Son of Santabyjohnbrown65©
After putting the finishing touches on the poster I was designing, I looked out on Nicollet Mall, the street that forms the beating heart of downtown Minneapolis. Seeing the people move about on the snowy boulevards and through the tiny skyway tunnels of my current adopted home, put me in mind of my birthplace, the North Pole.
I quit Illustrator and walked to my boss's office down the hall. She was a kind-faced woman in her early seventies. She was hard when she needed, but when I asked her if I could leave early, she agreed without complaint. After a short elevator ride I walked to my stop and caught the number 18 bus. In a few minutes I was back at my apartment, and I showered, making sure my hair was dry so I wouldn't get ice in it when I left again.
As I wrapped a towel around my midsection, I heard a ding from my phone. Wondering if it was a friend or my boss calling me back to the office because of an emergency, I took a look. I was surprised when I saw it was from my mother, but when I read the message I sighed, because it was one I had gotten from her many times, many ways.
"I can't deal with him right now. Can I come stay with you?" read her message.
"Yes," I replied without a thought.
I love my parents, but their relationship was a mess as far back as I could remember. When you see pictures of Santa and Mrs. Claus they always seem happy. But that's what people want to believe, assuming they believe in us at all. My father might have been the perfect husband for some women, but not my mother. They rarely had big fights. He never abused her physically or emotionally. He never cheated on her, though I had seen many try to get to him, back when I had worked as his second in command. He was handsome in his way and I'm sure some wanted to advance their careers, but he never even seemed interested. His real mistress was his work.
I knew he wasn't giving Mom the attention she craved. Probably sexual, though I certainly was never brave enough to ask. But you would have to be blind not to notice the hours he spent in the workshop, designing new toys, and working out in the field repairing and maintaining the extensive worldwide magic network he used to do his job.
Of course there was the massive spying operation he used to watch everybody who celebrated Christmas around the world. And though he always traveled on a ceremonial sleigh ride each year to a few dozen houses, the bulk of the work was done by teams of elves who used magical portals and brought gifts by hand. Even at his fastest speed, he's only one elf. The time it takes to go down a chimney with a sack is really the choke point in the system. Others delegate, but he cared for the kids his work served, and he wouldn't stop until things were perfect.
I didn't mind it that much as a child. My mom and all the other elves made it so that I never really felt his absence. But that didn't stop me from hearing her crying on the nights when he didn't bother to come home, and might reappear the next afternoon and fall asleep. It broke my heart to hear those sobs as I fell asleep, and as a boy I often came into her room and offered to keep her company in bed. Often she would refuse, thinking that it was inappropriate, but sometimes the pain was too much and she would hold me for a little while. About the time I was ten she finally called a moratorium on that. But we still cuddle together during lonely winter nights with blankets and hot chocolate watching human television on our satellite dish. We were each others' best friends.
Around my 100th birthday, I decided to move out. We are long-lived as elves, and maybe the Christmas spirit keeps my family going, because I don't know of any other elf who has lived over a millennium, which my parents and I certainly have, and they don't show the age that I have seen on those who have passed six or seven centuries on this earth. The first place I moved was Denmark, I think? It's been so many years. I spent a long time, wandering throughout Scandinavia. It was brutal, but it was full of cold weather and warm hearts, like home. It was easier back then, pretending to be my own son or just moving to a different country. I often went back to spend time with Mom when she got lonely, and I'd always come back for Christmas.
I moved all over the various Christian regions of the world, seeing the great love and generosity of those people as well as the horrible crimes they committed in the name of their faith. As Europeans began to settle in the Americas I was saddened to see the bloodshed, and was heartbroken to see what the cultures that I had spent so much of my life among had done. But because I had lived among them for so long, I wasn't surprised, so much as disappointed. But eventually, as all things humans do, America settled down for a little while.
In the early 1800s I took a ship to New York City. It had become harder to hide myself in Europe, and I thought in the vastness of the Americas I would never be caught and recognized as a person who had a non-human lifespan. But it seemed to get harder with each lifetime. Especially after my first century as an American. But I kept on going. I felt bad that I would probably have to leave Minneapolis soon. I was playing 30 now, and could probably pass for really well preserved for a couple more decades. But I figured I ought not to worry about things I couldn't change, and go get my mother.
