Caution: This Christmas Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Romantic, Safe Sex, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Petting, Slow,
Desc: Christmas Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Lynne had nearly resigned herself to spending Christmas alone. Spending it with an unfamiliar houseguest, however, was really pushing it. Can Mike bring her - and himself - a little Christmas cheer? First chapter is slow, but it heats up soon. I will add codes if needed as things unfold.
"Jeff, hi!" I'd been standing in Macy's ladies' department, idly fingering cashmere sweaters and frilly blouses I neither needed nor wanted. Now I hurried out of the store into the main mall and found an empty bench so I could talk undisturbed. Christmas shoppers bustled all around me, seeming almost driven by the relentlessly cheery music wafting from on high. "How are things?"
I could almost see my son's good-natured grin. "Good. Things are going good. I've turned in my final paper for English, and I'm nearly ready for my Chem tests tomorrow and Thursday. Latin might be a different story." Jeff, a junior, was majoring in Chemical Engineering at a university halfway across the country. He'd been swamped with coursework and had elected to stay put and study over Thanksgiving break, and I was really looking forward to having him home for the holidays.
"You'll be fine," I assured him in my best Understanding Mom voice. Jeff always worried about his grades, and never failed to do well.
He laughed. "Yeah, probably. Um, Mom?"
"I was wondering ... I mean, um, that is..." My heart sank lower with every word. Whatever Jeff was this reluctant to say couldn't be good. "Caitlyn's parents have invited me to spend Christmas break with them. If it's all right with you, of course."
"How nice of them," I said with a cheer I didn't feel. It most certainly was not all right with me--I'd really been looking forward to spending time together--but Jeff and Caitlyn had been dating since midway through their freshman year, the relationship growing progressively more serious. "If it's all right with them, it's all right with me." I'd used the same phrase countless times during his childhood, and it was oddly comforting to invoke it now.
Jeff's voice grew lower, more serious. "I just want to make sure you're going to be all right. I know this is your first Christmas without Dad, and I feel like I should be there."
The fact that he'd thought about that made me smile. Clearly, Jerry and I had done something right. "I'll be fine, Sweetie. I've got plenty of friends to call on--" friends with plans of their own, but no need to mention that– "and Jenny and David are driving up Christmas day." At least I could count on seeing my daughter and her husband, however briefly. "I'll miss you, but I'll be fine."
"Okay." I had to smile at the relief that tinged his voice. "If you're sure."
We chatted for a few more minutes, then said our good-byes and hung up. As I stowed my phone in my purse, I glanced around. The lights, the glitter, the tinsel, the carols were suddenly overwhelming, almost oppressive. I fished out my keys and headed for the exit, dropping a few coins in the familiar red kettle on its tripod on my way by.
Jenny called later that night as I struggled through the front door, weighed down by groceries.
"Hi, honey!" I thrust one of the bags into the fridge, crammed another into the freezer, and set the remainder on the counter. "How's the big project?"
She sighed. "Actually, that's what I was calling about. I am completely buried, and this thing has a year-end deadline. And there's rough weather predicted for the 25th. If we drive up and get snowed in, I'm not sure how we'll finish." I could envision her cocking her head, her eyes wide and pleading. "Can we possibly take a raincheck? New Year's, maybe?"
I glanced at the gaily decorated tree, resplendent in its usual corner, and stifled a sigh of my own. "Of course, honey, if that's what you need to do."
She brightened. "Thanks, Mom! I knew you'd understand. Besides, you'll still have Jeff there, right?"
"Mmm," I murmured as noncommittally as possible. If she thought I'd be alone, she'd make a point of coming up, and she was right--they couldn't afford the time, particularly not with bad weather on the horizon. "You and Dave have a Merry Christmas for me, okay?"
"Love you, Mom!" There was a brief pause. "Whoops, gotta run." The line went dead.
I put away my phone, considered the groceries I'd stowed away, and pulled out the phone again. Szechwan Charlie's delivered, and they made a killer sesame chicken combo.
An hour later, as I chased the last pieces of chicken around the bottom of the container, my phone rang again. "Margay," The caller ID read. I grinned and picked up. "Hey, girlfriend! I was just thinking about you!"
"Hiya, Lynne." Her voice was strained and nasal, as if she'd been crying. "I'm afraid I've got some bad news."
I set the container down and sat up straighter, concerned. "What's up?"
Margay sniffled. "It's my mother. She slipped on her front steps this morning and fractured her arm. The doctors say she's going to be fine, but someone's going to need to stay at her place and take care of her and the cats. So it looks as though I'm going to have to cancel on you." Margay and I had a standing tradition of going out on Christmas Eve, doing some last minute shopping and treating ourselves to lunch at one of our favorite bistros. "Andy's packing the car now. I'm so sorry, darn it!"
