A Christmas Tart

I could taste her. I could smell her. It was all in my imagination, of course, but it still made my cock stir. The gray snow banked against the curb was not in my imagination. It was summer in Chile when I sold my truck for air fare, and I sweltered in Santiago while I waited for my flight out. Now I closed my coat tight against the cold.

"You're not home?" I asked, and glanced up at my driver. He didn't seem to be listening.

"I had a committee meeting this morning and a lunch date after that," Mom said. "Everyone's trying to get things done before Christmas. I'll be there. You still have your keys, right?"

I still had my keys, and I remembered the code, though it took a second to come to me. I dropped my bag by the dining table, laid my coat on top of it, and wandered through the big house to look at Mom's Christmas decorations. They were familiar. They were like old friends.

The garage door rumbled open to tell me that Mom was home. She was a little breathless when she hurried into the kitchen, but she reached me before the garage door closed behind her car.

"You look so good!" she said. Her high heels clicked on the floor as she crossed the kitchen. She let her long coat slip off her shoulders and laid it on the table. Mom looked even better than I remembered. Her suit jacket had broad, padded shoulders and tapered to her waist. Her skirt hugged the curve of her hips.

Mom gripped the front of my shirt in both hands and said, "Let me smell you." She said pulled herself up and inhaled under my jaw. It was something she did that always sent a thrill up my spine.

I lifted Mom to sit on the edge of the table. She squawked in surprise and laughed. She squeezed my biceps and said, "Your arms are so big! And your shoulders! I like what the river did for you—and for me."

She had a few telltale streaks of gray that were new since I left in June, but that was the only sign of passing time. Her eyes glittered blue in the wintry light from the kitchen window, and her hair was swept softly up.

It was my turn to push my nose against Mom's neck and inhale her scent. "Oh God, I missed you," I said, and felt her body shudder with the same thrill that had washed over me. Her eyes searched my face until I bent to brush her lips with mine—once, twice. Her breath was warm and sweet, and when I pulled her to me, her tongue was welcoming.

Holding Mom and tasting her again was all too exciting. I leaned back to catch my breath with my hardening cock uncomfortably bent. Mom wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and used the same hand to touch the bulge in the front of my jeans.

I pushed Mom's hand away, and I said, "You were all I could think about on the way home." I made a little show of straightening my cock, and watched her lift her arms to pull pins from her hair.

"Don't think about me anymore," she said and shook her head so her hair fell around her shoulders. "Do me instead."

My grin was so wide it made my face hurt. Mom knew what to expect when I shoved her jacket off her shoulders. She caught her breath when I touched her tits, and she pushed herself into my hands. I let her go and fumbled at the buttons on her blouse. She laughed when I snorted in frustration. I tugged her blouse and her jacket down to her elbows, pushed her bra straps down, and pulled the cups off her breasts.

Mom lifted her tits for me. I bent to suck her, and caught her nipple between my teeth. Her scent had become warm and aroused, and I felt the excitement building in her body. She leaned back to make it easier for me to reach her tits, but that hardly helped, so I pushed my hands under her thighs and lifted her to my mouth.

Mom stroked my hair, and I filled my mouth with her soft flesh. "Henry, Henry," she whispered, "I'm so horny I could spit. I'm a walking vagina. Fill me up, honey."

I lifted Mom off the table, and she tightened her legs around my waist. We passed the Christmas tree, with its red bows and silver balls glittering in the light, and climbed the stairs past lighted the garlands on the banister.

Mom gasped and laughed when I dropped her on her pink satin bed covers. She was too excited to worry about her clothes, and they were just in my way. I shoved her skirt up around her waist and tore through her pantyhose. I pulled her panties away from her pussy, and she tried to pull my shirt off while I ripped her nylons open. Her jacket bound her arms, so she opened my pants instead.

Her cunt was soft and already wet. I used my fingers to open her and then tasted her juice on my skin. She guided my shaft down into the welcoming space between her legs, and I was too excited to do anything but push my cock into her.

My whole length throbbed inside Mom when I stopped. She lifted her knees to my shoulders and locked her ankles behind my back. She was going to be everything I needed, and I meant to be everything she wanted.

Mom squirmed in my arms. I had to stop to catch my breath, but she dug her fingers into my back and told me "Don't stop!" I pushed her hair back from her face, and she said again, "Don't stop!"

