* * * * *
On a Friday afternoon Jennie and I rendezvoused on campus, listened to some bands, Jennie texted her mother, let her know all was okay, we went to my place, fucked like bunnies.
The next morning, after coffee, we did it again. Then Jennie’s phone rang.
“Hey Mom. What did you tell Dad?”
“I told him you’d gone out with Michael, had something to drink, called and asked if you could stay at a friend’s, I said it was okay.”
“Thanks Mom.”
“You’re welcome dear. Your Dad likes Michael, but there are things he’d prefer not knowing. I’m coming into town for lunch and a little shopping. We both need something for the Yacht Club Christmas Party. Why don’t you and your young man join me.”
She looked at me with expectant eyes. While shopping with the ladies is not my cup of tea, I didn’t see a way out of it – Jennie knew my schedule was wide open. I gave her the thumbs up.
“Sounds great Mom.”
“Great, do you need a change of clothes?”
“No, I packed leggings and a tee-shirt.”
“How about Madison’s? Can’t beat the salads. Noon? What color leggings?”
Jennie, who was fondling my dick, said, “Black, and let’s make it 1:00.”
* * * * *
Mrs. Hollins was at the restaurant; Jennie leaned over, kissed her cheek, said, “Love the outfit.”
Wearing clothes almost identical to her daughter’s, Mrs. Hollins laughed and said, “Yeah, once you said leggings and a tee-shirt it seemed right. What do you think Michael?”
“If you’ve got it, flaunt it, and you two got it.”
* * * * *
After eating – the salads were great – it was off to Macy’s. The ladies looked at the merchandise while I looked at the ladies and happy eyes of the men happily following this hot, similarly attired, mother and daughter through the store. Mrs. Hollins and Jennie tried on several outfits, some sexier than others, all sexier than most, preened, playfully competed for my attention. The sales clerk, a striking short-haired black woman, was enjoying herself and pushed the edge of the envelope, urging the women to try on something a wee bit hotter, tighter, more revealing. After an hour the three of them came out of a dressing room, announced they had a winner, and sent me to the men’s section for a new shirt – they noted mine was frayed – while they rang up what they said would be a surprise.
* * * * *
The night of the Yacht Club Christmas Party, wearing my best suit (okay, my only suit), I drove my battered car through Jennie’s neighborhood, parked, and was met at the door by Mr. Hollins. His tailored suit was beautiful; his cuff-links had a greater net worth than I did.
Conscious of the comparison I glanced at the mirror and was pleasantly surprised. It might be a second hand suit, but on my trim athletic form it looked good. I didn’t feel quite so out of place.
In the living room Mr. Hollins handed me a scotch, then his eyes fixed on something over my shoulder. I turned, expected to see something great, saw something better. Posing on the wide staircase Jennie and Mrs. Hollins stepped forward in their long black dresses, sliding stockinged legs through long slits. Both sported high open-toed heels, Mrs. Hollins’ a bit higher. On the other hand, Jennie’s neckline scooped a bit lower, hinting at her cleavage. Both wore their hair up, displaying to good effect lovely necklaces, Jennie’s turquoise and Mrs. Hollins’ diamond, and dangling earrings. They were classy; they were appropriate; they were a walking wet dream.