Home for the Holidays

Tanya dragged fingers through her long damp locks and pulled the tie out of her hair. She grabbed a brush off her dresser and, still naked, furiously pulled at her hair. As if that would settle the warm flutter in her belly or the empty ache between her legs. As she brushed, she looked at herself in the mirror. She could barely recognize who she saw.

As a buxom, vivacious teenager she had gotten into "trouble," but that trouble ended up giving her Peter, so she had no regrets. Her older sister Tracy got married around the same time, and soon she had a son of her own. Peter and Andrew grew up together, almost as close as siblings.

She met Greg when Peter was three. He was ten years older, assured, and didn't seem to care that she had a child or that the father was not in the picture at all. They married quickly, and for a time, it was bliss. Her body excited Greg, and Greg's experience and skill in bed excited her. Tanya was also reassured that Peter took to Greg as well, and the boys bonded over hiking and fishing and eventually hunting.

When Greg was promoted at work and relocated to the Midwest, Peter and Tanya followed with him. It was hard at first. Tracy had just lost her husband around the same time, and Tanya wanted to be there for her sister the way Tracy had been there for her. But she also had her own family to look after, and so she ended up here in the north end of nowhere, mistress of a drafty farmhouse. It was only after the move that things started to fall apart. Greg's wandering eye became apparent, as well as his taste for younger women. Apparently Tanya had aged out of his demographic.

Still, she tried gamely to make it work, and for a little while Greg met her halfway. Tanya wanted to wait until Peter graduated college for the divorce, but Greg didn't share her patience. A year ago he had served papers and moved out, shacking up with a blonde that was only a little older than Peter.

The only silver lining was that Peter still managed to maintain a relationship with his dad. He had spent Thanksgiving with Greg and Greg's girlfriend, and although that had been tough for Tanya, she took it in stride. A boy should have a father. That was the primary reason she married Greg in the first place. She had never really loved him, or his betrayal would have stung more.

Still, her confidence in her physical charms had been shaken. She looked into the mirror, seeing a 37 year old mother of a 20 year old athlete, wondering where all the time had gone. Where all the weight had come from. She worked out and watched what she ate, but the march of time just could not be halted. Her big breasts, source of back pain and other discomforts, had bewitched men for decades, but now they sagged on her chest. Her once thin belly pooched out over every pair of panties she wore. The less said about her enormous ass the better. She threaded a few fingers through her copious bush. No gray hairs yet at least, but she definitely looked like a middle-aged cow whose best years were long behind her.

Strange to think that Peter's unconscious erection had given her a slight boost, to think that anyone would find her attractive. That it was the last man on earth who should find her physically attractive was a big part of that initial heady feeling. She cupped her breasts, the nipples still hard, albeit more from the chill in the air than any sense of arousal. That had died during her self-examination.

With a sigh, Tanya pulled on a change of clothes, starting with a utilitarian bra and panty set, a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt, and a different red sweater. Then she went to the kitchen to make Peter something to eat.

She passed the bathroom on the way, pleased to hear the water still running. She hoped he felt better. He was a sweet boy to rush home for the holidays. A sweet, stupid boy, to risk so much just to be here with her. Smiling to herself, feeling suddenly a little silly for no particular reason, she hummed a Christmas carol as she capered down the stairs.

*

Clad in blue sweatpants adorned with his high school team logo and a thermal top, Peter entered the kitchen carefully. He wasn't sure what kind of mood his mother might be in, but he needn't have worried. She was humming to herself at the stove and her full lips formed one of her huge smiles for him when he stepped into the room.

"How are you doing, Bunny?"

"Better," Peter said. "I still feel cold, but not as bad as before." He paused, eyeing the big pot on the stove. "Is that chicken soup?"

She laughed. "I had some leftover chicken in the fridge, and the rest of the ingredients are usually close to hand. I figured you would need some of momma's home cooking after your ordeal."

"Don't make it so dramatic, Mom," Peter said with a laugh. "I just hiked five miles through a blizzard in order to be home for Christmas on time. Y'know, no big deal."

She smiled again, eyes bright. "And don't think that I don't appreciate it. Now, the soup is almost ready. But before you sit down, you should probably give the police department a call and let them know where your car is."

