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From: Mike Chambers <mikechamberswrites@hotmail.co.uk>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Hockey Mom Part 1 (F, solo)
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Date: Wed, 25 Mar 2009 21:10:02 -0400
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   The Hockey Mom Part 1 (F, solo)

   by Mike Chambers





   Forty-five minutes.



   As Victoria Richmond goes back into her house, her mind is still
whirring.  What with the kids being so damned difficult these days, Joe's
job worries and now Father Brian's odd comments after mass, it's a wonder
she's thinking straight at all.



   But now, now that mass is finished and Joe has taken the kids for their
Sunday morning kick about in the park, she finally has a tiny precious
moment to her herself.



   Forty-five minutes, to be precise.



   The house is neat and tidy.  Nothing to do there.  Lunch was prepared
earlier, with just the finishing touches needed.  That can wait until Joe
gets back.  So nothing to do, then.  Nothing that needs doing, anyway. 
Nothing that has to be done.



   There was something Father Brian mentioned in his sermon that intrigued
Victoria.  He had been trying, in his usual not entirely successful way, to
tie in a news story about a woman in Texas with one of St Paul's more
obscure letters, to the Galatians.  It was an interesting point, and as
forty-five minutes certainly isn't enough time to start on a new
watercolour or get to work in the rose beds, then a little internet
research might fill the time nicely.  Joe hates sitting in front of the
damn computer screen, but for Victoria it's such a rare opportunity that it
feels like a window to tranquility rather than a cold, electric slave
driver.



   She boots up the laptop, her mind still replaying Father Brian's
comments.  What could he have meant?  Surely no-one's been criticizing her
work on the spring fair committee?  Not after last year's success? 
Victoria feels the dark red stain of anger rising, and quickly focuses on
the laptop to distract herself from such thoughts.



   She types a few of the key words from Father Brian's sermon into the
search engine box.  As a seemingly random list of results appears on the
screen, Victoria sighs.  Is she the only person in the world who can't
google?  You can ask Ethan any question, and in 0.27 seconds he has the
answer.  And he's only nine.



   Thinking back once again to Father Brian's comments, Victoria clicks on
the link that seems, vaguely, to match what she might be looking for.  As
the new page loads, her mind slips back briefly to fifteen years ago and
the short philosophy course she took at college.  Was it Plato who asked,
if we are looking for something new how can we ever know that we've found
it?



   If he was born today, Victoria thinks, Plato would probably be a venture
capitalist in Silicon Valley.  She smiles to herself.  See?  Sitting at the
laptop for forty-five minutes is a good thing to do.



   Victoria is so pleased with her private joke that she is only
half-reading the piece on the screen.  It is only when she is several
paragraphs in and the words "cock" and "pussy" leap out at her that she
realises she isn't reading Father Brian's story at all.  Not at all.



   She slams the laptop shut.  Oh goodness.  Once again there is something
hot and fiery welling up, only this time it isn't just anger.



   Victoria stands up, walks to the sink, and pours herself a glass of
water.  How could they put a story like that on the web, without any kind
of warning?  How could they?  It isn't right that she should be looking for
a news story and she comes across pornography.  Words, not pictures, but
pornography all the same.



   She looks at her watch.  Great, only thirty minutes until Joe gets back.
She walks back to the laptop, and as she opens it up again the expression
Pandora's Box springs into her mind.  Goddam those ancient Greeks, did they
think of everything?



   Unavoidably the story is still there.  How on earth didn't Victoria
realise it was pornographic?  Well, she realises now, it didn't exactly
scream filth from the very first word.  In fact the first couple of
paragraphs are subtle, almost lyrical.  Only the reference to "Jennifer's
deep painful need" might have alerted Victoria, and could quite easily have
been a reference to a woman from Austin losing all her money through a
gambling addiction.



   Anyway, that's it.  Mystery solved, time to shut the browser down. 
Victoria clicks "x" and looks at her watch again.  Twenty-five minutes. 
Now what to do?



   Apart from making cup cakes, which she hasn't done in three or four
years, there are few things in Victoria's life that can be satisfactorily
finished in twenty-five minutes.  Now that the offending article is off the
screen, a little more silent reflection on the situation seems a good way
to spend the time until anything better comes to mind.



   So the story was not obviously filth, which was a surprise.  Victoria
has no direct experience of pornography - written, photographic or
otherwise - but from all the cultural references she has seen she would
have expected it to advertise itself in big flashing fleshy letters.



