Mom Under The Mistletoe free porn video

What's the difference between wrong and right? Who
makes the distinction, and who gives them the
authority? Most people would consider what we did to be
wrong. A few would say that it was right, but mostly
out of prurient interest. A few others, those who have
been through the experience themselves and understand
the emotional impact, would claim that it's both. My
son and I are certainly in that last category.

This story rightfully starts in 1987, when I was
thirty-seven and Todd thirteen. I knew even before Todd
did that he had a problem. One morning I came
downstairs dressed in only my bathrobe to make Todd
breakfast. After a minute or two of wandering back and
forth between refrigerator and cupboard, cabinet and
sink, chatting with him aimlessly as mothers do with
their c***dren, I realized that Todd's eyes were
following me everywhere I went.

I was bent over at the time with the front of my robe
hanging open loosely, and although the angle was wrong,
I could feel the intensity of his desire to see my bare
breasts. It shocked me, to say the least, and I reacted
as any mother would: jerking upright and covering
myself quickly, blushing madly as I did so. It was the
last time I let myself be around Todd in nothing but my
bathrobe.

Two years passed. Todd's preoccupation with me
increased. He was very popular at school and something
of a jock; the girl's of course, simply loved him. But
no sooner would he start a relationship with a girl
than things would turn sour and then two or three
weeks, a month, maybe two months would pass with
nothing to waylay his attention. I'd feel his interest
as strongly as I would any suitor engrossed in me.

It was embarrassing, and sometimes a bit on the
frightening side. Because, no matter how much I told
myself it was just teenage infatuation -- Puppy Love,
in other words -- another, more deeply rooted part of
my psyche insisted that I was ignoring, possibly even
engendering, a dangerous situation. I know this
because, I had dangerous feelings for Todd in return.

"Soccer Mom!" he greeted me coming in the front door
one evening a few days before his sixteenth birthday.
Actually, this was his favorite greeting to me. I
routinely shuttled his teammates to soccer and
basketball games, to football and baseball games, also
to his tennis matches depending upon the season. "Mom's
Taxi" as we called the Town and Country van.

Normally I hated that big ugly vehicle, but a dinosaur
was what it took to transport half-a-dozen
testosterone-pumped sixteen year olds' around. Although
it was big, they certainly wouldn't all fit into
Charles's Buick LeSabre, and of course, not into Todd's
broken down old Chevy pickup truck.

Ever had half-a-dozen or more testosterone-pumped
sixteen year olds checking out your breasts? Just one
of the tribulations (and joys) of being a Soccer Mom.

Dropping his backpack just inside the door, and his
parka on the back of his father's chair, Todd crossed
to where I sat the end of the couch and planted a kiss
on my forehead.

"Gonna be at the game Friday night?" he inquired.

"Are you going to be at the game Friday night?" I
corrected.

He grinned at me, and I looked back at him over the
rims of my reading glasses, suppressing a grin.

"Like I said," he joked. "Gonna be there?"

"Of course I'll be there," I sighed, shaking my head.

He sat down next to me on the couch.

"Whatcha reading?"

I showed him the cover and waited for his sarcastic
denouement.

"The Deep End of the Ocean, by Jacquelyn Mitchard," he
read. His nose pinched in disapproval. "Chick shit," he
added.

"Don't curse," I admonished him.

"Whatever. You driving us?" he queried.

"Don't I always?" I answered.

"The game's at Walter Johnson," he said, eyeing my
chest.

That day I had worn a brown angora sweater over a white
turtleneck and black leggings to work; I still had them
on. Glancing down, I noticed the swell of my breasts
were perfectly delineated by the clingy sweater. I
shifted uncomfortably and he looked away.

"What's for dinner?" he asked.

"Pork chops," I answered. "Green beans, mashed potatoes
and corn."

His stomach rumbled noisily.

"Sounds great. When are you going to make it?"

"Your sister's in there making it right now," I said,
again suppressing a grin.

His expression soured immediately.

"Cindy?" He looked in the direction of the kitchen,
where Cindy, from the sound of her furious soft cursing
was industriously ruining dinner.

"Do not make fun of your sister's cooking," I warned
him.

"But, Mom--"

"She's eighteen years old and badly needs the
experience," I said. Home from school for Spring Break,
Cindy had graciously offered to prepare tonight's meal.
Though filled with a trepidation not much different
than that of her brother, I had graciously accepted.
"She'll do just fine," I assured him.

In counterpoint, there sounded the clatter of a
dropping pan and Cindy's outraged exclamation of anger.

"Maybe I should go help her," I said, rising quickly.

"Good idea," he said, rising as I arose. "Have my
present all picked out?" he asked.

I smoothed the sweater over my stomach, glad to have it
no longer delineating my improbably large breasts. "All
picked out, bought and wrapped up," I acknowledged.

"You're okay with my list of friends?" he pressed.

"Invite a few more," I offered. "I'm sure we can find
room in the laundry room." Between friends and family
members, it looked like a record-smashing sixteenth
birthday party.

Grinning, he winked at me and headed upstairs while I
headed for the kitchen to see what catastrophe awaited.

***

Three days later, we held what I came to remember as
the Birthday Party from Hell. Not only did the crowd of
invited friends swell all out of proportion to the
square footage of our house, but alcohol and some very
potent smelling marijuana found its way into the
basement. I can't tell you how many times I yelled at
Todd to turn down the music, nor how many
inappropriately locked together couples I separated in
my wanderings. Although no proof ever surfaced, I'm
told that at least two young lady's copulated with
their gentlemen in the downstairs' bathroom. When
finally I herded the last of them out the front door
after midnight, I was a complete wreck.

"You are never having another birthday," I growled at
Todd.

He locked the front door and glanced at me in surprise.
"I thought it went good," he said defensively.

I really was fuming. "The Roman's thought it was going
well as they fed Christian's to the lions," I said
hotly.

"Mom!" he protested.

"Oh, go to bed," I said disgustedly. "We'll clean this
up in the morning."

