My Mother-in-law, Jennifer Ch. 01

"Cum Michael, cum," she said. "I want you to cum in my mouth. I want to taste you. I want to swallow you. Cum, Michael, cum," she said continuing to stroke me harder and faster while sucking me deeper.

Moreover, with me looking older, in my mid-thirties, she looked younger, in her late teens. She looked 18-years-old and I looked 36-years-old. With her not having a Daddy, and with her, perhaps, having Daddy issues, I wondered if she looked at me as her surrogate father. Whenever she was bad, I imagined pulling down her nurse's scrubs and her white panties, bending her over my knees, and spanking her naked ass.

"And this is for forgetting to make the coffee this morning." 'Slap.' This is for not coming right home from work yesterday. 'Slap.' This is for using all the hot water last night and for drinking the last bit of orange juice this morning." 'Slap, slap.'

Actually, I'd never spank my beautiful bride's buttocks unless she wanted me to spank her. It would be a tragic shame to spank such a perfectly round and firm ass. I'd do anything to her ass but slap it. In love with her beautiful ass, I'd much rather squeeze her ass while kissing her ass before licking her ass. I'd much rather fuck her ass than slap her ass. The best of both worlds, I'd slap her ass while fucking her ass.

'Spank me, Daddy. I've been bad, very bad,' I imagined her saying while laughing. 'Pull down my pants, pull down my panties, and spank my naked ass in front of your friends.'

No doubt, something I was reluctant to do but Heather would love me to strip her bottomless and spank her in front of my friends. With her an exhibitionist, she'd love me to strip her naked while my friends ogled her beautiful, naked body. With her into bondage, discipline, and orgy like group sex, she'd love it if I tied her to the bed and allowed my friends to have their wicked, sexual turns with her naked body. Even though I never broached the subject with her, it wouldn't surprise me if she had already been gangbanged. Difficult for me to admit but I was having a hard time sexually satisfying Heather.

# # #

Unfortunately, the difference in our ages was more of an issue for me than for her. It was sometimes hard to have a conversation and even harder to make a point by using well known analogies. Sometimes, when talking about people, places, or things, she had no idea, not a clue, what I was talking about. Even though she was a nurse in an emergency room and had already seen things and done things on a daily basis that I'd never see or do in a lifetime, she wasn't as worldly as I was. Sadly, normal everyday conversation showed how incompatible we truly were.

As examples, something as simple, she didn't even know who the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, or the Beach Boys were. Elvis? Not a clue. Frank Sinatra? No. Barbara Streisand? She never heard of her. Marilyn Monroe? Nope. Seriously, how could she not have heard of the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, the Beach Boys, Elvis, Frank Sinatra, Barbara Streisand, or Marilyn Monroe? She didn't know that Ford Mustangs were first made in the 60's.

With her only 5-years-old at the time, other than the invasive searches of the TSA and the pain-in-the-ass airport security lines, she had no memory and little understanding of the ramifications and consequences of 9/11. With her not having much of a sense of history and of politics, sometimes I felt as if she was from a foreign country in her own country or an alien from another planet, planet Heather. After a while, with her seldom getting the point, as if she was a dumb blonde, it was exhausting having to explain everything.

Yet, give her an I-Phone and, as if born with an I-Phone in her hand, she could make that thing sing. Now, I recently bought a mobile phone. I never had one before. I didn't want one. I didn't need one. Yet, with me having a hot girlfriend and in a serious relationship, and with her working crazy hours, I needed to stay connected and in contact with her by phone.

Instead of buying a phone where I can pay for my coffee, buy groceries, or pay for my gas with just a swipe, I bought a basic phone. Accustomed to using a landline instead of a mobile phone, I bought a phone that I can make calls and receive calls. What more do I need? Not wanting a phone to go on the Internet, I didn't want a phone to do anything other than to talk on it.

'Hello? Can you hear me now?'

With headphone wires plugged in their ears, I watch these people on the subway texting and playing video games on their phones. Never interacting with one another, instead of looking up at people, engaging people, and/or talking to people they continually stare down at their phones. I don't want to be like that. I don't want to be one of them. Not wanting to be a victim, instead of staring at a mobile phone screen, I need to be aware of my surroundings when out and about.

