Mary Jane had been pleasantly plump when he married her. She had been a joyful, bubbly soul with a generous smile and a non-stop urge to fuck and suck. Ten years on, frustrated by her inability to have children, she suddenly turned on herself. He watched, helpless, as she drove herself on diet regimens that reduced both her bubbly body and personality to a skinny, almost anorexic shadow of her former self. He despaired and mourned for her, now lost in an obsession he couldn’t understand. They hadn’t fucked for a year now, and he couldn’t have brought himself to do it anyway - she was really unappealing. One day, she wouldn’t wake up although she was breathing. He called an ambulance and they hospitalised her. After stabilisation, she was transferred to a sanatorium where psychologists worked to re-establish mental normality and dietitians concentrated on putting weight back on to the emaciated body.
Several weeks went by and Mark stopped visiting. She had made little progress. One evening, he answered a knock on the door and found an older, and much bigger version of his wife looming on the doorstep.
“I’m Helen, the mother-in-law you never found time to meet. I’m here to find out what you’ve done with my daughter, you bastard. I’ve just come from the sanatorium where I have seen a skeleton that used to be my daughter!” She swept past him into his lounge room depositing a suitcase near the door. She turned, and, with arms crossed under quite an impressive rack and said, “Well, I’m waiting, Mark.”
“Would you like a cup of tea, or coffee perhaps? Then we’ll sit down and I’ll tell you.”
“No I bloody wouldn’t like a bloody tea. But I will have a scotch or wine. Whatever you have.”
“Take a seat. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Returning with a couple of stiff Chivas Regals, Mark found her sitting in an armchair, tapping her fingers impatiently on the arm rest. She took the proffered drink and he sat in the chair across from her. He looked at her as he sipped his drink and she did the same to him. She had to be in her fifties but she was well preserved for her age. She was big, big all over. Helen had shoulder length dark hair and a round face with big brown eyes that were looking at him speculatively over the rim of her glass. Her wide, round shoulders supported a massive pair of breasts that pushed the smart red jacket out to show a white blouse under. Her waist was cinched in by the band of a matching skirt that almost reached dimpled, fat knees. Her slim ankles were crossed accentuating the curve of her calves.
She looked at him. He was tall and broad shouldered with sandy, thinning hair. His blue eyes had travelled over her and were presently focussed on her ankles. His blue t-shirt was stretched over a pleasing frame and the shorts he was wearing showed a large bulge at the crotch. “Tell me all,” she demanded, tearing her eyes from his crotch.
He told her over another two scotches. Slowly, she relaxed. It became clear that he was devastated by what had happened to Mary Jane. He wasn’t the bastard she had supposed.
“How long since you had marital relations?” she asked primly, despite herself.
“I don’t know, over a year probably. It became the last thing on my mind.”
Helen stood and stretched. Mark’s cock became suddenly semi erect as the motion lifted and stretched her boobs within the confines of her jacket. “I’d like to take a shower now, if you don’t mind. It’s been a long and tiring trip. I’ve been in Europe working for the consulate in Poland, and I’ve got four weeks off to try and sort out my daughter. I don’t suppose it will help at all”
Mark showed her to a spare room and then to the bathroom and left her at it. He went back to his scotch and reflected on what he knew of her. She had never married but had two children by two different fathers. Mary Jane had been brought up fairly unconventionally as her mother travelled the world working in various diplomatic missions. She and her sister had been deposited in boarding schools and after graduation from university had gone their separate ways, each as independent as their mother.
“I could eat a horse!” Helen was at the door in some sort of filmy dressing gown, and, backlit by the hallway light, he could see her long, strong and shapely legs. At the junction, he could just make out the dark shadow of her pubis.
“We could eat out at the restaurant on the corner,” he said mildly. “They do a very good steak.”
“Lovely. Give me a couple of minutes to change.”
Within twenty minutes, they were strolling down the street. She slipped her arm under his and he felt the bulge of her huge breast pressing against him. She wore a crimson dress that was vee shaped at the top with an inverted vee at the skirt. An impressive cleavage was on show as were her legs to halfway up her thigh. When she had come in the door, he had blurted out that she looked magnificent, shocked by the rush of sexual excitement that had flooded him. Helen had thanked him, without the slightest sign of embarrassment. She had taken his nearly empty glass from his hand and drained it.
As they sat sipping a couple of whisky sours and studying the excellent menu, she said, “you know, I was ready to give you the mother of all tongue lashings for what I imagined you had done to my daughter. Now I see that much of the problem was because of me. I let her do her own thing and she often used to come home with some form of psycho babble that she had picked up somewhere or other. She was always a bit obsessive.”
