Chapter 9

The final group on Saturday afternoon was the 6-9 division, and Robin and I were both captivated by one of the contestants. Angela Pritchett was a little firecracker. All of the women in that group had great bodies, and most of them were using the unoriginal bikini for a very good reason. Angela, though, had on business attire, albeit very short business attire. And she sold the whole thing — the woman at her desk, surprised by the mail clerk, the striptease, the blowjob, and the cowgirl. What made the cowgirl particularly effective was that she kept her high heels on. Nothing in the rules against that, and a few other girls did it as well, but knowing that it was all part of Angela's businesswoman fantasy made it just that much better. As I watched her, with those spikes planted on either side of her handler's hips as she pumped herself up and down, I figured there was no way they couldn't give her the prize. It's nice to be right once in a while.

"So you want to get together later tonight?" I asked Robin as we finished collecting our stuff.

"Why?" she smiled. "Is there something we haven't covered?"

"Last minute strategy?" I shrugged. "Tactics?"

"Thanks, general," she said, "but I think we're as ready as we're going to be. I'll just see you tomorrow."

"Sure," I said. "I understand."

"Good," she said. "Have fun. Have faith."

I didn't understand, though. Not really. Robin had been so gung-ho up until this point. We'd gotten together every weekend since the state show. The first one, of course, was my double-Kennedy combo weekend. But the second weekend was just me and Robin, with the "Do Not Disturb" sign hanging on the outside of the hotel room door from 7 o'clock on Friday evening until noon on Sunday. By the time we were done, we were comfortable with every sexual position and combination we could think of. The interstate competition was the following weekend, and there was no telling what we were going to be asked to do.

And, in fact, we got asked to do stuff we hadn't thought of; I couldn't believe how crude and nasty that show was. It was like it was being run by a whole different group. These guys apparently enjoyed hearing women grunt when they had sex, enjoyed seeing their hair pulled, enjoyed watching them humiliate themselves by having their hands tied behind their back while they duck-walked across the stage blindfolded to try to find their handler's cock with their mouth.

The good news was: We didn't have to do any of it! I hadn't realized that there was some sort of MILF network. They apparently had little MILF chat rooms and everything. The network started humming right after Robin lost the Illinois show. Robin forwarded me an e-mail that alleged that Connie Templeton had been sleeping with the head judge. Another MILF chimed in to say she'd seen them together in Evanston two weeks before the show. Well, that was all the proof these girls — sorry, women — needed. By the time we got to the interstate show, the MILF collective had decided that an injustice needed to be avenged, and none of the other women eligible for Robin's division showed up to contest her right to a ticket to Las Vegas.

In horse racing, they have something called a walkover. The horse gets saddled, gets a rider, and walks over the finish line. The race is over. The MILF Show equivalent? Robin sedately took off her clothes (she would have hung them up if they'd provided hangers), took my cock in her mouth, and let me put my cock in her pussy. The 18-and-over division was done. The judges were furious, but there was nothing they could do. We were headed for Vegas.

We'd spent the remaining weekends before Thanksgiving working on our compulsory and freestyle routines. We got the cowgirl down pretty good, obviously, but our freestyle routine never really seemed to click. At least, not the way that Becca's had. All in all, though, I left Handley on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving thinking that if we reached the finals, we stood a fair chance — maybe not a great chance, but a fair chance — of making some sort of MILF Show history. Yeah, yeah, I know - history? It's only been around for four years.

By that point, I was really starting to enjoy the college experience. I was doing well in all my classes now (my new English instructor turned out to really be a good teacher, as a matter of fact). And I'd reached a sort of truce with the Chipster. Of course, the fact that I was away every weekend probably helped. But I think that after the MILF tape, and Becca's appearance, and Terry's appearance, he developed a sort of grudging respect for me. For my part, I developed a sort of grudging tolerance.

"So, dude," he asked as I hoisted my bag onto my shoulder on Wednesday afternoon, "headed home?"

Handley's last football game of the year was on the following Saturday, so Chip was stuck in the dorms.

"Yeah," I told him, "at least for the first part. Then I'm off to Las Vegas."

"Vegas?" he brightened up.

"Yeah," I shook my head, "another one of those damn MILF shows."

"Again?" he seemed not to feel real sorry for me. "You got another bi — another MILF?

"Yeah," I nodded.

"So what does, uh, the goddess think about it?" he asked.

"Oh, she's fine with it," I said. "She's very supportive. Actually, that's kind of how we met. It's her mother."

"Fuck me," his eyes glazed over.

"I keep telling you, that's not gonna happen," I laughed as I closed the door behind me.

Robin's life had gotten better, too, in the last few weeks. In addition to the eighty-five grand she'd brought home from the state show, some dividends had finally started to trickle in from her husband's long-dormant investment. She'd assured me, though, in person and by e-mail, that the money wouldn't affect her performance. Now, she claimed, what she really wanted was Connie Templeton's ass.

But when I got to Vegas, Robin seemed a little distracted (Mom stayed home this time; Terry and Allen both came, but stayed away, at least from me). She got through the Saturday session easily enough, fueled in part by lust — hell, I was hot for her, too, in that outfit — and in part by the sheer joy of performing. But afterwards it was as if the expenditure of all that energy had just sapped her.

I found myself glad that, unlike last year, the final session wouldn't be held on Saturday evening. The powers-that-be in Las Vegas had offered the show's organizers extra cash to get them to switch the finals to Sunday afternoon, in order to give the show's patrons a free evening to lose money at the casinos. That bumped the prize money up even more, and led to a series of subsidiary prizes of significant amounts of money. As a result, none of the MILFs had objected when the format had been changed.

And, I figured, the delay couldn't help but work to Robin's advantage. Becca had carried a lot of energy over to her evening performance. Robin, on the other hand, would have been sleepwalking through it. I remember hoping that she got a good night's sleep.

I got to the arena the next morning around eleven-thirty. Robin was already there, greeting her "fans." The five finalists were required to put in an hour signing autographs and the like, but that didn't start until noon. Here was Robin, a half hour early, gaily chatting with these complete strangers who'd watched her blow and fuck a nineteen-year-old the day before. She kept on signing and chatting as Connie, Angela, and the rest showed up to join her.

"That was fun," she told me during the half-hour break before the show was supposed to start.

I chuckled.

"What?" she asked.

"You," I said. "Having fun. I was just remembering the woman who threw the show application back at me at the beginning of the summer."

"I remember her," Robin said. "A little uptight, wasn't she?"

"Maybe a little," I said.

"Well, thank God she's not around here, huh?" Robin said as we both laughed. "She had a lot of faith, but she never seemed to have a lot of fun."

At one o'clock, the five finalists paraded out into the arena. They'd drawn lots for the order: Connie was third; Angela was fourth; and Robin would go last. That was a mixed blessing. Robin would know what she had to beat, but if somebody turned in a really stunning performance, her confidence might wane pretty quickly.

I wasn't really worried about the first two women, though. They hadn't been that impressive yesterday, and they weren't any better in today's striptease. Connie, in her bikini, did her usually effective bump and grind, certainly enough to get the audience hooting. Angela followed with her businesswoman's special, and they appreciated that as well.