New Story: Ghosts of Christmas Past (Part 3)

The final part of the Christmas Special.

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Ghosts of Christmas Past (Part 3)

(Christmas 2010)

The party was hitting full force. Little radiated more energy than a large group of college students past their final what-not—exams, projects, papers—and needing to unwind after a stressful session. The music was harsh and loud and assaulted the senses even more than the lighting and the crush of bodies as one walked through the dance area. Alcohol flowed freely.

Daniel Malcolm was nursing a dark beer he had pilfered from a table set up for that purpose at one end of the large basement room the party organizers had commandeered, somewhere in a half-abandoned building on campus. It was not a rave but it had been orchestrated as one, with its location advertised by word of mouth. Daniel suspected that the University knew about the party; while they could not officially sanction it for all the obvious reasons, it was better to have such an event occur under quasi-supervision rather than having it take place completely outside its jurisdiction. The two dead giveaways were the near total lack of freshmen, and the absence of drugs.

“I find it somewhat unexpected that there is a preponderance of alcoholic beverages over hallucinogenic and mind-altering substances at this event,” said Radhu Krishnamurthy quizzically, not for the first time voicing exactly what had been going through Daniel’s mind. Then again, perhaps I’m not very good at hiding what I think, he reflected. Jenn certainly seems to think so.

The though of his brand new girlfriend—Jennifer Hansen, smart, sexy, beautiful, wholly undeserved, and conspicuously absent from this Holiday party, the last before everyone split off to their respective family homes for Winter Break—made his heart ache. Which surprised him. He itched to call her again, the fourth time this evening, but was fighting hard not to. Appearing too needy was never a smart way to go. Calling a few times to tell her he missed her already was cute and romantic—sentimental, he could almost hear her correct him, a smile in her voice—but more than that was pathetic.

He turned instead to his Indian friend, tall and lanky and holding a glass of punch whose neon color gave no clue as to its ingredients but suggested nothing healthy. Radhu did not take well to alcohol. It made his already idiosyncratic behavior even more… idiosyncratic.

“Perhaps I should venture to dance tonight,” Radhu said, and Daniel feared that his friend was serious. Daniel had seen Radhu dance before. He was actually a good dancer, unexpectedly so given his gangly body. He had learned to dance watching Bollywood movies, Radhu had told him early in their freshman year when they lived on the same dormitory floor. But Bollywood-style choreography did not mesh well with the mosh-pit slamming that passed for dancing at this point of the party.

“Maybe you can do that later, Rad.”

“Very well. You look absent, Daniel. Are you thinking of Jennifer again?”

Daniel sighed. Radhu was perceptive, in his own way. “Yeah. Guilty. I miss her. Weird, I know. But there it is. She’s off to her mother for the break, and wanted to leave early to beat the storm.”

“Snopocalypse. It does sound pleasantly apocalyptic.”

“I’d argue your use of pleasant when my girlfriend’s on a Greyhound heading north.”

“I was referring to the lexical entity, not the denotation of said lexical entity, but fair point.”

Two month. He and Jenn had been dating two months now, and he already had her under his skin. He was hooked, and hooked bad, his stepbrother would have called it. And Daniel could not deny it. While they did not spend every minute of every day together, she was never far from his mind. They talked several hours every day, either in person or on the phone or via chat. It scared him a bit, too, this longing he felt that he had not know could be triggered in him. She seemed to feel the same—that by itself Daniel found astonishing—but she also took it in stride, as if she had always expected to feel that way and was merely glad it happened with him.

“Jeez, are you already pinning for her? It’s been what, an hour?” came the mocking voice from his left. “You’re pussy-whipped but good, boy!”

Daniel grinned. Only one person could wield that combination of come-hither and mocking in a single voice. Serena Banks strode toward him in a pair of jeans that looked like their were sprayed on and a tank top that left little of what it was meant to cover to the imagination. The top was white and stood out delightfully against her dark skin. With her long hair, full lips, and more curves than anyone would know how to handle, she was sexy, she knew it, and took full advantage.

She was studying journalism, and worked at the University paper. And she was good at it. Although how much investigative reporting one could do in a small town lost in the middle of nowhere New England remained up for debate.

“Hey Serena. How are you?” he greeted her, raising his bottle to bang it against what looked like an oversized cocktail glass. How did she manage to find a cocktail here?

“Fucking elated,” she said. “Term paper for Media During Reagan submitted and out of my face forever. Can’t help but wonder how things would have gone if we had the Internet back then. What do you think, Rad?” She asked the lanky Indian.

Radhu had still not said a word. He was gaping like a lost puppy, not an atypical reaction of his to Serena’s presence. That Radhu had a crush on the black journalism student was the worst kept secret, although everyone acted as though they did not know, Serena first. But she liked teasing the poor boy.

Daniel had asked her point blank once whether she would ever date Radhu. She had merely shrugged. “If he ever gets the balls to ask me out, we’ll see. I am curious whether he’s long and thin all over.”

And so Daniel had been pushing Radhu to ask Serena out. But he resisted—Daniel suspected that Radhu not only feared rejection but also acceptance. He worried what he would have to do on a date with her. Somehow, pining for Serena felt safer than dating her.

“Rad,” said Daniel, subtly kicking his friend whose gaze was threatening to dip down to the generous cleavage of Serena’s tank top. “Hypothetical: how would the 1980’s presidential elections have differed had the Internet been around?”

The direct question snapped Radhu out of his reverie.

“Oh. Well, I would submit that the results would have been sensibly similar. Ronald Reagan had a strong following, that is undeniable, and the Internet would have undoubtedly exacerbated the outpouring of support. The main impediment to the Reagan campaign I would surmise would have been his behavior during his Hollywood years, from which secrets might have emerged. I am basing this on the assumption that the Internet would have fostered the release of information from those years, not unlike what happened to Rock Hudson whose secrets came to light once there was a vector on which to promulgate them. I posit that these two conflicting directions would have annihilated each other.”

Serena made a face. “I wonder if the added scrutiny would have picked up on the fact that he had Alzheimer’s?”

Radhu arched an eyebrow in a way that Daniel could not help but find highly amusing. “There is no proof that Reagan was ill during his presidency.”

Serena grunted. “What about falling asleep at meetings?”

“I will offer the evidence of your own falling asleep in class as the first exhibit in a counter-argument. Do you believe you have Alzheimer’s disease?”

Before the conversation could degenerate further, Serena squealed as a pair of large hands grabbed her breasts from behind. “Guess who?” came a drunken voice.

“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Serena grinned, wrapping her hands over the man’s, and pressing them more firmly over her large breasts. “You got here before my boyfriend, so you get the spoils. Wanna fuck?”

“Wait, what?” came the man’s confused voice. Serena turned around and kissed the man, who was about the same height as her but twice her width—a mountain of muscles, and not much else. Serena’s current boyfriend.

Daniel shook his head and smiled. Serena liked sex, and liked it with a particular class of men: big and strong. And dumb as doorknobs, Jenn would have added.

Radhu, meanwhile, watched with longing in his eyes Serena kiss her boyfriend—all of a week old, and with probably a week or so to go—and watched the man’s hands dip down to Serena’s ass to squeeze it.

“I’m gonna go dance with my man,” Serena said over her shoulder. “You boys behave. And you,” she said to Daniel, “quit sulking. You’ll see your little sexpot soon enough. Ta!”

Daniel and Radhu watched her sashay her way through the crowd, her boyfriend trailing behind her.

“Special, isn’t she?” Daniel said to Radhu. It was a rhetorical question.

“That she is,” Radhu replied, wonder in his voice.


* * *


Daniel did not last more than twenty more minutes before calling it a night. His melancholy mood was not helped by the people and the music and the thrumming of the bass in his bones, and the last thing he wanted was to be a downer to his friends.

Radhu had run into a fellow student from one of his Computer Science classes, and they soon became engrossed in what Daniel guessed was the redesign of a popular online role-playing game. Serena had gone off in a corner to make out with her boyfriend, and while she had always made it clear that he would be welcome in a threesome, not only did Daniel not particularly want to join in, but he surmised that Serena’s new boyfriend would consider such an intrusion as the perfect opportunity to see if it was possible to rip a body in two like a telephone book.

It was a half-hour walk back to his dormitory, and while the night was not especially cold for December, the snow fell thick and heavy, the wind sending it twirling around the trees. He walked and listened to the silence all around him, that special silence that only a snow-blanketed night could provide. He wondered whether Jenn was okay, whether the snow would make the bus drive treacherous, familiar as he was with New England winters—but then, so was she. He fought back the urge to call her. He even shut off his phone to avoid the temptation.

The lobby of his dormitory was empty, most of the students having already left for the Holidays. Daniel was scheduled to depart in two days himself, but he felt less drive than usual. His mother and his stepfather Gerald had left for the Bahamas to celebrate their fifth wedding anniversary. He had been invited, as had his stepbrother Sam. The sixteen year old Sam had jumped at the opportunity to go off and hang out on the beach and ogle beautiful bodies.

Daniel understood that impulse, of course—though his own preferences ran to female bodies as opposed to male bodies, unlike Sam—but he had no desire to spend Christmas in the Caribbean. There was too much for him to do over the break—he was doing some undergraduate research work for one of his Foreign Policy teachers that he hoped would help him land an internship in DC come summer—and the thought of being out in the sun while he missed Jenn felt strangely like a betrayal. And so he was heading down to spend the Holidays with his aunt Selma and her family.