"Don't you dare be," I scolded. "I'm just glad your mom's all right. You take good care of her and good care of Andy and try to have a great Christmas in spite of it all." Despite my words, I felt a small pang of abandonment, and a sharper pang of guilt for feeling it. "I will be just fine."
I repeated it quietly to myself, as if the words could make it so. I will be just fine.
Jeff called again just after nine o'clock. "Mom, I need a favor," he said without preamble. "It's not for me, it's for this guy in one of my classes. Mike."
I blinked. I wasn't in the mood to do favors, but I could at least hear him out. "Go on."
"He's got to fly in to the city for an interview on the 21st. He can get a better fare if he stays a couple of days and leaves on the 26th. But he doesn't know anyone in the city, and getting a hotel would eat up everything he'd save." Jeff took a deep breath. "Since I'm not going to be there, can he crash in my room?"
I'd nearly resigned myself to the fact of spending Christmas alone. Spending it with an unfamiliar houseguest, however, was really pushing it.
And yet ... I'd always stressed the importance of helping friends. Maybe it would even stop me brooding.
"It would be a shame for him to spend Christmas alone in a strange city," Jeff wheedled.
"All right," I said at last, slowly. "But you owe me bigtime, kiddo."
Jeff laughed. "It's all right, Mom. You can thank me later."
I'd taken the week off, so I was able to pick Mike up at the airport.
I scanned the disembarking passengers as they filed into the terminal, wishing I knew who I was looking for. Jeff's description of dark hair, medium build didn't give me much to go on. Most passengers either rushed to greet waiting friends and family or strode briskly in the direction of the baggage claim. As the crowd dispersed, I looked around anxiously. Had Mike missed his flight? Should I call?
I jumped, startled. The man approaching me did indeed have dark hair and a medium build, but where I'd been looking for a college boy around Jeff's age, this man had to be in his late twenties, possibly as old as thirty. He also had, I noted, a dazzling smile that lit up his bright blue eyes.
He held out his hand and I shook it. "Lynne," I corrected automatically. "Mike?" I asked, as if he could possibly be anyone else.
"Yes, ma'am." He was clean-shaven, I noticed, comfortably dressed in a green polo shirt and tan slacks. Suddenly my own scruffy turtleneck and jeans seemed incredibly inadequate. They were fine for picking up a stray college boy my son had invited home, but meeting this classically handsome man seemed to call for something more upscale. He released my hand and stepped back. "I'm sorry I didn't come over right away. I was expecting someone old." A flush stained his cheeks, doing nothing to mar his good looks. "I'm sorry, I think that came out wrong."
I laughed. "Not at all. I was expecting someone younger. Jeff's age," I clarified quickly.
He picked up his carry-on and we strolled toward the baggage claim. "Well, I came to college in a sort of roundabout way. Went into the Navy right out of high school and served for eight years before I decided my future lay in the civilian world. I'm studying engineering on the GI bill."
"How's it going?"
There was hardly any baggage left on the carousel. Mike swooped to pick up a small brown suitcase. "Pretty well, actually. I've been able to keep up a 3.85 GPA, and if this interview goes well, I'll have a position to step into when I finish up in the spring." He shrugged. "If not, there are a few other possibilities. He flashed me that grin again. "Thanks again for letting me stay. I didn't want to impose, but once Jeff got the idea in his head..."
I had to laugh. "That's Jeff, all right. He can be very persuasive." I led him toward the parking lot shuttle. "I'm glad to be able to do it." This, I realized as he stepped back to let me board first, was turning out to be truer than I'd expected.
Mike had eaten on the plane and I wasn't hungry, so I drove straight home. He let out a low whistle when we stepped into the living room.
"This is really nice."
I looked around, trying to take in the room with new eyes. The living room was large for a city apartment, with sliding glass doors that led to a balcony with a view of the city skyline. Jerry and I had furnished it in black leather and polished chrome, with a glass-topped coffee table that matched the one in the dinette. I'd plugged in the Christmas tree before I left, and its lights twinkled merrily even in the bright afternoon light. The presents beneath made me feel forlorn. Maybe I'd round them up and put them out of the way later.
Thanks," I told Mike. "Let me show you to your room."
I gave him a brief tour and left him in Jeff's room to settle in. That done, I puttered around the house at loose ends. I'd planned to spend the week cooking and baking, lounging around reading email and catching up on my favorite TV shows, slipping comfortably into the familiar role of mom. It was a role I cherished, one I'd become good at over the years.