   And the characters, Jennifer and Mike.  She would have expected them,
even in a story, to be lurid and obscene.  Surely the Jennifer who was
imagining...doing that...to Mike should have been described as blonde,
tanned, with impossibly big boobs?  Instead there was nothing, no physical
description whatsoever.  "Jennifer" could be anyone you want her to be. 
Jennifer Aniston, Jennifer Lopez...Jennifer Dean.  Ha!  Yeah, that would be
right.  Jennifer Dean.  Despite her sweet-as-honey smile and girly giggle,
you just know Jennifer Dean isn't apple pie at all.  Amazing more people
don't see through her.  In fact it's probably Jennifer Dean that has been
saying stuff to Father Brian.  Despite all the committees and being first
in line for the sacrament, there seems something wholly bad about Jennifer
Dean.



   In fact, thinks Victoria, as all the recent events coalesce in her mind,
it is entirely realistic to imagine Jennifer Dean thinking thoughts like
the Jennifer in the story, doing stuff like that with Mike.  Forget about
all those cutesy home-knitted turtlenecks she always wears, Jennifer would
probably love to be down on her knees and...



   Victoria stops.  Her mind is on fire.  It is not just that she is being
nasty about a fellow parishioner.  Or even that she is putting someone she
sees every day into the starring role of a pornographic story.  No, it's
how good it feels.  Partly it feels good to be nasty, to get your own back
in the safety of your own mind on people who you know in your heart of
hearts aren't what they make themselves out to be.  But more than that, oh
my, it feels good to think of Jennifer Dean doing that, kneeling on the
floor in front of a man called Mike, kneeling, the dirty horny bitch,
taking a man in her mouth like that.  She probably loves being used.



   All the apathy and confusion has gone now.  Victoria's mind is clearer
than ever, racing with this one simple thought.  She eases her dress up to
her waist, and checks her watch again.  Fifteen minutes.  Plenty of time.



   Victoria doesn't do this often.  Almost never, in fact.  More than
anything, she has never found "pleasuring" herself to actually be that
pleasurable.  There have been too many other thoughts playing, too many
worries about things, and an ever present sense of guilt to make it a real
release.  Anyway there has always been such a gnawing sense straight
afterwards of having strayed that whatever rare inspiration for
masturbation there may have been was rarely worth the aftermath.



   But now it is different.  It seems so damned sexy just to think of this
one woman Victoria knows, this one prissy, bitchy, pretty, sexy woman
kneeling in front of a man.  Heck, she doesn't even have to take off her
clothes.  No, scratch that.  Victoria shifts the mental image so that
Jennifer lifts up that damned cutesy turtleneck to reveal those full
rounded breasts that she seems so keen for you to be aware of.  That's it,
Jennifer kneeling in front of a man with her turtleneck rucked up above her
breasts, her nipples pointing hard as she takes Mike into her mouth.



   Victoria slips a hand inside her panties.  She is wet, very wet.  That
in itself is unusual.  She considers, briefly, bringing the story back up
on the screen again, but then rejects the idea.  No words, however subtle,
could create anything as exciting as the mental tableau Victoria has
created.  As the man pushes himself in and out of Jennifer's mouth,
basically fucking it, Jennifer slides a hand down the front of her own
jeans, wet and excited to let Mike treat her mouth as a hole for his
selfish satisfaction.



   Victoria discovers that there is none of her usual awkward fumbling
about her masturbation.  Her fingers seem to know exactly what is needed as
they tease around her lips and engorged clitoris.  It is as if the years
have slipped away and she is exploring her body for the first time, only
this time all the doubts and the worries have been magicked away by the
absolute eroticism of her thoughts.



   As she feels her body slowly building to what she knows will be an
unthinkably overwhelming orgasm, Victoria knows that in her mind she will
imagine Mike ejaculating his semen into Jennifer's mouth.



   Suddenly Victoria hears key scraping at the front door, and the sound of
Joe and the kids.  She slams the laptop shut, pulls down her skirt, and
stands, trying desperately to compose herself.  She looks at her watch. 
They are five minutes early.  Her excitement evaporates into anger, and
despair.



   As they come through the door, Victoria struggles to raise a smile. 
"Hey guys, how are you doing?  What brings you home early?"



   They look blank.  Early?  Since when was there a time estimate for the
park?



   +++



   As the day wears on, Victoria realises how little time she ever has to
herself.  Not for even two minutes is there the chance to finish off what
she has started.  For, once she has got over the shock of nearly being
discovered, she realises that the need between her legs is still there,
and, if anything, even greater.