We did not clean up in the morning, but spent the next
hour and a half picking up the mess, both individually
and working together, starting oddly enough with me
picking up two or three empty soda cans, and Todd
gathering half-a-dozen discarded paper plates and
depositing them in the trash. We spoke very little, but
with the passing minutes my mood lightened so that
finally, when we turned off the downstairs lights and I
accompanied him upstairs, I had my arm around his
waist.

"Thanks, Mom," he whispered outside his door.

I didn't want to awaken either Charles or Cindy, so I
eased Todd into his bedroom and closed the door softly
behind me. Even so, I gave my response in a whisper.

"I'm sorry I yelled at your earlier, Todd."

"You didn't yell at me," he said dismissively.
"Besides, things really did get out of hand there." He
rolled his eyes, laughing softly, telling me about one
of the trysts in the downstairs bathroom.

"Oh, please," I said, rubbing the middle of my
forehead. "Tell me that didn't really happen."

"Sorry," he said, still laughing softly.

"It isn't funny, Todd. What if that girl gets
pregnant?"

"Girls get pregnant all the time," he reminded me.

"Not in my downstairs bathroom," I grumbled. I sighed,
giving up on being upset. "Did you like your present?"

He instantly brightened. "Shit, yeah!" he enthused. "It
was the greatest."

Carefully, he pulled the Sony Color Watchman out of his
back pocket and sat it on the top of his dresser. He'd
been showing it off all night, as though it were a bar
of gold. Then he darted forward and grabbed me in a
hug, and planted a kiss on my right cheek.

"You're the greatest too," he said.

Now, I've been hugged and kissed on the cheek any
number of times by Todd. This time was no different,
should have been no different anyway, but having his
arms suddenly around me, having my breasts mashed up
against his chest, smelling his strong aroma of after
shave, deodorant, sweat and testosterone, my breath
caught in my throat and suddenly my blood pressure shot
into the stratosphere. Embarrassed, I looked numbly at
the Watchman and mumbled something instantly
forgettable.

There was an embarrassed silence. Then Todd said in an
oddly constrained voice: "Mom? Can I kiss you?"

I blinked at him. "You just did," I said stupidly.

"No," he said, leaning forward. "Like this."

Suddenly his lips were on mine, and try as I might to
stop it, there was no stopping the instinctual movement
of my lips in response.

"Todd," I said, stepping back. My hand rose and I
touched my lips with my trembling fingertips. "Don't do
that."

"Do what?" he said, innocently.

"That!" I said feverishly. In truth, I was in a fever
from being kissed. Kissing me had sent blood rushing to
my face and every other part of my dermis. I was
suddenly itchy all over and scratched both my forearms,
and my right underarm. There was a totally unwelcome
tingling between my legs that made me want to go
screaming from the room. I felt petrified.

"Todd," I said. "You can't kiss your mother like that."

"I don't want to kiss anybody else," he came back.

I shook my head, exasperated. "You could have so many
girlfriends," I protested.

"I don't want any girlfriends," he said, taking half a
step toward me. "I want you."

I took a half step back. "This is unhealthy," I said.
"We shouldn't talk like this."

And I didn't talk about it. I just turned around and
left the room.

***

For two years, things remained status quo. Todd watched
me like a calculating, long-suffering suitor. I made
sure he didn't get close enough to set off another
critical chain reaction. However, things will always
reach a boil when the fire's on, no matter how closely
you watch the pot. Eventually it did with us.

It was Christmas Eve of 1992. Charles had a mid-morning
flight out of Washington National into LaGuardia
Airport, via Chicago. I was extremely upset and
justifiably rancorous.

"I can't believe they're sending you out on Christmas
Eve," I said angrily. Neither of us suspected yet that
New York would get snowed in that night, and I'd not
see Charles again for three days.

"Take it easy, dear," he said soothingly.

I didn't want to be soothed.

As is our tradition in the Denley house, the three of
us had decorated two days before (Cindy had flown to
Cincinnati the day before, to spend Christmas at her
boyfriend's parent's house), and Todd had hung a spray
of real live mistletoe in the living room before the
fireplace. Ostensibly for his father and I, Mom had a
sneaking suspicion Todd intended to use the mistletoe
himself, and not with any girlfriend.

Charles took me in his arms and rocked me gently back
and forth. He was 6'1", weighed 220 pounds and at 48,
still blessed with an impressively athletic build.
Granted, he was slowly going to fat in the middle, but
what 48 year old man isn't? And despite his seriously
eroding hairline, Charles was still the sexiest man I
knew. A real man's man, like Robert Mitchum.

Kissing me on the nose, he said, "We made it twenty-two
years without a break. That's a seriously impressive
record, Jeano."

"Twenty-three would be better," I said grumpily.

He kissed me on the nose again. Then I accompanied him
to the front door where he gathered his flight bag and
his two pieces of luggage.

"Drink an eggnog for me tonight," he said.

I nodded.

"You okay?"

"I guess I am," I said, clutching myself across the
chest. I had a very bad feeling about tonight -- a
premonition -- and I did not want him leaving.

He did leave, however, just as he had to, and after
watching him drive down the street and turn the corner,
I slowly closed the front door and locked it. I knew,
even without my crystal ball, that things would get out
of hand that night with Todd. And of course, they did.

***

It was eleven o'clock. The last of the family had left
and Todd and I cleaned up the small mess in silence. In
the kitchen, he came up behind me and said: "I guess
it's just you and me now, partner."

Forcing a smile and a cheery tone of voice, I replied:
"I think we'll make the best of it. Don't you?"

"I opened the flue in the chimney," he said, jokingly.
"Santa should slide right down there. Whoosh!" he
added, making a scooping motion with his hand.

I was on the verge of saying something totally inane
when he encircled my waist with his arms and pressed up
against me. I went rigid.

"Todd--"

"What?" he said, releasing me and stepping back. "Can't
a guy hug his mother?"

I chose to ignore it. "You'll like what I got you," I
said.

"You'll like what I got you as well," he said, a grin,
and a blush stretching across his face.

"What?" I asked suspiciously.

"Oh, you'll find out."

I guessed, not unfoolishly, that Todd had bought me
either sleep wear or lingerie.

"We need to have a talk, Todd."

"About what?" he said, his demeanor sobering.

"You know what," I said.

"I don't know what you mean," countered.

