Merry Christmas CarolbyPositiveThinker©
Christmas time has always been a bad time for me. Christmas Day eleven years ago was the day that Carol, my stepmom, walked out on me and my dad or more accurately, when my dad threw her out of our apartment. That was the last I saw of her.
My mom died when I was very young. I have no memory of her and wouldn't even know what she looked like had my Dad not saved some old black and white photos of her. I used to blame my Dad for my lousy childhood, but now that I'm older, 29-years-old, I understand and don't blame him at all. Under the circumstances, he did the best that he could for me.
Stuck caring for a toddler, while grieving for the loss of his wife, his one true love, he married his second wife, Carol, some years later, to cook, clean, do the laundry, and take care of me and the apartment, while he was working. A product of the forties and fifties, things were different back then and changed quickly during the tumultuous sixties and my Dad had a difficult time keeping up with the times.
By all the arguments he and Carol had, I don't think he ever loved her. I never saw my Dad hug her, hold her, or kiss her, even. He yelled at her and called her names a lot. Through all of the shit she put up with my Dad's foul temper, I never heard Carol raise her voice, until that Christmas, when she left him and me, without so much as a good-bye or a Merry Christmas. That was the worst Christmas I ever had and all the other Christmases after Carol left weren't that great either. There was an empty hole when she abandoned me to struggle through life with just my Dad.
Not a day goes by that I don't think of her. I miss her. She was the only mother, albeit stepmom, that I knew. It's bad enough to lose one mom but to lose two mothers makes you feel that there's something wrong with you. Even though I realize it wasn't my fault and that I had nothing to do with her leaving, it still hurts to know that she didn't love me enough to say good-bye even and to contact me sometime later to explain why she left like that, in such a hurry.
Now, every Christmas is tainted by the memory of her. The holidays are a sad reminder that my life is so incomplete without her. I always hoped that I'd bump into her one day, but I never did.
Maybe she moved out of state. Maybe she's dead. I don't know. I don't even know how to go about finding her. I thought about hiring a private investigator, until I found out how much they charge. I don't have that kind of money to pay. I'm not rich by any means. I'm just an average working guy living paycheck to paycheck with a house and car payment and with little room for any other expenses.
I remember that Christmas morning really well because that was the day that I finally caught Carol naked.
"Don't come in! I'm not dressed," she said. "Get out," she screamed when I opened the door anyway.
Except for the front and back door, none of our doors in our apartment had locks, not even the bathroom door. With my hand poised on the doorknob, I knew that if I turned that knob, I was going to see what I had been hoping, wanting, and waiting to see for so long. Not respecting her privacy or obeying her pleas not to open the door to her bedroom, I knew that if I opened the door she'd be naked and I knew I'd see my first naked woman. It was just too much temptation not to want to see what she looked like without her clothes.
"I'm not dressed," she said.
Was that a warning or an invitation? I took it as an invitation and turned the doorknob and opened the door.
There she stood with her arms by her side making no effort to cover herself and looking, as if she was showing herself to me. Immediately, my eyes fell to her breasts. She had beautiful breasts, high up, they were so round and so shapely.
My line of vision quickly traveled down to her pussy. I had seen tits before in Playboy magazine. My Dad kept them in his room on the shelf in his closet. This was the first pussy I had ever seen. I mean, I only saw the front, her pubic hair, actually. It wasn't as if she was lying on the bed with her leg spread to give me an up close examination of her vagina. Only, this was more than enough for me to masturbate over for decades. I saw Carol naked.
"Get out," she screamed.
She jolted me back to reality and I felt dirty, sick, perverted, and guilty that I had invaded her privacy by not obeying her wishes not to enter her room. It was a bittersweet moment. Yeah, sure, it was exciting to see her naked, but was it worth jeopardizing her friendship over that? Then, when she left later that day, I couldn't help but wonder if I was the reason for her leaving.
Still the vision of her standing there naked remained with me and excited a fire deep down inside that blazed an inferno of lust. I wanted more. I wanted her. I needed to touch and feel her everywhere, while I kissed and kissed her. I wanted to experience my cock in her hand, in her mouth, and in her pussy.
