The First Noel

Angela sat on her empty bed and did her ritual of missing her husband, who had died a year ago, before bed as she did almost every night since. Everybody said it would be better in time, that time would heal, she'd soon find the will to move on, but it seemed that the only thing time did was make it worse. She found herself missing her husband more every passing week. Dating again was only a thought she flirted with. And for a woman of forty, with signs of how she'd look when she was sixty starting to show because of the constant frown on her face, it wasn't easy to find the proverbial satisfaction. She didn't have too many hobbies either, or any other such interest to busy her mind with. She had always loved literature, but ever since her husband's death, she couldn't quite rekindle her love for it. Her idle mind would always find a way to pile on the sadness she was already burdened with. It did nothing to help her move on.

After about five minutes of smiling to herself, caressing herself, frowning, thinking about the person she had shared her bed with for eighteen years, she finally got in. Her thoughts then wandered towards her nineteen year old son, her only son, who was in his room across the hall, face glued to his computer screen, playing some game or the other. She briefly wondered if she should be worried about him, but as quickly decided she shouldn't and tried to think of something more positive. She'd missed him for too long to dare to think of anything negative about him.

Noah sat at his desk and his face was glued to his computer screen. But contrary to what his mother thought he was doing, he was surfing through various websites looking for jobs. He didn't want his mother to worry about him. Dropping out of college after just a year was far from what any mother would want for their only son. His father's insurance money would only last for so long, and with just his mother's small salary at a local bookstore, and his as a part-time salesman at a clothing store, it would soon become hard to make ends meet. He didn't want to be a burden. Moving out, he thought, was not an option. At least not right now. He would wait until he got a proper job, which could take a while, or his mother found someone. He wasn't too sure if he could do it even then. He was at a boarding school for four year in high school, a year away in college, and now that his father had died, he didn't want his mother to feel abandoned by her only son.

Finding nothing, again, he closed all the tabs. After a brief and unnecessary contemplation, he opened a new one and entered the Literotica website. It was his favorite pastime. He thought that porn videos were too blatant and phony. Fine enough if you wanted a quick fix, but it had nothing on a fine piece of writing that didn't need bad acting or fake orgasms to get you completely simulated. Sure, some stories were blatant and phony too, but a good piece of writing is always worth reading through ten bad writings. His love for literature was probably the only thing he inherited from his mother. Other than that, he was an exact replica of his father. There were even some who didn't know them that thought they were brothers. Nobody ever mistook the fact that they were related.

Angela, in the other room, twisted and turned, unable to sleep. Some nights she slept as soon as her head touches the pillow and she'd fall into a deep and dreamless sleep. But it was not one of those nights. She looked at the time on her phone. It was a quarter to one - Sunday. She didn't have to go to work, so she decided to give up chasing sleep. She got up and turned on her laptop to review a short story she wrote a few days ago. She had always wanted to be a writer, but had never quite written anything worthy of publication. She had been writing a story, one which she thought had a very good potential, but when her husband died, she gave it up, deleted all the files, and never tried to continue.

A month ago, out of boredom, she had stumbled upon Literotica. She had never had much interest in any type of erotica, although she had nothing against them. She didn't even know literary porn exists so freely until then. But once she started reading, she saw it was more than just mindless erotic crap that she had expected. Some stories were even better than some of the books she'd read. After that, she had read at least one from each category. For some reason she found the stories in the taboo category really intriguing. There was something about forbidden love that caught her interest. No one wants to hear stories about a perfect young man and a perfect young woman falling in love and living happily ever after. Where's the story in that? It was the challenge, the uphill battle, going against the society, the silent and intense rebellion that really interested her. And not too long ago, she decided to write one herself. At least she was going back to literature.

An hour later, after re-reading, re-editing, and revising, she opened the website to submit it. She hesitated, as she did countless times before. Who would read it? What if they hated it? Was her username, 'WidowAngel', too obvious? Would people she know read it? Would they know it was her? What would they think of her? No point in mulling over it, she thought. It was just a story, and a good one at that, compared to some others she had read. And in any case, it was a chance for someone to read her words, and that was all she wanted. She clicked on the submit button.