"Well, we could start with my underwear," I said
meaningfully.

He blushed red as an apple.

For ages now I had been aware that Todd borrowed my
underwear to fantasize over. Half a dozen times I'd
found a pair of my panties or one of my bras --
sometimes both -- under his mattress or in a drawer.
More than once I'd found them stiff with dried semen,
especially the crotch of my panties. I didn't mind as
long as he didn't plant them somewhere out of reach.
The problem was, he always took my lacy things, which I
missed.

"You don't wear them, do you?" I teased.

His blush grew even stronger. "No! Of course not. I
only--"

"Masturbate with them?" I asked.

He grew doubly red. "Can we talk about something else?
Please?"

"Like what?" I asked. "The weather?"

Feeling a sudden pity, I opened the refrigerator and
withdrew two Seagram's wine coolers from the six-pack
on the inside door shelf. "Here," I said, laughing at
him. "On me."

He twisted off both our caps, handed me back my bottle
and took a sip. I had embarrassed him awfully about my
underwear and was feeling slightly guilty. The way he
felt about me, I was surprised he hadn't simply moved
my dresser into his own bedroom.

"Let's go out to the fire," I said. "I'm a little
chilly. Especially with this," I said, holding up the
cold bottle. Holding anything cold in my hands lowered
my skin temperature dramatically, invariably sending
shivers down my spine, as it did now.

Putting his arm around me to warm me up, he guided me
out to the living room and to the divan against the
long wall. We sat down side by side. Pillows were
stacked before us on the floor, and kicking off my
flats, I stretched out and placed my crossed feet atop
the closest stack.

"This is nice," I said, appreciating the crackling
fire.

It occurred to me that for the past week I had been a
rudderless vessel being swept down the Niagara River
toward the falls. Suddenly, here I was in control of
the damned boat and steering not away from the
thundering flume, but towards it. Was I insane?

"You don't tell anybody about this," I said, tapping
the mouth of my bottle against his. "I'm too old to get
locked up for contributing."

He snorted. "You're not old," he said. "Dad's old,"
making me giggle girlishly.

Gathering myself, I said, "You're farther is not old,"
meaning to add something like: "He'd get really upset
hearing you say that, Todd."

But Todd jumped on my mispronunciation and teased, "My
farther?" before I could get the words out, making me
giggle again.

"Stop that!" I said, pushing on his shoulder. "Don't
mock your mother."

"Not my marther?" he wanted clarified.

"Stop it!" I repeated.

Laughing, he kicked off his own shoes and stretched out
beside me, placing his crossed ankles next to mine on
the pillows. I felt comfy sitting beside to him like
that. I said: "Do you know how old I am?"

"I know your bra size," he replied unexpectedly. "Does
that count?"

Blushing, I went to answer smartly but he got in ahead
of me. "Forty-two," he said smugly. "Your age, not your
bra size. That's a 36C."

He looked pointedly at my chest. I had on another
angora sweater, this one light blue, just as clingy,
and black leggings. My heart quickened and blood
overloaded my capillaries, making me hot and itchy at
the same time. It took every bit of willpower not to go
digging at my underarms.

"Embarrass your mother," I scolded, taking a sip of
wine to mask my embarrassment.

He laughed softly and took a sip of his own. "What good
are mom's if not to be embarrassed," he said. "But
seriously, Mom. You are not old."

"I'm no spring chicken, either," I said, taking another
sip.

"Tell that to all my friends," he said, making me
wonder where this strange conversation was leading.

"If it's bad, I don't want to hear about it," I said.

"Define bad," he countered.

"Anything out of a young boy's mouth."

He laughed, and I laughed with him.

"You ever here the abbreviation, MILF?" he asked.

I scowled. I knew what a MILF was, and I wasn't
flattered.

"You better never let me hear anybody call me that," I
threatened, "or they'll be picking flakes of enamel out
of their throats."

He smiled at my crookedly.

"And you better never call me that," I warned.

"What if it's true, though?" he asked softly.

What I should have done, was what I had done two years
ago: get up and leave. But I sat there and gave the
question it's rightful consideration. Maybe it was the
wine.

"I'd probably be insulted," I said slowly. "Son's
aren't supposed to want to fuck their mothers, Todd."

I had said it. For better or worse, it was out there
now.

He was quiet a time. We both took sips from our
bottles. Most of the relaxation had gone from my body
and I felt like a mouse trap ready to snap closed.

Finally, he said: "I'd settle for a kiss."

I looked up at the mistletoe, hanging there innocently
from the bottom of the ceiling fan. It's red berries,
deadly poisonous if eaten, glowed softly with reflected
firelight. And then I thought, Why not? Let him get it
out of his system.

"One kiss," I assented. "No tongue, and no touching,
either, Todd."

This stipulation caused more embarrassment to me than
it did Todd, who just nodded eagerly.

"Anything you say," he said breathlessly. I hadn't even
seen him put down his wine bottle on the end table.

"Once," I repeated, as he stood up and reached for my
hand. Trembling inside, I gave it to him and allowed
him to pull me to my feet.

What happened next is not quite clear in my mind. I
know we kissed, quite chastely, lips pushed out like
some old Saturday Evening Post cover. Then we kissed
again, and his hand was on my left biceps, and I had my
head tilted back and to the side and I was raised up on
my tiptoes. Then my mouth was open and I touched my
tongue to his and suddenly I was in his arms and he was
holding me tight and this kiss just kept going on and
on and--

"Todd!" I gasped, staggering backwards. "What are you
doing?" My chest labored and blood pounded in my ears.
Had I just French kissed with my son?

He caught me before I could fall backwards over the
pillows.

"You okay?" he asked.

"No, I'm not okay!" I shot back.

Shaken, I reached down and snatched a wine bottle of
the table -- his, as it turned out -- and downed the
contents in one long gulp. Smacking it back down, I
stomped across the living room into the dining room and
then out into the kitchen, where I made a beeline for
the refrigerator. Todd followed, unsure what to say to
me. I didn't want him to say anything.

"Do you want one?" I demanded.

"Yes, Please," he said, stepping forward. Snapping off
the lid, I stuck the bottle into his hand and twisted
the lid off my own bottle. In three long swigs I had
the contents down.