A groan escaped Mom's lips. She wrapped her arms around my neck and her pussy closed around my shaft. My hips slapped against her thighs harder with each deep stroke.

It was good we were alone. Mom's gasps and squeals could have been heard down the stairs and all over that big house. When I came inside her, my bellow might have been heard on the street. I pushed myself up and forced my cock as deep into her as I could reach. I caught my breath and did it again, and then again until I was exhausted and empty.

Mom followed when I rolled away to catch my breath, and she laid her head on my chest. "I didn't mean that to go so fast," I said, and ran my hands over her shoulders. "I'll make it all good for you."

"You always do," she said. Mom was quiet for a moment, and then she sat up beside me. She tugged her arms out of her jacket and blouse, unhooked her bra and let them all fall together. "The last few months have been hard on me," she said. "You've never been gone so long."

It only took a year after I finished my finance degree before I was bored by those entry-level jobs. I quit, packed up a truck, and drove south. Southern Chile was as far as I could go, so I found a job as a river guide in the Lake District. It was good for me, but it took me far away from Mom.

"You should come with me next time," I said. My boxers and my jeans bound around my thighs, so I pushed them down and then had to sit up to get my shoes off.

Mom laughed. I loved the way she laughed. "Not on your life!" she said. "

You

can drive most of the way to the south pole and paddle rubber dinghies over water falls.

I

have dangerous committees at important charities!"

It was mostly a joke, but Mom—Claire to her friends, and Mrs. Banner to everyone else—kept herself busy on the boards of several charities.

I knelt over her, unbuttoned the waistband of her skirt, and tugged it down. She watched then asked, "Was it hard on you, being gone so long?"

"I worried about you," I said. I pulled her tattered nylons off her butt and peeled them down her thighs. "Sometimes I worried about us, too. I worried that we would change."

"Relationships change," Mom said. She slipped her shoes off, pulled her feet out of the nylons, and pushed them all off the bed. "You were a desperate boy once, and desperate times called for desperate measures, but that changed. Do you remember your high school graduation?"

"Sure," I said, and lifted my arms so Mom could pull my shirt over my head. "I bet I was the only guy in my class that spent the night partying between his mom's legs."

Mom tucked her thumbs into the waist of her panties and pushed them down. I took them when she offered them, and inhaled the familiar, musky scent from the crotch.

She watched and smiled. "By then I'd learned two things. I knew that you were probably the only man who'd ever really love me. Others might love my money, some might want my body, but you loved me. And I knew that I'd have to let you go to keep you. You were going away to college. You needed new friends and girls other than your mother. If I didn't let go, then you'd learn to hate me."

I pushed Mom's naked body down onto the mattress and watched her expression. "That was the first night you told me, 'I'll always love you, but I won't always be your lover.'"

Mom ran her fingers through my hair and smiled, "That's the way it's been ever since. Things will change again. You know they will."

She looked up at the light from the window. "It's already getting dark. It gets dark so early now." She ran her hands over my shoulders and added, "I need to start your dinner pretty soon."

I pushed myself up to look at her and said, "Not yet." It wasn't so dark that I couldn't see. It was unacceptable, in her social circles, to give into time, and she never had. Her body was still lithe and firm. I kissed her breasts, which had sagged to graceful teardrops. I kissed her flat belly, and the faded cesarean scar from my birth.

Mom didn't ask what I was doing when I slid off the bed. She knew. I lifted her legs, rested her heels on my back, and slipped my fingers through her pubic hair. I loved the wispy little waves and curls that laid flat against her skin. She didn't even need to shave her bikini line, and it hardly ever got up my nose when I ate her.

Her scent and her taste were both a little ripe, but I loved that. After all, I was the one who got her that way. I slipped my tongue into her slit and up along her pussy lips. I dragged her deep folds through my teeth and let my nose rub over her clit.

Mom sighed and pulled my face against her pussy. She rocked her hips and closed her thighs around my head. I had to push her knees apart to catch my breath, and then I took the whole, soft mound around her hardening bud in my mouth.

"You're getting me off," she said. I didn't think it was a complaint, or anything I need to answer to. I pushed my tongue into the crease that hid her clit. Her breath came in gulps. She caught it and held it, and then let it go.