   She doesn't want to make lunch, she doesn't want to clean the dishes,
she doesn't want to do anything other than go somewhere private, put her
hand between her legs and have an orgasm imagining Jennifer Dean sucking
Mike's cock.  Her frustration has given her thoughts a harder edge, as if
all the interruptions and the lack of privacy entitle her to be obscene.



   Even in bed it is impossible.  She lies awake waiting for Joe to doze
off, and when he finally does her hand slips down between her legs and she
strokes herself.  But Joe is a light sleeper and she knows that her orgasm,
when it comes, will be enough to wake the neighbourhood, let alone the man
only inches away from her.



   So she sleeps only fitfully, her mind always full of the thoughts of
Jennifer and Mike.  Inevitably the fantasy develops.  Jennifer is on her
back, with Mike fucking her hard.  Jennifer on all fours, offering herself
like a bitch, her full titties swinging every time Mike pushes his cock
into her vagina.  Jennifer wrapping her boobs around Mike's cock until he
spurts his semen all over her chin and neck.  Oh yes, it seems there are
all kinds of bad ideas Victoria has unknowingly picked up from somewhere.



   At the school gates it is even worse.  Jennifer Dean is there, chatting,
gossiping, wearing - oh god - a turtleneck.  Part of Victoria just wants to
ignore her, pretend she isn't there, but part of her is intoxicated at the
thought of actually talking to someone she has been imagining so luridly.



   Her decision is made anyway when Jennifer calls out to her.  As Victoria
walks over she knows she is blushing furiously, and it takes all her effort
not to look at Jennifer's breasts and remember the fantasy from only a few
hours before of seeing them covered in Mike's semen.



   "Hey, Victoria, help me out here." Jennifer's voice is as irritatingly
sing-song as ever, but standing here Victoria realises that there is
nothing bad about being next to Jennifer, that it is utterly delicious to
be so close to Jennifer that Victoria can smell her skin, all the time
knowing that her panties are soaked wet through at the idea of Jennifer
Dean the dirty fucking slut.  "I need a partner for tennis tomorrow,
doubles.  You play, right?"



   Victoria nods, dumb.



   "So do you fancy helping me out?"



   Victoria nods again.  "Sure."



   "Great.  Listen, the contractors messed up the work on the clubhouse,
still not finished, what do you say we meet up beforehand my place, we can
get changed together and talk tactics.  `Kay?"



   "Okay."



   +++



   Victoria is due at work in forty-five minutes.  There are two piles of
unwashed laundry in the utility.  It doesn't matter.



   She lies, completely naked, on the bed, her legs spread wide apart.  Her
nipples are stiff and hard, poking at the ceiling.  The fingers on
Victoria's right hand are delicately teasing her clitoris, while three of
the fingers on the left push brutally in and out of her cunt.



   In her mind, Mike is gone.  It is just Victoria, and Jennifer.  They are
in Jennifer's bedroom, talking tennis, and undressing.  Victoria is showing
her body to Jennifer, and Jennifer is showing her body to Victoria.  It
seems so natural for Victoria to take off her bra, and feel Jennifer's eyes
eat up the sight of her bare breasts.  To watch Jennifer pull down her
panties, exposing her neatly trimmed bush of pubic hair, and for Jennifer
not to mind that Victoria is staring at her naked crotch, and Jennifer is
actually opening her legs slightly so that Victoria can see the engorged
lips of Jennifer's pussy.  For Victoria to drop her panties and invite
Jennifer's attention, desire more than anything for Jennifer to look at her
pussy, for Jennifer Dean to get wet because Victoria is showing her pussy
to her.



   As she feels her orgasm build, Victoria remembers the scent of
Jennifer's skin, the curve of her breasts, and then her mind fills with
softly kissing Jennifer's breasts, sucking her nipples, and licking her wet
sweet pussy.  And Victoria cums, a sweaty writhing slut, splayed on her bed
dreaming of tasting another woman's cunt.



   As she lies there, recovering, acutely aware she is late for work and
the kids have no clean clothes for school, she has a quiet, almost funny
moment of revelation.  Plato was wrong.  The Greeks didn't know everything.
Sometimes you absolutely know when you've found what you're looking for.



   {Author's note: I would love to make the Hockey Mom into a series.  To
do that I need your feedback, encouragement, and suggestions.  Let me know
what you think!  Thanks for reading, Mike} mikechamberswrites@hotmail.co.uk



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