Rum Balls And Egg Nog

Author's Notes: This story has been posted to Literotica.Com with the full knowledge of the original author, JimBob44. No part or whole of this story may be reprinted in any other format or on any other web site without the express written consent of the original author.

Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

This story has been edited by myself, using Microsoft Spell-check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Wow, kitchen sucks," Dalton Burke mused, looking at the minimal counter space and miniscule cabinets.

"Uh huh," the apartment manager said, apparently used to this comment.

With a sigh, Dalton agreed to rent the apartment for a six-month lease. His previous rental home had possessed a phenomenal kitchen; plenty of counter space, a gas range and a large capacity refrigerator and freezer unit. But the owner's son was planning to attend the University of Louisiana at DeGarde so the owners sent Dalton a notice to vacate.

Meeting Michael Kelly, Dalton was sure the brash, immature young man would thoroughly trash the place within weeks of moving in. The callow youth had not lifted a finger to help Dalton move out and had been upset when Dalton politely asked him to get up from the sofa; it was his. The original sofa was stored in the garage. With a smirk, Dalton refused to help Michael lug the very heavy piece of furniture into the home.

"Not my problem," Dalton thought as he wondered at the state of the home now.

His job with Boyd Investments Group afforded him time to go home to Lowenburg, Arkansas for Thanksgiving. Arriving at his home early Wednesday morning, he was greeted by his mother's excited squeals and loving embrace. His step-father greeted him with a sneer; Dalton ignored the unfriendly man.

"Don't know why the fuck we got to go to..." Donald O'Malley muttered angrily under his breath as Dalton assisted his mother in loading the twelve pound spiral cut honey ham, their contribution to the family Thanksgiving dinner into the rear of his SUV.

"Well, mostly to inconvenience you, I'm sure," Dalton said cheerfully.

"Dalton!" Theresa chided, lightly slapping her son's arm.

The four foot two inch woman pouted, folding her arms across her chest. Dalton fought down the urge to laugh; she had no idea just how comical she looked. Donald rolled his eyes as he clumsily lugged their suitcase to the rear of the SUV.

"I don't like it when the men in my life fight," Theresa announced.

"Okay," Dalton said, very easily lifting his mother into the air.

"Dalton! Dalton Andrew Burke, put me, you put me down right now," Theresa squealed, ineffectively slapping at her son. "I mean it! Put me down!"

"For a kiss," Dalton bargained and she giggled.

"Mmmm-wah!" she said, giving him a noisy kiss on his lips.

"Love you," Dalton said, squeezing her before putting her down. "That everything?"

"I think, I, I'm pretty sure..." Theresa said, dashing into the house to do a last-minute sweep of the small home.

Pembleman, Arkansas was a two hour drive from Lowenburg, Arkansas. And, despite her insistence that she had gone potty before leaving Lowenburg, they had to make two pit stops for Theresa to use the facilities. Donald rolled his eyes as Dalton insisted on buying three cinnamon buns and three coffees at the first Newhart's Restaurant they stopped at and three milkshakes at the second Newhart's.

"You know that coffee just went right through her," Donald complained when Dalton pulled into the second parking lot.

"You know, Donald, Newhart's is not in business to have clean, well-lighted and well-stocked restrooms," Dalton said. "They're in business to sell food. I'm just giving them a little of my money, my money, not yours, my money as a little 'thank you' for providing a nice clean place for my mother to go potty."

"And I notice you didn't complain too damned much when I gave your fat ass that cinnamon bun," Dalton muttered, then smiled at the very cute Asian-American girl behind the counter.

Willie and Sylvie Burke had raised three sons and two daughters on a three thousand acre farm in Pembleman, Arkansas. The place now belonged to Uncle William but Sylvie Burke still lived in the large farmhouse with William and Nellie Burke. It was Uncle William that helped Dalton unload the SUV while Donald found something else to do and Theresa was catching up with her former mother-in-law Sylvie.

Dalton's father, Andrew Burke had passed away, an undiagnosed heart defect when Dalton had been nine years old. Four years later, Theresa had met Donald O'Malley and the Burke and the Kursweil families had done their best to welcome the large, overbearing man into their homes.

Their first Thanksgiving with Donald present, Dalton had taken his place next to his grandmother, assisting her with the turkey, with the giblet gravy, the cornbread dressing and the hut buttery rolls. At the dinner table, Sylvie had publicly thanked her grandson for assisting her with the meal. She fixed Aunt Tammy Strickler nee Burke and Aunt Donna Nicholls nee Burk with a withering glare. Both daughters looked away, guilty looks on their faces.