"Oh, yeah, probably." A sudden vision of a plow totaling his car appeared in his head. "Um, where's my phone?"

Tanya pointed with a long-handled spoon at the counter, and Peter hurried over to grab it. He had voicemail, he noticed, and looked up at his mother. "How many times did you call me?"

She looked away. "Only a dozen or so. I didn't leave a message each time."

Peter smiled. "Oh, I don't know. I might listen to them anyway. I like hearing your voice."

Tanya looked at him sharply, brow furrowed, but when she saw that he was sincere, her look softened. "Thank you. That's sweet of you."

Peter shrugged and called the police department. Five minutes later, he was sitting down to a big steaming bowl of his mother's homemade chicken soup. This delicacy had sustained him through several years of swim practices, and never failed to cheer him up or fill him up. He dug into it with gusto.

Tanya sat with him while he ate. Mostly just watching. "It's nice to be able to cook for someone besides myself," she said.

"Sorry about Thanksgiving," Peter said between slurps. "I thought I owed Greg a visit."

"No, I'm glad you went. You should spend time with your father."

"Stepfather."

"Peter..." Tanya began, a dangerous note in her voice.

"Anyway," he quickly interrupted, "the food was barely adequate. The turkey was dry, and nobody made pirozhkis."

"Is that so?" Tanya said. The tone said that she accepted his change of topic, but was not going to forget what necessitated it. "I suppose if you're a good boy, you might convince me to make some for you over the Christmas break. Which reminds me, how long are you here again?"

"I have to be back on campus by the 8th. We're flying down to Florida for winter practice that Friday night."

"Barely two weeks," Tanya said, unable to hide the frown.

Peter just dug into his soup. He felt bad, leaving his mom alone, but what could he do? His team needed him. His spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl. "Is there more?"

Tanya chuckled. "'Is there more?' There is plenty. Eat as much as you want." She stood up and filled his bowl, even though she normally would have sent him to get it himself. It was just so good to have him home, and she really enjoyed cooking for him. He so obviously appreciated her cooking, too.

Greg had always taken her culinary skill for granted. For him, it was just something women did. But Peter knew how much she enjoyed it, and when he was little he used to help her bake and make holiday dinners and the like. Eventually he grew out of it, but for a while there, he was having almost as much fun as she did shopping at the local Williams & Sonoma.

Peter admired his mother's shapely form while she stood at the stove, ladling soup into his bowl. The sweater was loose, hanging on her to de-emphasize her bosom and her narrow waist, but the jeans were pretty tight, and her ass looked amazing in them. He quickly looked away when she turned back with the full bowl. But the image stayed with him a good while.

*

Tanya wouldn't let him clean up his dishes, instead escorting him into the living room. It was lit up with the tree and other decorations, with a liberal spread of presents beneath. Peter noticed a box next to the tree with "his" ornaments inside, presumably waiting for him to hang up.

"Jeez, Mom, you didn't have to wait for me," he said, gesturing at the box.

Tanya blinked, willing herself not to frown. "I just thought you would like to hang them yourself."

Well, this is the season, after all, Peter thought to himself. "Ok," he said out loud. "But I am a little bushed. Can it wait until tomorrow?"

Another one of those dazzling smiles lit Tanya's face. "Sure," she said. "That's a great idea, Bunny. Did you want to go to bed? It's selfish, I know, but now that you're home, I was kind of hoping we could stay up a little and talk." She faltered. "I've missed having you around, kid."

Peter leaned over and wrapped an arm around his mother. "I've missed you too, Mom." He liked the feel of her lush body against his, but he didn't dare go for the full hug so soon after the scene in the shower. "But honestly, I am wiped out. It's been a long day, and now my belly is full and I just want to hibernate."

"Of course," Tanya said, patting her son on the chest. Her hand lingered a moment longer than it should, and she pulled it away suddenly. "Go to bed. I'll make a big breakfast in the morning, and we can finish decorating the tree afterward. You can tell me about your semester then."

"Thanks, Mom." He went to kiss her on the cheek, but she shifted, and his lips settled on hers. They froze for a moment, looking into one another's eyes, and then Peter stepped back.

Tanya loosed a nervous laugh. "Good night, Bun-Bun. Sweet dreams."