The local gift transport station was in an old warehouse a few blocks away from my downtown offices. I decided to get in my car, as it would be a while before the next bus, and I knew she'd have luggage. I pulled up about 15 minutes later, and found some street parking. I shivered at the cold keys in my hands, bare because I couldn't work the knob with my bulky gloves. I heard the telltale whoosh and tinkle of the transporter.
"Hi Mom. Wait up, I'm coming."
I walked in between the stacks of toys and other gifts, winding my way towards where the transporter lay. I walked around a corner and was almost tackled by my energetic mother. She held me tight and said "I've missed you so much, hon." I let her collapse into my arms.
As we let go of each other I marveled at how beautiful she remained. Her pure white hair, though I knew it went as low as her tailbone, was up in a neat bun. Her skin was so clear it seemed to sparkle. Light touches from her bag of cosmetics on her lips and eyes complemented the natural rosiness of her cheeks. She was quite tall for a woman, only a few inches short of my own six feet. Her curves were massive, showing that she didn't shy away from touching her own stores of cookies, but definitely didn't let herself go crazy on them like her husband. She was possibly the most beautiful woman I had ever met.
I tore my eyes away, and grabbed her suitcase. I rolled it out through the maze I came through, and with the exception of a few of the Twin Cities pedestrians that pop up out of nowhere in the middle of traffic, for no reason I could ever decipher, we had an uneventful journey back to my apartment.
" I just can't handle him any more. I know it's his busy time, but I can't take it any more. I know I've said things like this so many times over the centuries. But this is it. I'm filing for divorce. I know it will hurt morale among the workers, but it's not as if they don't know what's happening between your father and I."
"I guess that might be what you need. If you need to stay with me for a long time, I understand. It's not as if you have anyone else to stay with that doesn't live at the pole."
" Thanks honey. I don't know if it's sad, but I can always rely on you, even when I can't rely on anyone else."
"Well I love you Mom. I'm always there for you, whatever you need. I hope you know that."
"Of course I do, honey. That means more to me than you may ever know."
She enfolded me in her arms, despite being smaller than me. I knew life was about to get a lot more complicated. But I would support her. She was all I had. And she made up for all I didn't have, by a pretty big margin.
It was early November when she came, and as the days passed by she explored the city while I worked, and at night we binged on all the things we loved, staying up way too late. I was surprised to find a letter in my mailbox the week before Thanksgiving. it was from my father's lawyer saying that he understood and would give her whatever she wanted, as long as he could keep the house. He knew she had been unhappy and didn't want to cause a fuss. Mom read it with astonishment, and then we began to cheer. It was like a weight had been lifted from us.
Mom was back and forth from the pole over the next few days, needing to sign a few papers, but that really was the end of it. I had never really had a Thanksgiving because I'd never had a family to celebrate with me, but now I did. Mom and I made a great team in the kitchen. We didn't have much to work with, but we made it sing. We enjoyed our little meal and each other's company late into the night. We watched all the Christmas movies we could that didn't have someone playing my dad in them. She was about to head to the bedroom, as I had taken up residence on the couch, and she embraced me. She moved to kiss me on the cheek, but an unconscious twitch left her kiss landing right on my lips. That was when everything changed.
As if some instincts buried deep within us had emerged, we seemed unable to stop kissing. We held each other tight and I could feel a stirring in my heart. And it wasn't the only thing stirring. We slowly regained our senses, and pulled apart.
"I'm not sure we should have done that," I said.
"Yeah, probably," she replied.
I felt like I was going through the motions of disgust and confusion with this. I had kissed many women before, I'd kissed my mother before. It had never felt like that. I had a sneaking suspicion she felt the same way. But I was afraid to be hurt by the one person I had ever truly loved. So I said nothing.
Things went on much as before after that. It was as if it had never happened. I worked, she explored the city, found new things to cook, and we had great nights. I figured nothing would happen. My office Christmas party was coming up, and I asked Mom if she wanted to go with me. She said yes and was even excited.
