tagIncest/TabooMy Son's MILF Mother-in-law Ch. 01

My Son's MILF Mother-in-law Ch. 01

byMotherandSonTrueConfessions©

Two-of-a-kind, a match made in Hell, a disgraced father hits if off with his son's promiscuous, MILF of a whore mother-in-law.

Author's note:

Even though the main characters in the story, Michael and Elizabeth, are not related by blood, as his son's mother-in-law and her daughter's father-in-law, their sexual relationship is indeed, deemed incestuous. Sex between them may not be deemed incest but it is definitely deemed sexually inappropriate, taboo, and forbidden. One would have to be sexually depraved to have sex with his deceased son's mother-in-law, just as one would have to be a whore to have sex with her deceased daughter's father-in-law.

Seemingly, with neither Elizabeth nor Michael embarrassed or ashamed by their outrageous sexual behaviors, out of my control, all I can do as a writer is to offer this up for your judgmental conjecture and personal entertainment. Michael has incestuous sex with his son's mother-in-law while Elizabeth has forbidden sex with her daughter's father-in-law. Two peas in a pod, it turns out that both parents are promiscuous and a horny libido in common. As much as Elizabeth is a whore, Michael is a player.

# # #

My Son's MILF of a Mother-in-law

My son, Michael, Jr., and his newly wedded wife, Jennifer, tragically died in a car accident on their Honeymoon in Mexico. Not a very good father, having not spoken to him in years, since high school after I divorced his mother, he excluded me from his life. With everything my fault, who could blame him? I certainly didn't harbor any blame against him for not forgiving me and for excluding me but I had plenty of guilt, shame, and remorse for not staying in touch with him and for not asking him for his forgiveness.

Not knowing he died, a sad and tragic time in my life, I wasn't invited to his wedding. Having never met his wife, I didn't even know he had married. After our bad divorce with him taking his mother's side against me, no longer staying in contact with him, not proud of our distant separation and lack of relationship, it was my fault he hated me. With my life spiraling out of control in the way of water going down a drain, between the drinking, the gambling, and the women, I needed to get away to clear my head.

No surprise there, something that will haunt me for the rest of my life, worse than not being invited to his wedding, I wasn't invited to my own son's funeral. With him named after me and with me just his father in name, why should I be? I only wanted to see him for one last time to say my goodbye and to pray over his dead body. Obviously, in the way he meant little to me when I abandoned him, I meant nothing to him throughout his life.

Putting her past behind her, with me just a bad memory, his mother had remarried. I didn't even know my son had died until his mother-in-law, not his mother, Julie, but his mother-in-law, Elizabeth, contacted me and told me what had happened. As if a knife had pierced my black, unfeeling heart, I was as shocked as much as I was saddened by the death of my son, my only child. The ultimate heartbreak, it served me right for thinking more about myself than about him.

With all of it hitting home now, in the way of being struck by a sledgehammer in the chest with a second blow to the head, I blamed myself for all that happened between us. With him having nothing to do with the desolation and end of my marriage, with one thing having nothing to do with the other, I should have confronted him. I should have apologized. I should have asked his forgiveness. I should have begged him to allow me to play a role in his life.

# # #

"Hello, Michael?"

With the caller ID anonymous and not recognizing the voice, I figured it was a bill collector or someone trying to sell me something.

"Yes. This is Michael. Who's this?"

With her having a professional, albeit sexy voice, she sounded like a lawyer. Other than her sounding like her, a voice from the past, suddenly, I thought of Loni Anderson from the situation comedy, WKRP in Cincinnati from 1978. I never forget a sexy voice and a beautiful woman. She paused as if thinking what to say.

"You don't know me. We've never met. I'm Elizabeth," she said pausing again before dropping the hammer. "Your son married my daughter, Jennifer, several months ago," she said falling silent again before speaking.

'My son is married? I didn't know that,' I thought. 'Good for him. Yet, I wish I had been invited to his wedding. I wish I had met his wife.'

"Married? With me no longer part of his life, I didn't know he was married. Excitedly hungry to hear some news about my son, I asked the loaded question. "How is he," I asked?

She paused again. She sounded upset. She sounded as if she was crying.

"He's dead. They're both dead. My daughter is dead too," she said.