But Mike wasn't the type to need or want much in the way of mothering. And as I thought of Mike's blue eyes, the strong line of his jaw, the play of muscles under his shirt and the easy, confident way he carried himself, I realized it wasn't motherly affection I wanted to show him.
Oh, stop it, Lynne!
I was being ridiculous. Yes, Mike was attractive and friendly, but he'd done nothing to make me think he was attracted to me. And I was--I counted on fingers and toes--probably half again his age. Revealing my attraction would be pathetic. It would only embarrass us both.
Well, I didn't have to reveal it, did I? Enjoy it for what it is, Lynne.
On reflection, that seemed like sound advice.
For dinner, I threw together a chicken and wild rice casserole. While it was in the oven, I made a light salad to serve with balsamic vinaigrette. For dessert, I defrosted a frozen pie. Not fancy, but it would do.
At the last minute, I slipped into my room and changed into a pair of slacks and a silky, high-necked green blouse. It wasn't revealing, but Jerry had always loved the way it hugged my curves. I studied myself in the mirror. Too much?
No, I decided. Despite the difference in our ages, Mike was an adult, not some college kid. Given what he'd worn for his flight, he probably considered dressing for dinner entirely appropriate. If I were honest, I was glad of the opportunity. Since Jerry's death, I didn't get to dress up often.
I ran a comb through my hair, noting how the tips brushed my shoulders. I liked it long, I decided. Maybe I'd grow it out. I was more aware of my appearance than I'd been in a long time. Maybe it was time to think about dating again...
I knocked on the bedroom door as I passed. "Dinner's on."
"Be right there!"
I pulled the casserole out of the oven and set it on a trivet, careful not to get any on my sleeves. The rich aroma wafted through the kitchen.
As I pulled down two plates from the cupboard, I heard a soft footstep behind me. "That smells deli-" I turned, and he stopped abruptly. "Oh, my."
Mike's eyes swept over me from top to bottom, lingering over my breasts, my hips, my face. "You look lovely." He swallowed and looked down self-consciously. "I should go change."
Contrary to my prediction, he'd come to the kitchen in a t-shirt and sweats, stockinged feet quiet on the floor. The waistband of the pants dipped low across his hips, and for a moment I wanted to slip my fingers into it, tug him close, and explore his mouth with mine while the casserole cooled on the counter. Which, I reminded myself, was an entirely inappropriate thought.
I waved a hand at him. "No, no, you're fine! I should go change!" I felt warmth rising in my cheeks.
He chuckled and stepped closer. Well, if we both go change, we'll be right back where we started." He was close enough for me to smell him, some piney cologne--or maybe just aftershave--enhancing rather than covering a musky maleness.
"Well, let's just eat." I turned and attacked the casserole, carving out portions and plating them. "Would you like some wine? Normally I wouldn't drink with one of my kids' school friends, but I'm pretty sure you're responsible and of age..." I realized I was close to babbling and let my words trail off.
If Mike was bothered by my withdrawal or sudden onslaught of chattiness, he didn't let on. "Sounds good." He set the plates on the table and turned to dish up the salad. "I'm not much of a wine drinker, though."
"Oh! Sorry! Let me see what else I have." I moved toward the refrigerator.
"Lynne." He touched my forearm, stopping me in my tracks. "Wine is fine. I just meant that I don't drink it much, so I don't know much about it." He caught my gaze with his and held it. "You'll have to educate me."
Surely he wasn't-- He couldn't possibly be--Yes, I realized, he absolutely was. Mike was flirting with me!
I took a deep breath. Cool it, Lynne. A lot of people flirted, and most of the time they meant nothing by it except a little harmless fun. So, okay, enjoy it, but keep it on neutral ground.
"Well, we're having chicken," I said, taking momentary refuge in my mom persona. "That's usually paired with a white. Do you know whether you prefer a drier or a sweeter wine?"
Mike laughed and shook his head. "Not a clue. Pick something you like, and I'll give it the old college try."
It seemed silly to sit on opposite sides of the table, so we sat on either side of a corner. Mike praised the food and wasn't shy about taking seconds. He sipped the wine slowly, as I'd instructed, letting it wash over his palette.
"What do you think?" I asked at last.
He grinned. "I think wine may be an acquired taste, and that I'm looking forward to acquiring it."
"Oh." I blushed again and looked down at the remains of my chicken.
Mike looked up at the reproduction Renoir on the wall. "Did you decorate yourself?"
This was safer ground. "My late husband and I decorated together."
"Ah, sorry. Jeff said he'd lost his dad early this year, but he didn't say how it happened."
