“Work, order, and discipline.” This was the motto of my parents. Imagine what it was like to grow up in a household under such a slogan especially since I was an only son. I was envious of my friends who had normal parents because at home it was like being in the army. My father was the director of one of the largest companies in the city during the former state. He was a workaholic and very strict, but he was like that in business and his private life, as well. He conducted the rare conversations he had with me as if he were having them with an adult. While other fathers took their sons to football games and amusement parks, we visited museums. Indeed, I didn’t lack anything that money could buy, while most families had financial difficulties--but I still wanted my family to be like the others. Yes, my father was very strict. Everything was done by a schedule, at exactly the time it was supposed to happen: what time to go to the bathroom, when and what to watch on television, even at home there was a dress code, and early bedtime, and we had to rise early even on weekends...

I was allowed to go out with friends but with strict respect to be paid to parents and to arrive home as agreed, not a second later. He always seemed calm and never showed any emotion. He would never raise his voice at me, let alone raise his hand. I was in the eighth grade (around 14 years old) when a student on duty came into my English class and told me that the principal needed me. I entered his office, and he patted me on the shoulder and told me to call my mother at home. I didn’t ask anything but dialed the number. My mom answered and told me in a calm voice that my dad had died and that I should go home. At home, it was not like in other houses when someone died. There were no mourners hysterically crying--everything seemed normal except that a full house of guests were there drinking: friends, neighbors, relatives, work colleagues...

I found out that he was under a lot of stress during those days. Every morning when he went to his office, he would drink coffee and flip through the newspaper, and no one was allowed to disturb him. After an hour, the secretary found him with his head on the table. Classic heart attack. It wasn’t until many years later that I realized what condition he was in. In those years, the war was already on the horizon, there was talk of declaring independence, converting to a market economy, and inflation began--the company was sinking more and more, and surely what hit him the most was that all his beliefs, which he had lived for his whole life, began to collapse like a tower of cards. His heart just couldn’t take it.

My mom was no different from him either. She was the head of accounting at that same company and was very strict. At home, she also supported the military regime. At first, I thought that it was just Dad’s doing and that she was just supporting him--later I realized that she was even worse than he was. I thought that after Dad’s death, we would start to live a little more liberally, but that didn’t happen. She continued with almost military-style regulations. She never showed emotion, never laughed. She never watched anything entertaining on television and only listened to classical music.

In addition to all that, the war also started, so the rules set at home were getting worse and worse. Mom successfully transformed herself from a former communist-party secretary and accountant into a great patriot and believer, so that church rules began to apply at home instead of Marxist ones. Because of her intolerance and close-mindedness, we had fewer and fewer friends. Almost no one visited us anymore except our closest relatives, and she didn’t even hang out with anyone except a few women from church circles. The only good thing was that with the advent of capitalism and privatization, she no longer came home at 2 p.m. but had to be at work until the evening, and sometimes she would work on Saturdays as well. That gave me more space. Apart from those rules at home, I still can’t say that she bothered me too much, as she didn’t have a reason to. I was excellent at school. I behaved politely everywhere, so there were no objections. The only thing is that she always tried to influence which circles of the society I made contact with and moved around in. She always had to know who I was with and where. What annoyed me the most was her sniffing to see if I smelled of cigarettes or alcohol when I returned home and questioning where I was, when, how, and with whom...? My friends in high school were great. My first dates, first drinks, first joints, and first girls started with them, and I successfully hid all of that from such a conservative mother as mine. I often wondered if she would ever find someone or if she would stay alone for the rest of her life and start enjoying life. I knew that she would bother me less if she were to find someone, but I also knew that with her character, there was no way that she would give anyone a chance. Maybe someone would like her physically if she didn’t dress so old-fashioned, and if she finally stopped tying her hair in a ponytail, put on some make-up, went out and had a drink, socialized ... and first and foremost stopped taking those medications that made her an unfeeling zombie.

