Loading...‘Christmas is a time for togetherness and compassion. It’s not a time to be on your own, not if you have a choice.’ That was what my wife Julie had written in her letter to me, and I couldn’t disagree; which made it even more of a kick in the guts that this Christmas she was going to be over 3,000 miles away, in fucking Afghanistan.
I didn’t agree with British involvement in the Afghan conflict, and deep down I could tell Jules didn’t either.
But she’d joined the Territorial Army over ten years earlier, and didn’t feel able to criticise the government’s policy, even as the body count rose above 200, then 250. To be honest we had a couple of huge rows over it before we reached a sort of truce, under which I muttered under my breath every time the subject came up on the TV news and Julie pretended she hadn’t heard me.
The Territorials used to be treated as a bit of a joke, seen as civilians playing at soldiers, called ‘weekend warriors’ by the regular army. Well not any more, not since thousands of them had been pulled out of their civvie jobs and posted to Iraq and Afghanistan, and started to join the ranks of the dead. When she’s not being a marketing manager for a top fashion catalogue chain Julie’s a lieutenant in the communications corps, but even so I kept telling myself it wouldn’t happen to her, not my Julie, she wouldn’t get ordered out there. Then she was. The day her brigade paraded before flying off she looked so proud, but I could barely see her for the tears clouding my eyes, prompted by a confused mix of my own pride for her, naked fear for her safety, and boiling fury that fucking idiot politicians were putting her life at risk.
I didn’t sleep properly for nearly a week after she left, until I finally collapsed into bed in exhaustion and missed my shift at work the next morning. Jules and I were both 33 and had barely spent more than a week apart since we were 14, since I’d smuggled her the answers in a school science test. I joined the local Afghanistan families support group, one of only two men there, and, like all the others, within weeks I was an expert on every aspect of the conflict, Afghan geography, troop deployments, the leading generals and politicians on the allies’ side, the most notorious Taliban commanders….
I cried again when Julie came home, and I shed more tears, of sheer bloody frustration, when she told me she was going back for another tour. She spent most of the first two days home sleeping; she’d lost weight and deep dark shadows had formed under her eyes. Like her chestnut hair and her complexion, they had lost their usual glow and just looked dull and faded. I tried to get her to talk about what she’d been through, but she only commented in very general terms, and I knew there were things she’d seen that she wasn’t telling me. It seemed as though a gap had formed between us, one I just couldn’t bridge. When she left this time I didn’t expect to see her again until around Valentines’ Day, but she was back after just a few weeks, in October, on compassionate leave to attend her father’s funeral, following a massive heart attack.
Which brings me back to where I started, with that bloody letter. After the line about being on your own at Christmas Julie continued, ‘I know you’ll be on your own this Christmas Steve, and so will Mum. Please don’t be angry at me, but I told her you’d suggested to me that you go round to have Christmas lunch with her. As you know, I’m all she’s got, and with Dad passing so recently and me away Christmas is going to hit her so hard. I know you and Mum aren’t close, but you’ve always had such a generous heart, babes, that I know you won’t mind doing this for her, and for me. It’ll do you good not to be moping around on your own on the big day too, and she does make a smashing Christmas lunch!”
Jesus Christ, at that moment I was so pissed off I nearly screwed the letter into a ball and hurled it into the bin. I couldn’t believe Julie had done that to me. To say her mother and I weren’t close was, frankly, taking the piss. Julie’s dad, Ted, had been a nice bloke, very easygoing, but Ruth, her bitch of a mother, had never liked me, always thought I wasn’t good enough for her little princess. The only time I’d even spoken to her since Jules was deployed overseas was an embarrassed grunted condolence at her husband’s funeral, and in my entire life I’d never spent any time alone with her.
It was true I wouldn’t have any company at Christmas. With my folks away on their annual Caribbean cruise, and my sister long since emigrated to New Zealand, I’d planned to spend a quiet day watching old movies on DVD, then I’d volunteered to work on Boxing Day. I’m a Building Services supervisor with the council, which meant an exciting day of organising emergency call-outs to tenants whose water pipes had burst, or whose toilets were blocked, that sort of thing. Still, it gave my colleagues an extra day with their families, and the double pay wouldn’t do any harm either. The last thing I needed was to spend Christmas Day with the mother-in-law. But what could I do? My bloody wife had committed me, and I could hardly tell the still grieving widows her daughter had lied to her and I had no intention of wasting a day on her. So, gritting my teeth I phoned Ruth, did my best to make a bit of pleasant small talk, and we agreed I’d go round to hers for lunch at one o’clock on the day.
That Christmas morning was one of the most miserable of my life. I spent a pleasant 20 minutes talking on the phone to my sister and my seven-year old niece, but after that, to the background of a carol concert on the radio, I got thoroughly depressed sitting opening my presents from them, my absent wife and my absent parents. And all the while of course, at the back of my mind, like the shadow of a noose hanging over me, was the thought of that bloody lunch with Ruth.
