a straightforward tale about the satisfactions of spending the holidays with loved ones. After spending years studying to become a neurosurgeon, our protagonist Rob reunites with his family. It’s funny how quickly things can change when you become a doctor. Family can be difficult at any time, but the holidays are always especially stressful. As a result, I hope that this story can serve as an illustration of how two winter holidays ultimately bring a family closer together. There is a lot of family incest in this story. This story might not be for you if that is not your thing. Over the age of 18, these fictional characters are all consenting adults.
— I was unsure whether the turkey had been purchased or shot. At dinner, a hazy attempt had been made to describe the turkey’s demise, but it was muddled and unfinished, just like the bird itself. The green bean casserole tasted like a tin can and the mashed potatoes were watery. A can also contained the cranberry sauce. The pumpkin pie came from the store. I thought he had bought a bottle of stuffing mix from the store because my father’s gravy was lumpy. Since I left for college, not much seemed to have changed, so maybe I was just being judgmental.
The house was in slightly better shape than when I last visited, and it was obvious that someone had done some work there during my absence. However, otherwise, it felt like everything was exactly as it had been his whole life. I wanted to get up and look for the breakfast plates that were always hidden somewhere in the house and wondered if my mother still cleaned the house in the same order every week.
Robbie: “Is everything alright?” The only person I still let call me that is my mother, who inquired.
“It’s awesome. Very nice.” I took a bite of the soggy stuffing and forced a smile.
“It’s tasty, isn’t it?” “My father inquired. I truly believe that this is the best year to date.
I nodded in agreement, “Yeah, it really is.” I wasn’t sure what he was referring to. Dad, the food is exactly what I needed.
After a brief period of silence at the table, Sammie, my sister, spoke up. It’s a pleasure to have you back. Thanksgiving to all.”
I could tell she meant it when she smiled at me. Even though she was occasionally odd, she had always been kind. She continued to eat, shoveling forkfuls of turkey and other food into her mouth, and I smiled back. She was a decent child. She had transformed from a chubby teenager into a curvy, hourglass-shaped adult, if a little overweight when I last saw her. Because her arms were so clearly toned and had subtle muscles, it was clear that she had worked out or played a sport. Her white socks and jeans covered her legs, but I was pretty sure they had grown bigger and stronger as well.
I replied, “It’s nice to be back, but I’m just not sure how long I can stay though, work is picking up suddenly, and they’ve said I need to be in the office Monday.” “It’s nice to be back,” I said.
“Oh, you won’t be staying here for more than a night?” My mother inquired, her expression dejected. Robbie, we had hoped you’d stay until Christmas.
My mother was dressed in a light green dress with an apron over it, giving the impression that she was the wife of a golfer at a country club. Now that I think about it, she was. I walked around the house and looked at various photographs of my parents on fishing and hunting trips, as well as a few of the four of us at a distant holiday dinner. I also appeared depressed at the time. a picture of my parents smiling in front of a turkey in a field. Even in the great outdoors, my mother always maintained an impeccable and feminine appearance.
“I may be able to return around Christmas, but they require my personal experience. There aren’t many neurosurgeons available where I live.”
As I qualified my statement with the “might” I used to make room for myself, I felt my gut tingle. My mother frowned as soon as she heard the word leave my lips, suggesting that it had perhaps become an overused tool.
She said, “Robbie, I know you.” But since you left for college, when you just went to that big city of yours, I haven’t seen you much. You won’t even come home for Christmas, and you won’t even allow me to visit? I would assume that you were ashamed of us in some way.
“I won’t come home for Christmas because I’m not Mom. I swear.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt guilty. I didn’t want to hurt my mother, so I knew I had been avoiding this place and the people there. However, there was a part of me that wanted to run away from the sensation that I felt whenever I stayed at my childhood home. It was as if I lost the ability to resist the adolescent urges and behaviors of a child. I knew I had to work on not getting into fights with my father when I spent a lot of time at home.
“Promise?” Her eyes were fixed on mine as she inquired. Robbie, I mean it.”
“Mom, I do too.”
