I used to run my fingers through his soft chestnut brown hair and tell him, I love you, and I'm always here for you, sweet dreams, and I'd kiss him on his forehead. It was a simple ritual that was just as important as brushing your teeth, and to be honest with you, I needed it as much as him. I've always had a special bond with my baby boy, and I know his friends would call him a Momma's boy, but we were more than mother and son, we were more than friends. It's a special bond that transcends any typical mother and son relationship, we're close in the way that he can read my feelings just by looking at me, and I can sense when something is wrong in his life even if we're apart. He married a French woman named Sabine, she looks a lot like me, full breasts, bright red hair, blue eyes, and porcelain skin but I knew she was not good for him. She took him away to live in Bordeaux for seven long years, and he never wanted to leave on the Holidays. I knew something was wrong, and Sabine would always find some excuse to interrupt my alone time with him, but when he would leave I would help him on with his coat, embrace him, and whisper in his ear, I love you and I'm always here for you.

I was elated when he moved back to town four months ago, but saw Sabine and my son drift apart, she never felt at home here and longed to go back. December 22, at 5:30 in the afternoon I called him and he told me he wouldn't be going to my sister's for Christmas. He confessed that Sabine has left him two weeks ago and he doesn't want to explain to everyone just yet that they are divorcing. He asked, Mom, can you come over for Christmas? Just me and you? I smiled warmly, it felt as if my son had come back home, and we began to plan what what we'd do to pass the time. I got off the phone and packed my bag. I left in such a hurry, it's an 8 hour drive to his home, and I know my boy needs me, he needed me years ago.

He opens the door and I see he decorated for me, the Christmas tree was up with the ornaments that I gift to him as a family tradition one each Christmas. He helps me off with my coat and I press his cheek to mine, I kiss him, taking in his masculine scent. He locks eyes with me, I know he is reading my thoughts. We both avert our eyes, our closeness confuses us both, there's a tightness between us, like a jute rope that pulled so tight the strands are starting to pop, dying to be released. I fantasize every time I tease him, a simple kiss that will keep my pussy wet for days dreaming about what I could have done, what I should have done if he wasn't my son.

Watch the story unfold..