A Lonely Mom, a Horny Son, and Xmas

Under the pretense of standing beneath the mistletoe, he'd happily French kiss his mother while feeling her big tits through her blouse and bra. Under the pretense of standing beneath the mistletoe, he'd happily French kiss his mother while feeling her shapely ass through her short skirt and bikini panties. He wondered what it was like to French kiss his mother. He wondered what it was like to feel her through her clothes while kissing her.

He'd never rape his mother, of course. Yet, if she was drunk enough not to know it was him touching her, feeling her, and groping her, he'd strip her naked on the pretense of putting on her nightgown and putting her to bed. If she was drunk enough not to know what he was doing, he'd kiss his mother. He'd part her red, full lips with his tongue and French kiss her. Even if he wouldn't sexually assault his mother, it was enough to imagine that he would while masturbating himself and imagining having sex with her naked body. If he knew that she wouldn't push him away, he'd returned her kiss with his kiss. While kissing her, he'd grope her big breasts through her blouse and bra and feel her shapely ass through her short skirt and panties. Sadly, and sexually frustrating for him, if only she'd give him an up-skirt peek of her panties and/or a down-blouse view of her cleavage and bra, he'd be happy. Giving him something to masturbate over later, he'd settle for only that. He was so pathetically horny in his sexual attraction to his own mother.

'I need a girlfriend,' he thought. 'I need sex. I need to get laid.'

# # #

"C'mon, Mom. Cheer up. It's Christmas Eve. You should be happy instead of sad," he said. "I refuse to allow Dad to spoil our fun and ruin another holiday. If only for one day, Christmas, you need to put him out of your mind and get on with your life. It's been four years. You need to think of all the good things that may happen without him than concentrating on all the bad things that he had done to upset you. Forget about him. He's gone."

With her wearing one of his favorite, short skirts, it had three buttons down the front. With gaps in between each button, the last button left a gap at her hem. When she sat, even with her knees tightly closed, he could still see a triangular patch of her bright, white, bikini panties peeking at him through the opened space of her buttons, just above her knees, and in between her shapely thighs.

Moreover, as if the fabric of the couch was complicit in helping to expose her panties to him, whenever she sat on the couch, her skirt bunched up in back and raised her hem to mid-thigh. Even though, he loved his mother's long, shapely legs, he loved seeing his mother's panties even more. He couldn't count how many times he went though his mother's panty drawer and laundry hamper and took a pair of her panties to bed with him to masturbate over them while sniffing them and imagining her wearing them.

Something she never wore, thank God, and didn't even own, his mother hated pantyhose and he hated pantyhose too. There should be a law that forbids women from wearing pantyhose. Before boarding a plane, train, or a bus, a public health hazard for men that causes them great sexual frustration, transportation inspectors should require women to remove their pantyhose. How hot would that be to watch women hiking up their skirts to remove their pantyhose?

'Okay, ladies,' he imagined TSA inspectors lining up women. 'You know the drill. Sorry, but you're not allowed to board until you remove your pantyhose.'

Someone should flog the gay, fashion designers who invented pantyhose and who encouraged women to wear them. He imagined gay, fashion designers thrown in prison and being flogged every day with wet pantyhose. He imagined gay, fashion designers committing suicide by hanging themselves with pantyhose.

'Take that! And that! And that! What the Hell is wrong with you for inventing pantyhose and encouraging women to wear pantyhose? Men don't like pantyhose. Men don't want to see pantyhose clad crotches, they want to see panties or naked pussies.'

Fortunately, for him, his mother never wore them. Instead, her uniform of choice, seldom even wearing pants or jeans, was a low-cut, button blouse and a short skirt. As she did every night, she showed him a lot of her shapely legs and flashes of her panty clad pussy. He loved his mother's long legs. He imagined sliding a slow hand and tongue up from his mother's slender ankles to her panty covered pussy. He wondered if his mother was tipsy enough, if she'd allow him to touch her, feel her, and massage her underwear clad, topless, or naked body.

'Wow. How hot would that be to massage my Mom's underwear clad, topless, or naked body,' he thought? 'I'd love to give my mother a sexy massage.'

