Lilibeth’s Wild Side – Chap 2 – by riverboy
All characters in this story are age 18 or older.
“Lilibeth? This is your mother.”
“I know it’s you, Mom. You’re the only one who calls me Lilibeth.”
“It’s such a pretty name. Why don’t you ask Marty to use it more often.”
“What’s up, Mom? You usually don’t call me in the morning.”
“I wanted to see if you and Marty were interested in a vacation. It’s probably much too short notice, but, my good friend Nora, you know her, she has to have some kind of medical treatment. It’s not serious, but she and Walter won’t be able to use their timeshare cottage this summer, in Panama City, Florida, of all places. In the summer. Can you imagine? I’m sure it’s all they could afford, the nicer seasons are probably a lot more expensive. And I don’t think it’s too nice of a place, she’s told me how the area they’re in has gone downhill over the years. She always says there’s a horrible bar right next door.”
Beth chuckled. “Mom, that’s a hell of a sales pitch. I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t go into the timeshare business. So, if we decide to go to this awful place, in this awful area, at this awful time of year, what’s it going to cost us?”
“Oh, nothing, dear. That’s the nice part. Did I really make it sound that bad? Nora even has plane tickets they want to give you.”
“You’re kidding! Seriously? Oh, well, we’d have to pay them at least for those.”
“I’d like to pay for it. I’ve always wanted to take you and Marty on a nice vacation, but now, I just can’t get around like I used to. I’ll take care of things with Nora, pay her for the tickets at least. But, can you go? Can you two get away on such short notice?”
“I don’t know Mom, I’ll check it out. Sounds like fun. We’ve never been to that part of Florida.”
“Just keep your expectations reasonable, like I said. It’s not a gold plated hotel. She calls it a cottage, but I think it’s just a small house that’s sort of old now. I don’t think the landlord keeps it up very well. She says that darn bar moving in next door ruined it, but…what are you going to do about something like that? She says don’t ever go there anytime around spring break. It’s just horrible.”
Beth chuckled again. “We need to send you to sales school, Mom. You’re doing it all wrong.”
“Well I’m sorry, Lilibeth, but you don’t want to be surprised, do you? I know you like things nice.”
“Mom, I’ve got a seedy side too, you know. Maybe I’ll fit right in down there. I’ll drink in that bar, maybe I’ll wear a bikini top in there, so the local men can ogle me. Oh, and I’ll wear super short cut-off jean shorts. Do you remember that TV show? The Dukes of Hazard? Remember those little shorts that pretty southern girl wore? I’ll wear those.”
“Well, you’ve got the behind for it. You can thank your grandmother, or maybe her grandmother, for that.”
Knowing her mother’s memory was stuck in the past when it came to her current, middle-aged body, Beth smiled. “What about our much-too-big boobs, Mom? Grandpa, Dad and Marty all fell for ’em.”
“They certainly did, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. What do you think of all this plastic surgery, all these implants?”
“Mom, that’s just the way it is now. I think most girls look best without all that, but, yeah, it’s just the way it is. I’m glad I got mine the old fashioned natural way.
“Yes, me too. Don’t get old though, dear. It’s not pretty when I take my bra off these days.”
“Mom you should get some pretty ones. I just bought some really pretty sexy bras. Panties too, and some other lingerie. Marty’s really happy lately.”
“That’s so nice, Lilibeth. But no, I’ll leave that kind of fun to you young folks. Enjoy it while you can.”
“Yeah, Mom, I am. I never knew middle-age could be so much fun.”
—
Right after Marty told her that the timing for the trip to Florida was good, Beth started an internet shopping search for some ‘daisy dukes’, an ultra-short style of cute cut-off jean shorts that would show every inch of her thighs. In Beth’s mind’s-eye, daisy dukes bedazzle the behinds of all the women in Florida, or at least the women who are alive enough to still feel sexy.
These days such shorts are made out of stretchy denim, and fit skin tight, almost like panties. Always with fringe at the bottom, and sometimes even at the top, they’re often faded and distressed, sometimes embroidered, and sometimes in drab green and brown camouflage prints. Beth likes those. She ordered a ‘camo’ pair with a low but traditional waist, and another pair with softly distressed fringe not only at the cut off legs but at the waist too. These are a faded bluejean color, the waist low, the cut of the leg opening on the behind of them showing off as much cheek as some sexy panties do. The part that Beth loves, though, is the sides, because there are no sides at all. Just a wide swath of hip flesh showing through the black laces that hold the front section to the back section, an uber-sexy look that instantly tells the world you’re not wearing underwear, or maybe just the tiniest little thong.
Beth shopped for other sexy clothes, and bought some, fun bikinis and sexy cover-ups for the beach, and some tight dresses for a dinner or two. She knew the hottest bikinis might be right there in Florida, so she planned to go on a quick shopping spree as soon as she got there.
Knowing northwest Florida is probably quite ‘red’ when it comes to politics, she wanted an American flag bikini, and an American flag t-shirt, just in case she was lucky enough to find a wet t-shirt contest to enter. Entering a sexy contest was, after all, one of the things she very much hoped to do on this vacation.
–
After the shopping and the preparations were done, it was just a week later when Beth and Marty boarded an American Airlines plane bound for the Florida Panhandle. After a smooth, safe landing, and a sixty mile drive in a rented car, they arrived at the timeshare cottage on the beach, not far from Panama City.
Yes, the little house was rundown, and not exactly a looker from the street, but the big wide view of the Gulf of Mexico was breathtaking. Built to take advantage of it, the house had an expansive deck right off the living room, and a charming balcony upstairs, off the bedroom. Standing there, taking in the view from that second floor perch, Marty and Beth watched some folks playing volleyball out behind the bar next door, the bar’s busy ‘backyard’ opening onto the beach like it owned the whole thing.
“God, it’s insanely hot and humid here, but, I think I like this,” said Beth. Looking out through her new sunglasses, she sized up the ragtag assortment of locals and redneck-ish, biker-ish tourists hanging out and drinking down there, so close she could hear the music and the din of their conversations. “We can get pickled, and stumble home.”
Marty smiled. “Pickled. I used to love it when your father said that.”
“Want to check it out after we unpack?” asked Beth. “Looks like they serve food. Maybe we can grab a burger or something. It’s kind of late to be finding a real restaurant.”