Well, I missed the Winter’s Tale contest, but that’s okay. This is my Christmas gift to everyone at Literotica. It’s an expansion and/or rewrite of a story I wrote a long time ago for a faraway website that unfortunately no longer exists. I lost my copy of this story and recently decided to create a revised (and hopefully improved) version for you. This is the first issue. I’m often asked if this story is fiction or reality. My answer is: “Do any of us really know where reality ends and dreams begin?” Enjoy. Please reply and share your opinions. Your feedback, whether negative or positive, matters. Oh, and Merry Christmas to all.
*
“Oh my god! Look, it’s snowing, baby!” my mother looked at me in surprise and delight. We had just left the mall after a few hours of shopping with last minute Christmas gifts. The meteorologist mentioned that the forecast might call for snowfall, but there were several inches of the white stuff on the ground, and the clouds in the dim afternoon sun promised more snowfall, even more. As we walked through the falling snowflakes, I couldn’t help but admire my mother’s beauty, her long black hair covered in snowflakes.
We carried the gifts into Mom’s old station wagon and went to find a restaurant. At the local steakhouse we ordered steaks and sat in the window seats watching the snow pile up. “I think we must have made a mistake, honey,” Mom said. “Maybe we should go home as soon as I get here.”
I looked at him, nodded, and replied, “That’s probably so. Even the meteorologist didn’t see it coming.” Events. The unexpected collision of polar and moisture fronts triggered a massive blizzard. The word blizzard is thrown around a lot.
My mom came from her hometown in western Illinois to take me home for the Christmas holidays. I am a junior at a local college in Chicago. I lived off campus and drove the “L” to school. It was a chance for me and my mom to spend some quiet moments together.
When we left the restaurant, there were still several inches of snow on the ground. Mom’s station wagon had been driving steadily through the snow, but it was now very slushy. The broadcast predicted 12 to 15 inches of snowfall by tomorrow afternoon.
Near my studio apartment, we stopped at a local Korean grocery store and used the pay phone there. Mom called home and found they were snowed in. He kept complaining until Mom stopped him and said, “Harold, don’t feel bad. You and the twins can survive a few days without me. You’ll probably enjoy Christmas more.” She looked at me disgustedly. Yes, my father was a typical man who always complained about the inconvenience he caused rather than the safety of his wife.
Mom talked to my brothers and assured them that she would miss them but that they and their dad would have a fun and special Christmas alone. I guess at sixteen, they aren’t broken up about that yet. After hanging up and wiping away a few tears, my mom shrugged and said, “Well, honey, I guess it’s just you and me this Christmas.”
I hugged my mom and shuddered in my heart. I have to admit that the idea of leaving my mom alone for a few days really appealed to me. I’ll miss my brothers, okay, maybe I’ll miss my dad a little too, but I mean it when I answer, “Mom, I can’t imagine spending Christmas with a better person.”
Before leaving the grocery store, Mom insisted we buy a little more, competing with other customers for last minute shopping before the hurricane shut everything down. From there we managed to drive the station wagon back to our old apartment complex and into the back alley where there was a parking space. I usually use my space for storage, but after piling things up, we managed to put my mother’s old boat car in there.
We climbed five flights of stairs, eating and shopping before collapsing on the couch. On the tiny black and white TV in my studio apartment, the meteorologist happily assured everyone that with the projection of twenty inches of snow now falling, we were in for a very white Christmas. “So, just relax, be with your loved ones and enjoy the snow,” he advised. My mom and I just looked at each other and smiled. My mom’s smile was a little mysterious. I smiled and said: let it snow, let it snow, let it snow! It was December 23, 1981, and I was celebrating Christmas with the woman I loved most.
Inspired, I went down to the storage room and pulled out the old Christmas tree that my mom had given me when I first went off to college. It was an old artificial tree that I grew up with. Mom filled it with old decorations and lights. We hung it up that night and thoroughly enjoyed the process of decorating the tree as we remembered the special memories that came with specific ornaments as well as the hilarious disasters associated with the tree and our attempts at decorating it when we were little. Miraculously, when we plugged it in for the first time, the lights came on.
