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The First Noel

By: MrIllusion



Brief message for those who sent me feedback for the String of Luck series: I *will* write the seventh and final part, but I don't know when...

Hello people... If you've read some of Mr.Illusion's other stories, you've probably heard about Will. Well, I'm not Will, I'm Cillian. A friend of Will. This is a story about my very own First Noel. I've always thought that this expression was bizarre: except perhaps Jesus, nobody ever remembers his own First Noel. At least that's what I thought until I had my *real* First Noel. Here goes...

I'd been away from home for my first semester of College at Berkeley, all the way across the country from my home state of Vermont. During those months I couldn't afford a plane ticket nor had I the time for a car trip to visit my family. So for the first time of my life I spent four months away from my parents and my sister. My twin sister Deirdre. I know it's strange to have twins that are not the same sex, but that's what happened. Our family was pretty close together and it had been a real challenge to learn to live without them. Especially my sister. 

Contrary to most boy-girl twins and other normal siblings, my sister and I had managed to keep a great relationship throughout our lives. Even through adolescence when suddenly breasts and pubes prevented us from sharing baths and beds. Can you imagine this? We were still sharing the same bed at 10 years old! And baths! Now, nearly ten years later, those memories were still hard to believe. I had slept for most of my life in the same bed as my twin, my every bath shared, completely naked, with her!

No wonder I spent the rest of my life hopping from girl to girl, trying to find one that would fill that role. Sex helped. Sex helped a lot in fact. As this was not something I had really shared with Deirdre, it gave my later relationships some deeper meaning, some new angle. We did have our share of exploration at the end of our sleeping-together era, but nothing serious. After hearing some of my friends' stories, with their own sisters, I could have gone a lot farther with Deirdre when we were children. Too late for that: can't put that chick back into its egg! 

Being so close, we both knew exactly what was happening in the other one's sex life. Or romantic life, whatever. We kept comparing notes, asking for advice and opinions... But nothing *too* intimate. Like, for example, I never asked her to give me a guided tour of the female pussy. Maybe I should have though: it would have saved me quite a few awkward moments afterwards! But except for details like this, we knew everything that as going on. Even the piercings she had tried to keep hidden from our parents.  

Neither of us ever had a long lasting relationship. I was beginning to realize, through the one psych class I had, that in my case it was probably because I was looking for my sister in those other girls. 5' 9" tall, a fiery redhead, deep blue eyes like the sea that sparkled under the sun, fair skinned with hair that fell in overflowing and compact curls down to her shoulder blades, lightning quick smile, loved to laugh at my jokes... About the rest of her body, well, it's been a problem since our sixteenth birthday, more than two years ago. 

Our parents had prepared a huge feast for this birthday; our Irish heritage focused a lot more on sixteen than eighteen. The extended family would be there and everyone would be well-dressed, tux and evening gowns. I was in my room, wearing my pants and undershirt, and went to the bathroom to shave. I had just begun shaving four months earlier and was quite proud of it! When I opened the door I saw that Deirdre was there.

Oh my God. She was wearing nothing but a matching pair of black velvet panties and bra, as well as the high heels she would wear tonight. I had never seen her in such a state of undress since the time of our shared baths. Her long legs, the pale white skin that we were cursed with but suddenly seemed so incredibly attractive, were incredible. Smooth, flowing, like living rivers of flesh. 

And then the ass, what I could see of it anyway, was just as wonderful. Smooth, small, soft and just slightly rounded into slim hips. In another word: kissable. Above the panties was the little Brighid tattoo she had told me about but not showed. I had never imagined that Brighid could be so sexy, in black, nestled between the cleavage of my twin sister's ass. Oh yes, she had an ass cleavage, where the two slight bulges of her cheeks met above her crack. 

All this flashed in a second. Then she turned around and blasted me with her two breasts. They matched her ass perfectly: smooth and soft, well rounded. With one distinction: they were not small. A good, thick C cup, already swelled and heavy at 16 years old. They were large, going nearly from her armpits and meeting in the middle of her chest, and filled the round bra cups without difficulty. 

Reflexes pulled me out and made me close the door. I closed my eyes, knowing that my face was turning red (another curse of the pale skin, that!). My fore-head against the door, afraid that my sister would be angry, I was surprised to hear her laugh. "Oh come on Cillian. I don't mind! Come in if you want to shave..." But I didn't reply, merely turned around and went back to my room. 

Big mistake. Huge mistake. I was very shy and self-conscious at that point in my life, and knowing how easy it is for me to get an erection, I didn't want to risk embarrassing myself further. So I waited until she left with my mom to get their hair fixed. When she returned we were all ready to leave and didn't have the time to talk about it. I knew she wanted to, but it never happened. 

I spent the next two years thinking about what could have happened, what intimacy could have grown from that missed chance. Still do today. But once more, I couldn't put the chick back into its egg. Done was done. So since that day nudity and physical intimacy has been a problem. We tried to talk about it last year, when we were both stoned, and it helped. But even through the pot we were both embarrassed and although we concluded by saying that we would be more at ease with nudity between us... nothing really changed. 

So am I looking for my sister in my various girlfriends? Probably. Looking for her body? ...that's a hard question. I tried my best not to look at her body too often, even though I have ample opportunities to. You see my sister loves velvet, as you may already know, and loves leather just as much. And black. She loves the color black. Try to picture a tall fair-skinned girl with fire-bright red hair, deep blue eyes, wearing skin tight black leather pants with a black velvet halter-top. You know the type that explicitly let's you know that she's not wearing a bra? Just *try* not looking at her pert, young ass, or at the swell of those free breasts...

But now, as I was getting out of the car after a long trip, I had forgotten all of this. I was home and I would spend two weeks with my family. And with Deirdre. We had talked on the phone at least once a week, with numerous e-mails in between. College life for me and conservatory for her (she plays the flute) had made our romantic life disappear. Nevertheless, we had always managed to keep our conversations interesting. 

When the door closed behind me and my bags dropped noisily to the ground, I saw and heard Deirdre running towards me. I barely had time to remove my coat before she banged into me, grinning and laughing, wrapping her arms around me. I had one arm around her back and the other lost in her hair, behind her head, holding her close to me. I don't know how long we stayed that way, holding each other so close we could barely breath. As I slowly noticed that our parents were not around, probably gone to mammy's house, my qualms about holding her longer faded. 

Sometime later we let go of each other, and despite not having seen each other in four months we were both silent, unable to find something to say. Then we laughed and she invited me to come in and get warm by the fire. The Christmas tree was there, sparsely decorated: that would be our job tonight. For a few years now, while my parents left to see mammy, Deirdre and I decorated the tree. 

By the time we sat on the couches, I noticed that she was wearing nothing but a large tee-shirt. A panty line appeared when she sat down, but it was clear that she wasn't wearing a bra. Her warm breasts on my chest, seconds earlier, separated by nothing but— Stop it! That's your sister damn it!

Then again, since I was sharing a room at the dorm, I was in serious masturbation deficiency! And since I'd had no girlfriend since last summer... And then it happened: I felt an erection stirring. What? an erection while talking to my sister? This had to stop... As if on queue, Deirdre got up to feed the fire and I just couldn't tear my eyes away from her ass as she bent down to put the log in. Her ass looked identical to what I remembered from our 16th birthday episode: small, soft and nicely rounded. Then, as she was unable to place the log correctly, she squatted and grabbed it with two hands. 

She squatted. With nothing on but a tee-shirt. As a matter of course the tee-shirt rode up to her waist, giving me an incredible view of that young, pert ass. And of her black lace panties, a frilly thing that didn't hide very much. She quickly got up and turned, innocent as an angel. But she sensed, when nobody else in the world but my twin would have sensed, that I was uncomfortable. She looked at me thoughtfully, pausing in that stare. She took a deep breath, then told me:

"Cillian, this has to stop..."

"What..."

"Please don't try to wiggle your way out of this one. You've bee afraid of my body since that day you nearly saw me naked."

"Not afraid but..."

"But close enough to make no difference." A sigh. "Cillian we share everything, every secrets and shameful thoughts. Why should we have to hide our skin from each other? I don't mean turning nudist or anything like that. But I want us to be at ease with each other, like we were as girl and boy only a handful of years ago."

"But I'm not only a little boy Deirdre." And then I paused, unsure of how to tell her this... "I can't just look at you... You know, my body just doesn't. I mean—"

"Is that a compliment my dear brother?" A quick Deirdre smile, coming from nowhere, like the sun from behind a cloud. "I know now that I'm beautiful Cillian. Sexy too, apparently. I'm starting to believe it you know!"

We both laughed at that: Deirdre had always complained of being ugly since she was old enough to know what it meant. Her hair too curly, skin that wouldn't tan, too tall... My mother and I used to tell her how beautiful she was and everything, but she was too obstinate. Now it appeared that her boyfriends had managed to do what family couldn't. 

"And I know, " she continued, "that you haven't slept with a single girl since you left, or that you couldn't masturbate often as you liked."

"Deirdre!" we laughed again as I turned a healthy shade of red.

"What? You told it to me yourself... Anyway. It's been two years now. Hasn't it been long enough?"

"I don't think it's a question of that particular day anymore..."

"Then what is it, brother? Are you shy of showing me your body?"

"No."

"Are you troubled by the thought of seeing mine?"

"Well, I don't want to see you as a sexual woman."

"Oh but I am a sexy beast, and you know it perfectly well!"

Once again we laughed at her newfound confidence. But she was not satisfied. 

"I'm serious Cillian. I'm tired of watching myself around you... What does it matter if I happen to bend down right in front of you, or if you happen to see down my top? I don't care, don't care at all."

"I'm not sure that—"

"Well *I* am. I mean it. I'm not going to transform myself into a prude just because you're not mature enough to deal with it..."

A wicked smile this time: she was teasing me, hitting me where I was most sensitive. As we were born in September, we had always been younger than our school friends. She had accepted it easily. Not me. Accusing me of immaturity was one of the worst insults you can throw at me. And Deirdre knew it. Of course she knew it. 

"Anyway, " I said, " I have to take a shower. 

"Ok. But think about it mister, I'm not kidding. Oh and don't forget to lock the door, just in case I need to pee very badly..."

When I looked back over my shoulder she winked and laughed. Shaking my head, I realized that living with a self-confident Deirdre would be a lot harder than I thought! I washed my hairs with Deirdre's herbal shampoo and tried my best not to get my cock too hard with her soap... The 16th birthday episode had only confirmed what I already knew since I was 12 or 13 years old: Deirdre was the most beautiful and sexy girl I had ever seen. As simple as that. And seeing her after four months of absence was wonderful. 

When I walked back to the living room, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans, she was gone. But as I plumped down on the couch I saw that she was lying on the other one, reading a book. Reading a book while her tee-shirt had ridden up all the way to her black pearl. She had had this piercing, her first, when we were fifteen. A lovely black pearl, very small, mounted on a shining silver pin. It was wonderfully beautiful on her. And it was even more beautiful so close to those lace panties. They looked very soft, a thick band of cotton around her waist and hips, sexier as anything I had seen before. a thick red bush, obviously trimmed below her lips, shone in the afternoon sunlight. She pretended not to see me looking at her, kept on reading. 

I sat down in front of the fire and laid back comfortably. I still had her panties in my line of sight though. Smooth hips and thighs, creamy skin and black panties. Long legs, longer than I remembered, thin and smooth as well, that she flexed carelessly while reading. This was it then, my chance at getting familiar with these kinds of moments. My chance, yes, of getting hard again. But I had a pair of jeans that could handle that pretty well in my current position. 

"When are mom and dad coming back?"

"As usual, not before late at night. They said they'd try not to come back too late to see you. But you know they couldn't miss going to mom's family on the 23rd..."

"I know. That's alright we talked about it on the phone. I'm just eager to see them! Well, ready to decorate this monster?"

"Sure!"

A few minutes into it I knew I was in for a show. Or a torture, depending on how you looked at it. The first time Deirdre climbed up on the stepladder, placed her ass just in front of my face and lifted her arms to reach a high spot, I got my first shock. I was inches away from those cheeks I've been secretly dreaming about since I first saw them 2 years ago. The flawless way her thighs meld and transformed into her asscheeks, the way the insides of those thighs tightened two inches before melding with her lips, how this great meeting of curves looked like nothing else than a majestic bull's-eye for her pussy...

And then she half climbed a stair, raising one leg and pushing her curves at me like weapons... The long smooth curve of her small ass was like an invitation to madness: one touch and I'd go completely crazy. Beneath the tight lace I could see her pussy, see how it molded the panties across its rounded surface. Full lips, large lips that defined a distended pussy, going far below her. This was not a slight little thing but a large pussy able to meet every challenge. If it was obviously visible from this angle, I couldn't imagine what it would look like from behind when Deirdre was on all fours...

But I had to shake those images from my mind. Deirdre climbed fully to the next step and as I looked up I saw that her tee-shirt was hanging away from her body as she leaned forward. From below I could see her breasts, their large bases swelling from her sides all the way to her sternum. They were wiggling around with her arms, moving from side to side like choreographed dancers. They were not really big, but they were all there, looking softer than clouds. But they were flesh, warm flesh and blood, covered with that smooth white flesh...

Deirdre giggled, looking down at me. "Cillian! For the third time, can you give me that garland?" I mumbled something in reply and gave her what she wanted. She was laughing as she got back up. And for the rest of the evening, decorating this tree, I had ample opportunity to see her ass from every angle, her breasts from above or below, and even a few tightly laced pussy shots. My blood was heating up and my cock kept swinging from being softly full to partially hard. 

When it was over I was both glad and disappointed. My twin was gorgeous, had breasts that would make babies hard; a soft, jaw-dropping little ass, and all the features of a nymph of legend. And she knew it now, was confident about it now. Damn! those two weeks here were going to be harder than I thought!

