Son-in-law's Summer of Love and Sex

"Oh, so you like my ass, do you?"

"You have a beautiful behind. You have the ass of a twenty-year-old."

"Thank you, Stephen," she said with another laugh while taking another sip of her wine.

"Tell me about your sex life," I said looking at her with excited sexual anticipation in the hopes she'd confess more fodder for me to masturbate over later.

"My sex life? What sex life?" She laughed. "Besides, if I had a sex life, it would be privately off limits."

"C'mon, I'll kiss and tell if you will," I said.

"Much like your sex life has been after Samantha left, my sex life is non-existent too," she said with a reticent pause and looking at me as she was hiding something, but what?

Such a strange comment for a mother to make about her daughter. I wondered what Samantha leaving had anything to do with her sex life. Is my mother-in-law, the main care provider for my son hiding sexual secrets? Does she have skeletons in her closet that she doesn't want exposed? Perhaps she has a tarnished past. Obviously with her just as sexually aroused discussing sex, maybe she was once as sexual as her daughter.

Wanting her to continue to play the sexual innuendo game, I needed to feed her some dirt so that she'd reciprocate and feed me some too. Only, she was right. After Samantha left, other than by pleasuring myself with my own hand, my sexual life ended. Nonetheless this sexual jousting was fun.

"I still masturbate from time to time," I said out of the blue but not confessing that I masturbated over her nightly.

"You do?" She looked at me as if shocked that I'd pleasure myself with my hand and I looked at her as if shocked that she didn't. "Over what?"

Over you I wanted to say and, perhaps because of the second glass of wine I was drinking, I shocked myself when I said what I was thinking.

"Over you."

She looked at me as if I threw cold water in her face. I wondered if she'd give me the same look if I stuck my cock in her face. Wanting to apologize to her for being so disrespectful, that is, until I realize that I hadn't verbalized my thoughts.

"Over me?" She looked at me incredulously. "You masturbate over me?" She laughed out loud. "Seriously?" Then she looked at me with curiosity. "Why?"

Already taking my leap of faith, jumping out of a plane without a parachute or diving in the deep end of the pool without checking if there was any water, I was walking on thin ice in confessing my lust for my mother-in-law. A risk worth taking, I suspected she felt the same way about me as I felt about her.

"Why? Why not? Why wouldn't I? Look at you. You're gorgeous. You're sexy," I said pausing in my sexual confession to fortify my courage with another sip of wine before blurting out what I was thinking. "I'd do you, if you weren't my mother-in-law," I said with a laugh.

"You'd do me? You would? Really?" She raised an eyebrow to look at me with sexual interest. "Thank you, I think," she said with a laugh. After a long, thoughtful pause, she said something in her glass while sipping her wine that shocked me. "And I'd do you, even if you are my son-in-law," she said in a quiet voice while slowly crossing her legs to flash me her white panty beneath her short skirt.

Calling me on my bluff, only that was before and this was now. Now that she's standing in my bedroom doorway asking my permission to sleep with me, I should have recognized her not so subtle sign when she confessed that she'd do me, even with me being her son-in-law. Even though I was flattered, even though I was sexually excited by knowing that my mother-in-law would do me, I was afraid. Still in love with her daughter, I was as bewildered as I was bewitched by her mother. Believing the improbable but knowing that it wouldn't happen, I kept the memory of Samantha alive by believing that she'd return one day.

Covering our forbidden sexuality with humor while pretending that we were only kidding and teasing, should we hit a too personal nerve, each evening we'd delve further to expose our sexual wants, needs, desires, and experiences. With both of us hurting, lonely, and feeling rejected because of her daughter being our common thread, we were ripe for this mother-in-law and son-in-law sexual connection to happen. Unfortunately, as if it was still a festering, open wound, just as the love for her mother stopped me from missing her daughter, the love of her daughter interfered with me falling in love with her mother.

Even after Samantha left, missing her so terribly, expecting her to appear from out of the blue one day, I still held reservations of developing a sexual relationship with Christine until after I was over Samantha. Before going from daughter to mother, I needed closure. Having not even spoken with Samantha, all I had was her one telephone message telling me that she was leaving and not returning. Perhaps had I divorced her daughter things would be different but, with Samantha still my wife and among the missing, Christine was still my off limits mother-in-law.