"Mom," he said. "Take it easy."

"Take it easy, my ass!" I said, freeing another bottle
from its lid. "I just French kissed my son under the
mistletoe."

This time, instead of swigging the cold wine, I sipped
at it. I tried to compose myself. My heart had slowed
from full gallop to a spirited trot, and I could no
longer hear surf pounding in my ears. As much as I
hated to admit it, I had liked kissing my son.

"Are you mad at me?" he asked. His expression was
hangdog.

I didn't answer, not trusting what answer would come
out. Instead, I sipped more of the wine.

What I felt, was that I had come within a hairsbreadth
of fulfilling his long-time fantasy of seducing his
mother. That's what it felt like to me.

"Why me?" I demanded.

"Excuse me?" he said.

"I'm your mother, Todd," I cried in exasperation. "Why
would you want to... kiss me?" I had almost said fuck
me instead.

He looked at me with momentarily unfathomable eyes.
Then, shrugging, he said: "Because you're the perfect
woman for me."

I snorted. "I'm far from perfect."

"You are to me," he countered.

Arms crossed, wine bottle clutched in my right hand,
foot tapping incessantly on the floor, I said: "You are
crazy."

Sighing, he looked down at the floor.

For a long time, neither of us moved nor spoke. I kept
tapping the floor with my bare foot, he kept staring at
it. Finally, wondering what words would exit my mouth,
I said to him, "No one can ever know about this. No
one. Ever, Todd."

He looked up hopefully.

"If your father ever found out, it would kill him. Just
kill him, Todd."

"I understand," he said.

"I've never cheated on your father, not even once.
Never." Looking past him, I thought: And I'm getting
ready to do it with his son.

Quickly drinking the last of my wine, I retrieved
another bottle and this time poured it into a wine
glass. then I did the same to the rest of Todd's and
handed it back to him. Might as well be civilized about
this, I thought. Another part of my mind responded
wryly: Or be romantic.

Knowing I'd need it, I removed the last wine cooler
from the now empty carton and carried it along with my
wine glass back out to the living room. Ignoring the
divan, I separated the stack of pillows with my foot
into a more comfortable pile to sit on while Todd took
my unopened bottle of wine and sat it down. Then,
extending his hand, he helped his slightly tipsy mom
sit herself down on the pillows.

He joined me a moment later and we both leaned back
against the upholstered front of the divan, something I
had done many times with his father. Then he got right
back up and crawled over to the fireplace to rebuilt
the faltering fire. As he squat to load another log, I
watched him contemplatively.

He was such a handsome young man. Better looking, in
fact than his father. Better looking, in fact, than the
handful of young men I'd dated before marrying his
father. I couldn't believe my baby was six-foot tall
and almost two hundred pounds. He's not a baby anymore,
I reminded myself. He's eighteen years old and a
semester away from college.

Sipping the wine, I wondered, not for the first time,
what having Todd gone from the house would do to me. I
did not like the idea. Having his sister gone was
something of a relief; but Cindy and my relationship
had, to say the least, been rancorous. It did both of
us good to be apart. Todd being gone, I suspected,
would leave a huge jagged hole in my heart.

"I don't understand the attraction," I said to his
back.

Still poking the log with his right hand, he looked
back over his shoulder. "How can you say that? You're
beautiful."

I felt myself blush. Maybe at one time I'd been
beautiful, but two c***dren and twenty-two years of
marriage had taken its toll on me. I was ten pounds
overweight (okay, maybe twenty), my breasts had begun
to sag in my mid thirties, and I would never looked
nineteen again in a bathing suit. I wondered if he knew
I colored my hair. Without my contacts I was blind as a
bat. Thinking all this depressed me.

"Every son thinks that about his mother," I said to
him.

Drawing the sides of the screen closed, he brushed his
hands together and stood up. The fire had begun to
devour the new logs and was crackling merrily. The push
of heat against my face felt wonderful. I watched him,
idly swirling wine in the glass.

When he turned around, he said: "I've wanted you all my
life, Mom."

I snorted at that.

"Well, since I was eleven, anyway," he said, shrugging.

That I couldn't snort about. I remembered that morning
when Todd was thirteen, and his eyes relentlessly
following me around the kitchen. I said: "Are you a
virgin?"

Without sign of embarrassment, he nodded.

"You've been saving it for me?" I asked, butterflies
wheeling in my stomach.

He nodded again.

"You really are crazy," I said.

He retrieved his wine glass and sat down beside me. I
reached over for the unopened bottle of wine, twisted
off the cap and replenished our glasses. Wine always
fortified and emboldened me, fine for some situations,
but disastrous in others. I put my hand on his right
cheek and stroked it lovingly. Taking this as his cue,
he leaned over to kiss me.

I turned my face to meet him, careful with the wine
glass, not wanting to spill it all over us. Our lips
touched and electricity flowed through my body. I let
him draw me to him, holding the nearly full glass of
wine safely aloft. I'm sure, except for the absurdity
of a forty-two year old woman and an eighteen year old
lover, we loved liked something out of a movie.

It became something almost magical. My mouth opened
under the urging of his tongue and I met and accepted
him into my mouth. For someone professing to be a
virgin, he kissed extremely well. He continued to twist
me around until I was in danger of flopping down on top
of him with a wine glass in my hand.

"Wait!" I gasped. Reaching up, I placed the glass
safely out of reach on the end table and then allowed
Todd to bring me back to him. Our mouths locked
together again and our tongues began to waltz. I was
atop him now, my position ungainly, but not wanting to
be in any other position. I kissed him with an energy
and urgency I hadn't experienced in twenty-five years.

"Not a word!" I gasped, breaking the kiss. "I want you
to promise me, Todd. Not a word to any of your
friends." I remembered how oath sworn secrets, most of
them certainly true, had spread faster than the speed
of light in high school. Todd telling even one of his
friends would leave his whole school knowing.

"One of these days, Mom," he said, looking up at me
with complete honesty, "I'll tell a woman I meet on the
Internet all about it. She'll write up our story and
I'll surprise you with it on Christmas Day when you're
fifty-eight years old. Until then, I won't say a word
to anyone."

