Capítulo 1141: @-4
Jennifer looked up at the butler.
"Water for me, please," she said.
Michael waved off the butler who hovered over him.
"Nothing for me. Thank you," said Michael to the butler and to Mr. Mozilo.
He was so tanned. He was so well mannered. He was so polished. If she didn't know he was Angelo Mozilo, the son of a butcher, and a successful banker, she would have thought he was Ralph Lauren. By his polished look and the cut of his clothes, periwinkle, silk lounging pajamas with a matching silk robe, and leather slippers, he looked like the very rich man that he was.
"For my security," he said bowing his head in apology. "May I see your identification?"
Jennifer removed her license from her purse and Michael removed his license from his wallet and handed them to the butler. As if memorizing their names, he checked their photos against their faces and made copies of their licenses with a small pocket camera that he retrieved from his pocket before returning their ID's.
"Now with that formality over, how may I help you?"
Angelo patted Jennifer's hand.
"We lost our house to foreclosure. Our original mortgage was with Countrywide Bank then when Bank of America took charge of our mortgage, our adjustable rate mortgage continued to climb higher. With the value of our house sinking lower, drowning underwater in a sea of debt, we no longer could afford the mortgage payments. Having never missed a payment and never late on a payment before, the bank wouldn't allow us to refinance either," said Jennifer sobbing in her hands.
He gave her a look as if he was genuinely interested in her story.
"I see," said Angelo.
He handed her a box of tissues that were within his reach.
"Thank you," she said accepting a tissue to dry her eyes. "They said that we didn't have enough equity in our home and with our home going down in value, throwing good money after bad, they weren't about to renegotiate our old mortgage for a new mortgage. Bank of America took our home yesterday."
As if his guilty conscience was coming home to roost, with Jennifer and her son putting faces on the injustice that his bank had done them, Angelo looked at her horrified. Obviously the reality of their personal loss was much more terrifying than a senate sub-committee called to investigate him, his former bank, and bank fraud. These were real people sitting in front of him. These were victims of what he and his cronies did to the American middleclass.
* * * * *
"There, there now. There, there," said Angelo standing over Jennifer. "I'm sorry you lost your house. The real culprits in all of this were the Federal Reserve with their series of interest rate hikes," he said returning to sit and lean back confidently in his chair after throwing the Federal Reserve under the bus. As if he was about to give a speech at Bloomberg Financial, he looked from Jennifer before looking at Michael and before returning his focus interest to Jennifer. "If what the Federal Reserve did wasn't enough there were the crooked real estate speculators, falling housing prices, and regulators attacks on interest only and other subprime mortgages," he said immediately posturing in a defensive position.
Not really knowing what all of that meant and how any of it fit in with her losing her home, Jennifer looked at Mr. Mozilo with confusion. Seemingly blaming everyone but himself, throwing everyone else under the bus and not taking any personal responsibility of his actions, even with his bank holding 41 billion dollars in subprime, junk loans, Angelo failed to mention the banking industries loose lending policies. He failed to mention liar loans which loaned borrowers at higher rates without even verifying their incomes. It was as if the banks didn't care if the buyers didn't pay their loans. It was as if the banks were hoping that buyers would default and have their houses foreclosed. He failed to mention that his bank, in the way of the loose rules of the Rich Dad Poor Dad game, was a major player in causing the banking crash.
"Even though there are a small army of others responsible for the financial crisis, being that your original loan was with my bank, I somehow feel responsible," he said suddenly sounding like Donald Trump posturing before a podium. "Now that this financial crisis is over, I've been trying to make amends by starting new businesses and giving people jobs," he said with pride while suddenly taking on the persona of a superhero instead of a deviously despicable banker.
Jennifer stopped crying to look up at him with hope.
"Can you help us?"
He sighed and rolled his eyes.
"I can't help every person who comes to my door but I have helped others keep their homes. Being that you've already lost your home, too late for that now, perhaps I can help you with a job instead," he said. "Unfortunately, out of my hands, I can't get your house back. Much in the way that they took ownership of your house, Bank of America took control of my bank," he said with a shrug of his shoulders.
As if he was the victim too, he failed to mention that he personally made tens of millions of dollars in the sale of his bank. With his health insurance guaranteed for him and his wife by the Bank of America as part of their buyout agreement, he didn't have the worries that the average person had who lost everything their jobs, their savings, and their homes because of him. With him her last hope, she looked at him with disappointment.
"You're right. It's too late anyway. The bank took out house yesterday," she said again.
Something Michael never expected to see from Angelo Mozilo, he looked genuinely sorry for their loss. Ready to leave, at least they got to talk to him. He knew that this face to face conversation would give his mother some closure and would go a long way in making her feel that she fought the good fight to keep her house.
"That's a shame." Then, he blurted out what she was thinking, hoping, and wishing he'd say. "Perhaps I can help buy you a new house," he said giving her a big, white, toothy smile.
At first she looked at him as if he was kidding her. Then, looking at him with skepticism, she looked at him as if he was nuts. Finally, looking at him as if he was her grandfather or a Mafia Godfather, she looked at him with excitement.
"Really? You'd do that for us? People you don't even know?"
He shrugged.
"Sure. Why not. It's only money. I'm an old man," he said. "With everyone I know and love financially set, what else am I going to do with my money? I can't take my money with me when I die. Why not contribute to a good cause and to someone who really needs the money? Besides, you look like good people, a single mom looking out for her son."
'If only he knew they were lovers,' thought Michael. 'What would he say then? A single, trailer trash Mom having incestuous sex with her son and a perversely perverted son having incestuous sex with his mother, he'd never give them money to buy a house then.'
"The federal government has had me under investigation for years," he said with sadness. "They're trying to sue me civilly to recoup some of the monies that I earned legally and on monies that they've already collected taxes. No doubt they'll win. They'll be taking most of my money anyway," he said looking into Jennifer's green eyes. "Why not give some of that money to you?"
Jennifer gave him a smile and reached across the table to take hold of his hand.
"I'm sorry," said Jennifer letting go of his hand.
Then, he said something insightful and something she didn't expect him to say.
"Instead of going after me, I wish they'd go after some of the others. I'm not the only one responsible for the financial crisis. I didn't singlehandedly bring down Wall Street, the banks, and the insurance companies. I had plenty of help from others," he said nodding his head in solemnness. "Yet, as if I'm the only culprit," he said giving her a poor, woe is me look, "I'm the one the press put a face to the financial meltdown blame."
Thinking that he was the biggest player and the one most responsible for the financial meltdown, she was surprised when Mr. Mozilo educated her otherwise.
"Others? What do you mean? Tell me. I'd really like to know. Who were some of the others responsible for the market crash, the failed banks, and for taking down Wall Street?"
As if he wanted to tell her all and as if he wanted to confess all of his sins and secrets to someone, he gave her a confident look before taking her in his confidence.
"When it comes time to lawyer up and defend myself, without going into detail, I can name some names, if that means that I keep the government's lawyers and civil lawsuit at bay. I've been transferring whatever assets I have to family members as my way to protect myself and giving money away to friends," he freely admitted. "I've even given plenty of money away to folks, strangers actually, those in need as my penance to soothe my soul with the hopes of righting any wrongdoings I may have done unintentionally."
He made himself sound so innocent. He made himself out as a victim too. Then, he paused as if taking a drag of his cigarette or taking a long, thoughtful sip of his wine but he wasn't smoking a cigarette or drinking wine. He was drinking coffee.
"My motto that quickly became my philosophy and was correctly quoted by the New Yorker," he said leaning forward in his chair to rest his elbows on the table. "You need to make dust or eat dust and I don't like eating dust. Once called the smartest man in the world, with too many of the so called financial wizards underestimating me, I left them all in my dust," he said with a laugh as if he was having a private joke.
An interesting man, a man of insightfulness, and a man of keen intellect, Jennifer eyed him with interest.
"You said there were others to blame. You said that you could name names. So tell me about the others responsible for the financial market crash," said Jennifer more interested in learning about him as he seemed interested in learning about her. "Please name some names. I'd like to know who some of the other who were responsible for the financial catastrophe."
* * * * *
He wrinkled his face and nodded at her as if about to tell her a secret.
"Truthfully, with people quick to blame the Republicans, the financial mess started with the Democrats. The financial meltdown began with President Clinton and his free-wheeling capitalism with the Gramm-Leach-Bliley Act, which repealed the Glass-Steagall Act of 1933."
He looked from Jennifer's to Michael's look of confusion before returning his look to Jennifer with an explanation.
"The Glass-Steagall Act was passed because of the '29 stock market crash. With Congress blaming the banks for the market crash even back then, basically, the act limited the financial activities between banks and security market firms. If that law had still been in place, none of this fiasco ever would have happened," he said. He waved his finger as if he was the banker standing in the middle of a monopoly board ordering all of the players to jail without passing 'Go' and collecting $200. "Banks and security market firms would have been unable to conspire with one another and be in collusion with one another."
Michael leaned forward in his chair.
"Wow," said Michael. "In hindsight, I guess that law was passed for a reason. Huh? "
Mr. Mozilo nodded his agreement to the simplicity of Michael's question.