After living with her and lusting over her for six, long, frustrating years, I finally saw Carol naked. She was the first woman I ever saw completely nude. Truly, a bittersweet experience, finally getting my wish to see her naked but feeling guilty for not respecting her privacy, I always wondered if she allowed me to see her body on purpose. I'd like to think that having me see her naked was not only my special Christmas gift from her but also her going away gift to me.
We used to play teasing games. She'd flash me her panties and bra and I'd flash her my cock. At least I liked to think that she was flashing me her panties and bra, but I kind of suspected that I saw her panties and bra because I was always looking and hoping to see some part of her that I wasn't supposed to see. On the other hand, she was always looking, staring, sometimes, whenever I exposed my cock to her.
I enjoyed showing her my cock. It was especially arousing to make her believe that I was accidentally showing her my cock. Only, my immediate erection always gave me away, no doubt.
She must have known that I was purposely showing her my cock. How could she not have known that I was exposing myself to her? Just as she must have purposely showed me her panties and bra all those times we played Scrabble across from one another, she must have known I was looking. Then, when she finally exposed her pussy to me that night she turned off the television to play Scrabble was just her excuse to show me what I've been longing to see, while she stared at my exposed cock. It was so rousingly erotic and I still masturbate over the thoughts of that day.
I didn't start flashing her my cock until I was older, 18-years-old, while in college. To save money, I picked a school close to home, a mile from my house. That way, I didn't need to waste money for room and board. My Dad was happy about that.
While my Dad was working, I'd spend my free time playing Scrabble and watching movies with Carol and trying to steal up skirt and down blouse peeks of her body. My Dad was always working. He worked 50-60 hours a week, every week, with only a week off in the summer, when the plant shut down. He was a machinist.
"The overtime is what gets us by," he used to say. "I couldn't afford this apartment and that car parked at the curb, just on my regular paycheck, alone. I need that 10-20 hours of OT to keep us out of the poorhouse."
My Dad had a thing about staying out of the poorhouse. His Dad was poor. An alcoholic, he didn't want to be like his Dad, a lazy drunk, who didn't work and who couldn't support his family. Yet, the older my dad got, the more he drank. Alcoholism is a genetic disease. Luckily, it bypassed me and if I was to ever have a son or daughter, I'd have them checked for that defective gene.
At least, unlike his father, he was able to still hold down a job and support me well enough to put me through college. I give my Dad credit for that. Moreover, he wasn't a bad man. I just didn't see much of him. I never saw enough of him, actually, to even form an opinion of who my Dad really was. When he wasn't working, he was sleeping.
He never played catch with me or took me to a ballgame and forget about Father and Son day at the park. He was never around to take me. He had to work. Because of all that missed bonding time, we weren't very close, an understatement, we were distant. It seemed to me that he cared more about his job and his co-workers than he did me, his only child. In effect, because of all the alone time we spent together, I was closer to Carol. She knew me as well as my Dad should have known his son.
At first I didn't like Carol. I figured she'd become a wedge between my Dad and me. We weren't close as it was, now with his new wife, I'd be that much isolated from my Dad. Only, that dislike for Carol changed quickly enough when I developed a strong sexual attraction to her. I was only 12-years-old, when she first moved in our small apartment and she was 30-years-old, eighteen years older than me. At the time, my Dad was 39-years-old.
Then, after six years of loving life with Carol, my Dad threw her out on Christmas morning and moved in his 24-year-old whore of a girlfriend, Debbie. By then, my Dad was 42-years-old. Debbie didn't cook, clean, or do laundry. All she did was what Carol wouldn't do, suck my Dad's cock. I'd hear them in the bedroom next to my room every night, before my Dad turned in for the night, so as not to be late and overly tired for work the next morning.
Debbie was a pig and when she crossed the line by making a pass at me, stepping out of the bathroom naked, and walking into my room and getting in bed with me, I told my Dad. He had her packing her bags the next day. I was half expecting my Dad to have me pack my bags and maybe that was Debbie's intention, when she made a pass at me, but my Dad believed me over her. Maybe she was ready to tell my Dad that I made a pass at her, but I beat her to the punch and she was out the door.
"Bye Debbie. Don't let the door hit you in your ass. I won't miss you, so don't bother writing."
