Chapter 1

Grooming always seemed to be the most time-consuming portion of these shows, from the local ones all the way up to nationals. Maybe it just seemed the most time-consuming because I hated it. I didn't even like grooming me. But it was an important part of the show. She sat in front of me, on the carpeted pedestal that each of the contestants were provided for final grooming, while I worked my way around her, making sure that everything sat just where I wanted it. The look wouldn't last long, of course, once the showing began, but by then it should have done its job of attracting the judges' attention.

The loudspeaker roared to life.

"Attention in the Grooming Area — the two minutes until the first division. Contestants should begin to assemble at the entrance to the show floor."

I gave her one final inspection.

"All right, Robin," I said, "let's hit the floor."

She slid off the pedestal and fell in behind me as we walked toward the entrance where the nine other finalists in her division were gathered. I was very pleased. After five months of training and competition, Robin didn't need to be led anywhere. We were seventh in line, and after the initial parade, we took our places -- Robin on her show pedestal, me standing beside her -- as they began to introduce the contestants. I gave her a wink, and heard her whisper back, "I am so hot right now." I smiled. Becca had said exactly the same thing.

It had begun, as so many things did in my life at that point, with my mother. One June morning, a week after my junior year in high school had ended (thank God), she sat down uncomfortably across from me at the kitchen table.

"You've heard about the National MILF Show, haven't you?" she finally asked after a good bit of fidgeting.

In response, I spat my coffee all over the table. So much for denying it. Of course, my mom, a junior high school English teacher, probably already knew as much about it as I did. Teachers always seemed to have this little network of information going.

"Well, yeah," I agreed reluctantly, mopping the table with my napkin. "It's the biggest thing on the internet. You going to enter?"

She blushed. My mom was a real good looking lady, particularly for forty-five, but I didn't see her as real MILF material. On the other hand, maybe it would do her some good. Ever since her divorce from Dad, she'd been in a bit of a funk. I raised my eyebrows. She turned her mouth down and threw a napkin at me.

"Asshole," she said. "I'm forty-five years old."

"I'm not saying you'd win," I protested. "But you'd give 'em a run for their money."

"I'm flattered you think I would even consider entering," she said, "but no, it's Mrs. Roberts."

"Becca Roberts next door?" I asked. "Shit, I'm gonna subscribe right now."

"Kenneth," she sighed before going on. She was always bothered by my swearing, although she'd gotten better. Or I had. Maybe both of us. "How much do you know about the show?"

"Everyone has to be a mom," I said. "They have a bunch of contests and the finalists end up at the big show. I think it's held over Thanksgiving. We were at Aunt Beth's last year, so of course, I didn't get to watch it."

Didn't get to watch it live, I thought to myself.

"Well, do me a favor, will you?" she twirled her hair as she sat across from me. "Here's a couple of websites. Read up on it and then we'll talk."

It was an odd request, but hey, it was Mom. I took the piece of paper she gave me and spent an hour or so on the computer.

The National MILF Show was three years old. It had actually begun a few years earlier when a bunch of Long Island high school kids managed to convince the older ladies that they were, uh, seeing, to meet together in a hotel ballroom. Two years later, the meeting had become the stuff of legends, and the kids, then in their second year of college, organized a national show. It started with a series of local and regional competitions where moms performed stripteases for their "handlers." Then, at the state level, things got serious. And sexual. By the time women reached the national show, they were expected to engage in a ten-minute blowjob and a five-minute "compulsory" program with their handler in order to win their division, and then a ten-minute freestyle program to claim the national title.

The final day of competition was broadcast live, over the internet of course, and was making damn good money. The prize money, in fact, was based on internet subscriptions; this year it would be a total of 2.5 million dollars, of which first prize was $750,000.

"Okay," I tried to say calmly when I returned. "What's up?"

"Well, Becca watched it last year," she began, "and she's convinced that she can win it."

"No sh — " I interrupted. "I mean, really?"

She smiled.

"Yeah, no shit. You've seen the pictures on those sites, what do you think?"

"All right, yeah, Mrs. Roberts is a serious MILF," I agreed. Rebecca Roberts was in her mid-twenties with a playmate face and a body to die for.

Mom visibly swallowed and took a deep breath.

"She wants you to be her handler," she blurted out.

"Her handler?" I barely refrained from screaming. "You mean those guys who lead the women around and show 'em off, and —"

I paused.

"And fuck them right there in the arena?!"

Was she kidding? I would have given my left and right testicles for a chance at Rebecca Roberts. And since her husband was a former professional football player, that's how I figured it would have ended up, too.

"Yes," Mom said. "Although you only do that if you reach the finals in Hawaii. Anyway, she wants you to do that for her."

"Why me?" I asked.

"Well, she likes you for one," she started. "She thinks you're good looking, which is a plus. And..."