My twin sister Michelle and I always loved our parent's date night. For one, it meant that we got a babysitter. I know, a kid wanting a babysitter doesn't seem normal. Well you never met my babysitter. Her name was Julie, and she was, to say the least, every teenage boys dream. For that matter, I am sure she was included in the dreams of many a male that met her. My dad was no exception and would often receive a shot in the ribs from my mother for his drooling over this young goddess. She babysat my sister and me every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, after school. Then of course, every two weeks on date night. Date night was the best because my sister would usually go to sleep early, and it actually gave me a chance to hang out with Julie.
Julie and I, as well as Julie and my sister, became very close over the years. She was a good friend and the person who I went to with any problem I was having: parents, school, girls, whatever the crisis was that week. We remained close even after she left for college, through email and text mostly.
This story is not about Julie, she is simply a catalyst. Continuing with my parents date night, the second reason we loved it, was because the mood in the house always changed on that night. My parents didn't get to spend that much free time together, so when they did they would always make the most of it. Love was in the air on those nights and it was infectious.
My father is a very successful sports writer/editor. He was a lacrosse star at the college where he and my mother met. He studied journalism, and as lacrosse is not a "career" sport, he decided to go into sports writing. When my mom got pregnant, he decided to take a job at a small (at that time unpublished) magazine as an editor. It was a huge pay-cut, and by huge, I mean he was making less than minimum wage when you consider the hours he was working. My mother was skeptical, for obvious reasons, being pregnant and just settling into a life with her new husband. The catch was, he owned 25% of the magazine.
This of course was a huge gamble, one my mother stood behind, and ultimately paid off. When retelling this story to friends and family, they would often make the joke that if it weren't for the magazine taking off, they probably wouldn't still be together. This joke is multilayered. For one, my mother's expression (tone, body language, ect.) is that of humor. She would have never left my father, for any reason, I assume. My father on the other hand retells the story with a more regretful undertone. The smile is there, but you can see something else in his eyes.
He was a good dad and provided more than enough comforts for myself, my mom and my younger sister (younger by 5 minutes). Michelle was a handful from the beginning. She had the beauty of my mother and the stubbornness of my father. Even from a very young age, she was hard to control. When she had her mind set on something that was it. At the same time, all she had to do was look at you with those big green eyes, and it was impossible to stay mad at her. A dangerous combination.
Her body was tight, built like a gymnast, which she was until her height and bust (inherited from my mom) made it difficult to pursue the sport in any serious context. In many ways she was a miniature version of my mom. She stood 5' 5", had perky breasts that were nearly the size of my mother's (maybe a medium-large C cup). But they stood out. Almost like gravity didn't exist within the confines her gorgeous young body. Her ass was tight and small. Similar to my mother's but on a smaller frame that fit her perfectly. Her smooth, soft, and tan skin had a glow that gave men, of any age, butterflies. She didn't have an ounce of fat on her and her stomach was beautifully flat with just the slightest hint of tone.
This takes me back to my main focus, my mother, Joann (or jo, as my dad called her). She's the most difficult person to really get a grasp on. Like I mentioned before, she was never an overly sexual person. This doesn't mean that she wasn't sexy. When looking at pictures of her from high school and college, I understand why my father, who had his choice of women in college, picked my mom. She was a classic beauty-queen-looking hottie.
Her hair was blonde, really blonde, perfectly straight and came to the middle of her back (a hairstyle she kept well after college). Her body was usually modestly covered, although I would come across the occasional photo of her in a bathing suit. These were still conservative, as was my mother's M.O. Regardless, those small moments in time, gave a small window into the treasures that my mother secretly held.
She had insanely long legs. She stands 5' 8", and that's mostly leg. Her ass was tone and tight, not as bubbly as my goddess Julie, but sexy in an almost girlish way. This was in contrast to her incredible breasts, the feature that first sparked my interest in my wonderful mom. It didn't take much snooping around to realize that her size, at age 43, was a lovely 34 D. Her face was classic, proportional and suited her style very well. She looks like she could have walked out of a WASPY home & garden magazine.