I pushed one hand under Mom's butt, and thrust my thumb into pussy. It seeped thick nectar around my thumb, and she writhed in my grip. I wrestled with her to keep her in my mouth. She knotted her fingers in my hair, and I knew she was close.

Mom's hard clit seemed suddenly to disappear, and in that same instant I shoved my middle finger into her asshole—to the first knuckle, and then to the second—so that I held her by her taint. Mom arched her back and groaned.

The tension that wracked her body suddenly released. Her pussy and her asshole clenched around my thumb and finger, and she screamed at the ceiling as she came.

That was what I wanted—that, and the way she gave herself to me when it was over. I climbed up beside her and wrapped her in my arms. I held her against me, and she murmured silly little things against my chest.

* * *

Mom cooked dinner. She said it was because she liked cooking for me, but I think she didn't want the help around right then. After dinner, she said, "I'll load the dishwasher. You start the fire," and she sent me away.

I lowered the lights and lit the fire—it was easy to do since the fireplace used gas—then moved the sofa so it made a close triangle with the fireplace and the Christmas tree.

My feet were toasting in front of the flames when Mom finished in the kitchen. She'd wrapped herself in a satin robe to cook dinner and tied it about her waist, and now it swirled around her ankles as she walked from the kitchen to the tree, and then to me. She carried a martini and moved with the gliding gate of a woman in high heels.

"It all looks so pretty," Mom said, "like it always does." She curled up against my shoulder and sipped at her martini. I laid my arm around her, and tugged at the knot that tied her robe. The floral scent of her bath products rose from her skin and mingled with the aroma of baked ham that clung to the fabric.

I flipped the hem of her robe aside to look at her legs. They were sheathed in dark thigh-high nylons. Her shoes were black and open-toed with stiletto heels. "I'd call these Fuck Me pumps," I said.

"I thought you'd get the idea," Mom said and closed her robe again. "When the time comes, you can take them off, or leave them on. It's your choice."

I thought I'd leave them on, but before then there were things to talk about. "What happens tomorrow?" I asked.

When I was little, people always felt sorry for me because my birthday was just two days before Christmas, but Mom always made the day special for me. Tomorrow would be special. Tomorrow, a lot of things would change.

"You can sleep late," Mom said. "I have an early date at the gym with Ginny, so maybe you shouldn't tire me out too much tonight." She grinned like she didn't really mean it. "After that I have to look at the financials for the City Arts Foundation."

Mom ran her hand over my chest and said, "You know, all your old blazers are going to be too small. Why don't you go to that suit place tomorrow and get a new one, and some slacks for tomorrow night. They'll need to tailor them before you leave, but I bet they can do it."

"When do we meet with Niles?" I asked. Niles was our fund manager.

My father died when I was ten, and before that he spent his time with work and travel. I hardly knew him. He died as a wealthy man, and he left a wealthy widow. He also left a trust that would be mine on my twenty-fourth birthday—tomorrow. Niles had watched over my fund and Mom's investments for fourteen years.

"He thought it would be good if we met over dinner," Mom said. She tucked one hand around my bicep and tried to wrap it with the other. Her fingers wouldn't touch. "You were so ardent this afternoon. Weren't there any girls in Chile?"

"Of course there were girls in Chile," I said.

Mom was always curious about my sex life. It was her kink—or one of them. I wasn't surprised when she said, "Tell me about them—the ones you had."

"I'll tell you if you'll tell me about your guys." I said. That made her laugh out loud, but she sipped her drink and nodded her answer.

"I met Crystal in Santiago, right after I got there," I said. "We met in a bar, and she took me home."

"Was she pretty?" Mom asked, and tugged on the waist of my jeans.

"Sort of," I said. "She had blond hair with black roots, and her eyes were dark and almond-shaped. She had nice tits and a round ass."

"She sounds like a tramp," Mom said and sipped her drink again. I think she hoped that was true.

I pulled Mom close, but I was careful not to make her spill her drink. It wasn't like anyone was listening, but I wanted to talk dirty just for her. "She was a slut in heat," I whispered. "I put her against the wall just inside her door, and I had her bra off and my hand down her pants before I kicked the door shut."

"I made her come right there," I said. "I picked her off the floor with two fingers inside her, and she ground against my hand. She squealed when she came. My hands were full of her, so I muffled her noise with my mouth.