“Well, then, what are we all doing here?” As he held up his glass in the air, my father said.
“Let’s start this party!”
“Oh George, be quiet.” She said it, but my mother was smiling.
After a toast in which everyone raised their glasses, another bottle of wine was opened. That day, for the first time, I started to unwind. As the alcohol worked its magic, I could feel myself beginning to smile and laugh with my family as the stomach tension seemed to ease. My father and sister were sitting very close to each other, which I noticed. While staring aimlessly into the distance, she was practically leaning into his lap and clinging to his arm. I couldn’t help but notice her nod at something he was saying as he was whispering something into her ear.
“Over there, what are you two whispering about?” I asked out of bold curiosity.
My sister looked up, now concentrating on me, as my father smiled at me.
“Oh no, nothing.” With a sly grin on her face, she said.
“She’s just been talking to me about what we were going to get you for Christmas,” I heard her say. With a non-committal expression, my father said.
“Get me?” Surprised, I inquired. I don’t need anything from you. I’m pleased with the meal you prepared.”
“That’s terrible!” My mother spoke up. ” In addition, we already possess it. Now there is no going back. When I drove up to see your sister last week, we went shopping together. We selected something.”
My sister said, “Yeah.” Rob, we selected something.
I noticed that my father’s gaze was also fixed on me and that he was studying me with an unfamiliar expression. She was looking at me intently with a sarcastic expression on her face.
“Really, you were not required to. I don’t require anything, as you know.” I said. ” It means a lot to me to be included.
After shaking his head and leaning back, my father let go of his arm, which had been below the table for the majority of the meal. It was now encircling my sister’s shoulder and bringing her close to him, as I noticed. She cradled herself in and pressed her head against his chest, closing her eyes as she did so. There was something new about this. Even though my father and sister were close before I left, the idea of cuddling at the dinner table was new to me. I decided that maybe they were just innocently leaning on each other and that my perverted mind was imagining strange and terrible things because the alcohol helped me forget about the thought.
“You’re a family member.” My father stated, Rob, you will always be. You should be included.
As I wolfed down more turkey, I glanced down at my plate. I realized that I had only a few seconds and that the bird was almost gone. Because she had another bird in the fridge that would be turned into a turkey pot pie the following day, it’s likely that my mother intended for me to eat my fill of turkey. Additionally, the stuffing was vanishing. I could tell that someone at the table was working on the plateful that had been brought to the table, despite the fact that I had never been a fan of the gelled texture.
I responded, “Well, I’m not sure what you’re giving me for Christmas, but I’m sure I’ll love it,”
After that, the conversation moved on to other topics, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that my father was looking at me intently every time I turned my attention to something else. When everyone finally got up, the conversation gave way to the sound of plates and silverware being taken from the dining area and clinking and rattling. My mother put on some Christmas-themed records that she had inherited from her parents as the table and kitchen were cleaned up. The old-timey music made it seem like the cleaning was going quickly, and before long, everyone was sitting on the sectional in the living room. I ended up sitting across from the couch in a loveseat.
With his daughter to his left and wife to his right, my father sat in the middle. I assumed that they had taken some blankets out of a closet somewhere in the house because there was a heap of blankets between them. As I sat there and let myself relax, I could feel my eyelids getting heavier and heavier. When I fell asleep while my family spoke softly to each other, I hadn’t realized how tired I was.
It sounded like they were discussing what to watch on television, though I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Even though I wasn’t a part of the process, I figured it was polite to ask them why they were asking each other when the TV was right there. But it was nice to be included, and I drifted off thinking about how finally I hadn’t ruined an evening by arguing with someone or getting upset about how I’d been made to feel. It was nice to be included. In point of fact, everyone had behaved well. Even my mother had not attempted to make a big deal about my father’s drinking, which was always a source of contention when we ate together. I fell asleep with the impression that this might have been one of my best holidays at home.
