by Shawn Keys
Winter
Dreams
Shawn Keys
For more information about the Author
Visit:
https://authorshawnkeys.wixsite.com/website
See Discussion on this title and others on Facebook:
Harem Lit Facebook Discussion Group
https://www.facebook.com/groups/1520110688072405/
Originally Published by Shawn Keys
Copyright © December 2019
ISBN: 978-1-9992853-7-1
Quick Links to Chapters:
Chapter 1: Street Drake
Chapter 2: Working Late
Chapter 3: Pulled from the Fire
Chapter 4: Windows in the Cage
Chapter 5: A Walk in the Cold
Chapter 6: In Service to Others
Chapter 7: No Fun at All
Chapter 8: What Dreams May Come
Chapter 1:
Street Drake
A running kid jumped over a puddle right in front of a poodle. The show-worthy dog was spooked, and it jerked on the chain of its owner, a classy woman that wasn’t prepared to handle that much energy. She stumbled a little, splashing her coffee onto the ground. It was icy out, and the added moisture got right underneath the feet of a man stepping out from a nearby clothing store. His newly purchased designer shoes skidded out from underneath him. His arms flailed, grasping hold of anything he could. He managed to shove a homeless man in a beaten, worn-down jacket who had been idling over the heat vent on the sidewalk.
Drake was that man. David Drake was his full name, but he hadn’t gone by anything except his last name in over a decade. He had been zoned out. The heat blowing up the leg of his tattered pants was pure heaven. December 23rd had dawned chilly. While winter months in Ocean City, Virginia were not as bitterly cold as his hometown in Idaho, that didn’t make them comfortable.
The random jostle from the falling man knocked Drake from his refuge. He shouldered into another man in an overcoat who was hustling by. The businessman had his head down and tucked into his coat collar to block out the brisk wind. The impact jerked his hand out of his pocket, which popped his wallet out onto the pavement at his feet.
Drake recovered his balance quickly. He was used to far worse when it came to the confused mess that was normal in fighting and combat. An accidental scrum on a city street wasn’t going to faze him. He bent down and clamped a strong hand onto the elbow of the fallen man. Flexing with his arms muscles that hadn’t totally lost their tone yet, Drake hoisted the guy back onto his feet.
Scrambling to recapture his balance, the guy gave a quick smile of thanks. Then, without really learning his lesson, he jogged off over the slippery ground toward the waiting line at the taxi stand nearby. He skidded twice more on his way, coming perilously close to another bad spill.
Drake shook his head. Some people don’t stop and think.
He was about to get back to his vent when he caught sight of the wallet. Oh, crap. Who’s is that? He plucked it off the ice, flicked it open, and saw the driver’s license. ‘Mortimer Fallon’. He took in the guy’s sloped forehead and wide eyes. It was definitely the guy he had brushed against a few seconds earlier.
Standing to his full height of just over six feet, Drake was able to see over the heads of most people bustling up and down the street. He thought he caught sight of the same dark overcoat. Raising his voice as his old drill sergeant had taught him to do, he projected, “Mortimer Fallon! Mr. Fallon!”
Most people ignored him. Others scowled at him. Drake didn’t take it personally. Typical people didn’t like to be reminded that there were homeless people in their midst. Brief interactions where money was given in charity was about as far as most people wanted to go when they did notice. Drake wished he hadn’t been that way in the past. But, if he was honest with himself, he had probably done the exact same thing many times before.
He called out again, hitting each word powerfully. He jogged after the guy, leaving behind his precious heat to close the distance. “Mortimer! Fallon!”
Finally, Mort got the idea someone was calling him. He stopped, squinting backward, trying to figure out who was calling. He looked right through the homeless guy shuffling up toward him, not suspecting that was who was calling him.
Drake approached, holding out the wallet, “I think you dropped this, Sir.”
Mort snaked out a hand, snatching it back with a look of shock on his face. “Did you take this out of my pocket? Were you trying to steal it?”
Drake blinked. “What? No, I’m returning it to you. You dropped it.”
The pale-faced business man stabbed a finger at him. “I know your sort! You’re the one who bumped me! Probably picked my pocket to get a reward for giving it back!” He rifled through the wallet, finding the bills all accounted for. He snapped it closed. “I’m not falling for it!” He spun and walked away in a snit.
Whistling in amazement, Drake shook his head. “Wow.” He began to walk back the way he had come, hoping the hot air vent hadn’t been taken by anyone else. He didn’t take the guy’s comments to heart. For everyone who might be returning the wallet, there was probably another who would be guilty of running a scam. And then another who would have just taken the wallet and run.
The only thing that pissed him off a little was that being someone on the street was what tipped the judgement scales in Mort’s mind. If that wallet had laid there for a few seconds longer, someone else would have picked it up and walked off with it. The odds were just as good that it would have been one of the other pedestrians walking by. A school kid. Another businessman. Who wouldn’t be tempted by a few hundred bucks in a wallet?
Prejudice was hard to shake, he knew first-hand. He’d been learning that the hard way for the last year.
