May Story - Miami MILF (Chapter 7) (Patreon)

It was nearly 3AM by the time we stepped out of the club. After about five more drinks and hours of dancing, Joan was completely wrecked and unable to walk on her own. I had to pry her away from the arms of some big burly man who kept laughing at her advances. He patted me on the shoulder and said, “You’ve got quite a load of trouble on your hands.”

“Heh. Yeah.”

When she was loaded with alcohol, her inner succubus broke free. While we were dancing, she mingled with other men and openly caressed their arms and flat-out brushed her ass up against their crotches, mine included. Despite her openness with others, she gave me “The Look”. I kept telling myself I was imagining it, but I was with her the entire night and she didn’t give “The Look” to anyone else but me. When she was twerking on someone’s crotch’s across from me, she gazed straight into my soul with those “do me” eyes. She was tempting me, maybe even taunting me, saying, “You want this? You can watch.”

She became a burping, hiccuping mess as I walked her to my car. She giggled and said, “I HaVn’T BEeN THIS dRuNk in SOOOOOOOOOOO looooooooooong!”

She stopped to let out a barrage of hiccups, followed by one guttural belch. She needed to support herself by placing a hand on the fence we were walking past. When I offered to continue helping her walk, she dismissed me with her other hand and murmured, “No. Wait. Wait.”

She kept hiccupping very violently, to the point where I started to get worried. They were harsh and high-pitched. She could barely speak.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked.

Joan now pressed both hands on the fence and leaned her head forward.

“Oh boy, you’re going to throw up aren’t you?”

She tried to say something, but instead belched out loud. It was a massive, manly belch that reminded me of that night at the school dance so many years ago. This time though, it dragged on even longer, and sounded utterly satisfying to let out.

Any “normie” would have been disgusted by her appearance – a literal hot mess with dazed eyes, drool on her lip, and frequent expulsion of gas.

But to me, this was the hottest thing ever.

“Ugggghh,” she moaned, after letting it out. She stopped hiccupping. “Caramba. Ahí está.”

Her satisfaction from releasing such an enormous pressure gave me the biggest boner. I tried hard to hide it but then again it wasn’t like I needed to. She was too drunk to really pay attention to much of anything.

She wiped off drool from her chin, sighed, and wobbled her way towards me. I caught her and we carried on. She talked on and on about nonsense, going into random segues. She talked about how Morgan never liked to dance and how that one guy she twerked in front of reminded her of Morgan and—

I helped her into the passenger seat. She calmed down and immediately lowered the seat all the way down, so that she was practically lying down.

“Sorry not sorry,” she said.

She mumbled several things before dozing off – rather loudly too. She immediately snored and it was quite frankly amusing.

There were few people driving on the road back. Still, the fact that there were cars on the road this late made me feel like this was New York City. Miami also didn’t sleep. It wasn’t as loud and obnoxious as New York City, but people were still awake teeming through the sidewalks and on the walkways stretching alongside the water.

Through South Beach again, I returned to Sunny Isles. Something about the drive hit me differently than when I was heading to downtown Miami. All the lights dotted the skyline and the lack of cars and boats made me feel like I was venturing through some liminal space.

The realization then hit me.

Gosh, I would love to see this sight every day.

I would love to live there.

I looked over at Joan, who was completely passed out. For a brief moment, it really felt like we were going out. The thought made me shiver and feel warm and comforted inside. Maybe I stepped into some parallel universe, switched lives, and we were truly together.

When I arrived at Joan’s apartment, she was so drunk that she could not get up. She stirred lightly but continued snoring and refused to get up.

“Alright then,” I murmured to myself.

I lifted her up and carried her over my shoulder. I blushed, trying not to dwell on the fact that Joan’s ass was right next to my face. I walked past the courtyard into the hallways and heard her stomach gurgle.

She then farted.

PrrrrrRRRrrrrrrRRRt.

A moderately deep, lengthy fart. The alcohol must have finally been brewing in her bowels, making them unsettled. She let off yet another fart in seconds. Technically, her body did. There’s something so enticing about hearing someone rip ass while they are asleep. There’s a certain vulnerability to it. The body just lets it out without any conscious effort to try and hold it in. I wondered if she would ever knowingly rip ass in front of me. I liked to think so, but sometimes people who are fine with burping are oddly disgusted by farts.

I carefully let us into her apartment. Stella immediately stirred and started barking. I shooed her away, since she was crowding around my feet and I could have fallen. I thought about dumping Joan on the couch but her bedroom would have made more sense.