Wondering if this was a joke, I was in shock. I couldn't imagine my son dead. I had always hoped to get back what I lost by confronting him and apologizing him to him one day, but now with him dead, that was impossible.

"Dead? I don't understand. How can that be? Sorry but who are you again?" No doubt, with the rash of gun violence, I figured they were bystanders, innocent victims in a drive by shooting, or witnesses to a robbery that went bad. "What happened?"

She was sobbing now. Oddly enough, in the way that I was never there for my wife, I suddenly wished I was there to comfort Elizabeth. Only, I was in shock. Too much to take in, if it wasn't enough to hear that my son was married, I couldn't believe Michael, Jr. was dead.

"I'm Jennifer's mother, your son's mother-in-law," she said softly sobbing. "Tragically, they were both killed in a car accident while on their honeymoon in Mexico," she said while crying again.

I was shocked. I was stunned. I couldn't believe it. I didn't know what to say. Unable to fathom the concept of death in relation to my young son who had so much life to live and everything to experience, I was unable to reply to her information.

"Thank you for telling me," I said at a loss for words and not knowing what else to say.

# # #

I didn't know what more to say to a woman I didn't know and had never met, thank you for telling me that my son was dead was all that I could say. What else could I say to hearing the belated news of my son's death? Ringing so hollow, it didn't seem right for me to say, sorry for your loss when it was my loss too. Indeed, I was sorry for our losses. I was sorry for the grandchildren I'd never. I was sorry for the apology I'd never have the chance to make.

My mind spun with what could have been but never will be. I'd never see Michael again, offer him an olive branch, and apologize for not being there for him. I lost the opportunity to tell him how sorry I am for abandoning him and being a deadbeat dad. After spending his college fund on gambling, drinking, and chasing women, something I'd take to my grave; my guilt overwhelmed me. No doubt, this was my payback for being such a selfish asshole.

"Are you still there," she asked when I fell silent?

I'd never meet his wife. I'd never have an opportunity to right the wrongs that I made with my son with the grandchildren that I'd never have. I'd never share a beer with him while watching the game and talking about everything while crying over nothing and laughing over everything. As if I had lost an arm, that part of my life has been amputated from me forever.

"Yes, I'm still here," I said even though my mind was elsewhere.

As soon as I heard her voice again, the horn dog in me, I wondered what Elizabeth looked like. Yet, people have been known to come together at devastating times like this to celebrate life by having sex. Perhaps, her calling me was fate. Perhaps, something good could emerge from something so tragically bad and from the death of our children. Yet, as soon as I thought of having sex with my son's mother-in-law, I put the thought out of my mind.

'What's wrong with you,' I thought to myself. 'How dare you? Are any women safe from you wanting to have sex with them?'

Unable to control my horniness, I wondered what she looked like again. She had a voice so sweet and so sexy that she'd make a good living giving men phone sex. Certainly, I'd pay her to give me phone sex. Having never met the woman, my mind was already in the gutter. How dare I disrespect my deceased, daughter-in-law's mother with thoughts of forbidden sex?

Seemingly unable to help herself, she sobbed over the phone. Feeling her pain as if it was my pain, it was then that I wondered if she was on the outs with her daughter in the way that I was with my son. Perhaps, she called me because she was looking for someone to commiserate with and to help her through something so life changing by grieving together. Perhaps, thinking that we were both such lowlifes and having the deaths of our children in common, she thought we'd be a good match.

Who knows? For all I know, she's happily married and not looking for a man to comfort her. No doubt, she'd think me perverted by me being sexually attracted to her over the phone and without even meeting her. For all I know, she could be a dowdy and unattractive, middle-aged woman. There are more of those types of older women than there are sexy mothers who I'd like to fuck.

"I loved Michael as if he was my own son," said Elizabeth over the phone. "He was a good man and a good match for my daughter. He made Jennifer very happy. He would have made my daughter a good husband and their children a good father," she said with sadness. "They deeply loved one another."

Allowing her to talk while hoping she'd tell me more about my son, I remained silent and only interjected my thoughts for her to know that I was still there on the phone listening.

"Just the good die young," I said blurting out what I was thinking. "Now that he's gone, it's too late to change things between us. I wish he had wanted me in his life but I don't blame him for not wanting to know me," I said removing some of my guilt by putting some of the onus on him.