We turned off all the other lights and settled down on the couch to look at our tree. Some Christmas music was playing softly on my stereo. Mom, folding her legs under her, leaned against me, my arms around her, her head resting on my shoulder. “It’s perfect,” she whispered. “It’s real…”
“Romantic?” I suggested, pulling her towards me.
“Yeah, romantic,” she replied, looking me in the eyes. “This is the Christmas I’ve always wanted to spend with your dad. Cuddled up on the couch with the man I love, but… well, you know how he is.” She didn’t say anything else.
“Yeah, I know. I guess you’ll have to put up with me,” I said, joking a little bit, but also knowing she might take it as flirting.
“Really, John, I love being with you. You always know what I like. I just can’t imagine who else I’d rather be with. Thank you.” Mom got up and kissed the corner of my mouth. “I love you, son.”
I leaned in and replied, “Mom, I love you too.” Then I replied back. I missed the corner of her mouth and kissed her lips. I took my time and the kiss lasted about five seconds.
Mom gasped softly, and when I drew back a little, it looked like she was going to kiss me back. We stared at each other for a long time, tension in the air. Finally, she smiled at me and leaned toward me again, resting her head on my chest. “This is romantic,” she whispered, and then she fell silent, the tension slowly melting away. The moment was wonderful and romantic, and we spent a long time looking at the twinkling Christmas tree, contentedly in each other’s arms.
As we approached midnight, Mom yawned and said, “I think I should go to bed. It’s been a long, fun day.” Then she sat up, smiled and said, “Oh my gosh, I didn’t bring anything. I thought we were home by now!” She stood up, stretched out her hand and said, “Can I borrow a T-shirt or something for pajamas?”
I groaned inwardly with desire. If only Mom knew how men feel when they see their woman wearing a shirt. I don’t know why, but I don’t think any man would get excited seeing a beautiful woman wearing just a shirt. “I’m sure we can find something, Mom. Unless you want to be natural like Aunt Debbie? Mom’s sister is notorious for her nudity habits.
Mother smiled a little foolishly and said, “In your dreams, John. You really don’t want to see the hunched body of an old woman!”
As I found an old, comfortable sweatshirt in the dresser and tossed it to my mom, I responded, “You might be surprised.”
My mother blushed and said, “I’m going to change. Can you fix the sofa for me?” My mother turned and went into the bathroom, smiling at me as she closed the door.
I replaced my jeans with a t-shirt and baggy gym shorts. Then I changed the sheets on the bed, pulled out new sheets and some extra blankets and made my bed on the couch. I would never let my mom sleep on my couch. Hey, I fell asleep there half the time anyway.
I was sitting there watching the evening news when Mom came out of the bathroom. Without thinking, I whistled in appreciation. Mom looks so delicious in my sweatshirt. It looked like it sloped over her chest, drawing attention to her gorgeous, fleshy breasts, and the bottom was less than halfway down her knees, making it look like a sexy sweater dress. It complimented her sexy legs so much.
“Jesus, shut up, John. You’re such a flirt, and I’m your mother!” Mom growled, though she seemed pleased with my reaction. Anyway, she stood in the bathroom doorway, hands on hips, posing for me for a few seconds. Eventually she moved forward across the room, subconsciously pulling the bottom of her sweatshirt down as if she was afraid it would ride up.
So, is my bed ready?
“Yes, I’ve changed the sheets on the bed. You’re my guest. You can sleep on the bed tonight.” I pointed my thumb over my shoulder to the bed across the room.
Mom said, “I don’t think so, dear. I’ll be fine on the couch.”
We argued for a few minutes, good-naturedly sparring with each other. God, I don’t mind this argument because it gives me an easy excuse to admire my mom’s sexy body. Finally, I said in an angry tone: “Mom, stop arguing and come to my bed!”
