Martinis with My Mother-In-Lawbysmallsbag©
I don't have much of an imagination, so I'm going to have to resort to digging into my past for any "good" stories. I'll leave you all to judge if any of it is good, exciting, titillating, what have you. To protect us All the names and key circumstances have been changed. But otherwise, this is all true.
Twenty years ago, shortly after I was married, my wife and I went down south to visit her mother, who was herself, a transplant from the east coast. She had a main house in the city, and then a lake house 45 minutes away. On this particular trip, my wife was going to meet up with some cousins at the lake house for a girl's night. The plan was for her mom and I to join her and the cousins the following day, and then spend a long weekend. But the first night was to be "girls only."
Her mom was a banker by trade, and pretty successful. She had broken through the glass ceiling, had a nice house, drove a beautiful Jaguar. And she liked to drink. So did I. So if there was one subject on which we could bond, it was certainly our affinity for throwing back a few. Don't get me wrong, neither of us were fall down drunks. It's just that, at the time, I was a newly degreed ex-college kid who could more than drink his share of beer, and she was a hard working woman who enjoyed the finer things. And martinis.
My wife had already left for the lake house, and I was sitting on the couch at her mom's, when I heard the garage door open. I looked in that direction, and before long, the house door opened and her mom came in carrying a briefcase and a rain coat.
"Hey Linda" I responded.
"How was your drive down?"
"Good. We made good time and Lisa already left for the lake house."
"Oh, well that's nice. What are your plans for dinner?"
"I don't have any. Maybe go down to the drive-thru."
"Well, I was thinking we could go downtown to this martini bar my friend introduced me to. They have great food and awesome martinis. Do you like martinis?"
"I've never had one."
"Well I think you'll like them. And even if you don't at first, believe me, they grow on you."
"Hey, sounds good to me. I love good food and drinks."
"Right, I know you do. If we're going to go we should leave now. It tends to get pretty crowded fast. Might already be too late."
"Ok, let's go. Am I ok like this?" I asked.
"Oh yeah, you're fine. If it's ok with you, I'd like to just go like this. I don't think we have time for me to change."
As Linda held out her hands to present her work attire, I noticed (again) that she really was a good looking woman. In her late forties, she was five-foot-five, dark brown hair, probably 140 pounds. She was far from fat, but had nice sized breasts, shapely hips, round ass and just enough of a build to qualify as voluptuous. She took care of herself. In her position, she had to. Her hair and make-up was always done, and her nails were always manicured. She even had nice feet and often wore shoes that showed them off. She was wearing a maroon flower print dress that ended just above her knees, nude nylons, and beige open toed shoes. For a mother-in-law, she looked damn good.
"No, what you're wearing is fine. It will be fun." I advised.
"Alright then, let's head out."
Linda was always a take-charge kind of gal. At times, she could be really overbearing. But that was also her charm, so long as you didn't let her run you over. And run you over she would, given half a chance. So I had to be prepared to put up a road block if needed.
We arrived at the restaurant and the waiter showed us to our seats. The restaurant was dark, with a lot of interior brick, but was accented enough by neon signs. I have to admit, I felt a bit odd wearing jeans and showing up with a woman so much older than I, dressed as formally as she was. Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought I felt people looking at us, trying to make sense of us. Was I her child? Her employee? Her beau?
This was back when you could still smoke in designated areas, so the air was thick. Linda surprised me when she pulled out a cigarette.
"Don't you dare tell Lisa." Linda had quit years ago.
"I won't say a word." I smiled.
"Sure. But don't you dare tell Lisa."
"I won't say a word." Linda smiled, then looked up at the waiter who had just approached "We'll have martinis, Goose, up, dirty, blue cheese stuffed olives."
"Yes M'am." The waiter returned in his novel-to-me Southern drawl. Before he turned to walk away, I saw him steal a peak at Linda. It was also novel-to-me to see another guy checking out my mother-in-law. As I already stated, she's a not a back looking broad. Fetching even. But there is that line between what is allowed and good and right and appropriate, and what isn't.
I was still young, but a quick study. I would soon learn that Lines blur. All the time.
