Understanding Mother-In-Law

June Clawson and I, Brian Walters, married right out of college after a three year romance. Although we graduated the same year I was three years older than June because I was "red shirted" by my parents in kindergarten, and I served two years in the Peace Corps before enrolling in college.

Although both families were happy with our choice of mate, perhaps most happy was my mother-in-law Cheryl. Cheryl was particularly happy because not only did she seem to like me, but my romance with June and our subsequent engagement, wedding preparations, and wedding, allowed her to live vicariously through June since she never had that experience herself.

Cheryl got pregnant as a teen and had a very hard time making it as a single mom in large part due to the fact that her zealously religious parents essentially disowned her. After just scraping by for a few years when she was twenty one she married a much older man just to have some financial security to provide for June. Cheryl never had romance, a fulfilling engagement, or even anything more than a modest wedding since her husband Sam Clawson had been married before and wanted something simple.

Sam is a decent guy and did provide well for Cheryl and June -- but he is about as dull as dishwater and as romantic as a door knob.

I, in turn, have always liked Cheryl. Since she's only eleven years older than I am I don't really look upon her as a typical mother-in-law; rather more like a young aunt. In fact she's just as good looking as her daughter, although three inches shorter than June with green eyes instead of blue, and not quite as voluptuous. Her beautiful visage usually has a striking smile, and she is very kind. For someone as pretty as she is she is shy and always wears conservative clothing, perhaps engrained in her because of her past including her parents continuously referring to her as a slut.

After June and I had been married four years Sam died of a heart attack. It wasn't really unexpected because of his lifestyle, but Cheryl took it hard. I handled all of the things with regard to Sam's estate for Cheryl, gave her a shoulder to cry on, and even more so than June included her in our activities so that, combined with charity work that she did, she stayed occupied. One thing that she wanted no help with, or even discussion of, was her going on dates. There were literally dozens of guys I knew, some much younger than she is, who would have loved to date her, but she had zero interest.

###########

Shortly after my six year wedding anniversary I realized that I was a cliché -- a clueless husband being cheated on by a scheming wife. I may have been clueless but I wasn't indecisive. When June's cheating was confirmed I moved out of our apartment into an extended-stay motel and immediately split all of our finances.

I do believe that June actually did love me, but had lost her way and didn't consider her "short term" affair with someone that she allegedly had no emotional attachment to that serious. She accused me of over-reacting.

I know that June confided in Cheryl (I never called her "mom" or anything like that, only "Cheryl") and asked Cheryl to intercede on her behalf. I know this because three nights after I moved out of our apartment Cheryl visited me at the extended-stay motel. When she knocked on the door I was surprised to see her, but given how kind she had always been to me and how much I liked her I wouldn't deny her entry.

We sat down in my motel room couch next to each other and she held my hand. "I'm so sorry, Brian. I think that you know that I didn't raise June that way."

"I know Cheryl," I replied, squeezing her hand. "You've always impressed me as a moral person who overcame bumps in the road of life, and June's actions have nothing to do with you."

"How are you holding up?" she asked with a small tear in one eye.

"I'm doing OK; it was a shock, but I've never been indecisive so I took the bull by the horns and moved out. I'll probably be hurting for a long while, but I'll get over it."

"Is there a chance that you could forgive June and take her back?"

"I don't see how, especially since her take on things is that I'm over-reacting. It hasn't occurred to her how badly she hurt me," I replied. This time the tear was in my eye.

We talked for another hour, not just about June, but about other things. When she got up to leave she hugged me -- longer than appropriate considering that she was still my mother-in-law -- and once she broke contact seriously said, while staring up into my eyes "If you divorce June I hope that doesn't mean that you're divorcing me too."

"Cheryl, I'll always have a soft spot in my heart for you."

After Cheryl left I felt better. While making her daughter's case she had validated that I had the right to feel like I did, didn't try to put pressure on me, and acted like a true friend rather than a mother-in-law.

That is I felt better until I went to sleep that night. I woke up sweating from a very, very, inappropriate dream.

