* * * * *
I was making coffee the next morning on my Technivorm Moccamaster drip coffee-maker. A gift from Jennie, it was the most expensive thing in my apartment. She said she could tolerate my room – if I kept it clean – but insisted on good coffee. She rolled over, reached for me, found I wasn’t there, then, smelling the coffee, lifted her head and said, “Hey lover, got a cup for me?”
I handed it to her, got into bed, and sitting up, our bodies pressed together, she tasted the brew.
“It’s good, you’re not scrimping on beans anymore.”
“I’ve learned what matters, you.”
She took another sip and said, “Speaking of which, you forgot to remind me to text Mom last night to let her know I was staying with friends.”
“You were passed out. It seemed a shame to wake you, so I did it myself.”
She picked up her phone, read my message, and, nodding approvingly, said, “Good looking, great in bed, thoughtful, treats my family right, I’m a lucky girl.”
“Almost as lucky as me. I love you babe.”
Smiling she said, “You’re sure you’re not just in love with last night.”
I said, “Yeah, I’m sure. Whose idea was it to dress alike, every guy in the place had their eyes on you two.”
“Both of ours. Not that she’ll admit it, but Mom loves attention, loves it when you young guys fixate on her at the gym. Dad’s got medical issues and when he lost the ability to perform it’s like he started seeing Mom as a guy, treating her more like a friend than a wife. Mom loves Dad, but she misses the sex and the attention that goes with it.
“She knows she needn’t go without, she could have an affair; with her looks and personality guys would line up. Even Dad’s doctor – the pig – has hit on her, but she loves Dad and doesn’t want to embarrass him. In their social circle word would get out.”
She looked away temporarily, lost in thought. I put my arm around the shoulder, kissed the side of her head, and afer a moment Jennie resumed. “She kept all this bottled up inside her for the longest time, but when I became sexually active, and especially since I started seeing you, she’s talked to me about it, gets pretty explicit. At first I was surprised by how far she went, but I realized she’s living vicariously and she digs talking about sex. I think she might have a little crush on you.”
“Does that bother you?”
“Nah.”
That was a casual answer; I pushed.
“You dig it, don’t you?”
“Can’t say I’m displeased. A high school girl doesn’t mind having a college guy she can show off, or a guy her mother likes. It makes things easier.”
I said, “So this threesome thing last night, are we talking about fantasy or something you’re interested in?”
Coyly: “We’ll see, how about you?
Equally evasive: “You know me, anything to please the ladies.”
* * * * *
It became a regular gig, once a week at the Hollins, parents sizing up the future son-in-law (we were that serious). We’d cook-out, Mr. Hollins, immaculate in slacks, a button-down shirt, and loafers, manning the grill while I played in the pool, fooling around with Jennie and Mrs. Hollins in their skimpy and complementary (if not matching) swimsuits. Sometimes we’d go out for dinner and Jennie and Mrs. Hollins would show off their toned bodies in clothes selected for just that purpose. Or maybe we’d sit in front of the telly, catch a movie or a game.