Anyhow, I dressed in a nice suit and took a taxi over there in good time, feeling a mixture of resentment and nervousness. Ruth surprised me when she opened the door by going up on tiptoe and giving me a welcome kiss on the cheek – she’s the same height as Jules, five-four, whereas I’m six-two. She caught a whiff of my aftershave and her first words to me were “Mm, you smell nice Steve.” Then she stepped back, looked me up and down and said, “And you look so smart. Julie’s very lucky to have you.” As she said that she rested a hand lightly on my chest, just for a moment. I was too gobsmacked to respond!
Ruth led me into the sitting room and we sat for a few minutes chatting and sipping sweet sherry before she headed towards the kitchen, from which the most wonderful aromas were emerging. On her way she knelt by her small artificial Christmas tree and picked up a package, brightly wrapped in Rudolph and Santa paper, which she handed to me. “You can open this while I’m serving up Steve. Merry Christmas.” Inside was an electronic personal organiser, a quality one, in a tooled leather case. I was a bit overwhelmed by it – it made the box of chocolates and bunch of flowers I’d given her look pretty limp by comparison. When she came back in to call me into the dining room I gave her a big hug of gratitude, feeling my face flush in embarrassment as I did so.
The meal was superb. Julie’s not much good in the kitchen but her mum’s a real dab hand, and the turkey was cooked to perfection, as were the mountain of stuffing, sprouts, potatoes (roasted and mashed)…We washed it all down with a nice bottle of sparkling German white wine. As we ate we talked about past Christmases each of us remembered, me as a kid, her with her parents then later, when Jules was a toddler. In almost twenty years of knowing Ruth I’d never had a real conversation with her. Maybe it was the combined effect of losing her husband and seeing her daughter ship out to Afghanistan, but she seemed very different to the pursed-lipped, hostile, condescending old bag I’d always seen her as in the past. For a woman of 62 she’d kept her looks well too: her short brown hair had a few streaks of grey but her face was fairly free of lines and she still had quite a trim figure. I’d never really looked at Ruth’s face – I’d spent most of the time avoiding eye contact with her – but I could see that Julie had her mother’s big green eyes and her wide mouth.
Much to my surprise I really enjoyed the lunch and the chat then, after forcing down a piece of delicious home-made Christmas pudding, I staggered back into the lounge. Ruth said she’d be through in a minute with some coffee. Next thing I knew, I was jerked awake by the strains of the national anthem from the TV at the end of the Queen’s speech! I mumbled an apology and Ruth chuckled and replied, almost tenderly, “That’s all right love, Ted used to do the same thing, every year.”
Ruth had a news channel on because through the day they were broadcasting messages home from the troops stationed overseas. And after about half an hour a little Christmas miracle happened, and there was Julie on the screen. She’d obviously had her hair tidied up for the occasion, and had even been allowed to don a little nice make-up. With a cheerful smile and in a breezy voice she wished her mum and me a happy Christmas, and said she hoped we were having a lovely day. Then, biting her lower lip and with her voice almost breaking, she half-whispered, “I miss you babe”. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut to stem the imminent flow of tears, and a moment later I felt Ruth gently take my hand in hers and give it a comforting squeeze.
We both recovered our appetite enough to eat a few of the chocolates I’d given Ruth, then after a couple of hours of talk about family stuff and the situation in Afghanistan I made a move to leave. As I reached the front door Ruth rested a hand on my shoulder and, sounding suddenly nervous, said, “Um, Steve, I was wondering…Have you got any plans for New Years Eve? Only, if you haven’t, well, I thought I could maybe come over to yours and keep you company. I mean, it doesn’t matter if you’re doing something, really, but….” A colleague had actually invited me to his New Years Eve party but, slightly to my surprise, I interrupted her and said that would be lovely, and that I’d make up the spare bed for her. Then I made my way home, mildly astonished at how much I’d enjoyed my time with my mother-in-law, and that I was actually looking forward to seeing her again in a week’s time.
I worked on the days between Christmas and New Year, but I spoke to Ruth a couple of times on the phone and found myself thinking about her quite a bit, marvelling on the way my perception of her had changed. I had New Years Eve off and spent most of the day frantically tidying and vacuuming the house, and airing the little-used guest bedroom. Then I had a long shower, dressed in a nice suit, applied the aftershave I knew Ruth liked and made up some snacks, sausage rolls, cheese, pineapple and silverskin onions on sticks, that sort of thing.
