I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Claus

I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Claus A Collection of Christmas Holiday M/M Romance A Ravenous Romance™ Original Publication Edited by Lori Perkins

1

A Ravenous Romance™ Original Publication www.ravenousromance.com

Copyright © 2009 by Ravenous Romance Ravenous Romance™ 100 Cummings Center Suite 123A Beverly, MA 01915 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review. ISBN-13: 978-1-60777-315-3 This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

2

Table of Contents Introduction Christmas Morning by Derek Clendening I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Claus by Ryan Field The Best Christmas Ever by Clancy Nacht Just Like Santa by J. L. Merrow Christmas Post Boy by Liz Coldwell Santa Claus is Coming by Adrian Harper

3

Introduction It’s Christmastime and it seems that every song on the radio or blared over the speakers of every mall in America is playing a Christmas tune, and sometimes it feels like same song over and over again. I have found myself humming these things in the shower, or as I’m stuffing garbage down the chute. There’s a word for a song that just won’t get out of your head—earworm—and this year that old Christmas chestnut, I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus, just wouldn’t leave my skull. But since I’ve been editing so much Christmas smut, and so much of the naughty M/M variety (check out Ryan Field’s A Christmas Carl, if you haven’t already), I found myself humming I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Claus, When I shared this little misintrepreted lyric with my partners, they said we should see if any of our authors are inspired by the concept, and in these pages, you’ll find their amusing and romantic interpretations of this Christmas classic. We also think you’ll be a little amazed at the variety of stories created by such well-loved Ravenous Romance authors as Ryan Field and Liz Coldwell, and first-timer Adrian Harper. Once again, we hope you’ll never think of the song in the same way. Lori Perkins December 2009

4

Christmas Morning by Derek Clendening

“How much did you see?” Steve asked. Noah stared into his lap at the breakfast table. Steve didn’t want him to feel bad, but he’d done so much sneaking around these two years that he knew he’d be caught eventually. And then he would have so much to explain. “I saw you with Santa.” Noah played with his fingers. “And you two were . . . it looked like you were kissing him. But it just couldn’t be that, you know? I didn’t know what to think. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be out of bed until morning, but I couldn’t sleep and . . . .” Steve tousled his eight-year-old’s hair. Then he glanced at Trent, who’d almost finished preparing scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. Crispy all around, just like Noah liked them. Steve had defeated Trent in their war over who would buy Noah the Rescue Pack toy that Noah had pointed to every time they’d gone to Walmart. Trent had wanted to be his hero in buying him his dream gift, but Steve wouldn’t relent. When the package was reduced to an empty box and balls of wrapping paper, Steve knew he’d won him over. Yet he knew Noah’s love for Trent hadn’t diminished. Since Melanie passed away, Steve had had so much to explain. Not just to Noah, but to himself. He and Trent had long considered when to sit Noah down and explain some hard facts to him, but they weren’t sure what age was right. Or if there would ever be a

5 perfect time. Steve wanted to wait until he was old enough to understand and accept his Dad the way he was. Given television’s content these days, he decided there was little he could explain that Noah hadn’t heard of. “I’m so sorry I came downstairs, Daddy.” Noah’s eyes were glassy. “I swear, it’ll never happen again!” Steve threw his arms around him. “You don’t have to be sorry. You’re young, but I think it’s time we had a big kid talk.” **** Christmas Eve Steve thought Cassie Reaman a saint for babysitting for him the way she had the last eight years. Sometimes high school friends really were forever, he thought. Despite the cash Steve tried to slip her, she always waved it off and said to call whenever he needed her. After Melanie’s death at twenty-three, she had been his friend and support system. As had Trent. During his marriage, he hadn’t wanted to admit his own desires. He could never break it to Melanie, or so he’d thought. Noah was born when they were both eighteen and Steve had missed the chance to explore his sexuality. After Melanie had died, he’d been granted that chance, yet he’d kept everything quiet from Noah. And certainly he meant no offense to Melanie’s memory. When Trent walked into his life, Steve saw a chance to start over, though he hadn’t been looking for one. That was the way of it for most people, he decided. And there he was, with a mop of brown hair and a buzzed-down beard and thin moustache. He had the look, yes, but Steve had to know if he had the personality.

6 Trent had come on to him at a Christmas party two years ago and Steve almost warned him he was straight. Except that he couldn’t say so truthfully. Yes, he had a son. And yes, he’d been married, but at twenty-four he’d hardly had time to know himself enough. He’d taken time to grieve and to start over at square one. From there, he and Trent had developed a relationship that Steve had always dreamed of. He’d had a special relationship with Melanie too, but this felt different. Steve introduced Trent to Noah as his friend, and he’d known him no other way. Maybe Noah sometimes thought of him as Dad’s special friend, but Steve doubted he would’ve connected the dots the way an older kid might. Now that two Christmases had passed, Steve had asked Trent if he was ready to be serious about their future. Trent said he was and that telling Noah about their relationship would be an important first step. They needed to normalize their lives for him, he’d added. Steve agreed and hoped he would grow up thinking nothing of it. Tonight, Cassie had offered to sit for Steve so he and Trent could celebrate their twoyear anniversary. Trent had decided to dress up as Santa Claus for the party—anything to amuse his fellow guests—and kept the costume on when they’d arrived home. Cassie had tucked Noah into bed and said her own adieu a half hour and a cup of coffee later. Now, with an empty house, Steve noticed that look in Trent’s eyes. He knew it so well. Steve pulled his Santa beard down a pinch and kissed him full on the lips. Trent laughed, reached around his back and cupped his ass. Then Steve heard a pounding noise on the stairs. Their lips broke apart. Trent kept the eager look, but Steve’s concentration was breached.

7 “You hear something?” Steve asked. “It’s nothing.” Trent leaned in for a kiss. Trent was always eager to get down to business. He had Steve’s tie and buttons loosened, his dress shirt splayed open, and his belt unbuckled, before Steve could finish expressing his concern. As usual, Steve gave in to him, and he shelved his worries. Besides, he found something decidedly kinky about this. He and Trent had tried the gamut of experiments to jazz up their sex life, but a Santa costume held a naughtiness all its own. Steve pulled the beard over Trent’s head, but left the hat on. He looked so damn sexy with the red suit, the hat with the mop sticking out the sides, and a brown, buzzed-down beard of his own. How could he resist? When he tore the red jacket open, Steve saw Trent had worn nothing underneath. His firm, smooth, oval-shaped pecs stood out, as did his six-pack abs. A tiny trail of hair ran from his belly button down into his Santa pants. Steve wiggled out of his dress shirt and hauled the undershirt over his head. Trent ran his hands up and down Steve’s stomach and finished unbuckling his belt. Then Steve shoved Trent onto the couch, creating a smile. He eased Trent’s Santa pants down to his knees and found he’d worn nothing beneath those either. Then Steve helped him kick out of his pants and dropped to his knees. Steve burrowed between Trent’s legs and took him into his mouth. Trent gasped at the touch, and his head rolled back and forth on the cushion, but he knew enough not to moan loudly. Steve had trained him to savor the pleasure without waking Noah.

8 When Steve pulled him out of his mouth, Trent reached for Steve’s zipper. His dick pointed at him, straight as a ruler. Trent cupped his balls and slid his length into his mouth slowly, inch by inch. Steve grasped the back of Trent’s head while he sucked. Two years ago, Steve had never been with a man. He’d only ever dreamt of a man’s touch and had never tried to realize that dream. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that Trent was his first and only. He’d only needed time to adjust to something new. At first, he never would’ve thought of himself as a bottom, but Trent had introduced him to a wild new sensation, a fresh experience. Steve always started on the bottom, but they always reciprocated. Trent reached into the drawer for the lube and condoms. Steve greased himself while Trent rolled the condom down his length. Then he slathered his cock with lube and eased himself into Steve’s ass. Steve closed his eyes and held his breath until Trent was the entire way in. As he bucked, Trent pinned Steve’s legs back, pressed their bodies together, and kissed Steve’s lips. The art of teasing always kept them hot. Now that they were so close to coming, Trent pulled out. Then Steve stood up and rolled a condom on while Trent greased up. He slid into Trent inch by inch, but from behind. He straddled Trent’s hips and pounded him with his face down in the cushions. After, he stretched out on the couch and let Trent ease down onto his cock. Sex for them seemed different from the way others made love. Neither of them insisted on climaxing during penetration. They preferred to enjoy that together. Once

9 each felt ready, they tore the condom off, held one another and locked lips. Their cocks were always snug in one another’s hands. As they’d done for two years, they lay in one another’s arms and jerked each other off. Their tongues slid into each other’s mouths as they came onto one another’s stomachs. After, Steve decided this would be the last time they would make love like this. Now was the time to be open about their relationship. Steve always felt spent and ready to sleep after any romp, but he wouldn’t rest when he had business to take care of. Steve glanced at Trent. “You know what we’ve got to do in the morning, right?” “You’ve got it.” Trent nodded. “Let’s do this right.” **** Christmas morning Steve decided he’d explained his situation as best he could to an eight-year-old. At first, Noah’s face was blank, but he’d expected no less. That Noah hadn’t cried or stormed out of the room seemed like a small miracle. “So, does this mean Trent’s gonna come live with us?” Noah asked. Steve first turned to Trent as if for permission. “It might. It just might. But for now, we’re taking everything a day at a time.” “But what about Mommy? Don’t you . . .” Steve knew how that sentence would finish, and he still felt unprepared to answer him. The answer he’d practiced was that he’d loved Noah’s mother, and that he still had special feelings for her, but that it was a different kind of love from what he felt for Trent. He refused to patronize his son, or to lessen his answer.

10 Instead, Steve wrapped his arm around his son. “You know no one can ever take your Mom’s place. She’s too special to be replaced. But I know she’d want me to move on with my life and live it the way I need to. You know, according to my heart? Being with Trent and sticking by him is what my heart’s telling me.” Noah’s expression stayed stoic, but Steve knew a smile was imminent. He knew his boy was a trouper. “Sometimes people have different kinds of families,” Steve said. “It’s not always a mommy and a daddy. And if Trent wants to move in with us, we’ll have a different kind of family, but that’s okay. We’ll all be as close and happy as ever. See what I mean?” Trent scraped scrambled eggs onto their plates and refilled Noah’s juice glass. Then he tousled his hair the way Steve did. Noah nodded. “Then this year, Santa just brought me a second daddy?” Trent smiled. “It might seem hard sometimes, but it’s something we can all make work if we stick together.”