"What the Gramm-Leach-Bliley Act did was to exempt credit-default swaps from government regulation. That relaxation of government control in effect was the silver bullet that loaded the gun," said Angelo. "Then, another nail in the financial market coffin, in '95, Clinton rewrote the Community Reinvestment Act. In principle the Act was a good thing but no matter their good intentions, as if the Act was a drug ready to be counteracted upon, there are always side and effects to everything and someone there to find that legal loophole and prey on the consumer."
Satisfied with the simplicity of his explanation without having to go in great details, he sat back in his chair and smiled.
"Wow," said Michael.
As soon as Michael showed his interest, Angelo continued with his explanation.
"Playing a big role in creating a permissive lending environment, the Act loosened the housing rules and pressured banks to lend to low-income neighborhoods," said Angelo looking from Jennifer to look at Michael before looking back at Jennifer. "Relaxed government, banking regulations and permissive lending is how we all got into this mess."
Seemingly bursting her bubble about her favorite president and about her preferred political party, Jennifer looked at Mr. Mozilo with interest.
"Now, that's something I didn't know about President Clinton," said Jennifer. "I'm sure his intentions were good and he was honorable. Who knew what more would happen with that Act than just lending money to the poor? The banks found their loophole to use that to their favor," said Jennifer.
Angelo laughed loudly.
"Good and honorable are not two words that I would use in personally describing Bill Clinton," said Angelo.
Impressed that his mother was getting the picture before he even did, Michael looked at his mother before looking at Mr. Mozilo. Angelo Mozilo gave Jennifer the same eye of appreciation with her being on the same page and with him not having to take the time to explain everything.
"It sounds like President Clinton was more for helping himself and his buddies than he was for helping the people," said Michael. "What else is new?"
Angelo shrugged his shoulders and gave Michael a knowing look before leaning forward in his chair as if he was about to divulge secret, government information.
"President Clinton's ex-budget director Franklin Delano Raines, Frank, as he preferred being called, was at the helm of Freddie Mac. He left the agency when after it was embroiled in an accounting scandal that made both Freddie Mac and Fannie Mae wards of the state," he said.
Michael shook his head with all the backroom deals that apparently happened behind the scenes.
"I guess it pays to give the President of the United States as a reference on your resume," said Michael with a laugh.
Angelo nodded his head in agreement.
"In the way that President Clinton was an undergraduate student at Georgetown University and then a graduate law student at Yale, both men attended Oxford. Only Frank graduated from Harvard Law School instead of Yale. Because of who he was and who he knew, he beat a class action lawsuit suing him to recover the lost funds of deceived investors. With him not totally aware of the happenings at Freddie Mac, ignorance is not an excuse of the law but in the case of Frank Raines, with him having far reaching power and influence, it was."
Angelo looked at his watch, before looking up at the sun. He was wearing a Patek Phillippe watch that probably cost him six figures, what most married middleclass people earn before taxes in two years of hard work.
"It's getting hot out here," said Angelo. "Will you join me for breakfast?"
Not wanting to speak for her son, Jennifer looked to Michael and he gave her a nod in the affirmative.
"I'd love to continue this discussion over breakfast," said Jennifer.
Angelo escorted Jennifer to the dining room with Michael following. He stopped to whisper something to his butler. Jennifer figured he had asked the butler to call the police but she was already there and invited inside, so she thought she'd make the most of her visit with Mr. Mozilo until the police arrived to escort her off of the property.
Instead of sitting at the opposite ends of the huge dining room table, as if having a boardroom meeting, Angelo had Jennifer and her son sit across from him. He looked from mother to son before looking back at Jennifer. He confidently sat in his chair as if he was about to begin a meeting of the board.
* * * * *
"Marion and Herb Sandler," he said as if they had just walked in the room. "They were worth billions. Marion is dead now but they both spent the later years of their lives as philanthropists. Most folks never heard of Marion and Herb Sandler and/or the bank they started, the World Savings Bank. They're the ones responsible for selling home loans with the option called ARM's, adjustable rate mortgages. An adjustable rate mortgages was the reason why you lost your house, no doubt," he said making eye contact with Jennifer. "They made hundreds of millions of dollars and made 2.3 billion when they sold their bank to Wachovia in 2006," said Angelo remaining quiet while his staff served Jennifer and her son breakfast.
"Now I'm really interested. Tell me more please," said Jennifer.
Angelo took a bite of his toast before speaking.
"Phil Gramm, the Chairman of the Senate Banking Committee from '95 to 2000 was the champion of financial deregulation. Deregulation is always good for people like me but always bad for people like you," he said with a little laugh. "He inserted a key provision in the 2000 Commodity Futures Modernization Act that exempted over-the-counter derivatives, such as credit-default swaps from regulation by the Commodity Futures Trading Commissions. In conjunction with the Gramm-Leach-Bliley Act and the Community Reinvestment Act, that was the start of the giant snowball rolling down the hill that took down Joe Cassano, the head of AIG, and that cost the United States 150 billion dollars thus far."
Jennifer's mouth fell open.
"Oh, my God. I never heard or read any of this. I never heard of any of these people," said Jennifer enthralled. "If I knew any of this was going on behind the scenes, I never would have bought a house. I would have waited and purchased a house for a fraction of the cost after the stock market and housing market crashed," she said.
Angelo shook his head in disagreement.
"Bankers, brokers, politicians, and lawyers paid reporters a lot of money to keep their names out of the newspapers," said Angelo. "Besides, with banks now gun shy and on their best behavior, dotting all of the I's and crossing all of the T's, good luck getting a mortgage after the market crashed. The party was over by then. Those real estate developers who had the cash in their pockets to buy properties for pennies on the dollar made billions," he said.
Michael looked at his mother wide-eyed.
"I don't believe this," he said. "This is so unbelievable."
They remained silent while waiting for Angelo to speak again.
"Alan Greenspan, the Federal Reserve Chairman, became a disciple of the Libertarian Icon, Ayn Rand, after he read Atlas Shrugged. The boy wonder, a financial genius, was the resident financial maestro, the monetary guru, and wizard of Wall Street and of the economy. Nonetheless his God given financial intellect as a super economist, he admitted that he had made a mistake in presuming that financial firms could regulate themselves," said Angelo laughing loudly. "Ha! A mistake? That's an understatement if ever I heard one. That was a monumental blunder." Angelo laughed out loud again. "That was a joke. That was like putting a fox in a henhouse and telling the farmer not to worry about his chickens."
Jennifer couldn't believe she was getting the inside dope on Alan Greenspan from Angelo Mozilo of all people.
"I always liked listening to Mr. Greenspan but I never figured him for being that naïve," said Jennifer.
Angelo stopped to take a bite of his breakfast before continuing.
"James, tell Martha that the eggs are delicious. Martha is my cook. I persuaded her to leave her job as a chef of a five star restaurant after she hurt her back and couldn't stand for long periods of time," said Angelo. "Now by suppling her with a high stool with wheels," he said with a chuckle, "she cooks exclusively for me."
Michael smiled.
"Normally, I don't eat eggs, but these eggs are good," said Michael.
Then, Jennifer smiled.
"Our compliments to the chef," said Jennifer to James. "This is the best breakfast I've ever eaten."
Angelo sat back in his chair again as if ready to give a speech on the state of the economy.
"Swooping in to take advantage of America's hunger for credit was another man you may have not heard mentioned. Wen Jiabao was the proxy of the Chinese government. As everyone is well aware, China was one of the primary dealers of credit to the United States Government. China held an estimated 1.7 trillion dollars in debt. Manipulating money markets behind the scenes, China was eager to control the value of its currency against the U. S. dollar," said Angelo.
Michael banged his fist on the table.
"Damn Chinese," said Michael. "I knew they were behind all of this. It's their fault that we lost our house."
Jennifer shot Michael a look before returning her focused attention to listen to Mr. Mozilo while eating her breakfast.
"Simplistically yes the Chinese should shoulder some of the blame but convolutedly no. As if Wen Jiabao was the shylock in Shakespeare's Merchant of Venus, the Chinese were the loan sharks from China," said Angelo with a laugh. "China was responsible for the devaluation of our dollar more than anyone but the American consumer is more to blame for demanding more and more inferior Chinese goods."
Jennifer shot Michael another look.
"Sorry, for my son's passionate outburst. Please continue, Mr. Mozilo."
Angelo raised a hand and waved it down showing that he had no problem with Michael's spirited outburst.
"Angelo. All my friends call me Angelo. Being that you're invited guest in my house, sitting at my table, and eating my food, we're friends. Please call me Angelo."
"Thank you, Angelo," said Jennifer. "Please tell us more."
Angelo closed his eyes for a moment as if taking a nap or falling in deep thought. Then, as soon as his eyes opened, his mouth opened too.