He opened the door to the rooms he shared with Jimmy, a quiet and shy sophomore. Daniel had lucked out: Jimmy was the perfect roommate. Daniel wandered whether the feeling was shared. He thought he was pretty easy-going as a roommate, but it was difficult to be objective about such a thing.

There was a light coming from Jimmy’s room, and Daniel expected him to be playing a video game, as he was wont to do most nights.

“Hey Jimmy,” he said. No response. He poked his head through the door, and saw Jimmy at his desk, his oversized headphones dwarfing his head, his eyes closed, his arm pumping up and down in a characteristic fashion with a hand in his lap.

He was masturbating.

Daniel grinned and silently stepped away from Jimmy’s door and headed to his room.

His room was small, but he had grown to like it. A bed against the wall, a working desk with his laptop at its foot, a small nightstand. A small bookshelf, a dresser. It was small but cozy, and he had decorated it in a way that reminded him of home.

He eschewed the harsh overhead light for the small lamp on his desk that gave the soothing warm glow he preferred, and wondered what he would do for the rest of the night. He was not sleepy. Watch television? Read a book? Stare at the walls? Maybe Jimmy had the right idea and he should masturbate.

He turned on the radio, and selected a soft rock channel. Soul music. Romantic. Mellow. Exactly his mood.

“Hello lover.”

Daniel jumped at the sound of the voice, nearly smashing his head against a hanging shelf by his desk.

He spun around, his heart in his throat.

Jenn was there, leaning against the door, dressed in a way that cause his breath to catch. If one imagined a sexy Christmas-themed costume, it would come close to what she wore: a short red tunic with a large black belt, fur-trimmed, zipped up but leaving a cleavage that rivaled the one that Serena was sporting earlier that evening. Her perfect legs looked like they were bare at first, but close attention hinted at the presence of a thin pair of nude stockings. The outfit was topped off by a pair of black boots with a stiletto heel. In a word, she was stunning. And more importantly, she was there.

“What… what are you doing here? I thought…”

She grinned, and shrugged. She had a red Santa Claus hat on her head. “Weather sucked. They canceled all bus routes for the night, and we may not even be able to leave tomorrow if the snow’s too bad. I figured you wouldn’t mind me dropping by and surprising you.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“And miss that expression on your face? Let me tell you, you do know how to make a girl feel pretty.”

“Trust me, it’s no hardship. You look… you look beautiful!”

“You are so sweet. And that deserves a reward.”

“Does it now?”

“Oh yes.” She pushed back from the door and walked towards him, slowly, making sure to swing her hip like a model on a catwalk.

The radio played its part. It was playing an old ballad, one that Daniel had always liked, that he had first heard on that sitcom that first introduced Michael J. Fox to the world, before Back to the Future.

What did you think

I would do at this moment

When you’re standing before me

With tears in your eyes

“Care to dance?” Jenn asked, a step away from him. He wanted to kiss so badly that it was almost enticing for him to postpone that pleasure.

“I’d love to.”

She slipped into his arms as if it was the most natural place in the world for her to be, and as far as Daniel was concerned, at this moment, in this place, it was. He took her in his arms, and there she was, tight and smooth and perfect. She put her head on his shoulder, and molded herself against him.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Your roommate won’t bother us. I slipped my panties on your doorknob.”

“You did what?”

“I slipped my panties over your doorknob. You know, to tell him that we’re busy and not to come in? Isn’t that what you boys do?”

“Generally, we use socks.”

“Ah. Well, I didn’t have any socks.”

Visions of Jenn naked beneath her tunic swirled in his mind. He wanted to grab her and throw her onto the bed and mount her like an animal. But he controlled himself.

Instead, they danced.

It was foreplay.

“I love this song,” she whispered against him. “Always have.”

He did not expect that. “So do I. You know it?”

“Of course. Family Ties.”

“The episode where Alex gets his first girlfriend—wait, what was her name?”

“Ellen. They danced to this song, and they kissed.”

“I remember. Mushy.”

Jenn lifted her head from his shoulder, and looked him in the eyes. The doused light from his lamp cast a shadow on her face, which he could not read. “Yeah. My mom always thought it was romantic. I thought it was sentimental.”

“Lovey-dovey.”

“Schmaltzy.”

“Who does that anyway?”

“Losers, clearly.”

He leaned toward her, and they kissed, a slow kiss that did not keep them from dancing, body against body. Daniel did not want to break the mood, but also wanted to run his hands down his girlfriend’s body and go explore for himself her lack of underwear. He was getting hard. And Jenn felt it.

“Someone’s happy,” she grinned, breaking the kiss, but remaining pressed against him. She shifted her hips against his erection.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “I sort of didn’t think I’d see you for a while.”

“And you were thinking of sporting this monster for the whole vacation? Sounds painful.”

“No, but it did cross my mind to…” he almost blushed.

“Oh. I see. Want some help?” The way she said it made his cock even harder. “Mrs. Claus is feeling naughty tonight, what with Santa out on his trek around the world. She needs some attention.”

He kissed her again, and ran his hand down to her ass, under her tunic, luxuriating in the feeling of her naked cheeks, and confirming the absence of any underwear. Stretching he managed to run a finger down between her thighs and just tickle her slit from behind. He was not surprised to find her wet—Jenn got aroused easily.

“Someone’s being naughty,” she said with a shiver in her voice.

“Look who’s talking, Mrs. Claus. You’re drenched.”

“It gets so lonely at the North Pole when Santa’s gone. What’s a sex-starved woman to do?”

“I guess she’d have to find a man…”

“That’s why she dresses like a slut. It makes men hard. And when men are hard, they want to fuck her.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. She can tell when she looks in their eyes. They want to spread her legs as wide as they go and pound her into submission. And you know what?”

“What?”

She finished off whispering in his ear. “Mrs. Claus loves being pounded into submission.”

Daniel groaned, and Jenn laughed as she pushed both of them onto the bed. Daniel landed on his back, and Jenn straddled him, surprisingly nimble in her stiletto boots.

She kissed him hard, pressing her ass against his crotch, and he responded by putting one hand behind her head to keep her in place and using his free hand to flip her short tunic onto her back, baring her ass.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she moaned.

“Just providing better access.”

“You perv!”

“I’m not the one who showed up here like a wanton Mrs. Claus, am I?”

“I don’t see you—or feel you—complaining.” She punctuated her statement by pressing her crotch against his cock. Before Daniel could react, she slipped by his side and unfastened his trousers. “Your roommate didn’t seem to complain either.”

“So he’s the one that let you in then? I’ll bet he didn’t complain. I’ll have to have a little talk with him about rules. Oh fuck!”

Jenn had pulled his cock out and grasped it with a cold hand before running that hand up and down, slowly. Daniel closed his eyes and sank into the feeling.

“Don’t be mad at him,” she smiled as she stroked him, one of her legs draped over his. She was gently humping him, and that movement by itself was enough to drive Daniel wild. “He didn’t have much choice. I can be very persuasive when I want to be.”

“I’m sure,” Daniel moaned. He could just imagine Jimmy opening the door to the vision of loveliness that was Jenn. Jimmy had met her before, of course—but never when she was dressed like she was out looking for a wild time

He also had a pretty good idea what Jimmy had been jerking off to now, and Daniel did not quite know how to feel about that. On the one hand, there was pride kicking hard, that he had landed such a hot girl that his roommate masturbated to her memory. On the other, it was disconcerting that he was, and Daniel almost felt dirty because of it.

Jenn was jacking him off slowly, her eyes closed, unaware of what he was thinking. Or maybe she did.

“He was so cute. He couldn’t help staring at my legs, his mouth hanging open almost the whole time. Just adorable.”

She might as well have been talking about a puppy rather than a man ogling her, though Jimmy was admittedly inoffensive.

Jenn’s hand on Daniel’s cock danced up and down. “He let me come into your room and wait for you. But I feel bad now. Perhaps I should have waited out there, with him. I don’t know, maybe given him a little bit of Christmas cheer too. After all, that’s what Mrs. Claus does, no?”

“What do you mean?” He was having difficulty thinking, and Jenn had a way with words, and her voice was soothing and her hand was maddening. He wanted to flip her back onto the bed and fuck her, and at the same time wanted nothing more than just lie back and let her take him wherever she wanted him to go.

“I don’t know. Maybe I should have sat down on the couch with him? He’d have offered me tea, or something to drink—I don’t think he’d have tried to get me drunk, but maybe. And while drinking that tea, making sure I wasn’t burning myself, my tunic probably would have ridden up, and maybe just maybe I would have been distracted enough to not notice how I was spreading my legs and he would have gotten a peek of the pretty little G-string I wore for you tonight.” Her hand was stroking him faster now—did she pull out some lubricating gel without him noticing? Her hand felt wet.

“Except I didn’t get to see it.”

“It’s on the doorknob if you want to look.”

“Right—I’m pretty sure it’s gone by now.”

“What do you mean? Oh. Oh!” She looked up at him while jacking him off, his cock a steel bar in her hand, clamoring for release. She had a naughty smile on her face, and her voice dropped low. “You think he took it?” She sounded almost shocked, but her hand was a blur on his cock.