I managed to finish high school without any problems: I had no problems either at school or at home, and most importantly, I hadn’t become a sociopath, being very sociable instead. I can even say that my social life was extensive, and I was most proud of the fact that during the years of high school, the five of us--who were a bit older than the others and were already 18 by graduation---became best friends. We had maintained our friendship throughout the years and our little group became the most desirable company in the eyes of my peers. It also went well with the girls. I was neither better nor worse off than my other friends. I had one relationship lasting 5 months and several other relationship attempts. It wasn’t anything to boast about, but at least I can say that I didn’t finish high school as a virgin. Maybe some people think that I had sex with that ex-girlfriend all the time and with some other girls, but the real truth is that I had sex only twice with my ex-girlfriend, and the fact is that the first sex can’t even be called sex. But that doesn’t matter now.

As I said, there was a war in those years, so the school did not allow prom trips or big prom parties, but somehow we managed to organize some kind of party for ourselves. Our homeroom teacher understood us completely and tried to organize something. One day she came to class and said that she had managed to find a place outside the city where we could gather with our parents for dinner and entertainment. She even found a local band to play. We were satisfied even though it wouldn’t be a classic prom party with invitations, partners, presenters ... etc. like some other high schools had organized. It was at the Velebit Hotel, 20 km outside the city. None of us had even heard of that hotel. The hotel had a ballroom, and our party was supposed to be there. The problem was that a maximum of 80 people could fit there, and therefore the number of guests was limited. So there are 32 of us plus a classmate, two parents each, and there is still space for possible brothers and sisters and possible girlfriends and boyfriends for those who have them. My friends and I were mostly single. I must admit that I was a little afraid of what would happen. I knew that people would drink, dance, and have fun there, and parents would stop pretending to be cultured people after two drinks and get off our backs; only my mom would be the only stick-in-the-mud who would insist on keeping the rules and wouldn’t even communicate with anyone. After all, she only knew the parents of my best friends.

My group of friends always invented some pranks and had some stupid ideas, and this occasion was no different. We agreed that exactly at midnight we would have a secret election for the best MILF at the party. Then there was a suggestion that we would have to find out whose mom has the biggest tits. So much for being “good boys,” nice and cultured guys, excellent students--instead, we were a company of free-spirited perverts. That latter idea was a little too kinky for me, but I still supported it, especially since I was sure that my mom would not even be among the candidates.

The day of the graduation party was approaching. I went with my mom to buy my first suit. Of course, she had her old-fashioned vision, so the purchase took a very long time. In the end, we found a compromise that satisfied her, and I was still dressed according to relatively modern fashion. She was also looking for a dress for herself, but even after going to a dozen stores, she didn’t find what she wanted. During the next few days, she also visited shops and consulted her colleagues from work, who advised her to buy materials and go to a tailor. I didn’t bother with it--I just didn’t care. I just know she’s been running around town all week because of that dress. At least she wasn’t at home.

Finally, the day of the prom, Saturday, came around. I have to admit I was a little nervous. I started getting ready early in the afternoon, showering, shaving ... I spent a lot of time in the bathroom. It was already 5 o’clock. I was still looking in the mirror, checking how I shaved, when I heard a knock on the door. I opened the door.

“I hope you’re done because I have to get ready too. I also have to do my hair, and that will take some time,” my mother advised.

“Yes, I guess I’m done,” I replied, taking a last look in the mirror.

She approached me and ran her hand over my face, looked carefully at both sides and said, “You shaved well. You only have to comb your hair before leaving. There is a T-shirt, shirt, and suit in your room, and I will knot your tie.”

I went to the room and slowly got dressed, and my mother went into the bathroom. She didn’t come out for more than an hour. We were supposed to leave at 7 o’clock. I sat nervously in the room. At 6 o’clock I heard the door from the bathroom opening, then the door of her room, then I heard her again from the bathroom, and this was repeated several times. I was already nervously walking around the room when she knocked on my door. I took a step and I opened the door, and as I was looking down, I first saw women’s boots, which completely confused me. I blinked for a moment and straightened up. I looked straight ahead, and an unknown woman was standing in front of me. Confused as I was, I took a measured look at her from head to toe and then back again. I looked into her face and eyes, and then I realized that it was my mother.