Ruth arrived promptly at 8pm and we hugged in greeting, my nose in her hair. She was wearing a musky perfume and smelt absolutely gorgeous, and I said so. She gave me an extra squeeze and said “Thank you love, you smell nice again”. She looked good too, in a sparkly black calf-length dress with thin shoulder straps, cut low enough to expose an expanse of smooth chest and he first swellings of her cleavage. As we hugged I felt a slight surprise and embarrassment at a twitch in my pants as my cock reacted to a female body pressing against mine, even if it was my mother-in-law’s. We had a pleasant evening sitting side by side on the sofa, chatting, eating, drinking wine and watching a news channel cover the New Year celebrations around the world, including among the British troops in Iraq and Afghanistan. As it came close to midnight I got a bottle of champagne from the fridge and poured us both a glass. To the chimes of Big Ben we toasted each other and drained our glasses, which I recharged.
Taking another sip then placing her glass on the adjacent coffee table, Ruth placed a hand on my shoulder and murmured “Happy New Year, Steve love.” It seemed right somehow to kiss her to mark the depth of our new friendship. I leaned in towards her cheek but at the last moment she turned her head and my lips pressed against hers. It was meant to last only a moment but we sat there, eyes closed, lips locked together as if glued, for several seconds. Finally we both sat back. I looked into Rut’s lovely eyes, which were sparkling…and next thing I knew we were locked in a full-on snog, arms tightly round each other, mouths open, tongues jostling, the works!
I felt Ruth’s hand drop to my groin, her fingertips stroking the length of my cock, which was stiffer than it had been in months. I thought for a moment that she was going to unzip my fly and take me in hand, but just that stroking through my trousers was almost enough to send me over the top. Instinct taking control of my actions, one of my hands latched onto one of her boobs, gently squeezing it through her thin dress. I could actually feel her nipple stiffening against my palm. We must have stayed like that for fully two minutes, smooching and groping as the revellers on TV in Trafalgar Square cheered us on. Finally we came up for air and Ruth sat back, her face flushed. With an embarrassed giggle she mumbled, “Oh dear, I think that bubbly’s gone straight to my head. Time for bed I think.” She cupped a palm to my cheek for a moment then stood, said, “G’night Steve, see you in the morning”, and left the room. I slumped back, my mind spinning, trying to get to grips with what the hell had just happened.
I gave Ruth a few minutes to use the bathroom then crept upstairs. As I stripped and climbed into my own bed I was deeply aware of my still painfully aroused member, and of the highly desirable, sexily charged woman in the room next to mine. I think I fell asleep almost immediately, and I dreamt of Julie. We were on a cliff-top walk we both enjoy and she was just ahead of me, completely naked, her slim buttocks swaying before my eyes. But then she turned to face me and the image shifted: instead of my wife standing there, smiling provocatively at me, it was my mother-in-law who faced me, her nude body blurred in my mind’s eye.
Sometime later during the night another dream forced itself on me, this one even more vivid. A pair of lips was attached to my cock under the duvet, sucking it as soft female fingers stroked my balls. My head fell to one side and the luminous numbers on my bedside clock glowed in my eyes, making me realise I was awake – but I could still feel that mouth and those fingers teasing my straining dick! I gasped “Ruth, you can’t”, but she shushed me and carried right on licking and sucking me. I hadn’t so much as looked at another woman in the 13 years Jules and I had been married but now, surrendering myself completely to my mother-in-law, I sank back into the bed, cradling her head in my hands as I felt the gradual build up of orgasm warming my belly. She stroked her succulent lips up and down the length of my shaft, running her tongue around the head and along the underside, while wanking the base with one hand and delicately stroking my balls with the other. After a couple of minutes I gasped “!’m cumming”, and far from withdrawing she increased the pressure and speed of her mouth on my cock. When I released my hips bucked at her and my cock jumped in her mouth as I gave a huge groan of pleasure. When I’d subsided she slid up the bed, her unfettered breasts tracing across my belly and chest, wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me deeply. It took me a moment to realise that she hadn’t swallowed my jizz, but was spreading it around the inside of my mouth on the tongue.
We stayed like that, kissing, her on top of me, my hands cupping her warm, squeezable buttocks, for several minutes, until I slipped my mouth down to one of her breasts. Her nipple tasted lovely, long like Julie’s but bigger and more spongy, made for sucking. As I flicked my tongue over it, and rolled the other one between my fingers, Ruth growled deep in her throat and her hand dropped back down to my cock. Within moments I was stiff and ready again, and rolled on top of her. I could feel a thick pubic bush tickling against my knob, and with her hand she guided me to her slit.
