Losing the House but Winning Mom 08

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Mother and son rekindle their incestuous feelings by having sex on Christmas Eve.

Tired of California, Jennifer and her son moved east. They moved to Massachusetts, a place where they didn't know anyone and a place where no one knew them. With Jennifer dressing younger and her son dressing older, especially with him growing a beard, which his mother adored, they looked to be about the same age. Their plan, although not verbalized, was to pass themselves off as husband and wife instead of as mother and son. When out in public, he called her Jennifer instead of Mom and she called him Michael instead of referring to him as her son. With a million dollars to buy a house, a new truck for him, a new car for her, furniture and appliances for the house, and a new wardrobe of clothes for them, they were eager to start a new life in a new place.

A whirlwind of activity, Jennifer and Michael left everything behind including all of their possessions in storage. After depositing the check with Mr. Mozilo's banker, they bought two plane tickets on the first plane out and headed east. Armed with their debit cards, checkbook, and credit cards, their plan was to buy whatever they needed until they bought their new house and started their new life.

Mother and son abandoned their old pickup truck behind and hopped on a plane to Boston, Massachusetts. Until they bought their new house, they stayed overnight in motels instead of hotels to not blow through their money and bought clothes and food as they needed. Only, not duplicating that night where they slept in the same bed and had sex, every motel they rented had two beds. Every day they shopped, throughout the day they talked and laughed, and every night they slept by themselves without having sex. Seemingly, they were too excited about receiving a million dollars and over the prospects of buying a new house, a new truck, a new car, furnishing their home, and buying new clothes than to have sex.

With them barely able to make their mortgage payments before, with their adjustable rate mortgage sucking away every dollar they earned, neither one had bought anything new in years. The clothes they left behind were worn out and thread bare and were more rags than anything else. Even Good Will wouldn't want their old clothes. With them house poor before in trying to stay ahead of their adjustable rate mortgage, much of their furniture was old, hand me downs passed on by relatives who no longer needed the pieces or who had died. Some of their furniture was picked up, reclaimed, fixed up, and repaired after people left it out curbside for the trash. With them having everything of value with them, some jewelry, a watch, and old photographs taken when Michael was a boy, they wouldn't miss any of what they left behind.

Their goal was to be living in a house close to Boston by Christmas. Buying a new truck and a new car was the easy part. True to their word, finding a home and furnishing it was more difficult than they thought but with the both of them working together, they were in their new house by Christmas Eve. Only, with sex put on the backburner, with all that they've done in such a short amount of time, they were tired. They were exhausted. Forget about holding one another, hugging one another, cuddling one another, and spooning one another, after being out all day, day after day shopping, if they wanted to do anything at all, they just wanted to sleep.

* * * * *

"Mom?"

Michael looked at his mother with concern. The only time he called her Mom or mother now was when they were alone. Suddenly he was worried about his mother. Instead of her looking happy, she looked sad. This was Christmas and they were starting a new life together in a new house with all new furniture and appliances. He had a new truck and she had a new car. They both had a new and complete wardrobe of clothes.

"What?"

She looked at him preoccupied, as if she had been thinking about something. She was always preoccupied and thinking about something. In a new house in a good neighborhood in Boston, after buying two, brand new vehicles and shopping for a new wardrobe of clothes and shoes, he didn't understand why she'd be sad instead of being ecstatically happy.

"What's wrong?"

She sat across from him in their expansive, open floor plan living room. It was a beautiful house with a grand entrance, high ceilings and wood floors, except for the carpeted living room. A one-hundred-year-old house, the home had the original woodwork with lots of built-ins, pocket doors, china hutch, bookshelves, and even a fireplace with original beamed ceiling in the living room. They had a huge kitchen with plenty of storage, a big, center-island with shiny, white, quartz countertops, white cabinets, and high-end, Jenn-air, bronze appliances instead of stainless steel. He stared at her while wondering what the matter was.

"Wrong? There's nothing wrong," said Jennifer giving him a feigned smile.