Yet with technology rushing by me, I'm on the outside looking in as the modern, digital world whirls around me. I feel as if looking through a window while standing on the sidewalk in front of an Apple store and wondering what's happening when watching people getting excited over things that I don't understand. That frustration of not understanding what the big deal is about I-Phones is what it's like trying to have a conversation with Heather and her trying to have a conversation with me.

"What? Huh? I don't get it?"

Unless we're having sex, we're seldom on the same page. Unless we're having sex, having little in common, we seldom speak. Unless we're having sex, I don't interact with her in the way that I interact with her mother. Unless we're having sex, once she leaves for work, as if I'm not married, sad but true, I seldom think about her until she's home and we're having sex again.

With her having such a naivety, for safety sake and for her own protection, she wasn't as mature and as wise as I was and wished her to be. If she was anything, except when it comes to sex, medical injuries, and death, she was so innocent. When alone on the crime infested, city streets, easy to take advantage of her good nature and her need to help others, she was a victim. With her so trusting, she'd believe anything that anyone told her about anything. I could see her falling victim to a grifter, a flimflam man, or a sexual predator.

"Trust me," I imagine a stranger on the street saying to her. "Do me a favor and lift up your blouse and your bra, I, um, just wanna see somethin'." Not thinking she'd be that dumb, instead maybe she just wanted to show him her tits. "Now, do me another favor and lift up your skirt and pull down your panties. I, um, just wanna see something."

With me a voracious reader, someone who still prefers reading books to reading off a Kindle screen, Heather doesn't read. Unless she's reading a medical chart, e-mails, or text messages, she doesn't read a book, a magazine, or a newspaper. Every bit of the daily information she needs to do her job and get her through life, she gets from her I-Phone by going out on the internet.

# # #

Extrapolating our ages by doing that math in my head, she'd be 42-years-old when I'm 51-years-old, not as bad and, if we managed to stay married that long, she'd be 62-years-old when I'm 71-years-old. Yet, when you're young, dumb, and full of cum, especially a young, testosterone filled, horny man, no one thinks that far in advance, at least, I didn't. Blinded by Heather's beauty, body, and anything that made sense and that distracted me from the enjoyment of having orgasmic sex with her, a tall, young, shapely, sexy, and beautiful blonde, I was in love.

Yet, sadly and hard for me to admit, instead of being in love with the woman, I was in love with the description of her. Because she was tall, blonde, beautiful, shapely and sexy with big, blue eyes, she was my Scandinavian Goddess, my Swedish slut, or my Norwegian Princess. Because she was tall, blonde, and beautiful, as if she was a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit model, from the time I was a horny, teenage boy, she was the type of woman that I was made to believe that I wanted.

In the way that I lusted over Christie Brinkley when I was a teenager, Heather was my very own Christie Brinkley. In the way that I was envious of Hugh Hefner's centerfold, Playboy Playmates, Heather was my very own centerfold, Playboy Playmate. By the way, just as Heather never heard of Hugh Hefner, Christie Brinkley, or her American singer, songwriter, and piano playing, ex-husband, Billy Joel, if it didn't have a medical name, she was clueless.

With men from Mars and women from Venus, I blame men's sexism towards women on the Miss America pageants of old. I blame men's treatment of women on television and movies that tease, titillate, and showcase beautiful women. I blame the dogs that men are on the Bachelor and Bachelorette television shows that show beautiful, sexy women that you never see on the street. I blame men's bad behavior on Madison Avenue's advertising, and I blame the horny way that men are on the Elite, Ford, IMG, and Wilhelmina modeling agencies and their stunning models.

I blame men's disgraceful ways on men's magazines and the perception of beauty that men perceive only on the outside instead of on the inside. After being bombarded by what I was told was beauty, with Heather my personal definition of beauty, I was doomed for failure from the start. Obviously, her age, her immaturity, and her lack of understanding of those things that interested me and her disinterest of those things that are important to me were major issues. Obviously, with her so clueless and with us never on the same page when not having sex, our marriage would never work.

Much like the violence that we're exposed to on the news, in movies, and on video games, bombarded by it, there's little chance to make up my own mind. By the time I hit puberty, I was already brainwashed. By the time I was of dating age, I was already looking for my tall, beautiful, blonde. Obviously, her age, her immaturity, and her lack of understanding of those things that interested me and her disinterest in those things that were important to me was what torpedoed our relationship. Just as my preconceived notions of what I thought I wanted in a woman had poisoned me, assuredly, Heather was what I didn't want in a woman.

