A mother-in-law’s dream?

Ezra Finch
4 min readMay 11, 2022

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.

But what do you do? To my rescue came one of the always equally eager flower sellers. Good evening, sir, buy some roses for your beautiful lady! That was the help I needed. Yes please, come here, I said. Isn’t she a really beautiful and sexy woman? I thought she deserves some nice roses, I said to the flower man, and looked a little teasing at Nina. The tone and theme were set. Newly divorced as she was, I thought a little deviously that here there was a lady who was receptive to compliments and good words. And I was right. So there we were, forgetting who we were, or we gave a damn, and lived in the present, flirting with each other, as if we’d met there at the restaurant, that night.

Then we moved on in the hot summer evening, back to the hotel. Arm in arm, and she didn’t deny me. Can I offer you a little nightcap on my porch? I asked. And she nodded with a small, gentle smile. There was tingling in me on the way from the elevator to the hotel room. We were silent now, marked by the seriousness, after all? I…