11

I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Claus by Ryan Field

On Christmas Eve, Dennis crossed to the cosmetics counter in Macy’s to buy a last-minute gift for his sister-in-law, Doloretta. She was spending the holidays in New York with Dennis and his partner, Mario. Dennis and Mario weren’t legally married, and she wasn’t officially his sister-in-law. But he’d always referred to her this way. They had already bought presents for Doloretta, but Dennis wanted to give her something special; just from him. And he wanted it to be something pretty and feminine and girly. She’d recently gone through a bad divorce and he’d noticed she’d lost motivation. She’d been in New York for more than a week and she’d spent most of her time in the house watching their ten-year-old twin girls. It looked as if she hadn’t had her thick black hair styled in months. And she’d lost so much weight since he’d last seen her that her clothes drooped from her shoulders. Dennis figured an expensive bottle of perfume might make her smile. After Christmas, he was planning to take her to his favorite salon for a complete makeover. She was the only family Mario had left, and Dennis loved her as much as he loved his own sister. But when he reached the cosmetics counter, something else caught his eye. He stopped and stared; his eyebrows furrowed and he rubbed his chin. Beside a small white Christmas tree that had been decorated with gold ornaments, there was a flashy nail polish display. The display shelves were a bright, gilded material with silver sparkles and dots of platinum. The gold shelves were lined with small bottles of nail polish, and all the

12 bottles were shaped like delicate little pears. At the top of each bottle, there were two thin gold metal leaves. The silver sign above the display read, “Blushing Pearls of Pink, For the Softer Side of You.” Dennis looked to the left and looked to the right, then lifted a bottle of nail polish and pressed his lips together. Even though the display was garish, the bottle itself was simple and had been done in good taste. He turned the bottle upside down and read the label. This particular shade was called “Embraceable Blush.” He turned it around again and smiled; his face felt hot and flushed and his pants felt tighter. Holding this small bottle of nail polish reminded him of his early days with Mario. This was before they’d adopted twins, had full-time careers, and monthly mortgage payments on a brownstone in Brooklyn. He returned the bottle to the shelf and reached for another. He turned it upside down and read the bottom. This one was called “Tipsy Pink.” When he shook it a few times, he noticed the color was the most unusual shade of pale pink he’d ever seen. It reminded him of a combination of the notepad he had at home in a kitchen drawer and the bottle of his favorite fabric softener, with flecks of platinum and subtle white sparkles. While he was staring at the bottle, someone said, “It’s just gorgeous, isn’t it? It’s my favorite shade in the collection.” Dennis looked up and blinked. There was a thin young man on the other side of the counter smiling at him. He spoke with a heavy lisp and batted his eyelids too much. He was wearing a white shirt, a pink tie, and black dress slacks. His bleached hair had been combed up on both sides to form a slick, blunt wedge at the top of his head. There

13 was a diamond in his left ear and a silver bolt through his nose. His eyebrows had been plucked into dramatic arches and his entire face glistened with silver sparkles. Dennis jerked his head and said, “It’s very nice.” He had a full erection in his jeans by then and he was glad he’d worn a waist-length coat that day. The young man smiled and said, “I love this shade so much I bought it with my employee discount last week and I’m wearing it on my toes right now.” Dennis blinked again. He put the bottle down on the counter and rubbed his jaw, wondering why this sort of thing always seemed to happen to him. People were forever telling him the most intimate details about themselves. He smiled and said, “Ah well, isn’t that nice?” Though he was openly gay himself and had been since he was in college, he was never quite sure how to react to an overly effeminate gay man. They always seemed to expect more from him than he could give. He didn’t have their sense of wit; he didn’t know how to banter with campy quips. Dennis had always been conservative and quiet. He didn’t use female pronouns with his male friends and he didn’t refer to other gay men as “sister” and “girlfriend.” He didn’t think there was anything wrong with gay men who did this, but it didn’t feel comfortable to him. The young guy stepped back and lifted his leg. He rested it on top of a stool and said, “Do you want to see how it looks? I can take my shoes off and show you.” Dennis laughed. The guy was adorable, and he admired how comfortable the guy was with his feminine side. But he lifted his arms and said, “No. Don’t take off your shoes. I’ll take your word for it. I just stopped by to pick up a bottle of perfume as a last-

14 minute Christmas gift for my sister-in-law. And I’m in a hurry. My partner is meeting me here any minute.” He was telling the truth; Mario hated to wait for anything. The young man put his foot down and frowned. “I should have guessed you have a partner. You’re too cute to be single. When you first walked up to the counter, I thought it was Justin Timberlake.” Dennis smiled and looked down at his shoes. He was flattered. He’d just had his sandy blond hair styled two days earlier, and he was wearing his favorite low-rise jeans. Dennis took pride in his appearance. At thirty-five years old, he still had a thirty–twoinch waist, a tight round butt, and a solid chest. When he took showers at his gym, he noticed other guys staring at him all the time. And sometimes women even flirted with him. He smiled at the guy and said, “No. I’m not single. I’ve been with my partner for fifteen years. We have twins…girls.” And he had the grease stains and fingerprints on his coffee table to prove it. “That’s so cool,” the guy said. “Fifteen years is a long time.” Dennis nodded. “Yes, it is, and if I don’t get a bottle of perfume fast, I might wind up single by New Year’s Eve.” He was joking around, but he didn’t want to begin telling the story of his life that afternoon to a complete stranger. He knew Mario would be there any minute and he still had a million things to do before they drove back to Brooklyn Heights to celebrate Christmas Eve. “What can I get for you?” the guy asked, staring at Dennis’s lips.

15 Dennis shrugged his shoulders and said, “I’m not really sure. I don’t know much about women’s perfume. I just want something very feminine, very sexy, and very girly. My sister-in-law has had a rough time, and I want something special for her.” The young guy pulled an ornate bottle of perfume out from under the counter and mentioned the name and the price. “She’ll just die for this one,” he said. “It’s lovely.” It was more money than Dennis had expected to pay, but Mario’s sister was worth it. So he handed the guy his credit card and asked if the guy could gift wrap it. The guy smiled and leaned forward. He whispered, “I’m not supposed to. The store has a free gift wrap department. But I’ll do it for you because you’re so cute. Just wait here.” Then he took the bottle and disappeared behind a tall makeup display. While Dennis waited, he reached for the bottle of Tipsy Pink nail polish. He turned it sideways and watched the liquid flow down the side of the bottle. The platinum flecks swirled, creating a marble effect. When he imagined how it would look on his own toenails, his penis grew hard again. A minute later, while Dennis was still gazing at the bottle, Mario stepped up behind and said, “What’s up?” When he heard Mario’s deep voice, his shoulders jumped and he almost dropped the Tipsy Pink on the other side of the counter. He pressed his palm to his chest and said, “You almost gave me a heart attack.” Mario smiled and looked down at the nail polish. “What’s that, Daddy?” He asked. In a playful way, he often referred to Dennis as “Daddy.” His hands were filled with bags and half of his shirt collar was sticking out of his coat. He hadn’t shaved today and his heavy black beard had begun to cover his angular face.

16 “I’m just buying a last-minute gift for Doloretta,” Dennis said. He looked across the counter and noticed that the young guy was listening to them. “I wanted to get her something special, a bottle of perfume. The salesperson is gift wrapping it.” Then he put the nail polish back on the display shelf and rubbed his palms on his jacket as if he’d just touched something dirty. Mario’s eyebrows went up. He smiled and said, “For a minute, I thought you were buying nail polish.” Dennis laughed. “No. I’m not buying nail polish to give as a gift to Doloretta. I bought her an expensive bottle of perfume. I was just looking at the colors because I had nothing else to do.” He forced his voice to remain even and natural, trying hard not to sound defensive. He didn’t want Mario to know he’d been so fascinated with the nail polish. He wasn’t sure how Mario would react. Though their sex life was regular and Dennis didn’t have any huge complaints, they’d stopped doing the little kinky things they’d done during the first five years of their relationship. After they adopted the twins and Mario started calling him Daddy, their sex life became a nice, comfortable routine. Mario would mount him four or five times a week, buck his hips for ten minutes, and they’d come together. “I’ll go out and get the car while you’re waiting,” Mario said. “Meet me out front at the curb. If I’m not there, then wait. I’m circling the block.” He watched Mario disappear into a crowd of Christmas shoppers. Mario still walked with the same sexy stride, and his slightly bowed legs still made Dennis’s mouth water. From a distance, Mario looked like the same dark, young football player with

17 whom he’d fallen in love fifteen years earlier. Dennis hadn’t been with any other man since then. Dennis sighed and looked down at the nail polish display. Their sex life hadn’t always been boring. The first night they’d met in college, Dennis had been wearing a tight black miniskirt, black stilettos, and a long blond wig. They’d both gone to the same Halloween costume party alone, never expecting to meet anyone special. Dennis went in drag and Mario went as a football player. Dennis had never done drag before that night. After a few drunken guys thought he was actually a woman, he stuck close to his friends in a dark corner of the party, waiting to go back to his dorm and take off the costume. But Mario noticed him standing there. Before the party even ended, they wound up in the back seat of Mario’s car with Mario’s hand up the back of the short, black dress. After that, Dennis didn’t do full drag again in public. But they did do a few kinky things in the privacy of their own bedroom that left them both breathless on many occasions. Mario asked him to wear the black stilettos often, and he asked Mario to wear his football uniform and helmet. Mario loved it when Dennis wore blond wigs during sex. And when Dennis gave Mario hand jobs, sometimes he wore long, red, fake fingernails, which made Mario explode across the room. And the night Dennis surprised him by wearing a tight black corset and black fishnet stockings was unforgettable. Mario threw him down on the bed and nailed him to the mattress for two hours. Dennis had bruises on his legs the next morning. When the young man finally handed him the gift-wrapped perfume box and his credit card, he said, “Here you go, Daddy.”

18 Dennis gave him a look, thanked him, and left the store. Mario was outside waiting for him in their new Cadillac SUV. This was the first new car they’d bought in twelve years. Their old minivan had literally fallen apart. The new car had been a Christmas-birthday-anniversary present they’d given to each other that year. Mario worked for a pharmaceutical company and Dennis taught school in Brooklyn. They both had good salaries, but they watched their money and thought about the future, knowing that college tuition for two girls wasn’t going to be cheap. When he reached the car, Mario jumped out and said, “I left my sunglasses in the store. I don’t want to lose them. You get behind the wheel and wait for me. If they make you move, circle the block. I’ll be down in a minute.” Then Mario jogged toward the store while Dennis stood there with his mouth half open. He hated driving in Manhattan, and he hated driving there on Christmas Eve. If he’d been alone, he wouldn’t even have taken the car. He wound up circling the block seven times. When he finally saw Mario standing on the corner in front of Macy’s, almost a half hour had passed. Dennis pulled up to the curb. A taxi honked; a bus driver cursed at them. Mario flipped the bus driver his middle finger and jumped into the passenger seat. “I’d like to know where that bus driver’s Christmas spirit is today,” he said. Dennis put the car into gear and hit the gas. “Did you get your glasses?” Mario pulled his sunglasses out of his pocket and waved them in Dennis’s direction. He smiled and said, “Safe and sound.”