What could I say to that?

I kissed him again and slowly, tentatively, his hand
slid up the outside of my sweater and encountered my
breast. I moaned as he took possession of it, squeezing
it gently, his fingertips tracing the outline of my
brassiere underneath. I was suddenly glad that I had
worn a matching set of lacy blue underwear.

He broke the kiss. "I can't believe I'm actually doing
this," he whispered softly. "That we're actually doing
this," he corrected.

I was breathing heavily and took a moment to catch my
breath.

"We have to be careful, Todd. I'm not on the pill
anymore and I certainly don't want to get pregnant."

Just saying the word released of flush of red-hot
emotions battling inside me. Regardless of which way
that battle went, I knew I had sufficient cause to
worry. My period was at least a week and a half away,
making pregnancy a very distinct possibility for this
lady.

Todd grinned up at me and I knew he had prepared for
this eventuality. Undoubtedly he had a whole box of
condoms stashed away somewhere in his room, just
awaiting the opportunity for use. The problem was, I
didn't want him using a condom. Knowing that made my
emotions battle just that much harder.

I returned my mouth to his and let him work his hand up
under my sweater. He cupped my breast gently, squeezing
it almost reverentially, and I wondered if his
virginity extended to breasts. The thought, the hope
that it was true made me absurdly happy. Then he
confirmed it.

"This is the first breast I've ever touched," he said.

"Oh, Todd," I moaned. Warmth spread throughout me like
deliciously hot cocoa.

"When I see it," he said, raising up to kiss me again,
"it will be the first bare breast I've seen, also."

Every nerve ending in my body tingled. I needed more
wine. Lots more mine. Stretching out, I grabbed my
glass and after taking a large gulp from it, offered
the rim to my son's lovely mouth. He rose to accept.

"We have another six-pack in the refrigerator?" he
asked.

"Thank, God, yes!" I gushed, finishing the glass and
grabbing his off the table. I was in the rapids of
desire and alcohol was vital to assist me over the
jagged mental rocks and boulders.

His hand slipped along my back and located the strap of
my bra and unsnapped it easily.

"Hey!" I said in surprise. "You didn't learn that on
your sister, I hope!"

He laughed, enjoying the absurdity of it. Putting his
other hand under my sweater, he sought out my bare
breasts and held them as though he were handling bars
of gold. Sitting up in his lap, I stripped off my
sweater and sat there with it clutched in my lap,
watching his widened eyes travel from one bra-covered
hand to the other. Finally, gulping loudly, he lifted
my bra away and bared my breasts.

I giggled uncontrollably and hunched my shoulders in
unbidden reaction. His grin was huge and seeing his
pleasure at something so mundane as my saggy, forty-two
year old breasts made me squirm with pleasure like I
hadn't done in years.

"Stop it!" I said squeakily.

"They're beautiful" he complained. It occurred to me
that he'd soon be sucking on them after a s*******n and
a half year absence. That realization broke me out in
goose flesh across my upper body and made my already
hardened nipples ache miserably.

"Cloud Nine," he said breathlessly, breaking me out in
fresh giggles.

I let my bra slide down my arms and handed it to him.
Then, with his assistance, I stood up and turned and
walked breezily out to the kitchen for two more bottles
of wine. On the way back I grinned sheepishly crossing
before the two open windows, one of them the big bay
widow overlooking the front lawn. I refused to cover
myself up, instead I striding by the bay window with my
shoulders back and my chest thrust forward, feeling
marvelously like a stripper. I sobered somewhat seeing
his look of shocked disapproval.

"I'm not an exhibitionist," I said defensively, handing
down his bottle. I was no longer in direct line of
sight of the bay window, and felt safe standing there.

"I don't want to share you with anyone," he said.
"Especially, not a neighbor."

"It's after midnight," I pointed out.

"People could still look in."

"Oh, pooh," I said dismissively. I really was feeling
the liquor.

After setting the second bottle down on the end table,
I refilled my glass halfway, and then his with the
remainder of my bottle. I thought it best to cut back
my consumption of the wine; otherwise, I'd soon find
myself too drunk to function. I'd always had a low
tolerance to alcohol.

While I sipped, Todd set his glass down on the floor,
and then unexpectedly reached up and slipped his
fingers beneath waist of my leggings. He slowly began
to work them down my hips and thighs. My heart skipped
a beat, and then began pounding thunderously. My
nipples hardened into achy little points. I felt blood
rush into my face and my upper body again broke into
goose flesh. I had intended to do just what he was
doing right now, but I was not doing it, my son was and
I shivered so hard he stopped momentarily.

"Are you all right?" he asked concertedly.

"I'm fine," I lied, shivering again.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"No, Todd, I am not cold."

"Oh," he said, sheepishly, understanding. "Do you want
me to stop?"

It was a question I did not want to answer and I did
not. Instead, I continued to look down at him, slowly
sipping my wine and experiencing the strength of my
heart beat. He worked my leggings the rest of the way
down to my ankles and I stepped out of them awkwardly.

"There," he said unnecessarily.

"There," I repeated.

He looked up at me, at my near naked body, his eyes
following the contours of flesh from my breasts down to
my ankles and then back up again. I had the sensation
of trying to be memorized. I wondered how I'd feel when
he removed my panties and rendered me completely nude.
It was too much like being put on display.

Squatting and placing my wine glass on the floor beside
his, I took his hand and assisted him to his feet. With
trembling fingers I unbuttoned the front of his shirt,
spread it apart and ran my hands across his firm,
muscled flesh. He responded with a shiver of his own
and I leaned in to kiss him. His hand found my right
breast and the other the small of my back. Both of my
hands stayed inside his shirt.

"You are the sexiest woman in the world," he whispered.
Like a guided missile, his mouth homed on the erogenous
zone of my neck and shoulder and he began to kiss me
there and suck eagerly, so that a shudder occurred, so
powerful that it forced an involuntarily cry out of me
and a spasm of muscles trying to dislodge him from my
throat. Instead, he burrowed in deeper and went for
total devastation.