Mom looked at me with a weird expression and I’m sure I had a weird expression on my face when I realized what I had said. I knew I was turning red from the heat I felt on my face.
Then Mom gave me that awkward smile again and said in a calm voice, “Well, I guess when a son orders his mother to go to her bed, he better do as she’s told.” She leaned over and kissed me goodnight, this time on my lips. I felt her shiver a little, and then she said, “Goodnight, son. I love you.”
I watched her go and said, “I love you, Mom. Good night.” I turned off the TV and then turned off the light near the sofa. Mom turned off the lamp near the bed. We were in partial darkness and the only light was the colored lights on the Christmas tree.
We all have trouble sleeping. I heard the springs of our old brass bed creaking as my mother turned from side to side several times with heavy sighs. I was restless, too, not because of the couch, but because of the interesting tension building in my apartment. All of my feelings for my mother are coming to the surface, and I wonder if I can hold them back while my mother is stuck here with me. Eventually, I heard my mother’s breathing change to a soft, steady rhythm, heard her soft snores, and I began to think about our lives together and how we got to this moment.
#
Growing up, I think I always knew I had a special connection with my mom. Maybe it’s because I’m the first child (I have two twin brothers). Maybe it’s because I was so sick as a child that I probably would have died if my mom hadn’t insisted on taking me out. Maybe it’s just simple destiny. I believe that sometimes we are born with strong bonds with others, some we meet later in life and some we know our whole lives.
Regardless, from childhood to early adulthood, I knew that our relationship was more than just mother and son, and Mom knew it too. We were friends and soul mates. We could read each other’s moods and sometimes it even felt like we were reading each other’s minds. Just being together seemed to make each other happy. We were inseparable. I think this made me a bit of a weirdo in the eyes of my siblings and sometimes my friends. While others were more inclined to play outside or do fun “kid” things, I would often hang out with my mom, help her in the kitchen or garden, or just hang out.
My father used to call me “mama’s boy” and generally express dislike of me. I was nothing like the ideal son he had imagined and I had little interest in football or hunting, which were his main interests in life. My brothers liked him more and once they started showing interest in his hobbies they largely ignored me which was good. If he went out and did his “manly” thing with my brothers, I would get more time with my mother.
I realised I loved my mom very much when I was a teenager. Well, I was attracted to her as soon as I hit puberty and Mom was the central attraction of my teenage fantasies, but it took a while to realise that I was feeling more than just teenage lust. I feel so happy when she is around and who can blame me? Mom was and still is the most amazing person I have ever known. My mom is kind, generous and loving, in my eyes she is the most beautiful woman in the world.
That year of the big blizzard, my mother was forty-two years old, and her legs in stockings were five feet five inches long. She had and still has a beautiful, magnificent figure. Mom’s breasts are big and heavy, yes, pendulous breasts are like big gourds on her chest, with thick and long nipples on them, as round as a quarter. My mother gave birth twice and her hips are a little wide, but her figure is still very sexy. She was a little proud of her legs, which were still very shapely and sexy. Red Letter Day is the day when Mom chooses to wear a dress to show off her lovely legs.
Mom has beautiful, fair skin and the most beautiful brown-green eyes. She had thick black hair that hung long below her shoulders, and for years, whenever possible, I tried to find a reason to hide my face in her black hair and enjoy the scent of her hair. There was always a scent of jasmine around my mother, mixed with her own natural scent, which I always reacted to.
For her part, I think Mother gradually realized how I felt about her and that her feelings for me were more than just pure, maternal ones. She often told me that I looked like her father, who had died before she met him, and that I was the most handsome man she knew. I don’t know anything about that. I grew up to be a strong boy, muscular rather than fat. In high school and college I worked loading trucks for a soda dealer. It paid well and kept me in top shape.
