I am visited in my home on a Scottish Island by my ex mother-in-law and we …………. we ………… well read on.
Janet lay beside me, half on me, her breathing a regular draft of warm air across my chest. My arm was draped around her body. Surprisingly comfortable. Until yesterday she had been my ex-wife’s mother and now she was my lover. The change in our status had for years been a slow inexorable rise in closeness, from enjoying our conversations to confidences implying trust and then, a telephone call, “can I visit?”
I had married her daughter at 20, far too young. I was on the rebound from a breakup with my long-term girlfriend after our holiday in Norway. Within weeks of the marriage, we knew it was a mistake and the monthly visits of her mother, Janet, staying for long weekends had been a comfort for both my wife and I, a relief from there being just us. As well as studying, enduring the last year of my degree course, I was on shift work, driving buses early and lates whilst my wife worked normal daily hours. This meant that I was either alone with Janet in the morning or after lunch.
The conversations became ever more revealing as Janet realised that her daughter’s marriage was faltering, comparing it with her own which was by now well over 30 years in duration. It was obvious that my marriage was just a case of infatuation failing to survive past the first flush. In comparison Janet spoke of her having to marry because of pregnancy and then being locked in by convention and having three children to raise. As soon as my wife returned from work our conversation would end. That intimacy was a safety valve for both of us.
My marriage soon crumbled. Separation, divorce taking a while longer. Throughout that process I lost touch with Janet as she naturally kept faith with her daughter as she rebuilt her life, very soon finding a man more to her liking. I moved back to the city where I had spent my late teens (this period in my life contained in my “Sunday Lunch” stories).
I then re-located to this Scottish island, moving into a rundown white house that needed to be nursed back to health, or, if you prefer, back to being habitable. The cottage was owned by my grandparents, but they had not visited it for years. I planned to spend a few months on the island, existing on my savings until something turned up. I was going through a very aimless phase in my life.
The cottage proved to be structurally sound so just needed a lick of paint and the plumbing to be upgraded and this I achieved in just a few months. I was already contemplating what to do next, my options to find a job on the island being limited I was thinking of finding another cottage that needed to be, well, nursed back to health. For the moment though I was enjoying the comfort of the renovated home and gradually eating my way through my savings. I was helped, financially, when my grandfather offered to pay me for my work so, with savings augmented I had time to enjoy life on the island.
Not long after a letter arrived from Janet (the address known as it was cited in the divorce papers). Can we meet? Her letter explained that she was just about to start a holiday in Scotland without her husband and that she would be spending two nights in the town that was linked to my island by a ferry. I wrote back asking for dates and hotel details and agreed to visit the mainland so that I could see her.
A couple of weeks later I took the ferry and there, waiting for me at the harbour was Janet. We spent a very enjoyable day together, talking, laughing and reviving the intimacy we had shared in those months of my failed marriage. At the end of the day I caught the last ferry of the day. A chaste kiss and hug of farewell and then waving to her as the ferry pulled away from the quay. Her letter arrived barely days later. This time the question was, can I visit you on the island?
Now she was here. I had travelled over to the mainland on the first ferry of the day, joining Janet in her hotel for breakfast. Then the midday ferry to the island and back to my home. Sitting in the recently renovated parlour, made cosy with a peat fire we relaxed, drinking tea as we talked and talked.
The old intimacy was still there, resumed as if there had been no breakup with her daughter, no divorce. We went over old ground, revisiting the conversations we had shared; I realised that for Janet, life had not improved. In her early fifties she was looking back over her life and wondering where it had all gone. She had become a mother, not just to her children but to her husband as well.
We were surprised to see the light fading. We had talked for hours. Dinner was a joint effort as was the clearing up and then we sat comfortably in that quiet time before bed. Janet had changed into pyjamas, made of a material with a strange pattern that I remembered well from when she visited her daughter and me. We laughed about how unsexy pyjamas were, but I told her how cute she looked. Janet in turn said, “I suppose you still sleep naked, so you don’t even own any pyjamas?” My comment, “birthday suit for me but I better wait until I am in my bedroom before I take anything off”.
The silence that followed was deafening. A thought came into my mind and I spoke up, reminding Janet of something she had told me many years before, “do you still do your housework topless?” “Oh I remember telling you that. Whatever possessed me to share that with my son-in-law”. The silence returned and then her hands reached up to the buttons on her pyjama top. Slowly her fingers worked from the top to bottom buttons and, as she undid the last one, a slight hesitation then she brushed the pyjama jacket open, her breasts shadowed by the flickering firelight. We both held our breath but then moved closer as I held her in my arms, our lips meeting in a tentative kiss. There was no doubt in our minds as we kissed with increasing passion, a kiss that was years in the making. I took off my shirt and we felt for the first time our bodies touching, an electric thrill running through us.
We soon moved to my bedroom and there we started to make love, all clothes now shed as we lay nakedly entwined. Our love making increased in intensity and soon became fucking with a feverish desire that had in truth been there for years but stupidly denied.
Janet slept on. At 53 she was still a good-looking woman; not what you would call beautiful but sort of pretty, she was a handsome woman. The night had been a rush of exploration as if time was on our heels. I had helped her take off her clothes, and it took but moments to shuck off my shorts. She had stepped in to hug me and once again we kissed, our hands now roaming over our naked bodies. She had laid back on the bed, surprisingly immodest in her nudity and I had wasted no time in preliminaries, climbing over her and pushing my cock into her very moist cunt. I remember that sigh as I sunk in, inch by inch then she held me tight as I started to thrust, our tongues meeting as our mouths came together. My thrusting became more and more urgent as Janet pushed back towards me matching my energy with her own. There may have been nearly 30 years between us but we were well matched. It couldn’t last long and as she rose to a climax, I felt my spunk rushing to fill her. She held me close as the wave of ecstasy rolled over her as my strokes became stronger as I spurted into her. Our kiss lingered but then I rolled to one side, both of us breathless from our energetic coupling.
“You are only my second man” Janet had said. “Apart from my husband there has been nobody else”.
Of course, I knew that already as we had discussed such things during our conversations. Janet had felt that the world was passing her by. Trapped in a passionless marriage with no hope of satisfaction. Then there had been her visits to her newly married daughter and the chance to talk with her new son-in-law. Gradually, the trust had grown and confidences were shared. I had urged her to find an outlet for her restless energy, join a club, go swimming, take up voluntary work but it always came back to the same thing which she wouldn’t say out loud ………. she needed to be fucked. Now she had been fucked and it had been exhilarating, in fact for both of us. She had a figure that was middle aged, slightly pear shaped with a broad base and breasts that now sagged, but they were large and shapely. I loved the way she looked. So sexy. In the night we had dozed then fucked, dozed once again then fucked. Janet was alive with pleasure.
That morning, the morning after, I held her close, feeling her breath on my chest, enjoying her warmth and my thoughts were ones of peace. We had four more days of her stay before us. I gently moved to awaken her, I was hungry, time for breakfast.
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