"Here are your drinks." The waiter carefully placed the full glasses in front of us, without spilling a drop. Impressive. He also stole another look, but I think this time he was checking out her legs. Linda was oblivious to the eye raping.
"So here you go. Your first martini. I have to tell you, I love them. Cheers." Delicately, she raised her glass, and with a wink, she tipped the glass gently towards me, then raised it to her red lips. Smiling, I returned the gesture. The liquid was ice cold, like water, with a sharp finish. But it was good, and I could smell the olives.
"Mmmm. It's cold."
"You like it?"
"Very much. I smell olives."
"That's the dirty part. They drop some olive juice in the drink. Makes it good. And it will buzz you. Believe me. Two of these fuckers and you'll be real happy."
Linda gave a belly laugh. It wasn't unusual to hear her curse. And I always liked that. There were so many times I felt closer to Linda than to my own wife, in that we had similar personalities and similar likes. Lisa was quiet, reserved. A wall flower. Linda liked to be the center of attention and would always risk offending rather than risk obscurity.
"Well then, here's to being real happy."
We enjoyed our meals and the second martini. The waiter tempted us with a third, but we wisely decided to leave before we couldn't. My tolerance held me up better than Linda who was slurring her words. When we got up to leave, I stood above her and held out my hand to help her stand.
"Well thank you." It was a good thing I did, as she definitely needed to use me for leverage. As she stood, her silky maroon dress clung to her thighs, thick and encased in a nice nude nylon, I could now see the legs that so held our waiter's attention. Unlike the waiter, Linda may have caught me looking, but said nothing.
"Here, you drive." Linda tossed me the keys to her Jaguar as we walked out to the parking lot. I had driven it before and really enjoyed the smell of the leather, and the view out over the long hood with the beautiful Jaguar Leaper leading the way. When we got to the car, I lead her to the door, opened it, and waited for her to get in. Of course, as much as I am a gentleman, I also wanted to steal another view of her legs as she got into the car. Another line blurred. Linda thanked me again, and sure enough, as she less than gracefully swung one leg in, her skirt raised enough so that I could see the control top of her pantyhose, the meatiness of her thigh, and a glimpse of her crotch.
And this time for sure, she caught me. But she didn't let it go. Tilting her head to the side and squinting as if to say "I saw that" she brought her other leg quickly in and patted down her dress.
"I guess your mother-in-law just flashed you." She said sternly. Quietly, I shut the door and with a slight boner forming in my pants, walked slowly around the back of the car, trying to give myself time to recoup. I decided not to say anything in the car.
Driving down the road, I looked over and noticed Linda's legs again. The light fabric, though now pulled down, still showed above her knees. It was a nice view.
"Dinner was great, thank you."
"Well, you're welcome. I'm glad you enjoyed it." She responded. "Let's go home and I can make you one of my martinis. I don't know if it will be as good as the restaurants, but it will give us a chance to unwind and talk some more."
"Sounds good to me."
When we got to the house, I pulled into the garage and moved to get out of the car before Linda. My hope was to get the door for her again. Even though I had been caught looking, very much like a dog who risked getting beaten for stealing another scrap from the table, I was insufferable. But Linda, either because she really was on to me, or for some other reason, got out as quickly, robbing me of the chance of another nice panty view.
"You don't need to help me out of the car. I'm not an old lady." I thought that was an odd comment.
"I know you're not. I just thought it'd be polite."
"Mmmhmmm." She responded, her voice raising.
I opened the door to the house and let her go in first. I didn't get to see her get out of the car, but I watched her walk into the house, and I soaked in the view of her round bottom moving back and forth, up and down under her dress. And the sight of her meaty nylon covered calves, as they caught the light and dulled it ever so slightly, excited me enough that I again risked popping a boner. I felt under pressure to soak it all up, as I assumed Linda would head upstairs to change first, and I wanted to really enjoy these visuals so that later that night, when I went to bed, I'd have a nice vault of mental photos to jack off to.
Linda went straight to the liquor cabinet instead.
"Grab some ice and the jar of olives." She ordered. I complied.
"Here you go." I offered up the jar of olives.