That was the first time I entered her bedroom. The hallway had a framed photo of her, Morgan, and their two kids. They looked like they were in high school, although something about the quality of the photo made me think it must have been taken a long time ago. Something felt off about it. I stood staring with Joan over my shoulder until it hit me – Morgan was the only one not smiling. Joan and her kids smiled with bared teeth, but Morgan’s smile was just a line, barely curving. He didn’t have any hair, and looked strong and tan. He gave off the impression of being able to beat you up just by staring you down.

Her bedroom was bare. There were no other memories decorating the walls or surfaces. That one framed photo was the sole proof of her having a family in the entire apartment. She did have a small pile of books on her bedtable – Harry Potter, The Lord of the Rings, and several John Grisham paperbacks.

I carefully let her down. She snorted abruptly. I thought she would wake up but she didn’t; she seemed to understand where she was and immediately curled up into a ball grabbing the comforter. She narrowed her eyebrows and murmured in discontent. She was trying to take off her shoes with her own feet, but failed. I reached down to help her. She stopped fidgeting and smiled.

Should I take off her glasses for her? It would be annoying for her to realize that she slept with them on, maybe even crush them accidentally. But that was too close to comfort for me.

Before I turned around to leave, she mumbled something slightly coherent. Something about holding on. I faced her again and her eyes flickered opened.

“Stay here,” she murmured.

“Huh?” I knew what she said. But I wanted to make sure.

She cuddled with the comforter tighter. “Don’t leave me alone.”

“Uhhhh.” I cleared my throat. I thought that maybe she wasn’t fully conscious and wouldn’t remember if I left, so I turned to leave again.

Before reaching the door to the living room, she said, “You’re going to stay right?”

I didn’t answer. She snored soon thereafter.

I stood in the living room thinking it over. I closed the door, but Stella whined so I let her in and left it open slightly ajar.

I wanted to stay, but that tiny voice inside told me it was a bad idea. I think looking at that picture of Morgan freaked me out. I still didn’t know the full story behind their troubles. For all I know, Morgan could walk in any moment and beat the shit out of me if he saw me with his wife.

I did know that Joan made me feel differently than other women. She exuded Miami wherever she went. Ever since I met her as my teacher, she stuck out from the crowd with her loud vibes. But it wasn’t the kind of loud that was obnoxious or intimidating. She had that playful spirit in her that didn’t seem to die out one bit in the past decade.

I went to the guest room and took off my clothes to sleep there. I didn’t realize how exhausted I was from the partying until my weary bones hit the cushions. I fell asleep rather quickly that night.

After a dreamless sleep, I woke up a little bit groggily. I didn’t know what time it was but the sun was peeking through the blinds. I went to the bathroom when I heard her leaving her bedroom. I stopped short of turning the corner to face the living room. Her feet patted against the tile floor, and she moaned a little.

I slowly peeked over the corner.

Joan once again wore her Miami Heat t-shirt and tight gray sweat shorts.

She had opened the fridge and stared blankly into it, murmuring something. She scratched her lower back, and when she stopped, she seemed to lean to the side a bit and then let out a loud, trumpet-like fart. She just let it blow like a powerhouse.

“Ugh,” she moaned. “Shit.”

She bent over to get something from a drawer in the fridge, and that let slip another fart, which she didn’t react to.

When she turned around to face the kitchen counter, I slipped away from sight.

I waited a good ten minutes before walking out pretending like I just woke up. I even added a stretch and yawn for good measure, although that might have been overdoing it.

“AY CARAMBA!” Joan exclaimed, making me yelp. She nearly dropped her cup of coffee. “Lucas? What are you doing here?”

I stammered, not knowing what to say. She hadn’t remembered anything from the previous night. She stammered herself and then pieced things together. It seemed to hurt her head as she remembered. She put a hand to her head and spat, “Oh shit. I forgot! Oh my God.” She covered her face in shame.

She cleared her throat and said, “I didn’t realize you slept over.”

I took a moment to figure out what to say. I wasn’t sure if she remembered telling me to stay over. She could have and instead pretended to play off like she was too drunk to have remembered. I could play it off innocently and say that I was too tired to drive.

I said it straight up.

“You asked me to stay.”

Joan definitely didn’t expect me to bring it up. I could tell that she remembered based on how flustered she was. She looked down at her cup and said, “Ah. Uh. Hehehe. That was a crazy night, huh? That’s Miami for you!” She smiled at me toasting her cup of coffee. “Thank you for bringing me home. I was so gone.”

“That you were.”

I approached the counter and sat idly at one of the stools right in front of her. She sipped her coffee and broke eye contact with me. I drummed my fingers on the counter. Stella was quiet and rested on the couch, watching us. It seemed like she was wondering herself what was going on between us.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Joan said. “What would you like to eat?”

“It’s okay. Just a coffee is fine. Black.”

Joan seemed impressed. “Black, huh? You like it rough?” She then shook her head. “Ay. I mean. Ahem. I’m sorry. You like it raw?”