FIVE NIGHTS LATER

Noah received an email that said that his application for an internship at a publishing house was accepted. Among other many interests, his first choice had always been to work within the publishing industry. It had been hard, finding any publisher that would accept a college dropout, and he had given up on searching a couple of time. Seeing the email, although it wasn't that big of a news, he had the feeling that his life was about to take a turn.

He went to tell his mother the good news. He had been keeping his search a secret from her mother, not wanting to give her false hope. He went to her door. It was still early so he didn't think she would be asleep yet. Just as he was about to enter, he heard strange sounds coming from within. He listened. It was the sound that he hadn't heard in a while, the sound he hated hearing, and had no wish to hear it ever again. His mother was sobbing.

Angela was clutching a photo of her late husband in her right hand and a handkerchief in the other. Her eyes were red. She had been crying for a while now. She didn't try to stop, she just let herself go. Then she heard the door creak open behind her, followed by her son's voice. "Mom? Are you okay?" her son asked with his tender voice that sounded so much like his father's. Sometimes she even mistook them when they spoke on the phone.

"I'm okay, Noah," she said with a voice gruff from all the sobbing. She wiped her tears away. "I was just feeling a little emotional."

"Can I come in?" Noah asked. She could hear a little hesitation in his voice.

She wiped the last of her tears away. She turned toward her son. "Come," she said, and attempted a smile.

As her son walked in, she did not fail to see the stark resemblance to her husband. It wasn't just his appearance, it was the way he carried himself, the way his shoulders moved, the way his arms swung, the hint of a smile every time he spoke, that screamed - 'I am my father's son'. He sat down next to her and looked at the picture she was holding.

"Every time I see you, I see your father," she said. "Seeing that, I know he is alive and well in you, and that always warms my heart." She stroke his hand. She thought about how her husband used to stroke hers. "Or maybe I'm just too weak to move on."

"No," Noah said, "I know you're not weak. I'm your son. I know."

She smiled at him. "Thank you," she said, almost a whisper. She cleared her throat. "I just miss him so much, you know? I don't know what I'd be without you."

"I miss him too," Noah said. "But we have each other."

"We have each other," she repeated her son's words. She leaned forward, put his hands behind his head and kissed him on the forehead. She let go. "So what did you want to say?"

"Oh, not important right now," he answered.

"Go on. I'm okay, really. Don't mind me."

"Okay then," he said. His lips stretched to form a wide handsome smile. "A few days ago, I applied for an internship at a publishing house and I got accepted. A paid internship. Not much, but still..."

"Really?" she said. She was genuinely surprised. But then again, she always knew she didn't have to worry about him. Like his father, she knew, Noah could take care of himself. "You should've told me about it before. I would've wanted to help you job hunt."

"Well, I didn't want you to get your hopes up too high in case I wasn't accepted. And it's still only an internship. Nothing guaranteed."

"I know they'll take you in." She knew. "I'm so happy. You make me happy. Keep doing that." They both laughed.

Noah told her mother everything he knew about the details, and then they spoke about some other things for a while. "Anyway, that was what I originally came here for," he finally said and got up.

Angela got up too. "I'm so happy," she said again, and then hugged him. "I love you, Noah."

"I love you too," Noah said. They let go. "Goodnight!" they said, and he walked back to his room. The smile on his face stayed.

Angela got into bed, happy hearted. She hadn't felt that happy in a long time. It was not just the fact that Noah told her good news, but because the good news broke her away from her sadness. The reason she cried seemed silly to her now. It was the night her husband and she first had sex on their second date. It was heavenly to her. Not even the sex on their wedding night beat the magic of their first one. Neither of them were a virgin then, but it mattered little. They commemorated their first time together by having sex on the same night every year since. Sometimes they had argued, but that didn't ever stop them. The sex just became a little angrier than usual. But that night, for the second time since she'd known him, she was alone.