19 Dennis laughed. They had other errands to run and he wouldn’t have bothered going back if they had been his sunglasses. But he smiled and said, “I’m glad you found them.” After six more stops, they pulled into a gas station on the other side of the Brooklyn Bridge. The car still had more than a quarter of a tank of gas, but Mario liked keeping it full at all times. Dennis would have waited until it was empty. He had things to do at home. They were having dinner guests and he hadn’t even started preparing the meal. And there were gifts to organize from Santa Claus. But Dennis had learned early in their relationship that keeping a full tank of gas was one of the many small compromises he’d have to make. A dark young man stepped out of the building. He strutted sideways, with his hands on his pockets, and tipped his handsome head back with attitude. His jeans were baggy and the waistband of his boxer shorts was showing. He had straight black hair, a black goatee, and large diamonds in both ears. Dennis bit his lip and lowered the window. The young guy leaned forward and rested his hand on the door frame. “What can I get you?” he asked. He had a thick Brooklyn accent. His voice was deep and raspy; his hand was large and his fingers were smooth and thick. Dennis squared his shoulders and said, “Fill it with premium.” Then he handed the guy a credit card and took a quick breath. This guy was hot. Dennis was ready to fall on his knees and suck the guy’s fingers one at a time. He stared into the side mirror and pretended to adjust his seat belt. He didn’t want Mario to know he was watching the young guy walk away. ****

20 Before the dinner guests left, Doloretta took the kids upstairs and put them to bed so Dennis and Mario could entertain their friends alone for a while. Dennis thanked her a thousand times; she deserved two bottles of expensive perfume just for this small act of consideration. They wanted the kids to be sound asleep so they could start organizing the Christmas gifts from Santa Claus. By the time the guests left, it was after midnight and the kids were sleeping. The kids’ bedroom and the guest bedroom in the old Brooklyn brownstone were on the fourth floor and Dennis knew it was safe to start arranging the gifts around the Christmas tree. While Mario brought the gifts upstairs from the basement, Dennis stood in the middle of the living room and stared at his Christmas tree. He sipped eggnog and smiled. One of the things he loved most about the Brooklyn Heights brownstone was the tall ceilings. This year he’d found the tallest, fullest tree they’d ever had. He’d decorated it traditionally, with old-fashioned multicolored lights, glass antique ornaments, and long crystal icicles. It stood at the end of the living room, centered in the front bay window, as if it were a member of the family back for a yearly visit. From the outside, you could see the lights shining all the way up Remsen Street. An hour later, when all the presents were around the tree, Mario yawned and stretched his muscular arms. “I’m beat,” he said. “Let’s go upstairs and get some sleep.” He stepped up to where Dennis was kneeling by the tree and rubbed his crotch against Dennis’s cheek. He’d had a few glasses of wine, and wine always made him horny. Dennis grabbed Mario’s crotch, squeezed it a few times, and laughed. “I’ll be up in a minute,” he said. “I have to put the Christmas tree plate on the coffee table.” Each year on Christmas Eve he told the kids he put a full plate of cookies on the coffee table.

21 He only put out an empty plate. But in the morning, when the kids stared at the empty plate with wide eyes, he told them Santa Claus had eaten all the cookies. When the Christmas tree plate was on the table and everything was set up for Christmas morning, Dennis unplugged the tree lights and went upstairs to bed. He’d been up since six that morning. His feet were sore, his eyelids were heavy, and the wine he’d had with dinner had given him a slight headache. Wine made him tired, not horny. All he wanted to do was fall into bed and close his eyes. But when he walked into the bedroom, Mario was sitting up in bed, watching TV stark naked, with his dark hairy legs crossed at the ankle. He was holding the remote in one hand and rubbing his balls with the other. Dennis took one look at him and sighed. His head was pounding; he wasn’t in the mood for sex. “I thought you’d be sleeping by now,” he said. “You kept yawning so much.” Actually, he’d been hoping and praying that Mario would be sleeping so he could avoid sex that night. Mario smiled and spread his legs apart. He put down the remote and reached for his semi-erect penis. He shook it a few times and said, “I’m not that tired, Daddy.” Dennis shook his head and smiled. Mario had a strong libido; he was always horny and his dick was always ready to go. And even though Dennis could have lived without sex that night, he smiled and said, “It has to be a quickie. I’m ready to drop right now. And I don’t feel very sexy tonight. I feel like a chamber maid who needs a hot bath.” He’d never been able to refuse Mario; it just didn’t seem right to say no to a good man with a strong sex drive. But this had always been a fundamental difference between them. Sex with Mario was instinctive and simple. He only thought about getting it up and

22 getting off. But sex with Dennis was more emotional. He had to be in the mood and he had to feel sexy. Mario smiled and got out of bed. He was fully erect by then. While Dennis removed his clothes, Mario stood next to the bed, watching him undress, jerking his dick slowly. Dennis dropped his clothes in the middle of the room; he’d pick them up on the morning. When he pulled off his underwear, he climbed up on the bed and backed into Mario on his hands and knees. This was the way they usually did quickies. There were no surprises and Dennis knew what to expect. Mario covered his dick with lube, grabbed Dennis’s right hip with one hand, and inserted his penis into Dennis’s body with his other hand. They’d been monogamous for fifteen years so there was no need for condoms. Dennis spread his legs wider and arched his back. He’d learned how to accommodate Mario’s extra thick erection years ago. As he slowly backed into Mario’s body, and Mario’s dick slipped into his hole, he tossed his head back and closed his eyes. When Mario was in as deeply as he could go, Dennis smiled. Mario had always been a perfect fit. When Mario started bucking his hips, Dennis’s penis grew to a full erection. Dennis reached between his legs to hold his own dick so he could jerk off while Mario fucked him. Mario was a rough lover, and he pounded with such force, the bed rocked and the sheets gathered around Denniss’ knees. It didn’t take long. Five minutes later, Mario started to grunt. Dennis knew this meant Mario was close to climax. Dennis jerked his dick faster, because he wasn’t close. Actually, he was nowhere near climax. But he didn’t want to disappoint Mario, so he started to fantasize about things that turned him on. While Mario fucked, Dennis closed

23 his eyes and pictured the young nelly guy he’d met at the cosmetics counter and the rough-looking gas station attendant with the deep voice. He visualized the gas station attendant fucking the delicate little guy from the cosmetics counter. The guy from the cosmetics counter was stark naked, and his toenails were painted with Tipsy Pink polish. The gas station attendant was fully clothed, but his dick was out of his pants and he was fucking the cosmetic counter guy on the hood of Dennis’s Cadillac SUV. It was a fantasy: the gas attendant’s dick was more than a foot long. When Mario whispered, “I’m coming,” and started fucking Dennis harder, Dennis pictured the gas station attendant fucking the cosmetic guy harder. The more Dennis thought about the rough guy’s dirty hands pressed against the gentle guy’s soft white thighs, the closer he came to orgasm. When Mario exploded inside Dennis’s body, Dennis pictured the cosmetic guy’s pink toenails again and he came all over the bedspread. He always felt guilty when he fantasized during sex with Mario, but it was the little kinks like the pink nail polish that always got him off. He couldn’t explain this to Mario because he didn’t think Mario would understand. Besides, he never fantasized about being with someone else. He just fantasized about other people doing it. After Dennis changed the sheets and took care of things in the bathroom, Dennis plopped into bed and kissed Mario good night. He smiled and said, “Merry Christmas.” Mario kissed him and yawned. He scratched his balls and said, “That was a good fuck tonight, Daddy. I felt your body almost tremble. What were you thinking about?” Dennis turned his head and rested it on the pillow, then reached back and patted Mario’s thigh. “I was thinking about how much I love you.” Then he closed his eyes and went to sleep.

24 A few hours later, while Mario’s chest rose and fell with the same rhythm as his loud snores, Dennis felt a tug on his index finger. He ignored it; he shook his hand and moved it toward his face. A few seconds later, he felt a gentle pat on his elbow. He remained silent for a moment, then opened his eyes and looked up. There was someone standing over him at the edge of the bed. He sat up and pressed his palm to his chest. He blinked and said, “Who are you? How did you get in here? I’m calling the police.” The figure standing over him pressed his index finger to his lips and said, “Shush, you don’t want to wake anyone.” It was a soft, feminine voice; vaguely familiar. He reached for Dennis’s hand and said, “Follow me. I want to show you something.” When Dennis realized the man holding his hand was the same young guy from the cosmetics counter in Macy’s, he pulled the covers back and climbed out of bed. He was only wearing boxer shorts but he was glad he hadn’t gone to bed naked that night. Though he should have been terrified, he felt an unusual sense of calm pass through his body. He knew there was nothing to fear, so he allowed the guy to walk him out of the bedroom and into the hallway. It was lighter out in the hallway and he could see well. The guy from the cosmetic counter was dressed as a Christmas elf, with a pointy green hat, a little green suit, and high-heeled slippers that curled up and rounded at the toes. His soft face was covered in sparkles and he was wearing pink lipstick. Dennis pressed his palm to his throat and said, “Who are you? What are you?” The little green elf smiled and batted his long eyelashes. “I’m Santa’s little helper.” Then he reached into Dennis’s boxer shorts and grabbed his balls.

25 “Huh?” He must have had more wine than he thought he’d had that night. But he liked the way the kinky little elf was holding his ball sack. “Just follow me,” the elf said, pulling his small hand out of Dennis’s shorts. “I have surprise for you under the Christmas tree.” Then he grabbed Dennis’s hand and yanked it hard. Dennis hesitated for a moment, then followed the elf down the stairs. When they reached the living room, the Christmas tree lights were on, and there were hundreds of candles burning on every single table in the room. He stared back and forth with his mouth open. He never would have lit that many candles at one time. He’d always been terrified of candles because of the children. The elf released Dennis’s hand and turned to face the Christmas tree. “Here he is, Santa. But he’s a little confused.” Dennis turned to see who else was in the room, and when he did, he grabbed the back of the sofa and gasped. Santa Claus was standing beside the Christmas tree, holding a large, red velvet sack. But this wasn’t a jolly old Santa with a big round belly and a long white beard. This was the rough gas station attendant, wearing nothing but a red velvet hat with white fur trim, a red jockstrap with a little white puff in the center, and heavy black work boots. “What are you doing here?” Dennis asked. Santa smiled and rubbed his flat, rippled stomach. “I have a special Christmas present just for you, Daddy.” He stepped away from the tree and reached into the red velvet bag. He pulled out a bottle of nail polish and said, “Merry Christmas. It’s Tipsy Pink, your favorite shade.” His voice was deep; his Brooklyn accent was strong.

