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 there"
"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.
"Want one?"
"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
