I guess I just love older women [MF] [cheating] [MIL]

Truth be told, there is nothing to “guess” about here — I know I’ve always loved older women.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my wife as well. She is a fit, big breasted brunette that never fails to turn heads. Her *mother* though!

My mother in law is a little bit taller than my wife, maybe 5’6, and thin. She isn’t fit as much as she is just one of those women that hit the genetic lottery and has remained slender throughout her life; at 55, she could easily pass for 45. She is divorced and lives alone, and in the years prior to this story she had undergone something of a metamorphosis. Call it a mid life crisis or her finding herself, she suddenly started dressing in skin tight jeans and revealing tops.

It all started with a vintage Mustang.

About a year and a half ago, after we moved in to a new larger house that could accommodate it, I bought a 1967 Mustang. Unbeknownst to me, my mother in law (I’ll call her Cheryl), had learned to drive in a 67. When we had the family over there was the mandated showing of the new toy to everyone, and after everyone had taken turns sitting in the drivers seat and taking a look under the engine, I found myself alone in the garage with Cheryl. She was asking me about the engine, her taking an interest in things like this is part of the aforementioned transformation, and I was dutifully answering and pointing things out. At some point she leaned in to the engine bay to look at something or other, and the result was something of a “presentation” from my perspective. As a red blooded male, I did what any red blooded male would do, and I looked. I guess I stared. I guess I didn’t realize that the spare door mirrors I had purchased were sitting on a shelf lending Cheryl a full view of my partaking in the view. Cheryl had apparently gotten a tattoo on her lower back.

She smiled at me in the mirror and turned around to face me. I stammered out something like “New tattoo?” and she excitedly said “Oh yes! I always wanted one and I just figured better late than never!” and she turned around and pulled up her shirt a little bit to show me. “Looks awesome!” I said, nervously closing the hood. “Yeah, I got another small one here at my waistline,” Cheryl was now pulling her shirt up and her jeans and belt slightly down so I could see the star she had on her lower abdomen. “Really cool, I’m too much of a wuss to ever get a tattoo, needles, eesh!” She laughed, “Well the tattoos didn’t hurt as much as the piercing, but I can’t go showing you that!” I didn’t really know what to say to that, and was honestly still reeling from being caught staring at my mother in law’s tight little ass, “Oh no? Why not?” I said and immediately regretted. “David! Don’t be fresh!” Cheryl walked past me and in to the house.

I took a minute to regain my composure before following. Was she flattered by my staring? Was she horrified? Is she going to tell someone or bring it up inside? She might think it was funny but my wife would most certainly *not*. Unlike most of the stories on here, at this point none of what had transpired was anything I would call “exciting.” There was no groovy porno music playing in the back of my head and I wasn’t thinking of what my next move was to bed my mother in law. This was real life and in real life you don’t wind up plowing her in the shed while everyone is inside having Thanksgiving dinner, she either tells your wife and shit hits the fan immediately or a whispering campaign starts behind your back and you’re the family pariah.

I pulled my shit together and went in to the house. Everyone was over for a birthday, and talk quickly shifted to the ordering of food and who would be picking up the cake. I volunteered for this job. I’ll take the Mustang and go pick it up from the bakery, about 20 minutes away. Cheryl piped up “Oh I’ll come with you, I want to take a ride in the Mustang!” She sort of seemed excited, but also sort of gave me a look like she was angry or perturbed. Christ, the only thing more uncomfortable than her telling everyone I was staring at her ass is her confronting me about staring at her ass. What the fuck is wrong with me? “Great! Lets go!”

We went out to the garage and I opened the door for her and let her in to the car, I think I was trying to win her over with kind gestures. *This doesn’t have to be spoken of, we don’t have to have this conversation, we’re cool.* Again, I have to emphasize, as this is *reality*, I was not hearing bow chicka wow wow in my head. I was staring down the barrel of the most uncomfortable conversation of my life.

We set off, and I was careful not to do anything that would seem to be trying to impress her. Somehow I thought that would only add to my problems. I didn’t floor it, or peel out, or do anything cool. I just drove, 10 and 2, staring straight ahead. She spoke first. “So sorry about that back there, with the piercing thing, I was just kidding around I didn’t really get a piercing. I thought it would be a funny joke but in retrospect it was just weird.” *She* is apologizing to *me*? Shit! I’ll take it! “Oh what? No not at all, I thought it was funny, I got the joke.” She seemed satisfied with that, but the mood was still weird. We were both silent for a long time, and there was something hanging in the air around us that I couldn’t quite, at the time, put my finger on.

When we arrived at the bakery, I parked in the back. I asked Cheryl to slide her seat up a bit so there would be room to put the cake on the floor in the back seat. She pulled the handle on the front of the seat and pulled the seat forward, but the seats in the Mustang are wonky. So I reached around behind her seat and kind of leaned past her to pull up on the little pin that disengages the seat mechanism and instinctively I put my left hand on her back as I did it. I had only ever moved the seat with my wife in the car, and it was just muscle memory. It was weird. I tried to play it off. I failed. “Woops, sorry!” and I patted her on the back. She laughed, and we both went in to the bakery.

We picked up the cake and Cheryl got herself a cake pop. We headed for the car, I let her in, and she gave me a hearty “Why thank you good sir!” and popped the cake pop at me. This was good, she wasn’t mad about the hand, she wasn’t mad about my staring. I think I’m in the clear. On the ride home she loudly and, in retrospect intentionally, sucked the shit out of that cake pop.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/7u2nj9/i_guess_i_just_love_older_women_mf_cheating_mil