Mom's Christmas Do-Over

Author's Note - I know what you're thinking, why release a Christmas-themed story so long after Christmas when most have turned their minds to Valentine's Day, or at least the winter season? Maybe I just like to be different, or maybe it's because I see a lot of stories set on or before the big day but very few set primarily in the neglected post-holiday period. Or maybe, just maybe, it's because I think the joyful spirit that fills our hearts at Yuletide is bigger than a day, a month, or even a season, and deserves to be celebrated no matter what time of year it happens to be.

So, if at least one of my reasons resonates with you, or you have one or more of your own, then please continue and enjoy the story. Just be advised before starting that in addition to graphic descriptions of incestuous love, this tale contains a strong dose of holiday magic, meaning things happen here that are usually impossible or improbable in our everyday world. Also keep in mind that like many of my other stories it's also a bit of a slow-burn, but I think you'll enjoy the ride. And of course, everyone in the story doing naked sex stuff to themselves or with others is 18 or older.

Just one more thing I'm mentioning on the advice of a friend - this story and its plot have nothing to do with the movie

Groundhog Day

and redoing the same exact day over and over again.

*

It'd been the worst fucking Christmas ever.

Which was a shame really, because Christmas used to be my favorite time of the year, having grown up in a family obsessed with the holiday. My head was filled with fond memories of sitting in our home, smiling with childlike awe as I watched my father's model Christmas train roll around on the tracks he'd installed along the upper walls of the living room, gazing in awe at my mom's priceless collection of Nutcracker figurines over a crackling fire, sipping hot chocolate or (nonalcoholic) eggnog on a snowy winter night. And when I was older, playing Christmas music for my gathered kin thanks to the piano lessons mom had insisted I take, before enjoying a delicious goose dinner.

So is it any wonder I grew into the kind of person who started listening to holiday music in October, to the chagrin of my husband and son I might add, humming along as I flooded our house and yard with every type of decoration imaginable. This would be followed by a myriad of other Yuletide fun including crafting intricate gingerbread villages thanks to the cooking skills my grandma had imparted to me, spending hours picking out the perfect tree and then decorating it, and marathons of classic holiday movies complete with all kinds of seasonal snacks. Yep, if they gave out awards for most holiday cheer, I'd have been a perennial contender for the title of reigning champion of Christmas.

That is, until I'd lost my husband Nate six years ago in an accident a few days before Christmas, leaving me a single mother with very few marketable job skills. You see, when I graduated high school I'd already been pregnant with my son Eric, curtailing my college plans. Not that I regretted it for a moment, for my son became the light of my world, particularly after the loss of my husband. Fortunately, the life insurance had held out until I'd had a chance to develop a fledgling career as a personal trainer to the point that while we weren't as well off as we were before, we didn't have to scrape by either.

But having much less free time now, combined with the unpleasant memories that now hung over the season, I no longer felt the thrill I used to as December approached. And to be honest, I almost dreaded it, the grief that laid dormant the rest of the year rising up to gnaw at my heart every time I saw the first Christmas displays going up in stores.

Despite all that, I still put on the semblance of a celebration for the sake of my son Eric - a quick dinner, a few gifts, and a small, hastily decorated tree, which only went up on Christmas Eve only to be promptly taken down the day after Christmas, the ornaments back in the basement where all the other trimmings lay packed up in sealed, dusty boxes. As luck would have it, Eric didn't seem to mind the abridged celebrations, having lost his taste for prolonged festivities as well.

That'd been the status quo, at least until this year. My son, while never a social or athletic standout, was quite gifted academically, graduating second in his class with a full ride to a prestigious cooking school. However, to my mild surprise he decided to take a year off to pursue 'personal interests', as he put it, before pursuing his dreams of becoming a great chef. I fully supported this, thinking it would give us a chance to reconnect, to reform that close bond I'd shared with him before his dad passed, which had become somewhat frayed in recent years due to our busy schedules.