* * * * *
"Then, there was Christopher Cox, the ex-SEC chief. Ignoring repeated allegations of fraud, he chose not to investigate Bernard Madoff and hedge funds as a whole. Starting the fatal, financial failure falling, that one, illegal Ponzi scheme cost retirees and nonprofit organizations fifty billion dollars in losses. Able to nip things in the bud before they got out of hand, the SEC had the power to investigate investment houses such as, Lehman Brothers and Merrill Lynch for better disclosures and not following investment regulations and laws. Blaming limited SEC staff, Mr. Cox chose to close this eyes to such infractions."
Michael looked at his mother before addressing Angelo.
"Wow, who would have thought the SEC was to blame too," said Michael. "I always thought they were above all of that. I always thought that they were like the IRS of the financial market or the Supreme Court of investors' investments."
Angelo nodded his agreement to Michael.
"With plenty of blame to go around there were lots of CEO's on Wall Street who were to blame but none more than Jimmy Cayne of Bear Stearns. I'm not embarrassed or proud to tell you that I'm worth 600 million dollars," said Angelo with pride, "but Jimmy is worth nearly one billion dollars."
Michael whistled his appreciate as to how much money Mr. Mozilo was worth not to mention how much Jimmy Cayne was worth too.
"Wow," said Michael. "Damn. That's a lot of money."
Angelo sat back in his chair seemingly proud with his personal accomplishments and happy to confess all of this about his colleagues.
"Bear Stearns held 40 billion in mortgage bonds that they sold to JP Morgan. Sandy Weill's Citigroup was another big bank to blame. Meanwhile, the biggest culprit in this financial fiasco, was Kathleen Corbet of Standard & Poor. She slapped AAA seals of approval on the riskiest of the loans."
Jennifer shook her head back and forth.
"My God, such a mess," said Jennifer.
Michael nodded to his mother.
"It's as if once the ball was in motion, no one could stop it rolling downhill and taking people and companies with it before reaching the bottom in a gigantic crash," said Michael.
Angelo smiled a nod at Michael.
"It wasn't only America grabbing at the greed. Fred Goodwin of the Royal Bank of Scotland was a big player in overreaching what his bank could safely afford when he acquired ANB Amro. Another big player on the world stage was David Oddsson, Iceland's Prime Minister. He made his country an experiment in free-market economics by privatizing their three main banks. Then, when Iceland's economy soured, they had a macroeconomic meltdown. The IMF, the International Monetary Fund, had to step in after the currency lost more than half of its value," said Angelo seemingly knowing everything that economically happened in the world at the time.
Jennifer pushed the remainder of her breakfast away to concentrate on drinking her coffee while listening to the guru of mortgage banking taking control of the conversation. As if he was an oracle, and he was, and as if she was a student of finance, and she was, she only wished she had been privy to his wisdom before she spent all of her money on a house that was lost to foreclosure.
"Tell me more," said Jennifer sitting forward in her chair with interest.
Looking much like two high school freshmen in a sex education class, Michael sat forward in his chair too.
"Hedge funds were responsible for sloppy mortgage lending. John Devaney and other hedge fund managers bought up mortgages to thereby help make it possible for lenders to make questionable loans and then sell them. He actually told Money Magazine, "The consumer has to be an idiot to take on one of those adjustable rate mortgages weighted down with balloon payments and high interest, but it has been one of our best performing investments."
Michael nodded his head in agreement.
"Wow, we're a couple of idiots," said Michael with sadness.
Jennifer shook her head in disbelief.
"Lew Ranieri, was the father of mortgage-backed bonds in which home loans were packaged together by Wall Street firms and sold to institutional investors. He boasted that his mortgage trading desk made more money than all of the rest of Wall Street combined. The balloon burst when subprime borrowers started missing their payments. Then the mortgage market stalled and subsequently the bond prices collapsed," said Angelo. "Which is why they called them junk bonds," he said with a little laugh. "A better name would have been shit bonds."
Now it was Jennifer's turn to nod her head in agreement.
"That's us, a couple of idiots," said Jennifer. "We no longer could afford our mortgage when the adjustable rate moved it out of our financial reach."
Angelo seemingly looked sad for Jennifer's plight.
"The gorilla of Wall Street, as Dick Fuld was known, moved Lehman into subprime mortgages," said Angelo. "Bankrolling lenders, and with no one watching the henhouse but the fox, they made questionable loans to borrowers. Lehman took those loans and made them into bonds, junk bonds stamped with AAA rating by Standard and Poor that were nothing but toxic debt. Fuld earned $500 million in compensation during his tenure as CEO at Lehman."
Michael just sat there in shock.
"With the spotlight on Greenspan, Bush, and Paulson, and everyone blaming the collapse of Wall Street on them, I never heard of any of these people playing such a major role in the meltdown," said Michael.
Angelo nodded.
"The rich and powerful are always well insulated. Stan O'Neal, Merrill Lynch's CEO guided his company to create CDO's, collateralized debt obligations, which were primarily subprime mortgage bonds. With 41 billion dollars in subprime bonds, Merrill Lynch failed and just as they did with my bank, Bank of America swooped in to buy them too," said Angelo.
Now Jennifer looked angry after hearing the real story.
"This is so amazing hearing the inside scoop from the horse's mouth," said Jennifer doing her best to hide her anger. "Seemingly the one bank who made out was Bank of America."
Jennifer shook her head in disbelief.
"David Lereah, chief economist of the National Association of Realtors, was quoted as saying that the housing market is going to keep chugging on forever," said Angelo. "Regularly trumpeting the infallibility of the housing market, he chastised people for missing out on the housing boom in 2006. Then, changing his tune from a trumpet of joy to a bugle of warning, a year later in 2007, he was quoted as saying, "It appears we have established a bottom," said Angelo with a loud laugh.
Jennifer nodded in agreement.
"I was definitely caught up in that," confessed Jennifer. "My dream was to own my own home."
Michael seemed surprised by the enormity of the responsibility of all the players.
"Encouraging the housing boom, Burton Jablin, the programming czar of Scripps Networks, which owns HGTV, helped inflate the real estate bubble by developing programs such as, Designed to Sell, House Hunters, House Hunters International, My House is Worth What?, and Income Property. He not only gave the housing market gusto but also he gave it glamour," said Angelo.
"I faithfully watch House Hunters and House Hunters International every day," said Jennifer.
She smiled her innocent ignorance at Angelo.
"Homebuilders had much to do with the housing market collapse too. As CEO of Beazer Homes, Ian McCarthy had become the poster child for the worst behavior of homebuilders. His aggressive sales tactics and lies about borrowers' qualifications contributed to the economic housing meltdown.
"This is just so unbelievable," said Michael.
"Then, of course, there's President George W. Bush and his Secretary of the Treasury, Paulson. Bush is to blame because the meltdown of the economy happened on his watch. Secretary Paulson is to blame for allowing Lehman Brothers to fail and then for opening the doors of the Treasury to banks and insurance companies. With some of these corporations not repaying the government, he passed out billions of dollar without properly accounting for who got how much money," said Angelo laughing loudly again. "Can you imagine that knucklehead? I can't imagine that knucklehead passing out money like that. All he cared about was getting his tax free, 450 million dollar, golden parachute from Lehman Brothers before closing their doors."
"That's so unbelievable," said Jennifer echoing her son.
"What's even more unbelievable than Secretary of the Treasury, Henry Paulson, passing out billions for our tax money to his friends, is that no one went to jail. No one was even arrested. With this being the biggest robbery in the history of the United States, no one was even charged with a crime," said Angelo Mozilo. "Now that Feds are after me, just me and no one else.
Angelo's butler reappeared carrying a silver tray with a pen, a piece of paper, an envelope, and a business card. Angelo removed the piece of paper, the pen, the envelope, and the business card from the tray. He signed the paper, returned the pen to the tray, and stuffed the paper in the envelope along with the business card. He sealed the envelope closed with a lick before handing it to Jennifer.
"I'm sorry but I have a pressing appointment. Please don't open the envelope until you leave. I've given you what I thought was fair compensation for your house, for your time, and for your trouble," said Angelo standing and shaking both Jennifer's and Michael's hands. "Good luck to you both. I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me."
The butler escorted them out and locked the door behind them. Obeying him, she didn't open the envelope until they were in the truck. Figuring it was a check for a dollar or enough to buy a nice dinner, it was a cashier's check made out to her for one million dollars. Along with the cashier's check was a note that read, "The money is free and clear. Don't worry about the taxes. I'll take care of that for you. Your taxes on a million dollars would have been four hundred thousand dollars but it's just another charitable tax deduction for me."
Mother and son rekindle their incestuous feelings by having sex on Christmas Eve.
Tired of California, Jennifer and her son moved east. They moved to Massachusetts, a place where they didn't know anyone and a place where no one knew them. With Jennifer dressing younger and her son dressing older, especially with him growing a beard, which his mother adored, they looked to be about the same age. Their plan, although not verbalized, was to pass themselves off as husband and wife instead of as mother and son. When out in public, he called her Jennifer instead of Mom and she called him Michael instead of referring to him as her son. With a million dollars to buy a house, a new truck for him, a new car for her, furniture and appliances for the house, and a new wardrobe of clothes for them, they were eager to start a new life in a new place.