26 Dennis opened his eyes wider; he didn’t blink. While he was staring at the almost naked Santa, the elf pulled down his boxer shorts. Dennis didn’t have time to stop him. The elf just yanked them down, got down on his knees and pulled them off his feet. Dennis covered his private parts and said, “This is ridiculous. I’m calling the police.” The elf laughed and waved his hand, then reached for Dennis’s balls and pulled him to a leather easy chair with an ottoman where Santa was standing. “Sit down and relax,” he said, pushing him into the chair. Dennis fell back into the chair and the elf lifted his legs to the top of the ottoman. When Dennis looked up, Santa’s red jockstrap was practically in his face. It was a huge red bulge with a white puff; he could see the outline of Santa’s big dick pointing down. It smelled tweedy and damp. He clutched the arms of the chair and said, “What are you going to do with me now?” The elf laughed. “You’re going to like this, Daddy.” Then Santa got down on his knees and said, “Just sit back, Daddy, and close your eyes. This is the best Christmas present you’re ever going to receive.” His voice made Dennis’s balls jump higher. He had the kind of body that Dennis had imagined he would have. From the waist up, he was lean and muscular and smooth. And from the waist down, he was dark and hairy and rugged. Before Dennis could refuse, the elf grabbed his left foot and Santa opened the bottle of Tipsy Pink nail polish. The elf held the bottle while Santa painted each one of his toenails Tipsy Pink. By the time each toenail was painted, Dennis had a full erection resting against his stomach. The elf pointed at Dennis’s dick and licked his lips. Santa

27 stood up, smiled at Dennis, then sat down on the arm of the chair. Dennis reached out and placed his palm on Santa’s hairy thigh. He rubbed it with his left hand and grabbed his dick with his right. Santa pinched his right nipple hard. He smiled and said, “Are you ready?” Dennis grabbed Santa’s hard thigh and arched his back. He wanted him to pinch his other nipple, too. “For what?” His voice went up and he had to concentrate on his breathing. Santa released his nipple and stood up from the chair. He reached into the red jockstrap and pulled out his dick. It was long and thick, and a darker shade of brown than Mario’s dick was. He kicked the ottoman aside with his black boot, lifted Dennis’s legs up in the air, and shook his dick up and down. “Are you ready for this?” Dennis stared down at his pink toenails. His heart pounded and his chest heaved. He spread his legs as wide as they would go. He looked at Santa’s dick and said, “Give it to me, Santa. I’m ready.” Then he closed his eyes and grabbed his dick. He repeated, “I’m ready, I’m ready, I’m ready,” until he felt a hard tug on his shoulder. When he opened his eyes, he was still saying, “I’m ready.” But Santa and his helper were gone, and the morning sun was shining through the front windows of his bedroom. He was holding his erection and Mario was shaking his shoulder. “Are you okay?” Mario asked. He stopped shaking Dennis’s shoulder and started to caress it with tender strokes.

28 Dennis rubbed his eyes and looked around the room. It had all been so real. But the elf was gone; rough, naked Santa was nowhere to be found. He smiled and said, “I’m fine. I just had a very vivid dream. What time is it?” It felt as if he’d just closed his eyes. Mario kissed him on the lips. “It’s around seven. Merry Christmas, Daddy.” When he looked up, he saw Mario was wearing a Santa Claus hat. He smiled and said, “The girls are going to love that hat. I’d better get up and get downstairs before they get up.” He liked watching them open their gifts from Santa. They were ten years old and he knew the Santa years were almost over. But Mario climbed on top of him and pinned him to the bed. He sat on his stomach and said, “You can get up in a little while. Doloretta can handle the kids. I told her last night that we’d be spending some alone time in bed this morning.” Dennis rested his palms on Mario’s naked thighs and squeezed them with his fingertips. They were just as hairy and strong as the thighs he’d seen on Santa in his dream. The only difference was that Mario wasn’t wearing a red jockstrap. He was totally naked and his dick was pointing toward Dennis’s lips. Dennis placed his palms on Mario’s thighs and asked, “What are you up to?” Mario reached into the nightstand and pulled a small box from the drawer. It was wrapped in gold Christmas paper, with a bright silver bow. He handed it to Dennis and said, “Merry Christmas, Daddy. I love you.” Dennis looked at the gift and frowned. “That’s not fair. We said we weren’t getting each other any other gifts this year. We said the new car was our gift to each other. I don’t have anything for you.”

29 Mario smiled. “I didn’t spend much money on this. It was very cheap. Just open it. It’s not a big deal and it’s something we can both use all year long.” Dennis pressed his lips together, wondering what on Earth it could be. He ripped off the paper and looked down at a small white box. When he opened the box, he pulled out a small pear-shaped bottle. He turned it upside down and read the label. It was the nail polish he’d been looking at in Macy’s. Tipsy Pink. He tilted his head. “What is this all about?” He was confused; he hadn’t mentioned this to anyone. Mario shrugged his shoulders. His dick jerked up. He looked down at Dennis’s chest and said, “When I saw you looking at this nail polish yesterday, I got really excited. I wanted to paint your toes and fuck you right on the cosmetics counter. When I told you I was going back to get my sunglasses, I really went back to get the nail polish.” Dennis laughed. “Ah well, that’s just wrong. I believed you.” Then he looked at the bottle and said, “Do you really want me to put this on?” Mario’s eyes popped and he shook his head up and down fast. “Yes, and I want to put it on for you. And when I’m finished, I’m going to rub my dick all over your toes. After that, I’m going to fuck your brains out while you press your kinky pink toes against my chest.” Dennis blinked. He’d only expected a yes or no answer. Evidently, Mario had been thinking about Tipsy Pink nail polish as much as Dennis had. He smiled and spread his legs wider. He threw his arms back over his head and said, “I guess I don’t have a choice. Go ahead. Open that bottle of Tipsy Pink and have fun. This will be my Christmas present to you.”

30 Mario leaned forward and kissed him again. “What were you dreaming about last night?” Dennis closed his eyes and laughed. “I dreamed I saw Daddy kissing Santa Claus.” He didn’t want to go into detail. His dreams were private and no one had a right to know them. Mario got up fast. He pulled the covers off and shook the bottle of nail polish. He adjusted his Santa hat and said, “Well, Daddy’s going to do a lot more than that to Santa Claus this morning.” Then he pulled Dennis’s boxer shorts off with one hand and went to the foot of the bed. Dennis closed his eyes and rested his head on the pillow. When he felt the first drop of Tipsy Pink touch his big toe, he didn’t think about the rough gas station attendant or the cute little guy from the cosmetics counter. He smiled and imagined his feet pressed against Mario’s strong, familiar chest.

31

The Best Christmas Ever by Clancy Nacht

At first, I was too young to understand what was happening. I would be put on the red furry thigh of some old man in a beard and he would ask me if I had been good or bad and what I wanted for Christmas. It was an awkward conversation, particularly since he seemed to know my name and I was too young to talk. But that was just the first couple of years. After that, this fellow became known around our house as Santa Claus and while I thought that for the most part, he smelled of cologne, sweat, and urine from children who weren't reliably potty trained. I knew I'd always get a second personal visit in which he brought me neatly wrapped toys. This was as it was, and as far as I knew, how it was for everyone else. Barring one thing, it was like everyone else. No one else's father sat on Santa's lap at the mall. They certainly never had a whispering conversation which left them both giving each other sly looks and winks. Each year I'd hoped that meant that there was a special plan for me to get a pony. Alas, it never happened. Not to say that Santa's visits on Christmas Eve weren't welcome. After all, it was his night and he brought the gifts. I would stay downstairs by the giant Fraser fir bedecked with as many ornaments as it could bear, playing with my little brother, Mikey. We'd shake the boxes, dreaming about what might be inside. I hoped there would be practical things for my pony like hay or a bridle—the sort of thing you could actually wrap. None of the boxes was big enough for a saddle except for one disappointing year where the big box held a Barbie Mansion.

32 Santa never stayed downstairs with us kids for long. Not since mommy left and Brad showed up. In fact, I don't remember Santa visiting us before Brad. Year round Brad tried to remain gainfully employed as an actor with moderate success. Fortunately, Daddy was an engineer. Brad always seemed to get busy around Christmas. We'd all miss him terribly, but Daddy felt his absence most keenly, of course. We never saw Brad on Christmas Eve. He always claimed he had a previous engagement and he would see us after midnight. Brad kept his word and always showed up looking mussed and harried, but the fact that he had never met this interloper Santa Claus made me annually anxious. Daddy always made Santa's excuses for him. After all, there were so many children in the world who needed to receive presents that once they were out of his sack and under the tree, Daddy and Santa would sneak off upstairs. Daddy said he had to properly thank Santa for our presents and to make sure he got off to the roof safely. Every year, Daddy wouldn't come down for about an hour. I wondered what he and Santa talked about for that long. In the past, I idealistically thought they were planning next year's toys. This year, though, as I was almost ten, I was much more grown up and worldly. My Daddy's absence made me suspicious. I pulled my robe tighter against the cold I was anticipating if the door to the attic was open, as it should be if Daddy was seeing Santa out. I crept up the stairs and heard some moaning coming from the room where Daddy and Brad slept together. The door wasn't closed, leaving a sliver of the bedroom visible to prying eyes. It wasn't cold at all, but it was dark and so I squinted to make sense of the shapes.

33 That's when I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. There was my Daddy. My blue-eyed, dark-haired lanky Daddy and he was bent close to this large jolly man in white and red velvet. They were in front of the bed, under the mistletoe, kissing. And not just a chaste peck on the lips like you normally give someone you chance upon under the Christmas weed. They were kissing hard, with tongue. I'd only seen Daddy kiss Brad like that before and I didn't care to see him do that with anyone else. Rather than slinking off to pretend I hadn't seen my Daddy kissing this Santa Claus, the jolly usurper, I confronted them, right then and there. "Hey! You can't be kissing my Daddy. That's for Brad. Keep your fluffy black mitts off!" I stomped my foot to punctuate my seriousness as I threw the door open wide. All Daddy and Santa did was burst into a hysterical fit of giggles. "And what are those presents anyway? Are you trying to bribe me not to tell Brad? Because I am going to tell him, so you might as well take them back. And you, Daddy. You may be my Daddy, but he's my Braddy! Shame on you for playing him out like that! You barely know this guy. You only see him once a year. Why do you do it?" My Daddy tried to stop laughing long enough to say something, but all he got out was, "Honey—" "You've tainted this whole experience…You know what? I don't even want a pony anymore. And you can take your stinking Easy Bake Oven or whatever else you brought right back to your elves, because I'll have none of your blood toys." By then, Santa was crying. Fat tears dribbled down his flushed face, taking some of his blush with it. Santa fell to his knees in front of me and though I fought him, he pulled me into a firm embrace and kissed my forehead.

34 I tried to kick him in the junk. With some help from my Daddy, he pulled off his hat, wig, and beard, dropping them all to the floor beside him. He wasn't Santa at all. He was Brad. Brad was my Santa Claus. I blushed furiously and looked sheepish but Brad just cuddled me close against his round pillow belly. I held him tight, so happy to see him and so happy my Daddy wasn't going to blow it with him. I could remember a time before Mommy left, before the divorce. We'd all felt like something wasn't right. There was always so much fighting. For a while, Daddy was sad. But then Brad showed up, and Brad had made our family whole. "I'm so pleased you'd fight for me, Mira. This is the best present anyone could ask for." Even Daddy was tearing up. That's when Mikey came in. I don't know when he came up or how much he heard. He asked, "Braddy, why are you wearing Santa's clothes?" No one answered, so with a shrug, Mikey joined in the group hug. I saw Daddy kissing Santa Claus, and it was the best Christmas ever.

