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Mind Of Man: Putting The Love In MILF

Not all hotties grow up to be sexy MILFs. That’s because MILFs contradict the dominant fashion paradigm. Youth is not beauty and vice versa. Experience counts. There was a time when a mother was a wholly desexualized human being. A woman stripped of want, lust, and femininity. MILFs obliterate this old-fashioned stereotype. A woman retains her sexual power after childbirth. She is, in fact, more potent. A hot mama.

Like most guys, I love MILFs. It always baffled me when I was an editor at BEER FART BOOBS magazine why we didn’t feature more MILFs. It took me a couple of years to realize that our magazine was for young men but read by tired old men who depressingly took “college are the best years of your life” to heart. They wanted jailbait. Not secure, sophisticated women who can shuck corn with their thighs.

Is it wrong that I totally want to bang women my age who are having children? I have known totally attractive women who squeezed out a tiny screaming brute or two and returned more beautiful than before. I know it’s cliché, but they glow.

But something has changed recently, at least for me.

Is it wrong that I totally want to bang women my age who are having children? I have known totally attractive women who squeezed out a tiny screaming brute or two and returned more beautiful than before. I know it’s cliché, but they glow.

Like an Elf Princess with a mouthful of flashlight. They’re mothers. Wives. All are successful. But their hair is blonder, or redder, or fuller. The eyes are warmer, sharper, already imbued with motherly X-ray vision. And then there are the womanly curves that should require warning signs.

First, let’s define our terms. I’m assuming everyone knows about MILFs. But maybe you’re new to The Frisky, and American culture, and the new century. Welcome, former convict/time traveler/exchange student from some faraway land! The term MILF stands for Mother I’d Love to [rhymes with “duck,” means “to fornicate”]. I know, we’re all grown-ups here. But this is a family website (make sure to read next week’s column “Homemade Butt Plugs Made Easy.”) Whatever you do, don’t confuse a MILF with the Moro Islamic Liberation Front, a savage terrorist group based in the Philippines.

The concept of the MILF is relatively recent. The proto-MILF is Anne Bancroft as the older seductress Mrs. Robinson in the 1967 dark comedy “The Graduate.” A couple decades later, we have the likes of Demi Moore, Angelina Jolie, and Susan Sarandon – a sexual pioneer who not only embodies the concept of the sexually voracious MILF, but also has an ample appetite for young men.

There are other variations on the MILF. There’s the GILF (Grandmother I’d Like to FWEE! Helen Mirren, for example). Also: the PILF (Politician I’d Like To FONK! For instance: Secretary of Health and Human Services Kathleen Sebelius). And the BWILF (Broken Wing I’d Like To FAWF! Such as Courtney Love). Everybody clear?

Back to my dilemma: my friends who had babies make me feel funny in my zipper district. This is new. Awkward. It’s not like I’m going to say anything, like, “Your daughter is beautiful and so is your ass.” But I’m confessing here, comrades.

I’m conflicted. After all, I’m not a brooding, wheezing teen malcontent writing epic love poems in a black and white composition book to my freshman English teacher anymore. Imagine a chubby, half-Mexican, half-redneck Jim Morrison who felt alone because he was the only one who cried when intergalactic bounty hunter Boba Fett flew into the ancient Sarlaac’s maw and died. Yeah. That was me, basically. My strident free verse ached with sexual longing, and almost always ended on my deathbed, asking to speak to my Mrs. Finley.

Once there, I would reveal everything to her. How I loved her. That in all my 14 years, I’d never been more devoted to a woman. Mainly, I would reveal to her how badly I wanted to see her naked. That hippie had perfect breasts. Copernicus was wrong: Mrs. Finley’s hooters were the center of the universe. Suffice to say, the collected works of my early adolescence will remain sealed until my death. They are destined to become posthumously celebrated works of literature.

She was older. To a teenage boy, any woman over the age of 25 is a sexless crone. But this woman was even more sexually desirable than my nubile peers. This woman was a reverse Lolita. A succubus! A few years later, I would be one of the few friends of that one poor girl who gets knocked up in high school. I was friends with all of the geeks, sluts, wasteoids, dweebies, spazzes, and gays. She was ostracized, which was fine. You can’t make an outcast more outcast. In typical teen movie fashion, she was poor white trash, with a single mother. The father of the child came from money. I tried to support her, but it all went over my head. All I know is that, months after she gave birth, she went from hot trailer park nerd to Teen Goddess Of Boners. I put two and two together: Women who had been split in two by childbirth frequently healed hot.

And now, I get older. My friends get older. Women I know in their late 20s and early 30s are MILFs. My girlfriend will undoubtedly be a MILF one day. I’m practically surrounded by MILFs and MILFs to be!

I forgot what the problem was.

Follow John DeVore’s preening narcissism on Twitter.

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