She forced her son another sad, little smile. Looking so miserable, obviously, she was lying. Obviously, there was something wrong. She was like this every Christmas. Instead of being happy this time of year, she was sad. With her having so much history on those days, her birthday and holidays, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years were always depressing days for her.

In the way she looked so sad, she was a poster child who proved the notion that money can't buy happiness. Instead of celebrating their first Thanksgiving in their new home, it didn't help that they had their Thanksgiving Day dinner in a restaurant. Living six, long cramped weeks in a motel room, they hadn't close yet with the bank until a week before Christmas. Once they finally moved in their new house and received all of their new furnishings, he had hoped that the change in scenery, along with the new vehicles and new clothes, would brighten her mood in the way it did his.

"Suddenly you look so sad," said Michael knowing there was something wrong and not letting his mother off the hook until she told him what it was.

With the fireplace crackling and creating the mood in the background, the soft, white light from the Christmas tree gave her an airbrushed look of how a model looks in a high fashion magazine photo. So busy buying the truck, the car, shopping for houses, buying furniture, appliances, and clothes, he forgot how truly beautiful she was. As if she was a model in Architectural Digest, she so stunning to see. When he was out and about with her, taking her for granted, he sometimes doesn't realize how truly lucky he is to have a mother who looks like her.

She was so sexy. She was so shapely. She was so pretty. Yet, still struggling with his forbidden feelings that he had for his mother and with the guilt associated with them having incestuous sex, he wished she wasn't his mother but his lover.

He looked over at her not understanding why someone who looked like her was alone. He didn't understand why someone who looked like her didn't have a man in her life and a steady boyfriend. He didn't understand why his mother didn't remarry again. She doesn't even date.

With him having a penchant for older woman, if she wasn't his mother, he'd date her. Even if she wasn't his mother, but a cougar he picked up at a bar or met in a supermarket, he'd do her. As fortunate as it was unfortunate, it was too bad that she was his mother. It was too bad that incest had gotten in the way of their brief relationship of sex to cloud their feelings of love, desire, and passion for one another.

Before, he could only imagine what it would feel like to have sex with someone who looked like her. Now that he knew what it was like to have sex with someone who looked like her, he'd love to have sex with her again. Before, he could only imagine what it would feel like to have sex with his mother. Now that he knew what it was like to have sex with his mother, he'd love to have sex with his mother again.

"I do? I'm sorry. It's just the letdown after all of the shopping and the excitement of buying the truck, the car, this house, the furniture, the appliances, and all of those clothes and shoes," she said with a sigh. Then she gave him a warm smile that made him want to take her in his arms and kiss her. "I was just thinking about past Christmases that we had in California but now with us here in Massachusetts, I don't know where I am," she said looking at him to give him a laugh. "As if I'm living in a foreign country, nothing is familiar."

She looked as if she was about to cry. Instead of being happy, she looked so sad. He wanted to run to her and hold her. He wanted to hug her and kiss her in the way he did that night in that motel room. Now knowing what she was thinking about, what she always thinks about this time of year, every year, he needed to acknowledge the elephant in the room to eradicate it.

"You were thinking about Dad again, weren't you?"

His father had been gone years but she still thinks of him, more around the holidays than any other time. Why? If anyone should think of his father, he should but he doesn't after his father didn't think enough of him to see him or even send him a birthday or Christmas card. Even after she stripped off her clothes to stand naked before him and even after she fucked and sucked him, Michael wished his mother thought of him in the way that she sometimes thinks of his father.

"Yes," she said obviously trying to look happy instead of sad by giving him a little, pitiful smile.

Her sad, little smile wasn't fooling him one bit. He could see that she was hurting. At a time when she was the most vulnerable, he hoped that she'd consume enough wine for him to take sexual advantage of her in the way that she took sexual advantage of him in that seedy motel room in California. That night, that magical night, that memorable night, and that unforgettable night, they didn't even need alcohol to strip off their clothes and have sex with one another. It was mother and son against the world and as if they solidified their mother and son relationship with sex, they took their connection to an even higher level.