She couldn't write, anyway. A high school dropout, she was illiterate. All she knew how to do was swing her hips and use her mouth. That was enough for her to get someone like my Dad interested enough in her to give her a place to stay. Unfortunately, there are millions of guys like my Dad, who would fall for someone like her, a dumb, young, blonde, with a pretty face and big tits, but she won't be like that forever. What is she going to do later in life, when she gets fat and ugly and her big tits sag? I feel sorry for her.
Imagine my excitement though, at 18-years-old, when all my friends were already in a relationship and having regular sex, I went from having never seen a naked woman to seeing two naked women in a few months time. First I saw my stepmom, Carol, naked, when I opened the door to her bedroom, then I saw Debbie naked, when she walked in my room naked and climbed in bed with me. Nonetheless, I was tired and frustrated being a virgin. I needed to score.
In hindsight, maybe I should have had sex with Debbie, before ratting her out to my Dad. Maybe, I should have had her give me a blowjob. Only, had I had sex with her and my Dad found out about it, we both would have been kicked to the curb. I'm glad I resisted the temptation of her.
I left my Dad, anyway, not much longer after he threw Debbie out and now my Dad lives alone. He never went out with another woman after Debbie. I guess he figured, three women in his life was enough. Now, his best and only friends are his job, his co-workers, and his beer.
Still, I think about Carol. I wonder where she is and who she's with. I'd like to see her again one day. Only, I have no idea where she headed, when she left that fateful Christmas morning.
It's tragically funny, but I still carry around her Christmas gift in the trunk of my car. It's a Scrabble dictionary and her favorite movie, in book form, Gone With The Wind. Maybe I carry her gift around with me because I feel a piece of her is still with me. I don't know. Still wrapped in pretty Christmas paper, albeit now a bit yellowed, with a pink ribbon and bow, her favorite color, and my handmade Christmas card, I figure that if I ever was to run into her, she'd get a chuckle out of receiving the gift that was meant for her to receive eleven years ago.
Then, as if it was meant to be on Christmas Eve, nearly eleven years to the day, I saw Carol from a distance. I knew it was her, I just did. My pulse was racing and my heart pumping. Parked at the market, she was loading the trunk of her car with groceries. I wasn't sure it was her. It looked like her, but she looked older, actually, she was older, 47-years-old, if my math was right.
I can't tell you how many times I thought I saw her rounding a corner, passing in a car on the other side of the road or riding a taxi or a bus that whizzed by me. I approached several woman over the years thinking, hoping, and wanting it to be her, only being embarrassed and disappointed that it wasn't. A bit apprehensive now and reluctant to make a fool of myself, I needed to get to her before she got into her car. I needed to know if it was her. I couldn't allow her to get away without seeing her up close. Too late, I'll never make it. Her trunk was closed and she was heading for her driver's door. Oh, what the Hell? What do I have to lose?
When she turned, I knew it was her. It's her! It's Carol! I can't believe it.
"Johnny? Is that you?"
"Carol? I can't believe it, after all these years."
I stood staring at her. She was still pretty, a little heavier and her hair was a little darker with a bit of gray peeking out at the sides, by her ears. Her face looked the same, except of a couple of crows' feet by her eyes. The years have been kind to her, kinder to her than to my Dad. My Dad looked every bit of his fifty-six years. He looked ten years older than his age, whereas Carol looked ten years younger. He was such a dope to lose the love of this woman.
"How are you," she said throwing her arms around my neck and pulling me close for a big hug.
Then, when she let go of me, she surprised the shit out of me by kissing me on the lips. It wasn't a big kiss, a peck, okay, more than a peck, but it wasn't a romantic kiss. I was floored. Nonetheless, I could feel my cock react and immediately spring to action from all the years of the lustful wanting I had saved for her and played out while masturbating with the thoughts of her naked. I wouldn't mind seeing her naked again. I wouldn't mind making love to this woman, the woman of my teenage dreams, desires, and fantasies.
"Good, Carol, good, and you?"
"Oh, I'm fine, especially ever since I left your Dad. I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to say good-bye. I always wondered, though, did you get my Christmas gifts? You Dad didn't throw them out, did he?"
"I got them, thank you. Matter of fact, I have one for you. I've been carrying it around with me in the trunk of my car for eleven years."