A whirlwind of activity, Jennifer and Michael left everything behind including all of their possessions in storage. After depositing the check with Mr. Mozilo's banker, they bought two plane tickets on the first plane out and headed east. Armed with their debit cards, checkbook, and credit cards, their plan was to buy whatever they needed until they bought their new house and started their new life.
Mother and son abandoned their old pickup truck behind and hopped on a plane to Boston, Massachusetts. Until they bought their new house, they stayed overnight in motels instead of hotels to not blow through their money and bought clothes and food as they needed. Only, not duplicating that night where they slept in the same bed and had sex, every motel they rented had two beds. Every day they shopped, throughout the day they talked and laughed, and every night they slept by themselves without having sex. Seemingly, they were too excited about receiving a million dollars and over the prospects of buying a new house, a new truck, a new car, furnishing their home, and buying new clothes than to have sex.
With them barely able to make their mortgage payments before, with their adjustable rate mortgage sucking away every dollar they earned, neither one had bought anything new in years. The clothes they left behind were worn out and thread bare and were more rags than anything else. Even Good Will wouldn't want their old clothes. With them house poor before in trying to stay ahead of their adjustable rate mortgage, much of their furniture was old, hand me downs passed on by relatives who no longer needed the pieces or who had died. Some of their furniture was picked up, reclaimed, fixed up, and repaired after people left it out curbside for the trash. With them having everything of value with them, some jewelry, a watch, and old photographs taken when Michael was a boy, they wouldn't miss any of what they left behind.
Their goal was to be living in a house close to Boston by Christmas. Buying a new truck and a new car was the easy part. True to their word, finding a home and furnishing it was more difficult than they thought but with the both of them working together, they were in their new house by Christmas Eve. Only, with sex put on the backburner, with all that they've done in such a short amount of time, they were tired. They were exhausted. Forget about holding one another, hugging one another, cuddling one another, and spooning one another, after being out all day, day after day shopping, if they wanted to do anything at all, they just wanted to sleep.
* * * * *
"Mom?"
Michael looked at his mother with concern. The only time he called her Mom or mother now was when they were alone. Suddenly he was worried about his mother. Instead of her looking happy, she looked sad. This was Christmas and they were starting a new life together in a new house with all new furniture and appliances. He had a new truck and she had a new car. They both had a new and complete wardrobe of clothes.
"What?"
She looked at him preoccupied, as if she had been thinking about something. She was always preoccupied and thinking about something. In a new house in a good neighborhood in Boston, after buying two, brand new vehicles and shopping for a new wardrobe of clothes and shoes, he didn't understand why she'd be sad instead of being ecstatically happy.
"What's wrong?"
She sat across from him in their expansive, open floor plan living room. It was a beautiful house with a grand entrance, high ceilings and wood floors, except for the carpeted living room. A one-hundred-year-old house, the home had the original woodwork with lots of built-ins, pocket doors, china hutch, bookshelves, and even a fireplace with original beamed ceiling in the living room. They had a huge kitchen with plenty of storage, a big, center-island with shiny, white, quartz countertops, white cabinets, and high-end, Jenn-air, bronze appliances instead of stainless steel. He stared at her while wondering what the matter was.
"Wrong? There's nothing wrong," said Jennifer giving him a feigned smile.
She forced her son another sad, little smile. Looking so miserable, obviously, she was lying. Obviously, there was something wrong. She was like this every Christmas. Instead of being happy this time of year, she was sad. With her having so much history on those days, her birthday and holidays, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years were always depressing days for her.
In the way she looked so sad, she was a poster child who proved the notion that money can't buy happiness. Instead of celebrating their first Thanksgiving in their new home, it didn't help that they had their Thanksgiving Day dinner in a restaurant. Living six, long cramped weeks in a motel room, they hadn't close yet with the bank until a week before Christmas. Once they finally moved in their new house and received all of their new furnishings, he had hoped that the change in scenery, along with the new vehicles and new clothes, would brighten her mood in the way it did his.
"Suddenly you look so sad," said Michael knowing there was something wrong and not letting his mother off the hook until she told him what it was.
With the fireplace crackling and creating the mood in the background, the soft, white light from the Christmas tree gave her an airbrushed look of how a model looks in a high fashion magazine photo. So busy buying the truck, the car, shopping for houses, buying furniture, appliances, and clothes, he forgot how truly beautiful she was. As if she was a model in Architectural Digest, she so stunning to see. When he was out and about with her, taking her for granted, he sometimes doesn't realize how truly lucky he is to have a mother who looks like her.
She was so sexy. She was so shapely. She was so pretty. Yet, still struggling with his forbidden feelings that he had for his mother and with the guilt associated with them having incestuous sex, he wished she wasn't his mother but his lover.
He looked over at her not understanding why someone who looked like her was alone. He didn't understand why someone who looked like her didn't have a man in her life and a steady boyfriend. He didn't understand why his mother didn't remarry again. She doesn't even date.
With him having a penchant for older woman, if she wasn't his mother, he'd date her. Even if she wasn't his mother, but a cougar he picked up at a bar or met in a supermarket, he'd do her. As fortunate as it was unfortunate, it was too bad that she was his mother. It was too bad that incest had gotten in the way of their brief relationship of sex to cloud their feelings of love, desire, and passion for one another.
Before, he could only imagine what it would feel like to have sex with someone who looked like her. Now that he knew what it was like to have sex with someone who looked like her, he'd love to have sex with her again. Before, he could only imagine what it would feel like to have sex with his mother. Now that he knew what it was like to have sex with his mother, he'd love to have sex with his mother again.
"I do? I'm sorry. It's just the letdown after all of the shopping and the excitement of buying the truck, the car, this house, the furniture, the appliances, and all of those clothes and shoes," she said with a sigh. Then she gave him a warm smile that made him want to take her in his arms and kiss her. "I was just thinking about past Christmases that we had in California but now with us here in Massachusetts, I don't know where I am," she said looking at him to give him a laugh. "As if I'm living in a foreign country, nothing is familiar."
She looked as if she was about to cry. Instead of being happy, she looked so sad. He wanted to run to her and hold her. He wanted to hug her and kiss her in the way he did that night in that motel room. Now knowing what she was thinking about, what she always thinks about this time of year, every year, he needed to acknowledge the elephant in the room to eradicate it.
"You were thinking about Dad again, weren't you?"
His father had been gone years but she still thinks of him, more around the holidays than any other time. Why? If anyone should think of his father, he should but he doesn't after his father didn't think enough of him to see him or even send him a birthday or Christmas card. Even after she stripped off her clothes to stand naked before him and even after she fucked and sucked him, Michael wished his mother thought of him in the way that she sometimes thinks of his father.
"Yes," she said obviously trying to look happy instead of sad by giving him a little, pitiful smile.
Her sad, little smile wasn't fooling him one bit. He could see that she was hurting. At a time when she was the most vulnerable, he hoped that she'd consume enough wine for him to take sexual advantage of her in the way that she took sexual advantage of him in that seedy motel room in California. That night, that magical night, that memorable night, and that unforgettable night, they didn't even need alcohol to strip off their clothes and have sex with one another. It was mother and son against the world and as if they solidified their mother and son relationship with sex, they took their connection to an even higher level.
If only an inadvertent up skirt peek of her white, bikini panties or a down blouse flash of her bra and cleavage, he needed that to make him think that his mother was deliberately flashing him and sexually teasing him. He needed to believe that she was deliberately flashing him for him to masturbate over later tonight when he was in his room alone and she was in her room alone. With her seemingly acting as if they didn't have sex, he needed her flashing him to relieve the incestuous lust that he had for his mother and the sexual frustration he now felt with her acting so distant.
With the sexual tension between them palpable, he needed something from her to not only rekindle that incestuous lust she had for him several weeks ago but also for her to jumpstart their incestuous affair. As he was before they had sex, with him afraid to make the first move, he needed her to make the first move again. Once, she showed him that she sexually wanted him as much as he sexually wanted her, he'd make all the moves thereafter. Once she showed him that she wanted to live as man and woman and wanted them to live boyfriend and girlfriend or as husband and wife instead of mother and son, he'd welcome her back with opened arms.
"C'mon Mom, it's Christmas Eve. Cheer up. You should be happy and not sad," he said. "I won't allow the memory of your cheating husband, the man who dumped you for some twenty-something-year-old slut, to spoil our fun and ruin another holiday. We've come full circle. We've come such a long way in such a short time. We need to celebrate."
Only, what his idea of a celebration and what her idea of a celebration may be something completely different. Whereas she was content being preoccupied in thought, he wanted to celebrate their new house by christening it with sex. He thought that once they were out of that motel room and in their new home, they'd be sexually intimate again. Only instead of living like a man and woman, a boyfriend and girlfriend, or as husband and wife, they were back to living like a mother and son. As if the sex never happened between them, with her flashing him her panties in up skirts and her cleavage and bra with down blouses, they were back to playing sexually frustrating games of tickle and tease.
She was wearing her new, short skirt that she bought just the other day. She didn't want to buy it because it was too short, so short, but he talked her into buying it. He loved the skirt because it hugged and flattered her well-formed ass while showing off her, sexy, shapely legs. She nearly didn't buy it when she came out of the dressing room to show him and saw herself in the mirror. As if she was a twenty-something-year-old going to a club instead of a morally, modest, mature mother of an adult son, her skirt came to mid-thigh.
