Chapter 3

As we moved on, we found ourselves in an elegant and spacious dining room, which to my surprise only contained a small dining table not much bigger than the one we had at home, although this one was of much higher quality, with finely carved and polished wooden chairs, its surface covered with an elegant crimson tablecloth trimmed in gold. In the center sat a finely crafted Christmas centerpiece of pine sprigs and cones mingled with bright holly berries, and jutting out of the middle were three tall, slim candles. This must be the parents’ private dining room, the one for the entire family must be elsewhere, I reasoned, although it seemed odd to waste all this space on one small table reminiscent of the one at our house back home.

There were two doors, on the left and right. The one to our left turned out to be the other hallway door, so we decided to try the one on the right, which we discovered led into a rather impressive kitchen. I smiled as I watched Eric gawk at the shiny, seemingly new array of pots, pans, cutlery, and every cooking implement and gadget a budding chef could ever need filling the glass-covered cabinets and lining the walls, gleaming in the bright light. We also found the back door we’d seen earlier, also unlocked.

After securing it we proceeded down a flight of stairs into the basement, which to my surprise was clean and finished, containing state-of-the-art exercise equipment and supplies. I could open my own gym with all this stuff, I thought, admiring it. And even though we had yet again found nothing that we could use to contact the outside world we also found no trace of anyone else on the premises, assuring Eric somewhat that we were most likely alone in the house.

We were making our way back through the kitchen to the dining room, Eric in front of me. I was just pondering why in a house with such a grand family that there wasn’t a single picture or portrait of any of them anywhere when Eric came to a sudden stop so fast that I, coming up behind him, collided with his back.

Okay, I might have done that on purpose just to have an excuse to do this, I admitted to myself as I wrapped my arms around his torso, mashing my tits into his back in a bid to take full advantage of the situation. “What is it?” I whispered, not really caring, my mind flooding with images of him lifting me up on the nearby island and taking me then and there.

But my dreams were a bit premature, for something had seized Eric’s attention to the point I could have climbed naked onto his shoulders and ground my saturated pussy along his neck (not a bad idea – I filed that away for later) and he wouldn’t have noticed. “Look” he said, pointing. I gazed to where he was gesturing, toward the top of the open door that led back into the dining area, feeling my mouth fall open.

For there, drooping down almost defiantly, was a bundle of mistletoe, brighter and bushier than the last sprig. That wasn’t there before, I thought to myself, since both Eric and I had been dutiful in checking doorways for any trace of the kiss-inducing plant.

Or had it?

I mean, to be honest my mind was more than a little lust-hazed ever since that rapid but incendiary kiss back in the parlor, so I couldn’t vouch for the reliability of my senses at the moment. But I had the feeling there was some critical piece of information that I was missing, poking at my brain, but my mind was too slippery to grab hold of it. I struggled to pull my head back into focus, finally taking hold of the elusive thought. It was something I’d been daydreaming about earlier, about how I’d wished that the mistletoe was everywhere. And now it was here, and possibly over every other doorway, just as I’d been dreaming about.

I swallowed, thinking back to other curious occurrences this evening – the house I’d always dreamed of that just happened to be out here in the middle of nowhere, filled all the holiday trimmings that I loved and had secretly wanted to make our do-over Christmas one to remember– the tree, the train, the Nutcracker dolls. And even this expansive, state-of-the-art kitchen, with all its shiny tools and gadgets I’d always wanted to give Eric but could never afford to. Even all that stuff downstairs, a reflection of the thoughts I’d had about starting my own gym someday.

And how the mistletoe had affected Eric previously, just when I was thinking about how to open up the conversation about where I wanted things to go with him, presenting me with a perfect opportunity. And now, here it was again, apparently summoned by my idle thoughts earlier.

I felt myself shudder as the pieces all fell into place, coalescing into a thought that was both impossible and undeniable at the same time – that somehow this place was picking up on my wants and desires, making them reality. Even that small table in the dining room, I’d been thinking about how something like that would be better for Eric and I than a long rectangular one like I’d expected for this household, and that’s what we’d found. And that grand piano from my childhood...

Get a grip, Megyn, I chided myself, shaking my head to clear it of the absurdity of what I’d been pondering. Yes, a lot of bizarre things were happening tonight, but there was a logical explanation for all of them, one that I wasn’t seeing. But whatever their source, natural or supernatural, these strange series of events were helping me, step by step leading me towards my desired outcome for the evening, so why should I worry or complain? I decided. Now all I had to do was convince Eric not to freak out and just go with it.

That task proved easier than I thought, for instead of getting upset like I’d expected and shouting an angry challenge to our invisible tormentors, he simply shrugged. “Huh, I guess we must have overlooked it,” he said, scratching his head, coming to the same conclusion I had. “So what should we do now?”