############

A week after I moved out of our apartment and gave the landlord notice that I was no longer responsible for rent (we were on a month-to-month basis at that time with no contractual responsibilities) I filed for divorce on irreconcilable differences. June was very upset; I couldn't understand why she was so upset. What did she think that I would do -- she had known me for nine years at that point in time and I never misrepresented myself to her in any way.

June and her attorney tried numerous tactics, including asking for counselling, so things did not go smoothly the first three months. During that time I was still somewhat in shock, but I was not moving off my principles. I probably would have taken it harder except that two of my single male friends took it upon themselves to cheer me up, and Cheryl called me every week not just to see how I was doing -- although she always did express concern about that -- but also with uplifting stories mostly from her rewarding charity work. We also had lunch once a month and she was always upbeat during that time.

After the papers had been on file for about three months about 1 p. m. on a Monday we had a preliminary hearing before a magistrate. June plead her case for counselling however my attorney was able to successfully rebut it by showing photos of June going to lunch with George, the co-worker that she had the affair with, at least twice since the divorce papers were filed. While she strenuously and tearfully proclaimed that she hadn't had any sexual contact with him since I walked out, the fact that she had not distanced herself from him caused the magistrate -- at my attorney's request -- to dismiss her request for court-ordered counselling.

Everyone in attendance at the hearing knew that that was probably the death knell of the marriage, which would likely be concluded in three months.

Tuesday at work Cheryl called. It was unusual for her to call me at work, but I was always happy to hear from her. After an initial exchange of pleasantries she got to the point.

"You probably know, Brian, that June called me after the hearing yesterday quite upset since it seems that the divorce will go through in a few months. Is that your take too?"

"Yes, Cheryl, it is. I'm very sad about it but I have to move on. My attorney thinks that we will be able to get all of the monetary things handled properly so that the final decree will come out in about three months or so."

"I thought that you might be sad so let me take you out to dinner Friday. You wouldn't consider it pathetic to go out to dinner with your soon to be ex mother-in-law would you? If you're embarrassed I could wear a mask."

I had to chuckle at that. "No, it wouldn't be pathetic, and no you don't need to wear a mask. I just don't think that I'd be very good company."

"I'll get some good food in you, and you'll feel better. I know that you're not much of a cook. So what time should I pick you up on Friday?"

Since the "not much of a cook" was an understatement I chuckled as I replied "I'll pick you up or meet you at the restaurant."

"Absolutely not, since it's my treat -- no argument -- I'll pick you up; say 7:00 p. m."

"OK seven it is. Let me give you the address of my new apartment..."

I had another very disturbing dream Tuesday night. I was going to have to go to a shrink if they persisted.

############

To my shock -- not surprise, shock -- when Cheryl knocked on my apartment door at 7:02 p. m. on Friday night she wasn't dressed in the conservative clothes that she always wore. She had a stylish low-cut blouse, short skirt, three inch heels that matched her skirt, light makeup (she almost never wears makeup) that accentuated her enchanting emerald green eyes, and a new hair style that made her pretty face look even prettier. She sure didn't look forty three -- more like thirty.

Cheryl stared at me with apprehension on her face.

"Wow -- you dress up well," I said when my jaw started working again.

"Thanks," she replied, obviously relieved by my words. "The restaurant is kind of upscale and I didn't want to look like I didn't belong."

"Is that a new outfit?"

"Uh...yeah...I bought it and a few others similar to it this week. I thought it was time that I stopped wearing the frumpy clothes I've always worn."

Cheryl drove to the restaurant, which turned out to also have a dance floor. It was unfortunate that when she drove her skirt rode up her thigh. I had never seen part of her thigh before and chastised myself for thinking "Looks shapely!"

The dinner was pleasant, and Cheryl's upbeat demeanor was infectious so I almost forgot about my unpleasant divorce. It was unusual that Cheryl drank alcohol as much as she did, however; normally she drinks only one glass of wine when out to dinner. This night she bought a bottle "to share" but since I rarely drink and had only one glass she polished off the rest.

After dinner she enticed me onto the dance floor. The only times I had danced with her were at June and my wedding reception, and a couple of nights after Sam died when June and I brought her with us (during which times she declined many offers by other guys to dance). She was a pretty basic staid dancer -- then! Now, she was a firecracker.