"Oh, Todd," I moaned loudly. He had me bent over
backward and clutching his strong biceps for support. I
tried to get away but his lips were relentless on my
skin and refusing any relief. He found my earlobe and
then the back of my ear and I began loosing control of
myself. I felt a helplessness and maddening desire that
I hadn't experienced since the back seat of a car when
his father had first seduced me. Had his father, the
absolute expert at this, taught this to Todd? Or was it
truly, Like Father, Like Son?

I ripped the shirt out of his pants and down his back.
While I struggled with his belt buckle he unzipped his
fly and then assisted me getting his belt apart. We
fought over the closure button but he finally won out.
I was victorious in getting his shorts removed. Without
my permission he then removed my panties and we stood
naked, together, kissing.

"You kiss just like your father," I told him during a
gasp for air.

Sometime later he asked: "Is that good?"

When next I came up for air I said: "You bet it is,
mister," then stuck my tongue back down his throat.

For a long time we did nothing but kiss. He kissed
wonderfully, and I could easily have kissed him all
night. But a French kiss takes massive effort and
eventually even the strongest tongue wears out. Mine
wore out before Todd's did.

"Wait!" I gasped. "I need a break."

Todd didn't want to break, and continued my agony for
another two minutes.

"Please!" I gasped. "If you don't stop, I won't be able
to talk tomorrow."

He laughed, which broke his fanatical craving.

While I fought for breath, he tipped my head back with
the tips of my fingers and reminded me we stood under
the mistletoe.

"Whatever you paid for it," I said hoarsely, "you got
your money's worth."

Though he let me recover unm*****ed, his hands worked
their way over pretty much the entire reachable span of
my body. Again, I felt that desire to be memorized.

"Do you know," I said wonderingly, "that you have me
more worked up than at any time since I was a
teenager?"

From his grin, he seemed to like that idea.

"It's not funny," I said, looking away in
embarrassment. "You do things to me that..." I groped
for the words.

"That a forty-two year old woman shouldn't be
experiencing?" he finished.

"Not with her son, certainly," I stressed.

I was aware of his erection, which I had purposely
ignored until now, pressing against my abdomen. I
wanted to see it, to see what my c***d intended to put
inside me. I moved him away just enough to look down
and discovered a carbon copy of his father's erect
penis. Same length, same thickness, same coloring. Not
a carbon copy, I realized, but a mirror image. Where
his dad's erection took a slight bow to the left,
Todd's bowed right

Almost like father, like son, I thought wryly.

Todd sat down on the edge of the divan and drew me
close to him. With a hand on either hip, and with great
interest, he examined my hair-covered labia.
Immediately I felt trepidation. Should I have shaved in
anticipation of this moment? But Todd seemed totally
transfixed by my abundant growth and I felt much
relieved when he tentatively removed his hand from my
left hip and ran his fingertips through my curls.

"You're not disappointed?" I asked.

He looked up, almost distractedly. "Why would I be
disappointed?"

"Most girls your own age shave themselves down there,
don't they?" Most woman up to and including my own age,
I added thoughtfully, but didn't say.

"I love your hair," he said, continuing to run his
fingers lightly through it. Both his words and the
touch of his fingers returned me to shivers. "It's
natural, soft and curly." He looked and smiled at me.
"I even like the way it's going gray, Mom."

Oh, God, I groaned. What a thing to notice.

I was sobering much too fast. Squatting, I retrieved
the wine glasses from the floor, handed him his and
indicated that I wanted us to empty them together.
After clinking the rims, we did so in one long gulp,
and I then reached over and retrieved the unopened
bottle from the table, twisted off the lid and let Todd
refilled our glasses equally. I sipped appreciatively
at the cold wine while Todd went back to examining my
genitals.

"I'm glad you've never done it with anyone but Dad," he
said.

"I'm glad I've never done it with anyone but your dad,"
I concurred, adding: "And you, of course."

"Do you think Dad would really mind?" he asked, looking
up. His hand had turned palm up and he was now lightly
fingering my lips. I was wet inside and out. I shivered
again.

"We don't want to ask him," I said seriously.

He nodded, his eyes almost wistful. I wanted to tell
him that his were only the second set of fingertips to
ever touch me there, (other than those of my doctors,
of course), but thought this would sound silly. I told
him anyway and he grinned up at me happily. Suddenly,
he leaned forward and planted a kiss just above my
clitoris.

"Oh, Todd!" I yelped, jerking spasmodically and taking
an u*********s step backward

"That too?" he asked, grin widening.

"That too," I confirmed, downing a gulp of wine.

My God! I thought. He just kissed my pussy!

As a true indicator of my astonishment, that horrid
word came naturally to my mind and was not viciously
slapped down as it normally would be. I hate the word
pussy and won't tolerate having my genitals called
that, even by myself.

I stood sipping my wine while Todd continued to finger
my wetness. I stared down at his intent face, but
shifted my eyes to his hand whenever he looked up. It
was obvious I liked it, and obvious he liked it too.
Thank God for that glass of wine! I thought.

"Can I put it inside you?" he asked, looking up.

I wanted to laugh, to tell him that at this point, he
no longer needed permission to explore me; but his
earnestness melted me inside and I simply reached down
and tousled his hair in answer. Still, I sucked in
breath and took another quick gulp of wine when the
middle finger of my son's right hand slid effortlessly
up inside me.

"God!" I said, shivering head to toe.

"Do you like that?" he said, grinning as he looked up.

I took another sip of wine and didn't answer. I'm not
sure I could answer. I could barely think. I almost had
a heart attack when he withdrew the finger and put it
in his mouth.

"Todd!" I got out in a strangled cry.

"What?" he came back, laughing.

I felt my face grow hot enough to rival the heat from
the fire.

Taking his hand, I drew him to his feet and wrapped my
arms around his neck and put my tongue in his mouth. I
could taste myself in his saliva, but that was nothing
new for me. I tried to maintain enough presence of mind
not to spill wine down his bare back -- but it was an
effort. Especially when his middle finger slid
effortlessly inside me again.

"Is this better?" I asked, raising my right foot and
placing it on the edge of the divan. A second finger
slid inside my sopping vagina, them a third, and then
his thumb sought out and found my clitoris.

