My Girlfriend’s Mother

Christmas with the potential in-laws just got hella awkward.

Jillian Spiridon
8 min readDec 19, 2021


Photo by Eugene Zhyvchik on Unsplash

When Andrea first showed me a picture of her mother Teresa, there was something familiar about her face — but I couldn’t place her in the hundreds of people I met each year through my admissions work at the nearby university.

As soon as I saw Teresa in person, though, my memory’s trigger went off.

She’s sitting there at the bar, stirring a fruity cocktail but looking bored with everything around her. Feeling tipsy and far too brave, I approach her — and her eyes light up when I ask if she could use something stronger.

“I could use more than that,” she says in a purr.

An hour later, I’m shrugging out of clothes faster than I’ve ever done before. Even though I know she’s older than me, her toned body creates the illusion that the gap is minimal at most. She pushes me down to the bed, all while still clad in her black lacey bra and matching panties, and she makes a show of rocking against the hardness beneath my boxers till I feel ready to burst.

Then she’s readjusting, bending to paint kisses down my navel and trailing down as she runs her hands slowly, so slowly across the fabric —

“So this is Patrick,” Teresa said, her face betraying nothing, though her smile did not exactly reach her eyes. She held out a hand. “I’m Teresa Reynolds. Thanks for coming to spend Christmas with us. I’m sure we’re going to have a great time.”

Had I heard an emphasis on the word great, or was that just paranoia?

I could feel my palms sweating when I finally shook her hand. Andrea, meanwhile, just glanced between us, a smile on her face.

“You’re going to love him, Mom,” she said.

My innards cringed away from the words, but Teresa just kept that same tight smile on her face.

“Oh, I’m sure I will.”

“I’m sorry for the mess,” Teresa said as she helped us with our luggage into the guest room. “Tom’s out of town on business, so I had to get everything ready myself.”

“Dad gets out of chores once again,” Andrea replied in a sing-song voice. Then she gestured back to the bathroom. “I’m…



Jillian Spiridon

just another writer with too many cats