After six or seven dances we took a break; she went to the bathroom and I got a table. When she returned I asked "How did you learn to dance like that?" I pride myself on being a good dancer -- for a guy -- but she was obviously better than I was.

"I've been taking lessons once a week for almost the last year," she smiled. "Did I do OK?"

"You were close to the best dancer out there -- you sure gave a lot of guys frog eyes," I chuckled.

"Oh, I did not," she blushed.

Just then, right on cue, a guy came up to us and asked me if I would mind if he danced with my "date."

After being taken aback a little, I realized that the way Cheryl looked people could easily mistake her for my date. When I regained my composure I said "It's up to my mother-in-law."

He looked VERY confused. Cheryl punched me in the arm and with a smile told the guy "He's a real kidder; however, since this is just our second date I don't want to dessert him -- especially since some hot young thing will snap him up -- so thank you very much for your invitation, but I'll decline. However, if he dumps me I'm sure that I'll see you here again," she laughed as she put her left hand on mine.

The guy smiled, then kissed her right hand, and left.

"You're a little devil," I said to her.

"Gotcha," she replied, just as a waiter came to our table and placed what looked like a Bloody Mary in front of her and a club soda in front of me.

"We didn't order..." I started to say when she cut me off.

"I did on my way back from the bathroom -- now drink up and then let's get back on the dance floor."

I had never seen her drink hard liquor, but she made short work of the Bloody Mary, and I polished off the club soda, and then we went back on the dance floor.

After another five or six dances Cheryl leaned into me and said "I think that I've reached my limit -- for both alcohol and dance. Can you drive me home; I really shouldn't drive. I may be drunk -- I don't know because I never have been before -- but I sure couldn't pilot a car without running into something."

I got the car from the valet while Cheryl went to the bathroom again, and then drove toward her house. She lived in a small elegant house in a close-in pretty ritzy suburb -- Sam had left her with some significant bucks when he died -- which was about eight miles from my apartment. I could just get a taxi or Uber home.

Cheryl was very chatty in the car, repeating several times -- I blamed it on the booze -- that she hoped that I had a good time and forgot about her cheating daughter for a while. When we got to her house she fumbled with the keys from the garage (which I used the remote on her visor to open) to her kitchen. I took them from her and opened up the door, and then helped her inside.

Once she got inside, she closed the door to the garage and made a clear locking movement of the deadbolt. Then she pulled something out of her purse and handed it to me. "I took these off in the bathroom as a souvenir for you," she cackled. It was her panties. I'm sure that I blushed red, but that was nothing compared to the intensity of red that must have followed.

After she handed me her panties and I opened and closed my mouth without sound I was so flabbergasted suddenly she had dropped her skirt. As I said "What are you..." she literally tore her blouse off, popping the buttons and revealing no bra underneath.

I'm sure that I was crimson; and just as assuredly my cock was rock hard. While I always predicted that a nice body lie under her frumpy clothes she didn't have a nice body -- she had a fabulous write home to mother, make every women in the world jealous, body.

Cheryl approached me and as she planted short kisses on my shoulders, neck, and cheeks kept mumbling. I don't think that I remember or understood all of the words she mumbled, but some that I do remember were:

-"I'm sure that you haven't been laid in months and need someone to fuck your brains out" (that statement took hold in my brain in part because I had never heard her say "fuck" before);

-"I'm as horny as you are;"

-"I've been sexually frustrated for decades and I need you to do something about that;"

-"Pretend that I'm just a slut that you picked up at a bar and not your mother-in-law;"

and others.

As she was saying these things my cock got stiffer and stiffer, and my brain couldn't help going back to the two dreams that had so disturbed me in the last few days. In those dreams I ripped Cheryl's clothes off and then fucked her senseless. In that fantasy her body was only about half as good as it was in real life.

Once Cheryl put her hands on the tent in my pants I lost it. As I carried her to her bedroom I remember that the primary thought in my mind was that I'd really regret this in the morning. However, I was sure that at least my cock would not regret it tonight.

