I Want My Mother for Christmas, #01
All that Michael wants for Christmas is his mother, Elizabeth.
"All I want for Christmas is my two, front teeth..."
All Michael wants for Christmas is mom's two, big breasts...and her red, full lips, her shapely ass, her red, bushy pussy, and her naked body.
# # #
Counting the days, twenty-four-year-old Michael couldn't wait for Christmas. As if it was a dream or a sexual fantasy that may become his worst nightmare, he decided to make his move on his forty-eight-year-old mother, Elizabeth, on Christmas Eve night. Making his intentions clear, with not so subtle hints, he bought his mother sexually inappropriate Christmas gifts.
With her having a two glass limit before becoming tipsy, and a three glass limit before becoming drunk, he hoped to get her tipsy if not drunk with champagne. He bought two bottles of the bubbly and aligned them in an oversized ice bucket that fit the two bottles of champagne to chill. Having never seen his mother drunk, he was curious to know what kind of drunk she'd be.
Would she be funny? Would she be belligerent? Would she be sexy? Would she no longer care how she sat? Would she continually flash her panties in upskirt peeks when cross, uncrossing, and/or sitting with her knees parted? Would she flash him down blouse views of her cleavage and her bra when leaning forward? Wondering what she'd do or say after having had too much champagne, he hoped she'd be as sexy as he was horny.
# # #
His mother, Elizabeth, is tall, 5' 9" tall. Nearly as tall as him when she's wearing her high heels, with him 6' 2" tall, she's his perfect height. She's beautiful. She has long, lush, red hair, big, beautiful, blue eyes, and freckles. With her having not too many freckles and not too little, but just the right amount, Michael loved his mother's freckles.
Something that always gets his focused attention as soon as she walks in a room, Liz has enormous, Irish milkmaid, double D cup breasts, and a shapely ass. Michael has a thing for redhead, older women with big tits and freckles. He has a thing for his mother, Elizabeth. Adoring her, he loves his mother.
After lusting over her for six, long, frustrating years, since he became a man at eighteen-years-old, with his mother no longer having a man in her life, he needed to know if she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Foolish of him to think that his mother would have sex with him, he hoped she would. Perhaps, if he got her drunk enough, she'd let down her inhibitions and give him what he wanted.
This was it. This was finally it. A longtime coming, today was the day that he was going to make his feelings known to his mother. Christmas eve was when he was going to make an inappropriate pass at her.
He needed to know if she had inadvertently or deliberately teased him by continually flashing him upskirt peeks of her sheer, white panties. How many times can he see her pussy mound, her camel toe, her pussy slit, and her big patch of her red, bushy pubic hair before wanting to kiss her while touching and feeling her through her clothes?
He needed to know if her continued up nightgown peeks of her red, bushy pussy was accidental or deliberate. He wondered if she had unintentionally flashed him down blouse views of her long line of sexy cleavage and her low-cut bras. Then, when leaning over him to serve him food or pour him coffee, he needed to know if she had accidentally flashed him down nightgown views of her naked breasts, her areolas, and her erect nipples or had deliberately flashed him.
Because of his MILF of a mother, he had become a masturbation machine. Every morning, he masturbated over imagining his mother naked. Every night, he stroked himself over imagining having sex with her. Every day, he masturbated three and four times over the forbidden thoughts of his mother having an incestuous relationship with his mother.
He had seen enough upskirt peeks of her panties, up nightgown peeks of her naked pussy, down blouse views of her cleavage and bra, and down nightgown views of her naked tits to want to see his mother naked. He had seen enough peeks, flashes, and views of her to want to have sex with her beautiful, naked body. Daring himself to do so, after she flashed him so very many times, returning the favor of her exhibitionism with his exhibitionism, he wanted to dick flash his mother but he didn't dare.
Nonetheless, if he did dick flash her, curious for her reaction to see his erect, naked cock, he wondered if she'd look at his naked, erect cock. He wondered if she'd stare at his big dick. He wondered if she'd look away in embarrassment and in shame. Then, hope beyond hope, he wondered if she'd reach out and take him in her hand to stroke him before taking him in her mouth to suck him. As much as he'd love her to masturbate him, he'd love her to blow him.
# # #
Forget about opening thoughtful presents wrapped in holiday, pretty paper with bows and colorful ribbons, the only gift that Michael wanted was his mother, Elizabeth. While making out with her, as if unwrapping an expensive Christmas present, slowly removing her clothes, he wanted to undress his mother. He wanted to strip her naked while touching and feeling her shapely body everywhere that a son should never touch and feel his naked mother.
Again, something he had been dreaming of receiving, and her giving, the only gift that he wanted was his mother. The only gift that he wanted to see in front of the Christmas tree or under the tree was his mother posing for him while naked. Nothing else mattered, after checking off his holiday list that he had been good for his mother instead of being naughty, now he wanted to be naughty with his mother. All that he wanted for Christmas was her.
Going beyond what was appropriate, twenty-four-year-old Michael was in love with his forty-eight-year-old best friend, the woman of his sexual dreams and erotic fantasies, his mother, Elizabeth. He couldn't wait to celebrate Christmas with her, his soulmate, the love of his life, and his hoped-for sexual lover, his mother. All he wanted for Christmas was to see his mother without her clothes and to have sex with her naked body. All he wanted for Christmas was to make out with his mother while making love to her before fucking her.
"Merry Christmas, Mom," he said as soon as he walked into the living room.
Instead of her changing into her nightgown, she still dressed in her blouse and short skirt. With him ready for bed, hopefully with his mother, he had already changed into his pajama bottoms without underwear. On his way to getting an erection, his big dick already showed its bulging presence.
Wanting to show her what he really wanted for Christmas, he wished he had the audacity to give his mother a deep, wet kiss instead of giving her a kiss on her cheek. He'd loved to make out with her while feeling her big breasts and fingering her erect nipples through her blouse and her bra. Then, while kissing her, giving her no doubt what he wanted, he'd love to reach up her short skirt and cup her pussy through her panties.
With her sitting on her favorite chair, he'd love to step closer to her, pull his big dick out from his pajama bottoms, put a gentle hand behind her red, pretty head, and stick his cock in his mother's mouth. He'd love for her to blow him. He'd love her to stroke him while sucking him. He'd love to cum in her beautiful mouth. Only, he'd never defile her in that disgusting way by forcing her to give him oral sex. Even though he'd love for her to blow him, he'd never force her to suck his cock.
# # #
Taking a big chance that he'd ruined everything between them, he told her he loved her many times before, of course, but not like this, never like this, not romantically, and surely not sexually. Having no idea how she'd feel about his illicit confession, she may be shocked to learn that he loved her not as a son loved his mother but as a man loved a woman.
Having no idea how she'd feel by his honest and open and honest confession, she may be shocked to learn that he wanted her in such a forbidden way. Yet, just as she may be shocked to know that he sexually wanted her, he may be disappointed to know that she may not sexually want him.
'I love you, Mom,' he wished he could say while giving her a deep, wet kiss. 'I want you, Mom,' he wished he could confess while making out with her, touching, and feeling her everywhere through her clothes and where a son should never touch and feel his mother. 'I want to have sex with you, Mom,' he wished he had the courage to confess while undressing her. 'What I want for Christmas is you.'
Yet, tired of carrying an unrequited torch of romance in his heart, he needed to know one way or the other if she felt the same way about him as he felt about her. Nervous and questioning his own feelings, and second guessing his emotions, desires, and intentions, he felt the way that a man must feel when down on one knee, holding up the ring, and asking a woman to marry him. Only, this woman wasn't any woman. This woman was his mother.