She soon fell asleep. In her dream, her husband returned. He apologized for failing to join her in bed the night before. He told her he was out looking for a job for Noah. Angela forgave him. They got into bed together and had the best sex she had ever had in her life. She felt like it was even better than their first time together, and that was saying a lot. They lay on their back, looking up at the ceiling, panting. After she caught her breath, she asked him if he found a job, and then turned towards him. But what she saw wasn't her husband. It was Noah. He said that he found a job. Angela didn't understand what was going on. She asked Noah when he got here. Noah gave her a look of incredulity. She got up from the bed, panic rising inside her. She realized she was naked. She grabbed the sheet and covered herself. She asked how he got here. Noah asked if she was okay. He asked her to, "Come back to bed, baby. Let's go another round." Angela turned and ran. The sheet trailed behind her. She ran down the stairs. She missed a step. She fell. And just as her body met the hardwood floor, she awoke with a start.

She panted, the memory of her dream stark and vivid in her mind. She didn't know what to make of it yet. She steadied her breathing, taking deep breaths. She looked around. Dawn had broken. The edges of her window curtains glowed orange. And then, slowly, she reached down between her legs. She realized her panties were off and she was naked waist down. She must have taken them off sometime during the night. It wasn't the first time she had woken up naked after she slept alone. There was no mystery there. Her hands reached her pubes. Her hands felt what it hadn't felt for a long time. It was soaking wet. She went over her dream again, but now with the knowledge that it had been Noah and not her husband all along. And then, slowly and gently, she inserted a finger inside her lubricated cunt.

The night before, as Noah left his mother's room, he felt happy and proud of himself. He felt proud not because of his acceptance for the internship, but because he made his mother happy. He had caught her in a moment when no son wanted to see their mother in, and turned that moment on its head. That was what he was proud of.

He sat at his desk, doing more research on publishing so he wouldn't come off as a completely unlearned idiot who talked bigger than he was. He read about all he could, not just about editing, but also about the advertising, marketing, about agents and authors and royalties and contracts, and also all the different lingos used with the publishing industry. He'd read to his satisfaction, at least about all he could find on the internet. And then, more out of habit than interest, Noah opened the Literotica website.

There were always too many to choose from, too many to read, and no way to really know if they were any good. Sometimes the descriptions helped, but more often than not, the promises faltered. Instead of going through categories and categories, looking for a good story, what he did was look at only the 'New' ones. He filtered it further by ignoring the chain stories. Nothing against them, but he preferred to read a story a night, and a different one the next.

Scrolling through them, reading their titles and their descriptions, he found one that peaked his interest. The title was catchy, but not corny or superfluous. The description looked like it wasn't written by an amateur. It didn't sound clichéd. He didn't really care about the Incest/Taboo tag. He had an open mind. He looked at the author - WidowAngel. He couldn't help being reminded of his mother. He'd heard her mother being called 'Angel' by his father more than a few times when they were being playful. That or 'Angie'. He quickly pushed the thought away. But because of that association, his interest had peaked more than it did before, and then he clicked on the title.

After about half an hour, he laid on his bed looking up at the ceiling, thinking. It was uncanny. It couldn't be. There he was, reading himself. The character in the story, the same age as him, also worked at a clothing store. The name was Noel, and he had a widowed mother named Annie, who was a writer. The character description was eerily similar to him. It was like looking into a mirror. Their daily routines were practically the same, apart from the obvious difference.

He remembered, a few weeks ago, he went to a party. He had to pick up his mother from another party, but he returned late and drunk. His mother was already home. They had an argument before he went to bed. Later that night, his mother had come into his bedroom to apologize. He had pretended to be asleep, and his mother went out after she apologized and gave him a light peck on his lips and told him that she loved him with all her heart. That much was same with the story. What differed was, in the story, Noel abandoned his ruse and his mother didn't leave. She leaned in when her son opened his eyes and looked at her with a look of apologetic longing. They held their gaze for a while, and then she kissed him again, but this time, more passionately. He kissed her back. He was still a little drunk, but sober enough to know what was happening. No words were spoken. There was no need. They both knew what they were doing. They both knew it was wrong, but neither stopped. They dared not interrupt the moment with ill-placed words. Then, slowly and carefully, not wanting to ruin the moment, Annie got into bed with her son. They embraced each other.

