Bringing in the New Year
It was New Year's Eve and I was making dinner. I was making mashed potatoes and gravy, with turkey. I wanted to make a ham, but decided against it. It was just the two of us, and why should we waste so much food when we'd get tired of it pretty quickly? Rebecca had actually asked me if I needed help this morning. I was glad she was thinking of me for a change. I told her it was fine, and that she was not required to help. For some reason, I felt the urge to hug her. I resisted though, and I watched her leave for work. It was five thirty now, and she was almost home. I tensed as I heard the car door slam shut. She was home.
I had dinner ready to go, and I was so excited. But I didn't really think she wanted it right away. I was right.
The laundry room door opened and she came walking in. She looked miserable.
"Hi mom." She said bitterly.
"Hi, Rebecca." I said coolly. "Did work get you down again?" I asked as I took her lunch box and put it aside.
"Oh yes. It was a hard day. I really just don't want to talk about it until I have no choice but to go in on the second." She said as tears filled her eyes.
"Well, go jump in the shower, and I'm sure you'll feel better after you get out." I said as I looked her over. "You look like you could use one."
"I'll be back." She said as she looked me up and down. "You look like you could use a shower too."
"You can't make turkey without getting food all over yourself." I said sighing. "It's just part of holiday cooking."
"Would you like to join me in the shower?" she asked timidly. "I'd really like it if you did."
"You just want sex." I said as I backed away. I don't know why, but it disgusted me that we had had two sexual encounters. And it disgusted me more that I really liked them. I was sober now, and I had had time to think.
"No, mom. I don't." Rebecca said as she turned and left. "I thought you and I could use the company."
"Are you calling me a liar?" I asked as I followed her into the hall.
"Mom, just forget I mentioned it." She said as she walked into the bathroom. "I'm too tired to fight."
"Then don't start shit and keep your mouth shut and your pussy in your pants." I said bitterly as I walked into my room and slammed the door.
I'd never been able to sustain a solid friendship or relationship. My daughter and I had been estranged for over thirty years even while in the same house. My husband had left me, and most of my friends from Narcotics Anonymous were losers. They were either women who didn't know how to appreciate a good friendship when they had one, or perverted men who just came around to do things for me just to get in my pants. I hated the men. I didn't want to experience another man as long as I lived if they were all going to be like my ex-husband. Besides, women I could dominate. Unless, they didn't like it. Ninety-nine percent didn't.
I was lonely. I wanted a solid partner in my life. I wanted to have a relationship where she loved me unconditionally. It seemed there was always conditions to loving someone. They had conditions for me, and I for them. Or at least, they said I had demanding conditions. I didn't think so. I just wanted them to love me and be there for me when I needed them. Not ten minutes after, or twenty. They were there for me. I was already there for them by letting them share my body. I didn't have to have sex, yet I willingly did for them. But nothing ever worked out.
My daughter had conditions too. She wanted me to leave the pills, leave the cigarettes, she wanted me to change. She claimed it was for my own health, and that she wanted me alive. I didn't buy it. She wanted to sabotage my life. She wanted to take control. Well, I wasn't going to have that. If anyone was going to take control, it was me. I was the mom. I was the older lady. I was the boss. Not her. As if I really needed her "love." As if I really believed she loved me and "Wanted the best" for me. How in the hell can anyone but me know what was best for me? Hell, I didn't even know what was best for me.
My overwhelming need to be with someone was so crushing. And it was my daughter I wanted. I wanted her to be mine for the rest of our lives. I wanted her to give me all her time, and love. I wanted her to service me in all ways I thought possible. I wanted to explore new sexual taboos with her. Bondage, making her my slave. I wanted her to call me mistress and eat her out as she lay tied to the bed. My panties were soaking just thinking about her laying there.
But she was my daughter. My flesh and blood. People said that was wrong. I was already a hard person to be friends with, or to live with. Now imagine if I started a sexual relationship with her? Things would get harder still. She would eventually drag love into it, and I wasn't in love with her. I don't know if I even loved her. She had given me so much grief in the years that her father left. She didn't really start to be her own person until she went to work for herself. That was when my load was considerably lessened.
So what did I want from this relationship? I didn't want her to move out. I needed someone else in the house with me to just be with. We didn't talk for most of the time, but at least I knew she was there.
In fact, when we'd finished having sex the last time, around Christmas, we hardly said a word to each other until today for New Year's dinner. This morning when she asked if I wanted help. We kept eating in our separate rooms, and avoiding each other. I had decided to sober up for now, so I could think clearly about what I wanted. She was a whore. She was purposefully seducing me, and the only way to keep my sanity was to dominate her after she got me under her spell. What a slut. I can't believe my daughter's a tramp.
Would she want to be living with me with benefits? Would it hurt her if I just used her for sex? I mean, we both weren't people persons. But we were both human and needed sexual needs met. Eventually she'd want to ask about where our relationship was going and how we would end up. God that was a talk I was not going to have with her. I wanted it to be understood that I just wanted sex. She was the closest thing that could give it to me. If cats could fuck, you know I'd rather do them than her.
What a mess. What was I going to do?
Was it wrong for me to want my daughter's undivided attention all the time? To want her to please me and love it? I wanted to have her all to myself if I was going to have her at all. I wanted to have her retire, and we'd have all the time in the world. I could have sex with her, I could go out with her and do things that mothers and daughters did. I could have her help when I needed my knee massaged. Of course, if I had my way, it would lead into sex, and I'd get what I wanted.
I'd told her I wasn't really hurting, but it was a lie. I wanted her to shut up about me faking it. I had a sore knee for most of the time, unless I carefully medicated. Her being a bitch about my knee being a fake injury was uncalled for. I had a genuine problem. The doctors and my daughter wouldn't believe me unless they saw my blood or a crooked leg or something. And they called themselves doctors. She called herself my daughter. God what a load.
I had to figure out what I wanted out of our relationship, because it was driving me insane. I had to resist the temptation to drink, because if I did, I knew my horniness would get the better of me and I'd dominate the shit out of her. For now, I could at least control myself. It was obvious that she couldn't though. Asking me to join her in the shower. For crying out loud, it wasn't like I wanted to be all lovey dovey with her. Sheesh. This was getting harder. I wanted to be happy. I wanted to drink my liquor and just be happy. But I knew that would lead to sex. She had to leave. Ugh, but I didn't want her to leave. I liked having her here. I had to figure this out.
When she came out of the shower, I got a peak at her as I stood behind my door. She was wearing her nightie and no push up bra. See? She was trying to get to me. Or was she? It's possible she was comfortable in those clothes. How was I going to eat dinner with her? I wanted to run out there, and drag her into my bedroom, slam the door shut and have my way with her for hours. And I wasn't even drunk. I sighed as I stepped back into my room, and I got undressed. I went after her and took my own shower.
We both cleaned up the table of all its garbage and I made sure to put the cat dishes on the floor. We sat down to eat at around eight and I noticed that she was looking much better. Sitting here eating with her, even if I had only had one bottle of liquor so far, had my pussy throbbing. I wanted her so bad. I wanted to see that push up again. To see the tops of her creamy tits showing from that low cut gown. I wanted to feel her against me. I wanted her for myself. I could deny it no longer. Tonight, I would make her mine.
"Well, you know the drill." I said after we finished eating. "Drinks in the living room. If you want them."