"How will I ever sit in this skirt without flashing you or anyone sitting across from me my panties," she said with an embarrassed albeit sexually excited laugh.
Now with his mother sitting across from him after giving him a sexy image of her knees parted just enough for him to see her white, bikini panties, he looked at her with incestuous lust. Hoping to see more of her, he continued looking at her in the way that he used to look at her before he saw her in her underwear, topless, and naked. He continued looking at her in the way that he used to her before they had sex. He looked at her with incestuous lust. He looked at her with suppressed sexual passion and desire. He looked at her with sexual frustration. He looked at her while imagining his mother flashing him her panties every time she crossed and uncrossed her legs.
"It's nothing that I haven't seen before Mother," he said with a dirty laugh while purposely hoping to jog her memory of him already seeing her in her underwear.
'Hello? I've already seen you in your bra and panty,' he wanted to say but didn't. 'I've already seen you topless. I've already seen you naked. We already had sex. Remember? I licked you and fucked you and you fucked me and sucked me.'
He wanted to say all of those things to her but he didn't. Not wanting to embarrass her or make her feel uncomfortable, especially on a day that she was obviously feeling so sad, he kept his thoughts to himself. Only surprising him, instead of her reacting favorably to his inappropriate comment and playing along with him, she acted as if they had never been sexually intimate. She acted as if he had never seen her in her sexy underwear, topless, and/or naked.
In the way she used to act before they were incestuously sexually and forbiddingly intimate, she acted embarrassed. She acted awkwardly uncomfortable. Yet, his inappropriate comment didn't stop her from buying the short skirt or from wearing it in front of him. His inappropriate comment about having already seen her panties didn't stop her from flashing him her panties.
* * * * *
Later that evening, as if complicit in her flashing him, the material of the chair clung to her skirt as if the chair was covered in corduroy and her skirt was a static filled balloon. The hem of her skirt raised itself higher with her every movement. With her continually tugging at her skirt in her feeble attempts to pull the hem of her skirt further down to deny him a voyeuristic view of her panties, the material of the chair continued to raise her skirt until the hem was only a few inches below her crotch. Ready and waiting to see a flash of her panties, his mother was deliberately or inadvertently showing him a prolonged and continued view of her panties. Until she crossed her legs, she was showing him a lot of her shapely thighs and a nice view between her legs.
He loved his mother's legs. Whenever he saw as much of his mother's legs as he was seeing now, he wanted to fall between her shapely thighs and eat her. He wanted to remove her panties and finger her pussy while licking her pussy. He wanted to bury his face in his mother's cunt. Glad that she wasn't wearing pantyhose, just panties, he hated pantyhose. In the same way that he hated padded bras that spoiled him from seeing the impressions of erect nipples, spoiling all of his voyeuristic fun, they should castrate whatever gay designer who invented padded bras and pantyhose.
Nearly forgetting what it was like to have his sexual way with his mother, he could only imagine what it would feel like to run his hands up her short skirt while feeling her smooth, shapely legs. With neither of them needing alcohol before to become sexual intimate and incestuously connected, he wondered if they need alcohol now to revitalize their incestuous, sexual relationship. He wondered if they were both drunk enough, if his mother would allow him to feel her legs from her shapely ankles all the way up to her sexy hips and in between her shapely thighs to Nirvana. How sexy would that be to slowly run his horny hands all the way up her legs? How sexually hot would that be to cup, feel, and finger her pussy through her panty?
Still, their relationship was much different now than it was before they had sex. As if they were married for years, they were closer and more comfortable with one another now. In the way that she was now so at ease around him and with him always looking to see what he shouldn't see of her, fortunately for him, she routinely albeit inadvertently flashed him up skirts and down blouses. As if they had returned to the way they were before having sex, her flashing him whether deliberate or inadvertently was teasingly and enticingly hot. From the time he turned 18-years-old, he was interested in having incestuous sex with his mother. Always horny and sexually frustrated, with no other woman in his life and on his mind but his MILF of a mother, now that they were done with their shopping adventures, his sexual thoughts turned more to her.
Somehow their relationship changed when they moved to Boston. As if they were a newlywed couple on their Honeymoon in that motel room in California, they were like an old, married couple living in their new house now. While looking for a house in Boston, they slept in separate beds in the motel. With her getting dressed and undressed in the bathroom, he hadn't seen as much as his mother's bra strap since that fateful night when she stripped herself naked in front of him.
Other than to hug his mother and kiss her on her cheek, in the way that any loving son would appropriately hug and respectfully kiss his mother, he hasn't inappropriately touched his mother and she hasn't inappropriately touched him. In the way he was lusting over her before they had sex, he was dying to stick his tongue in his mother's mouth and French kiss her while feeling her through her clothes. Now, with them living on the other side of the country where no one knows that they're mother and son, he was hoping they'd live as man and woman, boyfriend and girlfriend, or even as husband and wife.
Now that they moved into their new house, with them sleeping in separate bedrooms, he'd love nothing more than for them to share a bedroom. He'd love nothing more for his mother to parade around him in her sexy bra and panties in the way she did in the motel room. With her naked beneath it, he'd love nothing more for his mother to wear a sexy nightgown in the morning and again at night without the modesty of wearing a bathrobe. He'd love nothing more than to see his mother topless again. He'd love nothing more than to see her big, shapely breasts, her nipples, and her areolas. He'd love nothing more than to see his mother naked. He'd love nothing more than to see her round, firm ass, and her trimmed, dark brown pussy.
"Sorry, I guess I am a little sad," she admitted. She took a soulful breath while staring in the fire and before returning her focus to him. "Long ago, before we were married, I used to celebrate Christmas Eve with your father. In the way you and I are now, we were friends, best friends back then. The time when we exchanged gifts, Christmas Eve was our special evening to ourselves before we celebrated Christmas with the rest of our families," she confided in him as if he was her priest or her psychiatrist instead of her son.
"He's gone Mother. He's with another woman, a woman half his age, and a woman young enough to be his daughter," said Michael trying to make her see what an asshole her husband was for leaving her for a child.
She looked at him as if she was about to cry. She looked at him as if he was being cruel for saying what he did. She looked at him as if to say that she still loved his father, her ex-husband.
"I still miss him," she said looking up at her son with sad eyes. "He would have loved this house, your new truck, and my new car." She wrapped her hands around her wine glass as if it was a warm, coffee mug and her hands were cold. "Don't you miss your father Michael?"
If this woman was any woman other than his mother, ready to make his move, this was the time that he'd take her in his arms to hold her, hug her, and comfort her before kissing her. While kissing and kissing her, French kissing her, this is the time he'd be feeling her through her clothes before stripping off her clothes. If this was any woman other than his mother, he'd be feeling her big breasts through her blouse while fingering her nipples through her bra. He'd be reaching around behind her to feel her shapely ass through her short skirt and bikini panty. He'd move his hand up her thigh to cup her pussy though her panty while fingering her pussy slit through the soft, cotton material of her white, bikini panties.
With him ready, willing, horny, and sexually frustrated, this is the time that he'd be having incestuous sex with his mother. Only, seemingly she wasn't ready to rekindle their incestuous, sexual relationship. Maybe she'd never be ready for that again. Maybe a onetime thing, once was enough to satisfy her curiosity and her sexual lust for him. Maybe she was feeling as guilty as he was.
"Miss him? I hardly knew him." He made a face as if he had just vomited in his mouth. "No, I don't miss my father," said Michael looking down at the carpet with disgust while shaking his head from side to side. "I'm glad he's gone. He was never much of a father to me. When he wasn't working, he was out drinking and cheating on you. Even now, he doesn't think enough of me to call me, e-mail me, send me a card, a gift for my birthday and/or Christmas, or come visit me. He could be dead for all that I know," he said with as much anger as he spoke with sadness.
No doubt happy to have his mother all to himself, he was glad that the big rooster was evicted from the henhouse and the proud peacock was still here with her. There was room for only one bull in this cow patch. If his father was still with his mother, she never would have stripped off her clothes in front of him. She never would have had incestuous sex with him. As if erotically teasing him and sexually enticing him, she never would have been sitting across from him flashing him her panties. His mother was his very own Mrs. Robinson.
"You didn't know him in the way that I did Michael. To you, he was just your father. To me, he was my friend, my best friend, my lover, my husband, my companion, and my life," she said looking as if she was about to cry again. "He was a wonderful man back then when I first met him, before he started drinking, staying out late, and cheating on me," she said. "Sometimes I wonder if it was all my fault. Maybe I didn't give him enough sex. Maybe I could have given him more sex," she said thinking that him cheating on her and leaving her for a younger woman was her fault.
He looked at his mother as if she was nuts.
"I don't know how you can blame yourself for Dad's drinking and infidelity being that he was an adult and the one in control of his own life," said Michael acting like the adult by accepting his role as the head of the household. "I don't know how you can possibly blame yourself for him leaving you for a younger woman.
