Tumblr MILF

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3-6 Available On

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Chapter Two

Now, if you're a guy, then I don't have to explain what happens when a guy in high school meets a beautiful woman who is only four or five years older than him, which means he could think of her as a girl, instead of a woman. But I'm not sure women understand that. Actually, I have very plain evidence to suggest women don't understand it. That is, in fact, what this story is about.

It's a lot like fishing. I know that might seem odd, but again, if you're a fisherman, you probably already get where I'm heading.

A fisherman is among the most hopeful men in the world. He puts himself in lonely, sometimes uncomfortable, or even dangerous places, where he sits for hours and hours, maybe even days, all the time hoping for a bite. His anticipation can keep him on a razor's edge for hours at a time. He's patient, because he knows, deep in his heart, that there will, in fact, be a bite and that he will, in fact, make the catch.

And in all that time he sits there being hopeful, the fisherman doesn't think about the fact that a hundred other guys have tried to land this monster fish, and failed, and that it's quite possible he doesn't have what it takes to lure it from the depths so that he can make it his. He doesn't think about that because there is so much hope in him that there isn't any room for doubt.

So when a boy meets a girl like that, she's a little like that elusive monster fish out in the lake, and that boy's level of hope rises to the point where catching her is about all he can think about.

Except the age difference, and little things like maybe her having a child, are the kinds of things that strip him of his gear. He has no rod, and the only line he has is two pound test. There is no bait and no boat. He doesn't even have a hook, for that matter. To drive this rather bizarre analogy into the dirt ... er ... water ... the fact of the matter is he knows he can't possibly catch her. He can glimpse her gliding serenely along, just under the surface. He can see the swirls she causes in the water as he watches her tail flick carelessly. He yearns, with an impossible hope to feast on her flesh one day ...

Okay. That got a little weird. Sorry. But you get my drift.

She lived right next door, rather than out in the middle of the lake, and I saw her all the time. And, being a woman, she had no idea what she was doing to me. She just saw me as that nice young man who mows her lawn, or carries the cans of paint from her car into the house, or who climbs the ladder to clean the gutters because his father sees her getting ready to do that and says, "We can't have that, now can we, Bobby?"

The cheery words, "Hi, Bobby!" rang out frequently, usually followed by "What y'all doin'?" and my body would react and I'd get embarrassed and have to figure out a way to adjust things before she saw what was happening. I got to be an expert at that, by the way.

It might not have been so bad, except my mother took her under her wing and they became friends.

And I'm not talking "wave-at-each-other-over-the-back-fence-and-exchange-a-recipe-or-two" kinds of friends. Oh no. That would be too easy on Bobby. No, they became the "I-have-something-you-just-have-to-see!--I'll-be-over-in-a- minute," kind of friends. My mother crocheted stuff for Timmy and Ronnie un-fucked years of unintentional abuse on our PC. Then she worked on the firewall and advised them on a virus protection program and installed a router, so suddenly there was wireless in the whole house. Stuff like that. She even gave me her old laptop, because she said it was a dinosaur and useless for what she did these days.

So she was over a lot, and I got sent to her house a lot. And the next thing I knew, she was treating me like her little brother and smiling at me, and I was in the kind of agony that leaves permanent mental and emotional scars for life.

I guess it wasn't that bad. Not really. It's just that I was pretty sure the lake was empty of fish at that time in my life. I wasn't buff, or popular. I didn't have any special skills or talents. I was just a regular kid in a small town who was insanely in love with an unattainable woman who was actually six years older than me and thought of me as a boy who was so harmless that, if I showed up on one of my mother's errands and she was breastfeeding Timmy ... didn't even stop.

Of course, now that I'm a little older, I can look back on all that with glasses that aren't fogged by Ronnie Prater. There were fish in that lake. Lots of them. There were dozens of them my own age. But they were as minnows compared to a twelve pound Big Boob ... er ... I mean Big Mouth Bass. She put every other woman to shame. And, of course, that wasn't true either. I did actually ask Cynthia Johnson to the Prom, and we had a good time, except she tripped over her dress, which was a little too long, and when she fell her glasses flew off and somebody stepped on them. So she was blind for most of the night and didn't want to go to the after party. So I took her home and I even got a kiss. Trouble is Cynthia's eyes are blue ...

So you get my drift.