When I plopped Cheryl on her bed and then immediately started eating her pussy and sucking her clitoris she responded like someone who had never had oral sex before -- I found out later that was because she hadn't.

When she had a seizure-like orgasm from my mouth and fingers it seemed that she had never climaxed with that intently before -- I found out later that was because she hadn't.

When I fucked her in the "chairman" position, with her sitting on my lap facing away from me while I mauled her tits and kissed the nape of her neck while both of our pelvises bounced up and down she acted like she had never fucked in any position besides missionary before -- I found out later that she hadn't.

My orgasm was all time as I blasted salvo after salvo into her snug pussy. She screamed, whimpered, and then passed out for a few seconds.

When we finally disengaged I was physically and emotionally wrung out. There was no way that I could get up and leave despite her disturbing words "Please stay the night, Brian; I've never woken up with someone I love before."

"Love?" What the fuck? I had to put that statement in the back of my mind for the time being. When she buried her head on my shoulder I quickly fell into a deep sleep.

I know that I had a number of erotic dreams during the night. I usually don't remember dreams, but this time I did remember them the next morning. All of them involved me either fucking Cheryl's brains out, or making love to her. My last dream turned out to be reality.

In the morning I felt activity at my crotch. I suddenly realized that it was reality, not a dream, when my eyes opened and I saw Cheryl sucking my cock and fondling my testicles. She wasn't very good as cocksuckers go. However, given the loving way that she was stimulating me and how beautiful she was that made no difference. I got hard quickly.

Once I was as stiff as a board I lifted her off my crotch, put her on her hands and knees on the bed, licked her pussy a few minutes, and then buried my cock to the hilt in one thrust at the same time that I grabbed a tit with one hand and stuck the thumb of my other hand in her rosebud.

I swear that Cheryl came four times before I started ejaculating into her and was almost comatose by the time that I was drained. When I pulled out she flipped onto her back, pulled me down to her, and started frantically kissing me. I responded in kind. After about five minutes we finally lay on our sides next to each other.

"Thank you for the best night and morning of my life," Cheryl said as her bewitching green eyes bore into mine with the power of a laser.

"Is this some bizarre world where a hot chick gives me two world class fucks and then thanks me?" I chuckled.

"Am I...I...really...a hot chick?" she stammered.

"Hell yes," I chuckled.

We had some pleasant pillow talk -- pleasant because I had not yet come to grips with fucking my mother-in-law but knew that ultimately it would be like the sword of Damocles hanging over my head. She concluded things by smiling and saying "Let's shower together," followed by a quick kiss.

"Sounds great," I replied, but just before I started rolling out of bed she grabbed me and with a tear in her eye said "I'm sorry for saying that I loved you."

Despite the heaviness of my emotions -- fucking her and then dealing with her saying that she loved me and then telling me that she was sorry for saying that -- we had a fun shower together. Since this was a time of firsts I got the clear impression that this was the first time that she showered with a man, and she was as excited as a puppy to have me wash off her private parts, and she mine.

Cheryl only wore a shorty robe as she made breakfast. She literally sung to herself as she did with a smile plastered on her face. We had a nice chat during breakfast -- but I was having a hard time suppressing my cock because she looked so adorable -- and happy. In fact, except at my wedding to June, I think that this was the happiest that I had ever seen her.

After breakfast I insisted that she get dressed while I handled the dishes. She changed into jean shorts and another nice blouse and casual flat heels, and again I marveled at how young she looked -- and at how great her thighs were.

She drove me to my apartment and when we got there she asked "Would you mind showing me your place -- I've never seen it."

"Sure," I replied. When I showed her around she seemed a little anxious, but I couldn't tell for sure. Then when we got to my bedroom -- it didn't take long to get there since my apartment wasn't that big -- she sighed heavily and put her hands to my chest.

"Brian; would you please fuck me in your bed?" she timidly asked, as she moved her hands from my chest to my cock -- which had now tented my pants. Somehow the combination of her vulnerability, how cute she was, how great the sex had been at her house, and how all of my recent dreams about fucking her, turned me into an animal.