Mid Life, New Life, Mom
Fake Flower Stories
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Note from the Author:
If you’ve read any of my other stories, you’ll know what I’m aiming to make here. While this one is faster than my other stories so far, it’s not exactly the kind of book you can just open and cum to in 5 minutes flat. If that’s what you want, I highly recommend exploring different authors.
These stories are meant to be experiences. They tend to be slower, but also more ‘real.’
Enjoy.
-Fake Flower
Chapter 1
Mom was already upset with dad, and dad was already checked out. I was still barely clinging to the idea that our trip would be fun, but then again, how could a family trip to a dance festival of all things go well? The weekend was about to be a disaster.
“It’s going to be fun,” mom said insistently. “I’ve always wanted to do something like this. What do you think, Andrew? You excited?”
I gave an affirmative, trying to match her excitement, but didn’t quite make it. I would have been more excited if I hadn’t spent the last five hours as witness to how dead and quiet my parents’ marriage was.
Why were we going together again?
It would have been normal for anyone my age to go to Haven-Fest. College was the time, and I know I would have gone next year for the whole week, but somehow, we were going here, as a family, for a single day.
Not ideal.
At least it wasn’t too far of a drive. We left our little suburb and drove six hours, all the way to a little patch of desert in another state so we could attend the EDM festival famous for sunsets, light shows, dancing, drugs, costumes, music, and a little bit of free love (encouraged by the drugs, of course). I’m still certain my parents don’t know about the free love part, but I guess they’ll find out when they walk past all the newfound lovers in endless rows of tents. That’ll be a major realization for them both.
They might even leave.
Until last week I was certain that there was no reason that my mom and dad would want to come with me to something like this in the first place. But if anything, it was my dad and I going with my mom. She insisted, impervious to my dad’s protests, booked the tickets, made a costume, and then begged us to come with. To loosen up. To have fun.
Mom wasn’t like this while I grew up – she was the kind of woman that packed perfectly proportioned lunches a precise and unending five times a week. She was orderly, no-nonsense, hair up, practical, and supported my dad’s every decision to stay at home, to skip vacations, to move into the suburbs, to live as standard of a life as she could.
But something happened the year she turned forty.
Without any warning to me or dad, she started exercising, doing yoga and Pilates. Her body changed. Her tummy flattened, her legs firmed up, she started regaining the hourglass figure she had in college, but somehow, despite her best efforts, her bottom just kept growing, her legs grew shapelier, and she build the kind of figure that made men’s jaws ache. It wasn’t a girlish figure.
Nope.
It was the kind of feminine shape that activated something on a primal level in other men. She was now a curvy, deeply abundant woman with the kind of plush, round, deep ass that drew hungry stares everywhere she went. I can’t say the number of times recently that she bent over to get something in public and every single man in the room would turn and look, helpless, and longing.
She didn’t like it. To make up for what she saw as a negative, she started doing her hair more consistently, started buying clothes that made her look fresher, younger, prettier, stuff that made my friends notice and make comments about how hot she was, how she started looking like the kind of milf that they fantasized about.
Obviously, since she was my mom, I didn’t think too much about it. Or at least, I didn’t admit it out loud.
That would have been weird.
While dad seemed to turn more and more into a caricature of middle-aged, middle class, round mid-section, accounting and finance America, mom seemed to be trying to turn young and beautiful again. I had a few guesses what exactly was going on – she got scared, changed her body, and it wasn’t enough for her to feel young. I imagine she took a long look at a calendar, realized that she wasn’t a girl anymore, and booked tickets to the festival and made us come with her for reasons she wasn’t quite brave enough to say out loud.
She was so excited the entire drive, at least until the sun started edging low on the horizon, when dad started questioning with typical accountant flair why he had to come. “You could have just brought Andrew,” he said, as if he were bemoaning a typo on a report. “He’s the right age for this kind of stuff. Not like us,” he said, side eyeing her.
After that comment, mom froze him out. The drive got really, really quiet for the last hour.
At least we finally made it. I could tell because there were girls wearing hardly anything at all on the side of the road, emptying out of a parking lot packed with vans and sedans, and some of them were accompanied by hippie types, frat bros, rich boys. Everyone was in some kind of dusty, sandpunk costume, ready to live the Haven-Fest way for a blissful, alcohol and drug-fueled frenzy of primal EDM. I could hear through the vehicle glass a low and throbbing hum coming from a spot of multicolored brightness ahead.