I was alone in the living room when I awoke. The couch’s blankets were spread out, but some of them were ruffled to look like someone had been lying on them. Despite the fact that the record player and television were turned off, I could hear soft music playing in a faraway area of the house. As I yawned, I stood up and stretched, releasing the bones’ stiffness. I went to the kitchen to get some water, but the fridge had a beer bottle ready for me. With a bottle opener, I took off the cap and went to the room where I used to sleep every night. The master bedroom of my parents was at the end of the hall, and I had heard music there.
I could make out the faint flickering of a television playing inside because their door had been cracked open. I checked my phone and discovered that it wasn’t even very late at all, so I was surprised no one had woken me up to get ready for bed. It only made sense that the party might have moved on if it was only 10 p.m. and I had just slept for a few hours. Knowing that my failure to greet my family at bedtime was solely the result of my own actions, I tried to avoid feeling envious or upset.
I looked over at the door that was across the hall from my parents’ bedroom as I returned to my room’s door. It appeared as though there were no lights in my sister’s room. She was a total night owl when I last lived at home, I remember. There would be a thin golden light at the bottom of that doorway whenever I would wake up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. Strangely unsettling, its absence disturbed. After shaking my head and attempting to ignore the sensation, I entered my previous room and closed the door behind me. I decided that I would do the same if everyone else was busy or had gone to bed.
Before I went to my dresser and pulled out some pajamas to wear, I stripped down to my boxers and t-shirt. As if it were just a guest room that she hoped would one day be occupied, my mother always made sure my old room was ready for me. The closet was always stocked with clean towels and extra blankets, and the bed was always made. As I put on a cotton shirt and a pair of slightly too-small flannel pants with a faded picture of a video game character I had once had mixed feelings about, I felt guilty. After turning off the lights and getting into bed, I let the old mattress hold me while the blankets worked to keep me warm in the chilly night. I felt more awake than I had ever been before as I stared at the ceiling.
I was worried that I would never be able to sleep again as the time went on, but then I heard it.
The sound of my parents’ doors opening and closing across the corridor from my room. Then the hallway floorboards creaking. I heard my sister’s door opening and closing. I glanced at my phone. 11:37. What had Sammie been doing for so long in my parents’ room? The sight of them leaning against each other at the dinner table came back to mind. Why was his father sitting that way? Why was my father wrapping his arm around her?
I made an effort to ignore the thoughts, but they persisted. As a scientist, I couldn’t help but consider the possibility that my sister was having an affair with my father. As I tried to convince myself that these thoughts were wrong, my thoughts whirled and raced. I couldn’t help but think that she was my sister and he was my father. pondering what it might signify and how it might have occurred for years. My phone buzzed and made a “plink” sound, indicating something related to work, as I lay in my old bed and tried to deal with the situation. After I had covered the nightstand with a slew of stickers and garish drawings made with Sharpies, I sighed and took the device out to check it.
“Unfortunate death 11/24 early in the morning.”
I turned off the phone once more and put it back down. I could wait another day or stay for another night to try to figure out what was going on. In the morning, I would talk to Sammie. Verify that she was doing well. I tried to force myself to sleep by closing my eyes. It was time to unwind now that I was finally at home. I had learned how important sleep is in my many recent years of education and medical work, so it was something I was usually very good at. The only thing that kept coming to mind was the sight of my father wrapping his arm around my sister’s shoulder, for some reason. The sight of his fingers so close to her breasts’ swelling. imagining him touching them. On my parents’ bed, I stripped her while my mother watched.
I tried to go to sleep, but I got a terrible erection. I was enraged and ashamed of myself for having those thoughts. I tried to ignore how incredibly horny I was as I turned over, but I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned for what must have been minutes but seemed like hours. I finally gave up. As a doctor, I was aware that sexual arousal was simply a normal response to stimuli. The only thing that was causing me to feel restless and agitated was the chemical signals that my body was sending out. I was still a young man in good health, and that was perfectly normal.
I let go of my cock by lowering my boxers. Thoughts of my sister’s mature womanly body kept distracting me from contemplating previous sexual encounters. I eventually gave in to my desire to sexualize her body because it only made me more horny. She was an adult with a job and a degree when she was 23. She also happened to have long, sun-shining manes of auburn-red brown hair. I considered the images she had posted on her social media accounts that showed how well-shaped her body had become. Thought to myself that her breasts were manageable but not larger than a D cup. They matched the ripe swell of her hips and were lively and full. In the end, I gave some thought to her thick a$$, which was probably her best feature.