Seemingly, most times, with her paying no never mind to what she was unintentionally showing him, trusting him not to ogle her, she was comfortable around him, especially when in her own home. Yet, with him always looking to see what he shouldn't see of his mother, and with her so obliviously naïve, she routinely rewarded him with accidental up-skirt peeks of her panties and down-blouse views of her cleavage and bra. Giving him something to masturbate over later, he loved seeing flashes of her panties as much as he loved seeing flashes of her cleavage and bra.

Then, whenever she wore her short, sheer, low-cut, and sexy nightgowns without having the modesty to wear a robe, she flashed him all that he wanted to see of her beautiful and nearly naked body. Trying not to stare, when she sat across from him, she flashed him peeks of her naked, blonde, trimmed pussy. She flashed him her long line of sexy cleavage, the tops of her naked breasts, and the impressions of her erect nipples.

Anthony never sexually thought about his mother until his father left four-years ago when he was 18-years-old. Now that he was older, hornier, and sexually attracted to her, with her working from home and with him having returned home after graduating from college and not working yet, they were always home alone together. Yet, instead of hanging out with his friends, there's no place that he'd rather be than being home alone with his MILF of a mother.

As if he was a perverted peeper, determined to see all that he could see of her, he was on a mission to see his mother in her bra and panties, topless, and/or naked. The most he's seen of her is when she wears a sexy, short, sheer, and low-cut nightgown with nothing underneath. Something she recently started doing, claiming she's too hot, whenever she wears her sexy and revealing, short, low-cut nightgown, she doesn't wear a robe over it. With her nightgown so sheer, nearly transparent, she gives him plenty of masturbation fodder to masturbate over later.

Especially when she stands in front of the television in the darkened living room, he can clearly see through her flimsy nightgown. Then, as if she's naked, when she stands in front of the opened refrigerator door in the darkened kitchen, he can see all that he hoped to see of her beautiful body through her sheer nightgown. Again, as if she's standing before him in the nude, he can see all that the hoped to see of his mother whenever she stands in front of the big, bay window and pushes open the drapes in the morning light.

'My God,' he thought while staring at the naked silhouette of his mother's sexy and shapely body through her nightgown. 'She's my sexual angel with a heavenly body.'

# # #

"Sorry, I guess I am a little sad," she finally admitted. She took a deep breath and exhaled a big sigh while staring at the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree. "Bringing back a lot of memories, I always celebrated Christmas Eve with your father," she said not looking at him. Nonetheless, she confided in him as if he was her priest or her psychiatrist instead of her son. "I miss him," she said with a soulful pause. She looked at him as if she already expected him to answer her question in the affirmative. "Don't you miss your father, Anthony?"

She wrapped her hands around her wine glass as if it was a warm coffee mug and as if she was cold. She hung her head and shoulders low as if he was her bartender and she was troubled customer confessing her woes. Perhaps, she needed psychological therapy. Perhaps, she needed an anti-depressant. Perhaps, she needed sex. Perhaps, she needed to get laid.

Definitely, she needed a man in her life. Definitely, she needed to get laid. If she had someone to love and to have sex with, she wouldn't be so sad. Tempted to buy her a puppy, he wondered if a dog would help his mother. In the way that the dog would surely lick his mother's face, wishing he was her dog to train, teach, and master, he'd love to lick his mother's pussy.

"Miss him?" He made a face as if he had just swallowed a bug. "No, I don't miss my father," said Anthony shaking his head while staring at what he could see of his mother's panties.

Whenever she stared down at her wine, looked at the fireplace or the Christmas tree, he stared at what he could see between his mother's legs. Glad that she was giving him an up-skirt show, he loved seeing his mother's panties.

"Why not?"

Shocked that she'd even ask him, he rolled his eyes and sighed.

"He was mean to you, dismissive of you, and disrespectful to you. He treated you like shit and ignored me. I'm glad he's gone," said Anthony.

Happy to have his mother all to himself, he was glad that she evicted the weasel from the henhouse. Now with him the only cock in the house, if only his mother saw him in the way that she saw her ex-husband, he'd be happy. If only his mother saw him in the way that he sees her, he knew he could make her happy. Yet, one slow, sexual step at a time, a slow progression and a long-lasting sexual seduction is better than being rejected after a quickie grope and a kiss.