35

Just Like Santa by J.L. Merrow

"Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle all the—Jason, you've got your 'Bah, Humbug' face on again. That's not going to impress the kiddies—or their parents." Maggie dumped the sack of presents in the doorway and stood there with her hands on her hips, trying to glare me into the holiday spirit. "It's all right for you, isn't it?" I countered. "You just get to bung a bit of tinsel in your hair. I'm the one who has to shove a pillow up my shirt and go out dressed like this!" I love working at the Bright Eyes nursery, don't get me wrong. Yeah, it's a constant round of cleaning up floors, noses, and nappies, but if you've never seen the look on a kid's face when he's taken his first few steps, well, you're missing out, that's all I can say. Sometimes, though, the people who run the place really get on my nerves. I mean, we work all year round at creating a safe, familiar environment for the babies and toddlers so they won't feel bad at being left by their parents and will actually look forward to coming here, and then what do management tell us to do? We have to feed the kids up on cakes, biscuits, and sugary drinks and tell them something really, really special's going to happen, and when they're all literally wetting themselves with excitement, we herd them into another room and in walks a big fat man with a beard and a sack and a scary deep voice going, "Ho, ho, ho!" It takes about three seconds before the first child starts howling in terror, and that sets all the rest of them off, of course. And this is with their parents there, mind. The

36 nursery always invites the mums and dads to the Christmas party; I think it's so they can see what we have to deal with just before they put the fees up in January. I'm sure you've guessed where all this is going. Yeah, me being our only male member of staff, I'm always the one who has to put on the Santa suit. And before you ask, no, it's not much fun having all the kids suddenly hate you on sight. It's not like it's even a decent costume. Must've been the cheapest on the market stall when it was bought, that one, and it hasn't got any better for living in the back of a cupboard three hundred and sixty-four days of the year ever since. "I don't think this is going to last another year," I told Maggie, picking at the moth holes, while she made sure my beard was hanging right. "Just as long as it lasts for the next half hour," she said with a grin, and gave me a playful dig in the belly. Well, the pillow that was standing in for it, anyway. "Now, do you want me to point out all the new single dads? Although it seems to me there's only one single dad you're interested in…" She broke off with a leer. "Maggie!" "That's better." She smiled. "You've got nice rosy red cheeks to go with the costume, now." "Um, Maggie, how did you know I was…" "Women's intuition." She tapped the side of her nose. "And don't worry, love, I wouldn't dream of telling anyone. Now get along with you. There's children out there to frighten!" So in I walked and off they went, howling the place down. Still, it's traditional, I suppose. I sat down on one of the nursery chairs, which isn't easy when you're six feet

37 tall and the seat's designed for the average two-year-old. Parents started bringing their kids up for presents, then taking them themselves when the poor little things refused to go anywhere near the scary red man. In other words, it all seemed to be going pretty much as per usual. Except that some of the parents—especially the mums—seemed to be finding it a bit more fun this year. And Poppy's dad was just staring at me the whole time. I look after the older kids, the ones who are almost ready for preschool, and Poppy's in my class this year. She's a sweet kid, just turned three. Really chatty, so I know all about her not having a mummy. Her dad's called Alec. He's a banker, but he's all right, really. Looks good in a suit, like he works out or something. Every now and then, we'd get talking when he came to pick his kid up, and I'd think, maybe—but I never had the nerve to try to find out. When Poppy's turn for a present came, Alec led her up by the hand. She was bolder than all the rest and didn't cry or hang back, but instead of taking her gaily wrapped pack of felt tip pens, she turned to her dad and announced loudly, "Santa's got funny pants on!" I almost broke the no-swearing rule when I looked down and saw that my costume had split right along the inseam and up to the crotch, giving all the kids and their parents an elves'-eye view of just what Santa kept under his baggy red trousers. Sod's law, I would have to be wearing the briefs with little hearts all over them my ex gave me for Christmas last year. I shut my legs so fast you could hear my knees bang together. The mums burst out laughing. I'd like to think Alec gave me a sympathetic look, but I was too busy wishing I could sink through the floor to really be sure.

38 The rest of Santa's visit passed in a haze of embarrassment and deafening crying. I got out of there as soon as I could to get my own clothes on and put that bloody costume in the bin. I didn't care if management ended up charging me for a new one. It was absolutely bloody typical. The first chance I'd got to maybe talk to Alec about something other than whether Poppy ate her lunch or not and I'd ended up making a complete arse of myself. "Jason?" Maggie's voice cut into my self-pity party as she stuck her head round the door. "You decent? You can't hide in there forever, you know. Some of the parents are going to want to see you." "What, you don't think they've seen quite enough already? Bloody hell, Maggie, you could've told me!" "I was standing behind you with the rest of the staff, all right? I didn't have any more clue than you did about your impromptu bit of sex education!" She grinned. "Some of the mums are saying this has been the best nursery Christmas party they've been to! Come on, love, just smile and it'll soon be over." I made my way out into the crush, smile dutifully plastered on. Maggie's tight grip on my arm didn't give me a lot of option, really. It could have been worse. Only two of the mums pressed their phone numbers into my hand. Poppy's dad seemed to have left, which was just as well. I'd probably have blushed as red as the hearts on my undies if I'd seen him. After we'd wiped the last tears off the kids' faces and all the four-by-fours had driven off, I went round checking the playgrounds were locked and nothing had been left

39 outside. It was fully dark by now, with only the security lights casting a warm glow over the grounds, and there was a freshness in the air that hinted of snow to come. There was a squeal of "Jason!" and Poppy flung her arms round my legs. I crouched down to talk to her—she was rosy-cheeked from the cold and her nose needed wiping, so I pulled out a tissue and got her to blow. "I thought you'd gone home, Popsicle! Where have you been hiding?" "Daddy let me play outside. It was too noisy indoors. I found a conker." She held up a battered looking fir cone. "That's not a conker, sweetie, it's a fir cone, from a fir tree. Like a Christmas tree, you know?" Poppy looked at the fir cone like it had been handpicked by Santa himself and sent down the chimney especially for her. I heard a throat being cleared and stood up to find Alec smiling at me. "Interesting visit from Santa, wasn't it?" he said with a smile that made his eyes crinkle up at the corners, like birds' footprints in the snow. "Oh—before I forget." Alec fumbled with his wallet and pulled out a couple of notes. "Here. It's a donation. For a new, ahem, pair of trousers for Santa?" His eyes were twinkling. I gave a mock groan. "Thanks," I said ironically, shoving the notes in my back pocket—but suddenly I didn't feel so bad about it all. "Is Jason going to give it to him?" Poppy asked. I nodded. "I'll make sure Santa gets it. Wouldn't want him getting cold on Christmas Eve, now would we?"

40 Poppy's little eyes widened, and she shook her head so violently her hat fell off. I bent down automatically to get it, and almost banged heads with Alec when he did the same thing. "Sorry!" we both said in unison, then laughed. There was a bit under his jaw line he'd missed with the razor this morning where the stubble was longer than the five o'clock shadow that added definition to the rest of his face. Not that I was staring at him or anything. "And I'm sorry about earlier," Alec added as he plonked his daughter's hat back on. "I was going to say something to you discreetly about the, ah, wardrobe failure, but I'm afraid Poppy beat me to it." I gave a lopsided smile. "I would have to be wearing my most embarrassing underwear, wouldn't I?" "Present from your girlfriend?" Alec asked, with a lightness in his tone that didn't match the sudden tension in his eyes. "My ex." I took a deep breath. "Ex-boyfriend, actually." He didn't look shocked, or embarrassed, or revolted. He looked pleased, as far as I could tell. I wondered if I should say something, ask him out— "Can Jason come to tea?" Poppy burst out. "We're having pasta shells!" she added proudly. I looked at Alec, ready to make an excuse a three-year-old would accept. But the expression on his face stopped me short. "We'd love to have you," he said with a serious tone and a look in his eyes that made my stomach flip over. His mouth curled up again, and his dark eyes seemed to glitter. "Although I'm afraid we really are having pasta shells."

41 "Good thing they're my favourite, then," I said, grinning down at Poppy. **** It wasn't just pasta shells, of course. Alec made a pretty decent sauce to go with it, and we all had chocolate mousse for afters, because Poppy insisted. I helped Alec put her to bed, and we sat down with a beer and watched football, and when the match ended he leaned over and kissed me long and slow, his lips warm, soft, and tasting of lager. "All right?" he asked, pulling back a little. "Yeah. Just as long as you don't kiss everyone Poppy asks home for tea, mind." Alec laughed. "You know, you're all she ever talks about when she gets home from nursery. Jason did this. Jason said that. Jason told me off for throwing my peas on the floor and made me pick them up." "Yeah, well, she's one of my favourites too." I hesitated. "So how does a nice guy like you get to be a single dad?" Alec shrugged. "The usual way. Got married to prove I was straight, found out it didn't work like that." He sighed. "Rachael only had a baby because I wanted one so much, and I was the one who always took time off to look after Poppy, so she was fine with me getting custody. Relieved, actually, I think—she's not exactly the earth-mother type. She's working in New York now, doing far better than I ever will." "I think you're doing fine," I told him, brushing his thigh with my fingertips. "You've got a great kid, a good job," I waved my hand around, "a lovely house, and you're really fit. I don't think it gets better than that." Alec raised an eyebrow. "Oh? I can think of one way things could be better." "Yeah? How's that, then?" I challenged.

42 His eyes were crinkling up again. "You could come over here and kiss me again— and better yet, give me another look at those 'funny pants' of yours!" Well, I wasn't going to refuse an invitation like that. I leaned over and took hold of his chin, the stubble rasping under my fingers, making them tingle. I kissed him harder than he'd kissed me, and he responded in kind, his tongue darting between my lips. The angle was awkward so without breaking the kiss I twisted and lifted a leg over his lap, straddling him. Alec moaned into my mouth as I settled down against his hard cock, ramming my own erection into his stomach. "God, that feels good," he breathed. "Same here," I told him, pushing his shirt up to bare his chest. He'd changed when we'd got here, out of his business suit and into a T-shirt and sweatpants. I liked that. Much easier to get him out of. Bending my head, I tongued first one nipple and then the other, the salty taste and the feeling of them hardening sending a jolt straight to my groin. I felt hands run down my back, over my arse, then around my hips to start fumbling at the fastenings of my jeans. Every time they brushed against my cock I had to fight back a whimper. "God, if you don’t get my kit off soon I'm going to come right inside my jeans." "Couldn't have that, could we?" Alec murmured, his fingers now running deliberately up and down my erection. "Fuck!" I broke off what I was doing to grab those wicked hands and pin them against the back of the sofa. "You're a right bastard, you know that?" Alec looked up at me, his eyes dark as sin and sparkling with devilment. "So what are you going to do about it?"