If only an inadvertent up skirt peek of her white, bikini panties or a down blouse flash of her bra and cleavage, he needed that to make him think that his mother was deliberately flashing him and sexually teasing him. He needed to believe that she was deliberately flashing him for him to masturbate over later tonight when he was in his room alone and she was in her room alone. With her seemingly acting as if they didn't have sex, he needed her flashing him to relieve the incestuous lust that he had for his mother and the sexual frustration he now felt with her acting so distant.

With the sexual tension between them palpable, he needed something from her to not only rekindle that incestuous lust she had for him several weeks ago but also for her to jumpstart their incestuous affair. As he was before they had sex, with him afraid to make the first move, he needed her to make the first move again. Once, she showed him that she sexually wanted him as much as he sexually wanted her, he'd make all the moves thereafter. Once she showed him that she wanted to live as man and woman and wanted them to live boyfriend and girlfriend or as husband and wife instead of mother and son, he'd welcome her back with opened arms.

"C'mon Mom, it's Christmas Eve. Cheer up. You should be happy and not sad," he said. "I won't allow the memory of your cheating husband, the man who dumped you for some twenty-something-year-old slut, to spoil our fun and ruin another holiday. We've come full circle. We've come such a long way in such a short time. We need to celebrate."

Only, what his idea of a celebration and what her idea of a celebration may be something completely different. Whereas she was content being preoccupied in thought, he wanted to celebrate their new house by christening it with sex. He thought that once they were out of that motel room and in their new home, they'd be sexually intimate again. Only instead of living like a man and woman, a boyfriend and girlfriend, or as husband and wife, they were back to living like a mother and son. As if the sex never happened between them, with her flashing him her panties in up skirts and her cleavage and bra with down blouses, they were back to playing sexually frustrating games of tickle and tease.

She was wearing her new, short skirt that she bought just the other day. She didn't want to buy it because it was too short, so short, but he talked her into buying it. He loved the skirt because it hugged and flattered her well-formed ass while showing off her, sexy, shapely legs. She nearly didn't buy it when she came out of the dressing room to show him and saw herself in the mirror. As if she was a twenty-something-year-old going to a club instead of a morally, modest, mature mother of an adult son, her skirt came to mid-thigh.

"How will I ever sit in this skirt without flashing you or anyone sitting across from me my panties," she said with an embarrassed albeit sexually excited laugh.

Now with his mother sitting across from him after giving him a sexy image of her knees parted just enough for him to see her white, bikini panties, he looked at her with incestuous lust. Hoping to see more of her, he continued looking at her in the way that he used to look at her before he saw her in her underwear, topless, and naked. He continued looking at her in the way that he used to her before they had sex. He looked at her with incestuous lust. He looked at her with suppressed sexual passion and desire. He looked at her with sexual frustration. He looked at her while imagining his mother flashing him her panties every time she crossed and uncrossed her legs.

"It's nothing that I haven't seen before Mother," he said with a dirty laugh while purposely hoping to jog her memory of him already seeing her in her underwear.

'Hello? I've already seen you in your bra and panty,' he wanted to say but didn't. 'I've already seen you topless. I've already seen you naked. We already had sex. Remember? I licked you and fucked you and you fucked me and sucked me.'

He wanted to say all of those things to her but he didn't. Not wanting to embarrass her or make her feel uncomfortable, especially on a day that she was obviously feeling so sad, he kept his thoughts to himself. Only surprising him, instead of her reacting favorably to his inappropriate comment and playing along with him, she acted as if they had never been sexually intimate. She acted as if he had never seen her in her sexy underwear, topless, and/or naked.

In the way she used to act before they were incestuously sexually and forbiddingly intimate, she acted embarrassed. She acted awkwardly uncomfortable. Yet, his inappropriate comment didn't stop her from buying the short skirt or from wearing it in front of him. His inappropriate comment about having already seen her panties didn't stop her from flashing him her panties.