After the tree we settled back down on the couches, in front of the fire. She took back her book, looking at me wickedly while readjusting her tee-shirt so as to unveil her panties. Not a word, but quite a dare. What was I going to do? Ignore it? Ignore her? Ignore the urge I had to take her in my arms and eat her up? A few minutes later, knowing I was still watching her, she turned her head on the pillow and looked at me. And smiled gloriously. Sunlight. By God she was beautiful. The afternoon sun was already low in the sky, shining golden light into the living room. Soft Irish music was playing in the background, the fire was steadily being just perfect, a few candles were already lit... Were this any other girl, I would have said that things were perfect for an incredible evening! 

"It's been six months since Mandy... And how long has it been since Mark, Deirdre?"

She said, with a small smile, "Seven months. Why?"

"Nothing, " I chuckled. "I was just thinking how perfect our parent's house was for romantic evenings..."

"Indeed." She laughed with me. "Wow, I ask you to be relaxed around me and already you're on the verge of trying to seduce me!"

"No!" My eyes bulged out in surprise. "Oh Deirdre, don't tease me now!"

She sat up, looked at me wistfully. "I miss him you know..."

"I know." I replied softly. 

And then she did something that would turn out to be the key to everything that followed. She got up and asked me to move over on my couch. When I turned on my side, pushed against the back, she sat and lied down before curling herself against me. She grabbed my hand and forcefully pulled it around her until it was nestled against her neck. Also nestled, just a bit lower, between her breasts. 

"How long has it been Cillian, since you could smooth and comfort me like this? Oh how badly I would have liked to run to your room and spend the night in your arms, crying, when Mark left. Somehow I think it would have helped; a lot..."

I didn't know what to do. I was stunned by her bold move but at the same time I understood it perfectly. We *had* done that more than a few times in the past. And it *did* help. Yet at the same time, my half erection was still there, and now that my arm was between her breasts, it could only grow... I could feel her backing off against me, her back, ass and legs, and I knew she was going to feel it soon. 

I tried to wiggle around to try and move it lower, then tried again until Deirdre told me to stop. 

"I don't mind Cillian... don't mind feeling it against me. Please just hold me, it's been so long since we've been this close. I'm beginning to miss you, miss this closeness, more than I miss Mark. And those last four months showed me just how important you were."

She bent down and kissed my fingers. Seconds later, relieved, I pulled her against me, nestled my face into her hair and kissed the top of her head. We stayed like this, watching the fire and the sun, for the half hour it took for it to disappear completely. By then Deirdre was asleep, breathing deeply in my arms. Her breasts on my arm were beginning to drive me crazy. My hand was opening and closing slowly, jealous of my forearm. Unable... unable or unwilling? Anyway, unable to resist I began sliding it down. What was the harm anyway? What was the difference between looking and feeling? My mind knew there was one, a big one, but somehow I didn't care. Perhaps a double dose of Deirdre's shampoo had gotten me intoxicated? ...I smiled into her hair. 


The First... Noel



This is my entry in the Holiday Story Contest. Enjoy!

Thanks to techsan for his usual superb job of editing!

CHRISTMAS EVE, PRESENT DAY

Little Harry Bailey was quiet, and sneaky, and patient. He had turned four the previous July and he had a plan. The other kids were in the family room watching a Christmas special. He was too, sorta. He was wedged in between the end of the sofa and the wall. This gave him a good vantage point – he could watch the rest of the kids, he could look at the special and he could see the adults sitting around the dinner table. They were all drinking hot chocolate or eggnog. The ones with the eggnog kept passing around a bottle and they seemed really happy.

Deciding he was ready he crawled backwards, a little at a time. Was anyone watching? A little more, and then he was in the hallway. Getting up to a crouch he quietly, and slowly, went into the living room. Yes, there it was... a tall tree decorated in a fantasy of colors, lights blinking, hung all over with neat things to play with! But that was not his objective! Underneath the tree was a jumble of boxes, packages, big ones small ones – all wrapped in glorious colored papers.

Dropping down to his belly, a snake stalking its prey, he slithered into the room. The only light was from the tree and two candles on the mantle. He could hear the stereo gently playing:

The First Noel, the Angels did say

Was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay

He neared his goal: his presents under the tree! He started reaching for the first box to look at the tag and he heard a soft sound coming from the other side of the tree, a snuffling, sniffling sort of sound. Curiosity won out over his greed, at least for a minute, and he crawled around the tree. There on the sofa was granny Gin Gin. He stood up and walked over to her. There was a sparkle in her eyes, in later years he would understand this was the Christmas lights reflecting on unshed tears.

Seeing Little Harry when he stood up she put out her arms and he ran into them. "Harry, what are you doing in here; no, never mind I think I know!"

"Gin Gin", he asked, "are you crying?" 

Taking a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbing at her eyes, she answered, "No, honey, I just have a few magic raindrops in my eyes."

Standing on his tiptoes, his eyes suddenly large, he stared into her damp eyes.

Laughing a little she kidded her grandson, "You know what magic raindrops are, don't you?"

As he shook his head no she continued, "Every year at Christmas time Santa Claus sends one of his elves around with a bottle of magic raindrops and they put a few drops in every grandmother's eyes. Then when she looks at all of her grandchildren, she can tell if they have been good or not! Only the good ones get presents."

Looking at him a little sternly, she asked "Harry, have you been a good boy this year?"

Looking a little worried, he first nodded yes, then, after a bit, shook his head no.


Giving him a huge hug as only grandmothers can, she pulled him down under the tree. "I know you've been good because look at all these presents for you! Go ahead and see what you can find."

Leaving him to his task, she sat back on the sofa, dabbing her eyes again. Her eyes were on Little Harry but her thoughts drifted back to earlier, her sadness triggered by the song she played over and over every Christmas:

Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel
Born is the King Of Israel

CHRISTMAS SEASON, MANY YEARS EARLIER

Ginny had just got out of the shower and was looking in the mirror, seeing what she always saw: a short pixie-like girl with dirty blond hair, always appearing as it did now, a couple inches long, scraggly and sticking up everywhere. She was somewhat angular from the years of competitive running, but she saw enough curves to draw a slight smile.

She finished drying herself, took the silly plastic bag from around her foot and ankle and got dressed, grabbed her hairbrush and stared angrily at the mirror. This was a daily battle she fought, her against her hair. Going into attack mode she furiously brushed. Surrendering, she threw the brush in a drawer and vigorously ran her fingers through the mess on top of her head. 

Snorting, she thought "I might as well shave it off; it could only look better! At least this is better than when it was long." Since she rarely wore makeup, she gave up, put a dab of the latest cologne that promised to make her "alluring" and left the guest bedroom using her crutches. She had sprained her ankle somewhat severely, slipping while running in the snow, and was sleeping in the guest bedroom downstairs so she wouldn't have to negotiate the stairs. It was working out okay, especially since it had its own bathroom.

Virginia Davis had graduated from high school the previous spring, and had turned eighteen just before Thanksgiving. She was currently going to the local community college but had no idea what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. As a result she was taking General Ed classes, trying to get some of the required courses out of the way while she waited for an inspiration for her future.

Ginny ... she never allowed anyone to call her Virginia ... was a lot of things. She was smart, cute, funny, short, a runner, a daughter, a sister, a student, a pretty good cook, and... well, you get the idea. If you could get inside Ginny's head and see what she thought she was, it wouldn't be any of those things. When she really thought about it, when she looked in a mirror, when she woke up late at night, when she gossiped with her friends, she always came back to one thing: she was a virgin!

This wasn't any particular plan or belief of hers, nor a concerted effort to stay that way, that's just how it had worked out. She had had the regular supply of boyfriends, though none for more that a few months. Few of her friends had made it to the senior prom as a virgin - none of them past the prom! Of course they talked about it all the time, sometimes giggling, sometimes whispering, once in a while blushing.

But not Ginny. She had no stories to titillate her friends with. She sometimes felt left out, and in general had very mixed feelings. Some days she was embarrassed, other days proud. Some nights she felt a longing, a stirring in her loins that confused her. She wasn't in a rush to lose it but sometimes it seemed like a burden to bear. Her life was great but it seemed to lack definition to her; some days everything seemed a little fuzzy!

She was waiting for her brother Marty. He was a junior at the state university and was coming home for a little over two weeks. The last time she had talked to him, he said "Ginny, I'm bringing home a boyfriend for you," but he wouldn't say anything else.

Now she was waiting for them to get back from the train station. Her parents had gone down to pick them up. She was alternately curious, nervous, and shy. She awaited their arrival with some trepidation and finally decided to go into the kitchen and futz around rather than appear to be too interested. She tripped a little on the hallway rug and banged into the wall. Boring!

Finally the garage door made that awful grinding, rumbling noise. She heard them come into the house, waited a minute and then nonchalantly sauntered (hard to do on crutches!) in to meet them. Marty grabbed her and gave her a hard time about her ankle. He introduced her to his dorm roommate: "Ginny, this is TD Bailey! TD, this is Ginny."

As he put his hand out she automatically put hers out, forgetting the crutches, and fell right at him. With an athletes reflexes he grabbed her under each arm and steadied her.

"I told you she has the hots for you, TD!" Marty laughed, teasing Ginny.

Blushing scarlet, Ginny mumbled something like "pleasedtomeetcha" and stumbled back to the kitchen on her crutches. The boys went upstairs to get settled in. Marty was staying in his room, but since it only had one bed, TD was going to stay in Ginny's room. She had a sudden flash of intimate apparel strewn all over the room and her diary lying open on the dresser. A quick check with her mom settled her mind on this. 

At first she really liked TD (what kind of name was that?), what wasn't there to like? He was just less than six feet, maybe 170 pounds (she wasn't very good at this!), with dark curly hair and long ropy muscles. He was well dressed in nice slacks and a sport shirt. "He's actually pretty cute!" mused Ginny. He was unfailingly polite to her and her parents. 

That night at dinner, her dad, George Davis, asked TD about his name. Marty answered for him: "At the homecoming game the week before Thanksgiving last year, he intercepted a pass and ran it back for a touchdown as time expired, giving us the game! We were twenty point underdogs. Anyway, as he was running off the field the head cheerleader came flying through the air into his arms screaming 'TD! TD! TD!' as she hugged him and smeared lipstick all over his face. The name just stuck. His real name is Noel Bailey."

Marty started regaling them with stories of how all the girls would chase him after that. Noel would laugh a little at some of this, but didn't say much. Ginny started having second thoughts about how desirable he was. Unbidden, her mind whispered to her, "Hey, girl! You aren't jealous, are you?" 

Things went along for two more days with everyone seeming to have fun... anyway there were lots of laughs. She noticed that Noel (she just couldn't think of him as TD) seemed to be around her more and more. A bit surprised at herself, she didn't seem to mind, even started looking forward to spending time with him. He was very solicitous of her ankle, running around getting things for her. One afternoon when he brought her some cookies and milk, she thought, "I could get used to this," as she kissed his cheek quite naturally.

Two days before Christmas Ginny was in the kitchen cutting out cookies in several different Christmassy shapes. Her mom had made the dough ahead of time so she could sit at the table, do the cutouts and sprinkle different colors of crystal sugar on them. This had always been her job to do, and it was something she could do sitting down. Suddenly there were two large hands covering her eyes, and a falsetto voice rang out, "Guess who?"

Knowing who it was and deciding to make it her game not his, she said in a tentative voice. "Fumble?" She continued, "No, his voice is much nicer! I know! It's Interception! No, it can't be him; he's too polite to bother me when I'm making cookies. Let's see... Gosh it can't be TD, he was supposed to help me make cookies – if it is him, I'm calling delay of game!" 

With a laugh, she pulled his hands off her eyes and turned her head towards him... only to be met by his lips brushing hers! Blushing she turned her head back and picked up the cookie cutter again, and mumbled, "Delay of game! No cookies for you buster!"

Noel smiled and as he sat down he couldn't resist rubbing her hair with one of his hands, causing her face to turn even redder. 

"I'll make you a bargain," he told her, "If you give me some cookies I'll make hot chocolate! Deal?"

"Okay," she said with a grin.

That night Ginny had a plan on how to get back at him. None of the other boys she had dated would sit still for a movie unless it was a "bang-bang, shoot 'em up." Marty had gone out on a date and her parents were going to a neighbor's house to play cards. 

While they were sitting with her parents having eggnog after dinner, she said "Noel, would you like to watch a movie with me tonight. They are showing one of my favorites." Expecting him to hem and haw a little she was surprised with his answer.

"Sure, that sounds like fun! Since you are a cripple I'll make popcorn!"

Thinking, "Wait 'til he sees what it is! He'll be stuck."

The movie was on at eight. She had been watching "It's a Wonderful Life" every Christmas since she was ten.

They got settled in on the sofa in the living room, popcorn ready as promised, in a bowl between them on the cushion. She was surprised again when he seemed interested in the movie. He said he had only seen it once, about five years ago.

During a commercial about half way through the movie, Noel took the popcorn bowl back to the kitchen and brought them a soda. Acting like it was the most natural thing in the world, he sat next to her where the bowl had been. A few minutes later she felt his hand lay on hers, not holding it, just resting there. She started to pull her hand out, but decided to leave it there for a minute. After a while she forgot about it and eventually noticed they were holding each other's hands tightly.

When the movie was over, Noel turned to her and said, "Ginny, I really enjoyed that. I could see it was a special movie for you and I appreciate you asking me to share it with you." He put his hand on her cheek for a minute, looking in her eyes. After a minute he got up and turned off the television.

Coming back to the sofa he leaned over and picked her up. "Come on girl, It's time to get you in bed!"

Aghast at what he said she tried to wiggle out of his hands but he ignored her. Carrying her down the hall to her temporary bedroom, he laid her on the bed.

"Noel! Wh... what are you doing?"

Grinning at her, he turned around and threw over his shoulder, "I'm going to get your crutches. What did you think?"

She could hear his laughter rumbling down the hall. She smiled to herself, remembering her thoughts and wondering if she was less panicked than she had acted.