In the way that Ireland Baldwin looks so much like her mother, Kim Basinger, Samantha and Christine could have been sisters instead of mother and daughter. The fact that they looked, talked, and walked so much alike kept Samantha alive in my mind as if she was still there with me. Being with her mother, even platonically, made me miss her daughter even more and made my life so much more frustratingly difficult. Able to look without touching and then having to go to bed alone, even if I wanted to, I couldn't forget Samantha with her mother there living in my house with her grandson. When she came to my room wearing her sexiest nightgown, makeup, perfume, and her blonde hair done, I was ready to take our relationship to the next level.

"May I sleep with you?"

Obviously for her to finally be so brazenly bold to come to my room, I had missed all over subtle signals and not so subtle hints. She wasn't asking to sleep with me because she was tired. She came to my room looking for sex. In the sexy way she looked and in the sensual way she looked at me, coming to my room dressed as she was, she knew I wouldn't say no.

Too afraid to pull the trigger myself, she was the one asking to have sex with me when I should have been the one asking to have sex with her. Had she asked me to sleep with her a year ago, hurting from Samantha leaving and longing for her to return, I would have said no. Now, after platonically living together for a year, after becoming closer to her than I ever was to her daughter, I was ready to take our relationship to the next level. By that look in her eyes, the same look that I had in my eyes, she wanted me as much as I wanted her and I was ready to be sexually intimate with her.

Did I dare make love to Samantha's mother after making love to Christine's daughter? Even though we weren't blood related, we still live in the same house. How dare I think that I could go from mother to daughter without having perverted thoughts of incest? Even though I wanted her, not so much because she was my off limits mother-in-law but because she was a desirable woman, I still couldn't help but feel that I was doing something lecherously wrong and sexually forbidden. Maybe because I was about to do something so wickedly yet deliciously forbidden, the feeling that our relationship had that bad to the bone sensation, attracted me more to her than to another woman my age or to a woman her age.

A long, hot summer and a sexually frustrating year in the making, taking us both a year to take our relationship to the next level, it all started last summer and didn't come to a conclusion until this summer. Not until seeing the other side, it's funny how things aren't clear until going through the dark tunnel of discontent and wrestling with my demons imagined or real. Without Samantha in my life and with Christine always there for me, it took me a year to realize that my life now is much better than it was then. With things never how they seem to be, it's funny how there's always a rainbow. Exchanging constant drama, sexual frustration, and questionable love for companionship, satisfying sex, and real love, I'm glad that Samantha is gone and Christine is still here.

Samantha, is a 28-year-old, over the hill, swimsuit model. At the end of her modeling career and struggling with aging, when she left, I didn't understand why she left me and abandoned our son, Michael. Unable to give up her exciting lifestyle for me and her son, now I understand why she left for fun in the sun with her famed, fashion photographer and constant traveling companion, Francesco. To be honest, I thought she was happy. I was wrong. What did I know? To be honest, I thought he was gay. Again, I was wrong. What did I know?

In love with her, I was so naive. With her wanting to continue her supermodel fantasy life and live on the French Riviera, who'd blame her for leaving gridlock Boston traffic for the exclusivity of Monaco? Still, too cowardly to face me, I never suspected she'd run off after leaving me just one lousy phone message. Certainly, after being together for three years, after getting married and having a child together, I deserved better than that.

"Hi Stephen. I decided to take that job in France. Take care of yourself and take care of Michael. Good-bye. I don't plan on ever returning. Sorry. Give my mother a kiss for me," she said. "She'll understand."

Job? What job? Is she kidding? Is this a joke? She doesn't plan on ever returning? Who does she think she is, Roman Polanski? Sorry? Sorry for what? Is she sorry for my pain and suffering or is she sorry for leaving our child without a mother?

When I played back the message for the thousandth time I went from shock to sadness to rage. How could she leave me? How could she leave our baby? How could she just leave without an explanation? How could she leave us for him? How could she cut off her mother?