"You have? That's so funny."
"My car is parked over there. I run over and get it."
"No, I have a better idea. Are you doing anything? Do you have to go home...to someone?"
"No, I have no one waiting for me, if that's what you mean."
"No one serious."
"I'm surprised a good looking young man like you doesn't have a hot honey."
"No, there's no one. I had a lot of dates, but no real relationship," I said with a smile with the thought of what I was going to boldly say next. "I've been saving all my love for you."
"Oh, you're such a dope," she said with a blush and a wave of her hand. "Good, then, why not come home with me? I'll cook you dinner. I was dreading spending another holiday home alone. We can celebrate Christmas Eve together. You already have a gift for me," she said with a laugh. "Maybe, I can find one for you."
The way she said that made me wonder if she meant giving me a sexual gift. I thought about her giving me a hand job or a blowjob.
"And this is the Christmas gift I've been longing to give you, Johnny. Merry Christmas," I imagined her saying before leaning down to take my cock in her mouth. Oh, my God!
"Okay, sure, that sounds like fun," I said instead and knocking the fantasy from my head. "I was invited to a party, but I'd rather spend time with you, now that I finally found you."
"Great," she said. "Follow me in your car."
I ran to my car, jumped in, started it up, and pulled in behind her, while she led the way. It was just a short drive down a dirt road with a little house at the end. Very private, very isolated, it was picturesque, once we pulled into the lot where her house sat not far from a babbling brook. It was a cute, little cottage in the woods.
I helped her carry in the bundles, while she quickly put everything away. I stood in her small kitchen looking around at her house and looking at her. Still wearing the short skirts I see. I like it. I'm glad she doesn't dress like a mature woman because she still had that great ass. She wasn't bad for an old broad. It's too bad she was so much older than me. It was too bad she was my stepmom, otherwise, I'd, nah, what am I thinking?
"Would you like some wine?"
"Sure, that would be nice."
"Here," she said handing me a bottle. "The corkscrew is in the drawer."
Gees, I have to get my mind out of the gutter. She makes me so horny being around her, especially after not having seen her in so many years. When she said corkscrew, I couldn't help but think of cock screw and about me screwing her. I'd like to screw her. Only, I know better. That would never happen in a million years. Besides, she's old enough to be my mother.
We adjourned to the living room and she sat in a familiar place on the couch, while I sat across from her in the chair. I couldn't help but think of all the times we played Scrabble. I couldn't help but remember all the times she sat on the couch, while I sat on the floor looking up her short skirt at her pastel panties and, when she leaned forward to place her tiles down, looked down her top at her white bra. She made me so very horny, back then. I can't imagine how many times I jerked off over the site of her panties and bra, hundreds, thousands of times.
"Here," I said handing her the eleven-year-old Christmas present that sat in my car trunk and the smelled a bit moldy.
"Thank you," she said quickly opening it and pulling out the Scrabble dictionary and Gone With The Wind paperback book. "How'd you know," she said with a laugh.
She got up and kissed me on the lips again and when she did, she uncrossed and parted her legs enough to give me, yet, another up skirt view of her panties. I wish I had a dollar for every time I've seen her panties and her mound between her legs.
"I owe you an apology," I said when she sat back down and flashed me her panties, still, again.
Embarrassed by what I was going to say, I needed to tell her to ease my conscious and clear the air. This was my chance to come clean. It had bothered me for so very long and I took this as my reason for bumping into her again. I couldn't allow this opportunity to pass without easing my mind of the guilt.
"You do? Why? What have you done that you possibly have to apologize to me for. I'm the one who abandoned you without so much as a good-bye or a Merry Christmas. I'm the one who owes you an apology," she said. "I'm sorry, Johnny."
I nodded her my forgiveness with a nod of my head and a shrug of my shoulders. Just the way she was looking at me and smiling made me want to hold her, hug her, and kiss her. I missed her so very much. She was such an important part of my life, back then, from the age of 12-years-old until I turned 18-years-old, when she left.
"For opening your bedroom door," I said taking a sip of my wine for courage. "I knew you'd be naked behind that door and you were. I wanted to see. I had to see. I couldn't control myself from not opening your door. You were the first naked woman I had ever seen."