Groupie MILF: Chapter 2: Hot Groupie

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“But, mom, you just have to!” To my “mom-ears,” it sounded more akin to, “Ba-hut, ma-homm.”“I don’t think so, Jen,” my even, empathetic tones sounded motherly. “I’m very busy these days, what with your father no longer in the picture and all. I just don’t have the time to do anything other…”She cut me off, her tone accusatory. “What? Drink a bottle of wine while you cry, and then masturbate with your vibrator all night? You’re better off without that cheating asshole, anyway.”Cheating Asshole? That was actually a fitting name for my ex-husband. Both descriptors were accurate. I wasn’t certain about being better off, though. Richard and I had married, due to pregnancy, while I was very young. At six months separated, and three weeks divorced, I was a thirty-four-year-old single mother. I had an amazing, beautiful, brunette daughter and a shitty secretarial job, working for a lecherous boss who spent his entire day telling me about his sexless marriage, along with creepy implications that I could help him with that. At least I got the house—along with the mortgage payment, all the bills, and no real way to make ends meet. To make matters worse, my ex, Mr. Cheating Asshole, himself, ran off with his younger, more buxom, slutty, blond secretary. My entire life had become a cliché.Stifling a chuckle at her brazenly-spoken truth, which included the crying into my cups and then blasting off with my battery-operated-boyfriend parts, I, instead, adopted my “mom-voice.”“Don’t disrespect your father like that, he’s a…”“Fucking cheating asshole that deserves to have his dick gnawed off by rabid weasels.” I couldn’t suppress my smile.I knew where she was headed with her platitudes. She continued. “You’re the coolest, hottest mom, ever, and I hate him. Please tell me you’ll go.”She adopted her sad, soulful, pleading face, her sparkling blue eyes eroding all my resolve. “Cindy’s mom can’t go with us, and you know they won’t let us into the arena without a parent, since we’re still underage. You have to, mom! It’s Chaos Dojo.”“Can’t one of the other moms take you and your friends? I’m far too old to go to a rock concert.”“Mom, you’re not old. All my teachers thought you were my sister.” She knew how to lay it on thick. “Puh-lease?”The last time I’d been to any type of concert was a little over eighteen years and nine months ago, the night I got pregnant. I was a slutty hellion, exactly the type of girl I prayed Lisa would never become. Melissa is my real name, but most people call me, “Issa,” or, “Lissa.” In high school, before I dropped out to be a mother to Lisa, I was known as “Easy Issa” and “Lay me Lissa.” I’m not proud to say that the nicknames were well-earned.In the back seat of Richard’s car, after a drinking and smoking binge at a rock concert, she had been conceived. I dropped out of school, raised her the best I could, and tried to be a good, loving wife. I was proud of her, the one thing in my life I didn’t fuck up.He found good work, became a department leader in the sales force, and was soon married to his work. The sex stopped; the arguments began. After more than a decade of misery, I was now alone, destitute, and feeling lost and helpless. I had signed Ankara escort the papers, ending the verbal abuse, the fights, the crying over him sticking it to his secretary rather than me. No alimony or child support was assigned by the court, leaving me to fend for my daughter and myself. I hadn’t left the house for anything other than work, grocery shopping, and divorce court for months.Maybe I could use a night away from my woes, feeling out of place among a sea of unruly, teenage rock fans. Most of my life had been spent trying to raise my daughter correctly, to keep her from repeating my mistakes. Being thirty-four, divorced, and with an eighteen-year-old daughter isn’t exactly a recipe for success. Karma ensured that I paid for my youthful wildness, a tithe I’d spare her from, if I could.“OK, I’ll chaperone you and your friends, but, no booze, you’re underage.”Lisa was a good girl, graduated with honors, was never in trouble, and, also, not pregnant before her sixteenth birthday. I could suffer through some loud, obnoxious music and throngs of screaming idiots for one night. I suffered through one screaming idiot for over seventeen years.