Despite this, I know that my mother and I are closer than is usually expected by mother and son standards. When I was eighteen, we flirted with each other a lot and my mother treated me more like a spouse than a son. Of course, we are more of a couple than a mom and dad. Sometimes this would bother Mom and she would leave me for a day or two, but like a moth to a candle, our old familiar paths always returned. But, until the big blizzard, we had never found ourselves in a situation that would lead our attraction to each other to something more.
#
I woke up and realized something was wrong. I remembered a series of erotic dreams involving my mother and me, most of which were dreams I had had since my teens. I was also feeling very aroused and wanted to pee. My gym shorts were covered in a big hard piss. I struggled to get up from the blanket, and I only heard my mother say cheerfully: “Good morning, son!”
I looked up, my painful erection throbbing. Mom was in the kitchen of my studio apartment, still wearing my sweatshirt and showing off her slender legs. Her long black hair was disheveled from sleeping and full of sensual appeal, making her seem like a goddess in the bedroom to me. She was cracking eggs and placing them in a frying pan. I suddenly realized I smelled bacon. “Good morning, Mom!” I said softly, enjoying the sensation of a sexy woman preparing breakfast for me.
I stood up and stretched, and by the time I realized how erect my cock was against my shorts, it was too late. Mom looked back at me. Breakfast in five minutes, John. You better take care of things before you explode.
I felt myself blushing again and I quickly walked towards the bathroom, my mother laughing. I finished my chores and showered. As I walked towards my towel I noticed my mom’s panties hanging on the towel rail. They were the standard white cotton panties, but just the sight of them made my cock swell again. I reached over and touched them. They were a little damp and I realized that mom must have washed them the night before, even though they still had her distinctive smell (yes, I sometimes smell mom’s dirty panties). My cock twitched as I suddenly wondered what my mom was wearing and not wearing under my sweatshirt.
I tried to adjust my shorts to cover my large bulge and carefully walked back to the main room. Mom heard the creaking of the floorboards and yelled, “Breakfast is almost ready, honey. Where did you put the toaster?”
I turned towards the kitchen and suddenly stopped. My mom was bent over looking in my lower cupboard while arranging my kitchen utensils. Mom’s sweatshirt lifts up, exposing her thick, round ass and pussy! Now I’ve caught glimpses of my mom’s hairy bush over the years, going to the bathroom and catching it by chance, but in this position her labia were very much exposed, blooming out of her thick pubic hair, showing a thin, bright pink vaginal flesh line. This is the holy grail for me. I’ve dreamed about my mom’s pussy many times, but now she wasn’t too far from me!
I tried to reply but could only mumble something unintelligible. Mom turned her head and looked at me with an axe-like expression on her face, realizing what she was pretending to be. “Oh!” Mom gasped, stood up and pulled her sweatshirt down. “I’m so sorry, John!” We both just stood there, shocked and embarrassed. Finally, Mom laughed and said, “Where is the toaster?”
“Uh. Uh, right there.” I pointed in the general direction of the cupboard door above the stove, or at least I thought I did. My eyes kept darting to the hem of my sweatshirt, hoping for another chance to see my mom’s pussy.
Mom frowned and tried to make things normal. She raised her arms, opened the cupboard door, then stood on tip toes to reach the toaster and said, “What do you want on toast, buttered or – damn it!” Mom realized too late, when she reached for the toaster while she was using it, she again exposed her butt to me. This time I didn’t get a good view of her pussy, but I enjoyed the view of her dark hair covered mound and her sexy ass.
She turned and tried to pull her shirt down but I saw her bush from the front. Mom had beautiful pubic hair, wild black pubic hair that grew in an irregular “V” shape above her vagina and thinned to a thin point at her lower abdomen.
Mom’s face was as red as mine and we stared at each other for a few seconds, the tension building until we both started laughing. “Put that toaster down, John.” She moved out of my way, her laughter stopping just as I reached for the toaster. I glanced at her and saw that she was looking down at my crotch. I looked down and saw the tent in my shorts. If I had been a little harder, I’m sure my cock would have ripped through the cotton.