“Fuck, love, don’t stop! Yes, I’m pretty sure he took it. I would have!”

“But you’re a perv, we established that already. Jimmy is sweet and innocent.”

“Right. Sweet and innocent and probably jerking off into your panties as we speak.” He did not mention what Jimmy was doing earlier. He did not even know if what he was saying was true or not, and he did not care. He was in a particular headspace with Jenn, and he needed to come.

“Oh my God! He’s jerking off into my pretty little G-string? But it’s so tiny. I mean, it’s barely there, just a few strings and a bit of silk that covered my pussy! And he’s jacking off with them?”

“Urgh…” The pressure in his balls was starting to become unbearable. His hips were starting to move of their own volition. “Jenn…”

“That’s so weird—to think he’s jerking off in my panties. It’s like he’s fucking a little part of me. I feel so… violated.” She made eye contact with Daniel, and winked at him before giggling, never letting his cock go.

“Jenn, I’m gonna come…”

“Do it, lover. Come for me.”

Her hand was a blur. And then she did something that she had never done before—she leaned over and took the head of his cock in her mouth, and sucked.

He had no idea what she was doing with her tongue or her teeth or anything else, but what he felt was an overload of sensations, centered on his cock. And then he grunted out loud and grasped his sheets with clenched fists as he exploded, and Jenn never stopped stroking him and never let his cock slip out of her mouth as she swallowed everything he discharged.

He collapsed back on the bed, realizing that he had been crunching up in a painful spasm throughout his orgasm.

“Yum,” she said, licking her lips and gently caressing his sensitive glans.

Daniel merely groaned in response.

Jenn laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” She slipped up to lie beside him, wiping her lips with the edge of his sheet.

“That was… that was incredible,” he sighed. He took a few breaths, then frowned. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“Oh, I did,” she said. “Laura was right.”

“What?”

“Never mind,” she laughed, and hugged him tight. He knew she wanted to kiss him, but probably feared how he might react, and so he leaned over and kissed her. She stiffened for a second and then relaxed into the kiss.

“Can you spend the night?” he asked her. It was against the rules, but at this point, he did not care much. He did not want to let her go.

“I certainly hope so,” she replied. “In case you didn’t notice, I have a very wet pussy here that will require a lot of attention.”

“Would some of that attention take the form of me sinking between your thighs and licking you into oblivion.”

Jenn shivered. “Definitely.”

And Daniel did. And Jenn came. And they fucked. And they both came once more.

And the next day, when the weather cleared and bus service was resumed, Daniel followed Jenn to Maine and spent Christmas with her and her mother.

And they had a most wonderful time.

New Story: Ghosts of Christmas Past (Part 2)

Part 2 of 3.

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Ghosts of Christmas Past (Part 2)

(Christmas 2007)

It’s way past two in the morning when Laura drops me off at home. It was a kind thing for her to do—my house is out of the way, out of town, isolated. And December snow in this part of Maine can get pretty treacherous. But Laura’s a good driver, and I had no other way to get home because cabs are few and far between at this time of the night and they hate coming so far out.

Laura didn’t drink at the party. She’s sixteen, she loves to have fun, but she’s also the most responsible girl I know. It’s a weird mix, but one I’m grateful for. I tried to be as good as she was, and only had two shots the whole evening. Then I nursed a piña colada for much of the night. That’s the trick, it seems: if you’re holding a glass, people don’t bug you to get something else. Especially if they’re pretty hammered themselves.

My name is Jennifer Hansen, and it’s Christmas Eve—well, by now, it’s really Christmas Day—and I’m coming back home after what I consider a very successful party, my first real one. It was a Christmas party, though everyone made it a point to avoid calling it that explicitly. Christmas parties are dorky, of course, the sort of things kids like, or parents who work in an office and whine about everything and everyone while they figure out what to get for “their fucking Yankee swap.” (Direct quote from Laura’s mother, I swear. The woman is a hoot and a half.)

It was a glorious party. Lots of fun folks from school—the good crowd, the fun crowd, the almost-but-not-quite popular crowd—were there. And Sebastian was there. Sebastian, nearly six and a half feet tall and skinny as a bone, and smart and funny and a boy that maybe just maybe might like me. And a hell of a kisser, too, I discovered. I blush as I think back to the half hour we spent with me sitting on his lap in the lounge chair, and my blush is half from the memory and half from the biting cold.

Behind me, Laura honks as she navigates my driveway and heads back to her own place.

I go inside. Winter jacket off, boots off, and I’m back in my knit black dress Mom convinced me to wear if I really “wanted to snag that boy I wanted” even though I’m not used to wearing stuff that isn’t denim. I did put on pantyhose though—not only because of the cold, but also because I couldn’t make it too easy for those pesky boys and their wandering hands. Not that it kept Sebastian away, of course.

There’s that heat again that spreads throughout my body at the memory of Sebastian’s hands on me, sliding up my sensitive thighs as I sat on his lap in that lounge chair, kissing softly, my skin on fire. Laura teased me that I was acting like a slut—she’s one to talk. She lost her virginity two years ago, doing it with her brother’s best friend while vacationing. She said it was good but not great. That her dildo felt much better. She’s been fucking around ever since though, and none the worse for wear. The only thing she doesn’t do is oral; she says that taking a boy’s dick in your mouth is one of the most intimate things you can do, because it’s a gift, done purely for the boy’s pleasure.

I’m in no rush myself. Still a virgin at sixteen. I like my fingers a lot, too. But that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy a boy’s hands on me. Sebastian’s hands. I can’t help but imagine what it’ll feel like when I lie down in my bed later on—that bed with the nice winter flannel sheets, the kind that warm up in no time—when I slide my hand into the waistband of my pajamas, on my fuzzy little peach, finding it all wet with anticipation, picturing Sebastian’s hand in its place, tickling me, rubbing me, fucking me. I’m going to come so easily that I’m practically shaking already.

Maybe I won’t even put on my pajamas. Maybe I’ll just lie on the bed in my dress, and pull it about and slide my hand beneath my pantyhose and imagine I’m still at the party, with Sebastian taking liberties with me, touching me—oh yes, that’ll do it.

That’s when I notice that the television is on in the living room, the sound a simple murmur in the background. Peeking around the corner, I see the shadows it casts on the hallway wall.

I shake my head. For once, I’ll be able to reprimand Mom about leaving the television on. I’m usually the culprit. Not that it’s really my fault—it’s just so much part of the background sometimes, just white noise, that I forget it’s even on. Then again, maybe I’m the one who left it on this time as well. Maybe it’s been on all night, entertaining the Christmas tree and the elves.

My mom’s gone off to her own Christmas party, with her new boyfriend, Luke or Luca or something like that. Nice guy. Body of a Greek god, the kind that artists like my mother die to get a chance to sculpt or paint. Which is how Mom met him: posing for one of her sculpture classes at the local community college.

We went our separate way her and I this Christmas Eve. First time ever. She was stressed about it. I admit, it felt weird, but also exciting. A bit of an adventure. A big step into the world of—let me say it—adulthood. That we both had parties to get to was the excuse: me with my friends, her with an overnighter at Luke/Luca’s place with some of his friends. My party was also supposed to be an overnighter, but to be honest, I was getting pretty tired of it by the end, and the gang seemed ready to go on for several more hours. So when Laura told me she had to go, I hitched a ride.

Mom and I are supposed to meet at IHOP tomorrow morning for a late breakfast. Luke/Luca knows the owner, and we can beat the predictable line.

I’m fantasizing about what sort of pancakes I’m going to have as I go in to shut the television.

“Hi sweetie. How was your party?”

I nearly jump out of my skin! In the dark, on the couch, barely illuminated by the glow of the screen, is my mom—a glass of wine in her hand, her feet up on the coffee table. She’s in her dressing gown.

“Mom! Jesus! You scared the shit out of me!”

“Language, young lady.”

“Well, excuse me, but you just gave me a heart attack—that should cut me just a tiny bit of slack!”

She shrugs. “Sorry. I thought you heard the TV.”

I look at her, taking in the scene. I can’t tell you how I know, but she’s been here all evening, I can tell. She didn’t go out. No party for Mom.

I drop down on the couch beside her. On the large television screen, our one decadent luxury, almost larger than life, I spot Michael J. Fox in his old eighties sitcom, Family Ties. I know it well, somewhat unfortunately, because it’s one of my mom’s favorite series. That, and Golden Girls. She has all the DVDs, some in duplicate. I prefer Fox in Spin City myself.

Mom only goes through a Family Ties binge for one reason.

“How was the party?” she asks.

“Party was good.” I snuggle up next to her and she accepts me because she’s my mom and she’ll always accept me that way and there’s never been any question about it. I have to remind myself regularly not to take it for granted. “Kick-ass beer pong tournament.”

She turns her eyes on me, trying to gauge how much I drank. I grin after a long pause. “Don’t worry. I watched a Terminator marathon with Laura and folks in the living room.”

“All three? Or is it four now?”

“I dropped off after the second.”

Mom nods knowingly. “Second was the best.” She takes a sip of her wine. White. Sparkling. Our New Year’s Eve bottle, I’m guessing. Shit.