“Excuse me?” A tap landed to his shoulder.
Drake turned, and a smile came to his face. He couldn’t help it. The woman trying to get his attention was lovely; she was buried inside a huge faux-fur coat, but that couldn’t hide her lean-yet-feminine figure. Her legs were wrapped in form-fitting wind-breaking pants, then capped by fuzzy black boots extending nearly to her knees. Her sexy, luxuriously long, silken brown hair was capped with a green elf hat, as if she had escaped from a Santa’s village scene in a mall somewhere.
Whatever anyone else might judge him for, he knew why he was on the street. Most times, he accepted it and made the best of it. He hadn’t felt embarrassed about it in a long time…
But right then: this woman’s glowing smile made him feel every tidbit of dirt covering him. He had a tragically keen sense that he hadn’t even been rained on in days, much less have a good shower. His nose was dead to himself, but he had to be radiating all sorts of unpleasant odors. His facial hair was an unruly mess cloaking his normally ruggedly handsome face. His clothing was not much better than layers of rags piled over other which hadn’t seen a washing machine in far too long.
Despite the warmth that filled his loins at the sight of her, he answered cautiously, “Yeah?” She might be gorgeous, but he guessed she was going to pile onto Mort’s anger and give him another piece of her mind.
Instead, a smile of sympathy swelled onto her beautiful lips. “I saw what happened, there. He should have been thanking you.”
Tension melted off Drake’s shoulders, thankful he wasn’t in for a fight. “Thanks for saying so, Miss. Really, it’s no trouble.” His embarrassment came rushing back. She might be one of those rare few who were beautiful inside and out. He pushed down the feelings of hatred at his own state. He wanted to scream out at the world. The kindness in her face somehow only made his self-loathing worse.
Her gloved hands fumbled with her purse, then came out with a set of 10 twenty-dollar bills. For a guy in his situation, it was
a small fortune. “Here. Take this.”
Drake balked. “Oh, hey, I wasn’t trying to shill anyone, Miss. Really, that’s way too much!”
She didn’t seem to be hearing him. She extended it firmly. “Either you take it, or I’ll scatter it on the street and let everyone else rush around like fools.” She smirked. “Might be fun with all this wind.”
In spite of his inner turmoil, her joke broke through to him. He chuckled at the mental image. Then Drake’s suspicion flooded back in, and his eyes narrowed. “Why are you doing this?”
The elf-capped woman shrugged. “I bought a scratch ticket earlier and won $500. Wasn’t sure what I was going to do with it all. Then I saw this happen. So, here we are. Call it ‘passing along a little good fortune’.”
Drake gave a small huff, his breath curling out into the air. “That’s… well, that’s right kind of you, Miss.” It struck to his heart. He wasn’t a guy for crying. His father had raised him too strictly for that. To cover the mushiness creeping up inside, he took the bills. “Guess saying no would make me look awful stupid then. At least tell me the rest of that $500 is going to buy something nice for yourself?”
The woman grinned. “Christmas turkey and the rest of dinner is all on me.”
Drake imagined the incredibly hot woman laid out naked, strategically placed mashed potatoes and other bits of food covering her most intimate flesh, offering herself as a feast to be explored. The feelings of warmth in his core spread, and he hoped his ragged attire was managing to cover the swell in his phallus. He wouldn’t be needing that vent after all. “Hope your family enjoys it.”
She shrugged. “No family. They’re a long way off, and I can’t make it home. Just friends.” She shook herself off the topic, not about to go any deeper with a stranger. “But I got to run. Please don’t waste that! It’s from me, remember. Use it like it’s a gift.” She flashed him a wink, then strode away for whatever task she was late for… though Drake swore she put a little extra wiggle in her stride to let him enjoy her cute butt swaying back and forth as she went. One last gift.
He hurriedly crumpled the bills into his pockets. There were more than enough thieves in the world. The whole idea of having that much cash on him was ridiculous. For breakfast, he had harvested a few discarded scraps of bacon and cheese from the Sunrise Breakfast Café’s garbage. That was his life. Having this much cash was ridiculous.
Then again, part of the problem was… well, it was only $200. A wonderful gift, but not enough to change his life or anything.
A nagging part of his brain nudged him. It could. You could stretch it. Arrange for…
He slammed shut the gate on that train of thoughts. No. It couldn’t work. It… well, it shouldn’t. It would take luck. And I don’t deserve that kind of luck. It was an instinctive response, and he shied away from all the dark reasons that instinct crept up to kill whatever hope that came his way.
He rushed away from that hidden part of himself. Fast.
He ran right into a far brighter idea. He smiled. Might not change things for me, but it can change a few peoples’ days for the better.
He stepped out of the main foot traffic and walked along the interior part of the walkway so he could go slower. Going fast was for people who had somewhere to be. He had time. There was a perfect pace he tried to find: fast enough to keep your blood circulating, while slow enough that you didn’t get anywhere too fast and then end up standing around freezing.
