How I Met Your Milf

By Robert Lubrican

Your best friend will always stand by you, and take your side. He will support you even if it embarrasses him. You might disagree on things occasionally, but in the end, all discord falls away. You are best friends. And best friends never get really mad and hold a grudge.

Well ... not unless you have sex with his mother.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Lubrican
• Release date: Sep 3, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301341559

Robert Lubrican

I grew up in the fifties and sixties, and that is reflected in my books quite often. I spent twenty years in law enforcement, and traveled the world, which also can be seen in my books and stories. While the genre I write in is technically called erotic romance, what I actually write are stories with a plot, which include sexual behavior on the part of the characters. That is because most people's lives include sex and erotic gratification. And, since most people wonder about lifestyles that are sometimes called taboo, or forbidden, I write about them, occasionally too. I believe that two consenting adults know more about their own happiness than anyone else, and that even if they are mistaken, they have the right to make their own choices. I also believe that love is the key to making choices that will not turn out to be mistakes.Many of my ideas involve coming of age, which usually takes place in the early to mid teens. Publishing standards, however, require that all characters in the published version of the book be over 18. That's not realistic, but it's just the way things are. If you purchase one of my books and would like to have the original version, unedited for age, send a copy of your receipt to [e-mail] and I'll happily provide you with a copy of the original at no additional cost. It is not illegal to write or possess such versions. It's just unpopular with certain special interest groups who desire to restrict your freedom.

Book preview

How I Met Your MILF

by Robert Lubrican

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Robert Lubrican

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Rights to use cover art purchased at istock.com

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Table of Contents

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight

Foreword

When an author writes a story, there are many things to think about. Something called continuity is one of those things. You may know what that means, but if not, an example is making sure that the timeline of things makes sense. If the story starts with a character being sixteen, and you mention two summers after that, then that means the character needs to be eighteen at that point for continuity to be preserved. One difficulty can arise when you start a character out young, and then, by the end of the story, the epilogue tells you what happened years later, after he grew up and got married and had kids and all that sort of thing. In this story, the problem didn't become visible until I used some current statistics concerning a college. This story was written in 2013 and, as the story progressed to the point where people were going to college, 2013 stats made sense.

Until, that is, I kept going with the story and added a few more years. Suddenly, the narrator was speaking from ... well ... the future. Now that could have been dealt with by backing everything up five or ten years, in which case I'd have needed to use statistics for this particular college from 1993, or whatever. Except that the stats back then didn't do what I needed them to do to fit with the plot where they are used. Believe it or not, when you write to a college and say something like Hi there, I'm an author of erotica (porn) and I'm featuring your college in one of my (dirty) books and I need some stats from '93 that would make one of my characters want to go to your school way back then, they tend not to take you seriously.

So I looked at what I'd written, and said Fuck it. I'm just going to leave it the way it is, and in five or six years it will read just fine.

All that is just so you know why the continuity of this story is (for the present) all screwed up.

If you think that's going to ruin it for you, then simply put this book on a disk and mark it Do not read until 2020. If you do that, be sure to get rid of this foreword before you start reading.

If that's not bad enough, political (and litigatory) pressure causes publishers to refuse to publish any book in which any character under the age of eighteen is involved in sexual behavior. It isn’t illegal to do so, but that doesn’t matter to the special interest groups who will spend millions to file lawsuits, or try to arrange boycotts of something they object to. So, while the original concept for this book involved a sixteen or seventeen year old young man, Smashwords requires the published product make him eighteen. So I did. The good news is that you, the reader, may use your imagination as you read. Nobody can censor your brain.

Thanks for reading.

Bob

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Chapter One

While I was growing up, my best friend was Scott Carson. Our parents lived on the same street, and we knew each other our whole lives. I suppose, to be completely honest, I should say that Scott and I became best friends in third grade, when we both fell madly in love with Rebecca Nielson, and got in a fight about her. We were rolling around on the floor just outside the coat room in school, right in front of Rebecca, when Miss Tuttle came and stopped us. Of course she wanted to know what it was all about, and when we told her it was about which one of us was Rebecca's boyfriend, Rebecca said we were both stupid, and turned around and walked away.

We were instantly best friends. It started with our cooperative plan to get revenge on Rebecca for spurning us, but then flowered into an actual, real friendship. We did get revenge on Rebecca, by the way. Scott caught a Garter snake and I put it in her book bag. She screamed like a girl.

Anyway, after that, we were practically inseparable and did everything together. We didn't get caught for the snake, which made us feel that we were both clever and invulnerable. I could tell you lots of other stories about the clever things we did, but that's not the point. The point is that the bond that formed between us was unbreakable. We were like Marines, who would die for each other in battle. You know, like jumping on a hand grenade to save the other one and stuff like that.