That didn’t make it sound any better, and she realized how she phrased it with another pained look.

“I’m not much into additives,” I said, trying to ease the tension.

She prepared my coffee and we sat together facing each other. The silence was both somehow awkward and pleasant. We avoided eye contact, probably both thinking of the close dancing we did the previous night. But I felt comfortable sharing the silence with her. I just relaxed and drank my coffee and so did she. We both looked out at the window at the water.

“What are your plans for today?” I asked.

“Mmm. Nothing.”

I shrugged. “Well. That’s perfect. It’s a vacation after all.”

“That’s true.”

Something felt…like college all over again. I was trying to find a way to hang out with her again, slyly suggesting to go out together. I was giddy and nervous, with the same butterflies I had around girls I liked in school.

But Joan was frowning. She seemed dead serious – the most serious I had ever seen her be. It wasn’t a good look for her. She looked like she was about to break down.

“Lucas,” she began, “before anything becomes…I mean…I need to tell you what happened between Morgan and I.”

I thumbed my coffee mug. It made sense. She was more mature after all. I was getting wrapped up in a good time, but to her, she wanted to set the record straight. I think that was the major difference between her and a girl like the one at Sweet Liberty. Eh. Maybe I was being too judgy. But let’s be honest. For those of you in college, how many times have you had flings without talking or trying to understand if the two of you were an item?

“Okay,” I said.

Joan cleared her throat. “You see…sometimes…well. It happens a lot actually. But. Sometimes people start things too early. We got married when we were 24. Here I was, a Puerto Rican still fresh off the island and he was an American boy. He had already been experienced doing things. You know? I wasn’t. But I was still fascinated by him. He was my first, so I couldn’t let go. A couple times we did. But he kept persuading me to come back.” She sipped her coffee to take a short pause. “We got married. We had kids. I think when they were in elementary school was when it started happening.”

“What?” I said, after a long silence.

She stared down into her drink. It took me a hot moment to realize that she was tearing up. I sat up straight and offered a hand.

“Hey…Joan.”

“No. It’s okay.” She wiped the tears with her hand. Her eyes puffy and red. There was a lot more she was holding back. I got scared at first but then held firm hearing her out. “I don’t know anymore where to begin. You can say it was my fault or his fault. I just know we weren’t happy. I wasn’t sure about the things he wanted from me so he seemed to give me the cold shoulder. He did that whenever he didn’t get his way. That just made me mad so I flirted with other men to get back at him. Next thing I know I’m in bed with other guys. I told him about it straight up but that doesn’t exactly give you brownie points. I have to admit that I may have turned into a trophy wife.”

“Trophy wife?”

“He had so much money, you know? I wasn’t so well-off. It didn’t help that he didn’t think highly of me being a teacher. When we did things separately, I used things in his card and used his points for this and that. This apartment is under his name. So I don’t think I’ll get to have it anymore. I used it the best I could for me though. That letter you saw when you first came in? That wasn’t from my kids.” She fingered the rim of her mug. “I use this place as an AirBnB to students from Miami University. He doesn’t know. But I keep that money for myself. I know I’ll be on my own soon. It’s only a matter of time.

“And we tried counseling. We really did. I think that only made things worse for some reason. Once we were aware of our histories and feelings, we learned to hide things better from each other. He started cheating on me too. I continued cheating. Our kids went to high school and it just happened. I just thought, ‘We need to get a divorce’. We waited until they were adults to do it.”

I sat with her for some time with my hand over hers. She didn’t withdraw or slink away afraid of me. She let it be, and I did too. I slowly rubbed her hand and she held it tightly.

“So, what I’m trying to say is…” she then said.

“You don’t think this is a good idea,” I finished.

“No. That’s not what I was going to say. Not really. I wanted you to know. And if there’s anything about this that doesn’t sit well with you,” she looked up straight into my eyes. “Then I understand.”

I appreciated what she told me, and it made me feel better. In fact, it made me want her even more. That could have been my brain playing tricks on me. Something something psychology. All my life I was hesitant to get what I wanted, or felt constrained in expressing what I wanted. Joan was someone I wanted. Holy fuck, I wanted her more than anything in the world, and there I was getting to hold her hand. I didn’t want to let go. I held tighter in fact.

“Joan, I don’t think you’re a bad person, if that’s what you’re worried about. You didn’t do anything wrong. It just fell apart. I don’t care about that. I care about right now. I’m excited and happy to be here with you.”

Joan sniffed and welled up again, but this time it was different. These were joyful tears. “Really? You are?”

“Yeah. You’ve made my vacation amazing.”

I sat through Joan trying to compose herself. She wiped her tears, washed her face, and apologized a thousand times.

“Ay, Lucas. Thank you.”