Noel came back with the crutches and put them across the foot of the bed where she could reach them easily. Sitting down next to her on the bed he took both of her hands in one of his he put the other on top of her head and rubbed it through her hair. 

"Noel! What are you doing to my hair?"

"I'm just doing what you do all day long."

"I don't!"

"Yup, you do," Noel countered. "During dinner I counted, seventeen times!"

Leaning over her kissed her gently. When she didn't move away he put his arms around her and kissed her more energetically.

Pulling her head back to catch her breath, she chattered, "Wow! I've never been kissed like that!"

Teasing her, he said with a smile, "Well Ginny, you've never been kissed by a man before!"

Kissing her again he started rubbing her back with his hands. Lost in the moment he pulled his hand around and put it on her breast. 

Putting both of her hands on his hand on her breast, holding it there, she whispered, "Noel, what do you want?"

Cupping her face in his hands he looked at her for a longish minute, not saying anything, looking into her eyes. "Ginny, I want... I need... Damn! I'm sorry Ginny. I'd better go to bed." 

With a quick kiss on her forehead, he left her alone, prisoner to her thoughts.

The next morning, the day before Christmas, when she went in for breakfast, Noel was already there. Pausing at his chair she ran her hand vigorously through his neatly combed hair, laughing at him. Laying her crutches on the floor she slipped into the chair next to him.

They were having a big dinner on Christmas Day, so they didn't have anything particular planned for Christmas Eve. Ginny's mom and dad went to his brother's for dinner but she stayed home because of her ankle. Marty and TD went out with some of Marty's old high school friends to deliver toys to kids that needed a smile that holiday season. Both of them dressed up in Santa costumes and they had a lot of fun taking Polaroid pictures of each other in various combinations. They left and Ginny was left alone, smiling at some of the photos.

Christmas Eve wasn't a fun time to be by herself and Ginny was feeling melancholy. Putting a nightgown and robe on, Ginny turned the radio to a station playing Christmas carols. She wanted some hot chocolate, but thought it would be too hard to carry back with her crutches, so she sat on the sofa between the tree and the fireplace. It was a little warm on the sofa so she took her robe off, knowing she would be in bed well before anyone came home. Sleepily listening to the music, she heard

The First Noel, the Angels did say
Was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay
In fields where they lay keeping their sheep
On a cold winter's night that was so deep.
Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel

as she dozed off, incongruously musing of her virginity and Noel.

About nine, Marty and Noel came back from delivering their packages. Marty went on upstairs while Noel decided he wanted a beer first. He had seen the firelight flickering, and considered sitting there in the quiet family room sipping the beer and thinking of Ginny. He hadn't said anything even to Marty but he was falling for Ginny fast. She was cute, mostly sweet, with a biting humor at times. 

Walking into the family room where the Christmas tree was located, he was startled to see Ginny asleep on the sofa... wearing only her nightgown. He started to cover her with her robe, but he didn't want to wake her up. He sat on the floor, his back to the fireplace and watched her. He couldn't help but see her body, the slim legs, and the gown almost see-through. But mostly he just looked at her face, somewhat surprising himself. He memorized each feature: small button nose, oval face, her eyebrows natural, not plucked. The phrase "girl next door" came to his mind. Ever after that whenever Noel heard that phrase, he saw her there in his mind, face in repose, tranquil.

Deciding on another beer, he went into the kitchen. As he was opening it, he heard Marty's parents coming in through the garage. They chatted for a moment, asking about the caroling and delivery of presents. Marty's grade school class started that tradition many years before when they used to drive the kids from house to house. Yawning, they bade him good night. 

Going back into the family room he sat as before, back to the fireplace watching Ginny. Finishing the can, he put it on the floor and dozed off. A little later his head fell down and he awoke as he jerked it back up. Looking at Ginny he saw that she was watching him with doe eyes. They stared at each other for a time, and then startled she grabbed her robe and covered herself with it. 

Turning his head away, he mumbled, "I'm sorry, I was going to cover you up but I didn't want to wake you."

Now that she had the robe over her she was more comfortable, "That's okay. I thought I would be in bed before anyone came home, but I fell asleep. I'm dying for some hot chocolate, but I didn't want to try it on my crutches. Noel, could you please fix me some?"

With a quick "sure!" Noel left with some alacrity to fix the chocolate. He returned a couple minutes later with cups for each of them and a thermos of hot chocolate. He noticed she had put the robe on and had it tightly belted.

They talked for another hour, until almost midnight, getting to know each other better. It was cozy; the fire was down to coals, but still radiating heat.

Ginny felt somewhat outside of her body, as if she were watching herself. She was having very confusing and conflicting emotions – at times having warm feelings for Noel, at others feeling very nervous, almost jittery. The chocolate gone, the fire burned down, it was time to go to bed. 

Not looking at him, Ginny asked, "Noel, I hate to ask you this, but my ankle is really bothering me tonight, it hurts! Could you... you carry me in to my room?"

Without responding, Noel leaned over and seemingly with no effort picked her up and carried her down the hall to the guest bedroom. Being careful to leave the door open, he laid her on the bed.

Putting his hand on her ankle with surprising tenderness, he asked, "Ginny? Does it hurt that much? I can ice it for you if you want."




The First... Noel



Not facing him, she quietly agreed, "Yes, please."

Noel went to get the ice and when he got back he saw that she had taken her robe off and crawled under the covers. As he came in she flipped the blanket off her leg so he could put the ice on it. He gently unwrapped the tape and put a hand towel under her ankle. With a light touch he slowly rubbed the ice around the inflamed area, red from trying to move around too much. 

The ice eased the pain for Ginny and she slowly relaxed and fell asleep. 

When Noel finished, he threw the leftover ice in the bathroom sink and with a cautious touch dried her ankle and re-wrapped the bandage. Pulling the covers back over her leg, he quietly walked to the door and paused to look back at her with his hand on the light switch. He went back to her, carefully ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her forehead. Returning to the door, he flipped the switch off and... shrugged his shoulders, closed the door and went back and lay beside her on top of the covers.

Noel thought, "I'll just lay here for a few minutes, to see if her ankle bothers her." He smiled at his mendacity, knowing he just wanted to be with her for a while. He listened to the wind picking up, brushing the tree limbs almost tenderly against the house. Looking forward to the snow the wind portended, he slipped down through the layers of awareness into a deep sleep.

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house
Only one creature was stirring, certainly not a mouse!

Slowly Ginny struggled awake, trying to turn in her sleep to ease the discomfort of her ankle. Pulling on the blanket it wouldn't budge. Coming awake enough to sit up she looked over to try to fix the covers; she was so startled seeing someone there she almost screamed. The dim reddish light from her clock radio allowed her to see it was Noel lying there, fast asleep!

Gasping a little she fought to come fully awake and understand what was happening, why was he in her bed? With her first clear thought she giggled a little, she was finally sleeping with a man! Blushing with the thought she gazed at his features – his face faintly seen, faintly reddish in profile from the light of the clock.

Studying him, curious, she put out her hand and lightly caressed the planes of his face. With little reluctance she yielded to her instinctive wishes and kissed him lightly on the cheek, eliciting a slight movement: Noel brushing an imaginary fly away. Grinning a little she leaned down again, pressing her lips lightly to his, a kiss more hinted at than felt. 

Lying back down she wrestled with her thoughts. Emotions, feelings long dormant washed over her, her skin flushing hot, her body tingling with an unexpected anticipation. In sudden awareness she knew what she wanted. Shocked at her audacity, but thrilled with anticipation she leaned back over Noel.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;

Noel delighted in the sensual pleasure his sub-conscious gifted him with in his dream, luxuriated in the tactile pleasure of warm skin as his finger tips gently moving on her back... he could feel the warm soft lips, he could feel her weight resting lightly... he could feel! Damn this wasn't a dream. Opening his eyes he could dimly see a face pressed against his. As he tried to sit up Ginny pressed him back down with her hand. 

"Ginny! What...?"

"Sh! Don't say anything." Ginny whispered, pressing her lips back to his, her tongue slipping between his lips, sweetly probing. 

Noel gave himself in to the moment. Kissing her back, slowly at first, then more forcefully. He put his arms around her, underneath her gown, rubbing the softness. Sliding down to cup her buttocks, holding the slim firmness to pull her tighter to him. He could feel her hand reaching down, grasping him. 

Wanting more, he rolled her over, hitting her ankle with his leg as he turned.

"Ouch" Ginny exclaimed! "Oh, that hurts!"

"Ginny, I'm Sorry!" Noel cried as he leaned over to turn on the lamp.

In the sudden bright glow of the lamp, Ginny turned her face into the pillow, blushing now that he could see her.

"I shouldn't have laid down, Ginny. I was going to lie down for a few minutes and then get up. I must have fallen asleep.

Turning to face him, she shyly told him "That's okay, Noel, I'm glad you did! Except for hitting my ankle, that wasn't so good."

"Jeez, I'm sorry, Ginny!"

Smiling now, Ginny said, "Would you quit saying you're sorry and ice my ankle again?"

Noel went to the kitchen to get the ice, and came back for his icing routine again. There were a couple of differences this time. Ginny didn't cover up this time, but she did turn red and avert her head whenever he looked up at her, frankly admiring her body. This time, before and after the icing, he gently kissed her ankle. 

When he finished the wrapping, he stood and walked up to kiss her goodnight. The kiss became somewhat lingering, but gathering himself he stood up. "Goodnight, Ginny. I'm afraid I'm falling for you and if I stay, I..."

"Noel, I want you to stay! Put that towel over the lamp and hold me!"

"Ginny, are you sure? Do you know what will happen?"

"Yes, Noel," she said with a trace of asperity, "my mother told me all about the birds and the bees. Well, maybe not all of it!" she finished with a giggle. In a more sober mien, she looked him in the eye, searching for something. As she saw what she was looking for, she took his hands and continued, "Noel, Noel. You are my first. There hasn't been anyone that I wanted to love before you, but... somehow you have touched my heart!

Putting the towel over the lamp he laid on the bed, holding her tight. Whispering... nothings into her ear he could feel her gently weeping. Leaning his head back, with a gentle touch of the tips of his fingers, he wiped under her eyes, and then kissed each one. 

"Don't cry, Ginny? Are you sad?"

"No, I'm just emotional. If I smile, will you make love to me?" Ginny responded with a big smile!

Noel slowly removed her gown, planting kisses as more of her body showed. He marveled over her breasts, not large but with nipples already erect. He gently made love to her, then with more urgency later in the night. They slept deeply, sated, bodies intertwined. 

Somehow knowing he needed to get up before everyone else, Noel awoke in the darkness, looking at Ginny in the dim light. "God she's pretty," he thought. I really do love her. Putting his arms around her, holding her tightly, he quietly said, "Ginny, I need to get back to my room."

"I love you Noel," she whispered in his ear.

"I know Ginny. I know. Are you okay?"


Giggling into his ear she said at a low whisper, "I'm fine! I'm just glad it was TD that showed up and not Fumble!" 

Tickling her with his hand he kissed her on her button nose and slipped from her bed.

Ginny rose with the dawn, the room cold, and frost on the windows. Looking through the center of the window she could see a sparkling wonderland, gleaming white in the brilliant sunshine of winter. Taking as quick a shower as she could with the plastic bag wrapped around her foot and ankle, she again looked in the mirror as she dried herself off. Amazingly she looked the same! How could she feel so different but not look it! She left the bathroom with a smile on her face thinking of last night.

Dressing she hobbled in to breakfast. Only her mother was in the kitchen when she entered. Looking at her daughter, she came closer. Putting her hands on Ginny's shoulders, a couple of tears came to her eyes, but she didn't say anything. Putting her arms around her she gave her a big hug and said "Merry Christmas, baby!" and turned quickly away.

Limping towards her mom she stood behind her, giving her mother a hug. Softly, she said, "It's okay mom. I love him. I'm glad you are my mom!"

Her mom turned around and holding each other they gently cried for a moment, then looked at each other with a smile.

After breakfast everyone gathered around the Christmas tree for their traditional exchange of gifts. Noel was standing beside or behind her while everyone opened his or her presents. There were a couple of boxes for Noel, including a pen set from Ginny. She felt funny giving something so impersonal to him after last night. She kept looking for one for her from him, but didn't see anything. With just a couple gifts left she looked around and noticed that Noel was gone! She couldn't get up – she was sunken in the chair and the crutches were against the wall.

A few minutes later she looked up and saw that everyone was staring at her. Confused for a minute, she finally looked around. Noel was standing there with his Santa Claus suit on! Coming around beside her he handed her the gift and gave her a hug. Watching her he had a smile on his face as she looked at the tag on the box:

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus!

CHRISTMAS EVE, PRESENT DAY

A smile on her face Ginny reflected back on that Christmas Day so many years and so many wonderful memories ago! 

Noel became a frequent visitor at the Davis household, but they didn't share a bed again that Christmas holiday. They talked it over and felt they should slow down and give their love more time to grow.

Ginny's mom shared her concerns about birth control, mumbling something about "God protects the innocent and the dumb!"

Noel and Ginny got married eighteen months later, the day after he and Marty graduated! Ginny was now a sophomore at the same school having discovered a passion for writing. 

The years went by and blessed them with two boys and a girl, and later five grandchildren.

Then two years ago her beloved Noel was taken from her, in the dark of the night, a brain aneurism. Christmas was now a bittersweet time for her: missing Noel, but gathering with her family each year.

One of her grandchildren, Little Harry, having gotten bored looking at boxes, was climbing back on her lap. Giving his granny Gin Gin a big hug he asked/demanded "I want a story!"

Smiling, she asked, "Will a fairy tale be okay?" At his nod, she started "A long time ago a little girl found out that Santa Claus was real... and hers!" and told him the story in little boy words as he drifted off to sleep and her tape played on the stereo:

On a cold winter's night that was so deep.
Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel

"Noel, she whispered, "It was a wonderful life!" as her eyes misted over again.

The End!

Thanks for reading, if you enjoyed the story, please vote!