I could sue her for divorce. No doubt, I'd win a big settlement. Yet, it wasn't about the money. Hoping she'd change her mind and return, I didn't want her out of our lives. I still wanted her to be my wife, the mother to my son, and the daughter to her mother. As if the heart of our family was missing, holidays weren't the same without her there with us.

What did she mean by telling me to give her mother a kiss for me, she'll understand? When I asked Christine what she meant by that, she rolled her eyes and shrugged. What kind of wife leaves her husband without discussing it? What kind of mother abandons her child without so much as a hug and a kiss goodbye? After all she sacrificed for her daughter, what kind of daughter turns her back on her mother? What's wrong with her? What's wrong with me for even missing her. Good riddance and goodbye.

She must be on drugs again. Maybe that's it. Maybe she's high. Maybe she's been kidnapped, raped, beaten, and tortured and is being held for ransom, but there's been no other calls except for her one message. I replayed her message over and again searching for clues in her words and diction to tell me that she was leaving me voluntarily. There was nothing in her message but her annoying voice that I suddenly grew to hate.

With her out of the country, out of touch, and out of reach, unless I traveled to Monte Carlo, I couldn't find her to ask her and to beg her to reconsider her immature foolishness and come home. For someone so beautiful on the outside, she was so ugly on the inside. For someone so savvy about her career choices, she was so stupid about everything else. Life, love, and relationships, she didn't have a clue.

She ripped out my heart and flushed what we had down the toilet. For her to leave me is one thing but for her to abandon our baby is something else entirely. I was devastated. I was lost. I was crushed. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't work. I felt nothing but the emptiness I felt when she left. I wanted to die and if it wasn't for my son and for my mother-in-law, I may have taken my life. Only, Michael deserved better than a mother leaving him and a father killing himself. Not a good way to start out his life with such parental rejection, I needed to show my son that life was better than that. Lucky she didn't take him with her, now nothing else mattered but my son.

In the way that Jamie Conway felt, played by Michael J. Fox, when his famous model wife, Amanda White, played by Phoebe Cates, left him, suddenly I felt like the main character in Jay McInerney's, Bright Lights, Big City. Only that was fiction and what I was feeling and going through was real. If Francesco was before me now, I'd kill him. Suddenly, I understood why jilted, angry lovers and deceived, cheated on husbands went to jail for murder. Yet, unlike his mother thinking only of herself, I had to think of the welfare of my son over the selfish rage I was feeling now.

Unlike Amanda in the movie, married to Jamie without children, Samantha was not only married but also she had a child. Now that she's no longer single, she has responsibilities at home that she didn't have before when she was free to go anywhere, anytime, and do whatever she wanted with whomever she wanted. She's a woman who never should have married and who never should have had a child. Blinded by her beauty and her body, I never had the chance to think through our future, long term relationship together for me to say no.

No? How could I say no to her? A younger version of Christine, in the gorgeous way she looks, who in their right mind would ever say no to her? Even now that she's hurt me and broken my heart, how could I reject her in the way she's rejected me? If she returned now, I'd forgive her. Still in love with her, if she returned now, taking her back with opened arms, I'd still want her.

Not wanting her to get away, I popped the question a year after we met at a party and started dating. A year after that she was pregnant and a year after we had Michael she was gone. In hindsight, obviously, I was more ready to settle down than she was, an understatement.

A swimsuit model, she knew the ramifications of her age in her chosen career. A swimsuit model, she knew the ramifications of becoming pregnant. What was she thinking? If she still wanted to model, if she wasn't ready to retire, why did she have a baby? If she still wanted that fast life, why did she marry me?

One or the other, a modeling career or a family, someone as immature as she obviously was couldn't have both. I thought she loved me as much as I loved her. I thought she loved our baby. I thought she loved being a mother. I thought she loved her mother. I thought she was as happy as I was. Apparently, now that she's gone and never to return, she loved the fast life more than anything or anyone else.