Noel took off his mother's thin, short and sleeveless nightgown. She wore no bra underneath. Annie's naked breast met with her son's bare chest and her nipples hardened. Noel only ever slept with his boxer shorts. They lay on their sides, arms around each other. Noel's hardening penis was inconspicuous through his loose boxer shorts and it protruded forward. He let his hand slowly run down his mother's back and when it reached her butt, he pulled her to him, closing the few inches of gap between them. Annie gasped as her son's hard dick pressed against her crotch. Her heart was thumping hard against her breast and she could feel her son's heart doing the same. She kept her eyes closed, but her hands wandered, mapping her son's back. Noel was slowly and gently humping her, with his hands still holding on to his mother's butt.

Annie opened her eyes and stared straight into his son's eyes. Their lips parted as they looked at each other, questioning themselves for a moment. Noel stopped moving his hips. His mother pulled herself away, but not all the way. He feared she would get up and leave, but also wished she would. He knew he didn't have the self-control to stop before they went too far. Annie was also thinking the exact same thing. She knew she didn't have the self-control. She feared her son would tell her to leave, but also wished he would. No words...too late. Her hand crept in between them, and stroked her son's chest. Then it moved down to his stomach. They held their gaze all the while, mother and son. And then, gently, Annie's hand moved further down. It slowly crept under her son's elastic boxer waist, brushing his thick pubic hair, and then, as if holding a very fragile and expensive piece of crystal, Annie softly grabbed her son, warm, hard, and pulsating dick.

Noel breathed in as his mother's warm and calloused hand touched his dick. It felt good as much as it felt strange. He knew it was wrong, but knowing that, he didn't wanna be right. Annie's slowly started stroking. Noel closed his eyes. Annie leaned in and started to kiss her son again.

Noah pulled his boxers down to his ankles as he continued reading. The room was dark except for the glow of his computer screen. Everything was quiet except for his quickening breathing and the faint sound coming from the fan of his computer. He read further down. His hands slowly and gently played with his hard dick with a moistened tip. As Annie got on top of Noel, Noah too quickened his strokes. The slapping sound of his wrist coming down rhythmically on to the edge of his thigh added to the minimal ambient noise. Noah's pace quickened still as Annie's hips gyrated on top of her son's. He lost all awareness of everything else as he read further. Eyes trained on the fine print on the screen, palms wrapped around his throbbing dick, moving up and down. Now Noel was on top of his mother. Her legs wrapped around his waist and he was leaning forward, arms on both sides of his mother, supporting his weight. Noah stroked as fast as he could just as Noel thrust his dick inside his mother's cunt as fast as he humanly could.

*

Noah sat there, bare assed, arm aching, penis limp, and his warm cum strewn across his stomach. He felt a cold draft. The warmth, the heat of the excitement, had ebbed away. The realization came far slower than he did. But it had come. He practically was masturbating to the image of him and his mother having sex. His mother! For heaven's sake! The guilt then came, followed shortly by its cousin, shame. They stayed all the while as he cleaned his semen off of his body with a napkin.

As he lay awake in bed, he tried to reassess what he had read, tried to analyze, discern the startling similarities between Noel and himself, and between Annie and Angela, her mother. Who wrote it? Who was 'WidowAngel'? It couldn't be just a coincidence. The author had to know who he was and who her mother was. Was it a stalker? Maybe even an identity thief? But the more he thought, the more he tried to come to a reasonable and less taboo conclusion, the more they all seemed improbable. Tired out, he finally slept, with the final thought that it probably had been her mother, whether he liked it or not, in his mind. And in his sleep, he dreamt of Annie. He was Noel. Annie had her mother's face.