* * * * *

Later that evening, as if complicit in her flashing him, the material of the chair clung to her skirt as if the chair was covered in corduroy and her skirt was a static filled balloon. The hem of her skirt raised itself higher with her every movement. With her continually tugging at her skirt in her feeble attempts to pull the hem of her skirt further down to deny him a voyeuristic view of her panties, the material of the chair continued to raise her skirt until the hem was only a few inches below her crotch. Ready and waiting to see a flash of her panties, his mother was deliberately or inadvertently showing him a prolonged and continued view of her panties. Until she crossed her legs, she was showing him a lot of her shapely thighs and a nice view between her legs.

He loved his mother's legs. Whenever he saw as much of his mother's legs as he was seeing now, he wanted to fall between her shapely thighs and eat her. He wanted to remove her panties and finger her pussy while licking her pussy. He wanted to bury his face in his mother's cunt. Glad that she wasn't wearing pantyhose, just panties, he hated pantyhose. In the same way that he hated padded bras that spoiled him from seeing the impressions of erect nipples, spoiling all of his voyeuristic fun, they should castrate whatever gay designer who invented padded bras and pantyhose.

Nearly forgetting what it was like to have his sexual way with his mother, he could only imagine what it would feel like to run his hands up her short skirt while feeling her smooth, shapely legs. With neither of them needing alcohol before to become sexual intimate and incestuously connected, he wondered if they need alcohol now to revitalize their incestuous, sexual relationship. He wondered if they were both drunk enough, if his mother would allow him to feel her legs from her shapely ankles all the way up to her sexy hips and in between her shapely thighs to Nirvana. How sexy would that be to slowly run his horny hands all the way up her legs? How sexually hot would that be to cup, feel, and finger her pussy through her panty?

Still, their relationship was much different now than it was before they had sex. As if they were married for years, they were closer and more comfortable with one another now. In the way that she was now so at ease around him and with him always looking to see what he shouldn't see of her, fortunately for him, she routinely albeit inadvertently flashed him up skirts and down blouses. As if they had returned to the way they were before having sex, her flashing him whether deliberate or inadvertently was teasingly and enticingly hot. From the time he turned 18-years-old, he was interested in having incestuous sex with his mother. Always horny and sexually frustrated, with no other woman in his life and on his mind but his MILF of a mother, now that they were done with their shopping adventures, his sexual thoughts turned more to her.

Somehow their relationship changed when they moved to Boston. As if they were a newlywed couple on their Honeymoon in that motel room in California, they were like an old, married couple living in their new house now. While looking for a house in Boston, they slept in separate beds in the motel. With her getting dressed and undressed in the bathroom, he hadn't seen as much as his mother's bra strap since that fateful night when she stripped herself naked in front of him.

Other than to hug his mother and kiss her on her cheek, in the way that any loving son would appropriately hug and respectfully kiss his mother, he hasn't inappropriately touched his mother and she hasn't inappropriately touched him. In the way he was lusting over her before they had sex, he was dying to stick his tongue in his mother's mouth and French kiss her while feeling her through her clothes. Now, with them living on the other side of the country where no one knows that they're mother and son, he was hoping they'd live as man and woman, boyfriend and girlfriend, or even as husband and wife.

Now that they moved into their new house, with them sleeping in separate bedrooms, he'd love nothing more than for them to share a bedroom. He'd love nothing more for his mother to parade around him in her sexy bra and panties in the way she did in the motel room. With her naked beneath it, he'd love nothing more for his mother to wear a sexy nightgown in the morning and again at night without the modesty of wearing a bathrobe. He'd love nothing more than to see his mother topless again. He'd love nothing more than to see her big, shapely breasts, her nipples, and her areolas. He'd love nothing more than to see his mother naked. He'd love nothing more than to see her round, firm ass, and her trimmed, dark brown pussy.

"Sorry, I guess I am a little sad," she admitted. She took a soulful breath while staring in the fire and before returning her focus to him. "Long ago, before we were married, I used to celebrate Christmas Eve with your father. In the way you and I are now, we were friends, best friends back then. The time when we exchanged gifts, Christmas Eve was our special evening to ourselves before we celebrated Christmas with the rest of our families," she confided in him as if he was her priest or her psychiatrist instead of her son.