43 "This." I let go of his hands, stood up—and grabbed his sweatpants by the waistband, yanking them down his hips, half pulling him off the sofa. "That had better not be all you're going to do," he teased, taking them off the rest of the way himself. There was a spreading damp spot in his boxer briefs that marked the tip of a sizeable erection. He sat back on the sofa with his legs wide open, taunting me. I locked eyes with him and very deliberately ran my tongue around my lips. My peripheral vision was easily good enough to see the twitch in his cock that provoked. "Take your shirt off, too," I told him. Alec raised an eyebrow, but complied. God, he was gorgeous. He had a runner's body, lean and sinewy, with just a hint of extra definition in the shoulders and upper arms to suggest he worked out as well. His chest was lightly haired, as pale as you'd expect of an Englishman in winter, and there was a lump on one collarbone. He caught me looking at it. "Motorbike accident when I was sixteen. Broke my collarbone." He laughed. "Didn't realise I'd done it until I tried to push my bike off the road and my arm wouldn't work. Of course, the concussion might have had something to do with that." I raised an eyebrow. "You, on a bike? No offense, but you even look like you're wearing a suit when you've got your kit off!" He grinned. "It was my rebellious phase. Didn't you have one of those?" "Rebellious type, are you?" I grinned back at him. "Looks like I'm going to have to take you firmly in hand." "Don't count on it," he warned. "Maybe I'll take you in hand." He leaned forward and grabbed my arse, pulling me to him, then set to work on my jeans again. I pulled my shirt off while he was at it, desperate to get skin-to-skin with him, and he seized my

44 moment of distraction to plunge his mouth over my cock where it was straining to get out of those god awful briefs. "Fuck," I moaned. "Maybe later," he teased. "Right now I'm too impatient. You know how long I've wanted to do this?" He stood up suddenly, and we were pressed together, collarbone to crotch, only our thin cotton underwear between us. His hands were still kneading my arse, pressing us closer, and the heat of his skin seemed to sear me, almost too much to bear. He was the perfect height, maybe an inch taller than I was, so I had to tilt my head up a fraction to kiss him. His lips tasted salty from the pre-come that had soaked through my briefs, and I felt a sudden fierce jealousy because I hadn't had the chance to taste him yet. I ran my hands over that taut, smooth back, then down into his boxer briefs. "Get them off," I breathed into his ear. "Want to see you, feel you. Taste you." His cock ground into mine at that, then he backed off about a millimetre so I could ease his underwear off his firm buttocks and down those sinewy thighs. I started to pull my own briefs off. "No—leave them on," he told me, his voice breathy. "Present from your ex, right? I'm going to claim those briefs tonight. Next time you put them on you'll be thinking of me." "Jealous sort, are you?" I teased. "Yes." The matter-of-fact way he said it sent a shiver down my spine and into my balls. God, I'd dreamed he'd be like this. Every time I'd jerked off in the last six months I'd

45 been thinking about him possessing me, taking me. I dropped to my knees almost without thinking about it, and at last I was face to face with the gorgeous, thick cock I'd only been able to feel so far. He had a rich, musky smell, and I could feel the heat from his erection coming towards me in waves. There was a single, clear drop of fluid shining at the end of it, so I licked that off first, the taste exploding on my tongue as he moaned above me. Grabbing the base of him, I plunged my mouth over his cock, making him buck wildly. "God, that's good," he gasped. I moved my lips up and down, adding a bit of suction, feeling the engorged veins on my tongue, and he moaned again. "God—jerk yourself off," he instructed, his voice sounding a bit strained. "Through your briefs. Want—want you to come in them." I almost did so there and then. It was a bloody good thing those briefs were so stretchy or my dick would have ripped a hole in them by then. Still sucking on him, I wrapped my hand around my length, the damp cotton rough against my sensitive flesh. I shuddered as I gave the first pull, and Alec reacted by grabbing my head and urging me on. I sucked a few more times, then relaxed my throat and swallowed round him, taking him all in. He was so thick I'd be hoarse in the morning, but fuck, it was worth it as he gave a strangled cry and shot right down my throat, and then I was coming too, just managing not to choke as I filled up those briefs with my come. Alec pulled out of my mouth and dragged me back up to my feet again, and we kissed, our sweat mingling, my soaked briefs smearing him with my come. "Come to bed," Alec told me.

46 I wasn't going to say no. **** Next day, wearing one of Alec's shirts, I tried to sneak in early to the nursery so no one would notice I'd brought Poppy with me. In my dreams. Maggie gave me an incredulous look as I walked in. "Do I even want to ask?" she said archly once I'd sent Poppy off to play dressing up. I grimaced at her. "I don't think you'll have to. I've got a sneaking suspicion Poppy will have told the whole nursery by lunchtime." Which was pretty prophetic, really, as fifteen minutes later when the rest of the kids turned up I found Poppy excitedly telling Aidan—and his mum—that "Jason's got funny pants just like Santa's, because Daddy put them in the wash this morning and I saw!"

47

Christmas Post Boy by Elizabeth Coldwell

The e-mail pinged into Wayne’s inbox just as he was about to power down the computer for the night. He desperately wanted to leave it till the morning, but anything coming from Henderson International was far too important to be ignored. Wayne had been working on winning the account to construct their new corporate headquarters for the last three months, and he knew he was finally on the brink of clinching the deal. With Christmas Eve only a week away, it was vital he had signatures on the contract before the firm closed for the holidays, but it was hard to concentrate on work when he knew that, two floors down, the annual Christmas party was in full swing. Normally, he wasn’t a great one for socializing with the people he saw every day. Indeed, he had carefully managed to avoid attending the Christmas party for the last three years. The gossip he heard at the water cooler the following morning about who had got far too drunk and traded punches with their line manager, who had made a hundred copies of their bare buttocks on the machine in the copy room, and who had been caught giving the head of the marketing department a blow job in the stationery cupboard did nothing to convince him he’d made the wrong choice. This year, however, he was more than happy to go downstairs, drink mulled wine till he was on the point of falling over and let the boring guy from accounts drone on to him about his caravanning holiday in the Dordogne. The alternative was sitting at home on his own, brooding over the news he’d received from Tim the night before. The news that Tim was taking the boys to Lapland for Christmas.

48 Lapland had been his idea four years ago, when things had first become really serious with Tim. “When Rory and Sean are old enough,” he’d said, the night they had decided to move in together, when they had both been thoroughly loved up and full of grand and ridiculous plans for their shared future, “we’ll take them to see Santa in Lapland, give them the chance to tell him what they want for Christmas in person. They’ll love it.” Wayne had been able to picture them, their usually solemn faces lit up with smiles as they traveled in a sleigh to meet Father Christmas and his elves. The boys would have slept soundly that night, dreaming of presents and reindeer and snowball fights, while he and Tim made slow, sweet love in front of the crackling log fire in their private cabin. He had never imagined the same trip taking place without him. Wayne had always known getting involved with a man who had twin sons from a short-lived marriage might bring problems, but he and Tim had been so incredibly happy at first. The boys had never questioned the fact that unlike everyone else they knew, they had two dads, and as time went by, Wayne had begun to dream of committing to a civil partnership with Tim and legally adopting the boys as his own. That was before Neil. Neil was just a new member of staff on the radio station where Tim worked—at first. Wayne didn’t remember when Tim had first started dropping his name into almost every conversation, or having to work late alongside him on a regular basis, but if he gave it careful consideration he was sure it would be at roughly the same as the frequency with which he and Tim fucked had begun to decline. Even wrapped up in work as he was, he should really have spotted the signs that Tim was planning to leave him. Now it was too late. Now Tim was going to Lapland with the boys—and Neil—and Wayne would be

49 spending Christmas on his own, missing Rory and Sean just as much as he would have if they were his own flesh and blood. Conscious he was in danger of becoming maudlin, Wayne turned his attention back to the e-mail from Henderson’s legal department. He just had to respond to a couple of minor points, then he could go and get royally drunk with a clear conscience and forget all about what a shit Tim had been in the timing of dropping his little bombshell. He was so engrossed in what he was writing he didn’t notice the figure in the doorway at first. When he finally became aware someone was there, he almost fell off his chair in surprise. Standing there, resplendent in a red, fake fur-trimmed robe and sporting a full, fluffy white beard, was Santa Claus. “What the—?” Wayne spluttered. Clearly he was having visions, and he hadn’t even started on the booze yet. “Good evening, Mr. Griffin,” the figure replied in a surprisingly young voice. “I was sent up to fetch any stragglers down to the party. You’re the only one I could find.” Wayne peered closer, spotting dark eyes and smooth cheeks beneath what he was now sure was a false beard. “Okay, I’ll be with you in a second.” He hit “send” and watched the e-mail disappear from his screen. When he looked up from his monitor again, Santa was standing by the desk. He had thrown back the hood of his robe to reveal thick, dark hair and was in the process of unhooking his beard from behind his ears. With the disguise removed, Wayne realized he was looking at Cameron, who worked in the post room and couldn’t be older than twenty. Cheerful Cameron, who whistled as he pushed his cart through the building and would always stop for a chat with Wayne about the weekend’s football results.

50 “Nice outfit, Cameron,” he said. “Compliments of the season and all that. But aren’t you a little young to be playing Santa?” “Oh, Dave should have done it.” Dave was the company’s maintenance man, close to retirement age and eminently more suited to the part. “But he had to go home with the flu, so I stepped in instead.” “Well, I hope he feels better soon. Now, let’s go. I’m dying for a drink.” “That’s okay, Mr. Griffin, I have one here.” The lad fished in the folds of his robe, and brought out a half bottle of Jack Daniel’s, along with a couple of plastic cups he’d filched from the water cooler down the corridor. As Wayne rose to take one of the cups from Cameron, he noticed the heavy, buckled boots the lad was wearing as part of his costume. They seemed more suited to riding a motorbike than playing Santa, but Wayne couldn’t help admiring them. Cute boys in biker boots were one of his favorite fantasies, and it couldn’t be denied that Cameron was cute, with hair that fell untidily into his eyes and full lips that almost demanded to be kissed until they were bruised. Wayne swiftly downed his whiskey, wondering what had come over him. So he was feeling sorry for himself—and more than a little horny, as the warm bite of the alcohol made itself felt—but that was no reason to start eyeing up the junior members of staff. Then Cameron moved to refill his cup, and he caught a glimpse of what appeared to be bare flesh above the tops of the post boy’s boots. “Cameron, just what are you wearing under that thing?” he asked. As a flush rose to Cameron’s cheeks, he snapped, “Come on, show me.” The dominant tone was one he almost never adopted, but it had clearly done the trick, as the lad began to fumble with the fastening of his robe. So he got off on being told what

51 to do, did he? Wayne felt his cock stir as he weighed up the possibilities of the situation and discovered just how much he liked them. Under Wayne’s suddenly greedy gaze, Cameron shrugged off his Santa outfit to reveal that beside the boots, all he had on was a white T-shirt which highlighted his defined pecs, and a pair of scarlet briefs decorated with a snowflake motif. They were so skimpy they struggled to contain his rapidly growing cock. “What are those ridiculous things?” Wayne sneered, warming to the thrill of being in control. “I need to do some washing, and they’re the only ones I had left that were clean,” Cameron replied, shamefaced. Wayne cut short his excuses by ordering him, “Take them off. I won’t have you standing there in front of me in girls’ undies.” Cameron blushed and stammered, but there was no doubt he wouldn’t do as Wayne had asked. He skinned the tiny briefs down his legs and off, giving Wayne the opportunity to admire his big cock, beginning to rise from a bush he had trimmed away to almost nothing. His instinct was to use his hands to cover himself, but Wayne was having none of that. “Hands behind your back...now!” Showing just the right amount of reluctance, Cameron did as he was told. “That looks good, but there’s something missing.” As Wayne spoke, he was unbuckling his belt and slipping it free of the loops which held it in place. He went up behind Cameron and before the lad could protest, he tied his wrists together with the thin strip of leather. Now Wayne had him as he wanted him, half naked