"When did you learn that?" I demanded.

He only laughed and kissed the side of my neck and left
shoulder. I clung to him, rather desperately I have to
admit, as those three fingers and a thumb and that
damned mouth of his tried to separate me from my
sanity.

"I have a favor to ask," he said, head still buried in
the crook of my neck and shoulder.

"What?" I gasped. He had me shaking like a leaf and
rubbery kneed, ready to collapse.

"Would you stroke me?"

As incredible as this sounds, I had never even
considered doing that. Immediately, I transferred the
wine glass to my left hand and reached down and took
his huge stiffness and began to stroke it. He moaned at
my touch, but I moaned even louder. Now that I'd made
this step, I wanted that beautiful thing in my mouth
and then in my vagina. I wanted him fucking the hell
out of me. I wanted what he would deposit in the end of
his condom and was frustrated almost to tears knowing
that's where it would go. It was then, I knew, that I
decided I had no intention of letting him put one on.

From this point on things went very fast. My arousal
was beyond control and so were my knees. Sucking down
the rest of the wine to keep from spilling it as I went
down, I made my intentions clear where I wanted to go
and he lowered me quickly but awkwardly to the pile of
cushions. The wine glass rolled away across the
polished wood flooring even as I spread my legs and
took my son inside.

"Fuck me, Todd!" I cried plaintively. "Make me orgasm!"

I knew he wanted to protest, wanted to protect his
mother, but mom was having none of it. I wrapped my
legs around his waist, my ankles locking at the small
of his back, and he began to thrust into me and pull
back as though we'd screwed every day of our lives. My
arms were around his neck and his mouth locked onto the
flesh of my right shoulder.

Even as I prayed that he'd leave no mark there for his
father to find, I prayed equally hard that he would. I
wanted his mouth on mine but I also needed to breath,
and breathing came first. In less than thirty seconds
Todd tightened like a steel cable and my own orgasm
peaked.

"Oh, God!" I nearly screamed. Then I said nothing as
burst after burst of burning hot semen exploded into
me. I bucked against him and felt muscles screaming in
every part of my body. Ignoring them, I clamped to him
even tighter, using my heels in the small of his back
to jamb my loins against his thrusting cock.

He orgasmed again, then a third time, and only then did
his tremendous outpouring of semen begin to diminish. I
continued to orgasm as I always did when totally, truly
in a state of bliss, and for a moment, I think, I may
even have passed out. Certainly the world receded from
me into darkness. And then, finally, blessedly, it was
over.

***

Would I ever recover from this? Sex always left me weak
and trembling afterwards, but this felt like being
crushed by a steamroller.

"Are you all right?" he asked anxiously.

He was still in me, becoming slowly flaccid. I was
having trouble breathing, having hyperventilated. He
cleared sweat soaked curls from my eyes and looked into
them, his concern evident. "Breath, Mom," he said.

"I'm trying to," I gasped. I had a baby elephant on my
chest. I wondered fleetingly if it was pink.

He began to withdraw from me but I cried "No!" and
pulled him back. "I'm Ok," I insisted. "I just need to
catch my breath."

He allowed me to catch my breath, contacting me only at
our loins. His hands planted either side of my
shoulders supported him above me. I had no choice but
to uncross my ankles and let my legs fall spread-eagled
to the pillows. They were useless and spasming
fiercely. I could feel semen leaking out of me and onto
the pillows beneath my behind. I'd have to attend to
that later. I'd have to attend to many things later.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked again.

I nodded. I was easier to breath now. The baby elephant
on my chest had given way to a good-sized canine. I ran
my hands through my sodden hair and pulled it into a
tight ponytail behind my head and held it there.

"Merry Christmas," I said softly.

He began to laugh, and so did I, and the laughter
didn't end for a very long time.

***

Twenty minutes later we sat in the corner of the divan,
wrapped in a comforter, me snuggled in against his side
with his left arm around my shoulders. I had me legs
tucked beneath me. The only part of me visible was my
left heel, and my left arm, and hand, which held my
newly replenished wine glass. We clinked the rims of
our glasses together and each took sips.

"You're okay with me not wearing a condom?" he asked.

"I'll live with it," I said shrugging.

He looked at the billowing red and yellow fire and took
another sip. "I could have gone and gotten one," he
said. "It would've only taken a minute."

"It's all right," I told him. "What's done is done."

"What if you get pregnant?" he pressed, worriedly.

I looked up at him. "What if I am?" I asked.

Thankfully, that ended any further discussion of my
possible pregnancy.

"I'm keeping your bra and panties," he said a short
time later.

"I was sort of expecting that," I replied.

"I'm never giving them back," he clarified, grinning
down at me.

"I was sort of expecting that too," I acknowledged.

We were quiet a time, just enjoying the silence.
Finally, he said: "How are you with oral sex?"

"Excuse me?" I exclaimed, nearly choking on a sip of
wine.

He swept the coverlet off himself and exposed his quite
beautiful, fully erect penis.

"Todd!" I choked out. "Put that thing away."

Laughing, he did just that. Shaken, I sipped anxiously
at the wine while eyeing the peaked tent of material
above his lap. I wanted it, and it was the last thing I
wanted. I had already made love to my son in the most
intimate way a woman could imagine. I should be
satisfied with that. But there was no tearing my eyes
away from his gift to me and finally I just admitted my
weakness.

Without comment, I reached across beneath the cover and
exposed him to the fire light once again. Then, careful
not to spill the wine, I bent over him and put his
penis in my mouth.

"Oh, my God," he groaned.

Oh, my God, I thought.

I pleasured him as I hadn't pleasure his father in
ages. Even bent over him awkwardly with a wine glass in
my hand -- which I took sips from occasionally for
fortitude -- I made sure he understood that I was
making love to him with my mouth, not just fellating
him. There is a difference and he understood this, just
as his father did. Not once did he try to guide me or
keep me in place for his own gratification. He touched
my head often, true, but it was only to caress my hair
or move it out of the way to see better.

