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

My son's mother-in-law. Never mind thinking about my son's mother-in-law, I never thought about my son being married and having a wife. Then, again, I never thought my son would be dead. Feeling that it was all my fault, the mistakes I made early in life before are coming home to roost and are returning to haunt me now.

Having never met the woman, I appreciated her telling me that my son had passed. I already liked her honesty in telling me so much about her sordid past. Now more than curious about her, she had a nice voice and a sexy laugh. Actually, I loved her voice. I was curious about what she looked like because of her voice. Not even having to ask her, I could tell by the clarity of her voice that she didn't smoke. I didn't smoke either, never did.

With her abandoning her husband and child to move to Hollywood to become an actress, she was as selfish as I was in abandoning my wife and child for another women. For her hoping to become a rich and famous movie star, I suspected she was really good-looking. If she thought she was attractive enough to be an actress and sexy enough to be invited to exclusive parties, she must have a face to match her sexy body. She was a woman that I needed to meet.

For her to be granted entry to exclusive parties and passed around from agents to directors, to producers, to screenwriters, and to actors, I figured she was not only sexy, shapely, and good looking but also good in bed. Finding her captivating without even meeting her, she held my interest by just talking to her on the phone. Perhaps, ordinarily, had we not shared a common tragedy and a similar background, she never would have sought me out to talk to me and I never would have been as enchanted with her as I was now.

'She's baring her soul to me and all I'm thinking about is having sex with her,' I thought. 'I'll never change. Once a son of a bitch, dirty bastard, pervert, always a son of a bitch, dirty bastard, pervert.'

Taking a chance but well worth the risk to meet someone with the same state of mind, similar interests, and sexual wants, needs, and desires, I was eager to meet her. Taking a leap of faith by prematurely pushing the envelope, I invited her to stay with me for the weekend. Suspecting that she may think that I was coming on to her, and I was, I was surprised when she accepted my sudden invitation.

A woman I didn't know, just as I could be a serial killer, she could be a black widow who poisons her victims. Only, if she looked as good as I suspected she did, what a way to go. Besides, even though having sex with her was my ulterior motive, she was my only way to learn more about my son. She was my key to the information that I needed to put my troubled and guilt riddled mind at peace.

Yet, stopping myself from thinking the worst of people, something that I always do, I quelled my suspicious imagination by the thought of meeting someone who knew my son. Who knows, with us already having made a connection, and with the both of us single, honest and open, and sexual, maybe we'd have a good time. Only, knowing better, I wasn't expecting more than her showing me some photos of her daughter with my son and telling me things about him that I didn't know. I hadn't seen him in years.

Curious now not only about my son, Michael, and his wife, Jennifer, but also, I wanted to know more about Elizabeth. Elizabeth, Beth, Liz, I wrote her name dozens of times while imagining her naked and having sex with me. There was so much I wanted know about my son, his wife, and now about Elizabeth. With hundreds of unanswered questions going through my head, the next few days slowly drifted by until it was late Friday night, a little after 9 pm, when Elizabeth pulled in my driveway.

She drove one of those Volvo Cross Country things. I hate Volvos, especially crossover SUV's. They're so safe, so dependable, so predictable, so boring, and not much fun. I hoped she wasn't as boring as her car. Equating her with a car, another thing I always did with people, if she was a car, I'd rather she'd be a yellow Lamborghini or a red Ferrari, brutally fast, while still sexy.

# # #

Yet, to me, old school, there's nothing like taking my life in my hands in a rear wheel drive high horsepower car, such as a Mustang or a Camaro. There's nothing like peeling out and burning some rubber as I sling the rear end sideways, until the traction and stability control kicks in and catches it, just before it spins out of control in a ditch. Now, a time before anti-lock brakes, traction control, and stability control, those were the days and those were real cars, especially during a first snowfall in the winter and especially with the traction and stability control turned off.

'Yahoo,' I thought!

It's more fun never knowing if I'm going to make it home alive. Hang on to your balls because, unsafe at any speed, we're going downhill on an icy road and taking dead man's curve at twice the sane speed. Unless driving a top of the line Tesla, the younger generation today driving SUV's and electric cars will never have that freeing feeling of impending danger, doom, and death. Only, sadly, my son and his wife were killed in a car accident not from speeding but from not paying attention while driving on an unfamiliar road while texting.

I thought about all the times I drove drunk. I thought about all the times I drove angry and experienced road rage. I thought about all the times I drove at twice the legal limit. Yet, why him and not me? I should have been the one dead and not him.