“M-Mom!?” I stammered.

“Hmm. I know I look different, but...”

“Yes, you do look different. You look completely different,” I commented rather breathlessly.

“Okay, when you’ve got your act together, come and let me fix your tie, and let’s go,” she said in a no-nonsense tone.

She went towards the living room. I closed the door and remained standing in the same place for some time, leaning with my right hand on the door. I had to re-evaluate the picture of my mother I had in my head--what I was seeing was totally at odds with that picture. First of all, she looked at least 10 years younger in appearance. Her hair was not tied straight in a ponytail but fell freely over bare shoulders. Yes, you read right, bare shoulders. A fine shimmer of paint on her lips and eyes, groomed eyebrows, and who knows what other creams and powders on her face gave her a completely new youthful look. She had such a beautiful, gentle face. No exaggeration, but based on her face, no one would have put her over 30 years old, and she was 45. Completely different, many people would not recognize her at all. And the fact that my mom had exposed shoulders I could not imagine even in the wildest fiction. Her skin was well cared for. I couldn’t see it before because she always had a T-shirt on and never went to the beach. What caught my eye the most was that she didn’t have a dress with sleeves or straps. The top part of her dress started at her breasts. Since she had extremely large breasts, the dress did not cover much of them. Almost everything except the nipple could be seen. The light blue dress ended at the breasts in the same place where the hem of the white bra was. I immediately thought that if she moved, the bra would show more and more. Well, this is mesmerizing--I thought to myself.

It was not clear to me how I had always thought that she was a little fuller, and now she had such a narrow waist under her breasts, only her stomach was showing a little, but it was more like a delicious swell. It seemed to me that such elegant clothes tended to come somewhere below the knee, except for those sexy mini skirts, but the one on Mom ended just below her ass. Also to my surprise, she didn’t have fat thighs, and the high-heeled boots gave her legs a look that only appears in men’s wet dreams. It took me a few minutes to go through all that in my head and to sort myself out. Yes, I concluded that mom looks perfect, and not only that, but I haven’t seen such a beautiful woman in a long time. I immediately thought about how my friends would react when they saw her like this. If she changed her behavior, and socialized, this evening could pass decently. As I walked towards the living room, only one thing bothered me: how come I’d never noticed before that my old mom was such a beautiful woman? Indeed, she never showed it, but I believe more experienced men would have known what potential she had in her. I immediately ignored all her character, psychological, social, and other shortcomings.

I came to the living room. “Mom, you really look perfect.”

“I expected you to say that it’s not good for me to dress like this, which would be true, but I know very well where we’re going. At parties like this, all women, that is, mothers, will dress up and make themselves look as if the graduation party is for them and not for their kids. So I dressed accordingly, hoping this way I wouldn’t be an exception, which could be embarrassing for you. I tried a little, and here it is. It’s not that I like being dressed up like this.”

“Yes, I understand, but really...” I couldn’t think of an appropriate word to finish the sentence.

“Let me fix your tie, and let’s go. Although you should already know this by yourself, you never dress like a cultured man.”

“She has only changed her appearance, but everything else has remained unchanged. Well, only old men still wear ties, damn,” I thought to myself.

“Uh, does it have to be so tight?”

“Of course, it has to be snug so that you don’t accidentally lose it and end up like those drunks...”

“Come on, woman, stop assuming,” I thought.

“Okay, okay. As you wish,” I agreed outwardly.

We left the house. We sat in the car and set off. She wasn’t a bad driver, but I’m always kind of uncomfortable when she is driving and I am sitting next to her.

“Do you know where it is?” I asked somewhat anxiously.

“I know roughly where it should be,” she replied, snapping at me.

