There's an old saying that like most old sayings probably has a lot of truth to it even if it's not entirely accurate: if you want to see what your girlfriend will look like in twenty years, look at her mother.
When I first meet Tiffany's mom, Charlene, I really hoped that the old saying was true. I had fallen head-over-heels in love with Tiffany almost at first sight the day that we met in the graduate school cafeteria six months before that, and I dreamt of a long term future with her. When I met her parents at graduation I was bowled over by Charlene's looks. While she wasn't the most beautiful woman that I had ever seen, or the sexiest, she was "pretty" and there was something mysterious about her that would make most men pop their zippers.
Charlene was in great shape; she had to work out daily. She was obviously concerned about her appearance, dressed as provocatively as anyone her age (which I estimated to be forty five) could get away with, and had all the basic equipment. She had ample, though not massive, tits, a firm-looking round ass, and despite the fact that she was probably only five feet four inches tall, long shapely legs. When I shook her hand it was electric! I immediately determined that if Tiffany looked like that in twenty years that I had to bag her, because I'd be the most envied guy that I knew.
In just one dinner with Tiffany's 'rents I found that Charlene was about as outgoing and self-assured as any woman I had ever met. She was intelligent and obviously kept up on current affairs, and had no problem dominating a conversation. It was during that same dinner that I realized that Tiffany's father, Austen, was completely subservient to Charlene. If he ever espoused an opinion that Charlene let be known that she didn't agree with, Austen immediately backed off. Although I found myself agreeing with most of what Charlene said, it disturbed me that she seemed to have Austen under her thumb.
Tiffany's parents treated us to dinner and breakfast the next morning before they flew back to their summer house on Martha's Vineyard. After they left Tiffany asked what I thought of them.
"Well, your Mom certainly is striking looking and very intelligent, and your Dad seems like a really nice guy," I honestly replied, hoping to stop there. No such luck.
"Is that your only impression?" Tiffany laughed. "Come on, give it up, I saw the look on your face when Mom 'corrected' Dad's opinions."
"Well," I started off cautiously, but then decided to spill the beans. "Your Mom does seem to be very domineering and used to getting her way – but if your Dad is OK with it, that's his choice. It just wouldn't be something that I could put up with."
Tiffany laughed again and then gave me a big hug and a very nice kiss. "I hope that I'll look like my mother in twenty years," she chuckled, "but I'll never be like her. I spent most of my teenage years trying to get my Dad to stand up to her – she has him wrapped around her little finger. I can't understand it – my Dad is a very successful business man, the CEO of a Fortune 1500 company, and has thousands of employees that he seems to handle just fine; but when it comes to her he has no spine."
"Maybe she's so good in bed that he'd rather suffer in silence in public while enjoying life to the fullest in the sack," I retorted with a diabolical smile.
"That must be it," Tiffany laughed. "Still, I wish that he could have stood up to the great pussy at least once when she insisted on naming me Tiffany."
"What's wrong with your name?" I asked.
"It's pretentious and upper crust, and that's about the opposite of who I am and what I'm about," Tiffany replied, now serious.
That was a true statement. Tiffany started her own charity when she was in High School, raised money for good causes all through college, and got her Master's degree in non-profit management. She wanted to save the world – which was one thing, aside from her kindness, vivacious personality, and physical beauty – that I loved about her. She was about the least pretentious woman that I knew.
"All this talk about your Mom's pussy controlling your Dad has made me uber-horny," I mumbled as I brought Tiffany in tight and kissed her hard. "With your parents in town we didn't get to celebrate our graduation last night the way that I wanted to," I continued between kisses. "Let's go back to my place."
"You bastard," she giggled as she stroked my crotch. "Wow, you're not kidding, are you?" she chuckled when she felt my hard-on almost busting out of my pants.
Our clothes were off within thirty seconds after we got into my apartment. Thirty seconds later I was sucking on her clit while massaging one of her thighs with one hand and pinching one of her nipples with the other while she pulled my hair. Once her first orgasm hit courtesy of my tongue action and finger stimulation of her G-spot, without giving her any chance to recover, I turned her on her stomach and shoved my rock hard cock up her soaking wet cunt and proceeded to bang away until we both screamed with virtual simultaneous climaxes.