"Good night, Mom. Love you." Peter turned to go.

Tanya watched him leave, admiring the breadth of his shoulders and the way the muscles in his backside worked beneath the fabric of his sweatpants. Shivering, but not from cold, she wrapped her arms around her body beneath her breasts.

*

Peter settled into his familiar old room and climbed under the covers, his eyes heavy lidded and his limbs achey. He turned the light out and burrowed under the comforter.

He was exhausted. Thoroughly wiped, like he just swam a 400 meter medley in three minutes. But sleep eluded him.

Outside, the wind continued to howl. The blinds were pulled, but in his mind he could still see the snowflakes swirling around him, blinding him, clinging to his beard. He scratched his face, remembering the ice. Suddenly he felt cold despite being buried under layers of blankets.

He rolled over, frustrated and exhausted and uncomfortable. He just needed to fall asleep.

He heard his mother pass by in the hall, on the way to bed herself. Peter sat up and laid his head against the cool wall. He suppressed a shiver, hugging himself.

This is stupid, he thought. Beyond stupid. I'm twenty years old. I shouldn't need... He sighed. He listened closely, as his mother brushed her teeth and prepared for bed. She walked down the hall, and he heard her bedroom door close. He waited another ten minutes, then slid out of bed, wincing as his feet touched the floor.

He saw a light on under her door and knocked lightly. "Bunny?" she said.

Peter pushed the door open. She was sitting up in bed with a book, wearing green silk pajamas and her reading glasses. Her long brown hair was tied into a loose pile at the back of her head. "Mom," Peter said, "I can't sleep."

"Oh. I'm sorry, sweetie. Do you need some warm milk or something?"

Peter shook his head. "Would it be... would it be alright if I slept in here with you?" He coughed awkwardly and shifted on his feet. "I can't get warm, and I thought the shared body heat would, um..." He trailed off.

She wore a look of motherly concern when he finally dared to look up. "Of course, Peter." She patted the empty space beside her. With a self-conscious grin, Peter ambled into the room and slid under the covers beside her.

"Will it bother you if I have the light on to read?"

"Honestly, Mom, I'm not sure I will even notice."

"Ok." She reached over and ruffled his short hair. Then she leaned over to brush her lips against his forehead. He felt a stray curl of her hair against his brow. He saw her pajama top gape open a few inches, hinting at the cleavage hidden behind it, even as her heavy breasts shifted under the fabric. She sat back. "Good night, Peter. Love you."

"Love you too," Peter mumbled. He rolled over, sliding deeper under the covers, and slipped into oblivion.

*

Tanya read for a little while, but when her own eyes started to droop and she realized she'd read the same sentence five times, she put the book on the nightstand, laid her glasses beside it, and was just about to turn off the light when her eyes fell on Peter lying beside her.

Her heart melted. He was such a good boy. She didn't know what she had done to deserve him, and she felt a sudden surge of love for him. He had forced his way home to be here, suffering some level of trauma to the point that he needed to sleep in mommy's bed for the first time in approximately sixteen years. He was so cute and precious, even now, fully grown into a gorgeous young man.

She couldn't resist leaning across him and kissing the top of his head. Then she lay down, shut off the light, and faded slowly into slumber. It was nice, she decided, to have someone else in the bed beside her. She had just started to get used to the emptiness at night, but as she drifted off, it occurred to her that she could get used to this again.

Tanya's sleep was deep and dreamless. At some point in the middle of the night, she was roused to near wakefulness when Greg wrapped his arm around her and snuggled tight against her back. She curled her own arm around his, holding him tight to her bosom. Tanya smiled to herself and sank bank into unconsciousness, feeling strangely elated.

An hour later she suddenly snapped awake with the realization that it was not Greg with his arm wrapped around her, but Peter. A secret, sensuous thrill ran through her body as she realized she was holding her son's arm tightly against her full breasts. He was sound asleep, of course, no doubt dreaming of his latest girlfriend or something.

That thought brought the further realization that there was something long and hard pressing against her bottom. Tanya bit her lip and in the darkness blushed fiercely. She shifted in her son's arms, suddenly aware of a heat flaring to life in her mid-section, and the tips of her breasts finding sudden stiffness. Peter started to move in response to her, and she froze. Slowly he settled back down, settling against her once more, his firm hardness coming to rest in the cleft between her buttocks.