In truth, I wanted him seeing what I did. I enjoyed his
eyes observing my lips sliding up and down his shaft,
suckling the head, kissing his testicles. Not once did
I touch him with my hands, although he certainly
enjoyed the brief moment of coldness whenever I took a
sip of wine. I thought to ask if he wanted to return me
to the floor and make love to me there for a second
time, or lay me out on the divan and have me there, but
both of our enjoyments were so great that I continued
his oral pleasuring until he exploded powerfully into
my mouth. I held myself still and let his semen fill my
oral cavity, and then, unbidden, I swallowed him to the
safety of my tummy. When I finally straightened up and
swept the hair out of my face one handed, he ogled me
with an expression of pride and disbelief.

"I didn't expect you to do that!" he said in a croaking
voice.

Laughing, I drank the last of my wine and accepted half
of his into my glass.

"Are you complaining?" I asked.

"Fuck no!" he exclaimed, making us both break into
laughter. For once, I didn't chastise him for his
language. I returned to my previous position against
his side.

For the next forty-five minutes we did nothing but
exchange small talk, watch the slowly dying fire and
sip wine. Todd migrated to the kitchen midway through
our interlude for two more bottles, and we both visited
the bathroom together where I peed like a racehorse,
giggling like a thirteen year old as Todd emptied his
distended bladder into the sink beside me.

"That is so disgusting," I told him.

"I could pee between your legs," he offered.

"No thanks," I countered.

Hilariously, he then wiped me himself which I found to
be incredibly erotic. I stood him before me and again
made love to him with my mouth, this time with the
added bonus of masturbating him extensively. Because I
was sitting on the commode with easy access to my
vagina, I masturbated myself as I pleasured him with my
mouth. This time, however, before swallowing, I opened
my mouth wide and showed him the total worth of his
deposit. I almost spat it out, however, when he teased
me and got me laughing uncontrollably. I got most of it
down, but not before making a revolting mess of my
mouth.

Back out in the living room, he said to me: "I'm going
to return the favor, you know."

"You are, are you," I said, eyeing him over the rim of
my wine glass. I did not want him knowing how
enthralled the thought of him between my legs had me.

And then he described in squirming, drive Jeannine
Diane out her mind detail how he would do it. Then he
had me to his mouth and was French kissing me again,
making my blood boil, and then I was atop him,
straddling in his lap, but not on him, being drove mad
instead by the rubbing of him against my lower belly.
We continued to French kiss with that damned wine glass
clutched in my right hand, Todd taking every advantage
to manipulate my breasts and my nipples, attack my neck
and my shoulders with his mouth, even experimentally
slipping a finger up my rear end. That last made me
moan in most embarrassing fashion.

Then I was on my back on the pillows again with Todd
feasting between my legs. I want you to know, that I've
never been feasted on with such vigor before or after,
not even by Todd himself. He did everything he had
described to me in such vivid detail, and more, nearly
driving me mad with passion until I orgasmed the
instant he entered me. He orgasmed moments later with
barely time to plunge into me half a dozen times. His
orgasm lasted forever and mine half again as long as
that. When he finally collapsed, it was like a building
coming down into its foundation. We both panted
exhaustedly.

"That's it," he gasped. "Got to sleep."

Sleep was fine with me. I didn't have the strength to
lift a hand off the floor. I could only lie there
beneath him and let sperm leak out of me onto the
pillow cushions. He had so much sperm, but I hated
wasting any of it. Had I the energy, I gladly would
have licked and sucked the excess out of the cushions.

The last thing I remember thinking before I passed away
into darkness was what Todd thought of his mother's
taste, and that of his own sperm. Todd told me the next
morning that I had fallen asleep smiling.

***

If I had expected the cold light of dawn to make a
difference, it did not. Todd awoke me to a new round of
lovemaking, and this time we took our wonderful time
about it. He remained in me for an hour and twenty
minutes of undiminished, loving sex and I showed him
each of my favorite positions. To my joy, he saved his
ejaculation for my very favorite position, the same way
he'd taken me both times during the night. Again, we
slept, this time until nine o'clock when his dad
called.

"Hand me my panties," I said, scrambling out from
beneath the coverlet.

He shook his head, grinning mischievously.

"It's for your sake," I told him. "I want you inside
me, not streaming down my legs."

With a start of alarm, he snatch my panties off the
floor and helped me struggle into them. I scrambled off
the pillows, across the living room toward the phone,
this time ducking and covering before the big bay
window, and reached it on the tenth ring.

"Hello," I said, breathlessly.

"Jeannine? You sound out of breath."

"I just ran upstairs to answer the phone," I huffed. I
put a finger to my lips to silence Todd.

"Sure you weren't knocking around the living room with
some Joe?" he joked.

I almost choked, but managed to answer in a calm voice.
"I'll save that until you get home, honey."

"That's what I'm calling about," he said, a sigh in his
voice. "Well, that, and to wish you a Merry Christmas,
of course."

"What do you mean?" I asked, but already suspecting the
truth.

During the night, a six inch snowfall had blanketed the
neighborhood and, even as I watched through the bay
window, the neighbor across the street, Mr. Henry,
began busy shoveling his walk free of fresh powder.

"We're snowed in," he said with a sigh.

"How badly?" I asked, looking at Todd.

"Badly as Hell, excuse the language. Almost three
feet."

"Three feet!" I exclaimed, watching Todd react to the
news. A grin, wide as the Grand Canyon spread across
his face. Even as I wagged my head at him, I knew a
similar grin was spreading across mine. Disgusted,
enthralled, I began to laugh under my breath. Todd lay
back on the pillows, laughing merrily under his breath.
When I hung up I returned to him and allow him to
remove my panties before I lay down atop him.

The next three days were the most marvelous, enjoyable
and erotic three days of my life.

Epilogue:

Todd is thirty-four years old now, married, with
c***dren of his own. His wife is a simply wonderful
girl that Todd fawns over, even after thirteen years of
marriage. I think she loves Todd almost as much as I
do.

Our Christmas present of 1992 was followed by another
handful of times that were divine, but of course never
matched that first weekend for intensity, sweetness or
spontaneity. Nor should they have. Our Christmas of
1992 was the most special present a mother and son
could share; a gift always to be cherished. Now, if I
can just get him to stop French kissing me every time
we're together and turning me into a nut case.

THE END