“Oh yeah,” I second. “That music…” On cue, we both thump the theme from Terminator 2, that industrial drum beat that sticks in your head like nothing else. Then we chuckle. I snuggle up closer.

On the television screen, Michael J. Fox is having an argument with what will turn out to be his first girl on the show, Tracy Pollan. I’ve always preferred the other one, the brunette, Courtney Cox, pre-Friends. I’ve always thought she was prettier. And smart. Probably because I’m a brunette myself, and not too dumb.

“That’s the episode where they get together, right? They go to this school dance and they kiss and she runs away and then she’s catching a train to go and marry her boyfriend and Alex drives all night to catch her before her train arrives to tell her that he loves her?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Super hokey. Like gag-me hokey. I mean, come on!”

“My daughter the romantic.”

“That’s not romantic, it’s… sentimental. At best. And cheaply so, too. I mean, at least have him jump on the train that’s just leaving only to discover that she stayed at the station hoping he would come by and stop her and poof, you’ve got room for a lot more development. This is… too easy.”

“Sometimes easy is good.”

“But it doesn’t make for satisfying storytelling.”

“My daughter the critic.”

“Hey, if you didn’t want a smart daughter, you shouldn’t have raised me as one.”

“I didn’t do anything but try to hang on tight as you became wonderful all by yourself.” There is something in her voice, and I don’t say a thing as I stay there against her.

We are silent for a while. On the screen, Michael J. Fox is at the college party—which looks so much dorkier than the one I’ve just come back from it’s actually pretty funny—looking forlorn. That haunting song is playing in the background—What did you think I would do at this moment? I love that song. It’s also fucking sentimental. But I don’t care. Just don’t tell my mom. She’d never let me live it down.

We listen to the song. At least I do. I don’t know what my mom is thinking, but I listen to her heartbeat.

Tracy Pollan runs away. The song ends.

“Mom, what happened?” My voice is low, and I wonder if she even heard me. Then I feel the shrug more than I hear her words.

“Nothing.”

“Mom, you spent Christmas Eve by yourself.” It was not a question.

“I wasn’t by myself, I had the Keatons.” The Keatons. That ideal through-thick-and-thin family. My mom’s an incredibly well-adjusted divorced woman who’s not looking for a long-term partner because she thinks all men are fundamentally scum, except when she’s down, and then she likes to compare her life to idealized Hollywood versions. A recipe for disaster, that.

“Mom?” My voice gets harder. I don’t like this. She should not have been alone. Not on Christmas Eve.

She shrugs again. “Didn’t work out with Lucas. We’re at… different stages. We want different things.” She answers the question I do not want to ask. “I let him down easy two days ago.”

At least she’s the one who broke it off.

“And you didn’t tell me because…?”

A long silence. “Did you snag that boy you wanted to snag? What was his name?”

“Sebastian—you know full well his name’s Sebastian—and don’t try to change the subject.”

“I’m not changing the subject. You wanted to know why I didn’t tell you? Because you wouldn’t have gone to that party. And I can tell you did snag that Sebastian boy. Like he had any chance at all. You used protection, right?”

“Mom!” I slap her arm. “I did not sleep with him! We kissed! That’s all! And you’re damn right I wouldn’t have gone to that stupid party if I knew you’d be spending Christmas Eve here all alone moping over reruns.”

“First off, watch your language. Second I wasn’t moping. I was just hanging out and watching some good television.”

“And getting drunk.”

“Not drunk. Buzzed, maybe. Celebrating my new-found freedom.”

“I should have been here with you.”

“Not your call to make. You’ve been talking about that party for the past two weeks. That party, and that Sebastian. I wasn’t going to take that away from you because I’m too picky about my male companions.”

“Well, that wasn’t your call to make either.”

She shrugs. “Next time, we’ll use the eight ball, okay? I wanted my only daughter happy. I won’t be convinced that it’s a bad thing. And don’t worry, I’m fine. Beside, a bit of sadness isn’t bad once in a while. It’s inspiring.” She nods towards a sketchbook on the coffee table. “I got a few ideas for the Spring Expo.”

“You know I don’t like that self-sacrificing crap.”

“It’s romantic,” mom said with a small smile.

“No it’s not. That’s also sentimental.”

“Not the ending you’d have written?”

“Definitely not.” I lean back against her, close my eyes. “Let’s see. You’ve have gone to a club, one that throws a big Christmas bash with gaudy costumes and you’d have been wearing one of those super sexy Mrs. Claus costumes and you’d have met a nice man dressed as an elf or a reindeer and you’d have laughed and chatted the whole night and he would have loved the fact that you’re an artist and he would have asked you all sorts of questions about it and he would not even have been bored when you told him how cubism was such a revelation to the world and how Dali didn’t know what he was talking about it and it wouldn’t have been until you crawled back here that you would have even noticed that you still didn’t know anything about him since he only wanted to talk about you and how wonderful and talented you were and all you knew was that he was kind and warm and loving and also a hunk in that nondescript and subtle way and that he had slipped you his phone number before putting you in a cab while still gallantly staring one last time at your legs to let you know that he found you sexy as hell but that he was too gentlemanly to take advantage of you then but that he hoped you would want to sleep with him even though he was not twenty any more and didn’t model for artists in the region.”

Mom is silent for a long while. “Who’s sentimental now?” she asked in a voice that was choked up a little bit.

I choose not to answer, and she hugs me tight. I sink into that hug as if I were a kid again.

On the television screen, Michael J. Fox was lamenting having missed Tracy Pollan at the train station, not knowing she was in the restrooms.

“So how was Sebastian?” Mom asks, and I can detect a smile in her voice, and it sounds like a genuine smile, and it’s not until much later than I realize how wonderful it made me feel to know that I pulled her out of her melancholy mood.

“He’s a great kisser,” I reply after some hesitation.

“That’s good to hear. A man with a good tongue is a prize to be cherished.”

“Mom!” I blush as I pick up her double-entendre, which I know is fully intended. She gets raunchy when she’s had wine.

“Did you really not sleep with him?”

“Mom! What do you think I am? Some sort of slut?”

“No. A sixteen-year old girl with a raging libido, a young healthy body, and a dress tight enough to make any hetero boy drool.”

“You chose that dress for me!”

“Because it fits you like a goddess. What’s wrong with that Sebastian boy anyway?”

“What?”

“If he didn’t want to screw you, something’s wrong with him.”

“Mom!” I don’t know if she’s pulling my leg. It’s hard to tell with her sometimes.

“I’m just saying…”

A long silence again. On the television screen, Fox and Pollan have resolved their differences, and they kiss, in the train station.

“He did want to,” I admit, my voice soft. “Screw me, I mean.”

“Oh? He told you?”

“I felt it—him. When I was on his lap.”

“While you were kissing?”

“Yeah.”

“How did it feel?” It wasn’t a prying question. There is genuine curiosity in her voice. And love.

“Good. Felt very good. And scary. Like… like things are just on the verge of veering out of control but you don’t really mind.”

“Yeah, love feels that way.”

I’m not sure it’s love, but I’m also not sure she’s talking about me either.

“You sleepy?” she asks as the show ends.

“Not really.”

“Feel like making some pancakes and some eggnog and watch something else?”

“It’s three in the morning.”

“So? You got anywhere you need to be tomorrow morning?”

“No…” I guess the IHOP date is canceled.

“Well then. You’re the one who didn’t want to leave your poor old lonely mother alone on Christmas Eve.”

I make a stab-to-the-heart motion. “Fine,” I say, as I stand up and offer her a hand. “One condition though.”

“Oh?”

“We watch some Buffy next.”

New Story: Ghosts of Christmas Past (Part 1)

Merry Christmas to all of you that celebrate it, and Happy Holidays to everyone else.

I have a The Adjusters Christmas Special for you this year. Three parts, pushed out over the next few days. Starting tonight. Enjoy.

---

Ghosts of Christmas Past (Part 1)

(Christmas 2002)

Daniel Malcolm, all of twelve years old, was watching television, waiting for his mother to finish getting ready.

They were going to the family Christmas Eve at Aunt Selma’s, and he was ambivalent about it.

He liked his Aunt Selma, he liked his cousins, he liked opening gifts. He liked Christmas, because he was a kid, and every kid likes Christmas.

But Christmas also reminded him of his father, who had loved the Holiday season, and anything that reminded him of his father made him sad.

Not sad in a cry-your-eyes-out way, but that sadness that hooked in the pit of one’s stomach and shifted everything from colorful to gray.

The television was set on a channel running through old seventies and eighties sitcoms—there was nothing else playing on Christmas Eve but that and Christmas specials, the good old ones and the weird new ones.

In the corner of the living room stood the Christmas tree, heavy with the familiar decorations that he always remembered. This year, Gerald and his son Sam had helped put them up. It was a natural tree, and its fir smell permeated the room, making it impossible to ignore.

He could hear his mother moving about in the bathroom, and Gerald in the kitchen arguing with his son about something that Daniel cared nothing about.

The television was showing an old sitcom from the eighties, Family Ties. Daniel enjoyed it. He had caught a few episodes already, and while a lot of it went over his head—they kept talking about old stuff he knew nothing about—who was Reagan—he understood the bickering between the sibling and the love between the parents and everyone. He watched it rapturously.