"So here's how you do it." I watched as she poured the vodka, splashed the vermouth and the olive juice, and shook it all up. "I don't have any blue cheese, so plain olives will have to do. She handed me a drink. It was very strong, much stronger than the restaurants. The finish was almost acrid.
"Wow." I choked.
"Not quite as nice but they'll do the trick. Let's go sit down." She chuckled.
I sat down on a formal white chair across from Linda's matching sofa. Linda walked in, gently placed her drink on the glass coffee table, and then slid off her shoes. I could see the nylon hushed view of her red painted nails on her aggressively curved toes and arched feet. Always a foot man, I found the view very enticing and wondered if I was in trouble. Again, more movement in my pants. I had to stop looking. But then she delicately sat down on the couch, brought her feet up to the cushions with her legs under her, but in full view. She patted the cushion next to her. I was in trouble.
"Come sit over here, so you're not so far away."
"Ok." I picked up my drink and joined Linda on the couch. I took the opposite end of the couch and stole another look at her legs before looking at her full breasts and thinking to myself what a wonderful evening of jacking I was going to have. Martinis or no martinis.
"Well this is nice. I don't get to spend quality time like this with you. I love my daughter, but it's different when she's around."
"I know. I like this too. It's nice."
We proceeded to talk about politics and religion, the economy, everything but sports. Linda made us another round of martinis, and before long, both of us were slurring our words and at times, discussion was heated. But with the energetic volley of words and thoughts, and the multiple drinks and bathroom visits, I was treated to more wonderful views of my mother-in-law's legs and feet.
At one point, Linda shifted her position to make herself more comfortable, and her dress pulled up revealing another glorious view of her legs, right up to her control top and the cotton liner covering her pantyhosed crotch. I saw her underwear was silky dark blue or purple. My dick was immediately hard.
And she caught me looking. Really caught me. I pulled my eyes up from her crotch only to meet hers. It was on. There was no averting, no hiding the fact that I was staring at her crotch.
"Well you certainly got a good look, didn't you?" Her tone was stern and tempered with outrage.
"What?" Bye Bye Erection.
"You got a good look, didn't you?" She moved her eyes down on me, as if to shame as she spoke.
"I..I don't know." I could feel my face go flush, and perspiration broke out. I was embarrassed and of course, my mind raced to the near future when we'd be at the lake house with my wife. What quiet discussions would take place between Linda and Lisa, what stories of a perverted husband would be told? I felt a little sick. Why did a good thing always have to end so badly?
"Oh stop. It's no big deal. You probably can't help yourself."
"What?" I was speechless. I didn't know where she was going with this.
"You probably can't help it." There was a hint of arrogance in her voice.
"What do you mean?" And here it was. Coming down the pike. The phrase, the comment, the statement-of-fact-as-she-saw-it that would ultimately change both of our lives forever.
"You know, you're not so masculine."
"What did you just say?"
"You're not. You're not as masculine as you think."
"What does that mean?"
"You're just not that much of a take charge person. You think you are, but you're not," she slurred.
My previous shame turned to confusion, then a bit of rage. Comments like these were, for Linda, cute conversation starters. She liked to lure people in with kindness and drinks. Then, once in her web, she'd strike. She'd step over a line and test the limits of her company. I never did know why she did it. Maybe it was some sort of thrill for her. I knew she enjoyed watching people squirm. If ultimately, she had to apologize, she would. But while in the deep, when both sides were maneuvering, she was in her glory.
"Listen, this has been a great evening, but I'm going to head off to bed." I finished my drink and picked up the glass.
I figured I'd kill it where it started, go to bed, and if anything came up, I'd blame it on the alcohol. Lisa had enough of her mother that dismissing and discrediting what took place as her mother having too much to drink, would be very easy.
"Oh come on. I was just starting conversation." She finished her own drink and stood up clumsily.
"We already had conversation, we didn't need whatever that was."
I kept walking toward the kitchen. The whole back of the house was glass that allowed for a wonderful view of the city which sat at the bottom and then some distance of the hill on which the house was situated. The glass also offered a wonderful view of Linda following me, so I could monitor her actions without having her know I was watching.
"That was a statement of fact. I'm sorry if you can't handle it."