"Yeah, boy will make someone a fine wife someday," Donald had muttered under his breath.

"So, Theresa, you'll be spending Christmas with your folks?" Grandpa Willie had pointedly asked. "Let me tell you, Frank Kursweil? A good man. A good man indeed. Very accepting, very tolerant."

Theresa's face burned with shame, and with anger. She knew her former father-in-law's query was really directed at Donald. His query was because of Donald and his insensitive remark.

"I, well, I we hadn't really thought that far ahead," Theresa mumbled as she poured some gravy onto her mashed potatoes and cornbread dressing and two thick slices of turkey.

"We'll most likely be seeing my parents," Donald supplied, not recognizing the conflict he'd started.

"Hmm," was Grandpa Willie's comment?

The following Fourth of July, the trio returned to the Burke farm. Dalton looked forward to being in the kitchen with his grandmother, especially after such a tense, uncomfortable Christmas spent with the very cold O'Malley family. It had taken eight and a half hours to drive from their driveway to the O'Malley home in Dan's Hollow, Texas. They'd given Theresa a hideous sweater that was far too large for her and had given Dalton a Legos set. Both Theresa and Dalton had been gracious in accepting their poorly conceived gifts.

Easter had been spent with Frank and Leah Kurzweil; their dislike of Donald O'Malley was ill-disguised. And, Frank and Leah were quite elderly; Theresa had been a complete surprise to the couple. In truth, Leah could not even remember having had sex with her husband.

Again, at the crowded, noisy, happy Fourth of July dinner table, Sylvie thanked Dalton for his help. Because her glaucoma was so advanced, Dalton had actually done all of the work, but graciously allowed his grandmother to believe she'd done the lion's share. Grandpa Willie gave the seventeen year old boy a knowing smirk and head-nod.

"Yeah, Dolly, good job," Donald said, making sure he speared a goodly portion of the ham as the platter went by.

"You know what, you fat ass piece of shit?" Dalton had said. "You ever grow a pair of balls? You might make a good husband. But you will never ever be worth a damn as a father."

"Oh yeah? OH YEAH? Want to back them big man words up? Huh boy?" Donald had thundered.

Theresa had tried to diffuse the situation. She had begged and pleaded with both Donald and Dalton.

Donald David O'Malley was a buffoon. He should have recognized that Dalton was not intimidated by his size. He should have noticed that Willie, William and Danny Burke were all smiles as they trooped behind Grandpa Willie's barn.

Donald did not land a single punch. Within three minutes, Donald was blindly crawling on the ground. Grandpa Willie stopped the fight by grabbing Dalton's shoulder firmly.

"That's enough, son," Willie said.

"Proud of you, boy," Uncle William said, patting Dalton on the shoulder.

"Yeah," Uncle Danny echoed.

Now, four Thanksgivings later, Donald knew better than to make any comments about Dalton's cooking, about Dalton preferring to spend his time in the kitchen, with an elderly blind woman, rather than horse-playing with his three very attractive female cousins.

"I mean, God damn, would you look at the titties on that bitch?" Donald thought, looking at the nineteen year old girl sitting at the corner of the table. "That had been MY cousin? Damn right."

As if she could sense someone's eyes on her breasts, Grace Nicholls put an arm across her chest. She continued her conversation with Uncle Danny, but did keep her arm in place.

"Or..." Donald thought, eyes sweeping to the seventeen year old strawberry blonde seated at the other corner, chatting animatedly with her grandmother.

The blind woman sat at the head of the table, her husband's seat. Assuming the mantle of head of the Burke household, she sliced and served the turkey while the side dishes made their way around the table. Donald was dutifully impressed; the woman managed the task almost flawlessly despite her lack of vision.

After the meal, after a few hours of football, just when people were beginning to wind down, Dalton and Sylvie served an early supper. Then the out of town guests began the migration to their bedrooms and the locals began the exit to their homes.

In the morning, after a hearty breakfast that he'd prepared with his grandmother's help, Dalton loaded the suitcase into his SUV. He then wished his grandmother a heartfelt goodbye. He did not know how many more holidays she'd be around to celebrate with them.

Theresa sat up front with her son; Donald napped in the rear seat. The first pit stop, he stayed in the car. The second pit stop, Donald realized he needed to urinate as well and groggily got out of the car.

"Don't you dare," Theresa warned her son when he started the car.

"What?" Dalton smirked as they waited for Donald to finally waddle out of the Newhart's Restaurant.