She had been waiting for me at the bus station, looking in the opposite direction while standing near her car. When I had to stop to tie my shoe, I had been heading in her direction as I was walking down the sidewalk. She was also bending to pick something up from the ground as I bent to fix my laces. Her high-quality yoga pants stretched to fit her toned abs without showing any panty lines or becoming transparent. It was captivating to see her buttocks shining like two dark spheres in the morning sun. Before I realized what I was supposed to be doing and who I was ogling, I had been staring at something for a split second or less. Now, I combined that memory with the idea that my father might have been fucking that ass tonight to raise my arousal to new heights. He wasn’t, I knew. I couldn’t stop the sudden urge to let myself go sexual that the thought sent coursing through my veins. It was impossible.
As I let my imagination run wild, I gave in to the heady rush of chemicals as I stroked my cock. While my sister was hunched over my father’s bed, I was imagining what might have transpired just now. How would I act? Would I attempt to halt it? Would I sign up? I realized I was about to cum when the thought caused my cock to twitch in my hand. In bed, my cock was throbbing with unfulfilled desire as I turned over. I wanted to cum even as I was thinking about my sister. I wanted to cum. I tried to make myself feel bad about it, but I just couldn’t. To catch the exploding sperm from my penis, I quickly pulled one of my socks up and held it up. As my cock pulsed and sent ropes of hot, sticky cum into the sock’s soft fabric, I felt my entire body tighten. I closed my eyes and moaned softly into my pillow. While some things were brand-new, others were essentially unchanged.
When I informed my mother that I would be staying another night, she was overjoyed in the morning.
Robbie: “Obviously, it’s a tragedy, but for me, I can’t help but feel a little joy!” As she wrapped her arms around me, she said with a smile.
“Even if it’s for this reason, it’s good to be here, mom.” Feeling like a giant in comparison to her, I said.
I spent some time unwinding at the house while Sammie and my parents were busy trying to catch sales and shop all day. Without the usual family members present, the house felt quiet. Since I didn’t bring many of my usual distractions, I browsed the bookshelves for a while, occasionally finding an old favorite to flick through for a moment of nostalgia before moving on. I eventually chose a used paperback copy of War of the Worlds and decided to reread it.
I began to become disinterested after about 20 pages. It was a good story, but after the first few paragraphs, nothing caught my attention. I made the decision to get up and take a tour of the house. After staying there for more than a few hours, I began to notice subtle alterations and distinctions that conflicted with my memory of the place as it had been. Numerous new paintings and a brand-new cupboard were present. A chaise lounger and a monstrous indoor plant transformed the corner where a stack of magazines had previously sat. How I had missed it was beyond me. To truly appreciate my childhood home, I made the decision to explore each room individually.
Except for a new range, the kitchen appeared mostly the same. It was the only room in the house that I found to have a truly minimalist aesthetic, and my mother continued to keep everything neat and organized there. The kitchen was the only part of the house that looked lived in. I also remembered that the dining room and living room were very similar. After going through a number of closets and bathrooms, the only rooms I hadn’t looked at were the master bedroom and my sister’s room. I stood outside Sammie’s room for several minutes debating whether or not I should enter as I found myself drawn to the door. I eventually came to the conclusion that it wouldn’t hurt, so I opened the door and entered.
The sight made me smile uncontrollably. She had stuffed animals on her dresser and posters on the walls. She had a new bed, but other than the general orderliness, the room was much the same as I remembered it. I made my way over to her dresser and took a look at the neatly arranged items on top. A small makeup mirror and several bottles of what I assumed were perfume were also in her jewelry box. The air in the room was sweet and floral. I picked up one of the books that were stacked on one end of her dresser and read through them. A picture of a young Sammie smiling at the camera with two missing front teeth made me laugh. I found myself missing the years when she had been around me and had always looked up to her older brother. She had been so adorable as a child.