He tried not to think about Gerald in the kitchen. Gerald was his mother’s boyfriend. They had met earlier that year at the hospital where his mother worked. He was also a doctor, though not a surgeon like his mother. He was old, he was a dad, and he was divorced. Which meant that his wife had left him. Or that he had left his wife. Daniel was not sure, and he did not want to ask. His son, Sam, was younger than Daniel, and a complete brat.

On the television, the brother in the family, Alex, was hanging out at his school with a pretty blonde girl, and they were doing grown up stuff. It was not as interesting as usual—he preferred the episodes where Alex and his sister argued. Those were funny.

He suppresses a groan when Sam, small, bushy dark hair, thick glasses on his nose, stomped into the room and jumped on the couch next to Daniel. “What’cha watchin’?”

“Just a show.”

“Looks old.”

“It is.”

Sam fidgeted for a few minutes, while on the screen the brother Alex was hanging out with his new blonde friend. She was pretty, Daniel observed the more he looked at her. Long blonde hair, a friendly smile. He had just started to notice that girls were, well, maybe slightly more interesting than they had been before.

“I’d bone her,” Sam said suddenly, and Daniel was astonished. He was not entirely sure what boning was, but it had to do with sex, he knew, and he was pretty sure that Sam had no idea what he was saying.

“What?”

“The girl. I’d bone her.”

“What are you talking about?”

Sam was bouncing in place, the hyperactive little runt.

“It’s what my dad does to your mom. He bones her. That’s what Frankie says at school.”

“Does not!”

“Does too! She’s a slut, Frankie says. That’s what you do to sluts, you bone them.”

Even though Sam was four years younger than he was, Daniel wanted to punch him. “That’s not true! Take it back!”

He hated how whiny he sounded. He was older than Sam, more mature. Who cared what a little boy barely out of diapers said? “You don’t know nothing. You’re a stupid kid.”

“Slut! Slut! Slut! Boning the slut!” Sam was bouncing on the couch. On the television screen, Alex and the pretty girl were talking.

Daniel reached over and wrapped his arm around Sam’s neck and pulled him down. “Stop it!”

They wrestled for a while, Daniel older and stronger, Sam younger but without any restraint. They fell from the couch, Daniel never letting go, both of them missing the coffee table on their way down. Daniel flipped Sam around and pressed him down against the floor, resisting the impulse to rub his face against the rug. “Take it back!”

“BOYS!” Gerald irrupted into the living room. “Cut it out! Please!”

Daniel let Sam go, and the younger boy crawled away, tears in his eyes. “He started it, dad!” Sam started crying, rubbing his arm and his face.

Daniel grunted, and pressed his back against the couch, staring at the television. On the screen, Alex was at a party, at his school or something.

“Go get cleaned up, Sam,” Gerald said.

“But daaaad…”

“Now.”

Sam stomped off. Gerald watched him go, then stood for a moment before dropping down on the couch. Daniel was still on the ground, stubbornly watching the television set. Alex was talking to the pretty blonde again, at the party.

“I’m sorry about Sam, Daniel,” said Gerald after a while. He always called him Daniel, the way he wanted to be called. Only his father had the right to call him Dan. And he never would again.

Gerald sighed, and from the corner of his eye, Daniel could see that the older man looked tired, for a moment. “Hey, Family Ties,” he said. “I used to love that show. There’s that bit, where Alex completes a thought by… what’s her name? Mallory? She goes ‘It’s like that little voice in my head that says…’ — ‘Man, you can see for miles from here.’ Gets me every time.” He laughed softly to himself. “Pure comedic timing. The guy’s a genius.”

There was a longer pause. “I’m sorry about what Sam said.”

“It’s okay,” Daniel responded quietly.

“No it’s not. But I appreciate your patience with him. And he deserved what he got.” A pause, as they watched the television. Alex and the blonde girl were dancing, and there was music playing in the background, the kind of music that his mother liked, the kind that sometimes put sadness in her eyes.

“He thinks he can get away with stuff. And maybe I’m too soft on him. He thinks I don’t notice, or maybe he does. I don’t know. I’ll talk to him. I’ll make it better. I promise.”

Daniel had no response. He did not care—though at the same time, he did.

Gerald kept talking, his eyes on the television along with Daniel’s. “I can only imagine how hard it is for you, with me and Sam here. I don’t know how to say this. I’m not good at talking about this sort of stuff. But I’m not here to replace your dad, Daniel. And I don’t want to. It’s like no one can replace Shelley.”

On the television screen, Alex and the pretty blonde were kissing, and it made Daniel feel all weird inside.

“And I can’t replace your dad for your mother either, Daniel. I want you to know that. I’m not taking his place.”

Aren’t you? thought Daniel, but he said nothing.

“True love is marvelous,” Gerald continued after watching the screen, as the blonde girl left. Alex looked upset. Daniel did not know why. He had lost the thread of the story. “When you have that, nothing else really matters.”

The way he said it made Daniel pause.

“Do you love her?” he said finally. Whether Gerald expected the question or not, he seemed to take it seriously.

“Your mother is a good woman, Daniel. And I care an awful lot about her. And I think—no, I know—I can do good by her. And I think she can do good by me. But it’s not going to be easy. For any of us. But I’m willing to make an effort. I’m willing to meet you halfway, if you’re on board.”

Daniel remained silent, watching the credits of the show. And listening to Gerald.

“I miss having a family, Daniel. Miss it an awful lot. And I’m hoping you guys are too.” His voice trailed off.

“You’re not going to replace him,” Daniel said in a low voice.

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to. And I don’t want to. I’m my own person. I’ll screw up in wholly distinct ways, believe me.”

“What are you two plotting?” Daniel’s mother stepped into the arch of the living room, decked in a beautiful dress that Daniel had never seen before. And he knew—without understanding how he knew—that she had worn it for Gerald.

“Gosh, you look beautiful,” said Gerald, and his voice conveyed admiration and—yes, love. And Daniel saw the smile light up his mother’s face, as Gerald stood to go and hug her.

Daniel felt that ambivalence again, wanting to like Gerald but hating him at the same time, and he wondered what his dad—his real dad, the only dad he ever wanted—would have thought about all of this were he still alive, how he would have reacted.

And as he watched his mother and Gerald hug and kiss, he knew. As his mother looked at Daniel with a tentative smile on her face, her eyes almost expectant, waiting for a reaction from him, he knew exactly what his dad would have said.

She’s happy. How bad can it be?

And if his mom was happy, who was he to destroy her world? He smiled at her, and her own smile beamed back at him with the strength of all the Christmas stars.

And in the living room of their house, there was a moment of happiness. A moment where Christmas for the first time in a long time felt like Christmas.

For a moment, Daniel’s world was whole.

Which did not make him miss his future stepbrother miming an obscene gesture looking at his mom and Gerald. For a moment, Daniel was happy. His revenge on the little runt would wait.

New Story: The One-Two Screw Crew Does Christmas (Part 2)

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New Story: The One-Two Screw Crew Does Christmas (Part 1)

Merry slightly belated Christmas to all of you that celebrated it. If you didn't, then I hope you had a nice break nevertheless. My apologies for the lateness—in keeping with how the whole year has gone by, Christmas here was a crazy affair that defied preparation.

In any event, in what has now become a bit of a tradition at Smutty Footnotes, I present your Christmas Special, a story exclusive to this blog, by way of thanking you for the support you have given me throughout the year. That support is highly appreciated, I want you to know that.

Here is Part One of The One-Two Screw Crew Does Christmas, a little ditty that looks at friends Elizabeth Bowden and Shelley Caskill from Book III of The Adjusters, and spells out something that was alluded to in #34. It's a bit more of a character piece than some of the stuff I've written lately, but it has been knocking at the back of my mind wanting to be written, and so here it is. Part Two should be up either tomorrow night or the following.

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The One-Two Screw Crew Does Christmas (Part 1)


(Morgantown, West Virginia. Five years ago.)

“Come on, man! Cheer up, for goodness’ sake! It’s your job to cheer the kids up, not the other way around.”

Harry Colburn slaps my shoulder and shakes his head. It’s the first one that gets my attention. He’s at least a head taller than I am, and given that I’m six foot two, it isn’t something I’ve quite gotten used to yet, and he’s strong. So his slap almost sends me flying into the window of the minivan, to everybody’s merriment.

Harry grins his goofiest grin, the one that to anyone not knowing him well screams out just how much of a large lummox whose only pleasures in life are primal he is, the one that he told me he’s been practicing since his senior year of high school, the one that distracts players and coaches from opposite teams into thinking that he’s indeed a large lummox instead of the sharpest and quickest thinking strategist that the Mountaineers have ever had playing point.

“I’m just getting into character,” I grumble, rubbing my shoulder. I’ve got a Grinch costume on, which I think is an inspired bit of casting.

“Couldn’t you just be the post-epiphany Grinch?”

“Hey, dark and gritty, right? Isn’t that what the kids are into these days?”

“Not today, Garcia. Today, we’re here to make sick children laugh and smile. So you’re going to be upbeat and entertaining or I’m going to introduce our young friends to the underappreciated comedic aspects of Punch and Judy.”