It actually probably would have been about the best fuck of my life except for one thing. As I was injecting my semen into her honey pot a vision of what Charlene would look like naked flashed through my brain. As I lay next to Tiffany, with her head on my shoulder, that thought really disturbed me.
Within the next week I found out that Tiffany was as much in love with me as I was with her. We went on a ten day trip together, driving out West and fucking up a storm, to reward ourselves for having done so well in graduate school and to bond. When we returned we immediately started looking for jobs in the same city.
For good, or for bad, the best job offers that we got – when both of our offers were considered together – were in the same city that Charlene and Austen lived in. Since Tiffany's brother, and my sister, also lived in that metropolitan area, we decided that it would be a good place to start out. We got an apartment about fifteen miles from the palatial estate where Tiffany had grown up and Charlene and Austen still lived, about four miles from the modest house that my sister and her husband lived in, and about six miles from Tiffany's brother's apartment.
Tiffany and I lived together for only a month before we knew that we were meant for each other; I asked her to marry me on a rowboat in the middle of a small lake and after she put on the ring we were so active that the damn thing tipped over, and we ended up in the drink – soaking wet but as happy as we had ever been.
It was during wedding planning that problems started to surface – not between Tiffany and me, because every day we became closer. The problem was Charlene. She wanted to be in control of everything. Her only daughter was getting married, she had tons of money, she had perfect taste in all things (actually she probably did but I refused to admit that), and her personality required that she be in charge.
Tiffany tried her best to redirect her Mom and soft-pedal things, but that wasn't working. Tiffany cried many nights because of her Mom's overbearing nature. Finally, I had had enough, and unannounced went to see Charlene one Saturday afternoon. Fortunately I was wearing sunglasses because the butler led me out to the pool where Charlene was just emerging from a swim.
"How in the fuck can someone in her late forties look like that?" zoomed through my pea brain when I saw her in a string bikini. Her body looked like what Aphrodite's must have. Fortunately I gained enough composure to not make an ass of myself with my initial comments, and was secure in the belief that my wrap-around mirrored sunglasses did not give away the reaction my eyes must have had.
"What a pleasant surprise, Jeremy," Charlene said when she saw me. "It was so beautiful out this morning that I had to have my daily swim now rather than in the afternoon," she continued as she started putting her shoulder-length shiny auburn hair up. The blond highlights that she had in her hair set off her facial features and silky neck perfectly – I don't know if the lights were natural or she just had a great colorist, but they looked great, especially when combined with her steely azure eyes. "Why don't you have a swim too?"
"Uh, well – I didn't bring my trunks," I finally bumbled out.
"I'm sure there's a pair in the swim room that will fit – come on, join me, it's so nice that after I have a cup of tea I'm going back in."
This wasn't the way I expected the "confrontation" to go; while I was intending to be as pleasant as possible I was prepared for an all-out slug-fest. I certainly didn't expect her to be so welcoming, however.
We swam a couple of dozen laps mostly on our backs while chatting, we had a four lap race that fortunately I won just by brute strength because she was a better swimmer than I was, and then we were served lunch with a bottle of wine. She put on sunglasses too, but I swear that she was appreciating my six-pack and broad shoulders almost as much as I was appreciating her tight midriff, sleek thighs, and impeccable cleavage; we both remained in our suits.
I don't really drink alcohol so I just sipped one glass while Charlene polished off the rest of the bottle and then had started on a second one before we stopped talking about politics, local sports teams, a charity fund raiser that she was hosting in a couple of weeks that I volunteered to help with, and how we were both opposed to several local projects that had been proposed that seemed to be destructive to the natural environment.
Finally – a good two plus hours after I had arrived – I got around to the purpose of my visit.
"Charlene," I started out – that is what she insisted that I call her, wanting me to call her anything besides 'Mom' even though I had lost my mother four years earlier; "I need to talk to you about the upcoming wedding planning."
"It's nice that you have an interest in it – most men just want to show up," she chuckled.
"Well, actually, it's a concern that I have about Tiffany. She comes home upset every time she gets back from meeting with you about the wedding. She gets the feeling that you don't care what she wants, that you're in charge and she just needs to go along."