Suddenly a shower of happiness returned to her face and she gave him the same sexy smile that she gave him that night when they were in the motel room back in California.
"Actually it's comforting to hear you say that when my only sounding board left me for another woman," she said, "a younger woman at that. Not very good for my ego and my self-confidence, there was no way that I could compete with a woman ten years my junior."
Seemingly, with her vulnerable in the way that he was vulnerable on Halloween night, his mother was ripe for the taking.
"Well I'm here for you now mother," said Michael. "I'm not going anywhere, that is, unless there's a choir of Playboy Bunnies singing Christmas carols out our front door and asking me to join them," he said with a laugh.
She laughed too.
"Yes you are here for me now and I wouldn't hold you back from joining the choir of Playboy Bunnies should they appear at our front door. I may even strip off my top and join them," she said laughing. "Imagine what our new neighbors would think of me frolicking in the snow topless while singing Christmas songs."
He suddenly envisioned his mother topless and going house to house singing Christmas carols with her tits exposed and her nipples as erect as his cock was beginning to grow now. With his favorite game voyeurism, he'd love to flash his mother's tits to other men. With his mother standing in her underwear and topless before striping herself naked, maybe her favorite game is exhibitionism. How hot would that be for a voyeuristic man to be with an exhibitionistic women? He'd love for other men to know how lucky he is to have a mother who looks like her.
"I'd pay to see that," he said with a dirty laugh.
Where she would have played along with him before, she changed the subject now.
"Alas, even though I still have you with me now," she reached out her hand to squeeze his knee and when she did, her knees parted enough to give him a prolonged flash between her legs of her white, bikini panties. She gave him a long, heated, sexual look that culminated in her sliding a slow tongue over her full lips.
'Oh, my God,' he thought to himself while imagining his mother sucking his cock again while staring up at him with her big, green, beautiful eyes.
"I won't have you for long when some woman makes you her man," she said pausing before speaking again as if talking to herself. "Yet, even though it's been years since we were together, Christmas isn't the same without your father in my life and without a man in my bed, but you're my man now," she said smiling widely.
'What? He was her man now? What did she mean by that?'
As if she was speaking in code, he wondered what she meant by that remark. He couldn't help but imagine being her man and being in bed with his mother again. He couldn't help but imagine being in bed naked with his mother again. He couldn't help but imagine his mother naked and in bed with him again. He couldn't help but imagine having sex with his mother again. He couldn't help but imagine holding her, hugging her, cuddling her, and spooning her while they were both naked. Naked, naked, naked, he wished he was in bed naked again with his naked mother.
With his mother giving him the image that he was her man, he couldn't help but imagine licking her pussy while fingering her pussy and while reaching up his hand to fondle her breasts and finger her nipples. He couldn't help but imagine making sweet love to his mother again before fucking his mother hard again. He'd love nothing more than to pile drive her pussy with his cock. He couldn't help but imagined her staring up at him with her big, green eyes while sucking his cock and allowing him to cum in her mouth again and watching her swallow his cum.
Not knowing what else to say to comfort her, he was unable to shake the incestuous thoughts, sexual images, and forbidden feelings that she gave him again and that he had for her. If she was any other woman other than his mother, wishing he could, he would have taken this as his cue to kiss her, French kiss her. Only, just as he was afraid to French kiss her the first time, as if they had never been incestuously sexual together, he was afraid to kiss her again now. Not wanting to ruin their new life together, instead, he looked at his mother while sipping his wine and getting angry by all that she said about missing his father.
The only things he remembered about his father were the bad things. He remembered how he made his mother cry. He remembered all the fighting and the arguing they did. A continuation of the same argument every damn day, they argued in the morning before his father went to work and again that evening when he came home from work. Their arguing was his father's excuse to leave the house and slam the door shut behind him. Their arguing was his father's excuse to drink and cheat on his mother.
Weekends were a blessing as his father was never around. There was always a big poker game somewhere at someone house, or so he said. Invitations to go places with his father were never extended. He never took him bowling, to a ballgame, or to the park. He never even spent the time with him to throw a ball in the backyard.
By the time he was off to college, his father was long gone. He had been gone for years by then. For sure, no doubt the reason why he takes her side, spending more alone time with her, he was much closer to his mother than he ever was with his father. Now, it's as if he never even had a father. He only wished she felt the same way and felt as if she never had a husband. He wanted and needed her to think of him as her husband, her boyfriend, and her lover.
"Honestly mother, I don't know how you can miss the man. He was such a bastard in the way he treated you. He was such a pig for taking up with that young whore from his office who was young enough to be his daughter. I don't understand why he'd leave you for her," said Michael meaning what he said.
"You're right," she said. "I know you're right."
If only his mother would have him sexually, he'd never leave his mother for any women.
"He's nothing more than a pig for taking up with a woman nearly half his age and who was my age then that I am now. Other than sex, I don't understand what a 36-year-old man would see in a 22-year-old woman. How could they even have a conversation? Now with him 46-years-old and her 32-years-old, I'm surprised he hasn't dumped her. I'm surprised she hasn't dumped him," he said not even knowing if they were still together or not.
She looked at him acknowledging what he said about his father with some insight.
"I know and you're right. I get it now after all of these years. For him to treat me like that was wrong, so very wrong," she said with sadness.
He looked at her wondering why she was even here with him instead of attending some Christmas party at a nightclub with a man. She didn't even have anything planned for New Year's Eve. Her excuse was that all of her friends were back in California but when she lived there, she never went out anywhere either. Imagining dancing with her and having a good time with her, he was tempted to ask her out on a night on the town for New Year's Eve. Only until he found a good paying job, he didn't have any extra money to go anywhere and to do anything.
After they spent a big chunk of money on the house, the furnishings, the new car, the new truck, and all the new clothes, just as his mother didn't want to, he didn't want to blow through all of their money either. They put a one hundred thousand, 20% down payment on a five hundred thousand dollar house. Then, financing the cars at zero percent interest, they put 10% down payments on a car and truck worth $90,000 retail. After spending $55,000 on furniture and appliances and another seven thousand dollars on clothes, shoes, and outer for the winter weather that they have in Boston that they didn't have in California, they had $836,000 left of the one million dollars.
Leaving them $86,000, more than enough money to live through the year and pay their bills, they invested $750,000 of that money with Angelo Mozilo's banker. With a million dollars a small fortune but with neither one of them working yet, between the mortgage payment, monthly expenses, and the new vehicle payment, they'd be slowly chipping away at their savings. At least with their investments, they'd always have a cushion. And with Angelo's banker getting them a fair mortgage, they'd never lose their house to foreclosure again.
"You need to go out more Mother. You need to meet someone. You need to forget about him and move on with your life. He's never coming back," he said pausing while looking to see what reaction his words had on her. "As if he died and you're a widow, you spent enough time mourning the loss of him. You need to date. You need to meet a nice man and marry again," he said.
She made a sour face.
"I know you're right Michael but sometimes, especially when I'm feeling sad and lonely, my head and my heart go in opposite directions. "Too preoccupied thinking about him, where he is and what he's doing, I'm not ready to have a relationship with another man, not just yet," she said slowly shaking her head while looking out the window to watch the snow silently fall. "At least we're going to have a white Christmas," she said changing the subject with a smile. "We never had white Christmases in California.
He looked out the window with his mother while watching the snow falling.
"We're going to need to buy a shovel," he said with a laugh, "and a snow blower with the long driveway that we have."
As if seeing her for the first time and in a new light of sadness and vulnerability, he looked at her as if seeing her more as a potential love match for some man instead of looking at her as his mother. Suddenly feeling jealous, he didn't want another man kissing and pawing his mother. He didn't want another man having sex with his mother when he wanted to have sex with her again and again. Still, with his commonsense getting the better of his incestuous thoughts, he prevailed in trying to fix up his mother with someone.
"Maybe you should try online dating," he said. "I can help you make your profile. I'll even take some sexy pictures of you to post."
Suddenly images of his mother in all manners of undress filled his head, heightened his libido, and hardened his cock. He wouldn't mind taking some sexy, cheesecake photos of his mother. He wouldn't mind her stripping down to her bra and panties in front of him again for him to photograph her in her sexy underwear. He wouldn't mind her removing her bra in the way she removed her bra in the motel room Halloween night. He'd love nothing more than to take a dozen photos of her in her sexy underwear and of her topless. He'd love nothing more than to take a dozen photos of her tits.
Then, making himself deliriously dizzy with incestuous thoughts, he'd love to photograph his mother naked. He imagined her posing her naked body for him to photograph. He imagined her sitting on the couch with her legs spread wide open. Turning one way before turning the other, he imagined her bending at the waist to touch her toes while flashing him plenty of her pink pussy. Only, what dating site, other than a pornographic dating site would post such sexually explicit photos. Moreover, his mother would never pose for such sexually explicit photos nor would she ever allow him to take photos of her in her underwear, never mind topless and/or naked.
