The Wednesday before Christmas

(This is a story I wrote at the end of December and have shared on some other forums too. I hope you enjoy it).

T’ was the Wednesday before Christmas. Anne darted between the stalls of Boston Market Place, narrowly dodging the “Into Town” bus as it sped between them. The turkey crown and sausages were on order from the butcher but it was absolutely essential that she stocked up on sprouts, parsnips and, of course, potatoes to roast. It had rained earlier and looked very much like doing again before too long. Her dark blue jeans were sopping wet, not just from the rain but because she’d peed them -and quite deliberately too. This morning she was commando too and could feel the delicious wetness of those jeans rubbing against the pubic hairs on her sex and the insides of her legs. It was a feeling which turned her on incredibly and induced a wetness of another kind – that of arousal. Distractedly she paid for the remainder of her Christmas vegetables, popping them into her shopping bag. It was then that her phone rang.

“Anne, it’s your mum. I’m on the 11.09 train. Meet me at the station.”

It wasn’t the first time her mother had sprung this sort of surprise on her and she didn’t think it would be the last. There wasn’t time to go home and get changed and she could rely on Mum to be frank her disapproval once she spotted the sodden jeans.

“Oh, for goodness sake, Mum! You could have given me some warning. Besides, what the fuck are doing on public transport at a time like this? We’ve got a pandemic for pity’s sake and you’re meant to be shielding. You’re 92 for goodness sake.”

“Don’t be so ungrateful, young lady. I’ve got your present. Just meet me at the station please.”

“Very well Mum, but I’m in town and I’ve not got the car with me. Besides I can’t have you at the house anyway under these Covid restrictions and there’s nowhere open that I can take you for coffee or a bite to eat.”

“It doesn’t matter, Anne. Just be there.”

As her mother rang off, Anne heard the clock of St Botolph’s strike eleven. There was just enough time to get over the footbridge, past the B & M store and about to the station in time for her mother’s train.
She arrived just in time to see her mother’s gaunt figure heading nimbly over the footbridge. Despite her advanced years she was incredibly agile and as slick in body as she was sharp in wit and tongue.
Immediately Marjorie’s eyes were drawn to her daughter’s sodden jeans.

“I see you’ve been at it again. How you can go about like that in public, I don’t know.”

“It has been raining, Mum, unless you haven’t noticed. Don’t tell me it’s all blue sky and sunshine in Cambridge.”

Marjorie gave her daughter an affectionate prod of the elbow.

“And don’t take me for a fool, Anne! I know all about you and your dirty little secret as well you know. Actually, if you want to know I had an accident myself this morning.”

Anne’s ears pricked up.

“Mum, you’re having me on.”

“No, I’m not. I had to change trains at Ely, Peterborough and Sleaford. Well by the time I got to Sleaford I was bursting and ended up pissing myself waiting for my connection. I think it was a mixture of breakfast tea, cold weather and Anno Domini. The skirt’s pretty much survived but my knickers are sodden.”

It was with some difficulty that Anne struggled to process what she was hearing as they walked over St Botolph’s footbridge and into Boston.

“Oh Mum, that must have been awful for you. I know how proud you are and how you pride yourself on holding it and keeping yourself dry. Weren’t there facilities on any of the trains?”

“Well, there were, but I hate train toilets and with all the buttons and things they have nowadays, an old biddy like me would probably get locked in one anyway.”

Anne gave her mother a sympathetic glance.

“I’m so sorry Mum. If I’d known I wouldn’t have gone off at you the way I did when you rang. I’m surprised nobody asked you what you were doing, an old lady travelling on her own, in times like these.”

“It’s alright my love. As a matter of fact, I was questioned by some official at Peterborough. I felt like telling him to mind his own business but I actually told him that I was a carer for a stupid daughter of mine who needed to be taken in hand.”

“Mother!”

Marjorie handed her daughter a carrier bag.

“Here. Take this. It’s your Christmas present. I’ve got you some special knickers. Apparently, you can piss them and they absorb it all so nobody knows. After what happened this morning, I should have ordered some for myself.”

“Thanks Mum. It’ll make a change from going commando.”

Marjorie turned to her daughter and frowned.

“Anne, you’re not telling me you’ve come out without knickers!”

“Yes I am.”

“Good grief, you’re an even filthier slut than I thought you were. Goodness knows what your father would have thought.”

Never one to miss a wind up, Anne spotted her opportunity.

“You should try it Mum. It just feels so…”

“Dirty? No thank you. I’ll leave that one to you. I’m too old to change my ways and start messing around. By the way, there’s a cheque in there with your Christmas card for David. It’s only a grand, but I’m not splashing too much around at the moment, with the country on its knees and all that.”

“Thanks Mum. I’m sure David will really appreciate it.”

“Oh, I’m sure he will. Speaking of which, how is my grandson?”

“He’s sleeping in this morning.”

Marjorie grunted.

“Huh. Bone idle and we all know where he gets it from.”

Anne turned to her mother.

“That’s not fair, Mum. David’s had a crap year at uni with enough face-to-face teaching to fit on the back of a postage stamp and then weeks of being locked down in halls of residence. I’m just glad to have him home for Christmas.”

“I’m sure you are, Anne. Has that boy got himself a girlfriend yet?”

It was difficult for Anne not to feel a sense of frustration at her mother’s probing.

“Mum, there’s no significant other in his life that I know about. At least he hasn’t said anything. If, however, he meets someone that he loves – girl or boy – I will be absolutely delighted for him. In the meantime, he’s got a thick nine-inch cock, a strong wrist and a vivid enough imagination to keep him amused.”

“Anne! You shouldn’t encourage that sort of thing. It’s not healthy. Think of Great Uncle Edgar.”

“Mum, times have changed and so have attitudes. I don’t encourage anything but I don’t judge and I don’t condemn either. Neither should you.”

“Maybe not, but I’m too old school to change my ways.”

“I know, Mum. Now there’s nowhere open to go and eat but I can probably get a couple of hot dogs or some disgusting turkey burgers. We can sit on the seats behind Sir Herbert’s statue by the Stump. They’re a bit wet but I’ve got this morning’s paper in in my bag and we can spread that out if you like.”

Marjorie gave her daughter a half smile.
“Oh thanks. Well at least I’ll not have to worry about this bloody Covid if I catch my death of pneumonia!”

Anne gave her mother a playful nudge.

“Get off it, Mum. You’ll still be bossing David and me around when you’re a hundred and two. I do love you though.”

Marjorie smiled.

“I know you do, and I love you too. We’ll never be best mates though because we’re too alike.”

Anne wished she could hug her mother but didn’t want to put Marjorie in any more danger than she’d already put herself, travelling from Cambridge.

“I know Mum. We’re both too damn stubborn. Two of a kind, though neither of us wants to admit it. Come on, let’s get some food.”

THE END

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