I should have read the writing on the wall. Unable to work, other than modeling maternity clothes, being a hand and/or foot model, and making public appearances on news magazine shows, she was a miserable bitch when she was pregnant and even after she had the baby. Filled with postpartum blues, she was morosely sad and inconsolably angry. After the baby was born, using work and travel as her convenient excuse to leave us and shirk her domestic and wifely responsibilities, she was never home and I was the one caring for Michael. A year before she stopped modeling to concentrate more on attending parties to make professional connections, so she said, we had her mother come live with us to help care for Michael so that I could return to work.

Now that I think more of it, her mother was the one to upset her and anger her. Always arguing, always at one another' throats, for some unknown reason, it was obvious to me that Samantha didn't get along at all with her mother. Maybe it was her mother who pushed her too early to model. Maybe her mother, missing her chance at her modeling career, lived vicariously through her daughter. Maybe because her mother became pregnant with Samantha, playing the guilt card, she used her daughter to fulfill her dreams of living that kind of high fashion lifestyle. Still, whatever it was to make them so upset to constantly quarrel, now that so much time has passed, it was nothing that they couldn't work out by discussing their feelings and apologizing to one another.

Understandably, now that I know her better through the conversations I've had with her mother, ex-supermodel Samantha wasn't the type of woman to settle down with a husband, housework, and a baby. She had been enjoying the high life too long, since she was discovered at 15-years-old. Now tied to me through marriage, to motherhood with her baby, and to her mother at birth, as if we were an anchor that lagged far behind her cigarette boat that raced her out to some billionaire's yacht, apparently we were no match for what other men could give her to stay with us.

"May I sleep with you?"

Christine stood in my bedroom doorway. Obviously, we both knew the answer to her question.

"Yes," I said standing as she walked in my bedroom.

Once in my room, we sat on the bed in silence looking at one another.

"Kiss me," she said.

Wanting to do this for months, I wrapped my arm around her waist, pulled her to me, and kissed her. When she allowed me to part her lips, I gave her my tongue and she responded with hers. A year ago, I never would have French kissed my mother-in-law but now I was French kissing Christine, the woman I love. A year ago Christine never would have made the first move nor would she have welcomed my sexual advances.

With my son sleeping for the night, we had hours together. We sat on the edge of the bed kissing. More aroused kissing her than touching her, her kisses reminded me of kissing Samantha only better and more meaningful. If Samantha was the appetizer, Christine was the rest of the meal and the dessert. If I closed my eyes, I imagined Samantha there with me. Then, when I opened my eyes to look in her eyes, my excitement grew with the thoughts that I was making out with her mother.

Eager to feel her body, wanting to feel her breasts and finger her nipples before moving my hand up her nightgown and between her legs, I didn't want to rush things. A memory that I wanted to remember, a first time experience that I wanted to savor, I was content to just kiss her while holding her. She was so beautiful and in the way that her daughter's kisses blanked my mind the first time we were sexually together so long ago, so did her mother's kisses blank my mind now.

Even though I couldn't wait to touch her, she was the one who touched me first. While I kissed her, I felt her hand feel my chest before she slowly slid her hand down my stomach to rest in my lap. Her fingertips teased the head of my cock and it felt good to have her fingers in contact with my pajama clad penis. Then, when she moved her hand and rested it on my cock, my passion for her heightened as my erection hardened. Kissing her while she held my pajama clad cock in her hand was magically exciting. As if she was turning the combination to a safe, I felt her fingers skillfully fondle the head of my cock in the way that I couldn't wait to fondle her nipples. Only, not wanting to frighten her away, I knew if I prematurely touched her, felt her, and caressed her beautiful body, I'd want to make love to her but I wasn't ready for that just yet. Not wanting to spoil things by rushing things, I was content taking my time.

Evidentially she was readier for a sexual relationship than me. For me, a sexual fantasy come true, I couldn't believe it when she reached her hand inside my pajama bottoms, fondled my naked prick, and pulled out my cock. Such a bold move that I wanted to do to her by sticking my hand down her nightgown to cup her full breasts and finger her nipples, she did to me by sticking her hand in my pajamas to take hold of my prick. A sight to behold and something that I've imagined happening and masturbated over for months, I looked down at my mother-in-law holding my cock in her hand. She ran her fingers over the head of my engorged prick in the way that I couldn't wait to finger her nipples and rub her clit.