As the weeks went by, things seemed to go quite well - we'd take small road trips, make dinner together which we'd eat while binging on movies, and we even took a few cooking classes together down at the local community college. It made me feel good in a way I hadn't felt in a long while, fully appreciating what a kind, funny, and handsome young man he'd become. I was having so much fun I began spending all my free time with him, putting my lackluster dating life on hold for the moment.

I'd asked repeatedly him if he minded me hogging all his time, if he wouldn't rather be hanging out with people his own age, but he'd always dismiss my concerns, saying he had plenty of time for that later, that right now he just wanted to have fun with his awesome mom. For those with teenage sons, I don't have to tell you how good it made me feel to hear him say that, my heart swelling with love and happiness. It was a wonderful time and I treasured every moment, knowing it wouldn't last forever.

What I didn't know, is how short it would end up actually being.

It was Thanksgiving, and I was in the kitchen preparing the small turkey we'd be sharing, since it'd just be us as usual due to the long-standing feud between my sister and I. That's when I heard a small scuffling sound right behind me. "Hey sweetie," I'd said, turning around to see Eric standing there, looking everywhere except at me, in that stiff and weird manner that'd become common for him over the past few weeks. I hadn't questioned it yet, figuring it was just some sort of phase or minor issue he was dealing with, and he'd tell me when he was ready. And little did I know that time was now, and it was anything but minor.

"Are you done getting the rolls patted out?" I asked, shoving the last of the stuffing in the turkey before popping the bird into the oven, starting the timer.

He shifted in place uncomfortably, scratching the back of his head. "Yeah, they're rising now. And now, well...there's something I need to talk to you about, that I've put off for too long already."

This sounded serious, I thought, straightening and giving him my full attention. "What is it?" I asked, not liking the look on his face, trying to stay calm even as my mind flooded with horrible scenarios.

"I've decided to start school in January."

In a way I was relieved, since this was much better than some of the possibilities I'd been considering, like that he was sick or that he'd gotten a girl pregnant, although to the best of my knowledge he hadn't dated that much, if at all, something had been a bit of a concern to me. Not that I was one to talk, since between work and running a household I hadn't had much time to devote to my personal life since finally reentering the dating world two years ago. The few attempts I had made were at best clumsy and awkward, no doubt due to the fact I'd been out of the game for so long.

But then as my mind turned back to what he'd said and slowly processed what his words meant, I felt my spirits crash, thinking of all the stuff I'd planned for us to do in the coming months, including maybe having a big Christmas like the old days, now going up in flames. "What? Why?!" I asked, with more disappointment than I'd intended.

He flinched a bit at my outburst, but he held his ground. "Lots of reasons. In any case, it's already done, I've even found a small studio apartment near campus. I've been talking to the landlord and sent him my scholarship information, and he's willing to waive the deposit until my funds come through. I'm sorry to spring this on you out of nowhere, mom, but I really think it's for the best."

I closed my eyes, taking deep breaths, trying to collect myself, beating back the harsh response I'd been on the verge of delivering, that no doubt would have had me eating that damned turkey alone. "It's okay," I said at last, again looking at him. "I can't say I'm thrilled about this, but if this is what you really want, then I'll support you. On one condition," I added, coming to a snap decision.

He nodded. "Sure, anything."

"You're going to be home for Christmas, right?"

"Of course, I don't have to be there to settle some things until a few days later. Why?"

I smiled. "Because, since this might be your last Christmas at home, I want to make it special, like when you were a kid."

His eyes saucered with shock. "What are you talking about? I may be going to school, but I'll still visit during my breaks."

I smiled wanly. "You say that now, and I know you believe it to be true. But a thousand things could happen - you might get a job, make friends that you'd rather hang out with instead, or you might even find a girlfriend and spend all your time with her, to the point you'll forget all about your old mom."

"That won't happen," he swore, his voice laden with a firmness that I hadn't heard in him before. "I promise, no matter what happens, I'll always be home for Christmas."

Hearing him sound so bold and confident, promising that he'd always make time for me, reminded me of his father, whom he resembled in so many ways. The warmth I'd been feeling over the past few months spending time with Eric magnified, and suddenly I found myself feeling tingles in parts of my body that I shouldn't be having with my son.