As soon as he offered to take some sexy photos of his mother for her online dating profile, dizzy with incestuous desire for his mother, he couldn't help but think of her wearing one of her short, low cut, sexy nightgowns with nothing else underneath. Lighting up her nearly transparent nightgown with his camera flash to make it virtually see-through, he'd love to have a photograph of his nearly naked mother for fodder when he masturbated over the thoughts of having sex with her. If only taking sexy photos of her for himself, continuing his sexual fantasy, he imagined her standing before his camera wearing only her panty and bra.
'Wow! How hot would that be to photograph her in her underwear?' Then, he imagined her topless before imagining her naked. 'Wow! That's even hotter to photograph her topless and naked' he thought.
As if she was a Playboy model, he imagined her removing her bra to cup her breasts with her hands while he took dozens of photos of her topless body. He imagined lifting her naked breasts in the palm of her hands as if offering her breasts to him to touch, feel, fondle, and suck. He wondered if she'd allow him to photograph her topless and/or nude, face down on the couch or face up on the rug, strictly for artistic purposes, of course. Falling for that line, he imagined posting naked photos of her online for all men to see how truly beautiful his mother is without her clothes.
'Nah, she'd never go for any of that. She'd never allow me to take such sexy photos of her never mind post such sexy photos of her online,' he thought to himself.
Artistic purposes his ass. Who's he kidding? Yet, it was enough for him to think of his mother posing for him in her underwear, topless, and/or naked while he took picture after picture of her in all manner of undress.
He'd love to see his mother in her underwear again. He'd love to see his mother topless again. He'd love to see his mother naked again. If ever he saw his mother in her bra and panty, topless, and/or naked again, he didn't know if he could control himself from touching her and feeling her where no son should ever touch and feel his mother.
"Online dating?" She looked at him as if he was nuts, drunk, or both. "I'd never post my profile online with all of those creepy and perverted men out there who'd contact me for sex. I'd never allow you to post any sexy cheesecake photos of me either," she said with a sexy laugh. "With all of the invasive practices our government does with reading people's private e-mails that float continuously through the Cloud, I'd never post my photos online either. They'd be there forever for everyone to hack and to see."
He imagined e-mailing his mother as if he was a man interested in dating her. He imagined his mother falling in love with his anonymous self through his sexy and romantic e-mails. Writing erotic correspondence back and forth, he wondered if he could persuade her to send him topless and/or naked photos of herself while he pretended that he was an interested suitor.
"Not every man out there is a creep and/or a pervert Mom," he said with a laugh while knowing that he was a creep and a pervert.
When it came to wanting to see his mother in her sexy underwear, topless and/or naked, especially when it came to wanting to see his mother topless and/or naked, he was just as much of a creep and a pervert as was the next guy.
"What about you?"
She looked at him with sexual interest in the way that he was looking at her with sexual interest. He looked at her with confusion.
"What about me what?"
She gave him a cat that just ate the canary smile.
"Why don't you post an online profile looking to date someone? Why don't you write a profile of yourself and I'll take some sexy, beefcake photos of you in your underwear," she said with a sexy look and a dirty laugh.
He wouldn't mind doing that. He wouldn't mind his mother taking some sexy beefcake photos of him in his underwear. He'd even pose for her while in his underwear. He'd even remove his underwear to pose for her naked and for her to photograph his cock.
"Mom? Eww! Gross, that's so gross," he said feigning his disgust.
Actually, especially if he had an erection, and no doubt he would have an erection while posing for his mother in his underwear or naked, he'd love to pose for his mother in his underwear. No doubt, as soon as he removed his pants, he'd have an erection. No doubt, with her staring at his underwear clad body in the way he had stared at her underwear clad body, he'd definitely have an erection. Wondering if she'd ask him to pose naked, tit for cock, he'd pose naked for her and allow her to take naked photos of him if she'd pose naked for him and allow him to take naked photos of her too. Yet, even if she didn't pose naked for him, he'd still pose naked for her.
"Oh, don't be so modest. You don't have anything that I haven't seen before," she said with another laugh. "Actually, you don't have anything that I haven't touched, stroked, sucked, and fucked before," she said with a dirty albeit sexy laugh.
Maybe the wine was getting to his mother but not believing that their dialogue was going anywhere but to sexually frustrate him, he changed the subject.
"After I'm gone to live with or marry a woman, you can't stay here alone and wither away Mom. Everyone needs someone in their life. You're still young. You still have lots of life to live and a lot of love to give to someone," he said. "You need to live your life Mom. There are lots of good men out there who would love to have someone like you in their lives," he said cringing at the thought of his mother in the arms of another man.
As crazy as the thought was, he wished he could live with his mother forever as a man and woman, as boyfriend and girlfriend, or as husband and wife instead of as mother and son. Not ever needing another woman to sexually satisfy him, having sex with her every night and every morning, how hot would that be to have his mother sexually in his life? How hot would that be to take his mother as his wife? Happily living together as a married couple forever and forsaking all others until the day they die, he would if she would.
"After all of these years, your father leaving me and rejecting me for someone younger has finally opened my eyes. He left me for a 22-year-old woman when I was 32-years-old. Now, that I'm 42-years-old woman, him leaving me for her still hurts. Yet, helping me, you finally opened my eyes by making me feel sexy, beautiful, and loved."
He looked at his mother as if she was a beauty queen and to him she certainly was.
"Don't you ever doubt that for a minute. You are beautiful and sexy. And I love you," he said but in the way that a man loves a woman and not in the way that a son loves his mother.
Again, if this was any other woman other than his mother, he'd be all over her. He'd be holding her, hugging her, and kissing her, French kissing her, while feeling her through her clothes. While looking at her sitting across from him in her blouse and short skirt, now that he knows what she looks like in her sexy underwear, he imagined her sitting across from him in her low cut bra and white, bikini panties. Now that he knows what she looks like topless, he imagined her sitting across from him topless. Now that he knows that she looks like naked, he imagined her sitting across from him naked.
"Thank you, Michael," she said but in the way that a mother loves her son and not in the way that a woman loves a man.
Yet, in a weak and vulnerable moment, after she lost her house to foreclosure and was forced to live in a seedy motel room with him, she did strip off her clothes. Sexually teasing him and erotically enticing him, she paraded around him in her panty and bra. Then, not expecting her to do that, she removed her bra. She showed him her tits, her areolas, and her nipples. She showed him her topless body and then, stripping off her panties too, she showed him her naked body too.
Even more than the sexy striptease show she willingly gave him, she had sex with him. His mother gave him incestuous sex. He had incestuous sex with his mother. He fucked his mother and she fucked him. He licked his mother and she sucked him. He gave his mother and orgasm and she allowed him to ejaculate his cum in her mouth.
"So, why didn't you date or remarry?"
He looked at her as if he was talking to a woman he met in a bar.
"Never taking the time to consider my feelings, my life was always about your father. I just figured that if all men were like him in that regard, then I wasn't eager to live my life with another man. I'd rather be alone," she said. "It's not so bad."
She looked at him to give him a brave smile.
"I would think that it would be lonely for you without having someone to love," he said with him feeling lonely with him not having anyone love but for his mother.
He looked at her with a face full of sexual frustration.
"As long as I still have you in my life, I'm happy being alone and not having to cook, clean, and cater to a man's whims and needs. It's different catering to your whims and needs," she said with a little laugh. "You're my son, my blood, and I love you." Then, she said what he was hoping she'd say. "I'd rather live my life with you than with any man."
Damn, playing right into his thoughts, he wondered if she'd live forever with him in the way that he wished he could live forever with her.
"He's gone now Mom. He's not returning. He's never coming back," said Michael obviously happy by that thought. "Not all men are insensitive and selfish pigs. There are a lot of good men out there who aren't married, lying, cheating bastards," he said while thinking of himself as being single and available should his mother want him.
Only, in the way that he was sexually and incestuously thinking about his mother, with the apple not falling far from the tree, he was as much of a pig as was his father. Every time he looked at her, undressing her with his eyes, he thought of having forbidden, incestuous sex with is mother. Every time he looked at his mother, he thought of her in her underwear, topless, and/or naked. Every time he looked at his mother, he thought of kissing her, French kissing, her while feeling her through her clothes before stripping her naked.
Now that he had sex with her once, he thought of having sex with her again. Now that he had eaten her pussy, every time he looked at his mother, he thought of fingering her pussy while licking her pussy. Now that he had made love to his mother, every time he looked at his mother, he thought of making love to his mother. Now that he had fucked his mother, every time he looked at his mother, he thought of fucking his mother. Now that he gave his mother an orgasm with his mouth, his fingers, and his cock, he wanted to give her another orgasm. Now that his mother blew him, every time he looked at his mother, staring longingly at her full, soft lips, he thought of her sucking him, him cumming in her mouth, and her swallowing his cum.
"I know," she said with sadness while staring in her wine glass as if reading her fortune in a cup of tea. "Yet, now that I'm older, especially with me having enough money to live on, I don't need a man to make me happy, really I don't. Been there and done that, so long as I still have you in my life, even for just short visits, I'm happy being alone," she said.
Falling in pensive again, she looked sad again.