Somehow, he'd have to sexually seduce her. Somehow, he'd have to make her sexually want him in the way that he sexually wanted her. If only his mother was as sexually attracted to him as he was sexually attracted to her, he'd love to make her cum. If only for one night, even if they didn't have sex but just cuddled and spooned instead, with his foot in her bedroom door, Anthony wished he could sleep with his mother.

"You didn't know your father in the way that I knew him," she said. "To you, he was your father. To me, he was my friend, my lover, my husband, my companion, and my life," she said looking as if she was going to cry.

Anthony wanted to go to his mother and hold her while hugging her. Yet, he feared he wouldn't be able to control his sexual lust and horniness. Afraid he'd try to kiss her and grope her, he remained in his chair. Afraid that he'd touch her and feel her where he shouldn't touch and feel his mother, he didn't want to prematurely ruin his chances of sleeping with her. He'd rather take his time in sexually seducing her. Perhaps, after she had more wine, she'd be more in the mood and sexually willing to do more with him with what he'd love to do with her.

"Mom," he said eager to change the subject in hopes of distracting her from her holiday misery.

Ready to impart advice that she wouldn't listen to anyway, changing his mind in midsentence, he stopped himself from finishing his thought. As if she needed to be sad while drinking, he allowed her to remain in her head. Knowing she always drank more during the holidays when she was sadly depressed, while hoping she'd have one too many, he allowed her to tell him how she felt. Trying to be the good son that she needed instead of the perverted son that she'd never sexually want, instead of talking, he listened.

"He was a good husband and a good provider before he started drinking and cheating on me with his secretary," she said with a long pause while nodding her head as if she needed that extra bit of head movement to believe what she had just said. "Blaming myself and feeling guilty, somehow feeling responsible, I always wondered if I was the reason why he left. I always wondered if there was something that I could have said or done differently that would have stopped him from having an affair and ultimately leaving me for her," she said as if he wasn't even there and she was talking to herself.

Unable to sit quietly, squirming in his seat while his mother took the blame for his father's drunken sexual infidelities, Anthony let out a laugh of absurdity while shaking his head with anger and frustration. Always taking his side while making excuses for him, there was no talking to her about his Dad. No matter what he said, he couldn't convince her that it was all his fault and she was better off without him. Obviously, the reason for her sullen mood, she was lonely. Yet, he couldn't allow her to blame herself for his father's drinking and sexual affairs without saying something.

"I don't know how you can blame yourself, Mother, for Dad's drinking and for cheating on you," said Anthony. "Maybe he was a great guy before you married him, but he was nothing more than a drunken pig. Obviously, he was mentally disturbed for him to take up with a woman nearly half his age when he had a quality woman like you at home. As Paul Newman once said, why go out for hamburger when I have steak at home?"

Samantha gave her son a loving look and a warm smile. When she looked at him that way, she melted his heart. When she smiled at him that way, she hardened his cock. He wanted to go to her and kiss her while touching her and feeling her everywhere.

"Thank you," she said. "It's comforting to hear you say that when my only sounding board left me for a woman young enough to be his daughter," she said. "Not very good for my ego and self-confidence, there was no way that I could compete with a woman nearly twenty years my junior. Obviously, he wanted something that I couldn't give him."

Anthony returned his mother's warm smile and loving look with his warm smile and loving look. Alas, now, with the tables turned, he wanted something from his mother that she couldn't give him. Nonetheless, once again, he wanted to comfort her. Once again, he wanted to hold her and hug her while kissing her and touching her and feeling her everywhere a son should never touch and feel his mother. He so wanted to strip her naked. He so wanted to make sweet love to her before fucking her fast and hard.

"You're better off without him. I'm here for you, Mom," said Anthony with a laugh when thinking of what he was going to say next. "Unless there's a choir of topless Playboy bunnies outside singing Christmas carols and inviting me to join them, I'm not going anywhere," he said with a dirty laugh while imagining his mother singing Christmas carols with him while topless.

'I'd love to see my mother's naked tits. I'd love to feel her big breasts. I'd love to suck her nipples while she stroked my cock. I wish I cold have sex with my mother,' he thought. 'I wish I could make love to her before fucking her.'