But

, I mused,

if he wasn't my son...

You're a sick woman, Megyn Cunningham,

I chided myself, banishing those thoughts, thinking that if I was thinking such crazy things I needed to worry less about my son's love life and more about my own, determined to put more effort into it. After all, I was getting tired of relying on my well-used toys for satisfaction instead of a nice juicy cock, which I now that I thought about it, I was getting quite hungry for.

"So then, you won't mind if I go all out this year?" I asked, dragging my mind out of the sexual reverie it'd been wallowing in.

He shook his head. "Not at all. I know I sometimes may have griped about how overboard you went with the holidays, but the truth was I loved it, and dad did as well. So whatever you want, I'm in."

"Thank you, sweetie," I said as I hugged him, clinging to his well-formed body. Now as I've said my son's no sports star, but I guess my career in personal fitness had rubbed off on him somewhat, often repeating to him what I'd say to my clients - it's remarkable what a little exercise and healthy diet can do for a person, I considered as I felt his modest but taut shoulder muscles, pressed myself up against his flat belly, rested my head on his toned chest. Not that I hadn't ever noticed these things before, but for some reason in that moment I was especially drawn to them, not as a mother appreciating that her child had taken her words about healthy living to heart, but as a woman in heat sizing up the fuckability of a potential mate.

I pulled myself away quickly, rubbing at my head. Fuck, I really did need a date.

*

And so began my efforts to make this Christmas one to remember. After dinner Eric even volunteered to clean up so I could head downstairs and start rummaging through my Christmas boxes, pulling out all of my holiday gear, suddenly fixated with the idea of giving the most special man in my life the best Christmas ever, falling asleep that night with my head full of all sorts of wonderful ideas to make that happen...

Unfortunately the plans never made it out of my head, for almost immediately after I became swamped with a surprising amount of work. It seemed that Mrs. Peters, one of my clients, had received a plethora of compliments from friends and family over Thanksgiving regarding the progress she'd made with me, who then began calling and texting wanting to start their own sessions immediately, sometimes at two or three times my normal rate. I wanted to refuse at first, but we really needed the money. So in the end I accepted, vowing I'd find a way to meet the increased demand and give my son a great Christmas.

And that's what I'd told myself, all the way up to Christmas Eve, which arrived to find the decorations still flung around the basement, me having to scramble for a scraggly, half-dead tree, as well as more or less fighting another desperate mom for the last, small, sad chicken in the store, who were all out of goose and even turkey, at last bribing her for the prize.

But there was one bright spot - during the course of my work I'd met a handsome, charming prospect named Robert, the unattached brother of one of my clients, and we hit it off so well that on a whim, I invited him to join us for Christmas dinner. Impulsive I know, but ever since Thanksgiving I'd been having brief sporadic flashes of what had happened that day, what I'd felt when I'd embraced Eric that would rise in my mind unbidden, afraid I might do something stupid and irreversible that I'd regret forever if I didn't feed the famished libido that I'd been starving these past six years.

And to my delight, Robert accepted. Eric wasn't thrilled when I told him on Christmas Eve that we'd be having extra company tomorrow, even seeming quite rattled at the unexpected intrusion.

"What do you even know about this guy?" he'd asked suspiciously. "He could be a serial killer or something."

I chuckled at his overdramatization of the situation, and a little surprised by it. Normally Eric was at least open to giving the few men I'd made it far enough with to bring home a chance, albeit a halfhearted one. But for some reason he was now being unusually hostile to the idea. "He's not a murderer, he's a contractor, well-respected in town. Not only that, but he's quite sophisticated as well, having a keen interest in art and cooking like you do. Maybe you two could spend some time in the kitchen, swap a few recipes?"

He shook his head so hard I thought it would fly off. "Cooking is our thing, mom, I don't want him butting in," he declared adamantly.

