“Got S. M. I. L. F.? (Soccer Moms I’d Like to Fuck)”
Trixie found herself sighing while staring out the window at the pouring rain. The day had gone from bad to worse. She hadn’t felt particularly chipper for quite some time. She was supposed to take a minivan filled with soccer players up to a statewide tournament that supported charities. The invitees were players who had graduated high school and had been accepted to play at the collegiate level. A number of companies had gotten together and each sponsored a player. All the money donated by the sponsors went to one of a number of charities, and the players themselves got to pick which one. It was a good cause, but it unfortunately was also a platform for some self-righteous players to grandstand in front of the Olympic team’s scouts that always attended. Trixie’s son, Roger, was one of those types of players.
Trixie had gotten married right out of high school to Paul Branch. They had been sweethearts for years, and everyone knew that he was going places. And he had become quite a successful car salesman. So successful that he had three major dealerships in town, and was seen as a ‘pillar of the community.’ Unfortunately for Trixie, while Paul had gone places, she felt she had been left behind somewhere along the way.
She had gotten pregnant within the first year of their marriage, and they had named their son Roger. Complications in the pregnancy left her unable to have more children. But that didn’t seem to bother her husband. She had given him an heir, and that was all that mattered. He had never been intentionally cruel or mean to her after that. Even though she never had a career or had much of a social life of her own, she was always provided for. But after about five years, Paul had seemed to see her less as the beautiful young woman he had married and more as a simple piece in a puzzle depicted the American dream: a wife, house, child, white picket fence, and a successful business. She noticed that he had become more emotionally distant over the years. She thought that maybe she just wasn’t attractive anymore. Her few friends that she confided in scoffed at the idea. Trixie had done more than age gracefully; she had kicked Father Time in the gonads. She had kept up a strict aerobics regiment her entire life. While she had a farmer’s-daughter-tom-boy physique rather than the gaunt look so popular in magazines, she still managed to attract long glances and whistles every time she walked down the street. At 37 years of age, she had a body that an 18 year old would kill for. Her body-fat percentage was phenomenal, and she still had clearly defined abs. Her c-cup breasts stood out prominently on her chest, and her ass was smooth and taut. She had full, pouty lips, brilliant green eyes and strawberry-blonde hair that always seemed to look tussled. But as hard as she tried, she just couldn’t get her husband to notice her anymore.
Since Roger had been born, her husband had poured attention on him. When you grow up with a man who does nothing but tell you how great you are all the time and who helps bail you out of any problems, you become a bit conceited. The boy had little respect for anyone, including his mother. As long as his father approved of him, he was fine. And his father of approved of everything he did. The two of them had left early this morning so that Roger would be well rested for the game the next morning. Paul had volunteered his wife to drive some of the “other kids” up later in the day. These were the boys who were sponsored by smaller companies who simply wanted to help out at a noble event. They tended to be decent kids, and she normally didn’t mind playing soccer mom. But she had wanted for Paul to arrange other transportation for all the kids. After all, it was their anniversary. They had been married for 17 years, and had become less important to him than taking their spoiled child to a soccer game. And she hadn’t even gotten her a gift.
So she sat their next to the window, staring outward. The 5 boys had been dropped off, but as the last of them had arrived, the rain had started coming down in buckets. The local news had a flash flood advisory, and her husband had called to say the game had been postponed from the following morning until the following evening to give the field a chance to dry on the off chance it stopped pouring overnight. The highway that led to the event was closed, so they wouldn’t be able to leave that evening. Since they would have to leave early in the morning to make the event, Trixie and the boys’ parents all decided it would be easier if the boys just stayed at Trixie’s house that evening, making it easier for them to get going at first light. Trixie didn’t mind. The house had plenty of room, and she enjoyed having something to distract her from her marital problems. She checked her watch and noticed it was about seven o’clock.
“Have you boys eaten yet,” she asked with a start. She realized she would be a terrible hostess for letting the young men go hungry.
“I had a chocolate bar on the way over,” said one of the boys pitifully. His name was Dennis, a nice young man whose family was from Brazil. He had beautifully dark skin and big, clear eyes. She could tell he was trying to be polite, but she was also certain none of them had eaten in a while. She felt like a terrible hostess.
“How about some homemade pizza?” The word ‘pizza’ has a magical effect on young men. All of their eyes lit up.
“Are you sure it won’t be much trouble?”
“Absolutely not,” she said warmly. “I haven’t entertained such lofty company since the last time the Queen herself popped by for tea,” she said in her worst pseudo-English accent. The boys sat there with goofy grins on their faces. Trixie felt a little flustered. It had been a while since she had last tried to be funny, and her husband and son tended to dismiss such attempts as weak. She got out a bowl and got down her recipe. It had been a long time since she had made it. Her family tended to snub her cooking. Two of the boys got up and headed into the kitchen with her.
“What are you two up to?”
“Helping?” they said with confused expressions on their faces. Their confusion perplexed her until she realized that they probably saw ‘helping’ as what they were supposed to do. She only wished her son was so courteous. She gave each of them a chore, which they dove into. Soon the other three joined in, mixing and cutting and generally making a bit of a mess. They were so caught up in the cooking process that she took the time to stand back and watch them for a bit. They were a fine looking group. Dennis had an exotic look to him that she was fascinated by. Jim and James were both white, blonde-haired blue-eyed boys, with Jim being a bit taller and a bit broader in those muscular shoulders. Lance was black, with a particularly handsome face and a shaved head. Mike was Hispanic, with those dark eyes and tempting lips usually reserved for Mexican soap-opera stars. All of them were in good shape, lean and strong. And those cute little butts . . .
‘Oh, God!’ she thought to herself. She was a married woman! And she was checking out boys half her age! She was old enough to be their mother for crying out loud! She through herself back into her work, trying to forget about those tight asses confined by tight denim jeans or soccer shorts. She really tried.
They were having so much fun that they hadn’t noticed her watching them. At one point, Jim wiped the flour from his hands on his pants.
“What a savage,” said Dennis.
“What?”
“You don’t just wipe your hands on your clothes.”
“Good point.” With that, Jim wiped his hands on Dennis’s shirt. Trixie found herself giggling uncontrollably as Dennis stared incredulously at the flour on his shirt. He methodically reached into a bowl full of dough for the crust. Jim would have rune, but two of the other boys held him in place as Dennis smeared the stuff all over his face. Trixie was laughing so hard at that point she could scarcely breathe. Jim managed to free his arm grab a handful of pepperoni slices and fling them at his adversary. Dennis dodged. Trixie wound up with a pepperoni necklace. There was a moment of intense silence as the boys realized they might have gone too far. Their fears were somewhat alleviated when Trixie smashed an egg over Jim’s head, and the food fight was underway in earnest.
After about twenty minutes, the six of them, the kitchen and part of the living room were covered in miscellaneous food particles. The boys helped her clean up, and they even managed to get a single pepperoni pizza finished. It wasn’t much, but no one complained.