Inherently knowing where I was coming from, she interjected what I was thinking.

"It takes two to want to have a father and son relationship just as it takes two to have a mother and daughter relationship," she said with sadness.

Obviously, not model parents to our children, we have that in common.

"He never forgave me for cheating on his mother, for gambling away his college fund, and for abandoning him. I don't blame him for not contacting me and for not reaching out to me."

An uncomfortable silence, she paused as if rethinking what she was about to say. Perhaps, saying too much too soon already, I wondered if I should have kept cheating on his mother to myself. Perhaps, she reached out to me because she suspected that I was a better man than what my ex-wife and son had professed but, sadly and deserving so, bad to the bone, I wasn't. Perhaps, she reached out to me because, like father like son, I may have some redeeming qualities that would help her through her grieving process by talking to me.

Only, I more wondered what she looked like than what she said. Berating myself for thinking like this but she had a killer voice. Soft, syrupy, and seductively sexy, I'd pay her good money for phone sex. If the news she delivered wasn't so tragic, I'd remove my prick from my pants and masturbate over our phone conversation while talking dirty to her. Only, knowing better, many times the voice doesn't go with the body. With my luck, she's short, obese, and ugly. Nonetheless, knowing better, the last thing she called me for was for phone sex.

"Since he never talked about you in the way that my daughter seldom talked about me, I was curious to meet you, the black sheep of our families. A couple of misfits and on the outside looking in, we seem to have that in common. Our kind need to stick together," she said with a sexy, little laugh. "Now that they're both gone, and with us alone, even though we don't know one another, we have no one but one another to help us through our grief."

What she said made sense and now, with her having my attention, I felt relieved that we were on the same page. No longer feeling guilty about my extramarital, sexual affairs, I talked to her on the phone as if we were old friends. We talked candidly, honestly, and openly for more than two-hours.

Surprisingly, as if I met her on a dating site instead of her blindly calling me to tell me about the death of my son, we had much in common. Two of a kind, in the way that I had cheated on my wife and had sex with other women, she had cheated on her husband and had sex with other men. Now I really wondered what she looked like. I wondered what she was like in bed. Making myself horny, I wondered what she looked like in her bra and panties, topless, and/or naked.

# # #

She told me all about her daughter and what she knew of my son. Beyond pretenses and not mincing words, we were honest and open in telling one another what happened to make us social outcasts, a man hated by his wife and son and a woman hated by her husband and daughter. As if cut from the same cloth, with us both selfish and wanting to make the best of our lives, we were kindred spirits.

Seemingly, a good match, we were more alike than not. With someone out there for everyone, something as simple as that, maybe we were both with the wrong partners. Maybe, by joining forces now, there'd be hope for us later. She made me wish I had met her twenty-five-years-ago. Perhaps, had I married Elizabeth back then, we'd still be married now.

"I was a drinker, a gambler, and a philanderer," I said volunteering more about my character or lack thereof than, perhaps, she wanted and/or needed to know. Even though I knew so little about her, I was hoping for a fresh start with someone new.

Yet, wanting her to know the truth, feeling compelled to tell her, I didn't want to hold back and/or hide anything in the way that I hid everything from my ex-wife.

"Too young to know better, I never should have married," she said with shame. "I was pregnant and he wanted to do the right thing by giving our child a name but I never loved my husband. Suffering post pardon blues, I never bonded with my daughter in the way that normal mothers do."

She sighed heavily in the phone as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. I laughed by the commonalities of our lives.

"Something else we have in common. My wife was pregnant when I married her. I thought I was doing the right thing and the honorable thing by giving my son a name. Only, I didn't love her. I never did," I said with sadness. "I never should have married her."

It's funny the personal information that I willingly shared with a stranger over the phone that I never shared with my friends in person. Yet, as if she was my Alcoholic Anonymous sponsor sharing a common problem, it took a stranger to give me a sympathetic shoulder when I needed one the most. Even though I didn't know her, I felt better unburdening myself to someone who wouldn't judge me and hold my past against me.