That was the only communication during that 30-minute drive. I was still under the influence of her appearance. Arriving at that place, she slowed down, and we soon came across many cars parked on the side of the road.

“It has to be in there somewhere,” my mom muttered.

Soon a sign appeared--Hotel 100 m. She managed to squeeze the car between two parked cars, and we got out.

We entered a hotel if it could even be called a hotel. A guy in a tracksuit was sitting at the front reception and immediately let us know that the party was down in the hall. The door was open. At the entrance, there was an improvised stage with musical equipment, and in the continuation of the room in front of the stage, tables were placed in a U shape. I walked in proudly with such a beautiful mother. We paused a bit. It was already quite full inside. There were still a few free seats because everyone who came started to group and left a space in between.

“Let’s go straight down the line. I see there is a free place there,” Mom suggested.

We walked slowly, holding hands. I had the feeling that everyone was looking at us. Suddenly, our homeroom teacher appeared in front of us, greeted us politely, and asked Mom how she was. Mom answered politely and thanked her for organizing the prom, which meant a lot to the students. Then the teacher directed us to sit in the free seats, made an excuse, and commented that she would be very happy to talk with her again later.

As we were walking to the table, someone pulled my sleeve. It was my friend, Dario. I hadn’t even noticed him.

“Hey,” I greeted him.

We stopped. Dario was sitting with his parents. I turned to them and greeted them, and Marina, his mom, said, “Jasminka? Oh my god, I didn’t recognize you. If I hadn’t seen Leon, I wouldn’t have known it was you.”

“I didn’t see you either. I was just searching for empty seats where we’re going to sit, haha,” my mom replied.

Marina got up, and Mom came to her, and they kissed and then his dad, Matej, also got up and gave his hand to Mom.

“Sit here with us,” Marina offered.

“Yes, thank you for inviting us to join you; we would be glad to.” My mom smiled and inclined her head a little.

“I have to ask you where you bought this dress. It looks great on you.” Marina commented.

Conversations started. Dario’s mom and mine were talking, and occasionally his dad would join in the conversation. Dario and I left them and went to look for the rest of our friends.

“Your mom looks amazing. What happened to her?” Dario was still ogling my mom.

“Nothing, haha. She just made an effort to look nice.”

“I didn’t know she was so hot.”

“Yes, but I still think that your mom will win our contest,” I assured him.

“I don’t know; it will be stiff competition,” Dario said, lightly nodding his head.

We found the others, and after saying hello to their parents, the five of us moved aside. We stood in the corner of the hall, behind everyone. A case of beer was at hand, and we began to look at all the girls and women in the hall. Dario did not miss the opportunity to tell them to see how good my mom looked. We also commented on other mothers, sisters, partners, and teachers. We commented on looks, clothes ... Of course, there were some inappropriate comments, but I guess that was typical for guys our age. Soon the band started playing, and the atmosphere immediately became better. Waiters walked briskly, carrying food and drinks. The hall was full. I was interested in how my mom was behaving so that she wouldn’t embarrass me in front of Dario’s parents, so I decided to go back to the table. There was already a lot of food and drink on the table. I saw that my friends were also returning to their own tables, but each of them slowed down a little at our table to look at my mom. They also looked at Marina, Dario’s mom, as well, but I think they looked a little more at my mom. To my surprise, Mom was cheerful and had pleasant conversations with Dario’s parents. When Dario’s dad poured a glass of wine for Mom, I thought she was going to thank him like always and say that she doesn’t drink--instead, Mom drained the glass like she was thirsty for water.

“Hey, Mom, since when do you drink?” I asked in surprise.

“Today, I will drink,” she answered briefly and continued talking to Dario’s parents.

