Mom All I Want for Xmas Is You

All characters portrayed are over the age of eighteen.

*****

James tries and fails to replicate his mother by dating women who not only look like her but also walk like her, talk like her, and laugh like her.

Chapter 08:

Tall, shapely slim, and looking ten years younger, as pretty as she was, his mother reminded him of Nicole Kidman but with blonde hair instead of red hair and with much larger breasts. In the warm, soft glow of the fireplace, she looked as if she was an airbrushed model from a fashion magazine. Maybe because he was sexually attracted to her and with her giving off a radiant glow as if she was a blushing bride, she looked even more beautiful now than she ever looked before.

She was so pretty, especially when she smiled. She was so sexy in her short, navy blue skirt and low-cut, powder blue, button blouse. She was so unattainably forbidden that he wanted her even more now than he ever wanted her before. If only she wasn't his mother, if only she was some cougar of a woman he had picked up in a bar, he'd make a sexual pass at her. Yet, if she wasn't his mother, she wouldn't be sitting here with him on Christmas Eve. If she wasn't his mother, he wouldn't be sexually lusting over her in the way that he incestuously lusted over his mother.

Not an easy thing for him to admit without feeling perverted, even at the expense of being deemed a motherfucker, he wished he was his mother's lover. He wished he could remove his mother's sadness as well as her clothes by giving her hot, deep penetrating, orgasmic sex. Just once, he'd love to see her in her sexy, panties and bra, topless, and/or naked in the way she just saw him naked. If only just once, he'd love to give his mother pleasure, albeit sexual pleasure, enough to make her smile. He'd love to see her laugh again in the way that she used to do.

Just once he'd love to catch her masturbating herself in the way that she caught him and watched him masturbate himself before he ejaculated his cum all over his chest, his stomach, and his hand. Just once, he'd love to see and hear her cum in the way she watched and heard him cum. Always wondering what she looked like when having orgasmic sex, he could only imagine the sexually excited look she'd have on her face. Always wondering what she sounded like when having orgasmic sex, he could only imagine the sounds she'd make when cumming.

Returning the favor, if ever he caught his mother masturbating herself, he'd stay to watch in the way that she stayed to watch him masturbate himself. If ever he caught her masturbating, he'd offer her his finger, his tongue, and/or his cock. If ever he caught her masturbating, in the way he wished his mother had stripped herself naked and had sex with him, he'd strip himself naked and have sex with her. How hot would that be to have sex with his mother when she was horny, willing, and ready to have sex with him?

Only, he'd never catch his mother masturbating. Even if he did catch her masturbating, she'd never continue masturbating herself in front of him in the way that he continued masturbating himself in front of her. She'd never pretend that she didn't know he was there to watch her cum. Obviously, she wasn't as sexually attracted to him as he was sexually attracted to her. Obviously, she wasn't a whore enough to want to have incestuous sex with him in the way that he was perverted enough to want to have incestuous sex with her.

Just once, he'd love to touch her and feel her where no son should ever touch and feel their mother. Just once, he'd love to have incestuous sex with her. Just once, he'd love to give her multiple orgasms with his fingers, his tongue, and his cock. Just once, he wished his mother sexually wanted him as much as he incestuously wanted her. How hot would that be for his mother to want to have sex with him as much as he wanted to have sex with her?

He no longer wondered if she was horny enough to masturbate herself. After she saw him naked, caught him stroking his stiff prick, and watched him cum, he watched her masturbate herself. In the way that he'd masturbate after seeing her naked and watching her masturbate, his mother masturbated too.

Only, never having even seen her in her bra and panties or topless, he had never seen her naked. He always wondered if she masturbated. Surely, everyone masturbates, including his mother. Now that he saw her sexually touching herself while watching him stroking himself, with one hand on her breast and fingering her nipple and her other hand beneath her short skirt and buried in her panties, he knows she masturbates.

He wondered if she had a dildo and/or a vibrator or just used her finger when masturbating. H wondered what she thought about while touching herself. He wondered what turned her on enough for her to feel her naked breasts and finger her nipples. He wondered what turned her on enough for her to rub her clit while fingering her nipples. He wondered if she had a favorite sexual fantasy to masturbate over. He wondered how often she masturbated. He wondered if she masturbated over him in the way that he always masturbated over her. He wondered if she more enjoyed masturbating in her bed or in the bathtub.

