I didn’t go to dinner at my girlfriend’s house just to fuck her mom, but I certainly didn’t go to watch football.

Let’s back up. I met my girlfriend Katy at a potluck. Neither of us can cook (I knew this about myself and discovered this — painfully — about Katy) so both of us brought cases of really expensive beer. It was one of those situations where nobody fucking cared except the host, who wordlessly took our 48 bottles and bade us “grab a plate and sample everyone else’s hard work.” Asshole.

Anyway, she and I landed on a couch together, like the losers we were, and soon we were engaged in that very special kind of drunken flirting where your hand casually brushes this body part or that one and then just stays there. I had my hand up her dress as the lights got dim and I expertly/drunkenly jilled her off right in front of a sad little group of quinoa salad eaters.

This wasn’t a one-night stand. We sheepishly called each other the next day and admitted we liked each other and even wanted to do non-sexual things, like go to farmers’ markets and get coffee. Of course, when we did those things, we were never too far from one of our places, where we’d return and fuck the afternoon away.

It was one of those relationships that starts with sex that means something, that makes you think, “You know, sex on the first date is a really good idea. It erases all the inhibitions so you can really get to know each other.” So it was in that spirit that, once she’d blown me on the toilet, that she asked me, through a mouthful of my come, if I wanted to have dinner with her family.

What I wanted to say was: “This is a red flag.”

What I said instead was: “I would love to meet your family.”

Katy’s family consisted of her mom, Miranda, and her older brother, Paul. Paul was one of those failure-to-launch guys and it was clear that Miranda had made him squeeze into his one good shirt for the occasion. Miranda, on the other hand, was just… just something else. Yes, she looked like Katy, and no, no one would confuse them for sisters, but Miranda had this Sadder But Wiser thing going on and she wore these faded, hip-hugging jeans under a black velvet top that made you want to slap her ass in spite of yourself.

“I pushed the head of my cock slowly past the puffy folds of my girlfriend’s mom’s pussy.”

Things were kinda low-down at Miranda’s house. She was the still-hot single mom of a son who wouldn’t leave and a daughter who, come to think of it, blew people on toilets and tried to talk with come in her mouth. (I’m not complaining, but it’s a reference point.) From the conversation the two women were having during the frying and breading and pan-scraping, I got the feeling they shared a lot of secrets.

“So I hear you played Stinky Pinky at a potluck,” Miranda said at one point.

“Jesus, Mom!” Paul said. Yeah, I had to agree with Paul on that one. Awkward.

After dinner we all moved to the TV room where Paul and Katy put on a football game.

“Come sit with me!” Katy pouted. So I did while she draped her smooth, chewy legs over my lap and pawed at me. I was uncomfortable with this show of affection in front of her family, so when Miranda asked me to help her with a pitcher of margaritas (now we’re talking), I respectfully patted Katy’s tasty thighs and joined Miranda in the kitchen.

“I can’t stand football,” Miranda said.

“Neither can I,” I said. “I watch the Super Bowl and I’m pretty much good for the year.”

Miranda poured me a strong margarita in a heavy glass. Not a weeknight drink, but this family didn’t really stand on tradition.

“So Katy says you have a big fucking cock,” she blurted. Before I could pick my chin up from the floor, Miranda spilled her drink on her blouse. Ice cubes clattered off the sink. “Fuck!” she said.

“Everything okay, Mom?” Katy called from the next room.

“I just need to make another pitcher,” she yelled back. “I fucking dropped this one. I’ve got more tequila in the laundry room. Hold on.”

But instead of going to the laundry room (did they even have a laundry room?), Miranda then and there flipped her blouse over her head, revealing an amazing set of firm, heavy, pink-tipped breasts. I grabbed them instinctively. I had a very strong feeling that if Katy walked in, she wouldn’t be surprised, and neither would Paul.

The slickness and confidence with which she disrobed, quickly unzipping her jeans and pushing them down, made me hard — just as she probably knew it would. She undid my belt quickly and freed my cock. I’d been freeballing that evening because I knew I’d be having some drunk sex with Katy, but here I was with her mother instead.

I kind of admire guys who can just take a blowjob — I really have to trust someone before I let her do all the work. It was that way with Katy. I just felt comfortable with her. And Miranda was the same. I leaned against the counter while I heard the game going on in the next room and the various shouts of her adult children, and let this 48-year-old divorcée goddess suck me off, squatting with her jeans pushed below her knees.

I think I could’ve let her finish me off that way, but I was in for a penny, in for a pound, so I eased her up by her hair, gently pushed her to the opposite counter, and forced her ankles apart as far as they’d go with her jeans pooled around them. I didn’t have a condom but I was absolutely not thinking straight at that point. Her pussy was dripping and slicked the edge of the dirty counter where the remains of the meal sat on plates. I pushed the head of my cock slowly past the puffy, meaty folds of my girlfriend’s mom’s pussy and stroked her once for every year of her life, feeling her erupt somewhere around 30, and then again at 45, and by 48 I sent my happy spurts into this hot, hot mess.

Yeah, we’d done something scandalous, but we didn’t make a peep. I kissed Miranda warmly, excused myself to clean up in the bathroom, and heard her making a new pitcher of margaritas in the pantry. I returned to the couch with Katy, drinks in hand, and watched the end of the football game. It was really strange to have warm, sweet Katy’s head resting on my lap as my cock still felt the receding pulses of having just fucked her mom. But families are weird.

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