I met the woman meant for me. Teresa was drop dead gorgeous with long, dark hair, full lips, dazzling blue eyes, a body curvy in all the right places, and a sense of humor that always brightened my day. Two dates were loads of fun and we were sexting each other , anticipating our third date. We were both 41 and rather traditional: even though we wanted to rip each other's clothes off the first time we saw each other, we waited until the third date before consummating the relationship. Call us old fashioned.
It was a bright, May afternoon when I got away from my office, and traffic wasn't horrible as I drove across Chicago. Slow, of course, but I know short cuts that keep me off the Ryan at peak hours. My office is near O'Hare but I've got a lovely apartment overlooking the Lake. It was ready for seduction, and my cock was almost bursting my slacks. We'd spent the Saturday afternoon before on the Oak Street beach, soaking up some rare warm weather, and it was tough enough to keep my composure: her body in a gold bikini fueled my wet dreams ever since. It was all I could do not to ravish her right there on the sand, but it probably would have stopped traffic on Lake Shore Drive.
Right after I walked into my pad, Teresa sent me a text message: she was held up until 7:30 at her office. No problem because our reservations were for 8:00, and my planned seduction was after that. I fixed myself a gin and tonic, and settled on my couch to watch the ships on Lake Michigan. It was tough to relax, but if I didn't the date would be far too anxious and we wouldn't have a good time. A cigar would have been a good idea as well, but I didn't want to ruin my breath. Everything had to be perfect this first time we had sex.
Then my doorbell chimed. "Who the hell can that be?" I asked myself. I lived in a building where no one could get access without an access code or a request from the front door I'd have to approve. It could be my buddy Bart: I thought he went to Frankfort on business, but he may have gotten in and stopped by to tell me about his trip. No problem, he'd understand after a couple of Scotchs on the rocks, and it would pass the time. Straightening my collar, I answered it to find a pudgy, freckled red headed teenage: Tammy, Teresa's daughter. "Hi, Mr. Jackson," she said in a tone bordering a sneer.
"Hi, Tammy. This is a surprise."
"I know." I beckoned her to come in, and she strode through the doorway. Teresa introduced me to her 18 year old daughter when I visited their apartment at the beginning of our last date. The product of a teenage marriage, Tammy was almost completely ignored by her redneck father all her life, and she gave her mother an astonishing amount of disrespect. Tammy's skin was very fair and almost universally freckled, her hair was in a short helmet cut, and her nose was a bit large. She was wearing sweat pants that somewhat concealed her thick legs, and a sleeveless pink polka dot blouse over her ample torso. Flip flops revealed unpainted nails roughly groomed. "What brings you here?" I asked. "How the hell did you get in?"
"I came in with a resident, said I was a student from out of town and you were my uncle," the girl began. "People buy all kinds of bullshit like that. You and Mom have a date tonight, and she's really excited about it. You're the hottest thing that's come around for a few years and I'm worried. Are you planning to have sex with her tonight?"
Damn that kid! She must have snooped her mother's cell. I was startled by the bold question, but Teresa had warned me about her. It would be three long months before she went away to college, and her mother found a small liberal arts school in the Bay Area to send her. Teresa's worry was her only child would decide to do all her remaining education online, which would have kept her at home. In the meantime, I would need to deal with her as a potential source of trouble. Weighing my worlds carefully, I responded, "I'm afraid that's none of your business, as is any other part of my relationship with your mother."
"I was afraid you'd say that," she responded, plopping down on my couch with a thud. "I need to talk you out of this somehow. Somebody's gotta protect her, 'specially if it looks too good. You really look too good to be true. There's some interesting stuff I found out about you on the Internet."
"There's nothing on the Internet I'm worried about. I don't even frequent porn sites, and my security rating with the government was the highest possible at my pay grade when I worked at IRS, where my specialty was fraud. I know how to hide anything I want to keep secret from prying eyes, as well as track down any snoopers. If you weren't a kid, I'd say you have more to worry about with uncomfortable secrets than I do."
She snorted. Teresa told me she was a difficult child, always rebellious, without many friends, and uninterested in finding a future for herself. The progeny of a successful parent, her mother thought she was planning to live on her inheritance while keeping busy with various fan clubs and solitary hobbies. A lot of her time was spent with a couple of Internet virtual reality games, mostly WOW. "Well, I have to keep an eye on my mother, make sure she doesn't get tied up with some jerk."
"Has that happened much?" I knew the answer before I heard it.
"Nope. She's been pretty busy working and takin' care of me."
I sat down opposite her and looked at her eyes, trying to unsettle her. She returned my look with a rather blank, icy stare, not disguising her contempt. Without batting an eye, I told her flat out, "You know I make more money than she does, and I assure you I'm not the 'love 'em and leave 'em' type. We enjoy each other's company, and that's all that matters. My hope is we spend some leisure time together, unless that cuts into your personal time with her."
I knew it didn't: Tammy hadn't done much of anything with her mother since she was 12, and Teresa wanted her to get over some of her attitude before improving the relationship. "She needs to do more than grow up a bit," her mother said on our first date, "she needs to care for something else, someone else. The only person that matters to her is the one she sees in the mirror. Why God had to give me such a hateful child is a mystery, I must have done something pretty bad to deserve her."
The hateful child continued giving me a baleful glare, so I tried to get something out of her: "What can I do for you this evening, Tammy?"
"I want you to stop seeing my mother."
"There's nothing you can do about it. I can have you barred from this building, starting tonight, and I can take care of anything you try to set me up for, mental or physical. How much I see of your mother is completely up to me-and her."
She tucked a leg up underneath herself. "Well, I don't want you having sex with her, marrying her and making babies. I'm an only child and I want to stay that way."
"Because you're so perfect already?" The girl stuck out her tongue at me. "Why are you worried about that, you're going to be all right no matter what happens."
"I want Mom's money all to myself. I don't share."
"How old is your mother?"
"36."
"You'll have to put her in a nunnery to be sure that happens, whether it's me or somebody else. She could adopt as well, even by herself, as many children as she wants. You've got no control over that."