“Well,” I said, so taken aback by his muted and accepting response to the situation it took me a moment to put my thoughts together. What I really wanted was pass under that mistletoe so I’d have an excuse to kiss him again, maybe more properly this time, I thought devilishly. But then my motherly, protective side kicked in, and I went with a more muted response. “If you don’t want to go back under it right now, we could just stay in here in the kitchen awhile. After all, I am getting a bit hungry, and there’s bound to be some canned or packaged food around somewhere that would be safe to eat, right?”

“Nah, I think we should just bite the bullet and get it over with,” he concluded. I blinked. Was it just me, or did he almost seem as anxious as I was to get to the mistletoe again? “Well, all set to do this again?”

I nodded solemnly, but inwardly I was dancing with glee that we were now doing what I’d been burning to do all along, but was waiting for him to suggest it so as to not make myself appear too eager. “If you think that’s the best course, then I’m with you, ready to do what I must,” I said, as if it was it was something I was only doing out of a sense of parental obligation instead of something I was craving more than anything. Besides, I wanted to test out if the wild theory I had about this place was true, forming an image in my mind about what I wanted to find in the dining room once we made it passed this ‘obstacle’.

A sense of anticipation filled me as we walked toward the threshold separating the kitchen from the dining room, my arm around Eric as we came to a stop under the bushy plant above us. Eric and I stared at each other, Eric swallowing audibly as he gathered courage for what had to come next as I regarded the anticipation mingled with nervousness in his eyes. “I’m sorry you have to do this.”

“It’s okay, sweetie,” I said, anxious to say so much more, like I want this, I need this, and it looks like you do as well, my sweet child, so there’s no reason for any guilt or shame. Instead, I simply nodded understandingly. “Are you ready, sweetie?”

He nodded, inclining his head a bit to give me easier access as I struggled to hear my thoughts over the thumping of my heart, trying to decide on the best way to handle things this time around. Should I go all in, or just something simple like before? I pondered, finally deciding on a middle-of-the road approach. I moistened my lips before slowly inclining my head forward until they were mashed fully and directly against Eric’s, having to actively restrain my tongue from darting outward as I just held them there for a moment, savoring the contact. I’d expected just to hold that pattern for a few seconds and then pull away, and that would be that.

But then some deep savage part of me, triggered by this contact, took over as I reached around and put my arms around his neck, pulling his face even closer to mine, my tongue diving into his mouth, wanting more ... more...

And then I had it, feeling a rush of elation as I felt his tongue rise up to meet mine and for a moment the rest of the world ceased to exist, the only reality was his hot, wet appendage dancing with mine, the taste of his hot breath tinged with those mints he liked, the feel of his hands in my hair. His technique was a little stiff and awkward, but what he lacked in skill he made up for with enthusiasm, fully committed to our embrace instead of a passive recipient.

And then as fast as it started it was over as he gently but insistently pulled his mouth away from mine, wiggling out of my embrace and stepping back, breathing heavily, face flushed. But there was none of the shock, even slight aversion that had been there earlier. “So, I guess that should do it, huh?”

For a moment I was silent, trying to quell the carnal heat surging in me as naked desires, dormant for far too long and simmering all day, flared to life with a vengeance within me, demanding to be sated. With an effort I tamped them down. Things were definitely moving in the right direction, I told myself. Eric was clearly becoming quite comfortable with the growing closeness between us, yet even now I feared that I’d pushed things too far too fast. “I’d say so,” I whispered, voice a little hoarse with need, “And I’m sorry about that, I didn’t mean to take things so far.”

He chuckled at that. “I have to admit at first I was scared as hell, but towards the end, well, it wasn’t so bad. It was kinda nice, actually, since I’ve never kissed a girl like that before.”

My eyes narrowed at that, my brow crinkling. Wait a minute, is he telling me that he’s never kissed anyone before now? I asked myself, hoping my surprise didn’t show. I knew my son was rather withdrawn socially and hadn’t dated that much, but to discover he had never been kissed at all threw me for a loop. After all, he was quite handsome and charming, when he chose to be anyway.

But it would explain the clumsiness of his technique, I considered, which I had earlier attributed to anxiety, beginning to speculate about what other pleasures of the flesh he hadn’t yet sampled. “Say sweetie,” I said, making direct eye contact with him, knowing I probably shouldn’t ask this next question, but suddenly itching to know, “have you ever, you know, been with a woman?”

He flushed a deep shade of red I didn’t even know existed, looking away from me. “Hey, w-what’s all that?” he stuttered in an obvious attempt to deflect my question, looking toward the dining room.