"Tired of being married and weighted down with a child, I felt as if I was suffocating. Chasing after losing streaks, with luck never going my way, I always tried to make up for my gambling loses but never did," I said. "I wish I had all the money that I lost over the years. I'd be a wealthy man," I said as my sad refrain.

I wondered what she thought of me now that I confessed my drinking, my gambling, and my philandering. Instead of telling me what she thought of me leaving my wife and my son, she told me her story. She told me her reason for leaving her husband and daughter. She justified her reason for leaving in the way that I had justified my reason for leaving too.

"With stars in my eyes and fame and fortune beckoning me, I abandoned my young daughter and husband. I moved to California to follow my dream and be an actress," she volunteered. "Sadly, instead of making movies, a real eye opener, going on endless casting calls in between waitressing, I earned barely enough money to pay my rent. There were thousands of women who were just like me hoping to make it big in Hollywood."

Wanting her to know that I understood, I empathized with her.

"It must have been a hard decision to make for you to leave your daughter," I said remembering how I made that same decision by leaving my son for another woman, all attributed to my drinking and gambling. "You must have had a tough time of waitressing and trying to read scripts while remembering your lines."

As if I had released another weight from her shoulders, she sighed heavily.

"An impossible decision to make, I was young. I was as naïve as I was immature and vulnerable. Fooling myself, I convinced myself that I'd be back for her when I made it big. While imagining that I'd give her a better life, leaving my child for fame and fortune sounded good at the time. A gamble I took, but one that didn't pan out, and one that I now regret, I gave up too much to receive so little," she said pausing again in sadness.

If she could see me through the phone, she would have seen me nodding my head in agreement.

"With me a gambler, I took too many risks, too, risks that didn't pay dividends," I said and my way to show her that I was listening. "When I wasn't gambling, a total degenerate, I was drinking and chasing women."

She laughed a nervous, little laugh, perhaps with what she was going to confess next.

"My way of networking, whether invited or not, with my good looks, shapely figure, and sexy body opening doors that otherwise would have remained closed, I attended all the exclusive parties. From Beverly Hills, to Hollywood Hills, to Bel Air, Brentwood, and Palos Verdes, I hoped to meet someone who'd help launch my acting career by giving me a role in a movie," she said. "Only, instead of helping me with a screen test, all they wanted was sex. All they wanted was their cocks fucked and sucked."

'She must have met lots of celebrity,' I thought envying her. 'In the way that I had lots of women, she must have bedded lots of men. In the way that I was a whoremonger, she must have been a whore.'

Obviously, with us both sharing a similar story, caste from the same stone, she was no better than me. We both made mistakes that cost us much more than we received. If I had to do it all over again, never having a child and having to get married to a woman I didn't love, I would have worn a condom. Yet, young, dumb, and full of cum, at the time, thinking I was in love, I thought getting laid was everything.

"The lifestyle of the rich and famous, that must have been exciting fun to attend all of those exclusive parties," I said. "You must have met lots of celebrities."

She sighed again, this time as if she was indifferent and/or bored.

"Fun?" She laughed. "More fun for them, perhaps, but not for me. Yes, I met lots of celebrities. Yet, as if I was a new sex toy for them to play with, I was passed around from agents to directors, to producers, to screenwriters, and to actors. Other than ruining my reputation, nothing ever came of it. I didn't earn the reputation that I wanted for my acting. Instead, in the way of the legendary Nancy Reagan was the blowjob queen of Hollywood, I soon became known as just another Hollywood whore who'd do anything for a small part in a movie."

'Blowjob queen? Just another Hollywood whore? Now, she really had my interest,' I thought. 'Who is this woman and what does she look like? With her sultry and sexy voice sounding like the voice of Tia Texada from NFL Today on CBS, I couldn't wait to meet her. In the way that she had obviously done with so many agents, directors, producers, actors, and writers, I couldn't wait for her to suck my cock.'

# # #

With us having similar histories, backgrounds, personalities, and wild, sexual pasts of partying and drinking, she was alienated from her ex-husband and daughter in the way that I was alienated from my ex-wife and son. I didn't know what to expect when she called me from out of the blue but glad that she did, I knew we'd be instant friends and, hopefully, lovers. Now, more than ever, with her opening the door by saying how she had good looks, a shapely figure, and a sexy body, I wondered what she looked like.

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