Ronnie was very good for my hormone levels, meaning she gave whatever makes hormones in teenage boys a pretty steady workout. And I bled those hormones off in the time-honored tradition of flogging my log practically every single night. I'd lie there and stroke slowly, thinking of the last time I'd seen Ronnie nursing Timmy. She had just pulled up her T shirt to get to the front of her bra, which had these little doors on it she could flip open, revealing a milk-packed nipple. Truth be told, you couldn't actually see anything if Timmy's cheeks were working. But then there was this little baby, sucking like crazy on a nipple you wished you were sucking on like crazy.

And then one night, I forgot to get the old torn underwear I used to catch my spunk with. I kept it on top of my dresser behind a trophy. So I got up in the dark to get it, and as I passed my window I glanced out and there, in the window across our yards, was Ronnie's silhouette through the shade she'd pulled down. She was in the bathroom, and she was facing the mirror, taking the pony tail she always wore out and combing her long hair.

It was just her silhouette, but I knew she was naked.

And I stood there and masturbated, looking at her, until I spurted right on the wall.

I got so weak I had to put my left hand on the wall and lean there. And I felt awful. I was looking right at her! Peeking ... sort of! I felt like I was a pervert.

And that's why I sat down at my laptop and decided to go check out a list of tumblr sites I had made that I hoped would have the kind of pictures I liked.

It wasn't that I just wanted to see a bunch of naked women. I mean I did, of course. I was seventeen, after all. But the primary reason I wanted to look at all those naked women was that I wanted to try to get Ronnie out of my mind so I didn't feel like such a pervert while I beat off.

And it worked.

The "average" tumblr site is basically just a mosaic of thumbnail pictures that fill page after page. They are sorted by the month that they were posted, and each month might have thirty pages of thumbnails. If you click on one of those thumbnails, it takes you to a page with a full size picture and a list of other tumblr members who "follow" that poster, and may have left comments about the picture.

So if there are thousands of pictures posted, there may be thousands of comments, and each comment is a link that leads to another tumblr site, where there is another collection of photographs and sometimes videos.

In other words, once you find a tumblr site, you have unlimited access to free porn of every imaginable stripe. Not that I like them all. I saw one where this chick was riding this guy in a video, and took a shit, right there on film. And the camera zoomed in on that turd being expelled. And somebody thought that was sexy!

But you can generally tell right away what a tumblr site is into, so you can go on about your business if it isn't quite your thing.

It's endless porn. You could literally sit there for hours, days, weeks, months or even years just clicking on one more picture of somebody naked, doing something associated with having sex.

And the best part of it was that a lot of it was amateur stuff, sent in by the woman in the picture. And that meant she didn't mind me looking, right? I mean it was right there for everybody to see, so it was okay to look, right?

Some of those women were getting fucked too, which meant that if I wanted to pretend it was my penis that was doing the fucking, she wouldn't care either. She actually did that stuff! So it wasn't perverted for me to imagine doing it with her.

So that's what I did. I sat up in the dark, and looked at tumblr sites until I found the right picture. Then I wanked like crazy until I spurted. And then I could go to sleep with a clear conscience because I knew I had not soiled Ronnie's sweet nature by imagining it was her warm, luscious pussy I was fucking when I spurted.

As you can see, I was only partially successful in avoiding fantasizing about Ronnie. But Tumblr helped, so that's what I did.

Until, one night, as I clicked through pictures, one expanded and there she was ... right there on the screen.

I didn't believe it. I know I stared at that picture for at least five minutes, thinking, "It can't be her."

But it was. There was no doubt.

Her hair was down, and her eyes were closed. She was facing the camera, and sitting on a guy, whose cock was up inside her. Her left hand was holding another rigid penis, and her mouth was open as she leaned to her left. It was just as fucking obvious as possible that she was about to suck the cock in her left hand.

Whoever was fucking her had his hands on her breasts, but they weren't covering her nipples. Those nipples were not as dark as the one I had seen Timmy let go of, but I knew it was still her. Something told me she was younger in this picture, but no matter how I tried to squint my eyes and make her look like somebody else, I knew it was Ronnie.

Of course she was gorgeous. Her breasts were big and round, but with that bastard's hands on them it was hard to see them properly. Her pussy, above where that prick entered her body, was bare. Her pussy lips looked purplish and thick, even though they were stretched pretty wide by that guy's penis.

I saved the picture.

I was stunned. I was also hard. And I felt confused. How could she do that? How could she put herself out there like that and let every-fucking-body see her like that?