So that would be a no, then, I surmised with the slightest of smiles, this new knowledge opening up a world of fascinating possibilities. Just thinking that I could be the first one with Eric, the one to truly make him a man ... god, just the thought of it almost made me climax right then and there. “Huh?” I said in response, my arousal-soaked brain not comprehending what he’d just said.

“You said something about food,” he said, pointing into the dining room, toward the table. I followed his finger, for the first time taking notice of the food that’d been laid out on there. And not just any food, a true Christmas feast – roasted goose with chestnut dressing, candied yams, green bean almondine, fresh rolls with a small tray of butter, and cranberry sauce, accompanied by two chilling bottles of red wine. “Awesome!” I said, rushing past him toward the banquet laid out before me, forgetting how hungry I was until that moment, deciding any further unmotherly intentions toward my son would best be carried out on a full stomach.

“Careful mom,” Eric urged, mirroring his caution from earlier, “it could be—”

“It’s not,” I said with conviction, cutting him off. “It’s not drugged, poisoned, or otherwise tampered with, other than being seasoned to perfection. Here, I’ll prove it.” And before he could stop me, I’d torn off a piece of the goose, shoved it in my mouth and chewed it, savoring the succulent flavor before swallowing. I then snatched a roll, biting off half of it, marveling at how warm and scrumptious it tasted. I then turned to face him, thrumming my fingers on the table, and waited, my son staring slack jawed at my audacity. “I hope you’re right about this,” he finally muttered as he came up next to me, continuing to watch me closely, monitoring for any symptoms of drugs or poison.

But nothing would happen, I was certain of that. How, you ask? Because back in the kitchen, when I’d decided to test my theory about this place somehow working to make this evening perfect for Eric and myself, I’d thought about this room, about this table being filled with my favorite Christmas meal - steaming, delicious, and most of all, safe to eat. And now here it was, made real before my eyes, proof that we were caught up in something incredible that defied explanation. I wanted to tell Eric all about it, but I knew he would never believe me, not yet anyway.

“Satisfied?” I asked, raising my eyebrow at him after ten minutes had passed, and I remained healthy and lucid, albeit ravenous to dive into the rest of the meal. “The food is safe, as is this house. No one’s going to hurt, bother, watch, or otherwise disturb us. And before you ask how I’m so sure it’s because I’m a mother, we have sharp instincts about these sorts of things. Now what do you say we just stop worrying about everything and officially start our grand Christmas do-over?”

For a moment he looked like he might argue, but in the end I think my words won him over. Either that or his appetite, I noted, amused at how his gaze flicked to the table before back to me. “Alright,” he conceded, seeming relieved not only because I was alright, but that now he could dig in as well.

And even though I knew he was probably hungrier than I was, I was moved when he took the time to pull out a seat for me before taking a place on the opposite side of the table, at last taking off his coat in a sign of trust in my instincts, hanging it on the back of his chair. The lighting along the wall fixtures had dimmed, leaving the task of illumination mostly to the three candles on the centerpiece which had been lighted, creating a rather romantic atmosphere. Again, just as I’d wanted.

“Would you like some?” I asked, unstoppering one of the wine bottles and pouring some into my glass.

He shook his head. “I’m underage, remember?”

I giggled as I leaned over and poured some into his glass, leaving it up to him if he drank it or not. “You’re eighteen, old enough to vote, smoke, and die for your country, therefore entitled to a little Christmas wine in my opinion. I won’t tell if you don’t, and that applies to everything that happens this evening,” I said with a mischievous wink, raising my own glass. “And now, here’s to our do-over Christmas!”

“Here, here,” he said, as we clinked our glasses.

After that we dug into our food, and as our dinner progressed Eric relaxed more and more, until the final clouds of doubt and apprehension lingering over him were at last dispelled, and we again slipped into that casual, easy manner of interaction that I’d become accustomed to over the last few months, reminiscing and laughing about holidays past in that cozy, romantic atmosphere.

“Remember that time you took me to see Santa?” Eric was saying as he helped himself to more yams.

I chuckled. “You’ll have to be a little more specific, since I recall taking you to see him every year. Until you figured out the truth, that is.”

“I know, but this time was different from the others. There I was, sitting on his lap and ready to tell him what I wanted for Christmas, when suddenly he sneezed, and apparently he didn’t have his beard on right since it came flying right off! I was so confused and upset I started crying, as did several other kids in the line. But then you came up and took me in your arms, explaining that Santa was just wearing a fake beard today because his elves played a prank on him and shaved his real one off. That was some quick thinking, I gotta admit, convincing even me.”

I laughed at the memory as I swirled my wine. “Yeah, I remember the mall was so glad I’d helped avert a potentially traumatizing and costly fiasco they gave me a rather generous gift card. But I’m just glad I was able to salvage the Christmas magic for all those kids, and for you most of all,” I said, smiling as I fixed him with my eyes, filled with warmth and longing, delighted to see the same reflected in his expression as well.