She teased me mercilessly as the days passed, saying that her dress would knock my socks off, that she'd be beating off my co-workers with a stick. I wanted to see but I held back my enthusiasm. I asked her a question that was unrelated.
"So what do I introduce you as? If I say you're my mom, they won't believe it. You look like you're the same age as me."
"Where did you tell them you came from?"
"Then just say I'm a friend visiting from Chicago."
Finally the night had arrived. I waited on the couch, and when she came around I was not disappointed. The dress was deep red and radiant like a supernova. It took all of her ample gifts and magnified them tenfold. A snowy fur stole accented the whole ensemble. I tried not to stare openly at her cleavage. The dress wasn't very low cut, but it didn't need to be to show off the wonderland it covered.
She posed a little, laughing at my discomfort, then without warning, she dove on me and planted her lips on mine. I started, then gave into the moment. But I still felt a need to pull away, so I did.
"I thought we said we shouldn't do that, Mom."
"I don't care. I've been so lonely for so long. I've loved you for years. I think you feel the same way. I don't care if your father can see who I'm sleeping with. I don't care if it's supposed to be wrong. I haven't felt this right in my life, ever. If you feel the same, we're going to have a great time at the party, and then we're going to tear each other up when we get home. If not we're still going to have a great time at the party, and you'll have the best wingwoman you could ask for. And we never have to talk about this again. So what'll it be?"
"I can't believe this is happening. But when the most wonderful person in the world asks me to have sex with her, how can I say no?"
We made out on the couch for about ten minutes, and after we had put ourselves back together, I drove us down to the party. A carafe of hot cider, a very alcoholic punch bowl, and a few tables of food filled the office, as well as holiday decorations from every faith. I introduced Mom by her real first name, Kristina, which made some people laugh, my name being Kris like my father. I told them she was an old friend from Chicago who had moved to the city and was my girlfriend.
Being able to call someone my girlfriend was amazing. I had had a few in my days at the pole, but that was centuries ago. I could never open up to any woman or man I might be interested in, because I couldn't tell them the truth. But now there was hope. I felt sure that something awful would happen, but damn it I was going to make the most of this!
The other men in the office radiated jealousy, as Mom and I scampered to and fro on the dance floor. Some of the women looked glumly at her as well, though I don't know who they were jealous of. We ground against each other when the music called for it. We found some time to disentangle ourselves and I danced with my boss, and Mom danced with the male VP. I chatted sociably with my boss as the song went on, wishing I could tell her how thankful I was for this job, how much I was thankful for all the men and women I'd worked for, and who'd worked under me over so many years. But I couldn't find the words, so I chastely hugged her, and thanked her for the lovely party.
As the party wound down, Mom and I sat. We ate from plates full of what we could scrounge from the decimated spread. No words passed, though we occasionally looked up at each other, and giggled each time we caught each other's eye. She put her hand on my knee. I smiled. She moved her hand higher, and I tilted my head to her and mouthed, "not out here." She looked over at the cubicles where less senior designers worked, and then back to me. I nodded, and when we were sure the coast was clear, we snuck over, hand-in-hand.
It took us a while to find a quiet spot. Low moans in a few rows told of those with the same idea as us, and a few slumped forms indicated those who had overindulged. When we had found a comfortable spot, the woman of my dreams slid onto a desk. I moved between her parted legs and pressed my chest onto hers. I gave her a peck and she giggled. I kissed a little harder and pushed ahead. I felt her moan as my body brushed against her clit.
"Turn around," I whispered into her ear.
She shifted her weight and presented the zipper of her dress to me. I started moving it slowly, kissing each vertebra as it was revealed, until she poked me, indicating I should get on with it. So, with a little sigh, I pulled the zipper to its bottom, a little ways down her crack. I slipped a hand in and cupped what I could of a cheek, though it overflowed my hand. I slid the other around to undo her bra, but I soon realized that was a two-handed job. I let go and deftly undid the clasp, after a few fumbles. My arms slid down around her middle, as the bra fell to the floor. I leaned over and nibbled lightly on her collarbone, to get an idea of how rough she wanted it.