Expanding on his incestuous, sexual fantasy, he wondered if he gave her a sexual orgasm with his fingers, his tongue, and his cock, if that would make her forget his father and put a smile on her face. Only, just as she'd never allow him to finger and/or eat her pussy, make love to her, and/or fuck her, his mother would never give him sex. Alas, his mother would not only never stroke his cock but also, she'd never suck his cock and/or fuck his cock. Especially now that she knows he sexually wants her, it pained him and sexually frustrated him that she obviously wasn't as sexually attracted to him as he was sexually attracted to her.

Obviously, incorrectly judging her by her sexy appearance, she wasn't the sexy, sexual, MILF of a woman that he thought she was and would love to fuck. If looks can be deceiving, unable to judge her book by her cover, she wasn't the sexy and sensuous woman that he imagined would put the sexual moves on him. With him ready to have sex with her, she wasn't an incestuous whore in the way that he was an incestuous pervert. With him having already flashed his mother his naked prick, and her having only flashed him up-skirts of her panties and down-blouses of her bra and cleavage, she wasn't an incestuous exhibitionist in the way that he was an incestuous voyeur.

In the way that he sometimes wondered about his non-existent sex life, he wondered about her non-existent sex life too. He wondered if she was horny. He wondered if she was sexually frustrated. He wondered again if she masturbated as much as he masturbated. He wondered if she sexually lusted over anyone, specifically him, in the way that he incestuously lusted over her. Like mother like son, just as she didn't have a man in her life, he didn't have a woman in his life neither. He was too sexually enamored with his mother to think of any other woman.

Thinking more about it, if only wishfully thinking, in the way that he was too sexually enamored with her to think of any other woman, he wondered if she was too sexually enamored with him to think of any other man. With him having a mother and son, Freudian, Oedipus complex, he was attracted to older women who looked like her, walked like her, talked like her, and laughed like her. He tried to replicate her by finding her clone but, with them so different inside, always disappointed, that never worked, especially when he called them Susan, Sue, Mother, Mom, or Mommy while having sex with them.

'How revealingly awkward was that to call another woman Mom while in the passionate throes of having sex with her? God, I'm so embarrassed whenever I do that,' he thought. 'I feel like such a pervert.'

Yet, unable to help himself, he was sometimes lost in his sexual fantasy of having sex with his mother. Especially when with a woman looked like her, talked like her, walked like her, and laughed like her, he couldn't help but pretend that he was having sex with his mother. Immersed in his sexual fantasy of making love to and fucking his mother, it was sometimes difficult not to imagine his mother blowing him and him cumming in her mouth.

"Pardon? Did you just call me Susan? Who's Susan? Why are you thinking of another woman while your cock is inside of me? Even more disturbing than that, did you just call me Mom? Do you think that I'm your mother? Maybe you should have sex with your mother instead of having sex with me," said more than one woman when he blurted out the wrong name while in deep sexual passion. "Get out! Go! Leave! Beat it! Scram!"

Whenever he kissed a woman who looked his mother, he imagined kissing his mother. Whenever he touched and felt a woman who looked like his mother, he imagined touching and feeling his mother. Whenever he had sex with a woman who looked like his mother, he imagined having sex with his mother. Obviously, he wanted to have sex with his mother.

'I love you, Mom,' he thought while being sexually intimate with a stranger who resembled his Mom.

Whenever receiving a hand job and/or a blowjob from a woman who looked like his mother, he imagined his mother stroking and sucking his cock while he felt her tits and fingered her nipples. Whenever he made love to a woman who looked like his mother, he imagined he was kissing his mother while making love to his mother. Whenever he fucked a woman who looked like his mother, he imagined he was fucking his mother and pounding her pussy hard and fast. Always thinking of his mother whenever having sex even with himself, especially with himself, his emotions and sexual feelings were consumed by his Mom.

Unable to remove his mother from his sexually, incestuous thoughts, he imagined cumming in his mother's mouth and her swallowing his cum. He imagined giving his mother a cum bath. He imagined giving his mother multiple orgasms. He imagined giving his mother orgasmic sex with his finger, his tongue, and his cock enough for her to scream out his name.