Haven-Fest was spread out in an impromptu city – tents were set up in hundreds of rows, hundreds of tents long, all built to somewhat circle a massive dancing area around a themed stage, stacked to the top with speakers, laser lights, wild and psychedelic statues and set pieces and balconies. From where we were pulling up, I could see it looming in the distance over the tents, over the dozens of larger shelters that held stores, food and drink spots, mountains of refrigerated cargo containers of alcohol.
“Wow,” mom finally mused out loud. “I don’t think there was too much like this when we were young. What do you think Jason?”
“Pretty sure Pink Floyd did it first,” dad said dismissively. "We’re not into that kind of thing though. I still don’t know why we’re here. It’s not like us.”
Mom ignored him.
“God, I’m going to have so much work on Monday,” dad went on, completely oblivious to mom’s scowl. “Taking Friday off is the worst.”
We pulled into a stretched out square of desert that must have been a mile wide and parked, guided by themed employees decked out in glow in the dark bands. Their neon glowed against the paint of countless dusty cars. More than anything else, I noticed the girls that were drifting out of the parking lot and toward the center of the festival, where the lights and music got more and more obvious. I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of the car. The instant my dad shifted into park I broke out of the door and went outside, immediately taking in sunset pinks and blues and absorbing the cool, dry air.
Mom got out of the car almost immediately after me, her tight mom shorts straining at her ample legs, clutching a bag that had her costume clothes in it. Her face was anxious, looking toward the lights and the music as if it were something exciting, scary, something out of a dream that she didn’t quite understand but felt drawn to. Dad didn’t bother bringing anything but a fanny packs worth of clothes as a testament to how little he wanted to be here – we were only staying for tonight and a chunk of tomorrow before heading back home, so he looked like he came straight out of a tourist caricature, his shorts and Hawaiian shirt billowing.
Even that meagre showing was all mom could wrangle out of him when it came to taking time off from work. And since we only had a single car, it wasn’t like mom could go out here on her own. Dad wouldn’t let her anyway.
Some girls dressed in hippie styled outfits walked by us as we unloaded. A couple snickered at dad, but one girl, blonde, smiling, freckled, gave me a soft smile before she stuck out her tongue – a little paper tab I only assumed was LSD sat on the tip and she winked at me. I waved as she went on after her friends, watching her curvaceous ass. She had to have been a sprinter. She was intensely thick.
While I looked after the girl, waiting for my family to collect their stuff, mom started dispensing everything we needed to know for our time here. “I’ve got our tent number,” she said, pulling out the information on her phone, and we walked toward the lights while she mentioned a few acts that were playing, where to go if there were issues, where police were in case anything happened and as we walked toward the spot where our tent was, the music got louder, the people crowded more densely, the dust clouds blew along our legs and filled with light and glow in the dark paint and the color of skin as countless girls and guys flocked toward the stage. As mom dispensed the last of our information and we got close to our tent in the six hundreds row, dad started to look anxious. He wasn’t used to this much fun happening around him.
It felt kind of silly that we were only going to be here for tonight and part of tomorrow. If it were up to me, I’d have booked the whole week. But it was all mom and dad could agree on.
We found our tent, and I noted a couple of the close by landmarks – a drinking fountain hooked up to a portable tank, a drink seller with a lit-up fountain and a mister that people gathered by to cool off, and an incredible view of the main stage down the pathway where the tents framed it in perfect order.
And then there was that girl again. The blonde one with the freckles.
She wasn’t wearing much now, she must have changed just a minute ago – just a soft cloth bra that slung around her chest and revealed the exact weight, texture, softness and movement of her little tits. She had a bikini bottom on, a cute length of cloth moving down from her pelvis marking exactly how wide her hips were, like Chel from El Dorado, a ton of metallic bangles mixed with glow in the dark rings up and down her legs, and she wore a headdress that pulled her hair back and emphasized her open, clear eyes. Her pupils were already a little dilated. And she was looking at me.
There’s a look girls give when they’re looking for a little something. Something deep inside her, true to the spirit of Haven-Fest.