Replacing my loneliness with sexual anticipation and erotic excitement, especially after all that I learned about Elizabeth over the phone, I was excited about meeting her. As if I'd be meeting a blind, computer date arranged on one of those dating websites, dates that seldom work, I was setting myself up for disappointment, something I always do. Moreover, I have the bad habit of putting women, especially beautiful, sexy women on pedestals and are angry when they fall and prove that they're human.

For all I know, with the drinking taking its toll, she may not look anything like she used to look. Eating out of depression, she may have gained fifty pounds. Yet, excited by the prospect of having a woman in my life again, even an obese, and sexually unattractive woman, Elizabeth was coming not only to meet me but also to spend the weekend. No matter what she looked like, she already had three things in her favor, her sexy voice, our similar backgrounds, and Elizabeth was my favorite name.

Perhaps, something she routinely did with agents, directors, producers, and actors, I was surprised that she agreed to be my weekend guest. Someone, somewhere, must have said something good about me for her to feel comfortable enough to be alone with me. I've been lonely since my last live-in girlfriend left two, long, sexually frustrating, years ago. Yet, too much of a bother finding someone new, I've been living alone with my bad self for the past two-years.

Having never met her daughter, Jennifer, the first-time meeting her mother may be uncomfortable. What if she's weird? What if I'm the one who should fear her? What if she's a psycho? What if she looks nothing like I imagined her looking? What if she's a lush? What if she's a druggie? What if she's a thief looking to rob me for some quick cash?

Yet, having seen Jennifer's photos online after I found out about their marriage and funeral, she was a very good-looking woman. Hoping mother looked like daughter, I couldn't wait to see what Elizabeth looked like. If nothing else, it would be comforting to have someone to talk to about my son. If nothing else, it would be comforting to have someone who understands the life altering decisions I made and why I made them. It would be comforting to have someone who knows the pain and suffering of losing a child in the prime of their lives.

# # #

Just before she pulled in my driveway, while hoping she wasn't lost, I stared out the window while watching for her car. Unable to control my sexual anticipation, deep curiosity, and my eternal horniness, I wondered again what she looked like. Hoping she was tall, I wondered if she was tall. If she was anything like her voice, hoping she was sexy, I wondered if she was sexy. I wondered if she was as beautiful as her daughter. I hoped she wasn't short, obese, and ugly with an unpleasant attitude to match. I hoped she at least had a sense of humor.

Then, just before she arrived, I thought that I should have gotten her cell phone number because I was beginning to worry that she was broken down somewhere, in an accident, or lost. With it already dark, I thought she'd be here by now. Granted it's a long drive, but it was getting late, too late for a woman to be on the road alone, especially after what had happened to Jennifer and Michael. Filled with relief and sexual excitement, I was glad when she finally arrived.

I watched her from the upstairs window as she pulled in the driveway and my security lights lit her car up as if it was daylight and she was in an alien spacecraft. Having been curiously interested in what she'd look like, I wanted to see what she looked like before running down and opening the front door. I got a look at her through her windshield. Much like her daughter, Jennifer, she had long, dark brown, lush hair and was very attractive.

Already giving me an erection, I couldn't help but notice that her skirt was hiked up nearly to her crotch from driving. Her knees were parted wide enough for me to see between her shapely legs. Instead of wearing pantyhose as most women wear today, she was wearing nylons and a garter belt. Yet, other than a bride at her wedding or a stripper on stage, who wears nylons and a garter belt anymore? Staring at her exposed, panty clad crotch as if hypnotized, I couldn't remove my eyes from all that I was already seeing of her.

'Nylons and a garter belt? So sexy. I haven't seen that in years,' I thought.

A throwback to the forties, fifties, and sixties, with most women wearing pantyhose, panties, or even no panties at all, she's one sexy Momma. Mesmerized by the sight of her exposed bright, white panties, I couldn't stop staring at all that I was seeing of her panty clad crotch. I wondered if she knew she was as exposed as she was. Then, I wondered if she was deliberately exposing herself to me.

'Damn, she has nice legs,' I thought while staring down at her when she opened her driver's side door.

Then, when she dropped her car keys, she gave me a nice down-blouse view of her long, sexy, line of cleavage, and her low-cut white bra. Either she was going all out wearing her sexiest lingerie to meet me or she always dresses like this. Either she was going all out flashing me, or she was oblivious that she was as exposed. Having already seen her panties and now her cleavage and bra, with her not even in my house, she gave me plenty to ogle.