My surprises never ceased that day. Dario also joined us at the table and pounced on the food without taking his eyes off my mom’s breasts. To spite him, I stared at Marina. Our parents were having fun and didn’t pay too much attention to us. We started moving around the hall, drinking beers and fooling around but occasionally returned to the table. After an hour, I noticed that mom was tipsy, but no more and no less than everyone else. Then the homeroom teacher took the microphone and informed everyone about the night’s program. The only thing that was missing from a routine teacher check-in was a roll call, but she invited the graduates to dance with moms and dads. My mom immediately got up, grabbed my hand, and we started dancing. Marina and Dario did the same, and then everyone else. At first, I was a little nervous to dance with my mom, but as soon as we started, I relaxed. During the dance, I could not avoid looking at her breasts. Fortunately, the waltz ended quickly, and others joined in the dance.

I was already thinking of sitting down when Dario shouted, “Hey, partner-swap.”

By the time I turned around, he had already approached my mother, and Marina had approached me. The band wasn’t playing the waltz anymore, so I didn’t have to watch my steps so much. I just followed Marina. I liked Marina. We were looking at each other the whole time. She was just smiling. I tried not to stare at her tits, but sometimes my eyes would wander to them. Marina was such a hot MILF, narrow waist, dream butt. I have to admit that I got a little fired up. Then I left Marina dancing with her husband and sat down at the table. I poured a beer and watched as Marina and Mom twirled their butts while dancing. Then it crossed my mind what kind of mother she used to be and how she was behaving now. If someone had told me yesterday that my mom would drink and dance, I wouldn’t have believed them. And if someone had told me that mom would be the best MILF in the hall, I would have said that’s sci-fi. My thoughts were interrupted by Sanja, a classmate whom everyone thinks I fucked, but we are just friends.

“Come on, don’t sit down, get up,” Sanja nudged me to get up to dance.

I’m really not a fan of fun and folk music that is usually played at such parties, but this time it didn’t bother me. I got up and went to dance with Sanja.

When the set ended, everyone returned to their tables, and the waiters brought large quantities of drinks. Our friends found themselves in a corner again, and the comments about women started. We remembered our choice for MILF and made a top 10.

After the break, the band started playing better and better songs. They would throw in increasingly more rock music, so my mood rose and the beer began to work. I was no longer thinking so much about how my mom was doing, or what she was doing, and whether she was okay or not. I felt as if I were in my own movie. Somehow I ended up on the dance floor dancing with someone’s mom. I didn’t even find out whose, but I know when there was a change in rhythm, I could feel that I grabbed her from behind, a little bit harder, and hugged her. She didn’t protest, but she did the same, and my cock was rising. I was just looking around to see if some drunk husband would fly up and slap me. Fortunately, that didn’t happen. The set ended, the women went to one side, and I went to my friends. When we met in the corner, I told my friends what happened on the dance floor. They were curious which woman I was talking about, but I didn’t want to say.

After a break, I looked for that woman again. I found out who she was: Sanja’s mom. My dick was up. I stood close to her so that she noticed me while she was dancing, and then when she started towards the table, I decided to approach her, but at that moment I was pulled by the sleeve, only to turn and see my mom. She just grabbed me and said, “I feel like dancing.”

The song was fast, so we didn’t have much contact, but the next one was slower, so I pulled her close to me. I then realized that the band ends every set with a slow song, and I knew that I would have to hold her close, which would get my dick to salute. And that was what exactly happened. Mom was fine dancing to fast songs, but the alcohol took its toll when the songs were slow, so I felt her lose her balance and lean on me. I looked up in the air, and I couldn’t believe that I was dancing with my mom with my dick as hard as nails. That dress of hers was falling lower and lower, pulling her bra down as well. Her breasts were nearly totally exposed, and she was not even aware of it. Finally, the music ended. Mom returned to the table, and I met my friends in the corner.

We drank a beer and decided that after the next set of songs, we would choose the MILF of the night and the biggest tits, and we went our separate ways again.

I sat at the table for a while and saw that Mom was very drunk, Marina too. Both were constantly laughing, and Dario’s dad was telling jokes. I saw the band getting ready and went to find Sanja’s mom. I came to the table where Sanja was with her parents, and Sanja noticed me. She invited me to meet them, and her mom said she knew who I was and laughed.