The First Noel



Angela sat on her empty bed and did her ritual of missing her husband, who had died a year ago, before bed as she did almost every night since. Everybody said it would be better in time, that time would heal, she'd soon find the will to move on, but it seemed that the only thing time did was make it worse. She found herself missing her husband more every passing week. Dating again was only a thought she flirted with. And for a woman of forty, with signs of how she'd look when she was sixty starting to show because of the constant frown on her face, it wasn't easy to find the proverbial satisfaction. She didn't have too many hobbies either, or any other such interest to busy her mind with. She had always loved literature, but ever since her husband's death, she couldn't quite rekindle her love for it. Her idle mind would always find a way to pile on the sadness she was already burdened with. It did nothing to help her move on. 

After about five minutes of smiling to herself, caressing herself, frowning, thinking about the person she had shared her bed with for eighteen years, she finally got in. Her thoughts then wandered towards her nineteen year old son, her only son, who was in his room across the hall, face glued to his computer screen, playing some game or the other. She briefly wondered if she should be worried about him, but as quickly decided she shouldn't and tried to think of something more positive. She'd missed him for too long to dare to think of anything negative about him. 

Noah sat at his desk and his face was glued to his computer screen. But contrary to what his mother thought he was doing, he was surfing through various websites looking for jobs. He didn't want his mother to worry about him. Dropping out of college after just a year was far from what any mother would want for their only son. His father's insurance money would only last for so long, and with just his mother's small salary at a local bookstore, and his as a part-time salesman at a clothing store, it would soon become hard to make ends meet. He didn't want to be a burden. Moving out, he thought, was not an option. At least not right now. He would wait until he got a proper job, which could take a while, or his mother found someone. He wasn't too sure if he could do it even then. He was at a boarding school for four year in high school, a year away in college, and now that his father had died, he didn't want his mother to feel abandoned by her only son. 

Finding nothing, again, he closed all the tabs. After a brief and unnecessary contemplation, he opened a new one and entered the Literotica website. It was his favorite pastime. He thought that porn videos were too blatant and phony. Fine enough if you wanted a quick fix, but it had nothing on a fine piece of writing that didn't need bad acting or fake orgasms to get you completely simulated. Sure, some stories were blatant and phony too, but a good piece of writing is always worth reading through ten bad writings. His love for literature was probably the only thing he inherited from his mother. Other than that, he was an exact replica of his father. There were even some who didn't know them that thought they were brothers. Nobody ever mistook the fact that they were related. 

Angela, in the other room, twisted and turned, unable to sleep. Some nights she slept as soon as her head touches the pillow and she'd fall into a deep and dreamless sleep. But it was not one of those nights. She looked at the time on her phone. It was a quarter to one - Sunday. She didn't have to go to work, so she decided to give up chasing sleep. She got up and turned on her laptop to review a short story she wrote a few days ago. She had always wanted to be a writer, but had never quite written anything worthy of publication. She had been writing a story, one which she thought had a very good potential, but when her husband died, she gave it up, deleted all the files, and never tried to continue. 

A month ago, out of boredom, she had stumbled upon Literotica. She had never had much interest in any type of erotica, although she had nothing against them. She didn't even know literary porn exists so freely until then. But once she started reading, she saw it was more than just mindless erotic crap that she had expected. Some stories were even better than some of the books she'd read. After that, she had read at least one from each category. For some reason she found the stories in the taboo category really intriguing. There was something about forbidden love that caught her interest. No one wants to hear stories about a perfect young man and a perfect young woman falling in love and living happily ever after. Where's the story in that? It was the challenge, the uphill battle, going against the society, the silent and intense rebellion that really interested her. And not too long ago, she decided to write one herself. At least she was going back to literature. 

An hour later, after re-reading, re-editing, and revising, she opened the website to submit it. She hesitated, as she did countless times before. Who would read it? What if they hated it? Was her username, 'WidowAngel', too obvious? Would people she know read it? Would they know it was her? What would they think of her? No point in mulling over it, she thought. It was just a story, and a good one at that, compared to some others she had read. And in any case, it was a chance for someone to read her words, and that was all she wanted. She clicked on the submit button. 

FIVE NIGHTS LATER 

Noah received an email that said that his application for an internship at a publishing house was accepted. Among other many interests, his first choice had always been to work within the publishing industry. It had been hard, finding any publisher that would accept a college dropout, and he had given up on searching a couple of time. Seeing the email, although it wasn't that big of a news, he had the feeling that his life was about to take a turn. 

He went to tell his mother the good news. He had been keeping his search a secret from her mother, not wanting to give her false hope. He went to her door. It was still early so he didn't think she would be asleep yet. Just as he was about to enter, he heard strange sounds coming from within. He listened. It was the sound that he hadn't heard in a while, the sound he hated hearing, and had no wish to hear it ever again. His mother was sobbing. 

Angela was clutching a photo of her late husband in her right hand and a handkerchief in the other. Her eyes were red. She had been crying for a while now. She didn't try to stop, she just let herself go. Then she heard the door creak open behind her, followed by her son's voice. "Mom? Are you okay?" her son asked with his tender voice that sounded so much like his father's. Sometimes she even mistook them when they spoke on the phone. 

"I'm okay, Noah," she said with a voice gruff from all the sobbing. She wiped her tears away. "I was just feeling a little emotional." 

"Can I come in?" Noah asked. She could hear a little hesitation in his voice. 

She wiped the last of her tears away. She turned toward her son. "Come," she said, and attempted a smile. 

As her son walked in, she did not fail to see the stark resemblance to her husband. It wasn't just his appearance, it was the way he carried himself, the way his shoulders moved, the way his arms swung, the hint of a smile every time he spoke, that screamed - 'I am my father's son'. He sat down next to her and looked at the picture she was holding. 

"Every time I see you, I see your father," she said. "Seeing that, I know he is alive and well in you, and that always warms my heart." She stroke his hand. She thought about how her husband used to stroke hers. "Or maybe I'm just too weak to move on." 

"No," Noah said, "I know you're not weak. I'm your son. I know." 

She smiled at him. "Thank you," she said, almost a whisper. She cleared her throat. "I just miss him so much, you know? I don't know what I'd be without you." 

"I miss him too," Noah said. "But we have each other." 

"We have each other," she repeated her son's words. She leaned forward, put his hands behind his head and kissed him on the forehead. She let go. "So what did you want to say?" 

"Oh, not important right now," he answered. 

"Go on. I'm okay, really. Don't mind me." 

"Okay then," he said. His lips stretched to form a wide handsome smile. "A few days ago, I applied for an internship at a publishing house and I got accepted. A paid internship. Not much, but still..." 

"Really?" she said. She was genuinely surprised. But then again, she always knew she didn't have to worry about him. Like his father, she knew, Noah could take care of himself. "You should've told me about it before. I would've wanted to help you job hunt." 

"Well, I didn't want you to get your hopes up too high in case I wasn't accepted. And it's still only an internship. Nothing guaranteed." 

"I know they'll take you in." She knew. "I'm so happy. You make me happy. Keep doing that." They both laughed. 

Noah told her mother everything he knew about the details, and then they spoke about some other things for a while. "Anyway, that was what I originally came here for," he finally said and got up. 

Angela got up too. "I'm so happy," she said again, and then hugged him. "I love you, Noah." 

"I love you too," Noah said. They let go. "Goodnight!" they said, and he walked back to his room. The smile on his face stayed. 

Angela got into bed, happy hearted. She hadn't felt that happy in a long time. It was not just the fact that Noah told her good news, but because the good news broke her away from her sadness. The reason she cried seemed silly to her now. It was the night her husband and she first had sex on their second date. It was heavenly to her. Not even the sex on their wedding night beat the magic of their first one. Neither of them were a virgin then, but it mattered little. They commemorated their first time together by having sex on the same night every year since. Sometimes they had argued, but that didn't ever stop them. The sex just became a little angrier than usual. But that night, for the second time since she'd known him, she was alone. 

She soon fell asleep. In her dream, her husband returned. He apologized for failing to join her in bed the night before. He told her he was out looking for a job for Noah. Angela forgave him. They got into bed together and had the best sex she had ever had in her life. She felt like it was even better than their first time together, and that was saying a lot. They lay on their back, looking up at the ceiling, panting. After she caught her breath, she asked him if he found a job, and then turned towards him. But what she saw wasn't her husband. It was Noah. He said that he found a job. Angela didn't understand what was going on. She asked Noah when he got here. Noah gave her a look of incredulity. She got up from the bed, panic rising inside her. She realized she was naked. She grabbed the sheet and covered herself. She asked how he got here. Noah asked if she was okay. He asked her to, "Come back to bed, baby. Let's go another round." Angela turned and ran. The sheet trailed behind her. She ran down the stairs. She missed a step. She fell. And just as her body met the hardwood floor, she awoke with a start. 

She panted, the memory of her dream stark and vivid in her mind. She didn't know what to make of it yet. She steadied her breathing, taking deep breaths. She looked around. Dawn had broken. The edges of her window curtains glowed orange. And then, slowly, she reached down between her legs. She realized her panties were off and she was naked waist down. She must have taken them off sometime during the night. It wasn't the first time she had woken up naked after she slept alone. There was no mystery there. Her hands reached her pubes. Her hands felt what it hadn't felt for a long time. It was soaking wet. She went over her dream again, but now with the knowledge that it had been Noah and not her husband all along. And then, slowly and gently, she inserted a finger inside her lubricated cunt. 

The night before, as Noah left his mother's room, he felt happy and proud of himself. He felt proud not because of his acceptance for the internship, but because he made his mother happy. He had caught her in a moment when no son wanted to see their mother in, and turned that moment on its head. That was what he was proud of. 

He sat at his desk, doing more research on publishing so he wouldn't come off as a completely unlearned idiot who talked bigger than he was. He read about all he could, not just about editing, but also about the advertising, marketing, about agents and authors and royalties and contracts, and also all the different lingos used with the publishing industry. He'd read to his satisfaction, at least about all he could find on the internet. And then, more out of habit than interest, Noah opened the Literotica website. 

There were always too many to choose from, too many to read, and no way to really know if they were any good. Sometimes the descriptions helped, but more often than not, the promises faltered. Instead of going through categories and categories, looking for a good story, what he did was look at only the 'New' ones. He filtered it further by ignoring the chain stories. Nothing against them, but he preferred to read a story a night, and a different one the next. 

Scrolling through them, reading their titles and their descriptions, he found one that peaked his interest. The title was catchy, but not corny or superfluous. The description looked like it wasn't written by an amateur. It didn't sound clichéd. He didn't really care about the Incest/Taboo tag. He had an open mind. He looked at the author - WidowAngel. He couldn't help being reminded of his mother. He'd heard her mother being called 'Angel' by his father more than a few times when they were being playful. That or 'Angie'. He quickly pushed the thought away. But because of that association, his interest had peaked more than it did before, and then he clicked on the title. 

After about half an hour, he laid on his bed looking up at the ceiling, thinking. It was uncanny. It couldn't be. There he was, reading himself. The character in the story, the same age as him, also worked at a clothing store. The name was Noel, and he had a widowed mother named Annie, who was a writer. The character description was eerily similar to him. It was like looking into a mirror. Their daily routines were practically the same, apart from the obvious difference. 

He remembered, a few weeks ago, he went to a party. He had to pick up his mother from another party, but he returned late and drunk. His mother was already home. They had an argument before he went to bed. Later that night, his mother had come into his bedroom to apologize. He had pretended to be asleep, and his mother went out after she apologized and gave him a light peck on his lips and told him that she loved him with all her heart. That much was same with the story. What differed was, in the story, Noel abandoned his ruse and his mother didn't leave. She leaned in when her son opened his eyes and looked at her with a look of apologetic longing. They held their gaze for a while, and then she kissed him again, but this time, more passionately. He kissed her back. He was still a little drunk, but sober enough to know what was happening. No words were spoken. There was no need. They both knew what they were doing. They both knew it was wrong, but neither stopped. They dared not interrupt the moment with ill-placed words. Then, slowly and carefully, not wanting to ruin the moment, Annie got into bed with her son. They embraced each other. 

Noel took off his mother's thin, short and sleeveless nightgown. She wore no bra underneath. Annie's naked breast met with her son's bare chest and her nipples hardened. Noel only ever slept with his boxer shorts. They lay on their sides, arms around each other. Noel's hardening penis was inconspicuous through his loose boxer shorts and it protruded forward. He let his hand slowly run down his mother's back and when it reached her butt, he pulled her to him, closing the few inches of gap between them. Annie gasped as her son's hard dick pressed against her crotch. Her heart was thumping hard against her breast and she could feel her son's heart doing the same. She kept her eyes closed, but her hands wandered, mapping her son's back. Noel was slowly and gently humping her, with his hands still holding on to his mother's butt. 

Annie opened her eyes and stared straight into his son's eyes. Their lips parted as they looked at each other, questioning themselves for a moment. Noel stopped moving his hips. His mother pulled herself away, but not all the way. He feared she would get up and leave, but also wished she would. He knew he didn't have the self-control to stop before they went too far. Annie was also thinking the exact same thing. She knew she didn't have the self-control. She feared her son would tell her to leave, but also wished he would. No words...too late. Her hand crept in between them, and stroked her son's chest. Then it moved down to his stomach. They held their gaze all the while, mother and son. And then, gently, Annie's hand moved further down. It slowly crept under her son's elastic boxer waist, brushing his thick pubic hair, and then, as if holding a very fragile and expensive piece of crystal, Annie softly grabbed her son, warm, hard, and pulsating dick. 

Noel breathed in as his mother's warm and calloused hand touched his dick. It felt good as much as it felt strange. He knew it was wrong, but knowing that, he didn't wanna be right. Annie's slowly started stroking. Noel closed his eyes. Annie leaned in and started to kiss her son again. 