I entered her with a deep hard thrust and she gave a gasp of pleasure. She began to move with me, rolling her hips in small circles and stroking the backs of my legs with the soles of her feet, and she greeted each of my strokes with a grunt. She wasn’t as tight as Julie but her pussy felt gorgeous, like a boiling, soaking velvet glove wrapped around my prick. Ruth’s grunts gradually turned into little whimpers as she approached orgasm, and her hips started to jerk up at me in rhythm with my thrusts. Suddenly she wailed, her entire body seemed to stiffen for a moment, and she hugged me tightly to her as her cunt muscles tightened around me. Having already cum once I was able to carry on for several minutes longer, and she lay panting shallowly until finally, with one last huge push, I released into her. Our encircling arms crushed our bodies together and we smothered each other’s faces with wild kisses. It occurred to me that we had barely said a word to each other in the time since I had awoken with my dick in her mouth…then the next thing I remembered was being awoken by the morning light shining through a gap in the curtains, and finding myself alone in the bed.
I rolled into almost a foetal position on my side, and tried to make sense of the torrent of thoughts rushing through my head. I knew I should have been wracked with guilt that here, in the marital bed Julie had shared with me for so long, I had screwed her mother. But what I actually felt was the delicious afterglow of having enjoyed energetic sex with a lovely, enthusiastic partner. I think that after all the months of tension and loneliness without Jules I had needed the emotional and physical release of a good fuck; and, I tried to convince myself, that if I was going to have sex with another woman Julie would rather it be with her mother, giving her comfort too, than someone else.
As these rather confused thoughts were bouncing around in walked Ruth, carrying a cup of tea for me. I could see from her damp hair that she had showered, and she was wearing a light cotton dressing gown, which hung half open. Placing the tea on my bedside cabinet she stroked her fingers across my forehead and murmured “Good morning darling”. Lazily I reached out and pulled her gown further open, and she stood quite unselfconsciously as I took my first look at her nakedness. She’s nearly 30 years older than me but, Christ, she’s got a beautiful body. Julie has always been slim, and to be honest she’s gone rather too skinny for my taste, her ribcage showing and her hips bony. Ruth, by contrast, has a gorgeous womanly figure: plump rounded boobs which have not surrendered to gravity, with those succulent nipples; a slight swell of belly, which I think looks quite lovely; and, nestling between wonderfully plump thighs, a trimmed but thick brown pubic bush, so different, and so much sexier, than Julie’s Brazilian-style single strip of hair down the middle of her pubis.
Feeling my stomach churn with lust, I grabbed the lapels of Ruth’s gown and, as she chuckled in delight, gently pulled her onto the bed. My mouth found a nipple like a homing pigeon returning to base, and she sighed happily and stroked my hair. After a minute or so, I stroked my tongue down her body and tickled it in her belly button. As I continued to kiss lower, her rich pubes tickling my cheeks, her grip on my hair tightened and she whispered, “Oh fucking hell, yes, please”. Until so recently I’d seen Ruth as this rather stiff, prim and proper middle class lady, and to hear her talk like that as I prodded her big clit with my nose felt unbelievably erotic. I prised her swollen labia apart, stroking the lips with thumbs and fingers, inhaled the perfume of her arousal, then drove in with my tongue. Ruth squealed at the first contact and lifted her legs over my shoulders, locking them around my head. She seemed to taste so much sweeter than Julie, and I lapped greedily at her soaking cunt before settling my mouth over her clit and easing two fingers into her. As I finger fucked her, swirling my tongue round her clit, she panted and made whimpering sounds which increased in intensity until they turned into a scream, she bucked wildly and I felt the joyous pressure of her pussy clamping around my fingers. I hadn’t tasted enough of her though, and continued feasting on her and squirming my fingers inside her, making her cum at least once more. At last, my face damp and sticky from her flowing juices, I moved back up the bed, pulled Ruth into my arms and held her while she recovered her breath. It took a while but then, eyes shining with tears, she gently kissed me on the cheek and whispered, “Thank you so much darling. Ted never did that for me, I’ve always wanted to know what it felt like.”
We stayed in bed together for most of the rest of the day, sleeping in each other’s arms, sucking and fucking. We’ve spent every night since then together, and Ruth has pretty much moved into my home – mine and Julie’s. She’s a much more adventurous and brazen lover than Jules, always ready for me and eager to do anything. One of our most memorable sex sessions was in the lounge, watching a porno DVD I’d bought. Before long Ruth was kneeling on the sofa with me behind her, my tongue buried deep in her tight, sweet bum as I rimmed her, before we moved into a lovely 69 then fucked, gazing into each other’s eyes. We had to work quite hard afterwards to get the cum stains out of the fabric of the sofa!
I keep telling myself that this will only last until Julie comes home from Afghanistan, that everything will then return to normal. But I think that’s partly because I’m a little scared to admit to myself that I really don’t want it to stop. I’ve fallen deeply in love with Ruth, with an intensity I can’t remember ever feeling for my wife, and I’m addicted to screwing and sucking her sweet furry pussy. How we’ll handle it when Julie does return I don’t know, but that’s for the future; for now I know only that I want to spend every moment I can in the arms of my beautiful, sexy mother-in-law.