Yet, he was tired of hooking up with clones of her while pretending that he was having sex with his mother. Even though they looked like her on the surface, talked like her, laughed like her, and even walked like her, all women paled in comparison to her. It wasn't nearly the same having sex with them in the way it would be having sex with his mother. He wanted to have sex with his mother.

'I love you, Mom,' he thought.

Suddenly he felt in the way that Norman Bates must have felt when professing his incestuous love for his mother, Norma. Yet, if he was to invent the perfect woman, he feared she'd be a clone of his mother. She'd look like her, talk like her, walk like her, laugh like her, and even smile like her. Obviously, he was in love with his mother but not in the way that a son should love his mother. Truth be told, like mother like son, with her not reciprocating his incestuous, sexual attraction, he was just as sad, just as lonely, and just as sexually frustrated as she perhaps was and appeared to be.

# # #

Unable to maintain a physical, emotional, and sexual relationship with a woman other than with his mother, he understood why he was alone on Valentine Day but not why his mother was alone on Valentine's Day. He didn't understand why someone who looked like his mother was alone on Christmas Day as she was alone on New Year's Eve, too. Just as he understood why he didn't have a woman in his life, conversely, he didn't understand his mother didn't have a man in her life. With someone who looked as beautiful and was as sexy as his mother, in the way that he should have women who wanted to date him, his mother should have men who wanted to date her.

Yet, oddly and perhaps telling enough, in the way that he didn't have a woman in his life, his mother didn't have a man in her life. Just as his mother, no doubt, would be jealous of her if he had a woman in his life, if his mother had a man in her life, he'd be jealous of him too. In the way that his mother would obviously plant a wedge between them to ruin his relationship with a woman, if his mother had a man in her life, he'd do the same. He'd no doubt plant a wedge between them to ruin their relationship before it even started.

Doomed to be alone with their bad selves, perhaps they were destined to be together. Only with the imaginary incestuous line too difficult to cross, how do they get to that point of having sex. This life of loneliness, horniness, and sexual frustration wasn't a normal life to have. This life of him incestuously lusting over his mother and, perhaps, her sexually lusting over him, judging by her masturbating herself while watching him masturbate himself, wasn't a normal life to live. Only, at a stalemate, like mother like son, unless he made the first incestuous move, she'd never make the first sexually move.

As convoluted as it was psychologically disturbing, if she wasn't his mother, he'd ask her out on a date. If she wasn't his mother, he'd treat her more as his lover than as his mother. If she wasn't his mother, instead of just being his loving Valentine and his incestuous lover, she'd be his sexy MILF and his cougar of a lover. If she wasn't his mother, in the sexually horny way that he was feeling now, he'd kiss her. He'd really kiss her. He'd take her in his arms and French kiss her while touching and feeling her everywhere through her clothes.

If she wasn't his mother, when she stood beneath the mistletoe on Christmas, he'd kiss her. Not giving her just the usual peck that he gave her on New Year's Eve, Valentine's Day, her birthday, and his birthday, he'd part her lips with his tongue and French kiss her. He'd give his mother a deep, wet, passionate kiss that showed her his sexual intentions. If she only wasn't his mother, with her not mistaking his incestuous intentions, he'd take her in his arms and kiss her deep and long with sexual passion while touching her and feeling her everywhere through her clothes.

'I love you, Mom,' he thought.

Too bad she was his mother. If she wasn't his mother, he'd have sex with her every day, twice a day, morning and night. Different from any woman he had ever intimately known, he couldn't imagine what it would feel like to have sex with someone who was as beautiful, as kind, as loving, and as sexy as was his mother. He couldn't imagine seeing her sexually excited. He couldn't imagine what she'd look like and sounded like when cumming.

Left only to the thoughts that consumed his incestuous imagination, he could only imagine what she'd look like in her bra and panties, topless, and/or naked. He could only imagine what it would feel like to undress her while kissing her, touching her, and feeling her in all the places he wished he could touch and feel her. He could only imagine what it would feel like to deliberately expose his erect prick to her again with the hopes that she'd touch it, stroke it, suck it, and fuck it this time instead of just staring.

'I love you, Mom,' he thought again. 'I need you, Mom. I want you.'