Noah pulled his boxers down to his ankles as he continued reading. The room was dark except for the glow of his computer screen. Everything was quiet except for his quickening breathing and the faint sound coming from the fan of his computer. He read further down. His hands slowly and gently played with his hard dick with a moistened tip. As Annie got on top of Noel, Noah too quickened his strokes. The slapping sound of his wrist coming down rhythmically on to the edge of his thigh added to the minimal ambient noise. Noah's pace quickened still as Annie's hips gyrated on top of her son's. He lost all awareness of everything else as he read further. Eyes trained on the fine print on the screen, palms wrapped around his throbbing dick, moving up and down. Now Noel was on top of his mother. Her legs wrapped around his waist and he was leaning forward, arms on both sides of his mother, supporting his weight. Noah stroked as fast as he could just as Noel thrust his dick inside his mother's cunt as fast as he humanly could. 

* 

Noah sat there, bare assed, arm aching, penis limp, and his warm cum strewn across his stomach. He felt a cold draft. The warmth, the heat of the excitement, had ebbed away. The realization came far slower than he did. But it had come. He practically was masturbating to the image of him and his mother having sex. His mother! For heaven's sake! The guilt then came, followed shortly by its cousin, shame. They stayed all the while as he cleaned his semen off of his body with a napkin. 

As he lay awake in bed, he tried to reassess what he had read, tried to analyze, discern the startling similarities between Noel and himself, and between Annie and Angela, her mother. Who wrote it? Who was 'WidowAngel'? It couldn't be just a coincidence. The author had to know who he was and who her mother was. Was it a stalker? Maybe even an identity thief? But the more he thought, the more he tried to come to a reasonable and less taboo conclusion, the more they all seemed improbable. Tired out, he finally slept, with the final thought that it probably had been her mother, whether he liked it or not, in his mind. And in his sleep, he dreamt of Annie. He was Noel. Annie had her mother's face. 




The First Noel



* 

"Good morning," Angela said after a quick glance as Noah walked into the kitchen. She had been trying to avoid it all morning, but couldn't help being reminded of her dream the moment she saw her son's face. No, it wasn't the dream that bothered her. She'd had stranger dreams than that. No. It was what she did when she woke up with the memory of her dream still fresh in her mind that left her a little afflicted. She wasn't thinking straight. 

Noah avoided eye contact as he ate his breakfast and discussed some trivialities with his mother. The email he got the night before seemed like a long time ago. His thoughts were filled with suspicion, self-consciousness, and excitement. Suspicion because he was, for some reason, almost positive that his mother was 'WidowAngel'. In fact, he was willing to bet his dignity on it. Self-consciousness because he knew her had masturbated to his mother the night before, dreamed about his mother, and he wasn't disgusted by it. If anything, he thought he rather liked it. But he just wasn't too sure what his mother would think about it. And excitement because...well, it was exciting. Unconventional, taboo, incriminating, and everything else, but exciting. 

As days passed. The idea, the possibility, the fantasy, that she might actually be sexually attracted to her son did not recede in Angela's mind. Instead it grew in fervor. She found herself not able to concentrate at work, she couldn't look at Noah with a straight face, and every time she saw a mother and a son together, her mind was no longer in the present. She feared that her son knew something. She wondered if it was her, or was her son actually keeping his distance. They didn't talk as much as they did before, and there was no other reason for that to change. Even when they did talk, he seemed nervous, as if he knew something was going on. Then she started to wonder if her son had read her story. After all, it wouldn't be too big a surprise that her son would stumble upon porn, let alone what she wrote. She tried to analyze the possibility. 

Noah - a nineteen year old boy - having sexual desires much stronger than hers - a lover of literature - more knowledge about the online world than her - Literotica, probably the best place for literary erotica - and a not half-bad erotic story she wrote was published on there. By the looks of it, she thought, it was more than likely that her son had read the story, regardless of whether he knew it was her or not. But she was sure that if her son had read it, then he knew. To top it all off, his strangely elusive behavior only started the day after her story had been published. So, in conclusion, she was ninety percent sure that her son knew that she had fantasized, and put on paper (or at least on screen) about a sexual encounter between herself and him. "Why does that thought not make me afraid?" Angela wondered. 

Noah just couldn't take it anymore. It had been gnawing his brain ever since. He had to find out. So, one day, about two weeks after the first time he had read the story, after looking for more stories written by 'WidowAngel' and not finding any, and after reading it many more times and each time jacking off to it, he decided to get to the bottom of it, if there ever was a bottom. He was ninety percent sure that it was his mother, though the 'why', for he was searching for a reasonable and a less taboo 'why', still evaded his logical mind. 

He snuck into his mother's room, although there was no reason to sneak. Her mother wasn't home yet. He had left work early. He opened her laptop which was just lying there on the table conveniently, and turned it on. For a second her feared there might be a password, but the fear was quickly dispelled as it displayed the home screen once it was turned on. Taking his time and keeping his eyes on the clock he looked through all the drives and all the folders that he thought most likely. The 'Private' folder offered nothing, nor did the 'Personal' folder. She searched the music folder, the movies folder, the videos folder, the work folder, but nothing. No wanting to give up yet, and not wanting to go out empty handed, he looked into all the unlikely folders too. Nothing. Nothing even close. There were a few word documents, but on them were written nothing close to what he was looking for. Even pressing the key combinations to view hidden folders showed nothing. 

He entered the Recycle Bin. It hadn't occurred to him at first, but he thought it was the likeliest place that anything in the veins of what he was looking for would be. There were a bunch of stuff, unimportant. But there was one that immediately caught his eye. It was a word document. The title read. 'The First Noel'. He hesitated before clicking it. What if it turns out to be what he was looking for? What then? What would he gain by knowing that his mother wrote a fictional story about him and her having sex? Would he be happy? Would he be excited? Does that mean his mother was fantasizing about him? Would he send her signals? Confront her? Condemn her? Or would he make a move? The one thing he knew for sure was he wouldn't be disgusted by it. He won't hate her for it. The buildup had been too intense for the outcome to be negative. He didn't know what he would feel. He decided he'd feel later, and see what it actually was first. 

He double clicked on the file, and then clicked on the restore button. He then went to the file destination. Found it. He waited, he didn't know for what. He took a deep breath. And as he double clicked on the file, a smile spread on his face. But it vanished as soon as the file opened. It was the lyrics to the Christmas carol 'The First Noel'. It was far from what he was looking for. Even though he didn't find anything, his surety that his mother was the widow angel did not disappear. For some strange reason, he was a hundred percent sure. He was deeply disappointed not to find the evidence to support what he knew. But in his disappointment came the realization that he wanted his mother to be the widow angel. He wanted his mother to fantasize about him. He wanted his mother in bed with him. Noah wanted to be Noel. 

Angela was greeted with a surprise when she returned home that evening. Her son was her son again. No more reclusive brooding teenage boy with interaction issues. She was asked how work was. She was asked if she was tired. She was asked if she could teach her son to cook, so she didn't have to tire herself more when she returned home. Upon further thought, it wasn't her son. There was something else she'd missed. Noah had never asked her if she could teach him to cook, and there was no reason to believe that he would without a more logical explanation than just him wanting to help out. She suspected something. She just might know what the reason might be for the change of behavior in her son. But she dared not get her hopes up too high for she could just as well be wrong. 

She went to her room, saying nonchalantly that she had to take a shower first. Inside she was almost giddy. Her laptop showed promising signs. She had placed the laptop on her table before she left for work that morning, remembering the position, its distance from the edges and from the other things on her table. She had placed it so that it would be uncomfortable to reach the keyboard without pulling it forward. She wouldn't have noticed the slight variation if it had been any other day. She was already sure even before she turned it on. She turned it on anyway, wanting to see if the trap had really caught anything. She didn't want to make it too obvious when she was setting up the trap. She knew her son was too intelligent for it. It had still been too obvious to her, but that was the best she could do. She entered the recycle bin. The file was there. She closed it. She opened a new word document. She right-clicked on the 'Word' icon on the taskbar. And there it was. At the very top, right below 'Recent'. The First Noel. She smiled. 

'What now?' was the question on the minds of both mother and son. Angela knew that her son knew. What she didn't know though was whether he was trying to hide that he knew or he was trying too hard to show it. Either way, it didn't matter. The fact that his response wasn't negative was a positive. All that was on her mind as she taught her son to cook, 'unintentionally' brushing her arm against his unnecessarily and smothering him with a new found affection, was how she could make a move. 

Noah tensed up every time his mother's hands brushed against his, every time she leaned in over his shoulder to see how he was doing, every time she put her arms around her shoulder, around his waist, and one time playfully slapped his butt. He tried not to show that he was nervous, but he felt like he was failing, even though his mother seemed not to notice it. The hardest part of it all was fighting the erection that was threatening every time his mother got close to him. He had to face away from her. He couldn't concentrate on his cooking. He was afraid that she would find out that he was on her laptop. Or maybe that she was onto him and was just playing along his farce. One thing was for sure - he had never been more in love with his mother, even more than filial love. 

Half the dinner they ate that night was burnt and the other half was undercooked. But their taste buds were numb to it as they told jokes, shared stories, and laughed as they had never done before. They looked at each other, listening intently on the stories they told, but all they saw in each other's eyes was Annie and Noel. 

Noah's appetite had already gone even before they started eating. His laughs were nervous. To him, it sounded more like croaks than laughter. When they looked at each other, he never held his gaze for more than a few seconds. He even almost choked a couple of times. Despite all that, what he couldn't understand was - why was he trying so hard? Why was he so afraid of embarrassing himself in front of his mother who knew almost everything about him? His mother, who breast fed him, had toilet trained him, had wiped his ass, cleaned his nose, bathed him, caught him masturbating, wiped his tears, and everything else in between! Why was he, after all that, trying so hard to impress his mother? 

His mother cleared the table and he did the dishes as they had always done before. Later, they sat in the living room watching some TV. Noah sat on the couch, his legs propped up on the center table. His mother sat right next to him on his left the same way. Their banters, their jokes and stories had stopped. Their eyes were trained on the TV screen, but neither of them were watching it. Noah tried to control his breathing that was starting to get heavy. He swallowed again and again, but each time he swallowed, his throat seemed to get only drier. The scent of his mother's shampoo seemed to get stronger. The smell of the lotion she used tasted intoxicatingly sweet. And she had her own scent emanating from her womanhood that just got the better of him. He got hard. Slowly, he placed his arm on top of his crotch to hide his erection. 

Angela was fighting her own battle too. She knew her son was nervous, and she knew all too clearly the reason why. She did not fail to notice how her son's arm was placed conveniently across his crotch. She knew he did it to hide his erection, and that knowledge gave her a disadvantage in the battle. 

'It is your son you are intending to seduce,' her mind said. 

'But just look at him. So much like his father. I'll bet you won't even know the difference,' her heart retorted. 

'How can you even consider it? Use your fucking head!' her mind almost shouted. 

'You know he wants it too. Can you deny your only son what you clearly know he craves for?' said her heart. 

'You know what he wants is wrong. Don't lead him on. It's still not too late,' her mind implored. 

'It is too late. The die is cast. He knows. You know. He knows you know. You know he knows. And you both know that you both know. There is nothing more to think about.' Her heart was adamant. 

'I beg you, do not. If you do, remember, it cannot be undone,' her mind said with finality. 

'He is waiting for you, you know? Noah is waiting for you to make the first move,' said her heart. It was almost a whisper, but she heard it as clears as a cloudless sky. 

He mind was silent. Slowly, Angela moved her hand and placed it gently on Noah's left thigh over his pajamas. She heard his breathing stop for a second. It resumed with a shivery breath. Her hand stayed for over a minute without moving. And then, after a while, she very gingerly gave a little squeeze, and then slowly relaxed it again. She knew how nervous her son was, and she did not dare to be too audacious. She knew she had to take it slow. So she waited for another two full minute before she made her next subtle move. She inched her hand slightly upward and inward so it got a little closer to his crotch. Her hand met Noah right hand which he was using to restrict free movement of his erect penis. He did not flinch away at the touch. He did not move at all. He was still as a statue. He could very well have been mistaken for a mannequin if seen from afar. 

Angela's mind never spoke again. Only her heart spoke, and she listened to it. Didn't people always say, 'listen to your heart'? That was exactly what she did as she slowly placed her hand on top of her sons. She gently petted it, as if petting a hurt baby puppy. She had to care for what the puppy might feel instead of just thinking about how she felt about it. The puppy would just jump away if it thought she was giving her too much affection, if it thought it was a wrong choice to accept affection from her. She had to be careful so the cute little puppy don't change its mind about receiving her affection. 

Noah couldn't even think properly. Was it really happening? Does he really want it to happen? It is true then, his own mother wants to have sex with him. Or is he misinterpreting things? But what if it's true? Does he have to signal her back or something, to show her that he was along for the ride? Why was he so nervous? He wasn't even a virgin anymore. It's not his first time...fondling. Why was he so goddamn nervous? Maybe it had something to do with the fact that it was his mother and not some random girl that was getting so very close to his oozing hard dick. He wished he could just read his mother mind. But then again, he knew he didn't need to. It was obvious. It was plain, what was going on, what was in his mother's mind. The question was, what's he gonna do? 

'No this is wrong,' his mind decided. 'This is just wrong. What the fuck am I thinking? My own mother! I understand her impulse. She's a lonely woman who hasn't been with a man in over a year after having been with someone for over nineteen years. I understand how her mind could be diluted. I am the only person close to her, and I am not a kid anymore. I am a man. I'm even surprised she didn't make a move sooner. 

'But I should be the one with the rational mind. I am young. I'm not bad-looking. I could fuck any girl I want. Why would degrade myself by having sex with my own mother. Why should I disgrace myself? What would people say? What would I become? What would become of my mother? I have to think for her too. I have to take care of her. She isn't thinking straight.' 

Noah got up. "I have to go pee." 