“You’re the coolest mom, ever,” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around me. “I already told the girls that you’d do it. They’ll be here any minute.”“You did, what?”“Coolest mom, ever,” she ignored my motherly scolding. “Second row! I can’t wait.”Minutes later, her three friends, Janet, Aubrey, and Cindy, whom I mentally dubbed the slut-sisters, arrived. Barging in, the formality of knocking abandoned when they still thought boys were icky, they thanked me and addressed me more as a friend, not a matriarch.“I wish you were my mom.”“You’re the coolest, Issa.”“Don’t worry about ‘cheating asshole’. All my guy-friends think you’re a MILF.”I broke up their platitude party with a sigh, wondering what a MILF is. “When are we leaving?”“Whenever you’re ready,” Cindy, the blond one, said.“I’m ready.”“Seriously, mom? You can’t go like that.”“For sure,” her friends chimed.“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I was dressed in comfortable flats, sensible slacks, and a nice blouse that didn’t show off too much cleavage in order to avoid unwanted attention. The subdued gray and brown tones gave me a sensible, conservative appeal.“Duh, like everything,” Aubrey, the redhead, said, rolling her eyes. She was dressed like a cheap hooker in a skintight, black mini-dress and high heels under slutty stockings.“Come with us, mom,” Lisa instructed, emulating my no-nonsense tone.“Makeover!” they shrieked in unison.Twenty minutes and two-hundred protests later, my slightly-slutty, brunette daughter and her more-than-slightly-slutty friends had me “rock concert ready.” My blond hair was released from its sensible, motherly bun and teased out to slutty frays. My conservative, light makeup was replaced with harsh, dark rogue; glossy, whore-red lipstick with black outlines; and heavy highlights all around. My comfortable clothes, decried, “too frumpy, burn them,” were cast aside in lieu of a black fishnet top over a silvery, cleavage-enhancing push-up bra, a skirt so short that it was more of a broad belt, and strategically-ripped, Ankara escort bayan black, thigh high stockings. My black, “date night,” stiletto heels, never previously worn because “cheating asshole” always forgot, matched the studded biker jacket I didn’t even know my daughter owned. For the sake of false modesty, a shimmery metallic-silver thong covered my promised land.“There you are, Issa. Now you look super sexy, perfect for a rock concert.”“I can’t go out like this. I look like a cheap whore.”“No, mom, you look hot. Let’s go.”Luckily, the two inches of makeup caked onto my face hid my embarrassed blushing as we walked to my economical, mundane, suburban-mom, four-door sedan. The ride from the mediocre suburbs into the dilapidated industrial zone was interesting. The girls chattered, excitedly.“I can’t believe Chaos Dojo, the hottest band in the world, is playing our town.”I had never heard of them.“That’s because Jake Python grew up here. He wanted to come back and visit his hometown.”“There’s no way anybody that sexy went to school here.”“He did! He graduated from our high school.”“Issa,” Janet began. “I read last night that Jake Python is almost as old as you. Do you know him?”“Almost as old as me?”“I didn’t mean it like that, you old crone. Did you have classes with Jake Python? Did you fuck him?”“Janet!”“Come on, mom. He’s super sexy. Look.”I kept my eyes on the road, barely shifting my gaze to view the CD cover she proudly held up like a trophy. “I’m driving, young lady.”“Issa, his real name was Monty Jacobs. He’s a year younger than you. Did you know him?” Aubrey asked me.“Listen to them play, mom; he’s so hot.” Lisa crammed her prized Chaos Dojo CD into my cantankerous stereo. It twanged to life, not even groaning its usual skips of protest.I failed to comprehend how being “hot” made for good music; nonetheless, the music was surprisingly good. While it was hard rock, the music had excellent structure, interesting dynamics, and the lyrics were heartfelt, profound, and had a depth and sincerity that I liked. I turned up the music, only partially to drown out the teenage, fan-girl wailing.