Yeah, Harry talks like that. When he’s not playing dumb, he’s always referring to bits of theatrical trivia. The cognitive dissonance for most people is impressive: he’s big, he’s black, he’s got a goofy grin. And he’s also the best Shakespearean actor the School of Theater and Dance at West Virginia University has ever had, and one of their best student. That he joined the university under a basketball scholarship and led the team to two winning seasons is just icing over a particularly moist and flavorful cake.

Me, I'm Brandon Garcia, and I'm struggling. Which has been really messing with my head for the last semester. I was star athlete at my high school down in Miami last year, and while not Valedictorian I had a shot at it. Moving to West Virginia—WVU being the one place that was willing to foot my education bill via a basketball scholarship just like Harry's—was a bit of a shock, not just culture-wise, but ego-wise. Here, I'm above average, but not much more than that, both academically and athletically. It's been a rough transition, one that seems to be common, but knowing that doesn't make it any easier.

Especially now that I've received results for some of my courses, and it's touchy. I've got a single final left, in two days, and if I don't pass it, my scholarship's in jeopardy. So that's been on my mind. And instead of studying my ass off, I've got to be here, on this stupid field trip.

I'm being unfair. It's not a stupid field trip. Every year, around Christmas time, the basketball team heads over to the Children's Hospital, and spends the day with the kids, in costume. Both kids and staff love it, and it's the highlight of the end of year festivities for most folks on the team as well. No matter how much you live to party and drink yourself silly, there's nothing that beats putting a smile on a kid's face. I get it. And was looking forward to it, too. Until I realized just how close to being kicked out I really am. My heart's not in it now. I'm worried. My future's about to go down the drain, and I feel there isn't anything I can do to help it.

When the minivan drops us off at the hospital, Harry takes charge. He's done this before, and the nurses in charge of the visit know him, and love him. Because to be honest, everyone loves Harry. He's dressed, unsurprisingly, as Santa Claus, and he pulls it off. I don't know what he's got underneath that suit of his, but he looks twice his usual size, which gives him an imposing bulk.

There is a bunch of people in the foyer waiting for us, in costume. Harry told me that the team invites friends and family to join them, as long as they have the right attitude, as he says. A few girlfriends usually round up the group, as well as what he calls groupies. The cheerleading squad has also been known to join up, although today it doesn't look like that’s the case.

I’m a bit taken aback by the kids being wheeled about the lobby of the hospital, some looking well, others looking sick. I've never really been around sick people, so I don't really know how to handle myself. I stick close to Harry, happy to let him call the plays the way he does on the court.

And that's the reason I’ve got a particularly nice view when a sexy elf skips her way towards Harry. I'm real glad I've got a ton of makeup on because I'm pretty sure I'm gawking like a high schooler.

The girl—a thin short-haired blonde with a killer body wrapped in a short bright green tunic, light green tights, and a pair of white boots—jumps in Harry's arms when she's within reach.

Harry was fully expecting the encounter, clearly, because he catches her and holds her up against him as she tries and fails to wrap her long legs around his artificially large stomach and plants a loud kiss on his lips.

“Harry the Mule,” she grins. Her smile is infectious. “Funny meeting you here.” She presses her lips against his once more, a slow kiss this time, deeper, the kind that closes off the couple from the rest of the world.

“Huh, Shel, you may want to let the poor guy breathe.” Another elf, dressed exactly like the first, approaches the embracing couple. This one, just as beautiful but with more generous curves, has curly red hair down to her shoulders.

“You should kiss him, Lizzie. It's really weird with that big white beard he's got on.” The blonde kisses Harry once more time before dropping down before the big guy.

Harry smiles at the redhead, and leans down to hug her. “Hey Lizzie! How's my girl doing? Thanks so much for coming.”

“Hey Harry! Good to see you! You look...” She looks him over, shaking her head, “twice as big as you usually do.”

“Oh fuck,” says the blonde, putting her hand on the redhead's shoulder. “If he's twice as big as usual, I definitely got to try me some of that.” Her expression makes it very clear what she means, and once again I'm glad for the makeup because I'm certain I'm blushing bright red.

I think Harry picks up on my discomfort, because he turns to me, and waves a hand towards the two girls. “Come on, Garcia, meet my two favorite girls on campus. Elizabeth,” he waves to the redhead, “and Shelley,” then to the blonde. “Ladies, Brandon Garcia, our newest small forward, fresh out of high school.”

Elizabeth smiles in my direction and nods. “Nice to meet you, Brandon.”

“Hi Brandon,” goes Shelley, and then looks back at Harry with a grin.

Elizabeth is looking at me with an odd expression on her face, her head tilted to the side. I pretty much know what she's going to say, even though I would not have expected her to be the one to say it. “Aren't you short for a small forward?”

Before I can respond, Harry laughs a great big Santa Claus laugh that has some people in the foyer jump and stare. “You should see the boy jump, Lizzie. It's out of this world. He's six inches shorter than Ferg, but I'm pretty sure he's got a foot on him in the air. Out of this world.”

Harry loves to sing my praises. One of the reasons that I can't help but like the guy. I mean, he's a genuine warm-hearted person. I'm going to miss him when they kick me out for screwing up Statistical Reasoning. Damn—I had managed to forget all about it for a few minutes.

“Come on gang,” says Harry, addressing everyone in costume. “Let's do our thing. There are kids up there waiting for some fun.” He bids everyone follow the nurse in charge, and they all follow.

I watch the two elves head up the hall, Shelley and Elizabeth, my eyes automatically caught by the girls’ asses swaying to and fro, perfectly emphasized by their short and tight tunics.

“They're cute, ain't they?” says Harry in his best lummox voice, and a glint in his eyes.

“Can't deny,” I reply. I step beside him as he walks off.

I’m trying to formulate my question in the right way. “Huh, Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“The Mule?”

He looks back at me and gives me his best grin, and I can almost believe he is indeed a simpleton, if not for the twinkle in his eyes. “Just a nickname, Garcia.” He practically winks. “Those two girls love me.”

I shake my head, and follow him up the stairs. If anyone can make me forget Statistical Reasoning, it's Harry. The cute blonde also has a leg up in that respect.


* * *


The kids are amazing. Our group has split up, going into different wards, and I've ended up in the cancer ward, of all places. And the kids just impress me. They're troopers, the lot of them, hooked up to the IV dispensers, some of them with post-chemo hair growth. We chat, we make faces, we do voices, and before too long, I'm laughing with them as we come up with odd games for the littler ones. They love us, and it's making me feel a lot better than I did before.

There's this little girl who's probably seen How the Grinch stole Christmas one times too many, and she insists I call her Cindy Lou Who. She's the cutest little thing I’ve ever seen, with a head full of blonde ringlets, and when she laughs she first looks like she's about to sneeze.

She's really taken by my Grinch costume, and she makes me do Grinch faces over and over again. And I get into it, and channel my inner Boris Karloff, and before too long we're singing the Grinch's song, which Cindy Lou says is her favorite song ever.

You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch.
You really are a heel.
You're as cuddly as a cactus,
You're as charming as an eel.
Mr. Grinch.
You're a bad banana
With a greasy black peel.

We both sing the last line in exaggerated fashion, and Cindy Lou starts giggling, and she half-laughs half-sings the rest of the song with me.

At the end of the song, I spy green from the corner of my eye—

You're a three decker saurkraut and toadstool sandwich
With arsenic sauce.

I turn my head and the girl that Harry called Elizabeth is leaning against the door frame with a smile on her face, watching me and Cindy Lou bringing the song to its end.

“That was beautiful,” she says, clapping softly and approaching the bed. My eyes dip down to her legs, looking delicious in her green tights, and I feel really weird about it because there's a kid in the room, and it's confusing. I think I mumble something, but thankfully Cindy Lou giggles again. “We're singing the Grinch.”

“I know,” says Elizabeth, sitting on the bed next to the little blonde girl, “and you did a fantastic job at that, sweetie.”

Cindy Lou is beaming, and Elizabeth looks at me and winks and I think my heart grows three sizes right there on the spot.

A nurse interrupts us before we can do anything else. “I'm sorry folks, but Amelie here is needed for an MRI.”

“Cindy Lou,” I say.

“Excuse me?”

“She's known as Cindy Lou now.”

The nurse looks at me and manages to keep a straight face. “Really? Cindy Lou? Cindy Lou Who?”

“Cindy Lou Who.”

Cindy Lou—Amelie—and Elizabeth look at each other and giggle. Elizabeth leans over and kisses Amelie on the forehead. “Merry Christmas, sweetie!”

“Merry Christmas, and Merry Christmas to you too, Grinch.”

I manage to grunt my best “Bah, humbug!” not caring about mixing my Christmas stories. Elizabeth and I wave to Amelie and leave the room.

“That was nice what you did,” says Elizabeth.

“What was?”

“Singing. I think it meant a lot to her.”

Again, I'm glad the makeup is keeping my blushing from being advertised all over the place. “Well... it was sorta the natural place to go.”

She grins. “Still, it was sweet. You have a nice touch with children.”

“Yes, well, that's one of the things you get for growing up with too many younger sisters.”

“Lucky you.”

“Sometimes. Other times, not so much. How about you?”

She shakes her head. “Only child.”

We’re interrupted by Elizabeth’s friend, Shelley, who comes skipping towards us and hugs Elizabeth.