I closed that picture, and stared at the page of thumbnails. Like a magnet, another picture nearby drew my eyes. I clicked it, and there she was again.

This time she was on her hands and knees, and the guy fucking her was gripping her hips. She was looking over her shoulder at him with this look like, "Don't you ever stop, you son of a bitch!" Her breasts were hanging down, and they just looked fucking perfect!

I saved that one too.

This time, when I minimized that frame, I looked for more.

I only found one more. It was of her, lying on a bed with rumpled sheets. She was on her back, and one leg was cocked, opening up her pussy for view. She looked like she was asleep. Her pussy was running with thick, white sperm ... just like I jerked out of my own penis on a nightly basis.

I felt hollow.

But I saved the picture.

I felt awful as I looked at all three pictures again.

I felt even worse when I beat off to them.

Maybe for some of you, this would have been no big deal. Maybe for a lot of you, it would even have been a dream come true! But not for me. This woman came over to our house for supper at least once a week. I saw her every day. She sat in our pew at church! But now, every time I saw her, all I could think about was her lying there on that bed, well fucked and sleeping.

It almost drove me crazy, because suddenly everything was very complicated.

Before this, she had been this really nice, really beautiful woman who had a cute baby, and who was good for a bang-up fantasy.

Now, she was a party girl, who did threesomes.

Now she was a ... MILF.

Except she didn't act like a party girl who did threesomes. She didn't even go out on dates! By the time I was halfway through my senior year, I would have bet a thousand dollars that she hadn't gone out with a single guy since she moved to Hanley.

My mom knew it too. She kept saying things like, "You need to get out more. You know I'd be more than happy to take care of Timmy while you go out and have some fun. There are dozens of men who'd love to take you out."

But she always said something like, "I'll think about it," or "You're so sweet, Nancy." And she never let mom set her up.

At one point I even wondered if maybe she might be a lesbian.

But all it took was going back to look at those three pictures again, and it was pretty obvious she was no lesbian.

The other reason it was confusing was because while I couldn't resist looking at those three pictures ... I stopped looking at tumblr sites. I think I was afraid I'd find more shots of her. And while I felt bad looking at her pictures, they were the only thing I beat off to any more. I even had them arranged in a special slide show that cycled through them so I could just double click an icon on my desktop and then I didn't need my hands for anything but coaxing the spooge out of my balls.

I found those pictures in July. Between then and January, I was at war with myself as I used them for my own sexual pleasure. The Ronnie I knew wasn't the woman in those pictures. She wasn't the debauched slut I beat off to. But the pictures proved otherwise. Pictures don't lie, and regardless of how she acted now ... she had acted like that in the past. It was a moral dilemma, a dichotomy that haunted me. I think it was maybe the first thing that truly threatened to make me jaded, like so many adults are. Suffice it to say I understand the moth, who is drawn to the flame it knows will destroy it.

So actually, I suppose what happened on New Year's Eve was probably the best possible thing to happen to me in my entire life.

Part of that was because, at the stroke of midnight, Ronnie Prater kissed me ... on the lips.

True, it was just a long peck, but her arms were wrapped around me at that moment, and those big, soft breasts were pressed against my chest. And true, as soon as she had kissed me, she kissed my father and mother, also on the lips. It was just part of the moment of bringing in the new year. My mom kissed me too, except on the cheek, which was good because at that point I might have kissed her back out of sheer hormonal ecstasy.

Except it all went to shit shortly after that.

That's because, about twenty minutes after the ball dropped, while my parents were getting mildly soused on wine and dancing in the living room ... Ronnie Prater found her pictures on my laptop.

I never actually learned exactly what she was looking for. All I know is that, in their conversation about the new year, she remembered something she'd had on that laptop that she thought would still be there for some reason, and which she wanted to retrieve to show my mom and dad. So, being 'one of the family' now, she just went to my room and flipped the laptop open to do her thing.

Meanwhile, Timmy had been sleeping, but I guess the noise or excitement or something had wakened him. Ronnie had decided to nurse him until he was two years old, and he was at that age right then, so she was trying to wean him off her breast. So he was hungry and was complaining. And I picked him up to comfort him until I could find Ronnie and give him to her.

I found her in my room, staring at the PowerPoint presentation of her, flickering in the semi-dark of my room.

I stopped, frozen in horror.

Timmy saw the object of his desire, which was his mother, who had the breasts he currently wanted to fondle and suck from. He voiced that desire.