"Harder than that," she croaked.
"You asked for it."
I moved my hands up to her breasts and squeezed hard, and she let out a squeal. She clapped a hand over her mouth, but a few chuckles throughout the cubicles let us know a few someones had heard. My hands came down to where her dress was still desperately clinging onto her body. A little push and she was back facing me, and I tore the garment off her hips.
"Oh, you brute!" she said, barely able to keep a laugh out of her voice.
I knelt and began kissing her calves, and then her thighs, every so often digging my teeth into her warm flesh. Each sound of joy was a new gift she gave me. I slithered my way up and planted a kiss at the top. In a brief moment her panties were gone. I slid a finger in, and moved my tongue around, first this way, then the next. I grazed my teeth against her lower lips as I moved. Soon she was gasping, shuddering, and crying, and then she lay still.
"Jesus, that was good," she sighed, "I've never been eaten out like that. Even on our anniversary your father wouldn't always try."
"You probably shouldn't use that f-word around here," I whispered, "maybe we should continue this in a more private setting." She nodded agreement, and we were soon back in my car. She leaned on me the whole way back, casting lascivious glances at my trousers, and several times I had to push her hand away from my fly. She pouted when I did that, but we did manage to make it home safely.
She sprinted into the bedroom, as I set down her bag on the front table. By the time I walked in she was naked and lying down. I marveled at her body. Just watching the rhythmic motions of her breasts was intoxicating. She lifted her head, smiled and patted the bed with some urgency. I sighed, as if granting a great concession, and began to undress. As my pants fell, and then my underwear, she nodded appreciatively at what she saw. She lifted herself up and in a flash she had my shirt off, a few buttons lay on the ground.
"Now you lay down, honey," she said in her best mom voice. I did as I was told.
She lay on top of me, then slowly moved back, dragging her massive breasts along my body. As she retreated a little bit more, she slid her mouth onto me. Her mouth slid up and down me, but I soon realized she wasn't planning to reciprocate what I had done for her. She just wanted to prime the pump. She moved her pussy right above my cock and held it there just a little too long. And then I was inside her. I clasped her backside as she rocked back and forth. She moved farther forward, letting her breasts fall where my mouth might find them, and so it did. I caressed her chest with lips and teeth as we thrust.
It felt amazing, but I thought I could do better. I nudged her and she rolled over. I started slow I leaned in for a kiss. My hand down her body, nails scratching her slightly as I traced the curves of her soft body. She groaned as it moved farther down, and when it reached her clit her voice caught, and I teased her with the hand as I moved in and out of her. She tried to hold back, but the stimulation was too much. She let loose with a roar of ecstasy.
"I love you son!" she wailed.
"I love you, Mom!" I echoed. Then, "Oh, shit!' as I lost control.
Then we both passed out.
We woke up a few hours later and stumbled into the shower. Before we knew it, she was pressed against the glass and I was giving her all I had. We made up for lost time over the week leading up to Christmas. Every place in my tiny apartment we could fit played host to our sweaty bodies. I don't remember a time I didn't find my mother beautiful, but as I continued to explore her body it seemed to contain new wonders. By Christmas Eve we were pretty worn out. We exchanged some small gifts, and set about trying to actually sleep together. As we drifted off in each other's arms, we heard a sound of bells at the window.
I knew my father would come sometime. He sees everything, even the things he'd rather not. I guess I had hoped that Mom and I had more time together. But I wasn't sad then. Maybe I'd be sad later, I thought.
"I wondered how long it would take you. I'm surprised it took this long, but I guess you were busy. I'd say I'm sorry but I'm not. I know it shouldn't feel this right, but it does. Do your worst."
"I love our son, Kris," Mom said, staring Dad down. "Since he was born, I loved him like every good mother loves their child. But for centuries it's been more than that. I know what you do is important, it's why I first fell in love with you. It's why I'll always love you. But it's been a long time since I got anything back, and your son filled in where you couldn't. Not like he has for the past week, but in the little ways, keeping me company, hearing me, all the things you couldn't. No one knows me like he does. No one loves me like he does. So say your piece and get out. We love you and your work. But we can't let it define who we are."