52 and restrained. All thoughts of attending the party downstairs were forgotten, replaced by the urge to fuck this gorgeously submissive post boy. Wayne’s cock was almost painfully hard by now, pushing at the fly of his trousers. He unzipped himself and brought his erection out, stroking languidly from base to tip. Cameron’s eyes followed his every move. “Down on your knees and suck me,” he ordered. “Yes, sir,” Cameron murmured. Wayne thought those were the most delicious words he’d ever heard. He loved the tone of deference in the lad’s voice, mixed with pure, unadulterated desire. It was a little awkward for Cameron to get in the position demanded of him with his hands still secured behind his back, but he managed it. There was a long, glorious moment of anticipation, then Wayne felt those full lips close around the head of his cock. As Cameron began to suck him, Wayne gazed at their joint reflection in the window that ran the full length of his office wall. They looked good, he had to admit: Cameron in nothing but T-shirt and boots, his dark curtain of hair partially obscuring his sculpted face; and Wayne, stocky and shaven-headed, immaculate in his Italian suit and with his cock jutting so rudely from his fly. The perfect contrast of top and bottom, innocence and experience. The offices on the other side of the street were in darkness, but Wayne almost wished there was a light on in one of the windows, and some anonymous voyeur peering out, hand wrapped round his cock as he watched and wanked. Cameron’s head bobbed up and down on his shaft, his mouth making wet slurping sounds as he strove to swallow as much of Wayne’s length as he could. Wayne poured

53 himself another cup of whiskey and took a generous sip, enjoying every moment of what was being done to him. Soon, however, he was ready to explore the depths of Cameron’s tight ass. If the lad was as inexperienced as he believed, Wayne needed to take this carefully. He instructed Cameron to stop what he was doing, and to kneel, head bowed, until he told him he could stand. Then he hunted round in his drawer, finding a bottle of oil he kept there for when he ate a salad lunch at his desk. It wasn’t ideal, but it would do. He took another look at Cameron, still staring obediently at the dull gray office carpet. Fun as that snowy sleigh ride with Tim would have been, followed by a session in the sauna and a night spent fucking each other to oblivion, this was a thousand times better. Tim had never wanted to try anything kinky, had never cared for the feel of Wayne’s hand coming down hard on his bare ass or cold metal handcuffs being snapped around his wrists. Cameron, though a novice at such games, was more than willing to follow the rules Wayne was laying down. The fact he hadn’t even attempted to raise his head proved that. “Okay, you can get up now,” Wayne said. Cameron shuffled awkwardly to his feet, then let Wayne untie his wrists. He didn’t resist when Wayne pushed him face down over his desk; maybe he had already worked out what was coming next. He did try to rise from his position when he felt the oil being drizzled over the crack of his ass, but Wayne used one of his big hands to hold the lad firmly in place. “Relax, Cameron,” he murmured, his tone soft and tender. “I’m going to be gentle, and I promise you’re going to love what I’m about to do to you.”

54 Slowly, Wayne ran a finger over Cameron’s anal pucker. The lad shivered, clearly unused to being touched there, but he quickly began to relax, appreciating that Wayne was making good on his promise to take things gently. Soon, Wayne was able to slide that finger into Cameron’s rear hole, and when he heard no objection, he carried on working until there was enough give in the ring of muscle for a second to join it. All the time, he was making to sure to use more oil, basting the lad’s ass like a Christmas turkey, Wayne thought with a wicked leer. “I’m going to pull my fingers out, and I’m going to stick my cock up your ass instead.” Wayne’s tone indicated there was to be no argument, but by now Cameron was practically humping the desk, clearly aroused beyond words by what was being done to him. Wayne dropped his trousers and stood for a moment with his stiff cock in his hand, admiring the sight of Cameron’s taut rump, glistening with oil and ready to be entered. Then his desire to fuck overtook his desire to stare, and he pressed his cock head to Cameron’s hole. There was a brief moment’s resistance, and then, with a groan from both men, he was in. “How does it feel?” he asked, giving the lad a second to adjust to the sensation of being full of cock before starting to slowly rock back and forth. “Like all my Christmases have come at once, sir,” Cameron responded. Wayne’s groin slapped against Cameron’s well-greased ass cheeks with every thrust, and he clutched the post boy by his slim hips, pulling him hard on to his aching shaft. Whoever said the best way to get your ex out of your heart was to fuck a new man into it had been right, Wayne decided. All the hurt, all the rage he felt at Tim’s betrayal was

55 vanishing as he plowed relentlessly into Cameron’s virgin ass, while Cameron, still continuing to refer to him as “sir,” moaned and muttered how good it felt, and how much he loved having a big, fat cock inside him. Wayne knew he could hold back no longer. With a great, primitive roar of triumph, he let every last drop of his come shoot hard into Cameron’s willing backside. Reaching down, he took hold of Cameron’s steel-hard erection and gave it the three or four tugs, which was all it took to have the lad spurting his own release over the polished wooden desktop. Nothing was said for a while as the two men collapsed together, breathing slowly stilling as each enjoyed the euphoric rush that follows good sex. Then they kissed for a while, Wayne at last getting the chance to taste those full lips that enticed him so much. Finally, Wayne suggested they dress and make their way down to the party. Maybe, given what had just happened, he could actually stick the festivities out with a smile on his face. “You know,” Cameron said, wrapping his robe snugly around him, “I always wondered what Santa got for Christmas, and now I know. A big, horny, dominant DILF.” He sighed in satisfaction. “And it was the best present ever.” If he had his way, Wayne decided, he would suggest the post boy play Santa again the following Christmas. If nothing else, it would give him the excuse he needed to give Cameron the same present all over again...

56

Santa Claus is Coming by Aidan Harper

David Bowie and Bing Crosby pa-rum-pum-pum-pum’ed together on the stereo. The crock pot on the stove, half full of hot mulled cider, merrily imbued the whole house with the scent of cinnamon, apple, and spices. It was deliciously cozy and warm. Outside, the plump moon glazed the trees and rooftops with silver highlights. I added water to the tree and sprayed the big wreaths hanging on the front door and over the mantel. More than the music, more than the glittering ornaments, more than the piles of presents waiting to be opened in the morning, more than anything else, the aromas of wet Douglas fir and smoke from the fireplace made me think of Christmas Eve. I was puttering around the kitchen in my apron—what a little Suzy Homemaker I was becoming!—straightening up the kitchen table-slash-gift-wrapping station, when at long last I heard a gentle click from upstairs, then the soft thump of carpeted footfalls. Finally, I thought. St. Nick padded down the steps with surprising grace and joined me in the kitchen. “Ho, ho, ho, mister,” he greeted me as he poked his head around the doorway, his eyes smiling. He glanced appreciatively at the remains of my most recent attempt at traditional Nova Scotia Christmas cuisine: a Dundee cake filled with blackcurrants, raisins and whiskey, topped with almonds and hot marmalade sauce. I deemed it a complete success, unlike some of my other recent culinary efforts.

57 I got up from the little table and stretched. “Well, look at you! What a nice Santa you make. And I thought her mother was the theatrical one. So is little miss Cindy Lou Who finally asleep?” He sighed and nodded in relief. “Finally. She had me read the Grinch all the way through, then nodded off. It’s a lot longer than I remembered.” “She didn’t give you the third degree about how you manage to deliver all the presents or how reindeer fly?” “Strangely enough, she seemed to have suspended all disbelief—very unlike her. Either that or she was just humoring me.” “She just didn’t want you to break character. I’ll say one thing for our girl. She may not believe in Santa, but she’s a devout believer in committing to a performance.” “It’s a Christmas miracle.” He cut a little slice of the cake and tucked it somewhere deep into his beard. “Hey, that reminds me. Doesn’t impersonating Santa violate some secular humanist code? I thought you atheists had declared war on Christmas.” He brushed cake crumbs off his mittens. “No, no, myths are good for you, as long as you remember they’re myths. Besides, all this Yuletide festivity goes back way before Jesus.” “So playing Father Christmas is okay, then?” “Yes, virgin, there is a Santa Claus.” “Hate to be the one to tell you, but I’m not a virgin. Which reminds me…” I undid the strings on my apron, took it off, and tossed it over the back of the chair. “Kris Kringle, got anything in that sack for me?”

58 His ridiculous fluffy white eyebrows knotted, like wooly caterpillars kissing. He rubbed his snowy beard thoughtfully. “Well now, that depends—let’s see if you’re on the Naughty or the Nice List…” He dipped a fuzzy red mitten into his sleeve and pulled out a scroll. From a pocket on his great red coat he produced a pair of spectacles and put them on. I was impressed he could manage with such big mittens. “Let’s see now…young Mr. Evan Ross of San Francisco…oh dear.” He shook his head sadly, making the puffball on the end of his Santa hat bob to and fro. “What? Didn’t I make the cut this year?” He mournfully tsk-tsked me. “I’m afraid that nasty business of making fun of Canadians weighed quite heavily against you. The elves and I tend to be very protective of our neighbors to the south. No, I’m afraid it’s all coal and switches for you this year, young Mr. Ross.” I slowly shook my head and frowned. “And to think I went to all the trouble of setting out milk and cookies for you, too.” “Let that be a lesson to you, then: cheap bribes and a bad attitude will never get you off the Naughty List. Now where did I put that bundle of switches? Ah, this will do nicely!” He grabbed the roll of wrapping paper off the table and wielded it like a scourge. I yelped and he chased me around the table and down the hall, whacking my legs and behind. “No! Quit it!” I laughed as I ran for cover. “Shhh! You’ll wake the kid!” he chided me, with no effort to stop his attack. I made it behind the living room couch and came to a stop, crouched for battle. We circled

59 each other warily, mano a Santa Claus-o. He held up a finger to his lips, tacitly warning me to use our indoor voices unless we wanted company. “Now, now, come take your licking like a man.” He waved a mitten invitingly. “Save it for Donder and Blitzen, Fat Man. Drop the stick!” “What, and allow your naughtiness to go unpunished?” “I’ll show you who’s naughty and who’s nice!” I growled, fists up in a good boxer stance. “Easy there, cowboy,” he said, raising his hands to placate me. As a gesture of good faith, he slowly lowered his cardboard weapon to the coffee table. “Okay, now you close the drapes, Mr. Ross.” “Why, Santa, what do you have in mind—some reindeer games?” I asked, but started closing them anyway. “Let’s just say what happens at the North Pole stays at the North Pole.” He turned off the lights, leaving the room lit only by the fire. With exquisite timing worthy of a Christmas miracle, Eartha Kitt began to purr Santa Baby on the stereo. “Hey, they’re playing our song,” I said happily. Closing the last of the drapes, I was struck by an involuntary shiver of cold. “Oh, it’s a chilly one out there tonight.” “Come over here by the fire with me. No matter how cold and wet you are, just so long as you’re warm and dry.” I smiled at that and came up behind him, squeezing his jolly girth with a big hug as best I could. I could barely manage with his newly expanded waistline. “Wow, you’ve put on some serious poundage. You know, I should warn you now, I’ve never been into bears.”

