Writing stories is funny; sometimes you've got the idea for months and just can't seem to get it on paper. Other times it's like the words write themselves. This is one of those, written in one day, from a suggestion by Boatbumm. Thanks for the Idea.
Although inspired by a comment from "Traditions," this is a stand-alone story. As always -- enjoy, vote and comments greatly appreciated. Merry Christmas!
BenLong
*
"Goodnight Mom. Goodnight Dad. I'm going to bed, I'm bushed."
"So early?" my mother asked, "Can you help take the boxes back out to the garage first?"
"Sure thing," I answered, sitting down to put my shoes back on, just because it was raining. If it was just one box I probably would have run out and back barefoot, but for several it required more than a quick dash, so I put my shoes back on.
Dad had folded the ladder and started out before me, I grabbed the first box and followed him out. I pushed the box into the air and, once he took it, I headed in for another while he arranged it into its place.
Four boxes, four trips, and I again bid them goodnight. I hoped that Andrea wouldn't be too late, as I knew their extracurricular activities wouldn't get started until Andrea and I were "asleep" in bed - or at least they thought so.
I don't remember exactly when I discovered Mom and Dad's Christmas eve tradition. It was sometime after puberty, that time in life where I grew an erection that seemingly never went away for the next ten years or so. I do remember it was just a normal Christmas. It was Christmas Eve, we'd put up the tree, decorated, including putting on that funky yellow star that should have been thrown away years before, but seemed to have some sort of good memories for Mom and Dad so every year we put it back up.
Mom would always put on Christmas music on the stereo and we'd have hot cocoa with marshmallows. Mom and Dad always had a little "additive" to their hot chocolate, but Andrea and I got the "unleaded" variety, at least until our 18th birthdays.
Of course, we'd long ago learned that "Santa," for some reason, stored all the presents that he was going to deliver on Christmas morning in Mom and Dad's closet and that we weren't allowed in there for a couple of weeks before Christmas, but we played along with the game for years. Cookies and milk left by the tree, even going so far as some years asking Dad with a smirk if Santa wanted Chocolate Chip or Sugar Cookies that year. But it was all good fun, at least until the music mom had set up finished with the Frankie Lane version of, "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus," the version she'd grown up with.
In those early years before puberty, all I ever recognized was that when that song came on, mom turned the stereo off afterward and it was time for us to go to bed. In later years, once I knew what it meant, I'd see the little sidelong glance and smile that she gave Dad, or that he gave her, and then the stereo would go off and we'd head up to have some sugar plums dance in our heads.
Well, at least before puberty.
Once puberty came, the visions of sugarplums that danced in my head all had nipples and rested on the chests of my latest crush. A wank under the covers before I went to sleep was probably the 4th or 5th of the day, beginning with the wank under the covers that I'd started my day with.
Girls were constantly on my mind, particularly having sex with girls, feeling their boobs, fingering their pussies, fondling their bottoms, and having them jerk me off. I'd never really thought of a blow job at that time, I'd just never had it seem real enough to be possible, so it wasn't my fantasy. My most common fantasy at the time was Mrs. Wilson who lived next door and would sometimes brush her hair sitting topless in front of her dressing mirror. It was only by chance that I'd once discovered that from the near-ceiling window in our upstairs bath there was a view into their second story bedroom window. I'd been trying to see out the window to spy on my sister and her boyfriend who were between the houses, and by putting the laundry basket into the bathtub, I could rise high enough to see down. Although I couldn't see Andrea and her boyfriend, who I knew were making out, I did inadvertently see Mrs. Wilson and her gorgeous tits. I wanked off while watching her and had lucked out in seeing her topless three other times over the years. It never failed that when I went in to take a shower that first I moved the hamper and took a peek out the window. I almost always took a peek after a shower too -- even though I'd already wanked once while in the shower.
That particular Christmas, the first time I saw them, I'd actually fallen asleep, but had woken and realized I had to take a piss. Quietly, so as not to wake anyone else in the house and not realizing they were still up, I opened my door and stepped into the upper hall and toward the bathroom. Just in front of the bathroom was a short balcony that gave a view into the living room. Andrea's and my bedrooms were at the opposite end of the hall from the bathroom, hidden from view of the living room, but also hidden from view upward from the living room.
Stepping out of my room, the only light visible was the dim multi-colored light from the tree. Without even thinking about it I stepped around the creaky board, and when I heard a slight noise below, I stopped at the edge and peered around, expecting to see that "Santa" had already been there. With the long-standing rule that we weren't allowed downstairs on Christmas morning until after 7, it didn't prevent ogling the presents earlier than that from upstairs. Although I'd woken at times in the past when I was six or eight or ten and peered down at five thirty or six in the morning, never before had I peered down at slightly after midnight. And never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined seeing Mom sucking Dad's cock.
At first it was shock. What kid, whether considered an adult or not, ever thinks of their parents having sex? Objectively we have to admit it, we'd long before come to understand we hadn't really been delivered by a stork or fallen off a turnip truck, but seriously - does any kid ever think of their parents getting it on? I certainly hadn't. At least not until then.
Although I knew my Mom was thought of as "hot" by my friends, I'd always seen her as "Mom." But after that night, I could also see in her what my friends could see. Although I'd never seen her naked that I could remember, I had seen her in less than "Mom" clothing before. She always wore bikinis during the summer, and looked good wearing one, and I'd occasionally seen her around the house in panties and bra. Although normally just white everyday underwear, at least once I'd walked in on her wearing a semi-see through bra and been able to see her nipples and areola when she was getting ready to go to a party with Dad. She'd almost immediately pulled on her dress, but I was still so young it hadn't meant anything to me. Although seeing my mother's nipples through her bra hadn't meant anything to me at the time, I
had
seen them, and the memory became almost better than the real thing -- at least until I saw Mrs. Wilson.
Mrs. Wilson had a fabulous body and knew it. I would say her boobs were a nice C cup, not extremely large, but very firm without being silicone. She seldom wore anything without a very large vee that showed the center of her breasts quite nicely, which every boy in the neighborhood knew, and apparently all the dads did, too. I once inadvertently heard my dad say something to Mom, I don't know what, but knew he was talking about Mrs. Wilson. I heard Mom giggle quietly just before I stepped into the kitchen and say, "I guess I shouldn't mind, as I get the benefit." It didn't mean anything until I stepped into the kitchen and saw dad turning away from the window where he'd been looking out. Nothing was visible to me until I got closer, and then I saw Mrs. Wilson, weeding in the flower bed, and facing our house. On her hands and knees, as she was, I suddenly realized that mom had been giving Dad a hard time about looking at her boobs, of which kneeling on the ground and leaning forward as she was, were almost completely visible down the low cut front of her shirt.
~
With a cock that was hard almost all the time anyway, it could sometimes be a chore to get it down enough to pee. Now, peeking from around and through the balcony banister, the sight of Mom sucking dad's cock made it go instantly from just hard and swollen, to a cock of steel.
I'm not sure which was worse; seeing Dad's erection, or seeing Mom taking it in her mouth. At once I was instantly grossed out, and instantly mesmerized. Seeing her on her hands and knees, her hand wrapped around the shaft, feeding it into her mouth, I couldn't look away. She'd pull off and stroke him, holding his cock upright where I could see her hands wrapped around the shaft. She'd run a palm up and over the pink knob, causing Dad to groan and then she'd bend down and take it in her mouth again.