"Crystal went limp when her climax passed, and I was so hard I ached." I stopped and watched Mom. Her nipples thrust against that satin robe. She gulped her drink and looked up at me again before I went on.

"It was a little studio apartment, and it took about two steps to get to her bed. I had a grip on her hair, and I used it to put her down on her back." Mom's drink was empty, but she didn't realize it until I took it out of her hand and set it on the table behind me.

Mom touched the bulge in the front of my jeans and asked, "Is this for me, or for Crystal?"

"It's for you, because you're getting turned on," I said, and Mom laughed.

"You

know

this is just about my favorite kind of foreplay," she said. "You aren't done with the story are you?"

"You know how the rest goes," I said. "In. Out. In. Out. It isn't the part that turns you on."

Mom squirmed around to squeeze against my side and laid her leg over my lap. "You're right, but I do like hearing how it ends," she said.

"I don't know what time it was when I put her on the bed," I said, "but we were done when the sun started coming up. Crystal sent me naked pictures for months after that."

"You sent her dick pics, didn't you?" Mom asked, and snickered. "It seems like the only civilized thing to do."

Mom fell quiet for a moment and then said "It's my turn, isn't it?" She seemed hesitant. "I'm afraid I'm going to bore you." She pressed herself tighter against me, and let her hand rest on my cock. "Most of the sex I had while you were gone was in my imagination—and with you. You were my dependable fantasy."

"What did we do?" I asked. I didn't think I'd get an answer. Mom had used me in her fantasies for a long time, but she never told me what they were.

Mom gripped my shirt and pulled herself up. She straddled my lap and leaned to my ear. "You took anything you wanted from me," she said. "I gave it to you, and it felt good." She sat back with her hand on my chest and said, "The funny thing is, you overpowered me in those fantasies, but now you're even bigger than you were. I don't know what to think. Maybe I shouldn't."

I was listening—a little. Mom's robe gaped open and her tits swung like pendulums as her body undulated to the rhythms in her fantasy. I slid my hands down her sides, over her hips, and asked, "How did you like it the best?"

"What I liked the best wasn't even something I had to make up," she said. "You held me close. In my imagination I could even feel your breath and the stubble on your jaw. You kissed my throat, and you told me how you loved me. I screamed when I came. Maybe Crystal squealed, but I screamed."

The flickering light and shadows from the fireplace let me watch Mom smile. "I don't think I needed the vibrator at all," she said, "but it helped me imagine that you were inside me."

I rolled Mom off my lap and arranged her on the cushion. "Your vibrator is a tough act to follow," I said. "It's bigger than I am."

"No it isn't!" Mom said, then thought a moment. "Okay, it's bigger, but it doesn't feel like it. You

always

feel bigger, because you're more important, I guess. Now give. It's your turn again."

I had to think a second about which story to tell. "It wasn't like I was getting laid all the time," I said, "but there were women on the river trips. Heidi's husband brought her on a three-day trip. I think his buddies challenged him to take the trip, and he brought her along like his security blanket. She didn't want to be there, and he ignored her the whole time. He was a piece of work."

"Was she pretty?" Mom asked again, and snuggled close.

"In her way," I said. "Are you going to ask that every time?" I didn't wait for Mom's answer. "It was our job to make the customers happy, so I made Heidi happy."

"Out in the woods?" Mom asked. Camping was not her idea of a good time.

"On a sandbank, in the moonlight," I said. "It was easy to get between her legs. Heidi only needed to know it was going to happen, and she was ready. Oh, Mom! She was hot, and tight, and wet. She didn't make a lot of noise while I fucked her, but when she came, she left marks."

"I promise not to bite," Mom said. She clutched my arm then let it go. "But I'm starting to anticipate."

"If you get that excited tonight, then I'll wear your marks like a badge," I told her. "Out there, the marks were awkward. I kept my shirt on to cover my back, but I had to tell Heidi's husband that the mark his wife left on my throat was a welt from a biting fly. He spent the rest of the day swatting at anything that flew near him.

"I knew better the second night. I turned Heidi around, held one of her hands between her tits, and the other between her legs. Her hair smelled of sweat and river water, and the skin on her throat was salty. Her cunt was tight and wet just like the first night, but when she came she didn't leave marks."