She turned and stared at us.

"Where did you get these?" she whispered. She was clearly in a panic. I had never seen her face look like that. She was in pain!

"I'm sorry!" I gasped. It was just a natural reaction, I guess. I hadn't actually done anything wrong, but I felt like I should apologize anyway.

"Bobby!" she said, her fact pale. Her voice had an urgent quality to it that almost scared me. "Where did you get these?"

"Online," I said, automatically.

"Show me!" she replied. She reached for Timmy, instinctively, I think. He held out his arms to her happily.

I didn't think I could find the site again. I mean it had been six months since I'd even been there. And I had looked at so many different ones. I had a list, though. I had scanned the default page that came up on a number of follower's sites, and if it looked like it might be what I was interested in, I had copied the link to a file I made on WordPad. So I took a chance and clicked on the last one I thought I might have looked at.

When it came up, I clicked on the area where you could select a month, and went back to August. I glanced up at her as the page filled with thumbnails of naked women. I felt like I was about an inch tall.

"I'm really sorry," I said. I meant it too. But all she did was look once at me with those icy blue eyes and then back at the screen.

"What is this?" she asked.

That confused me, because I had always thought she was the one who sent these pictures to the guy who posted them on his tumblr blog.

"You didn't send your pictures to this site?" I said. My voice cracked a little bit which, when you're a senior in high school is pretty embarrassing.

"I didn't even know these pictures existed!" she snapped.

I was rattled. It wasn't that I tried to argue with her. I was just rattled, and my assumptions were under extreme assault. So I just kind of blurted out what was on my mind as I scanned down the pages.

"How could you not know about them?" I commented. "You were looking right at the camera."

About then I found the one of her on all fours. I clicked on it by instinct, and the screen was suddenly full of Veronica Prater getting her pussy stuffed from behind.

She gasped.

Then her knees gave way, and I reacted, reaching for Timmy. She wilted, and I sort of took him away from her, which might be why he started crying.

"Hey, little buddy!" I said, right into his face. That actually helped, so I put him on my bed and went to help her up. She was sitting, sort of leaning and trying to get up on her hands and knees. I think she had fainted, or almost fainted. I tried to help her up, and she lurched against me. Suddenly my hands were full of what Timmy wanted and she moaned, shaking her head. She was conscious. She just wasn't hitting on all eight cylinders, if you know what I mean.

As her knees firmed up, Timmy started in again, so I took her to my bed and sat her down. She picked him up, again on autopilot, I think. Her eyes were kind of glazed.

"He's hungry," I said, uselessly.

She pulled up her shirt, exposing her bra. It wasn't the nursing kind of bra, and she just pulled it up off one of her breasts. She rolled Timmy into her arm expertly, and he just as expertly found the jutting nipple and latched on.

Her eyes cleared. She saw me standing there with my mouth open, and looked down. Then those blue eyes came up and locked on my face. I had closed my mouth by then, but was still remembering that breast, completely bare, before Timmy hid it. It had been perfect, white and soft looking, with blue veins like little lightning bolts striking across the surface in places.

I looked away.

"Based on what else you've seen, I don't suppose I should lose any sleep over this," she said. She pronounced the I as Ah, her accent particularly thick at that moment. I figured it was just because she was upset.

She got up, holding Timmy, who was noisily sucking away and making happy sounds. She walked over to stand in front of the laptop, which was still happily displaying her looking over her shoulder at the man fucking her from behind.

"He's why I left Georgia," she whispered.

"What?"

"Jack. My so-called boyfriend," she said. "He took me to a party and put something in my drink. Or somebody did. The next morning I woke up in that place, naked. There were bruises all over me. There were three women still passed out, and a bunch of guys too. Jack was ..." She stopped, and tears leaked from her eyes. She suddenly looked so helpless that I wanted to cry with her. Then her face went hard. "He was on top of a girl, who was passed out. He didn't even care that she was unconscious."

"Shit," I whispered. "I didn't know. I thought ..."

She looked at me and wiped her eyes with the heel of the hand that wasn't holding her son.

"You thought I did that on purpose?" There were more tears. "How could you?"

To be honest, I was already so messed up, concerning this MILF ... I mean this woman ... that what popped into my mind at that point was, "What was I supposed to think?" But, of course I didn't say that.

"I guess I didn't think at all," I said, searching for some way to make her feel better.