"It was an aneurysm," I said softly. One minute he was standing right there in the living room talking to me, and the next he was down, not even breathing. The paramedics told me he was probably gone before he hit the floor."
Mike winced, his eyes warm with genuine sympathy. "I'm sorry. That has to have been rough."
I nodded. "I think the worst thing was that it was so sudden. But I try to look at it as a positive thing. He was with the people he loved most, living a life he loved, and then, boom, it was over. He didn't linger, he didn't suffer. There are a lot worse ways to go."
"That's probably a good way to look at it." Mike took my hand and rubbed the back of it gently with his thumb. "It's still hard on the people left behind."
I gave his hand a squeeze. "Thanks. It gets easier." I let go of his hand and drank a little of my wine. "What about you? You're not spending Christmas with your family?"
He shook his head. "Well, I don't get on so well with my dad's new wife, so it's easier on all of us if I don't spend the holidays there. And I get along great with my mom and her new boyfriend, but they're on a cruise in the bahamas. I had the interview here, so I thought I'd make the most of it and explore a new city." He grinned again, that easy-going expression I was coming to like so well. "Part of the reason I joined the Navy was because I love to travel."
A sudden impulse struck me. "Would you like some company? I'd be happy to take you around and introduce you to some of my favorite places."
This time his grin held a rogueish gleam. "I'd love to get acquainted with some of your favorite places."There was no mistaking the innuendo.
"Oh, you!" I swatted him lightly on the arm. "Do you want any more chicken? Rice? Salad?"
"Thanks, but I don't think I could eat any more. It was all delicious, though."
"Thanks." I took our plates and headed for the kitchen. "There's pie for dessert, if you want some."
He followed me into the kitchen with the bowls. "How about a little later? I can't put away the food like I used to." I put the plates in the sink and reached for the faucet. His hand closed over mine. "You're really not dressed for that. Let me." I opened my mouth to protest. "You dry and put away. You know where things go, anyway."
I gave in gracefully. "All right. You go ahead and get started while I put the food away."
The kitchen wasn't especially tiny, but Mike and I seemed to brush each other a lot as he washed and rinsed the dishes and I maneuvered around him, putting them away. A brush of hips, a jostle of arms, an incidental meeting of fingertips along the edge of a plate.
Finally the last dish was dried and put away, and Mike drained and rinsed the sinks. We faced each other, close enough to kiss but not actually touching, and I knew in a moment I was going to slip into his arms, raise my face to his--and embarrass both of us to pieces.
"Would you like to go for a drive, see some of the Christmas lights?"
He looked as though he wanted to say something else, but he nodded slowly. "Sure. Let me go change."
It was worse in the car, not better. There, in our private little world, all either of us had to do was lean sideways, and there would be no escaping contact. Even though the car had automatic transmission, I drove with one hand on the gearshift, mostly to keep myself from reaching over and taking Mike's hand.
After about half an hour I gave up and drove us back to the apartment.
I'd turned off the lights when we left, but the tree was still lit, casting the living room in a soft glow. I reached for the light switch, and Mike took my hand. "Don't," he murmured. "Let's just admire it for a minute." He wasn't looking at the tree, though, but at me. He raised my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles, then lowered it again. "Lynne, may I kiss you?"
"What?" I was so taken aback at hearing him express in words what I'd been feeling all evening, I didn't know what to say. "Why?"
"Why do you think?" He chuckled. "Because I want to kiss you, and I think you want to kiss me. Am I wrong?"
"I- No. You're not wrong." I pulled free and moved away a few steps. "I just don't think it's a good idea."
"Okay. Any particular reason?"
"Mike!" I gave a shaky laugh and threw my hands up. "I'm an old lady! You're half my age! You're my son's classmate, for crying out loud!"
"Sorry." His turn to laugh. "It's the engineer in me. I'm two-thirds your age. Approximately. And as you pointed out at dinner, a responsible adult. But I know--not the point." He dragged a hand through his hair. "Lynne, I'm sorry. I won't push. But for the record, I don't think of you as an old lady. I think of you as a very attractive lady, one I'd like to get to know a whole lot better." He sighed. "I hope I haven't made you uncomfortable."
"No," I said, too quickly. "Of course not." Unless by "uncomfortable," you mean weak in the knees. Unless by "uncomfortable," you mean short of breath. Unless by "uncomfortable," you mean horny as hell. "Mike, I-I need to think about this."
He drew in a long breath and let it out. "Probably a good idea. I'm going to read for a while and then turn in."
"Good idea. I think I'll do the same. 'Night, Mike."