“Things sure have changed since then, huh?” He remarked, his candlelit face contemplative.

“They have,” I acknowledged, an image of Nate and my old life dancing in my head, before I shook it away. “But one thing never will – I love you, and would do anything to see my precious boy happy, anything at all,” I said as I began to rub the toe of my boot against his leg under the table, wanting to focus on present possibilities instead of past memories.

He must have liked what I was doing, or at least didn’t mind it, because he didn’t ask me to stop or try to pull away. “Anything at all?” he repeated, his voice sounding strangely dreamy and suggestive.

I nodded, barely able to contain myself. Could this be it? The moment I’d been waiting for? I set down my wine glass, so giddy I was afraid I might spill it. “Whatever you want, sweetie,” I practically purred. My stomach was full, and now it was time to attend to other parts of my body that had been empty for far too long. “All you have to do is ask.”

“In that case, would you mind playing the piano for me?”

Of all the things I expected to come out of his mouth, that hadn’t even been on the list anywhere. “I’m sorry, what was that?” I said, wanting to make sure I’d heard him correctly, wondering if he might be using some kind of innuendo or slang I wasn’t familiar with.

“I want to hear you play the piano. I’ve heard you talk about how you used to play for your family around Christmas when you were growing up, but I’ve never actually listened to you perform, and I thought now with one available it might be a good chance,” he said, casting a glance toward the music room.

“Oh, sweetie,” I said, genuinely moved by his request. No one had asked me to play in years, not even Nate. Admittingly he hadn’t really been into that kind of thing, recalling how his eyes had glazed over the few times I’d performed for him when we’d been dating. And I don’t know why, but hearing Eric invite me to play for him now was more of a turn on than if he’d asked to touch my pussy.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I said after a few moments of reflection, rubbing my thighs together involuntarily. “It’s been such a long time, and I’m probably way beyond rusty. It might sound better if you just found a cat to walk back and forth across the keyboard.”

He chuckled. “Don’t be silly, mom. You might be out of practice, but that doesn’t matter because I’m sure it’ll all come back to you once you start. And even if it doesn’t, there’s no way that anything you play could sound anything less than beautiful to me. Please?”

Well, how in the world could I say no after that? I thought, for it was the sweetest, nicest thing that anyone had said to me in a very long time. “Alright,” I said, standing with a wry look. “But just remember when you’re wincing at my sour notes – you asked for it, mister.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of that,” he said, taking my hand in his. At first I was a bit perplexed by this, no longer seeing the need for such caution at this point. But then he gave it a soft squeeze, and I knew that this time it wasn’t about safety or anything like that. This time it was out of a sense of fondness, because he liked this intimacy that was growing between us, that seemed to be coming to a head faster than I’d hoped.

There was no more sign of the mistletoe anywhere as we made our way back to the music room, and I noticed that the sprig hanging over the door to the parlor was gone as well. It had really helped get the ball rolling between Eric and I, I’d give it that, but I’d resolved after the second time, after I’d realized the effect my thoughts were having, I’d made a vow - that from this point on, whatever happened between us would happen because we both wanted it to, and not because of some trick or gimmick.

And apparently the house or whatever agreed, removing all traces of the plant. It was something almost beyond comprehension, that would have had me freaked out and running for the hills only a few hours ago. Yet now I barely gave it a second thought, for it was nothing compared to the miracle now taking place between Eric and I on this magical evening.

I sat down at the piano, Eric taking a standing position right behind me to my left. Normally I hate it when people hover over me when I’m trying to concentrate on something, making me self-conscious and edgy to the point that I mess up what I’m doing. But this time it was different, my son’s close proximity bolstering instead of breaking my poise, filling me with a steady assurance as I cracked my knuckles and ran through the brief warm-up piece I’d used as a child, as expected finding the piano perfectly tuned, each note clear and crisp.

“Any requests?” I asked as I flipped through a book of traditional Christmas music I’d found ‘conveniently’ waiting for me on the rack.

“Whatever you like.”

I glanced out the open window, seeing that the blizzard had calmed, the snow now falling soft and steady, inspiration hitting me as I flipped back a few pages to ‘White Christmas.’ Yeah, I know technically Christmas was already gone on the calendar but in this moment, I was really feeling that that swell of hope, love, and endless possibility of the holdays burning brighter in me than it ever had before as I began to play.

As I anticipated my performance was a bit haphazard as I started out, missing a few notes and hitting several wrong ones as my fingers blundered over the keyboard. I expected Eric to make some sort of smart comment or at least scoff at my inelegant execution, but he didn’t. He remained a silent, strong presence behind me, as apparently enraptured as if he was listening to some master pianist in a grand hall.