I was a bit taken aback by his vehemence on this, but also more than a little touched. Ever since he'd wandered into the kitchen when he was five to help me make jello he'd really taken to this whole cooking thing, to the point his culinary skills now far surpassed mine. And although he could easily handle all the kitchen duties by himself he always insisted on having me along to help when I could. But I shook all that away and pressed on. "Come on, I know y'all would hit it off, if you'd just give him a chance."

"What if I don't want to?" he asked, sounding petulant in a way I'd never heard from him before, and suddenly I realized what the problem was.

I took his hand in mine, which he must not have been expecting because he started slightly. "Look, sweetie, your father was a wonderful man and I loved him dearly, and no one will ever be able to take his place. But he's gone, and you're leaving, and, well, it would be nice for me to have some company, you know? Not to replace anyone of course, but it would be nice to come home to someone, instead of an empty house."

"I know mom," he admitted, still not looking at me directly. "And I don't expect you to grieve for dad forever, he wouldn't want that and it wouldn't be fair to you. It's just that I think there are a lot of better options out there for you than this Robert person."

"Like who?" I countered, genuinely curious. "If you know of someone, then by all means please share, because up to now my luck has been pretty abysmal. Robert's the best guy I've come across since, well, since your father. But if you know of a man more suited to me, then I'm all ears."

He opened his mouth to speak, hesitated a moment, then closed it. "Alright," he said finally, "If it's that important to you, I'll give this guy a chance. But no promises."

I smiled, patting the back of his hand. "That's all I ask. Thanks."

*

So, while my enthusiasm was muted when I woke up late on Christmas morning, I still had hopes that some of the magic I'd planned for the day could still be salvaged. After all, I was with my son, with whom I'd have a nice day watching Christmas movies followed by a nice dinner with my enchanting new prospect.

And maybe, just maybe,

I thought, thinking about Robert,

this could be the start of a whole new amazing chapter in my life.

Well, that optimism lasted about as long as it took me to get downstairs and find the note that Eric had left for me on the kitchen table, saying he'd decided to spend the day and night at a friend's house and would be back tomorrow morning, ending with wishing me luck with my 'date'. From the way he wrote it I could tell he thought he would be a third wheel and had removed himself from the picture, which totally hadn't been my intention, instead seeing it as more a chance for them to get to know each other better, in my mind Robert and Eric hit it off right away.

Well, you know what they say about where the road paved with good intentions leads

, I thought bitterly as I put down the note with a long sigh, now regretting my rash decision to include Robert in the day's events, seeing too late that I should have moved more slowly before including him in something so personal as a family Christmas. Now not only had I failed to make the day extra special for Eric, I'd totally screwed it up worse than usual.

I was on the verge of just declaring the day shot, going back upstairs and flinging the covers over my head before remembering I'd promised Robert a dinner, and even though I was no longer in anything resembling a romantic mood, or even wanting to see anyone for that matter, I forced myself (with a little help from some Christmas spirits, and I'm not talking about the Charles Dickens kind) to get dinner going, before heading upstairs to make myself at least halfway presentable.

But as it turned out there was no need, for just as I was putting some last touches on my makeup, the phone rang. Given the trajectory of the day so far, can you guess who it was? Yep, it was Robert, calling to tell me he'd made up with his ex-girlfriend and would be spending Christmas with her instead. Even though I could appreciate that he'd taken the time to call instead of just texting or even ghosting me, as you can imagine it sucked whatever wind I still had left right out of my sails and left me totally deflated, now seeing my unadorned, empty holiday house as a grim reflection of my lonely future.

So I did what any reasonable person in my position would do - grabbed a bottle of wine and a glass before settling down on the couch to do my level best to drown my sorrows in alcohol and whatever cheap holiday fare I could find on tv. Unfortunately, in my dour mood I'd forgotten all about the dinner I'd started, until I heard the fire alarm going off as smoke drifted into the living room.

Luckily I had a fire extinguisher and enough of my wits left about me to use it, thus allowing the casualties of my carelessness to be limited to a scorched dinner, a ruined stove, and a house filled with fumes. It also gained me some company for Christmas after all since a neighbor, seeing bellowing gray smoke rising from the kitchen window I'd opened to allow the plumes to escape, notified the fire department.