We had a good sized home gym in our basement, where she spent her free time while we were at school. As a result her figure was that of someone 10-20 years younger. She had the face of a mother with a model's body.
Her normal attire would best be classified functional (e.g. polo shirt, sweater, and khakis). This doesn't mean she wasn't attractive, just a MILF, at least not in the way the word is usually used. Every once and awhile you would get a hint of what she was hiding. When wearing jeans and doing housework, you could get a glimpse of her bending over and the fabric would stretch across her tight ass. Or when she would wear a modest knee-length skirt, and reaching up for something in the cabinet, you could see her legs stretched and the tone was still there. Or my favorite, in the morning, she would sometimes wear one of my dad's old lacrosse jerseys and a pair of pajama pants. The pants I could have done without, but when she would serve us breakfast, leaning over, you could get a glimpse of her beautiful cleavage.
These were fleeting glimpses, and not enough to satisfy the hunger and curiosity of a young man. But this leads me to my final reason for loving date night. Seeing Julie was always a pleasure. Seeing my parents loving and kissing each other was wonderful. But by far, the most captivating aspect of date night was my mother. It gave me a chance to see her out of context. She wasn't a housewife or a mother on those nights. She was a woman. A sexy and enticing woman. She was still conservative, but it was a sexy conservative.
The date night outfits, the secret peaks from across the room, and my personal fantasies are really just a precursor to this story. I never got the inclination that my mom shared the same desire for me as I did for her. For that reason and other obvious reasons, I never took things any further than what was previously mentioned. Occasionally I would sneak a peek at her underwear drawer or try and get a glimpse of her changing, but that was it.
My priorites and outlook on life started to change as I get older and started developing into a "man." Just like Michelle was the spitting image of my mom, I was a younger version of my dad. Also, just as my sister's personality resembled my father's, I was a product of my mom. This created an odd dynamic as we often paired together for certain activities. Michelle and my dad were more inclined to go camping in the wilderness, while my mother and I would prefer more cultural activities: trying new restaurants, museums, or just reading a book.
That doesn't mean my father was at all absent in my life by any means. In fact, he is the main reason that I started to play lacrosse. I could really care less about sports, but it was important to him, so I played. And of course, a young boy always wants to impress his father. Ironically, his pushing me to play the sport is really where my story starts to take formation. I was 18 and in my senior year of High School.
Trying out for lacrosse, I found I was overwhelmed by how good all the other players were. I had watched the sport often with my dad. I could "talk the talk" but I had a hard time "walking the walk." However, the coach was a friend of my dad's from high school, and he agreed to take me on the team under a few conditions: I had to get bigger, stronger, and learn to throw the ball. Because my height was several inches over 6 feet, I was a natural defenseman. My problem was that I had almost no muscle to speak of.
I was the "lanky kid" and it sucked for more reasons than just lacrosse try-outs. Most girls could not see past my lanky exterior and somewhat nerdy-conservative personality. The ones that did were either too unfortunate to date, or my lack of self confidence prevented any meaningful interaction. My experience was limited to a singular event, which involved a wedding, a lot of booze, and one of my mom's married friends (who I'm pretty sure wasn't even conscious of who she was making out with).
Bottom line, something needed to change. I wanted to be the son my father would be proud of, and more importantly, someone that girls wanted to fuck. I decided that the best way for me to go about this was to change my image. I didn't want to be the nerdy lanky guy anymore. I wanted to be like my dad, the way he was at my age, big and strong and someone that women lusted over.
I was way too nervous to go to the gym at school. People would probably just laugh at me, and even if they didn't, I wouldn't know what to do. Where the hell do I start? That is when I decided to ask Julie for help. She spent more time in the gym than anyone I know (with the possible exception of my mom).
