My Son's Girlfriend

I look at my watch. What’s an appropriate amount of time to spend talking to your son and his girlfriend? I want to show that I’m interested and invested in him, but with teenage boys, you never know. Too much attention can aggravate them. Maybe an hour? That should cut it. I can be at Velma’s place by 9 p.m., which is perfect – too late for dinner, but still early enough for us to enjoy each other’s bodies. It’s not that I’m a douchebag or anything. After all, Velma knows I don’t do relationships – not since my divorce from Jimmy’s mom ten years ago. And I always make sure that the women I sleep with are aware of that fact, right off the bat. I don’t want any drama or tears. Besides, usually, I can placate the demanding ones with expensive jewelry. I don’t have to make a commitment, and they get paid off with diamonds and rubies. Everybody wins in this game.

That drink went down fast. I feel relaxed and confident, and look forward to seeing my son. Jimmy’s a good kid. My boy does well in school. He’s a stellar athlete, attractive, and popular with the ladies to boot. There’s nothing there not to be proud of, really. And yet, there’s always been something about him I can’t put my finger on.

It’s weird. It’s not his looks, that’s for sure. My son resembles me, from the charcoal black hair to the blue eyes, square jaw and cleft chin. He’s still a little on the smaller side, but that’ll change as he gets older. As a toddler, I could tell that he might have his mother’s tiny build, and so I threw him into sports as early as I could. I wouldn’t say I forced him into being an athlete as much as I encouraged him. Encouraged him strongly. And that’s different, right? I only want the best for my son. Besides, he ended up being good at sports. If my encouragement pushed him into being a star lacrosse player, then I have no regrets. No guy wants their son to be the beanpole with Gumby-like arms and legs.

Here he is now, walking towards me now from the entrance of the restaurant. A mix of pride, love, and apprehension fills my heart almost to bursting. Because again, there’s always been something off with him, and I can never put my finger on it. But then my mind seizes and stutters, and my heart almost stops beating. Holy cow, who is that? Jimmy told me he was bringing a date, but I was expecting someone child-like and naïve. There’s nothing child-like about the woman wending her way through the tables.

Yes, she’s young, maybe eighteen or nineteen, but her curves are absolutely mind-blowing. They’re accentuated in a seductive but tasteful gold dress, pinched at the waist. Her tits are huge and round, and definitely one hundred percent natural. Those wide hips roll as she walks towards me, and I can feel my cock harden as I imagine what her ass must look like from the back. Long brown hair falls in curly waves down her shoulders, and yet those caramel eyes are full of an insecure innocence. She’s a mix of the virtuous and the seductive, if that’s even possible.

Holy shit. What is Jimmy doing with this plush little goddess? She’s a woman to his boy. Her white arms are bare, and so are her legs. I can see her creamy thighs jiggle a little as she walks towards me.

“Hi Dad,” says Jimmy as he reaches me, and I allow him to give me a short, masculine hug. I’m careful to turn my crotch away to hide my semi-boner from watching the girl walk over to me. She’s not my usual type at all, and yet I can’t believe the immediate, entirely involuntary effect she’s having on me. Not since I was in my early teens has my body betrayed me like this. I was quick to master my lust, rather than letting lust be the master of me. That was a trap for weaker men.

“This is my girlfriend, Katie,” says Jimmy, introducing the girl. Shyly, she reaches out her alabaster arm and I shake her hand, my huge fist enveloping hers, not much bigger than a child’s. I can’t take my eyes off her, and I must be staring because the milky skin of her cheeks flushes and her eyelids flutter, looking away.

“Nice to meet you, Katie,” I say, hoping that I don’t come across as a perv. Certainly, my body’s hard and alert, even if I try to keep my expression neutral and friendly.

“Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Marks,” she says melodiously with a sweet smile. We sit down at our little table, and immediately our waiter comes over, taking our drink orders. I decide not to have any more alcohol – this Katie girl already has me out of control enough as it is, and I don’t like being out of control. I don’t want to start feeling even more relaxed, and begin doing or saying stuff that I’ll regret. Besides, being out of control is not my style. Everything I do and say is calculated and methodical, and as irresistible as I’m finding Katie, she’s still my son’s girlfriend. I’m not about to start hitting on her. That would be totally debased and disgusting, although I have to admit it’s tempting.