'What have I done,' Angela thought. 'You fool!' She berated herself. 'How could you possibly even think that your own son would want to have sex with you? You should be ashamed of yourself you dirty whore. What a fucking disgrace. What if people knew? Do you want your son to be a cast-out? A misfit? Targeted? Abused? Don't you ever think? Your mind has really gone around the bend, hasn't it? Was there even a shred of sanity left inside your sexually depraved mind? There you were, so happy thinking that your own son was having the crazy, kooky fantasies that you have. Your son hasn't lost his mind yet. Don't lose it for him.' 

When Noah got back, she got up. "I'm going to bed," she informed him. 

"So soon?" he asked. She knew he was just trying to make everything seem normal. She knew he was glad that she was going to sleep. 

"Yeah. I'm a little tired." It was the truth. She wasn't tried because of her work. She was tired of herself, her constant state of mind where she debated about the moralities of sleeping with her own son. She was tired of guessing what her son was thinking. She was tired of craving her son. She was tired of being sexually attracted to her son. She was tired having all her hopes dashed away. She was tired of reality. Yes, she was tired. 

"Goodnight, then," her son said. 

"Goodnight," she replied. 

As she headed up the stairs, her son called, "Mom." She looked down at him. He was looking up her. He seemed to hesitate a little before he finally managed with a weak voice, "I love you." 

"I love you too, Noel." She headed up the stairs and into her room. 

There was nothing interesting on TV so he turned it off. Noah didn't have a new book to read yet and there was nothing on their bookshelf that he hasn't read. It was still only half past eleven. He didn't feel like reading erotic stories either after what had transpired earlier. So, he just headed to his bedroom to try and sleep. At any rate, he thought, there was never such a thing as too much sleep. 

He lay on his bed, eyes wide open, staring up. All he saw was darkness. His thick curtain did not allow any light from the streetlamps outside to stream through. He liked pitch darkness when he wants to sleep. There was pitch darkness now, but he did not want to sleep. He kept thinking about earlier. Rather, the events kept replaying in his mind for he knew not what to think. It was like watching a movie, only, the movie was real and it was playing in his head. Then it struck him. 'She called me Noel.' 

Annie lay thinking about what she did. Why did I have to do that? Why did I have to call him that? What drove me to do that? All she could come up with was - she wasn't thinking when she called her son Noel. Now, it was beyond doubt that her son knew. 

Her door creaked, interrupting her train of thoughts. She heard soft breathing. After a few seconds, the breathing got closer. She was facing away from the door so she couldn't see. But she knew. 

Noah moved around to the side his mother faced and sat down on the bed, facing her. 

Angela pretended to be asleep. Her eyes were closed, but her mind was open. She heard her son whisper. "I love you, mom." She breathed normally, keeping up her ruse. She didn't know what she would do if she opened her eyes, if her let her son knew she was awake. She felt Noah's hand brushing away a few strands of hair from her face, and then running his fingers through them. The hand rested on her shoulder. She felt him move closer. She felt the heat of their proximity. She knew his face was just in front of hers. Then she felt a light kiss on her lips. Her son's lips were soft and soothing. How she fought to not part her lips as her sons lips stayed on hers for longer than she thought it would. But before temptation got hold of her again, Noah pulled away. He pulled away, but he didn't leave. He stayed where he was, as if thinking, undecided about something, as if in a dilemma. 

Noah didn't know if his mother was awake or asleep. He couldn't even guess. But it didn't matter. Noah dared. He whispered, "I love you, Annie." 

Then he saw his mother slowly open up her eyes. The curtains here were much thinner than in his room. They were drawn, but the lights of the bright street lamps outside streamed through nonetheless, at least enough to be able to ascertain who was in the room. His mother not too roughly grabbed his hand. For an instant he thought she would slap him. But his fear was quickly dispelled as she pulled him close and planter her lips on his. 




The First Noel



Noah parted his lips to make way for his mother's searching tongue. It was warm and sweet, nothing like he ever tasted before. Without breaking away from the kiss, Noah climbed onto the bed and got under the covers. The chill he had felt was instantly gone as his mother's warmth under the covers enveloped him. He put his right arm around his mother's waist and let his hand wander across her back over the thin nightgown. He could tell she wasn't wearing a bra. The whole expanse of her back felt like his was on some foreign soil, an uncharted territory, and somehow it felt like he was intruding upon it. But he didn't stop; he moved his hand up and down until it was his, until he owned the whole of it. 

His mother too put her hand around his shirtless waist. But she didn't need to mark her territory. She already knew her son was hers. Noah was a little surprised as her mother boldly put her hand on his ass without any seductive caressing of his bare back. And without any indication of what she was going to do, she suddenly, but not too forcibly, pulled her son towards her, closing the few inches of gap between them. Now it was airtight. 

Noah gasped a little as his dick which was just starting to harden inside his boxers came in contact with his mother's crotch. In a few seconds, he reached full erection. It was poking hard at her mother's panties. 

Angela lifted her left leg and put it on top of her son's right thigh, and she slowly humped him, her son's hard dick pressing against her. She then took his right hand and pulled it down to her butt, indicating that she wanted him to puller her to him. Her son did just that, pulling her hard in rhythm to her humping. 

After a few more motions, Noah's mother backed in into the center of the bed, pulling him with her. She then pushed him on his back, and in one quick motion, climbed on top of her son and straddled him. The covers slipped down from her back and it lay in a heap on top of Noah's thighs right behind his mother's gyrating hips. 

Noah took his hands away from his mother's butt and slipped them inside her nightgown. He caressed her waist and stomach, feeling the cesarean scar on her lower abdomen with great interest and her naval with great delight. Then slowly and smoothly, he moved his hands upward. His nerves had gone. He was feeling right at home now. His memories had come back to him. His experiences with other girls, his suave and grace when with a woman, played out as he gently ran his hands on his mother's body. He counted the ribs on his mother, although they were not easy to make out. He moved his hands upwards still, until they ran up the mount on his mother's chest. He cupped his mother's breasts, holding one in each hand. They were never prominent, and he never really imagined that they could ever be big, but his hands were full. They were much larger than he anticipated. He squeezed them as gently as he could at first. As his mother moved her hips to and fro, grinding him more forcefully, he fondled her breasts more passionately and he tried to move his body in rhythm to his mother's movements. 

In one quick motion, Angela pulled her nightgown off over her head, giving her son more room to play with her breasts. She couldn't control her breathing anymore and she groaned and huffed as she increased her rhythm. The air around them smelled musky and sweet. There were no more cold drafts of air blowing. Everything was still except for their movement. The temperature in the room rose steadily. 

Noah put his hands through below his mother's armpits and held her shoulders from the back, and then he pulled her down. They kissed passionately, tongues fighting inside their mouths, competing whom should enter whose. Then his mother moved down, her hands trailing on his chest, and then down to his stomach before they grabbed the elastic band of his boxers' waist. He lifted his butt the same time his mother yanked it down. She threw the covers back and then threw away his boxers to the side of the bed. He was fully naked in front of his mother. Their eyes had properly adjusted to the dim light and they could now see clearly. 

Before Angela made a move, she examined the beautiful specimen that was lying right in front of her. Her son had never been an athlete. He did not have ripped abs or large bulging pectoral muscles, but neither were they covered in body fat. Her son's body was not in want of body building. It was perfect in her eyes. Her eyes followed the thin trail of hair that started from below his naval and moved downward with increased density until it finally reached the thickness of his pubic hair. She could tell that he hadn't trimmed it in a while. She fixed her gaze on her son's hard and throbbing dick that pointed towards his chin. It was almost as big as his father's and it still had room to grow. His balls sagged downwards between the bases of his thighs that were coarse with thin, sexy hair. 

Noah's breathing was heavy and erratic as his mother's warm hands caressed his thighs, inching closer to his dick and then moving away again, teasing him. He closed his eyes. And then he felt his mother's hands on his balls, fondling them, playing with them. Her right hand then gently grabbed his leaking dick and slowly started to stroke, as if it might hurt him if it was any harder. Involuntarily, he moved his waist up and down, as slowly as he could to add more substance to his mother's slow stroking. 

He felt hot breath on his dick. His heart rate increased. He was starting to perspire. He put his hands on his sides and grabbed the sheets, clenching his fists. Then he let out a loud audible sigh as his dick was enveloped by the warm moist mouth of his mother. He felt the mouth move up and down, slowly at first, and then gaining momentum. What she did with her tongue while his dick was inside her mouth - no girl he'd ever been with ever did that. They didn't even seem to know about it. It was one of the perks of being with an older woman. They knew much more than girls your age knew. 

Noah let go of the sheets he was grabbing on and placed both hands on the back of his mother's head. He thrust his hips upwards in tempo to his mother's head movement. Each time, the whole length of his dick entered his mother's mouth, her nose buried in his pubes. She sucked and he thrust. 

Angela didn't want her son to come just yet, not before she got her fill. She pulled away and then took off her sopping panties. She too hadn't trimmed in a long time. It was thick. It wasn't how she would have preferred, but her husband had always liked it more that way. He hated the prickliness when she shaved. After that one time, she never shaved her pubes again, only trimmed them so they don't get in the way. 

She clambered up her son's body, knees on either side of him. His hands were stroking her thighs all the while. She stepped over his shoulders, placing his head between her knees. In a whisper, she said, "Sorry. I haven't trimmed in a while." 

"I like it better this way," Noah answered. They even have the same taste, she thought wryly, and then she lowered her body until her cunt was resting on her son's face. She felt the warm tongue of her son worm its way all over her hairy cunt. She drew in a sharp breath. How long has it been since she felt that? It felt like heaven. She placed her left palm on the wall in front of her and patted her son's head with her right as he ate her out. My son had grown, she thought. She knew that Noah wouldn't be a virgin anymore, that he'd have had experiences. After all, if a mother couldn't resist her son sexually, how could any other girl? But what she didn't account for was how good he was. It wasn't just the tongue of someone who had tasted one or two different girls, she knew, it was of someone who was good enough to make money doing it. It wasn't just experience, it was a skill. She had to admit, her son was better than his father at that. 

As Noah pinched her clit with his teeth, inserted his tongue as far as it would go into her vagina, and played all sorts of dances on his tongues on the dance floor that was her vulva, Angela felt a pang of disappointment that it wasn't her that took her son's virginity. She didn't really care about how many times her son had had sex with other woman, as long as he was careful, but she would've wanted to be the one to bring her son into maturity, introduce him to the world of pleasure, orgasms and climaxes. She thought she should've been the first woman he inserted his dick in. But what does it matter? They were doing it now. 

His mother pulled away and moved back down. She kissed him, and then moved her head to the side, her lips next to his ear. She whispered in a sultry voice, "Fuck me now, Noah." 

Noah then put his arms around his mother and then wrestled her to her back. He was now on top. His mother spread her legs for him, knees bent, exposing her pussy, inviting her son to it. He was kneeling between his mother's legs, his dick, covered with dried saliva, but the tip wet with pre-cum, pointed to the ceiling. He leaned forward, crotch on top of crotch. He put his weight on his left hand which was pressing down on the bed beside his mother's waist, as he held his dick with his right hand, aiming, and acquiring target. 

Noah slowly lowered his waist, his dick pointing forward in direct line to the opening of his mother's cunt. Then, smoothly and gracefully, his dick entered his mother's pussy inch by inch, and in one smooth push, the whole of his dick was inside. It was warm and moist, much like her mouth, but this was much tighter, and the throbbing was not only his dick, but it also came from the walls of the inside of her mother's cunt. He pulled it back, but not all the way, and then pushed it down again. He'd never had sex with anyone older than him by five years, let alone twenty one years, and he'd expected it to be a little loose. But it was just a myth, he thought. It was just as tight as the others', let alone the virgin he gave his virginity to. What a difference! From a virgin girl who was a stranger to him, to a forty year old woman who was his mother. What a difference indeed! 

He grunted, his mother moaned. He quickened the pace and he went as fast as he could. Angela kept up with her son. They changed position. She was on all fours and he was kneeling behind her, fucking her from behind. Angela's breasts swung in rhythm to her son's quick thrusts. Her son's thighs slapping on her ass as they met, producing a clapping sound that got louder as both their bodies were staring to sweat. Noah reached for his mother's breasts and fondled them as he continued fucking her. 

They changed positions again. Noah was lying on her back, and Angela straddled him. Now she controlled the rhythm. She went slower. If she left her son to his own device, she knew he would come too soon. She didn't want that. She wanted it to last as long as it could. She didn't hope of a climax herself that much, but she would stretch it as long as her son could endure. She moved her hips to and fro, her son's hands moving all over her body, not really knowing what to do. She could tell he was used to being on top. With her husband, it was pretty even. She thought her son was almost as good as his father. He needed to learn to take it slow. The way he fucked, it resembled his father in their early years, hurried and impatient. He'd always come too soon until she'd told him to take it slow and take his time. 

Angela stopped in intervals to catch their breaths and to slow down the work of her son's building orgasm. She turned around, her back to her son, and then leaned back, lying on her back on top of her son's body. She turned her head sideways and kissed him. "Tell me if you're about to come," she said. She thought she saw him nod. Her legs were spread eagle. Her son lifted his waist, which lifted both of them, and then fucked her from below. She too moved her hips up and down, keeping pace. 

Noah felt her mother's back sticking to his abdomen. It was hot and steamy. He thrust as fast as he could, not wanting his mother to slow down the pace for him. He thought he could hold his own. But that position was tiring. Soon, his waist ached and his pace slowed. He rested, lying flat on the bed and his mother lying on her back on top of him, his dick still inside his mother's pussy. They both panted. 

Noah then pushed his mother off of him, telling her to lie on her back. He had to move back to the position he loved the most and used best. He knew his mother would want to make the most of their first time together, to try all the positions she knew, lead him, teach him, but he was too eager for all that. It wasn't a sex lesson. He did not have the patience for that. All the teaching would have to come later because he wanted to come now. 

His mother wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. She knew what her son wanted. He just wanted to fuck. She hadn't expected much more than that anyway, so she got along with it. There will be plenty of times later where they could take their time. After all they have the house to themselves. 

