Special thanks to Excitedmind for providing the initial inspiration for this story.
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John woke to the loud buzzing of his parents' coffee grinder, a sure sign that they were awake and starting their day. His mom, Susan, liked to get up early and drink a cup of brew before waking him and his sister. Hearing that buzz was a pleasant reminder that he would have to get out of bed soon, but not before he had the chance to close his eyes and snooze a bit more.
It was Christmas morning, though, and he had no intention of sleeping in. He jumped out of bed and pulled on a pair of boxer briefs, which only partially covered the length of his morning erection. Checking to make sure no one was coming, he dashed across the hall to the safety of the bathroom.
After relieving his full bladder, he hopped in the shower. He'd been home from school for about a week, and he'd gotten in the habit of jerking off in the shower when he woke up. It was Christmas morning, though, so he decided to forego that ritual. Even at 19, the allure of Christmas presents still filled him with a sense of excitement and urgency.
His dad, Bill, was a professor at the local university, and had made more than enough money to let his wife stay home and raise their son and daughter. His parents didn't skimp when it came to Christmas gifts. It wasn't uncommon for him to receive nearly everything on his list, and he hoped this year wouldn't be any different. He bounded down the stairs in excitement before screeching to a halt as he remembered the
other
part of the Hamilton family Christmas tradition.
Presents were exciting, but they came with a painful price. Each year, his parents insisted that they pose for a family portrait in front of the tree. John didn't mind posing for a picture, but it was never that simple.
The tradition started when John and his younger sister, Emma were toddlers. Their parents traded Christmas portraits every year with Susan's brother, Craig, and his wife, Sally. Over time, the portraits became a kind of competition to see who could come up with the most garish, over the top sweaters, decorations, and costumes they could think of. When they were younger, John and Emma had enjoyed dressing up each Christmas morning, but at the ages of nineteen and eighteen, they found the ritual intensely humiliating.
As he made his way to the kitchen, John wondered what kind of tacky matching outfits his parents would be dressed in this year. He was surprised when he turned the corner and found them sitting at the kitchen table, stirring their coffee in simple, plain white robes.
"What gives?" he asked. "Are we not doing the family portrait this year?" He knew the odds were slim, but it was worth a shot.
"Well, good morning to you, too!" his mom replied, ignoring his question. She sleepily covered up a yawn and then flashed him a warm, if slightly sarcastic, smile.
It struck John as strange that they were wearing robes instead of regular clothes. He couldn't remember them ever dressing so casually around the house.
"I mean... Merry Christmas!" he said, recovering slightly.
"Merry Christmas," they replied in turn, smiling up at him as he poured himself a cup of coffee. As his mom stood to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, she inadvertently exposed the pale, freckled skin of her upper chest to his gaze. John couldn't help it--his eyes flicked down before guiltily flicking back up to her smiling face. She didn't seem to notice his transgression. As she pulled him into the hug, he found himself wondering what she was wearing underneath. Before he had time to let his imagination run away with him, however, she withdrew and sat back down at the table with his dad.
"To answer your earlier question," Bill said, taking another sip of his coffee and granting both John and Susan a subdued smile, "Yes. We are still doing the family portrait this year, but you might find that you enjoy the experience quite a bit more this year than you have in the past." They'd made this claim before, but it was never true. John mentally braced himself for an earnest explanation of how much fun it would be to dress up as Santa's elves or some other, even worse indignity.
"Sure, I bet," he said, not even trying to hide his disbelief. "So, should I go put on my robe as well?" They chuckled nervously and exchanged meaningful glances. They clearly had something they wanted to say, but neither wanted to be the one to say it.
Susan cleared her throat. "Wait until Emma comes down for breakfast, and we'll talk about it," she said.
Sensing that no more answers would be forthcoming, he decided to take a seat. For several long minutes, they sat, sipped their coffee, and waited. Susan and Bill continued to steal glances at each other, and at their son as well. His mom seemed to have a perpetual blush, and his dad tapped his feet continuously while keeping his eyes laser focused on the stairs.
What are they so nervous about?
he asked himself. While his parents did take the Christmas portrait seriously, it was also always something they'd always done for fun. This year seemed different though.
Maybe we won't have to do it this year
, he thought, allowing himself the smallest ember of hope.
As he waited and tried to figure out what was going on, his eyes were drawn to his mother. She sat in front of him with her legs crossed, exposing quite a bit of her smooth inner thigh. Higher up, the opening of her robe revealed a slight hint of cleavage, just enough for John to wonder whether she was naked underneath. It suddenly struck him that she really was quite sexy.
Susan was a red-head with the pale, freckled skin to match. She'd just celebrated her fiftieth birthday, but didn't seem over the hill by any means. She still kept herself fit through daily walks around the neighborhood and a well-used gym membership. Although she didn't have the body of a twenty-year-old anymore, she still managed to turn a lot of heads.
Jesus, what's wrong with me?
he asked himself, suddenly feeling guilty for ogling his mother like she was a co-ed in one of his classes at school.
His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of Emma's feet banging down the stairs. She was so excited that she almost slipped on the hardwood flooring, just managing to catch herself on the counter. Pulling her disheveled hair away from her face, she flashed a goofy wide-eyed smile that was entirely free of embarrassment.
"Wow, that was a close one!" she said. Emma's carefree attitude was one of the many things John loved about his sister.
The family had moved around a lot in their younger years. As a result, John and Emma were closer than many siblings their age. Even though John was a freshman at college, and Emma was still in high-school, they considered each other best friends and talked almost every day.
Emma had been a late bloomer and a bit of a tomboy. She hated all things girly and tended to imitate her brother's fashion choices, preferring jeans and t-shirts over skirts and blouses. Unlike John, who was quiet and reserved, Emma was outgoing and excitable. Whenever the two of them got in trouble for doing something wrong, it was usually the end result of one of Emma's ideas.
Emma was her mother's daughter, and they shared the same green eyes, vibrant smile, and slim build. Unlike her mom, though, Emma's freckles were limited to a small patch on the bridge of her nose, and her hair was a rich honey blonde. Her pixie-like features inevitably lead strangers to assume that she was much younger than her eighteen years, something that she'd always tried to counter with her brash, outgoing personality.
Despite her near wipeout, she'd managed to break the tension in the room, much to her parents' relief.
"Hey, what's the deal with the robes?" she asked as she took note of her parents unusual state of dress. "Are we doing something different for the portrait this year?"
"Yeah guys, spill it! Tell us what's going on," John added, glad to have Emma backing him up. "What's up with the robes, and when can we get the portrait out of the way and open presents?"
"Hold your horses," Susan said with a knowing chuckle. Emma's mere presence seemed to have lightened the mood in the room considerably. "I promise we'll get to presents, but first I want us all to sit down and look at your Uncle Craig and Aunt Sally's family Christmas portrait."
John and Emma let out dramatic groans of disappointment. "Can't you just show us later?" Emma begged.