60 “What, not even polar bears?” he replied. I nipped at the back of his neck, nuzzling my way past a mouthful of fake beard. He gave a little grunt of pleasure. “Well, if that’s how you feel, then you’d better help me out of all this.” He turned around and held out his arms mittens first, like a toddler. “That would make me Santa’s helper, wouldn’t it?” “I suppose it would. And if you’re a very good boy, maybe you can sit on my lap and tell me what you want me to bring you.” “Does that mean I could get off the Naughty List?” “Why don’t you try staying on the Naughty List a bit longer and see where that gets you?” “Hmm…intriguing proposition. If that’s the way it is, I think this needs to go first.” I started unwrapping Santa by releasing the oversized buckle on his belt. “Time to lose the stuffing, fat boy,” I said, undoing the buttons on his coat. An enormous pillow fell into my hands. I dropped it close by on the floor, thinking to myself that it might come in handy in a bit. I ran my hands up the bare chest beneath his furry red coat. “Mmm…now, that’s more like it.” Time for the coat to go; off his shoulders it went and we let it drop behind him. I continued to let my fingers do the walking up under the big white beard, and slid my hands over his jawbone and up his cheeks. “Time for a shave,” I told him. Once I found the plastic tabs hooked around his ears, I lifted them up gently and pulled the entire beard away. “Oh, that’s definitely an improvement,” I said, pleased now that I could see his face again. There was just one remaining obstacle: His gorgeous green eyes were still obscured by those bizarre white Oompa-Loompa eyebrows. I leaned in for a closer look,

61 gingerly examining them while his horny mittens crept around to cup my ass on the sly. I plucked at the cottony patches. “They look like a pair of arctic-issue Hitler mustaches. What is this, paint?” “Ouch. No, no it’s stuck on with spirit gum.” “Oh, okay, so I can just—” “Careful! Ow, ow, ow ow ow…” “Shhh. I’m just going to—” “Oww!” “Shhhhhh! You’ll wake up the girl. And theeeere it goes…” I pulled one eyebrow off with one hand, placing a finger on his lips with the other to keep him quiet. “Just one more now, hold still.” I stuck my tongue out just a bit as I focused on pulling the remaining one off as painlessly as possible. I used both hands, pinning down the skin around his brow while peeling the furry white patch off with the other. “Owwwwowowow!” “Oh stop, you big baby. That didn’t hurt at all.” He made a grumpy face, but I wasn’t buying it. I cradled his head and whispered in his ear. “Shhh…here, let me kiss it better.” He leaned in while I kissed his mistreated brows, but I had to stop and pick out the gross little bits of spirit gum, which dampened the mood somewhat. He shook off his mittens and re-kindled things nicely by lifting me up unexpectedly, then dipping me nearly upside-down for a kiss. For such a lean, normally reserved guy, it never failed to amaze me how strong and spontaneous he was. I felt like a rag doll; which felt pretty fantastic, to tell you the truth. Still lip-locked, he lowered me down to the plush carpet in front of the blazing fireplace and we broke our

62 kiss just long enough so he could straddle me. I loved the feeling off being pinned by his legs, the comforting weight of him on me, feeling his cock growing in his trousers along with mine. Being so close to the fire somehow felt dangerous and wonderfully cozy at the same time. The play of the flickering amber firelight on the planes of his face captivated me. I reached up and touched his fire-warmed cheeks for a few tender moments, then writhed in mock distress. “Now I’m roasting...” He regarded me with a serious look. “I suppose I need to unwrap my present, then. Come on, get ’em up.” I raised my arms dutifully and he peeled my sweater off and away. “Hey…” He looked at me suspiciously. I raised an eyebrow in concern. “What?” “You said you were burning up, but look at these poor nipples! They’re clearly cold. I’d better warm them.” I tried not to squeal as he dove on my chest, ticklishly assaulting my pecs with his mouth and tongue. I grabbed the back of his head and held on for dear life, stifling giggles while he sucked and nipped at first one, then the other. I started shaking and struggled to catch my breath. He slowed down and licked them with long, hard strokes of his tongue. I moaned and dragged my nails down his back. He paused, grinning up at me like the scoundrel he was, then reached his arms back to pull my Doc Martens and socks off. That done, he pinned my arms while he kicked his own boots off and kissed me again, hard. I was aching for him, grinding my hips into his. The next thing I knew he was nuzzling my neck, making insistent growling noises in my ear. My mouth fell open involuntarily, and my breath grew ragged again.

63 He released my wrists, but only so he could get me into more trouble; he popped all the little steel buttons on my 501s and with a sturdy two-handed tug, had them off me faster than you could say Mele Kalikimaka. Before my jean-shorn legs could come down, he wrapped an arm around them and groped around the floor for the pillow. I helped him reach it, and he lifted me by the legs just enough to slip the pillow in under the small of my back. Now he had me where he wanted me, my legs upright and bound together by his hands—clasping me first by the ankles, then around the knees, as he kissed and nibbled his way down the back of my legs from calves to thighs. When he reached my Hanes, he released my legs again, but only just long enough to peel off my underwear. My poor dick was hard and aching for his attention, and he worked my thighs open to get at it, popping the head in his mouth and working the shaft with his hand. He stretched out his other hand, possessively pushing it slowly over my stomach and chest, moving steadily towards my mouth. His fingertips touched my chin, rose to caress my lips, then insistently slipped past them. I put my lips around his middle finger and sucked as he lightly finger-fucked my mouth. He raised his head for a moment. “That’s it, get it good and wet now.” I sighed, a strange noise with my mouth full, and did as he told me. As a reward, he cupped my balls and kneaded them while licking up and down the shaft of my cock. The tassel of his Santa cap tickled my stomach. After he judged that his finger was wet enough, he withdrew his arm and I felt his hand slipping between the pillow and me, snaking its way under my ass. I bit my lip when he slowly curled it up inside me. I loved the feeling of him working his hand

64 between my butt cheeks while he continued to suck me off. I suddenly wanted him inside me more than anything in the world, and told him so. He stopped what he was doing and carefully extricated himself. He stood up, still straddling me, giving me a spectacular view of an impromptu strip show. Already barechested and bare footed, he unbuckled his belt and pulled it off in one smooth motion, tossing it away. Then he crouched a little and used both hands to better ease down his fuzzy red trousers and briefs together. His erection was a glorious thing. He saved his Santa cap for last, but I stopped him. “No, leave the hat on.” As he lowered himself down to me again and took hold of my ankles, I looked up at our carefully hung stockings dangling from the mantel and idly wondered if the fire was casting an X-rated shadow puppet show for the neighbors on the drapes. Let them look. I shuddered as he eased himself into me; wrapped my legs around his waist and slid my hands over his ribs and up his back. He buried his head against the nape of my neck, kissing me there. I breathed in the scent of his skin and ran my fingers through his hair. Now I really was roasting from the fire; it warmed my flank, arm and face. Sweat tickled down my thighs and ass, and where our hips met as they rocked back and forth. But it felt too good to stop now. We were in too deep. He pushed himself up and slipped a hand down between us to take hold of my rod and molded it up and down in rhythm with his thrusts, nestling its firmness against the wonderfully soft skin of his stomach. I held on to him for support when I knew I was about to come. My eyebrows began to

65 tingle and my vision went fuzzy, and I had to close my eyes. Then as my breathing became sharper and sharper, he worked me to a climax. He was pleased with his work, and the sound of my orgasm excited him further. He was sinking into me to the hilt. As his thrusts grew more intense, I urged him on. Soon I could feel and hear the slap of his balls against my ass, then with a final groan, he was coming too. I nearly had another orgasm myself. We caught our breaths again, watching each other come down from the high, feeling the sweat and the fire-glow, reveling in the quiet and the closeness. The radio finished the last soft piano notes of a Christmas instrumental and God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen began to play. When we began to get cold again, I slipped into my sweater and jeans again, and curled up on the couch against him in his furry red suit, warm as anything, perfect for a post-coital snuggle. “I think I’m ready to settle down for a long winter’s night,” I finally said. He nodded, stifling a yawn, and let me pull him up from the couch. We picked up after ourselves and headed down the hall. I stopped him at the foot of the stairs. “Oh wait, I just wanted to try something before we go up.” I placed the beard back in place, and admired the new look. “Now, just one more thing,” I said, pointing up at the mistletoe I had surreptitiously strung overhead earlier. He smiled—at least, I think he did, even though I could only see his eyes. I fumbled around for a moment to find his mouth under all that cotton, but then we wrapped our arms around each other for a long, heartfelt yuletide kiss that went on and on…

66 We both heard the creak from the top of the stairs. Still locked in our embrace, we slowly turned our heads to see the girl gazing down at us, smiling with wide-eyed wonderment at this unprecedented Christmas miracle.

67

About the Authors

Derek Clendening lives in Fort Erie, Ontario, where he is the information services assistant at the public library. His narrative interviews have appeared regularly in Dark Scribe Magazine and he is a columnist at FearZone.com. His short stories have appeared in the Ravenous Romance anthologies I Kissed a Boy and The Sextrology Anthology, and he is the editor of the Sweaty Sex Anthology. Ryan Field is a fiction writer who has worked in publishing for more than fifteen years. He has worked as an assistant editor and editor for magazines and non-fiction publishers. Aside from his novels, his short stories have been published in anthologies and collections by Alyson Books, Cleis Press and Starbooks Press. His short story, Down the Basement, is part of a collection of short stories in the Lambda Award-winning book, Best Gay Erotica 2009. His Ravenous Romance novel, Take Me Always, has been nominated for a Lambda Award. He blogs at www.ryan-field.blogspot.com. Clancy Nacht is a writer out of Austin, Texas. While she’s written for various media outlets, she has just published her first book, a pulp fiction potboiler about two gay men who find each other in the middle of a serial killer’s rage. The Night Caller was released in April and is available at www.thenightcaller.com. Aside from writing about gay men in love, she likes cats, taking pictures, and abusing Ambien. Her first Ravenous Romance short story appeared in Bedknobs and Beanstalks. Elizabeth Coldwell is the editor of the UK edition of Forum magazine. Her stories have appeared in anthologies including Best SM Erotica 1 and 2; Yes, Sir; and Naughty Spanking Stories 2. She believes bad boys need to learn to play nicely. Her short stories have appeared in the Ravenous Romance anthologies Men In Shorts, Hungry For Your Love, and I Kissed a Boy. J.L. Merrow is a very English mother of two who finds writing the only way to stay sane, except of course when a plot is driving her crazy. Having grown up on an island, she can’t remember a time before she could swim and prefers to remain close to water at all times. Luckily, the weather in her native land being as it generally is, this is not difficult. Her short stories have been published by Ravenous Romance, Torquere Press, and Dreamspinner Press. When not writing she enjoys reading, martial arts, and surprising people who judge a book by its cover. Read her blog at http://jlmerrow.livejournal.com Aidan Harper is an enthusiastic Ravenous Romance reader-turned-Ravenous Romance author. This is his first Ravenous Romance short story. He lives with his lover and their tribe of cats in his beloved San Francisco, and is currently at work on his debut novel The Manny Diaries for Ravenous Romance, coming out next year.

68