Noah pushed his dick in and out, again and again and again, panting, sweats dripping, grunting audibly. His mother under him, sticky with sweat, moaned and panted heavily. Their minds were blank except for one thought - how good it felt. 

Noah felt the climax rising, he still pushed his dick inside his mother. He felt the semen flowing through his vas deferens, almost reaching his urethra. He gave it a few more thrusts. Then, in a strained voice, he announced, "I'm coming!" In the nick of time, he pulled his dick out of his mother's cunt and sprayed his white hot semen all over his mother's belly. The scent of his cum covered the room. It smelled sweeter than it ever did before. He felt the heat rising from it. If felt glorious. He leaned down and then kissed his mother on the lips. He flopped down beside his mother, lying on his back. 

Angela was happy. She felt fairly satisfied. Her son reached his climax while fucking her. How could it be any better? She wondered if he might be willing to go another round as she wiped her son's semen off from her belly with a towel. She then closed her eyes, only resting. When she felt her son move, she opened them. She thought he might get off the bed and go to his room, but he placed himself at her feet, kneeling down, and his face on top of her crotch. She looked down at him. He looked up. 

His expression was almost apologetic and sheepish. Without a word, he began to eat her out with the help of his fingers. It took her another four minutes to reach her climax. She reached orgasm only about one in ten times, and she didn't hold much hope in reaching it that night, considering that her son was only nineteen and had much more to learn about how to really please and satisfy a woman. Her husband tried hard, but he did not succeed every time. She was just happy that her son too was trying. She decided she'd tell her son to stop if it took too long or it looked like she wasn't going to climax. Suddenly, all the tensions building up in her pelvic area are released. Her muscles all over her body, especially over her groin contracted and expanded as her sight suddenly got dimmer. It felt like she was experiencing sleep paralysis, only this time, the fear and terror was replaced with immense waves of pleasure. She didn't even realize she had shouted. It lasted for about twenty seconds until her muscles finally relaxed. A cold draft blew. It felt refreshing. She took deep and heavy breaths as she regained her full senses. 

* 

She woke up, facing away from her son. The borders of her curtains didn't glow yellow, it was a dull grey. She could tell it was overcast outside. She was lying on her side and Noah was behind her, his right arm on top of her. Her son was spooning her. She felt his morning wood pressing again her butt. They were both still naked under the covers. She suddenly felt a rush of disgust. Not even a shred of sexual arousal or attraction was left towards her son as the memories of the previous night came streaming back into her mind. What have you done, you miserable fool? She asked herself. What, in heaven's name, have you done? 

She pulled back the covers and got out of bed. She looked at Noah and saw how beautiful he was, how peaceful he looked in his sleep. The face, so innocent, so serene. And then you went and corrupted him! 

She left a note on the refrigerator before she left early for work. She cried on the way. Strangers stared at her. She felt guilt and shame. Their stares pierced right into her soul. They know, she thought. They know what I have done. They know who I am. They know how I have corrupted my son. They know how I have sinned. How Angela tortured herself inside! 

She spent almost half her time at work in the washroom, crying, washing her face, wiping it dry, reapplying makeup, and then doing it all over again. One of her friends kindly there told her to go home and rest. She shouldn't come to work in the state she was in. But how could she return to where she had coerced her son into the gates of hell? How could she ever face her son again, knowing what she had done to him? She wondered what her son was thinking. But what he thought hardly mattered because she knew he shouldn't have had anything to think about. She was the mother, and she had failed at motherhood. 

After work, she didn't go home. She went to the park and sat on the bench for over three hours. People came and went. She had the irrational fear that someone she knew might just come up to her and berate her, tell her that they knew what went on in her bedroom last night, tell her how disgusting she was, tell her how convoluted, how insane, how perverted, how depraved she was, and just physically abuse her. She would have defended herself. 

When she finally went home, she decided she should talk to her son, face the music, tell him how wrong it was what they had done, and that it would never happen again. At the dinner table, a single plate was set and the dinner was neatly covered. On the plate was a note. 'I'm sorry I couldn't wait up.' Nothing else was written on it. 

She first took a shower, and then ate the cold meal. It tasted bland, not because of the poor cooking, but because of her state of mind. She did the dishes, and then sat in the living room, trying to read a book. She kept rereading a line until she finally gave up. She just sat there and thought. When should she do it? Should she just go up to his son's room and tell him everything she had thought about? How will he take it? Does he feel the same way as I do? Or does he want more? He wouldn't want more. He couldn't want more. He'd know how wrong it was. He is no fool. Yes, he is no fool. He doesn't need to be lectured, least of all by me. He knows it was the one and only time. Nothing like that will ever happen again. She won't let it. She can't let it. 

Angela decided that her son could come to his own conclusions, and changed her mind about speaking to him about it. She didn't want to embarrass him, and neither did she want to be embarrasses. 

After about another hour, she brushed her teeth, undressed, and headed for bed. She lay there unable to sleep. Two sides of her mind were fighting over what it should think about. She counted sheep. 

One thousand one hundred and nineteen sheep. Her door slowly creaked open. The light was dim, but she could see as clear as day. Noah stood at her door, looking in, inquiring. He was wearing only his boxer shorts. So beautiful, she thought. She peeled back the covers, inviting her son into her bed.



The First Noel



But now my palm was beginning to feel the supple warmth of her left breast. And I was going crazy. It was the simplest explanation: I've been afraid to look at her for the past two years and the first chance I get to feel her up, I do. What kind of fucked up guy was i? the kind that was deeply frustrated sexually, that is! Then out of nowhere my hand wrapped around Deirdre's breast, my fingers reached their goal and finally my hand was completely opened around her flesh. Soft, oh so soft! We constantly hear about firm breasts... Don't know why. Deirdre's breasts was like a the definition of womanhood, of femininity, of beauty, sensuality. As my fingers closed to feel all the richness and magnitude of that softness, she stirred. 

I could hear her exhale a laugh. "Coping a feel, brother?"

"No!"

But as I was pulling my hand away she grabbed it and pulled it back against her breast. But I pushed away again until she got up, laughing loud. 

"You were! Pervert!" But she was laughing even harder now. 

"No I wasn't... I was asleep, probably dreaming about another girl..."

"Liar!" through even more laughter. 

Grabbing the pillow from the other couch she threw it at me. I got it squarely in the face and sat there, stunned. I looked at her, eyes wide, and screamed: "Pillow fight!" She squealed and jumped away, running for her room. I grabbed the offending pillow and ran after her. Pillow fights, and tickling matches, were other things that had disappeared after our 16th birthday. 

When I turned the corner and ran into her room she was standing on her bed with a pillow in her hands. I jumped on and the fight officially began. Bing bang boom, poof... My hair, which until that point had been tightly held began to spill out and I must've looked like a caveman fighting against a nymph. Then things changed again when Deirdre pinched my right side, the most ticklish spot on my body. Without even thinking about it I jumped on her and grabbed the back of her thigh, a few inches below her ass, and squeezed. She shrieked in response and jumped backwards instantly. 

Again, some part of my brain was telling me not to do this, but I had way too much fun to care. We circled each other like animals, waiting for an opening. We were breathing hard, already sweating, disheveled and loving every minute of it. Then the mandatory rumble began: I could no more reach her thigh without bringing my side within her reach than *she* could tickle me without exposing herself. We wrestled and tickled, then wrestled more. 

Completely unplanned, this tickling match was undoing the two year old knot thread by thread. More than a few times I got my face against her thighs, belly or even her breasts. At one point she even held me directly against her breasts while being in a very advantageous position to tickle me. I was hard as a rock by now and Deirdre knew it: her hands and legs were brushing against it often enough! Then later my hand slipped from her thigh directly against her pussy and we kept wrestling as if nothing had happened. Then her head found its way against my naked belly. 

At one point she even gave my ass a hard slap, laughing just before pinching my sides. Without hesitating I returned the favor, slapping her ass. Hmmm. My brain was screaming "red alert" but I barely heard it. After that point everything was legal in our little game. I got a few good feels of her ass and breasts, all the while my erection was making it difficult for me to move out of her reach fast enough. She was winning this match and enjoying it very much. 

At one point she managed to pin me down on my belly, with one arm trapped beneath me. As she was tickling me mercilessly, she asked:

"Do you bow down?"

'"Never!" But I knew I couldn't hold for much longer. 

And indeed seconds later I said yes. All of a sudden Deirdre jumped up, screaming "Victory!" I turned around and laughed with her, watching her jump up and down above me, legs spread... Argh!

A few hours later, in my bed after meeting my parents, I thought about what had happened with Deirdre tonight. We had apparently begun to break through the bad tension that had been plaguing us for the past two years. On the other hand I had more than crossed a line tonight, grabbing her breast, then her ass and her breasts again during the fight... Yet she didn't seem to mind at all; she was even laughing about it! She caught me right handed with my hand on her breasts and my hard cock against her ass and she merely laughed! 

I can well understand why I'd try to feel her up, weird though it is to feel one's sister, but what about her? She *has* been single for seven months now... And she has always told me how unsatisfying her fingers were. Can this be true? Can she feel as sex starved as I was? My cock was getting hard a t the mere thought. And what if she was? It's not as if we were going to have sex together! She's my sister! Then again, she didn't mind my feeling her up... 

My hand reached down to my cock and I began masturbating slowly. I could hear my father snoring from across the hall, even though both our doors were closed. But soon my thoughts turned to Deirdre, to the fresh memories of her breasts in my hands, her smooth thighs and ass. Suddenly I could see her riding me, impaling herself on my cock, her breasts jiggling with each stroke, each thrust...

And then I stopped. Breathing hard, blood pumping, I stopped. I was going crazy! ...Yes! Yes I was. I wanted to fuck my sister. Not only did I want to be at ease around her body, I want to see it all, touch it, taste it, lick it, fuck it, fuck her breasts, her pussy, her mouth, fuck her... It was late, very late; I was tired, overexcited, on the verge of a climax and I did what came naturally: I got up. 

Opened and closed my door silently, walked down the corridor to Deirdre's door and got inside silently. When I looked around there was a lit candle on her night table and she was smiling softly at me. "I knew you'd come. I was waiting for you." She blew off the candle. "Now keep quiet... I don't think the parents would enjoy finding you here... Come sleep next to me." 

I did. Sure enough she was naked, but it was clear that she didn't want to have sex. She curled up against me just as before, warm, soft in my arms. When she felt my cock against her ass, a boxer away from her skin, she didn't flinch. "Able to take those off without turning into a sex maniac?" I think I could manage it... Oh who am I kidding! I *knew* I couldn't, but I knew there was no way I was going to let this opportunity pass me bay! When I lied back down behind her, I placed my naked cock against her ass gently. Even nestled it between her cheeks. My hearth was once again beating so fast that it was sur to take minutes off my life. She merely said, with a giggle: "Still having problems with that big thing of yours?" I kissed her head again and patiently waited for her to fall asleep a few minutes later. 

I sure I didn't fall asleep: I was taut with sex, just as taut as my cock in fact, and this cock was nicely snuggled against my sexy sister Deirdre's ass. Serenely, objectively, coolly... yeah right. Anyway I tried to think about was had happened tonight. First she had asked me to be at ease around her nudity. Or partial nudity, whatever. Then she had begun teasing me with her panties, her ass, her breasts I had been allowed to see beneath her tee-shirt. Man she even dropped on all fours right in front of me while we were decorating the tree! And then we had our pillow fight and tickle match: we had touched each other like never before in those games: asses, thighs, hips, bellies, breasts, chests, faces; not to mention pussy and cock... 

And then I find myself here, naked in the spoon position with her, with my cock inches away from her pussy. And it was getting very hot under the blankets even though we were not moving at all. And I certainly wasn't the only source of this heat: Deirdre was burning hot against my skin and under my arm. Yet, I could not forget it even in this state of arousal, she had specifically asked me to come and *sleep* next to her. She could have said: "Come lie down next to me" or simply "Join me". 

She didn't. She had mentioned sleep. Was I seeing things with my cock and not with my head? Well, yes. Of course I was. On the other hand was my cock so wrong? I didn't think so. By now Deirdre was sleeping deeply: her breathing was loud and regular. I couldn't see her face because of her hair, but I had not doubts that she was gone for the night. So I did, once again, what came naturally: I slowly moved my hand down to her breasts. 

This time when my fingers closed around her flesh, her naked flesh, I closed my eyes in wonder. Not only had I more time to explore these mounds of breasts, but they were naked, their smooth, creamy skin exposed to the millions of nerve endings in my fingers. Her firm nipple grazed the palm of my hand as I began making slow circles against it. It became soon seconds later. 

I was determined to have a good feel of those breasts, but I didn't want her to wake up. So I closed my hand slowly until her breast seemed to be ready to burst. I let it go slowly. Dear God it was wonderful! Then I repeated the same slow process on the other one: just as incredible! I would have given the world to be able to open my hand wide and squeeze as much of them both together. But that would certainly wake her up. 

Instead I pulled away gently and slid my hand down to her belly. By then we were both sweating and the feeling of her skin against mine was even more stimulating. Her smooth belly opened up to me, completely hairless even below her black pearl, until I reached her bush. I knew that if I dared go in there I would wake her up, so I moved up to her hip and began caressing the curves that rose from her side. I slipped up to the small of her back and down, on one of her buttocks, then down to her thigh. Careful not to tickle her I gave her a deep caress until my hand couldn't go lower. I moved up and around her leg and brought my hand back to her hip. 

I was in heaven, caressing the body of a girl I dearly loved, the most beautiful and sexy girl I had ever met. As I realized just how much I loved Deirdre, my cock twitched against her ass. ...would I be able to resist? Would I really be able to resist or was I simply wasting my time trying to convince myself that I would only caress her? I think even my head knew the answer to that question...