If I was a Hollywood producer, even if she couldn't act, having her just stand there, I'd hire her. I'd want her in one of my movies. If she looked this good now, while fully dressed, I couldn't imagine what she looked like in her bra and panties, topless, and/or naked. If she looked this good now, I couldn't imagine what she looked like twenty-years-ago. No wonder why she was given access to so many private and exclusive parties. No wonder why so many agents, directors, producers, actors, and writers wanted to have sex with her.

# # #

I walked downstairs and watched her from my front porch step out of her car. Paying more attention to what I could see of her long, shapely legs and her exposed panties, she moved sideways on her car seat with her knees spread and her skirt still raised to her crotch. As if she knew I was there watching and deliberately giving me a sexy show of exhibitionism, I watched her leaned backwards across the passenger seat to grab her pocketbook. Hoping to have some sexy fun, I was pleased that she was as much of an exhibitionist as I was a voyeur.

When she leaned backwards like that, with her skirt already raised to her crotch and her knees parted, she gave me a great up-skirt view of her shapely thighs and most of her white panties. As if I was having a sexual fantasy, I saw her panty clad ass and her panty clad pussy mound. Continuing to stare longer and harder, I saw her pussy slit and camel toe through her sheer, white panties.

I wondered if I got her drunk enough to loosen her morals, if she'd allow me to have sex with her beautiful body. I haven't had sex in more than two-years and she had already made me horny. I'd definitely do her, my son's mother-in-law. She was so gorgeous. She was so sexy. She was everything I'd ever want in a woman.

'Wow,' I thought! 'I'm glad she agreed to stay for the weekend.'

Then, when she stepped out of the car, she looked a little like Catherine Zeta-Jones. Be still my heart. Even more sexually exciting than her looking like Catherine Zeta-Jones, she had the body of Sofia Vergara.

'Are you kidding me,' I thought? 'Who is this woman and how did I get so lucky?'

Obviously blessed, with the face of Catherine Zeta-Jones and the body of Sofia Vergara, unless she had no talent and couldn't act, she made me wonder why she couldn't get a starring role in a movie. If she was as sexy and as beautiful as was her daughter, she made me wonder what grandma looked like. For sure, if I was a director or a producer, I'd hire her to star in one of my movies.

Between Jennifer and now Elizabeth, the gene pool in this family is amazing. My fantasy dream woman all rolled into one, going from negative with the deaths of my son and her daughter to positive in meeting her, maybe having Elizabeth in my life would be a lifechanging turn of events. Maybe the curse that's been over my head like a rain cloud is finally gone. Maybe my luck was finally changing.

Maybe we could help one another get through such a devastating tragedy while naked and in bed. A deplorable thought to have but one that gave me some comfort, sacrificing my son and his wife for the opportunity of meeting Elizabeth, maybe meeting her and subsequently having sex with her was my destiny. After never wanting to get married again, I'd love to have her in my life and as my wife.

'Wow,' I thought! 'She's so hot! Hello sexy momma.'

Again, as the sex crazed cad that I am, I wondered what grandma looked like. Maybe her mother looked like Mary Steenburgen or Jaclyn Smith. Maybe grandma would want to come for a visit, too. Now that I may have sex with a woman my age, if this doesn't work out, I wouldn't mind having sex with a much older woman, especially an older woman who as hot and as sexy as her daughter and granddaughter.

So, this is what Jennifer would have looked like at 47-years-old had she survived the car accident on her Honeymoon and lived longer. Elizabeth was absolutely stunning. Truly, much like most women her age, I figured that she'd be short and hippy and look nothing like her daughter. Boy was I wrong. Maybe my son and her daughter, working as matchmakers from Heaven, knowing that we'd be the perfect fit, are smiling down at us.

The genetic makeup of Elizabeth and her daughter was spectacular. Even though they weren't blonde, they must be Nordic because they certainly aren't one of us fat Americans. I could just see them both skiing down a mountain slope in the Bavarian Alps, while representing Sweden, Norway, or Denmark in the Olympics. Tall, shapely, and beautiful, unless they're from Texas, women around here just don't look like that.

Now, I know where her daughter received her beauty from because Elizabeth was a knockout. Definitely, she didn't look her age. She looked ten-years younger. Had I not known her age, I would have guessed that she was in her late thirties. She looked that good.

'Wow! Momma is as hot as her daughter,' I thought.

Then, not having noticed them before, she was wearing white gloves.

'Oh, my God,' I thought. 'I'd love her to give me a white gloved hand job.'

To be continued...