mountaintops. She eats the best goat cheese that she has ever had in her life from her mother's herd of milk-and-cheese producing goats. It is illegal to smuggle this agricultural product back home, but for a second, she thinks about it.

She looks around the hillside, she breathes in the air. The fog that blows in are actual clouds, that is how high up in altitude her mother's house is. Cindy takes in one last, long look at it all, soaking the air into her pores, amazed at how radically different this hill and this air and this life is from the flat and the flat of her life.

The next day Cindy flies back to that Stateside life of hers.

The only thing she thinks about on the flight home, half-sleeping the entire way, is not her husband, not their children, not their pets. Over and over she keeps hearing his voice in the dark:

"No, you're totally different from how your mother does it."

She hears the words over and over in her mind and Cindy tastes his cum over and over again in her mouth.

Different but just as good. His creamy jizz in her cheated-just-this-once American housewife mouth, proves her own skills to her American housewife self-doubt.

Different but better? Cindy wonders.

All the salty snacks the airline gives her for free don't help her to stop thinking about it. Don't help her to stop remembering that night she will never tell her husband about, she thinks, she swears, she believes. But they do help, because remembering it, remembering him, remembering his taste, is all she wants to do, even on this international flight home where she is sure the bags under her eyes are going to look to anyone back Stateside that she has been in Parador fucking younger, local lovers all week with her wild, bacchanalian birth-mother, as one does.

Instead of only one time that week during one passionate night with one of her birth-mother's lovers.

"No, you're totally different from how your mother does it."

She hears his words in her mind and tastes his cum in her mouth again and she giggles.

That's fine, she thinks. "He tasted totally different from how my husband tastes."

Her husband's kiss at the airport is warm and sweet and she is glad to see him. They make love hard and fast the way he likes, and after Cindy fucks her husband in their bed that evening, he is asleep in ten minutes.

She glances in the mirror facing their bed for a second, and thinks she sees her birth-mother there. Then she realizes it's only her own reflection in the mirror, and she smiles.

For a month, Cindy does nothing. She goes back to her old routine, of fitness and household management and family corralling. She thinks, she realizes. Life is beautiful, life is sweet. Her ass was toned, her ass was tight, her tits were high and bouncy. Life was worthwhile.

But, she knew.

Life was missing something.

Cindy then found her biological father.