"Can't handle it? What? Some crazy statement meant to start a fight? What is it with you? Why do you feel the need to do that?" I'd known her long enough to know it was smart to keep her on the defensive. If you allowed her to advance, if you allowed her enough entry into your psyche, you'd end up questioning everything you were. Like my wife. So instead, I took it back to her.
"I wasn't trying to start a fight."
"Yes, you always do." I walked upstairs and she followed. I could hear her body brush against the stairway as she lost her balance.
"You're not going to get off that easy."
"Watch me." I passed her bedroom and continued to the guest bedroom where my bag was sitting on the floor. She followed.
"You think just because you're young and good looking and in good shape you're some sort of he-man or something, but you're not, you're not..." She was yelling and drunk and I could hear tears forming. She stood very close behind me. I could hear her breathing. I spun around to face her.
"So what? I'm some sort of young, good looking guy in good shape and I'm not very masculine. What the fuck does that mean Linda?" For a moment there was a standoff. Our eyes met and I could see she was searching for the meaning behind her own words. She was clearly drunk. Very drunk. I looked her up and down again, this time not caring. Who gives a shit. She was drunk. I was drunk. What was she going to say? Who would believe her?
And that's when it happened.
"You...you just don't take char..." I took an aggressive step forward and quickly grabbed her shoulders, rotated on my feet and threw her down to the bed. She gave out a bewildered cry and a grunt as she hit the bed. I moved my hand up to her head and cradled side of her face, the bottom of her jaw resting on my thumb, my other hand ran up her legs and slid a few inches up her dress which in and of itself was now hiked up way past her knees. My eyes met hers and I could see she was crazed, like an animal that had been cornered.
As if to regain control of the situation, Linda thrust her head forward and pushed her lips against mine. I parted my lips and her tongue slid in. I could taste the alcohol on her breath, and the smoke from the cigarette she had at dinner, I could also taste the smell of her perfume. Her mouth was so warm and yet, as I breathed in and slid my tongue over hers, met her passion with my own, it all felt so strangely alien. And wrong.
Linda grunted as our mouths and tongues fought for control. I pushed my groin and my rock hard erection into her pelvis. My hands pushed further up her dress, slid across the slippery silkiness of her pantyhose and felt the thickness of the control top, the ridge of her panties. I was feeling up my mother-in-law. I was tonguing my mother-in-law. My wife was 45 minutes away and her mother was tonguing me. Holy Shit!
We rolled 180 degrees, Linda was now on top, where she wanted to be all along. Her head was buried against my neck and she was now putting her tongue in my ear and sucking on my ear lobes. I pushed her up with my hands and pushed her dress up over her head, and as she disappeared under the maroon dress I saw the fullness of her legs, and her slight belly, and her beautiful breasts that were cradled by her thick bra.
She took her dress from my hands and continued with it over her head as I slid my hands under the cups of her bra, over her rock hard nipples. Her bra popped up and allowed me to squeeze her beautiful tits, nipples poking in between my fingers, dark areolas changing shape as I molded them. Linda groaned and then let out a desperate cry as if jumping off a cliff unable to save herself from a deadly plunge, a fateful decision that couldn't be taken back.
I rotated her over again, her breasts flopped over, the back of her head pushed down into the light tan and green comforter, the bed squeaking with our every move, our anger and our passion so loud that anything but an empty house would have revealed just how wrong what we were doing was. Together we ripped off my shirt, and then she lunged for my belt and undid my pants, I ran my tongue up the side of her neck to her ear where I smelled and tasted her perfume, the small drops she placed behind her ear each morning before heading out the door to work, a pungent burning dulled only by the sensation of putting my tongue into my mother-in-law's ear, and tasting the mellow softness of her canal. It was a sensation, much like kissing her, that brought another illicit sensation of being inside of her.
I struggled a bit as my pants fell to my ankles and I stepped out of them gazing upon the sight that was before me, Linda's full breasts, her thick thighs and the purple, definitely purple panties underneath her pantyhose, hiding a full bush that pressed outward against the fabric. I caught myself soaking it in, really and finally getting the good look she accused me of earlier, smiling triumphantly. I knew what I was doing, and I knew what I was about to do, and she knew it too. Her eyes were drunken and slightly defeated, but still wanting.