# # #

A whirlwind romance, love affair, and a fast engagement, we were married within six months of meeting one another. I was more than ready for marriage and children but she wasn't ready for marriage as she professed she was. Seemingly, she was more interested in advancing her new nursing career. Even more surprisingly disturbing than her not being ready for marriage, she didn't want children.

I was shocked when she told me that she didn't want children. What woman doesn't want children? What woman doesn't want a baby? What woman doesn't want a family? What woman doesn't have that maternal instinct? What woman doesn't want to be a mother and eventually a grandmother?

'She's still young,' I thought. 'Maybe she'll change her mind but she seemed so adamant about not wanting children.'

With us always too busy making out and having sex, something we hadn't discussed before we married, had I known she didn't want children, I may not have married her. I just assumed that she wanted children as much as I wanted children, at least a boy for me and a girl for her. What started out as a sexual fantasy relationship and a dream marriage come true, married to my dream woman, was already showing cracks in what I thought was our solid foundation. With no male child to carry my name, I couldn't imagine ending my lineage with the death of me.

I always wanted a son to toss around a football, hit a baseball, shoot a basketball, or slap a hockey puck in the net. I always wanted a son to teach how to hunt, fish, and shoot. I always wanted a daughter to take to the amusement park and watch while she rode the merry-go-round. I always wanted a daughter to protect and walk down the aisle at her wedding. I was looking forward to having children and, eventually, grandchildren.

Even though I loved Heather, I couldn't imagine our life together beginning and ending with us and with no one else to share our love for one another. I wanted children to raise, cherish, and love and she didn't. Whether it was a boy or a girl, I really didn't care which, I wanted, at least, one child. I didn't want to go my whole life with only her as my only sun, moon, and stars. When her blonde hair greying, her beauty fading, and her body sagging, I needed more than just a blonde, beautiful, sexy woman. I wanted and needed children and grandchildren.

Moreover, a deal breaker for me, she didn't even want a dog. Why didn't she want a dog? She didn't like dogs. Who doesn't like dogs? After treating dog bites in the emergency room, she's afraid of dogs. Having always had a dog, until my hunting dog, ol' Blue died, I love dogs.

I was ready to get another dog before I met Heather until I realized it may be her or a dog. A cat woman, she had two cats. A poor excuse for a pet as far as I'm concerned, especially when compared to a loyal and loving dog, I hate cats. I'm allergic to cats. Cats don't like me and I don't like them. In the way that she doesn't like dogs, I don't like cats.

# # #

Something more I didn't know about my wife until I had constant and continual sex with her, Heather was bi-sexual. She enjoyed having sex with women as much as she enjoyed having sex with men. Now, I'm a modern kind of guy and it would be kinky hot to watch Heather kissing, fingering, and licking another woman and another woman kissing, fingering, and licking her, but not if she preferred women to men.

Before she met me, something I didn't know, she had a longtime, sexual affair with a woman named Samantha from nursing school. I can compete with any man but I doubt if I can compete with a woman. Then, to make me wonder if their bi-sexual affair was still continuing, something else I didn't know, Samantha works with her at the same hospital. They see one another every day they're working.

Then, another wedge in our new marriage, always on call as if she was a doctor, was her crazy work schedule. Adding to the emptiness of a newly wedded marriage without children was the loneliness of her working long, 12-hour shifts and sometimes, in an emergency, double shifts. With her just starting her nursing career, she got the schedule that no one else wanted. Then, if that wasn't enough, there was the issue of her mother.

'God help me,' I thought when she told me that she wanted her mother to live with us. 'Seriously? Are you kidding me?' Still just newlyweds, I couldn't believe Heather expected me to welcome her mother living with us when we were just married and were still getting to know one another.

If it wasn't enough that I had a hard time having a normal, everyday conversation with my wife, with her working crazy hours and always wanting sex when she wasn't working, her being bi-sexual floored me. If it wasn't enough that she didn't want children and didn't want a dog, her wanting her mother to move in with us was another issue. Unless she's naked and sucking and fucking me, I barely see my wife as it is. Then, to complicate our newly wedded relationship with her mother living with us, I could already see the writing on the wall.

