I wasn’t having a great time with my wife — F. She would often be depressed and angry and she would often take thing out with me. Her mother knew about her bouts of depression. F used to take anti-depressants, but she decided it wasn’t for her. “It made me feel like I was never there,” she said to me.
I would often text message F’s mother, asking what I should do when F would get into her moods. After all, mothers know their children best.
F’s mother and I grew closer and closer. Sometimes I’d go over to their house without F and just talk about things happening in our lives. We talked about how frustrated we’d get with our spouses — her husband worked as a pilot, so he was gone anywhere from 14 to 19 days a month, every month. We talked about her potential grandchildren. We talked about our childhood and she’d tell me about the silly things F did while she was young.
It was a couple of weeks of going over to the in-laws’ house that I noticed that F’s mother not wearing her bra. When F wouldn’t be in the room, she would frequently bend over to “pick up” some item off the floor, or lean over towards me to show off her cleavage. She would sometimes lightly brush up against me. I began to fantasize about her. To be honest, she wasn’t a bad-looking woman. She was fit — I had gone to play tennis with her and she hit some mean serves towards me. She was always neat and kept herself composed.
F liked how her mother and I were getting along. “You two are so cute,” she said to me. All I could do was shrug. I knew where this relationship was going.
I decided that I’d like to sleep with F’s mom – as a one time thing. I thought about the consequences, but figured that if we both never talked about it, we would be okay.
One afternoon, I messaged F during work. I told her that I was going to go out with some colleagues for some drinks.
F got back to me about an hour later — she said she would be at her mother’s.
So I put a hold on my plan.
It wasn’t until about a week later when F learned that she was going out of town for a day or two for an event. I thought that this was my chance.
That weekend, I helped F pack. I made sure she had everything. We kissed as she left our car. I saw her walk into the terminal. She glanced back to make sure I was there. I blew her a kiss.
I messaged F’s mother. I asked her if she wanted anything from the store. She messaged me back saying no, but she needed help moving something in the garden. I let her know that I was on my way over.
F’s mother was waiting for me when I pulled into the driveway.
She wasn’t wearing a bra. I could tell that she wanted this. I wanted it, too.
I opened the front door and closed it behind me.
There, she kissed me. I kissed her back.
I could feel the muscles of her back tighten as we embraced. I grabbed her and pushed her on to the couch. We both quickly undressed and had sex right there, in the middle of the living room.
She let me finish inside her mouth. F never let me do that. After we were finished, we quickly got dressed. It was over. The lust, the spark, the curiosity left as quickly as we had undressed. I felt a twinge of guilt and shame — I had sex with my wife’s mother — but I knew it was a decision I had made. F’s mother didn’t let her emotions show, but I guessed that this would eat her up as time passed.
I poured myself a glass of water in the kitchen. F’s mother came up behind me. She asked that we never speak of this. She said that this would never happen again. I nodded. I knew. I didn’t want to do this again either. I sipped on my glass of water. We were both silent and gazed at the floor. I placed the cup on the counter and said goodbye. I left her house and went back home. I messaged F’s mother if she wanted to be there when F got into the terminal the next day. I didn’t get an answer.
F came home the next morning with a big grin on her face. She said she thought of me all night and couldn’t wait to see me. We kissed and embraced.
“I love you so much,” she said.
“I know,” I said. “I love you, too.”