“They are so cute! The whole bunch of them! They're the best kids ever. I want one.”

Elizabeth smiles. “May not be the best idea right now. It may get in the way of your degree.”

Shelley dismisses the notion with a wave of her head. “Nonsense.” She looks in my direction, and I can't help but notice once again that's she's just beautiful—which is surprising because I tend to like long flowing hair. But the short haircut fits the blonde perfectly, and gives her a slightly mischievous air. “Besides, they're so much fun to make.” She grins at me. “Right, jock boy?”

She gives Elizabeth a kiss, on the lips, and laughs to herself. “I should go ask the Mule if he’s is willing to make babies with me.” And just like that, she heads off in Harry's direction, her short tunic bouncing and giving me a tantalizing glimpse of her upper thighs, and desire flashes within me, that of bending the little bimbo blonde over and baring her ass and sliding my dick inside her. I shake my head. Where did that come from?

Elizabeth looks at me, and it's like she can read my mind. “Don’t mind Shel. She gets a bit overexcited at times. She's usually more...” She searches for the right word. “Subdued.”

“Really?” I make a dubious Grinch face.

Elizabeth laughs. “No, not really. But she's sweet.”

She's gorgeous, and a little cocktease is what I want to say, but I bite my lip. She's Elizabeth's friend, after all.

Again, the redhead reads my mind. “Yes, she can be a bit of a tease. But it's all for fun. She's not trying to be mean. And you should see the looks the teens on the ward give her. They all love her, and they all try to look up her skirt. And she lets them. Sometimes.”

“That's cruel.”

“Really? Why? They enjoy themselves, so does she. No one gets hurt.”

I frown. “You make it sound almost... noble.”

She grins. “I guess in a way, it is. Hey, it's the season. It's all about passing on the cheer.”

I don't respond to that. I spot Shelley, on the far side, of the room, chatting with a bald-headed boy in a bed, two IVs stuck in his arm, and she's sitting on his bed and the boy doesn't seem to know whether to stare at her face with her broad smile and sparkling eyes, or her legs that are but inches away from him. He's got a goofy grin on his face that rivals Harry's on his best days.

“Speaking of cheer,” continues Elizabeth, looking at me looking at Shelley, “you seem to be doing better.”

“What do you mean?”

“Downstairs. When you got here. You seemed pretty out of it. Worried. I'd almost say anguished.”

“Ouch,” I say, trying to sound more lighthearted than I really feel. She saw that through the makeup? “What are you, psych student?”

“Ah! Please no! No, I just... I know some about anguish.”

I'm curious, especially since she has a bit of a faraway look on her face as she stares out at nothing, but I'm not particularly keen on this conversation to start with. “So what's your major then?” I'm assuming she's a student at WVU.

“Design, actually.”

Interesting. “And where does that lead?”

She makes a face. “I don't really want to say. I'm just toying with the idea still, and it's a bit... hokey.“ I swear she looks embarrassed, and the blush on her face harmonizes with the red in her hair and the green of her tunic in a surprisingly nice way. “What about you?” she asks.

“Me? Math.”

I expect her to react the way most people do when they hear what I study, especially when they know I’m on the basketball team. Like athletes can't be math geeks. But no, she just takes it in like it's the most natural thing in the world. “Cool. Couldn't do that myself. Don't have the head for numbers.”

I don't bother correcting her that at that level math has little to do with numbers, although I get the distinct feeling she would actually understand were I to explain it to her. Which makes me wonder what she’s doing hanging out with the blonde who seems mostly interested in giving boys boners and fucking Harry. I shake my head. The dark cloud that I thought had lifted is back, with a vengeance. I grunt. “Yeah, well, I'm starting to wonder if I do have one myself.”

She looks at me, and leans back against the wall, facing me. Her arms are crossed in front of her, and they pushed her breasts upwards and create a nice cleavage perfectly framed by the collar of her green tunic. “There's that look again. Tough semester?”

“Yeah, something like that.” On the other side of the ward, Shelley is goofing with one of the players, and either accidentally or not her tunic rides up her thighs and an older sick boy sitting on a bed across from her is looking at her legs with eyes wide and I see, just like he does, that she’s wearing green thigh highs and not tights like I thought she was. I love thigh highs. And here’s a girl with a killer body sporting a nice pair underneath her tight dress. I look back at Elizabeth, wondering for a second whether she is also wearing the same.

“Let me guess: top of your class back in high school?” she asks.

“Pretty much. Second. But just because the top was a brown-noser extraordinaire.”

“So top of the class in high school, and probably star basketball player. And then you show up here, and you're run of the mill, just one guy amongst others, good, but not great.”

I look at her. Who is this girl? I'm not sure how to respond.

She does—she laughs. “Don't look at me like that. It's pretty common, believe me. Me, I was average all through high school. So the transition wasn't so bad. Just more of the same. I fade in the background here like I did in high school. But for some people, the step is harder.”

“I doubt you faded in the background anywhere you’ve ever been, including high school.”

“Awww... You're sweet, you know that, Brandon Garcia?”

Wait, how does she know my name?

She doesn’t add anything, merely leans against the wall looking angelic, innocent, almost pure. But the way she presses her breasts upwards, the way she's arranged herself to put her legs on display, the smile that's on her face and that I'm tempted to qualify of predatory, all of that suggests that I'm being played, and played well.

My dick responds for me, and throbs. I find myself wishing Shelley was here looking at me the way Elizabeth is, but I don't actually mind Elizabeth.

“I think what you need is some distraction,” she says, a smile still hovering on her lips.

I snort, and shake my head. “What I need is someone to teach me about fucking statistics.”

“You make it sound like two different things.”

Before I can ask her what the hell she means by that, she leans over to press her lips against my cheek in a soft kiss, and heads out to return entertaining the kids, making sure to give me a little wave on the way.


* * *


The next two hours pretty much fly by, as we keep making the rounds through the hospital, hanging out with the patients and even the parents, which I gotta admit are pretty good sports about the whole thing. I'm not sure how I'd react if some cheerful costumed clowns showed up while my kid was sick and I was half worried out of my mind. But they seemed to appreciate out company, and I don't think I've looped together so many balloons or attempted my hand at so many card tricks before. I sucked at them, but the kids didn’t seem to care.

Every once in a while, I'd catch a peek of Elizabeth and Shelley, and I'd watch Shelley's tight little body. I'm usually not attracted to bimbos—I like my girls smart and being able to hold a conversation—but I have to admit that the blonde one is rocking one sweet body, and ever since noticing that she's wearing thigh highs, I would drop my eyes to the hem of her tunic, sitting high on her thigh, and see that she would flash her stocking tops at every opportunity, giving a good show to the boys that she ran into. I idly wondered what sort of panties she was wearing. I imagined something racy, possibly with lace. I was hard despite the setting, and despite my impending scholarly doom.

It was difficult to not be fascinated by Shelley. She was a goof with the young kids and a flirt with the older ones, but when she was with Harry, she was practically a tramp. I felt a surge of jealousy towards the big guy for the way he had this perfect little blonde all over him whenever he was close to her. I watched him put a big hand on her ass and her responding by pressing back into it before snuggling up in his arms. I wondered how she would look with her legs spread wide while the tall point guard, double her size, plowed into her like there was no tomorrow.

Elizabeth was kind and warm and smiled a lot, to everyone, and she was sexy as hell with her red hair and her mischievous smile, but without the spark, the vivaciousness, the playful quality that infused Shelley’s every move. Elizabeth seemed as comfortable around Harry as Shelley was, touching him frequently, and he responded in kind, hugging her and laughing and generally acting like his most genial self. Harry's always been popular with the ladies, but these two girls circled around him like fireflies.

At the end of the visit, as we're all slowly gathering together after saying goodbye to the kids, I spy Elizabeth pulling Harry down to her and talking to him. After a while, she looks in my direction. Harry looks as well, and he nods his head sagely, and the two chat for a few minutes before Elizabeth reaches up and kisses him, a slow kiss on the lips that lingers. Harry reaches down and cups the redhead's ass, grinning. Amazingly, she does not push him away, and she grins right back.

As I’m told they do every year after the visit, the whole group heads to Maxwell's, where Harry has reserved pretty much the whole restaurant. It's a nice spot. I don't go there nearly enough, and while I should really be going back to my dorm to study for fucking Statistical Reasoning, I'm hungry, Maxwell's has the best Reubens in town, and if I'm honest with myself for long enough, I know that going back to my dorm really mean going back to play Minecraft because I can't make heads or tails of what I should be studying anyways. Denial is the last recourse of the desperate.

We take over much of the dining room, and whatever other patrons show up afterward get warned, because we're loud. Not obnoxious loud, but we're buzzed from the feel-good afternoon, and it's the end of the semester. I'm the only one, it seems, with a bugbear on my back. But I try to put on a brave face.

I'm sitting between two of my teammates, two freshmen like me, nice guys that I'm not particularly close to, but we share enough sports interest that we can shoot the breeze while eating and basically listening to Harry driving the whole show from his spot at the head of the table.

Elizabeth found a seat in front of me, and we chat a bit, the two of us, as well as my teammates, who seem intrigued with her. And not just because she’s cute, but she can also hold up a conversation with the best of them, even when she has no idea what we're talking about, as when we stray into the details of how the league classifies players and assesses their long-term potential. I've seen many girls, and probably just as many guys, blank out during such a conversation. She doesn't.