# # #

Then, as if she was sexually teasing him, something that immediately commanded his attention, as if she was Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct, she slowly and seductively crossed her long, shapely legs. As if hypnotized by what he was about to see, he stared. As if mesmerized by all that he was seeing of his mother, every time she crossed and uncrossed her legs, Anthony stared at all that he could see of his mother's bright, white, bikini panties.

'I love seeing her panties,' he thought. 'The only thing better than seeing her panties is seeing her naked pussy.'

Never thinking that she'd deliberately flash him her panty covered crotch, he wondered if she knew she was unintentionally flashing him. He wondered if she knew he could continually see her panties every time she crossed and uncrossed her legs in her revealing short skirt. He wondered if she was sexually teasing him. He wondered if she was deliberately flashing him her panty clad pussy. Like mother like son, if she was deliberately flashing him, in the way that he masturbated over her flashing him, he wondered if she masturbated over flashing him.

"Thank you for being my man and celebrating Christmas Eve with me but I wouldn't hold you back from joining a choir of topless, Playboy Bunnies," she said with a laugh while beaming him a smile. "Sadly, even though I have you here with me now, I won't have you for long. Once, some woman makes you her man, you'll be gone and I'll be alone," she said pausing in thoughtful sadness again. "Just as I missed celebrating Christmas with your father, Christmas won't be the same without you, Anthony," she said.

He's her man. He's his mother's man. His mother didn't need a man around the house as long as she had him. If only she'd sleep with him, he'd sleep with her while holding her, comforting her, and spooning her. If only she'd have sex with him, he'd have sex with her.

"Honestly, Mother, I don't know why you miss my father. He was a lying, drunken bastard for taking up with that young whore from his office and leaving you for her," said Anthony. "He's nothing but a pig for having sex with a woman who was young enough to be his daughter and who was not much older than me."

He looked at his mother while wondering why she was here with him instead of attending some Christmas party at a nightclub with friends. He imagined her meeting someone and dancing all night while having a good time. Tempted to ask her out for a night on the town, only, he couldn't afford dating his mother or anyone until he found a good paying job.

"Sorry, Anthony. I'm sad because I'm lonely," she said giving him another warm smile while confessing her need for companionship. "I'm glad you're here with me but it's not the same," she said perhaps hinting at being horny and sexually frustrated.

Obviously, her horniness and sexual frustration was something that he could help her with if only she'd give him the opportunity to try. If only she'd allow him to massage her, perhaps a massage would make her feel better. Perhaps, if she'd allow him to massage her, he could sexually arouse her enough for her to masturbate herself later.

Even better, instead of her masturbating herself, he could finger her pussy, feel her tits, and finger her nipples. He'd love to give her a massage with a happy ending. Something that he couldn't even imagine, he'd love to watch and hear his mother cum from him giving her a sexual orgasm.

Samantha leaned forward while studying the contents of her wine glass as if all the answers to her future were there. When she leaned forward like that, her low-cut blouse fell forward and opened with her. From his higher vantage point from his father's favorite armchair, he had the perfect down-blouse view of his mother's long line of sexy cleavage, the tops of her meaty breasts, and her white, low-cut bra. Hypnotized by what he could see of his mother's big, D cup, bra clad breasts, he wished he could touch her tits and feel her tits while making out with his mother.

When she leaned forward like that, she parted her knees enough to give him a continual up-skirt view of her panty clad pussy. He imagined going to his mother while on his knees. He imagined parting her legs and fingering her and licking her through her panties. In the way that he was making himself horny, he imagined getting her sexually aroused. He imagined removing his mother's panties and eating her cunt. Licking her while fingering her, he imagined giving her a sexual orgasm with is fingers and tongue before giving her another one with his cock.

# # #

"You need to go out more, Mother. You need to meet someone," he said not believing that he was encouraging her to meet someone else instead of encouraging her to sleep with him. "You could join one of those online dating sites. I can help you make a profile," said Anthony with a sexy smile with what he was going to say next. "I'll even take some sexy, photos of you to post," he said with a dirty laugh while imagining photographing his mother in her sexiest and sheerest nightgown, in her bra and panties, topless, and even naked.