Whenever he masturbated, he imagined making out with her while touching her, feeling her, and undressing her. Whenever he masturbated, he imagined seeing her in her panties and bra, topless, and/or naked. Whenever he masturbated, he imagined seeing, feeling, and sucking her naked breasts. Whenever he masturbated, he imagined fingering her pussy while licking her pussy. Whenever he masturbated, he imagined her hand stroking him and her mouth sucking him. Whenever he masturbated, he imagined making love to her before fucking her.

Only, she was his mother and he was her son. He needed to stop having those incestuous thoughts of being sexually intimate with her. He needed to stop driving himself crazy with unrequited and forbidden incestuous lust. Just as he'd never have sex with his mother, she'd never have sex with him. In the way that he needed to find a woman, she needed to find a man.

'That's just wrong,' he thought. 'That's just nasty for me to think of my mother in such a sexual way. What the Hell is wrong with me? Why do I sexually want my mother when she doesn't sexually want me? If she said yes to incestuous sex, could I really go through with having forbidden, incestuous, and inappropriate sex with my mother? Would I dare finger her, lick her, and make love to her before fucking her? Would I dare allow her to stroke me, suck me, and make love to me before fucking me?'

# # #

She looked at him looking at her and smiled. If only she knew what he was thinking, she'd be mortified and he'd be embarrassed. If only she knew what he was thinking, she'd be shocked to know that he was an incestuous pervert who wanted to have sex with his mother. If only she knew what he was thinking, she'd want him to have his head examined. She may ask him to leave her condo and never return.

Only, instead of being embarrassed or ashamed, he wished his mother was thinking what he was thinking. He wished his mother was on the same, sexual page as he was. He wished his mother sexually wanted him as much as he incestuously wanted her. He wished his mother sexually lusted over him in the way that he incestuously lusted over her. He wished his mother masturbated over the thoughts of having sex with him in the way that he constantly and continually masturbated over the thoughts of having sex with her.

"Sorry for spoiling the holiday," she said with sadness after a long pause.

With her falling silent and him daydreaming about having sex with her, she awakened him from the sexual fantasy that he was having of her being his lover. Yet, confounding him instead of admonishing him, when she looked at him and gave him that million-dollar smile, she awakened the incestuous lust he had always had for her. When she looked at him, she looked at him as if he was her man instead of her son. Then, when he returned her look and looked at her as if she was his woman instead of his mother, instead of encouraging his admiration by looking at him in the same way, she looked away.

He didn't know if his mother wanted him in the same sexual way that he wanted her. He couldn't tell. Threading uncharted ground, he had no idea. It was one thing for a son to want to have sex with his mother but it was something else entirely for a mother to want to have sex with her son. How dare he lust over his own mother?

"There's no need to feel sorry, Mother. I understand," he said with compassion. "Filled with old memories, whether good or bad, the holidays are always a difficult time of year."

Just when he berated himself and tried to control his forbidden intentions, whether deliberately or unintentionally, he could never tell, she gave him a quick flash of her white panties when uncrossing her legs. Yet, whether deliberately or unintentionally flashing him any part of her beautiful body, he always looked. She stood from the couch and walked to the wine rack and set two champagne glasses on the coffee table. She opened the bottle of champagne he gave her for Christmas and poured him a glass before pouring herself a glass.

Mesmerized by her beauty and hypnotized by her smile, when she walked to him, he stared at her as if he was having a vision. He stared at her as if she was naked instead of fully dressed. When she leaned at the waist in front of him to pour him his champagne, she gave him a flash of her long, line of sexy cleavage and her revealing low-cut white bra. Just like that, images he never tired of seeing, his mother flashed him her panties, her long line of sexy cleavage, and her low-cut bra again. Whenever seeing any forbidden part of her, he wanted to strip her naked.

As if intentionally sexually teasing him, she took her seat on the couch while flashing him her panties again. In the way that seeing a shiny object grabbed his attention, with him enthralled by the flash of her panties, he watched her take a long, thoughtful sip of her champagne before speaking. Glad that she was the one who opened the champagne, maybe his thought of getting her drunk and kissing her while feeling her through her clothes may soon be his reality. Maybe in the way that he'd like to use the champagne as his excuse to have sex with his mother, maybe she'd used the champagne as her excuse to have sex with her son.