I lowered myself gently until my mouth reached her neck and shoulders. Of course, I also felt the head of my cock slipping lower, deeper between her legs. But right now I didn't really care. While my hand was slowly making its way up to her breasts, I began kissing Deirdre like I had never kissed her before. Soft loving kisses against the delicate skin of her neck; soft licks behind her ear, other kisses on her upper back and shoulders... All the while I was taking deep enthralling breaths of her body, her skin, her hair...

When my hand reached her breast I squeezed one of them a lot more than I had a few minutes a go. She didn't stir. So I kept on kissing her neck, daring to go further around towards her face, all the while massaging her breast like I had always dreamed of doing. After two or three slow drives against her ass I realized that I was doing it: my cock was now locked deep between her thighs, and instead of sliding up with each slow movements, it simply pressed harder against Deirdre's ass. I was probably mere inches away from her pussy, I was maybe even driving against her asshole right now. 

Shivers ran up and down my spine at the thought. But I kept kissing her and licking her skin softly. At one point I squeezed her breast harder than I wanted and she woke up. "Oh Cillian..." she moaned softly. She moaned! She knew it was me and she was enjoying it. More than enjoying it in fact: she placed her hand on my own, began mashing her breast, alternating from one to the other. "I love you Cillian, please don't stop kissing me... If you only knew how I've been waiting for you to do this..."

I was flabbergasted. Floored. Here I was realizing, at eighteen, that I was in love with my sister, while she had known for years. My voice was shaking when I replied: "I love you too Deirdre... I've been wanting to do this for years too, but I don't think I even realized it..." She moaned in response and cuddled up closer against my body. I felt like I was dreaming: kissing and fondling my sister like there was no tomorrow. And my cock felt like it was on fire, burning hot and covered in sweat by now. I pulled back a little, changed my angle and pushed back against her skin. As simple as that. 

Deirdre took a sharp intake of breath as my cock, instead of pressing against her skin, slipped along her wet lips, grazed her clit and moved up for a few inches. Sliding my hand down across her sweat-covered belly I grabbed the head of my cock and pulled it back against her pussy. When I began moving my cock up and down again it was rubbing against her clit. Deirdre began shivering and moaning, trying her best to keep her voice down. But she was now writhing in my arms and against me, pushing her ass against me. 

Gradually I pulled my cock farther and farther back until the head began to caress her clit directly. Soon there was a definite bump as I moved back up, since my cock was getting too low and was pushing into her folds. Each one of those bumps made her inhale loudly. We knew what was coming and there was no one who was going to stop us now. 

Since I didn't our first penetration to catch us unawares, I stopped and pulled my cock back slowly until it found her wet opening. And I mean wet: Deirdre was dripping. We were getting too hot and sweat covered both our bodies, but neither one of us wanted to leave this little bubble of intimacy. When I pushed up again I felt her large lips opening up for me. I wasn't pushing them in until enough lubrication would allow them to slide easily. No. I was opening them smoothly and their inner sides were already welcoming me with more than enough wetness. 

I still wasn't inside her pussy, just between her lips. Deirdre said:

"Cillian you're crazy..."

"What about you? Are you crazy as well?"

"Oh God yes... But what will happen if—"

"You're not on the pill?"

"What? Yes I am, but that's not what I meant..."

We both moaned as I couldn't prevent my cock from pushing a little bit deeper. Right now I was pushing against the first ring of muscles. No inside yet. 

"I meant... Well, that you were my brother. And that I love you. I love you like a lover, not a brother..."

"Me too Deirdre... I love you too Deirdre."

"Cillian—" she paused, breathing hard. "Not as a sexual partner Cillian. I want to be with you, to live with you for the rest of our lives. I want to have children with you..."

The wave of energy that grew from deep inside me electrified me. I was shaken to the core, hearing from her lovely mouth the words I hadn't even known were true for me as well. 

"Four months living apart was what it took to realize that." When she saw that I wasn't doing anything, she asked me, "Cillian... Oh Cillian I'm sorry I've told you all—"

But I stopped her: "Marry me Deirdre... Marry me with the old traditions: alone in the forest with nothing but a pagan priest to speak for God. Marry me Deirdre..."

And with that I pushed inside her completely, meeting no resistance whatsoever. The wave of energy that had grown was now exploding and I tried to ride it as best as I could. My hand was now against her clit, doing *its* best to fill Deirdre with as much joy and pleasure as I was feeling myself. We were completely keyed up, brimming over with arousal and affection. With love. 

When Deirdre's breath caught in her throat a few minutes later, a first orgasm so fast. "Yes Cillian... Oh yes I will marry you and have your children." And then her pleasure was too much and she stopped talking. I was merely a few seconds behind her, the incredibly quick climax explosing from my balls to the deepest parts of her womb. We clutched at each other while the first waves gave way to the second and third and fourth... Pleasure, happiness, joy and bliss were overloading our minds and bodies, melding them together. 

When we came back from this first union, Deirdre pulled away from my cock and turned around to face me. She began to say: "Cillian, I—" and then I kissed her. Kissed her like I'd never kissed a girl before. We had our lips, tongues, teeth, inner cheeks all mixing together, but it was clear that the kiss went much deeper than this. We were still making love, transforming ourselves from brother and sister to young lovers and even into a married couple. 

When she pulled back, her incredible smile glowing over me, she took my head in her hands and began again:

"Cillian, I love you. More than I can ever understand, more than you'll ever know. I want to join my life with yours, my pain and sorrow, my joys and my happiness. I want you to be the rock that will support me in times of need, the arms I will always be able to run to when life's too hard. I want your seed to flourish and bloom inside my womb, want to see your children feeding at my breasts... and of course you too, I want to see feeding at my breasts!" she giggled as she finished. 

"Deirdre, I love you more than I even know myself. You've been the ideal that no other girl has been able to match, the dream I kept trying to turn into reality somewhere else than in your arms. I want to marry you, my nymph, create and invent my life with you by my side. I want my children to call you mother, I want to feed with them from your breasts, " a smile here, meeting hers, "and I want them to grow while seeing us in love, kissing, being happy together."

She bent down to kiss me again. When she pulled up, knowing that we had already completed two of the three steps of our pagan marriage, she looked at me with a grin: 

"What have we done Cillian? We'll never be able to tell that to mom and dad..."

"No, probably not. Nor to any of our friends."

We paused, uncertain of how we'll be able to deal with this. By now my cock was flaccid against my thigh, even though I knew that Deirdre could make that change with a snap of her fingers. She was looking at me, in silence. She was truly a nymph, her face flushed, some of her hair matted against her neck because of all the sweat, her blue eyes responding to the moonlight, and those breasts, those incredible breasts that were now quiescent against my chest. 

When she felt my cock twitching against her thigh, she looked down and then up with a naughty grin. 

"Really?" she simply asked. 

"Really." I replied. 

Throwing off the covers and blankets completely, she lied down on her back and spread her legs. Looking at me she said: "Come Cillian, make love to me." And I did. When my thighs met the insides of hers, goosebumps covered my entire body. My cock, while not yet fully hard, bumped heavily against her pussy. It nearly got burned. Deirdre was like a furnace right now, burning hot, wet on the inside as well as on the outside. I bent down and began kissing her breasts, sucking on them as if they were already filled with milk. Deirdre laughed softly. 

As I was milking her breasts, she was doing the same to my cock with her hand. Soon I was ready to go, ready to fuck her until the end of the world. Hovering above her like this, I could see her in all her luscious glory, the redhead nymph, my sister, my lover for the rest of my life. Rounded breasts, as soft as a baby's bottom, capped with nipples I could barely resist diving down and kiss again... Her smooth belly, soft and slightly curved when she stood up, was now covered in sweat, pale rose in the moonlight. 





The First Noel



In a gentle but deep stroke my cock opened her large, distended lips and filled her pussy until our pubic bones met. Her legs wrapped around my back, feet hooked into one another, Deirdre was pulling me directly against her clit. She shivered, vibrated in my arms for a moment. She then opened her eyes, sun-smiled at me and asked me to make love to her once more. 

One of my hands was behind her neck, holding her up against me while the other one was clutching the mattress' top. My own face was nestled against her shoulder and neck, kissing and licking her delicate skin. I began by simply flexing my belly against her body, keeping my cock as deeply buried as I could. For now I was simply saving my strength while mauling her clit. And she was feeling it: already quiet moans and groans were reaching my ears. 

When I began to pull in and out, my rhythm guided by her legs around my waist, my moans joined hers and we picked up the pace. At one point I felt her legs opening suddenly as she couldn't contain my thrusts anymore. As I kept on driving into her, sliding in and out of that most forbidden of pussies, feeling her lips, inner muscles and walls opening and contracting around me, I raised my torso from her body. From her neck my kisses moved to her mouth and as her lips raised against mine, out passion raised with them. 

Tongues dancing and sucking, lips biting and even a few moments of shared breathing, the most intimate form of kissing. My head was spinning when our kiss broke. Looking down I saw her breasts, bursting into my view once more, moving this way and that in a sexy out-of-sync rhythm. I arched down further and began playfully kissing one, then the other. But by now Deirdre wanted something else than being kissed on the breasts. 

As I kept moving up on my spread knees, the angle of my thrusts changed. Her legs were now splayed lewdly in the air, her pussy was fully opened to my eyes and cock. As I held her knees wide apart I watched, fascinated, as Deirdre's pussy was being loved, penetrated and fucked by her brother's cock. The bright patch of copper-red hair, thick and wild above her lips, was flawlessly shaved below. The sight of her smooth pink skin below that red patch was making my heart beat even faster than it already was. Her opened pussy, like a ripened flower under the summer sun of her bush, was completely developed: her large lips opening to welcome me in, her small lips drenched with her juices were also forced opened around my shaft and the rosy hood of her clit was visible even in the dim light. 

Tightening my grasp on her thighs I lowered myself slightly and began pounding her harder. Deirdre raised her hands above her head and clutched at the metal bar at the head of the bed. Raising her arms like this changed the dance of her breast and suddenly I could see them moving slower, more in sync with me, as each of my thrust reverberated into them. The soft, pliable, womanly flesh was tracing circles, nearly faerie circles, just below my eyes. 

Once again we had brought our blood to a boiling point, pushing the limit of this forbidden pleasure in the secret of the night. My mind was now trapped between two poles: the lovely sister I had always loved, my family, my flesh and blood, my twin; and the sexual nymph I had discovered, a woman who loved me beyond all others and who wanted to have my children. The thrill of the forbidden was already mixing with the deep love I had finally allowed myself to feel. Fucking my sister, loving my promised wife. 

I could see in her eyes the same fascination, the same incredulity, as she was looking back at me. She was covered in sweat, moaning with her mouth agape, holding on to dear life as we fucked, but at the same time she was looking the twin brother she had shared so much with, had felt secure with, at home. I was holding her legs up in the air, opening them up to fuck her like some man possessed; the very last thing a brother should be doing with his sister. And yet there was nothing else in the world we would rather be doing than fucking each other silly. 

Breaking the twin vision, the duality of brother and lover, she hissed like a cat, feverish with pleasure and lust, before pulling me against her. Even as I was falling against her burning hot skin she was turning me around, twisting me under her. My cock fell out of her pussy at one point but now, straddled above me, she reached below her around her ass and guided me back in. Driving herself down in a single impaling move, Deirdre opened her eyes again and began to ride me. 

At first she was leaning forward above me, her hands over my head holding the bar once more. Her pussy was mashed against my pubic bone and her breasts were free to dance just as madly as they wished. All the while she was riding my cock like a bull-rider, overloading my body with too many waves of pleasure. As if my body wasn't able to understand how so much joy and ecstasy could be summoned so quickly, I was beginning to loose myself into my sister. 

And then she began pulling herself backward, letting go of the bars. From the intense grinding motions of earlier, her thrusts transformed into harder slams, using her body weight to impale herself downward. The sensations, slower but much more intense, had practically the same effect: I was overwhelmed. Her hair, face, breasts, belly, pussy, hips and thighs easily overloading my eyes with too much beauty and raw sexuality, while her pussy itself now felt like sheer magic. I had never felt what I was feeling right now, even though I have been with girls that had fucked me faster and harder. 

My love for Deirdre, the pure sex we were creating together was wakening something new inside me. Something sexual, something so intimate I had never even felt it. The sense of accomplishment, of triumph, of sex when it rang with truth. I wanted nothing else in life but to have sex with Deirdre right now, of discovering just how deep our minds and body could meld, could go. Made to fit, made for one another in the same womb at the same time, we were coming full circle to our fundamental intimacy, our fundamental bond. 

Seeing Deirdre arching back even further, pushing her breasts up in the air in front of my eyes, I could feel her energy that was coursing through her. Through me. When her hands clamped on my ankles as she was pushing her body to the limit, I knew we were about to cum, to explode. And I knew that this explosion would release a lot more than physical bliss. It would seal what had happened so fast in a single day, it would solidify the shift we had made eighteen years after the moment when we had forgotten about it. We were made for each other and now our entire beings, bodies, minds and souls were remembering the truth of that very simple fact. 

I saw her muscles clenching from her thighs to her belly, her pussy contracting in that first beautiful pulse of orgasm. Deirdre snapped back towards me, her hands on my chest, as she was opening herself willingly to the ravages of this orgasm. My eyes wide in wonder I felt the same orgasm hitting me as well. We were being transformed, transmuted by this union, this raw sex, primordial desire for one another. Consumed. Renewed. 

Nothing could drive us apart and as we each moaned our love into the other ears, we knew that nothing would ever come between us again. Either I would come back to live here or, more likely, she would come to like with me in California. We were one, nearly married now despite the terrible sin of love between brother and sister. Against all customs and defying every moral fiber that was, my cock was still inside my twin sister's pussy, feeding my seed into her body. And it was going to be back in there. Soon. As soon as possible and as often as we could manage. And soon afterwards, when our incredibly immoral situation would allow, we'd have children, redheaded children, fruit of our sinful but wonderful union, the loving and sexual union between a brother and his nymph of a sister.