Meeting the Mother

Jessica's mom was not what I expected.

"Mom, this is Ryan." Jessica squeezed my hand. "Ryan, this is my mom, Valentina."

Valentina stood in the doorway of her suburban home, and I forgot how to breathe.

She was maybe fifty. Dark Italian features—olive skin, black hair with silver threads, eyes like espresso. And a body that made her simple wrap dress look like it was painted on.

Wide hips that strained the fabric. Heavy breasts pushing against the neckline. A waist that dipped in before flaring into curves that went on forever. She was thick in a way that made me understand, instantly, why Jessica was insecure about her own slim figure.

"So you're the one keeping my daughter out all night." Valentina smiled, but her eyes were measuring me. "Come in. Dinner's almost ready."

I followed her inside, trying not to stare at the way her ass moved under that dress.

I failed.

Jessica had warned me about her mother.

"She's a lot," she'd said. "Since the divorce, she's been... intense. Dad left her for his secretary—younger, thinner. Mom took it hard."

"I'll be on my best behavior."

"It's not you I'm worried about." Jessica had looked away. "She has a habit of... testing my boyfriends."

"Testing how?"

"You'll see."

Now I was seeing.

Dinner was torture.

Valentina sat across from me, and I couldn't stop noticing things. The way she leaned forward when she talked, giving me a view down her dress. The way she licked sauce off her lips slowly, deliberately. The way her foot—bare, the heel slipped off—brushed against my ankle under the table.

"So, Ryan." She refilled my wine glass. Her fingers touched mine. "What are your intentions with my daughter?"

"Mom—" Jessica started.

"It's a fair question." Valentina's eyes held mine. "I want to know if he's serious."

"I'm very serious about Jessica," I said.

"Are you?" She took a sip of wine. "Because she's had boyfriends before who said the same thing. They all left eventually."

"I won't."

"We'll see." Another brush of her foot against my leg. Higher this time. "We'll see."

After dinner, Jessica went to help with dishes.

"I'll show Ryan the garden," Valentina said. "He should see it before the sun sets."

"Mom—"

"Go clean, darling. We'll be right back."

She led me out the back door, across the patio, to a garden that was overgrown and wild. The sun was setting, casting everything in gold.

"My ex-husband hated this garden," she said, stopping at a bench hidden by rose bushes. "Said it was a waste of time. Too messy. Too uncontrolled."

"It's beautiful."

"Is it?" She turned to face me. Close. Too close. "Or are you just saying that because you're fucking my daughter?"

I froze. "Excuse me?"

"I saw the way you looked at me at dinner, Ryan. The way you couldn't keep your eyes off my chest. Off my hips." She stepped closer. Her perfume was intoxicating—jasmine and something darker. "You're not attracted to Jessica. You're attracted to me."

"That's not—"

"Don't lie." Her hand came to rest on my chest. "I've been doing this for thirty years. I know when a man wants me." She leaned in. Her lips brushed my ear. "The question is: what are you going to do about it?"

I should have pushed her away. Should have gone inside and told Jessica we needed to leave.

Instead, I kissed her.

She tasted like red wine and bad decisions.

Her hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me against her. I grabbed her hips—those impossibly wide hips—and lifted her onto the bench. She wrapped her legs around me, her dress riding up to reveal thick thighs.

"I knew it," she breathed against my mouth. "I knew you wanted me—"

"This is wrong—"

"I don't care." She reached between us, found my belt. "My daughter gets everything. The youth. The tight body. The attention. For once, I want something that's supposed to be hers."

"Valentina—"

"Make me feel wanted, Ryan." She freed me from my pants. "Make me feel like I'm still worth having."

She guided me to her entrance. She wasn't wearing underwear.

I pushed in.

She came twice on that bench, biting her lip to keep from screaming.

I fucked her with my girlfriend fifty feet away, washing dishes in the kitchen, and I didn't feel guilty until it was over.

Even then, only a little.

"Tomorrow," Valentina panted, adjusting her dress. "Jessica works until six. Come at noon."

"We shouldn't—"

"We absolutely should." She kissed me—hard, possessive. "You're wasted on her, Ryan. She doesn't appreciate what she has."

"And you do?"

"I worship it." She straightened my collar. "Now go inside. Act normal. And don't think about me when you're in her bed tonight."

I went inside.

I acted normal.

I thought about Valentina.

Three Months Later

I'm still dating Jessica.

I'm also fucking her mother every Tuesday and Thursday, when Jessica works late.

It's wrong. It's destructive. It's going to explode eventually.

But when Valentina opens her door in that silk robe, when she pulls me inside and wraps those thick thighs around me, when she tells me I'm the only one who makes her feel alive—

I can't stop.

Jessica talks about moving in together. About meeting my parents. About a future.

I smile and nod and wonder how long I can keep this going.

Valentina texts me from the other room while we're all watching TV: Can't wait to taste you tomorrow.

I excuse myself to the bathroom.

This is going to end badly.

I don't care.