Doomed before it started, our marriage already had enough pitfalls without her adding her mother to the mix. Instead of our marriage getting better, the more intimate details that I learned about Heather, the worse it became. Once getting to know her better, making our conversations strained, we didn't share many of the same common interests, backgrounds, and experiences.

After meeting Heather and marrying her within six months, it made me wonder how bachelors and bachelorettes on the Bachelor and Bachelorette television shows can find love after only ten weeks of shooting. It made me wonder how anyone can find love on that Proposal television show where a man meets a woman or a woman meets a man and within an hour he's proposing marriage. It made me wonder how those contestants on the Bachelor in Paradise can find love by hanging out and drinking with women on a beach for just a few weeks.

Yet, something she told me from the start, part of her agreeing to marry me was having her mother live with us. Since her mother was already living with her at the time, unable to afford a place of her own, unless living in a crime infested slum, she'd have nowhere to go. What was I going to say, no your mother can't live with us? I wasn't about to throw her mother out in the street. Yet, how many newly married husbands would welcome their wife's mother to live with them?

In love with Heather and ready to agree to any condition to be with her until death do us part, I didn't fully ponder the ramifications of her mother living with us. Had I known then what I know now, I may have said no. Who wants to live with their mother-in-law, especially when starting a new marriage? It's difficult enough starting a new marriage without having an interfering mother-in-law taking her daughter's side in arguments. It's difficult starting a new marriage with her mother invading from our privacy.

A deal breaker for any other, newly wedded man and for any other marriage, yet, once I met her mother, an older, prettier, and sexier version of Heather, I welcomed her mother to live with us. I was stunned by Heather's mother, Jennifer. Heather looked much like her mother, but her mother was taller and more beautiful with bigger tits. As shapely and as sexy as Heather, yet, as soon as I met my new mother-in-law, I felt that I may have married the wrong woman.

# # #

Tainted by the stories of horrible mothers-in-law, Jennifer wasn't anything like what I thought she'd be. My wife's mother was fun. She was funny and had a great sense of humor. She was as beautiful as she was sexy. Quick witted compared to Heather, my new bride was dull and uninteresting except when it came to sex. Her mother always got the joke and laughed before her daughter.

We enjoyed teasing one another at Heather's expense. With Heather so serious, too serious when it came to her job and even sex, her mother and I were always laughing. Every time Heather walked in the kitchen we were laughing as if we had just finished telling a joke. When Heather went to bed because she had an early morning shift, we'd stay up late to watch a movie while talking, laughing, and drinking wine.

A big thing for me, something that Heather didn't enjoy doing, Jennifer loved playing games. Whether card games, board games, bowling, shooting pool, playing pinball, or miniature golf, Jennifer was up for the challenge. Always wanting to win, she was as competitive as I was. I loved playing games with my wife's mother.

With me always incorrigibly horny, whenever I played a board game with Jennifer, whether it was Scrabble, Monopoly, Backgammon, chess, or Rummikub, I'd sit on the floor in front of her while she sat on the edge of the couch. She seldom wore pants and always wore a short skirt. Careful not to allow her to catch me looking, she had no idea that I could see all that she was carelessly showing.

She involuntarily parted her knees to lean forward and make her next move. My discomfort of sitting on the floor instead of on a chair was rewarded with continual, up-skirt peeks of my mother-in-law's, white, bikini panties. Even when her knees were cemented together, I could still see a triangular patch of her panties over her shapely thighs. I loved seeing flashes of my mother-in-law's bright, white panties. I loved seeing her pussy slit, her camel toe, and the stray blonde, pubic hairs that peeked out from the sides of her panties.

Constantly masturbating over imagining my mother-in-law naked while having sex with her, in the way that I imagined fingering her through her panties, I imagined licking her through her panties. I imagined pushing her panties aside to finger her warm, wet pussy. I imagined removing her panties to eat her before making love to her and before fucking her. In the way that I gave Heather multiple, sexual orgasms with my fingers, tongue, and cock, I imagined giving Jennifer multiple, sexual orgasms with my fingers, tongue, and cock. Suffice to admit, I was falling in love with Heather's mother.