“Wait, girls, I knew a Monty Jacobs. They called him Monty Python. He would write poetry all the time, and was picked on by the jocks, including your father, Lisa.”I smiled, remembering the shy, cute, introverted boy. I liked him. He wasn’t exactly a friend, but he was always sweet to me, showing me his poetry, holding deep conversations, and listening. Men who listen are so rare.“We would have lunch together, occasionally, because he was one of the few people who didn’t call me…” I stopped, remembering my daughter was sitting beside me, “…who didn’t tease me.”“You mean call you ‘Easy Issa’?”“Lisa!” Four teenage girls laughed at me.“No, it couldn’t be the same guy.” Could it?We arrived at the large concert hall, a place called Diablo’s. A crumbling, brick, converted factory, it became a live music venue several years ago. Still looking as if it were about to fall over, the newer neon sign, a devil with a pitchfork underlining the name, blinked, a little neon flame blinking at the end. The parking lot was Escort Ankara packed; multiple groups of teenagers, as well as older people, all dressed in lace, leather, and denim, milled about.As nervous as I was about being dressed like poorly used sex-trash, I fit right in. Dressed in leather, denim, satin, and showing generous amounts of more skin, I was far from the sluttiest woman, or girl, there. Because we had VIP tickets, after two months of me scrimping and saving, we passed the long, but oddly well-behaved, line of general admission ticket-holders. I could feel teenage and young-adult eyes roaming up and down my body. It being so long since I was stared at with abject lust, I enjoyed the attention, even adding some extra sway and bounce to my gait.Some lewd, but appreciative, comments came to my ears. “Girls, what’s a MILF? Some young man just called me that.”Giggles and titters followed.“Mom I’d Like To Fuck,” Aubrey laughed out.“Oh, Aubrey,” Cindy exclaimed. “Remember when you caught Tommy whacking off to Issa’s bikini picture?”“What?” I stopped and turned to them.“Yeah,” Cindy continued as if it were nothing. “Aubrey’s ex-boyfriend, Tommy. Remember, last summer when we all came by to use your pool, and you were out there in your bikini? He took a picture of you, and she caught him stroking to you!”The four girls laughed; I was mortified. “Wait. What? How?”Aubrey guffawed. “We were fooling around and I came out of the bathroom and there he was, his little pecker out, wanking over you.”Luckily, we reached the door, saving me from further embarrassment. Tall, muscular, rugged security guards scanned our tickets and gave us a quick pat-down to check for concealed weapons. Checking our IDs along with our tickets, the back of my hand was stamped with a sexy, female devil, her tail probing a provocative place. The younger girls’ hands were stamped with a smiling, male Satanic face.“You can drink,” the handsome neanderthal said to me. His eyes roamed up and down my body, stopping at crotch level, where the hem of my too-short skirt revealed most of my shiny panties. It had been so long since anyone, man or woman, looked at me with open lust that my skin reddened with sexual heat.“Come on, girls, let’s get to our seats.” I pulled them inside with me before I embarrassed myself.Maybe it was all the needed attention finally being paid to me. Maybe it was finally getting out of the house with the intent of possibly enjoying myself. Regardless of what it was, I felt an extra spring in my step, an extra wiggle in my walk. I felt the eyes upon me, imagined their lusty thoughts, as I passed the other concert-goers. I liked it; feeling like a desirable woman, once more, was extremely arousing.We found our seats in the partitioned-off VIP section. I was shocked to discover that while we were in the second row, I could almost reach out and touch the stage. Even more surprising was the fact that VIPs had wait-staff. I quickly took advantage of that and ordered three whiskeys, plus soft drinks for the girls.The interior of the venue was impressive. As dilapidated as the exterior seemed, the inside had been renovated into a large concert hall, everything pristine. I people-watched, taking in the various outfits and youthful posturing going on. The venue was filled beyond capacity. I was into my third drink when the lights dimmed. The unruly but respectful crowd hushed as a lone man, a DJ from the local hard rock stations, strolled up to the microphone.

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