A mother-in-law’s dream?

I can’t believe what alcohol, holiday voting and a slightly limp marriage can do. Suddenly I was sitting there looking at the lady across the table in a way I’d never had the imagination to imagine before. She was my mother-in-law, Nina, 65, compared to my 48th 17 years older. But first and foremost, she was my mother-in-law. And here I was, looking at her like a booty I wanted to put down. Did she notice? Probably. And I couldn’t care less. That is, I wanted her to notice.

And what were we doing out in a restaurant together, on a dark and warm evening on the shores of the Mediterranean, just her and me? My wife had suggested inviting her on holiday, and I hadn’t cheered, but I hadn’t protested either. After all, Nina was newly divorced, and I realized it would be nice to invite her. The man had run off with a younger lady, and there she was left alone, pretty alone, I think. But in the middle of the holiday, my ceo wife was called home because of a crisis at the firm. So she left, while Nina and I decided to stay the time. So here we were, well into the other white wine bottle. And I no longer thought about who she was, just how nice and tempting she was, summery brown and golden, smiling in an as always elegant dress. And I was like gaping in her eyes, lips, hands, trying to keep my eyes off her breasts, big and heavy.