"Only," she said with a long pause before continuing. Then, as if she was talking to herself, she said softly, "I'd miss having sex. I like having sex," she said before falling quiet. Then, as if he had scripted her to say the words, she said what he wanted her to hear. "I loved having sex with you," she said staring up at him with her big, green eyes.
Such a waste of a good woman, he couldn't imagine his mother without a man in her life. He couldn't imagine his mother living without sex. He couldn't imagine him never again having sex with her. If she found someone else, no doubt always wishing it was him intimately with her, he'd be jealous of her lover, whoever he was. Yet, in the way she was looking at him, he wondered if she was thinking what he was thinking. He wondered if she was thinking about having sex with him in the way that he was thinking about having sex with her. Obviously, for her to say that she loved having sex with him, she was thinking about having sex with him.
"Everyone should have someone in their life, Mom," he said while wanting to say so much more.
It pained him to imagine his mother kissing, French kissing, another man while he felt her beautiful body through her clothes. Already possessively jealous, it pained him to think of his mother stroking and sucking on another man's cock. It pained him to think of some man on top of her and making love to her. It made him mad with jealousy to think of another man pounding her pussy while fucking his mother and giving her an orgasm in the way that he gave her an orgasm.
"I'm grateful for the small things in life. I'm grateful for the fire," she said looking at the fireplace. "I'm grateful for this house," she said looking around the living room. "I'm grateful for you returning home after graduating college to live with me albeit temporarily until you find your own place," she said giving him a warm smile. "I got everything and he got nothing but his freedom from us. He not only walked away from me but also he walked away from you too. What kind of man would walk away from his son?"
They stared at one another until Michael spoke.
"A man who never loved you. A man who never loved us. A man who never loved me," said Michael.
"Now that you mention it, even years later, I'm still sad and I'm still angry over the divorce and I don't know why, other than I'm lonely."
Hoping that it was confused in the translation, perhaps her definition of lonely was horny and sexually frustrated. He wondered if his mother was horny in the way that he was always horny. He wondered if she sexually fantasized about having sex with him in the way that he always sexually fantasied about having sex with her. He wondered if his mother masturbated. He wondered if his mother masturbated over the thoughts of having sex with him in the way that he masturbated over the thoughts of having sex with her. Seemingly now that they had sex, he was even more sexually frustrated now than he ever was before.
* * * * *
Michael was forever horny, especially when alone with his mother in the way that he was now. As if she was a celebrity on stage, and he was an audience member, he watched her slowly and sexily cross her shapely legs. In the way that Sharon Stone did in Basic Instinct when flashing her pussy to the police detectives interrogating her, she sexually teased him and erotically enticed him. Giving her legs his full attention, whenever she slowly and sexily crossed her legs like that, she flashed him a patch of her white, bikini panties. Whenever she crossed her legs so slowly and so sexily, he wondered if she knew she was flashing him her panties and had flashed him her panties. He wondered if she was deliberately flashing him or inadvertently flashing him her panties.
Just as he liked thinking that she knew she was flashing him her panties, he liked thinking that she was deliberately flashing him her panties. No doubt, she knew she was flashing him her panties every time she crossed her legs. No doubt, she was deliberately flashing him her panties. Wishing she was deliberately flashing him, a game of exhibitionism and voyeurism that he'd love to play with his mother, he wondered if she'd flash him deliberately again. Only, instead of wearing a short skirt with panties beneath, he wished she was wearing a short nightgown with no panties beneath.
Nah, she's his mother, she'd never flash him her panties or her pussy on purpose. Would she? Why would she do that when he had already seen her in her underwear and naked even? With her stripping off her clothes to stand before him in her underwear, topless, and naked, maybe she was an exhibitionist. Maybe she was always an exhibitionist but he never knew she was until now.
Wishing his mother was an exhibitionist, how hot would that be if she was? Wishing his mother would deliberately flash him her panties and/or her pussy, how hot would that be for her to play a game of exhibitionism and voyeurism with his MILF of a mother? Nonetheless, coming to his senses while hoping that the wine worked its magic on his mother to lull her lack of awareness that she was flashing him her panties, he felt like such a pervert lusting over his mother. He felt like such a pervert trying to see whatever he could of his mother.
Nothing new, he had lusted over his mother for so long that he couldn't remember when he didn't lust over her. She had always been a MILF. Then, when his father decided to leave, good riddance. After his father left is when he decided to continue living at home instead of living at the dorm and instead of getting his own place to live after graduation. With his mother in his life, happily content with her, he didn't need any other woman. Now hoping to continue seeing more of her, he no longer had his father in the way to ruin his sexy fun and to discourage or impede how his mother dressed in front of him.
"What can I do to cheer you up, Mom? Just tell me, you name it, and I'll do whatever you want. This is your special day. You're the one who always so loved Christmas," he said. "My Christmas gift to you is to give you anything that I can to make you happy," he said waiting for her to answer. Then, when she didn't respond, he continued. "I know," he said with a big smile. "What if I drew you a bath, a bubble bath, and gave you a massage after your bath. Surely, that would relax you and help you to sleep."
If he gave her a bath and a full body massage after that would certainly help him to sleep. He imagined her agreeing to have him run her a bubble bath. While looking to see what he could see of her, he imagined pulling up a stool to keep her company while she bathed. He imagined washing her back while watching all of those big bubbles popping and bursting in front of her to show him more of her beautiful body and more of her big tits. Then, after her bath, he imagined her agreeing to have him give her a full body massage in the way that Mimi Rogers received a full body massage from Bryan Brown in the aptly named movie, Full Body Massage.
With his mother lying face down on her stomach naked, he imagined covering her ass with a small facecloth. Then, after massaging her back, having her turn to lay on her back, he imagined covering his mother's breast and pussy with three small facecloths that were barely large enough to cover anything. Giving his mother a full body massage while touching and feeling her naked body where no son should ever see, touch, and feel his naked mother, that Christmas gift would be more his Christmas gift than it would be her Christmas gift.
She looked at him and smiled while leaning forward in her chair as if it was her turn to make a word when playing Scrabble. A daily event since he moved home, as if they were a retired couple, when they weren't watching movies together, they played Scrabble every day. Taking turns who'd win depending who got the better letters, the K, J, X, Q, Z, the four S's and the two blanks, whenever they played Scrabble, every time she leaned forward to make her words, she'd inadvertently flash him her bra and her cleavage in a down blouse.
When they weren't watching movies together or playing Scrabble, they watched sports together. Surprisingly his mother enjoyed watching football and baseball too. Only, now with them living in Boston instead of her rooting for the Los Angeles Angels or the Los Angeles Dodgers, she'd have to change her allegiance to the Boston Red Sox. Instead of her watching the San Diego Chargers and the Oakland Raiders play, she'd have to root for the New England Patriots winning everything again.
Having masturbated daily while recalling her flashes, he wondered if she knew she was flashing him. He wondered if she knew he was looking down her low cut top while enjoying the down blouse view of her bra and cleavage. He wondered if she knew she was exposing her cleavage and the top of her bra to him whenever she leaned forward. In the way that he wondered if she was deliberately flashing him her panties, he wondered if she was deliberately flashing him her cleavage and the top of her bra. He wondered if he more enjoyed watching movies, playing Scrabble, and watching sports with his mother or if he more enjoyed the down blouse views of her big breasts that she continually gave him. With both equally as sexually enticing, he wondered if he more enjoyed seeing her panties in up skirts or her bra and cleavage in down blouses.
"There's nothing you can do for me that you haven't done already Michael. You're a good son. Thanks for asking," she said not even trying to hide her sadness. "It's just another Christmas to me now. I'll feel better in the morning, once the holiday is over. Actually, I won't feel better until after New Year's Day," she said with a sad, little laugh. "Holidays, once happy events, have turned depressing to me now," she said with a shrug and a look of dejection. "It's just that—" leaning back in her chair, she paused while staring at her glass of wine as if she could see her beloved ex-husband in the reflection of the glass.
A good son? If only she knew the sexual thoughts he always had of her naked while sucking his cock and him fingering her nipples. If only she knew he was thinking of fucking her pussy tonight, what kind of son would she call him then if she knew that he wanted to have sex with her every day and every night? If only she knew how he had lusted over her and masturbated over her while fantasizing having sex with her, he wondered what she'd think and what she'd say about him then. In the way she was so focused on her wine glass instead of on him, he wondered what she'd think of him if she knew he was undressing her with his eyes. Imagining her sitting across from him in her bra and panties, he imagined her standing up while topless to pour more wine before imagining her walking out to the kitchen naked to get more food. In the way that he was always thinking about her, he wondered if she was thinking more about her ex-husband than she was thinking of him.
Rather than thinking about him, her son, who was there with her now, instead of looking over at him, she stared at his reflection in the Christmas ornaments that hung from the Christmas tree in front of them. With her green eyes moving from one ornament to the next, obviously, she was staring at all of the Christmas ornaments her ex-husband gave her through the years. He wished she was thinking about him in the way that she was always preoccupied with his father. Gone, gone, gone, his father was gone for years now, gone for good, and was never coming back. If his father didn't think of her and care how she felt when he left her, and no doubt doesn't think of her now, why is she wasting her time thinking of him now?
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