Vibrations of a Vixen

…stories from under the sheets…

The Religious MILF January 20, 2010

Filed under: sex — vixations @ 10:36 am

This is the first Vixations Guest Post!

by Rupert Pumpkin

Should male guest bloggers be called something more appropriate? Stud Secrets? Cockations? That sounds like Caucasians. Well this post was written by a 20-something Caucasian male. So maybe it works.

When I asked Rupert Pumpkin what was going on in his head throughout the whole experience, he said this:

“Well there wasn’t much going through my head that I didn’t put there, to be honest. I was like, ‘Whaaat is going on. Should I do this? Yes. Done.'”

And that’s the difference between men and women, my friends. Amazing. Anyway, here goes…

I was home for the holidays, and decided to oblige my parents by attending church with them. I used to go to church twice a week anyways, so I figured one additional time wouldn’t hurt.  We get to church, and I’m feeling pretty haggard from the night before.  I’m dreading all the superficial what-are-you-doing-these-days catch up conversations that always seem to sprout up in these situations.  After somehow escaping to my seat and pretending to text some mystery friend on my phone, I look up and see her.  We lock eyes.  Holy shit! She looks great.  I can tell she is in one of those conversations that no one wants to be in.

The service starts and I get up to grab a drink of water, and I see her scurry out to the lobby.  Is she following me?  We talk for a few brief moments and catch up on life.  I haven’t seen you in years. You got divorced? Your 26th birthday is coming up? I am home for a few more days. We should hang out.  I don’t have your number anymore…

And it was that simple.  I had hooked up with her years ago, before she got married.  Maybe if I had some moral compass left after college, I wouldn’t have acted like this. Or maybe if I wasn’t in the midst of one of the worst droughts of my life I would have just smiled and let it be.  But I was on a mission.

I have to admit there were some red flags going off in my mind, maybe for about 25 seconds. I can recall numerous potential caveats: this woman just got divorced. Her husband cheated on her. She has a kid. She had to move back in with her mom. But… she’s a MILF. She weighs 100 pounds.  She’s Italian.  Smoking body.  She’s really sexy.  There is no doubt in my mind that she wants to fuck me.  What am I waiting for?

Sometimes women will complain that men think with their head and not their head. I was DEFINITELY thinking with my southernmost head here. I picked her up a few days later.  Shot the shit with her mom.  Took her out to a bar.  Had a few drinks. Talked about music. Swapped stories. Had a great time. Had a few more drinks. She wanted to pay the bar tab and I told her no. Paid the tab. Now what? As we walked to the car I asked her what we were doing next.  She responded, whatever you want. But she said it in the tone of voice that really meant, I don’t care as long as you fuck me as soon as possible.

As I’m driving home to my PARENTS’ house, I’m thinking, this is almost an unbelievable situation.  We get to my house, and I sneak her in.  What is this, high school revisited?  We head downstairs, tip-toeing around like we’re in the jungles of ‘Nam.  I throw on a Jimi Hendrix DVD.  I ask her if she wants a drink.  Next thing I know I’m fucking her on the pool table. Against the wall. On the floor. On the couch. From behind. She starts pulling out all these crazy porn-star positions. And Jimi is still shredding in the background. Let’s just say I was enjoying myself more than a little bit.

She tells me to cum in her mouth.  She looks at me and whispers, exhausted, spent, breathlessly, you’re the man.

It’s 4 A.M. and I take her home; I’m not really sure what to make of the situation. These types of things never happen to me. I’m never the man. But I have to ask: when’s the last time going to church got you laid, by a 25 year old, 100 pound, pure-bred Italian, smoking hot mom, in the basement of your parents’ house?

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