"I know what you're thinking," Theresa giggled.

Donald was slightly alert for the last leg of the journey. He listened as Theresa and Dalton talked about Dalton's job with some hoity-toity investment company. The talk was completely boring to him; he knew nothing about IT or investments. Instead he thought back to Grace Nicholls and her impressive chest.

"Oh! Oh, and damn! Girl's got a perfect turd cutter," Donald mused, almost speaking out loud as he thought of the nineteen year old girl's rear end.

"That Samantha Burke though. Now that bitch?" Donald thought, reflecting on the strawberry blonde that had been sitting next to Theresa's former mother-in-law.

At home, it was Dalton that unloaded the car. That was fine with Dalton; he had no desire to spend one minute alone with Donald O'Malley. After a quick shower and brush of his teeth, Dalton fell onto his old bed and went to sleep.

At the breakfast table the next morning, Donald again ignored his wife and his step-son as the two talked while preparing a hearty breakfast. He heard 'Holiday Party' and other words, but none of it registered. It was of no importance to him.

"Damn, we just got finished with Thanksgiving," he finally interrupted. "And, uh, remember when it used to be called a 'Christmas party?'"

"Well, if you need a date for that," Theresa hinted, affectionately rubbing her son's arm as he finished preparing their French toast breakfast.

"What? And make all my coworkers jealous?" Dalton smiled, looping his arm around his mother's tiny waist.

"Uh huh. Showing up with an old broad," Donald smirked.

"Showing up with a beautiful little doll," Dalton declared, lifting his mother off of the ground.

"Dalton! Dalton Andrew Burke! Put me down!" Theresa squealed, trying to pull the hem of her sleep shirt down as her feet dangled off the ground.

Donald smirked at the small patch of blonde curls that showed as Theresa dangled in the air. Dalton made his usual demand; he'd put her down for a kiss. With a slap to her son's face, Theresa relented and gave him a very noisy kiss to his smiling lips. She then squealed when he delivered a pinch to her exposed buttocks.

After Dalton left their home, again lifting his mother off the ground, again exposing her small patch of pubic hair and her delectable buttocks, after receiving his ransom of a noisy kiss, Donald suggested they return to the bedroom. Theresa turned and fixed Donald with a hard look.

"We need to talk," Theresa said.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Wow. That kitchen sucks," was Theresa's first words upon entering Dalton's apartment.

"Hey! That's exactly what I said," Dalton laughed, lugging her extremely heavy suitcase into his apartment. "Good God, Mother, what? What's in this? A dead body?"

"No! Why, why would you ask that?" Theresa said, a guilty look on her face. "Uh, don't, pay no attention to all that blood dripping... Did I say 'blood?' I uh, I mean, uh, Bloody Mary mix. Yeah, that, that's it. Bloody Mary mix."

"Uh huh. You so funny," Dalton laughed, dragging the suitcase into his bedroom.

"Rum balls? You're making rum balls?" Theresa asked, seeing the half-gallon bottle of Virgin Islands dark rum on the counter.

"Yes; Grandma's recipe," Dalton said, returning to the kitchen. "Move it, Cutie Pie."

"And you made the shortbread cookies?" Theresa said, grabbing a few of the cookies from the tray.

"Mother, get. Get out of my kitchen," Dalton demanded, lifting her off of the ground.

"Dalton!" Theresa squealed, laughing. "Put me...it's not fair. If I wasn't so small..."

She delivered a noisy, cookie crumb laden kiss on his lips. She squealed a second time when he delivered a swat to her compact backside as she grabbed another cookie.

"Party's not until tomorrow night," Theresa said from the living room/dining room combination.

"Mm hmm; rum balls can be frozen," Dalton agreed.

"Oh, oh, and wait. Just wait until you see the dress I made for the party," Theresa enthused, raising her voice to be heard over the food processor.

"I'm sure it's perfect," Dalton said.

His mother certainly had enough money from Andrew's life insurance; she could buy herself a Holiday gown. But being so small, she rankled at the exorbitant prices most places charge for petite clothing. Over the years, the smart, industrious woman had learned how to make her own clothing. Theresa was so good at this task that other smaller women would ask her where she shopped. Most were disappointed to learn she made her own. A few offered to pay her to make clothing for them.

Agreeing that his kitchen sucked, Theresa was agreeable to a burger from Sassy's. At the restaurant, she clutched possessively onto Dalton's arm and glared at the flirtatious waitress.