She threw up a hand. "You're a boy. Of course you thought I did it intentionally."

"Honest," I pleaded. "I really am sorry it happened."

She sighed. "I couldn't remember much of what happened. I mean it wasn't all that hard to figure out it had been some kind of orgy, and I was humiliated at the bruises and marks on my body. But I didn't know somebody took pictures!" More tears rolled down her cheeks. "And now they're on the fucking web" she growled, "where everybody can see them." Her face hardened. "Fucking Jack!" she howled.

"Easy!" I whispered, hushing her. I looked at the bedroom door, which was wide open. "My parents don't know." I know that sounds like a silly thing to say, but I was so shocked that the F word had come from that mouth. I'd never heard her say so much as a shuck-darn.

Her reaction to that was more intelligent than mine. She reached out and closed the laptop.

"I got pregnant that night," she said softly. "And I've been trying to get away from Jack ever since."

She pulled Timmy off her breast, and the shirt fell and got caught on the nipple. She said, "Take him!" and held him out to me. As soon as I had him she tugged the shirt down and reached underneath to adjust things.

Then she turned to the laptop, opened it again, and started tapping keys. Her body was in the way, so I couldn't tell what she was doing. I just assumed it was erasing those pictures so that I could never see them again. I couldn't blame her for that.

Finally she gave one savage tap, like you do sometimes when you hit the "enter" key. Then she closed the laptop and turned to take her child from me with one arm, while she wiped at tearstained eyes with the other.

Of course my parents noticed something was wrong right away. Ronnie's eyes were all red and her cheeks had that signature look that there have been tears on it recently.

"What happened?" asked my mother. She looked at me. "What did you do, Robert?!" she barked.

"He didn't do anything," said Ronnie in a rush. "I was looking for something on the computer and Timmy got fussy, so I gave him a little snack, and he bit me."

My mother oohed and ahhed and wanted to know if Ronnie needed any bandages. My dad just looked at her, and then me. It didn't take a genius to figure out he was putting one with one, meaning her giving Timmy "a snack" in my room, with me in there too. He opened his mouth, and I expected to be invited to step into the other room for a chat with him.

But Ronnie was saying "I'm fine, really. It was silly. I'm just frustrated because I wanted to show you and Dan that poster, but I guess I erased it before I gave the laptop to Bobby. I think I'm just tired too, and I know Timmy is."

And that was her excuse to get the hell out of Dodge. My dad gave me another close look, but didn't say anything. About ten minutes after she left, my Mom said it was a new year, but that didn't mean we could be lazy the next day, and announced it was bedtime.

I lay in bed, thinking furiously. Ronnie was a completely different woman than I had thought, since I had met her. I had always seen her as a very sweet, very beautiful, somewhat mysterious nice woman, who was fun to be around, and who my mother was fast becoming best friends with. In reality, she had been drugged and raped, maybe gang-raped, even. She had been impregnated and didn't even know who had done that. So she had run away, landing next door to us.

I tried to think of a scenario in which that fit. I mean Timmy was coming up on two, so all this had happened almost three years ago. That explained why she looked younger in the pictures. My assumptions about those pictures had been completely wrong. All those times I had beaten off now seemed like the kind of thing the preacher talked about that would land me in eternal damnation. I had a little heart-to-heart with the Big Guy at that very moment, in fact, and apologized to him too. But what had she been doing for that two years and nine months since all this happened? Obviously she'd had the baby and raised him for almost a year before moving to Hanley. Where had she been then? Who had she been with? How had she found Mr. Zimmerman's house?

I fell asleep, eventually, and slept in the next morning, despite what my mom had said the night before. When I woke up it all came rushing back, and I wasn't hungry, so I stayed in bed. About an hour later Phil Mahler came by to see if I wanted to go tubing over on Washington Hill. It was cold and the snow was only a few days old, so it could still be used for that. But I told him I didn't feel like it. He winked and said "Got you a snootful last night? You lucky dog." I let him think what he wanted.

I didn't know what to do. I was worried about Ronnie, but our relationship, up to last night, had been kind of amorphous. I mean she was over at our house quite a bit, and I saw her a lot, and she said hi and things, but I didn't think she had paid all that much attention to me, to be honest. I was just the kid who lived next door, you know? And she was an adult, and I wasn't.

But I couldn't forget that look of pain on her face. And by that evening, I couldn't take it any more.

So I went over to see her.

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