We were absolutely sure that nothing could break us apart. As sure as the sun would come up tomorrow, Scott Carson would be my best friend. We knew we could survive any conflict, and vanquish any danger.

One of those conflicts turned out to be the time when Scott's mother caught his dad screwing the babysitter they'd hired to watch Scott one night while they went to his dad's company Christmas party. I wasn't there, of course, but Scott told me all about it. There had been a blizzard that night. I knew that part, of course. The next day school was cancelled and Scott and I played in the deep snow until we couldn't feel our fingers or toes.

Anyway, his folks had barely made it home because of the snow. His babysitter was Susan Phillips. She'd been their babysitter for a couple of years. She was also one of the cheerleaders at Shady Vale High School. She lived clear on the other side of town, and when she called her parents to come get her, they called back and said they couldn't get out of their driveway. It was decided that Susan would stay the night at the Carson's house, and that, when the streets got cleared, somebody would come get her.

That was all fine and dandy, because Mrs. Carson liked Susan. Mrs. Carson had been a cheerleader when she was in high school too, so I suppose that gave them all sorts of things to talk about or something.

I sort of doubt that they talked about the fact that Mr. Carson got Mrs. Carson all knocked up while she was a cheerleader in high school, but I'm sure they had other things in common to discuss.

But the fact that he did knock her up while she was a cheerleader in high school might be why when, in the middle of the night, Mrs. Carson woke up and her husband wasn't in bed with her, she went looking for him in the guest bedroom where Susan was sleeping. Or supposed to be sleeping. Instead she was throwing her teenaged hips up against Mr. Carson, who was powering his adult prick deep in her belly. Scott said that when he heard all the screaming and shouting and went to see what was going on, all three of them were naked. I wasn't jealous of him then, except that he got to see Susan naked. If you don't think eight-year-old boys are interested in girls, then you need to get a reality check. As time went on, and he described Susan's naked body to me over and over, I started to get jealous. But after maybe the hundredth time, I felt like I had been there myself, so it was all good.

Fast forward eight years. We were sixteen, and we'd been through a lot together.

We'd both gotten used to the fact that after Mrs. Carson kicked him out, Scott's dad sort of fell off the map. We knew he'd gotten married again, to a girl right out of high school (not Susan, by the way). But he hardly ever came to see Scott, or took him anywhere. Mrs. Carson didn't get married again. In fact, she never hired a babysitter again. Even when Scott was old enough to stay home alone, she never went out on dates or anything. She used all her spare time to attend college classes at the junior college in town. Any free moments she had at home she used to paint. She turned the spare bedroom where her marriage ended into a studio and she painted beautiful pictures of all sorts of things. She had majored in art in college, but I never knew that until she started painting. She also used her degree to get a job after the divorce. She was a graphic artist and she worked for a sign company.

Another big thing that happened was that she remodeled the house. I guess that with her salary and the child support payments Mr. Carson had to send her, they were pretty well off. When you're a kid you don't pay much attention to things like that. Well, not unless you want an Xbox or something, and your parents tell you they can't afford it.

She didn't want to sell the house and move, but she also didn't want it to look just like it had when her husband had cheated on her, so she changed it all around. It was an old house, with two stories. It was surrounded by houses just like it, probably built in the nineteen thirties, but most people had kept them fixed up, so it was a nice neighborhood. So she took out the flowered wallpaper and ripped up the thin carpet off the stairs and the upstairs hallway. It was held down by hundreds of little round-headed nails that turned out to be brass. Scott and I helped with this re-do project, and we thought of all those little brass nails as gold. We saved them in a can and imagined getting big bucks for them at the local recycling place. Turned out the guy gave us a dollar and fifty cents. Talk about being crushed.

Anyway, Scott and I helped with the renovation. We were only ten at the time, so there wasn't a lot we could do, like electrical or plumbing or cool stuff like that. But we hung around the contractors she hired to do things, and helped them if they let us. Like picking up the scraps of wood or screws that the guys who built their new deck dropped on the ground. Stuff like that.

So life went on, and it was a good life.

Okay. I probably should have waited to say, Fast forward eight years until now. What can I say? I'm not an author. I'm just telling you how things happened.

Scott and I stayed over at each other's house all the time. At sixteen we were heavily into girls, of course. Neither one of us had a girlfriend, but we talked about dozens of girls as candidates to fill that position. We treated them like baseball cards, being ridiculously careful not to claim the same girl. If that happened, one of us would give her away. In cases like that, it usually went something like this.

Did you see that new girl in school?

You mean Jennifer Thompson?

"You know her?"

She's in my biology class. She's pretty hot.