Tanya wasn't sure what to do. Her brain told her to escape Peter's hold, even if it woke him. But her loins screamed at her to stay, to enjoy this brief moment of illicit contact. She fought an internal battle while her bedside clock ticked off long glowing red minutes, her body rigid in her sleeping son's arms. And then, with a frustrated sigh, she yielded, relaxing into his arms, subtly pushing her butt against his stiffness.

Tanya slowly eased an arm free of Peter's embrace and slid it down her smooth belly. Her hand slipped under the waistband of her pajamas. Her fingertips skated across the front of her panties. Nostrils flaring, lower lip trapped under her teeth, she began to gently tease herself with her fingers. She traced the line of her labial lips beneath her panties, feeling them quickly flush with arousal. Almost too quickly. She began a circular motion, pressing her fingertips into her yielding flesh. She imagined Peter's penis, his cock, flexing between her cheeks. Throbbing hungrily.

Her juices soaked her panties. Her fingers made squelching sounds. She hoped she was being quiet enough not to bother Peter, but she wasn't sure she would stop even if he did wake. Her arm shook with suppressed passion and need. Somehow her fingers found their way under her panties, sliding through the thick curls adorning her pubic mound, and finding her clitoris.

She gritted her teeth, squeezed her eyes shut, and thought of how strong and smooth and large Peter's cock had felt in the shower, when she had gripped it and forced it back under his boxers. She wished she had dropped to her knees and swallowed him whole right then and there. She moaned quietly, unable to keep silent.

Her fingers sank into her folds, slick and ready to be filled by something thick and hard, curving them against the familiar ridges of flesh inside her. Her toes curled. With practiced ease, her thumb found her nubbin and flicked it mercilessly.

Tanya shook and shivered, her breasts straining against Peter's arm, as she orgasmed as quietly as she could with her son's hard cock wedged between her buttocks. She slumped against him, breath rattling in her chest, tits heaving like rolling tanks, sucking in deep draughts of air through her nose.

Slowly Tanya opened her eyes, half expecting to find Peter awake and staring at her, but he had slumbered through the whole thing. Maybe she didn't make as much noise as she feared. More likely, he was still recuperating from his long, stressful drive and hike through the blizzard.

Sudden and crushing guilt overwhelmed her. The sweet boy had tried his hardest to get home to her for Christmas, and here she was perving on him like some horrible degenerate. She withdrew her hand gingerly from her sodden pussy, wiped her digits ineffectually against her pajamas, and tried to fall asleep.

It was easier than she would have expected. Her orgasm had taken more out of her than she assumed. She was asleep again in moments.

*

Tanya woke before Peter, when the first rays of dawn filtered through the blinds and started their slow crawl across the bedroom floor. She shut her alarm off fifteen minutes before it would have triggered, and gently disengaged herself from Peter's embrace. That had not flagged at all during the night. Nor, apparently, had Peter's erection. Tanya wondered idly if he had left a permanent mark on her ass. And then the guilt hit her again.

She slipped out of the bedroom, straight into the bathroom. Within five minutes, she had a warm shower started and she had peeled her pajamas off. She looked at her full bush and eyed the fuzz on her legs. Past time to shave, she decided.

She started with her legs, making them smooth and sleek as possible. She fluffed the soaking matt of her pubic hair and started trimming that as well. She found herself wondering what young men preferred when it came to pubic hair. And that led her to wonder what Peter, specifically, preferred. It was difficult to stand in the shower and not think about him, about pressing her body against his and wondering what might have happened if she had stayed with him instead of fleeing.

When she was done, she had a thin strip of very short hair in a line directly north of her clit. But even that, she decided, looked like too much, and before she knew it, she was completely shorn. She hadn't intended to go that far, but now that she had, she decided to enjoy it. Her hand glided across her smooth skin. Her fingers descended further, teasing her sleeping clit and engorged pussy lips.

With a start, Tanya pulled her hand away. "What am I doing?" she muttered. Hadn't she done enough during the night? Besides, she had already been in the shower far too long, and Peter would need hot water for his own. Quickly, Tanya finished washing, wrapped her body and her hair in towels, and headed for her bedroom.