Her friend Shelley is sitting next to Harry, and the two are laughing it up like crazy. Again, jealousy rears its ugly head, which I don't really understand because expect for the fact that she has a body made for fantasy fodder, bimbo blonde is not really my type.

Elizabeth is already more my type, and I do enjoy talking to her, and she seems to enjoy talking to me, and midway through the evening, I get the feeling that she's flirting with me. I'm pretty rotten at noticing subtle flirting, usually, and I guess what's happening here is that she's anything but subtle. She's taken off her boots and by the time the waitress has passed by to grab our plates and drop off dessert menus, one of her feet is making its way up my leg and nuzzles up against my inner thigh. It's a classic move, almost cliché, and she knows it, because when I look up she's smiling the smile of the cat who's just caught the canary and is about to swallow it whole.

But still my eyes keep going back to Shelley, who's by this point, all over Harry. I don't see what her hands are doing, but they're underneath the table, and Harry's grinning all teeth blazing, and I can't help but imagine that she's rubbing her hands all over his admittedly large dick. I’ve seen him in the showers. The Mule indeed.

I shake my head to clear it. This is crazy. I'm about to get kicked out for stupidly failing a stupid course that not only I should be smart enough to pass, but one that I should have never taken in the first place. Who takes Statistical Reasoning freshman year? Big shot Brandon Garcia, of course—taking on way too much, and paying for it now.

“You're thinking again,” says Elizabeth from my left. She’s moved next to me without me noticing. Dessert has also arrived—I must have really been out of it the last few minutes.

I merely shrug. Elizabeth leans on me, and drops a fork into my carrot cake. I'm happy to share. I'm not hungry anymore anyways. “It's not just the course, is it?” There she goes again, reading my mind.

I shrug again. Part of me wants everyone to go away and leave me alone and let me wallow in my miserable life.

“It's Shelley,” continues Elizabeth, taking a bite of cake. There's a bit of icing clinging to her lower lip, teasing me. In a flash, I see Shelley licking of the icing off from her friend's face. What the fuck is wrong with me? I'm depressed and angry and horny, all at the same time.

“You like her, don't you?” continues Elizabeth. “I can't blame you, she's awfully fuckable in that little outfit.”

“She’s okay,” I say, lying, but also speaking the truth.

Elizabeth nods and smiles, and for a second I suspect she's inside my head again knowing exactly what I'm thinking.

At the head of the table, Shelley is nuzzling Harry, her face against his neck, probably kissing it. From her position, she looks like she's half in her chair and half on Harry's lap. It actually looks pretty hot, and Shelley herself looks like she's getting into it. Harry is smiling and laughing and once in a while his hand disappears under the table and Shelley closes her eyes and seems to moan.

I almost jump in surprise when I feel Elizabeth put her chin on my shoulder. She's warm, right there next to me. For a second, I'm wondering whether she'll run her hands down my lap like Shelley did before to Harry. I want her to—who wouldn’t?—but I also would like Shelley to be here right next to me dropping her hand to my dick and rubbing herself against me.

Everyone around is busy in conversation, some of them slow-dancing in the middle of the dining room after having convinced the manager to dim the lights and to put on some music. I don’t want to know how much money the basketball team put up to basically take over the restaurant like that. But the point is that no one is really paying any attention to Elizabeth and me, or to Shelley and Harry at the end of the table.

Shelley, at this point, is running kisses down Harry’s face, and she’s square on his lap now, and from the way she’s moving her ass, she must be grinding down pretty hard on Harry’s dick. Harry’s making a face that I don’t recall him ever making, midway between delighted and torn. He’s speaking to Shelley, but I can’t hear what he’s saying, and he seems to be trying to reason with her, and all she does is kiss his neck and run her hands over his chest and undulate her body in a way that suggests she must be a wonder in bed.

Elizabeth’s arm is wrapped around my shoulders, her hand is caressing me softly, her head is still leaning on me. She seems to be watching Shelley and Harry, but I’m pretty sure she’s watching me watching Shelley and Harry. I can’t help it. It’s hot to see those two together, and I wish I was the kind of guy that could get a cute little blonde girl squirming over my dick like Shelley seems to be on Harry’s, nothing in her pretty little head but the desire to be fucked and fucked well. And she’s probably not even worried about courses, either—probably majoring in psychology or something. All the hot girls major in psychology, it seems.

Elizabeth laughs softly and shakes her head—sending some of her hair tickling the side of my face—as she see watches Harry trying to reason with Shelley, who makes it clear that she’s not listening. I look at Elizabeth, a question on my face.

“It’s Shelley. She’s trying to get Harry to come back with us to our rooms for a little fun."

My ears pick up her use of the plural: with us, our rooms. "But?” I ask.

“But Harry can’t tonight. He’s rehearsing. Look at her though. She’s trying to convince him to skip the rehearsal. And her arguments can be pretty good, believe me. Shelley’s stubborn. But Harry more so. Especially when it comes to acting.”

“Yeah," I say. “He takes his acting seriously.”

“As he should. He’s very good. He was amazing in Coriolanus two months ago.”

“Maybe, but I admit that if I was glad when he was done with it. If I had to go on hearing him shout, ‘Go, get you home, you fragments!’ whenever he was unhappy with the team during practice, I’d have punched him.”

Elizabeth laughs, her laugh a clear sparkle in the dim light of the restaurant. She remains pressed against my shoulder, and I’m tempted to ask her if she wants to dance.

I hesitate too long, though, and before I can say anything, Shelley is coming to sit with us, slamming down on a chair with a pout on her face, while Harry stands up and tells everyone that he has to take off and to all be good. He thanks us all for our participation in the afternoon, and then leaves, his Santa Claus hat jingling as he walks away.

“Bastard,” Shelley grumbles.

Elizabeth, her head still on my shoulder, smiles gently and patiently to her friend. “Shel, I told you he couldn’t make it. He’s got rehearsal.”

Shelley makes a face. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You and him. Rehearsal this, theater that. Let me tell you, my pussy’s better than any theater.”

She looks at me, defiant, challenging me to say anything. “What’s wrong, jock boy? Too frank for your taste?”

I’m not sure what to say. Shelley looks angry. At me or at Harry is not clear. What did I do anyway?

“Don’t be too hard on Brandon here, Shel,” says Elizabeth. “He’s having a tough time.”

“What tough time? Did somebody stole his ball and he can’t play no more?”

“Come on Shel, don’t be mean.”

“I’m not being mean. I’m horny. I’m fucking horny and my favorite cock’s gone off to rehearse some stupid play.”

I feel the need to chime in and defend my friend. “It’s not just any stupid play. It’s Oedipus Rex, and it’s a classic.” Like she would know about that.

She snorts. “Like you would know about that, jock boy. Stick to reading your Sports Illustrated, or you’ll hurt yourself.” She stands up. “I’m going home.” Without waiting for a comment or a response, she swivels and heads to the exit. I follow her, caught between staring at her tight little ass wrapped in her green too-short tunic and swaying with her every booted step, and fuming at her.

I exchange a glance with Elizabeth, who herself seems caught between befuddlement and amusement. "Sports Illustrated?” I ask, indignant. “Who reads Sports Illustrated?”

Elizabeth bursts out laughing, and her laughter is infectious and soon I join her, and she’s hugging me as she laughs, and I have to admit it feels nice.

When we catch out breath, I ask her. "What’s wrong with her?”

“The thing with Shelley is that she doesn’t take rejection well. And she seemed to have had her eyes set on spending the night with Harry.”

“Are they... are they an item or something?” Harry has never said anything, but he likes to play his personal life close to the chest.

“Harry and Shel? No way. But we all hang out sometimes.” The way she says it suggests something more, and I can’t help but imagine those two girls—the long-hair redhead and the short-haired blonde—naked against my large teammate, and it’s a damn hot picture. I abort it before things get even more clear in my head. I don’t need to hate Harry, on top of everything else going down the drain.

Elizabeth sees all of this in my eyes, and I have once again the distinct impression that she knows exactly what I’m thinking. It’s unnerving, to say the least. When she continues, she looks almost apologetic. “I probably should go with her, make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid.”

She lets me go, stands up. I think I feel disappointment.

“What about you?” she asks. “What are you going to do?”

“Me? I dunno... probably go home, study some stats...” The gloom is back, all at once, like somebody turned off the light. I’m going to go home, stare at my textbook and my notes with growing despair, and that will guarantee that whatever I’m reading and trying to figure out will look even more opaque than before, and then I’ll grow frustrated and then angry and then... and then nothing.

Elizabeth looks at me, her head cocked to the side. “You know what? If you go home, I’m picturing you doing absolutely everything but trying to study and not taking in a single bit of information. That’s pretty stupid. Come with me.” She extends a hand.

I stare at it, beckoning, inviting, soothing. “I don’t know. I really should...”

“Should, should, should. Just trust me. I have an idea. An idea where everyone comes out the winner.”

I look at her, uncertain.

She smiles her warmest gentlest smile, the one that I’m sure can melt just about anyone’s heart, and mine is no stronger than anyone’s.

I take her hand, and let her lead the way.