Theresa ate most of her bacon cheeseburger, half of her atomic fries and all of her sarsaparilla ice cream float. Dalton shook his head as he finished off her meal for her; playfully chiding her for leaving any food at all. Again, she clutched onto Dalton's arm and glared at the overly friendly cashier.

"Listen, at this party? Tomorrow?" Theresa said as they returned to Dalton's apartment. "Uh, drop the 'Mother' bit, all right? My name is Theresa, okay?"

"Hmm? Oh, okay," Dalton agreed.

He intended to sleep on the couch but Theresa wouldn't hear of it. She grabbed some clothing and went into the bathroom; she'd had a long drive from Arkansas and was ready for bed. Dalton agreed; he was bushed as well.

Dalton again resolved to sleep on the couch when Theresa came into the bedroom wearing a skimpy spaghetti strap top that ended just below her 22B breasts and a frilly lace thong. With a giggle, Theresa modeled the skimpy attire and asked Dalton if he liked it.

"Mother, come on," he said, embarrassed.

"Theresa," she corrected him. "Go on; get ready for bed."

She was waiting for him outside of the bathroom. She herded him toward his bedroom; he did not have the opportunity to head to his couch.

Lying down in his queen-sized bed, she gave him a soft kiss to his lips and wished him a good night's rest. Then she wiggled around until her bottom was resting against his side. Dalton had a sneaking suspicion, if he wiggled away, she would follow him until he was out of room to wiggle. So, he fell asleep, his mother's nearly bare backside pressed against him.

"Your kitchen really does suck," Theresa said, trying to make a hash brown casserole the next morning.

"Yes it does," Dalton agreed. "I'm hoping Martin gives me a large enough bonus to actually start looking for a house."

"Oh? And we can have a good kitchen. And more than one itty bitty dinky little bathroom?" Theresa demanded.

"Okay, I need to go in for just a little bit," Dalton said after finishing his breakfast. "Here's my key; I don't know if you plan to do anything, but I don't want you to be trapped here."

At the door, she gave him a long, lingering kiss in parting. He adjusted himself as he stepped out of the apartment; she was still wearing the skimpy top and thong panties.

Dalton's two man crew assured him they'd been just fine without him yesterday. Both young men had fielded one call apiece; Mrs. Wilson in HR had jammed her copier and Yvette's entire network had failed.

"That one was a real pain in the ass; every phone in the building was ringing off the hook," Jones said.

"And poor you," Timmy Prejean smirked. "Having to crawl all around under her desk."

The hot blush on Jones' face told both Timmy and Dalton that Jones had enjoyed the activity. Most of the men and one or two of the women in the building had a crush on the attractive and vivacious receptionist. But after Wade Monroe, an aggressive sales manager who would not take 'No' for an answer was terminated, not many braved asking the attractive young woman for a date. That did not stop most from fantasizing about Yvette though.

The mass exodus from the Boyd building began shortly after three that afternoon. And Yvette Pettijean wished each person a good evening.

"I, you, you uh, you are going to be uh at the party, right?" Jones braved asking and was rewarded with a brilliant smile from the young brunette.

"You going dance with me?" Yvette teased the scrawny IT assistant.

"I uh, I can't dance," Jones confessed.

"I didn't ask if you could dance," Yvette stated, smiling as Dalton stood behind Jones, smirking at her. "I asked if you were going to dance with me."

"Tell her yes, you goofball," Dalton hissed loudly.

"Yes, yes I, okay great see you there," Jones said and hustled out of the lobby.

"Thanks, Yvette," Dalton smirked. "You know, I have to work with him. And you go off and give him a big head?"

"Uh huh," Yvette giggled. "Good night. See you tonight."

Theresa's dress was a red and white striped gown. The shoulders and arms were bare and the slinky material ended just above her knees. Her micro-fieshnet stockings were pure white and her pumps were blood red.

"I swear, whoever made these stockings?" Theresa tittered as she raised the hem of her dress to show her son the cuffs of the stockings. "Is a pedophile. Who else would make stockings for a four foot tall person?"

"Someone with an adorably cute mother?" Dalton asked.

"Oh. Hush. Look, look," she demanded, waggling her freshly painted fingernails at him. "Peppermint!"

Dalton admired the red and white striped design on her meticulously shaped fingernails. He playfully chided her for helping herself to more than a few of the rum balls. Then, while his mother prattled on and on about the cute Asian girls at the nail salon; had he ever been in Abdul's? Did they really think people could afford those prices? And that Babbage's store was out of their minds; four hundred dollars for a bottle of perfume? And it wasn't even a big bottle, Dalton began to dress for the evening ahead.