She waved me over and I got close, the music growing in intensity toward the stage.
“Hey,” she said, her pearly white teeth shining, her head starting to loll to the side. “I like your vibe – that aura is exactly what I knew I wanted. You wanna hang out with me today?”
How could I say no? “Let me put my stuff away first, yeah?”
She smiled and gave a little wave, watching me from the mist, the dew collecting on her eyelashes and soaking through her little cloth bra. I could see the color of her skin through the emerging translucence.
At the tent, mom was double checking the numbers and was nervously trying to convince my dad to relax. “Please, hun, it’s going to be so much fun. It’ll be like those festivals we went to in college, don’t you remember?” As she was begging him to loosen up, I noticed the passersby, repeating the same sort of deal as when we parked. They gave my dad a quick look and started laughing, but the guys, when they looked at my mom, they’d go quiet. And stare.
Even if she was dressed like she was a mom trying to enjoy a trip to the zoo, the shorts were just a little too tight -- hugging her curves a little too closely. Almost like spandex.
I could tell that all her attention was definitely a reason why dad was so nervous.
At some point, mom gave up and went into our tent to change while dad stood by like bodyguard for a very popular politician. A couple frat bros walked by him, and right as dad froze up at their proximity, one of them pulled a joint from behind his ear and offered it to him. “My guy, you need this more than I.”
Dad stammered. “What? Oh, I don’t smo—"
The guy interrupted him by forcing the joint into his mouth, and lit the tip with a lighter that appeared from behind his other ear.
“Come on, dude. You’re suffering.”
Dad reluctantly took a puff and started coughing.
“Alright. Peace,” the mysterious, charitable frat guy disappeared with his friends into the crowd ahead.
“But your cig–” dad was coughing uncontrollably, the joint still in his mouth. He recovered his breath and stood up straight, eyeing the joint. “I hope there’s nothing else in this thing.” He took another puff.
Then the tent’s zipper opened behind him.
And I saw something I didn’t expect.
A leg, pale, smooth, and bare. It slipped out of the tent and was followed by a wide, and curvaceous waist, something impossibly lovely and round. With every inch that left the tent, my heart’s pulse started to quicken, my body reacting before my mind could process who exactly I was looking at.
My mom carefully exited the tent and my jaw dropped. As did Dad’s. She was wearing hardly anything at all.
Chapter 2
While before even her tight shorts could have been considered modest thanks to their near-knee length, mom was now under the suburban definition of ‘naked’. Just a cotton bra, not even with a back strap – dangerously suspended through gravity over her breasts. Around her hips, she wore a little bikini bottom that cupped her intimate form a little too closely, but layered over it she wore little sashes that functioned as a skirt that she must have designed and made just for this festival. Using the colors of peacock feathers, she made some kind of suspended set of wing netting that floated along her waist, daintily flying along her hips. Every infinitesimal move she made, the wings scattered light and the shine of glitter, the sashes gave glimpses of the bikini bottom and the shape of something else down there, drawing eyes from the people that passed by and witnessed her exiting the tent.
She must have done her research. She looked like she belonged at Haven-Fest.
“Well?” Mom asked dad. “What do you think Jason?” Dad removed the joint from his mouth and stammered out something while mom’s new look magnified the sheer number of stares coming our way. “Oh, come on, girls are supposed to look like this. I thought you’d like it,” she said, winking her hip toward him.
What the hell was going on with my mom? Never, in my entire life, had I ever seen her wearing this little. Never, in my entire existence would I have thought she’d so much as dare wear something like this.
With so much of her form exposed.
I don’t know what the hell was up with me, because I started feeling something moving down there. I looked away and tried to keep cool. She was my mom.
Even if she was looking extremely sexy.
I almost slapped myself.
Mom noticed the joint in dad’s hand and started laughing and teasing him. “You, smoking a joint? Come on, Jason, give me that!” She went after it and as she moved, I could see the sashes around her waist, dazzling back and, forth, flashing the way her bikini bottom hugged her ass. I was something I couldn’t stop looking at – my eyes were just drawn to it, to how white, how perfectly round and proportional her hips and waist and her butt were. It seemed to bring something forth in me. Something deep. Physical.