At that moment, the band started playing, and her dad said, “Let’s dance.”

Sanja stood up in front of me, and when I approached her, thinking I was going to dance with her, her mom interrupted and said, “No, no.”

“I have to see how this guy dances,” I thought. So the two of us started dancing again, while Sanja danced with her dad. As the place for dancing was crowded, we soon found ourselves on a completely different side of the hall, and when I realized that Sanja and her dad were not close, I grabbed her ass. She also looked around and then turned to me and said, “You’re a cute one.”

I blushed all over. But then she made an unexpected twist. First, she came close to me as if she was going to kiss me and then roughly grabbed my cock. She squeezed with all her might and said, “If you grab my butt one more time, I’ll rip your dick out.”

I removed my hand from her ass, and we didn’t talk for the rest of the dance, but she was still smiling provocatively. It wasn’t until a long time later that I realized--she was testing me. She knew that I was good with Sanja and saw us dancing, so she decided to ascertain whether I was a good and decent boyfriend for her daughter or if I was just a jerk who jumped on every woman. Sanja’s mom later explained to her daughter to stay away from me, because I was not good from then on. Well, that’s youth and inexperience for you. But that doesn’t matter now. But while I was still dancing with Sanja’s mom, I saw that Dario was looking at us. It seemed that he had seen it all.

Later, when we met in the corner, he told me, “You are the king, the king of stupidity. So where did you leave your common sense to do that with a potential girlfriend’s mom?”

I just shrugged. It was already past midnight, and we were about to choose our MILF for the evening. I voted for Sanja’s mom, and everyone else voted for my mom. At the same moment, I felt both shame and pride, especially when I had to admit that she convincingly won the contest for the biggest tits.

Then followed the dance with our teacher. Each of us danced with her for a few beats, and then we gave her a gift.

After that, I went to pee outside. I felt that the booze was getting to me a bit, so I took a walk. When I returned to the hall, there was a frenzy inside; they were dancing in a circle, and then later line danced cowboy-style. It looked like they were all pretty drunk. There was a break, and then they announced the last set.

First, I danced with my mom. While we were dancing, I whispered to her--my tongue was working faster than my brain--that my friends had chosen her as the sexiest mom in the hall. She started laughing. I danced again with Marina, and Dario danced with my mother. Marina also barely stood and leaned completely on me, putting her head on my shoulder. That gave me an erection again. When we turned around, I saw that Dario had grabbed my mom with both hands and started stroking her. To reciprocate, I did the same to Marina and deliberately turned us around so that Dario could see. Marina’s husband was sleeping on the chair. I was sure that Marina would have given me her pussy if her husband and Dario weren’t there. I hugged her even tighter to me and my erect cock. Then I looked towards Dario and Mom again. He put his hand on her ass and squeezed it. Oh, damn. And she didn’t react at all. I guess she’s so drunk that she doesn’t even feel it. I didn’t want to lift Marina’s dress from behind and push her hand, but I did it from the front so that no one could see. First, I put my hand on her pussy over her panties and touched it like that. She didn’t react. The ballad was so slow that we didn’t take steps anymore; we just stood still. I looked at Mom and Dario again. His hand was no longer mauling her from behind, but he put his hand on her pussy from the front, the same as I was doing to Marina. Then I slipped my hand into her panties and touched her pussy. Her first reaction was to raise her head and look around. When she saw that her husband was still sleeping on the chair and Dario was dancing with my mom, she put her head back on my shoulder again, and I put my finger in her pussy. “What a slut,” I thought, “Her husband and son are here, and she allows me to do this. And maybe Dario is doing the same to my mom?”

Marina first started panting and then said to me, “It’s enough; please stop.”

I listened to her; what else could I do? Took my finger out of her pussy. She just briefly said, “Thank you.”

Then she moved away from me a little and said, “I’m feeling ill. I am drunk.”

I dragged her to the table and sat her on the chair.

“What happened?” Marina’s husband asked.