He couldn’t go to any of the shops in the immediate area. It was a trendy shopping spot with independent restaurants catering to a bunch of eclectic tastes. It was a great spot for people like him. Despite those like Mortimer, most of the store owners didn’t mind buskers and other street vendors hanging around. It added to the character of the area. As long as you didn’t get in anyone’s face, a guy like him could harvest the cast-offs (from clothing to food) without causing much trouble.
Going inside the stores? Yeah, that would be stepping over the line. He wasn’t going to give the shop owners a reason to change their tune.
So, instead he trudged the fifteen blocks to get well clear of the higher-end shopping district and locate a rundown Tuffster second-hand store across the street from a Giant Panda bulk-food mart. Neither of them would be friendly if he hung around for too long, but they would tolerate him to be there as long as he had a little money to spend.
Tolerate him… barely.
He ignored the rolling eyes and general disdain that spilled off the others in the store. Naturally, the security guard’s eyes were on him the whole time. Drake didn’t want any trouble, so he made an effort not to piss the guards off or give them any excuse to hassle him. He got what he needed, then queued up to pay for it. He had to laugh at the surprise on the till-workers face when Drake produced the money in fairly crisp 20s. The clerk looked like he expected Drake to pay the whole amount out in small change. To be fair, Drake had done exactly that often enough. You did what you needed to do, and money was money.
Drake shuffled back out to the street and grabbed hold of another prize abandoned in the alley next to the Giant Panda: a shopping cart with two broken front wheels. The store had left it for the garbage trucks. Survival on the street was a highly personal thing. He knew some people carried their whole world in a cart like this. Drake had developed a different method, concealing the few things he wanted to save around the small area. It gave him an excuse to walk around, checking on his caches, travelling light the rest of the time. Guess he liked the idea that he had ‘his’ spots, even if he couldn’t have the four walls of a real home.
But he didn’t want to struggle with all the bags all the way back to his usual stomping grounds. He dropped all his purchases into the cart, then inspected the wheels. Both front ones were broken. One was a shredded mess, while the other was frozen in one spot; no way to fix that until he poached one from a different spot. But he could tip the thing up on its rear wheels and roll it easily that way.
He set off, though he didn’t take as direct a route on his way back into the area where he normally stayed. This time, he wandered off the main streets. He ventured into the alleys, passing through the hidden spots where people like him huddled to catch a little break from the cutting wind.
He was outside his normal stomping grounds, but he still recognized a few of the faces. The first he came across was a stranger, who he gave a package of naan bread and some hummus. Not everyone’s taste, but there were a lot of calories packed into it.
Then he found Bill hunkered under a pile of newspapers beside a fire-escape. Making sure the guy’s knee was healing after that car nudged him the other day, Drake gave him a trio of carrots.
He came across Sally next, who was a little more energetic. She was waist-deep in a refuse bin outside the Alberto’s restaurant. Waiting with a smile on his face, Drake admired her determination. She was not a big person, and her feet were actually off the ground, kicking to give herself the hop forward she needed to reach whatever she was grappling for. “Nothing is worth that, Sally.”
She gave a couple last grunts, then squirmed back toward freedom. Exasperated, she called out, “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to pull me out?”
“I seem to recall the last time I tried to help you, you –”
“– doesn’t matter what I did last time! Help me!” Her feet bucked to emphasize her point.
Drake laughed softly, reaching up and tugging her ankles a little. That gave her the leverage she needed to get her weight on the right side of the garbage container’s edge. She wormed the rest of her way free on her own.
Sally came out grasping hold of a tinfoil wrapped swan. It was intact, and looked puffy as if nearly full. Someone had asked for leftovers, then walked away from their table without it. Probably meat, likely turkey or even duck given the high-quality of the restaurant. Maybe mashed potatoes. Stuffing? At this time of year, anything was possible. Pure gold! She gave a triumphant, “Aha!” then shook motes of ot
her refuse off herself, showing no concern at the muss it had made of her hair. Pride really didn’t factor into much when this was your life. “Saw them toss this less than 20 minutes ago! No chance it’s gone bad yet!”
Drake gestured around them. “Only good thing about the cold; it’s our very own refrigerator we can’t turn off.”
Sally smirked, then shivered against the cold. “Thanks for reminding me.” Outside the garbage can, she was exposed to the wind. Her coat was threadbare, moldy, and fraying at all the seams. Her under-sweater and shirt tried to act as layers, but the wind cut right through those.
Drake noticed her discomfort and ruffled around in his cart.
Sally scowled. “Since when did you join the wanderers?” It was their collective term for those who chose to live with their possessions in mobile carts.
“Didn’t. This one’s busted anyway. Once I’m done, I’ll find Larry or Mike. They’re usually around my spots. See if they can scavenge off it and repair their carts. These wheels are good, and those have to wear down fast. At least they would have spares. But I was feeling lazy.”
Sally smirked. “Big strong man like you. Give it another year or two. You’ll be as stooped and hunched as the rest of us.”
Drake didn’t try to get her to stop talking down about herself. She was beaten up around the edges, and he suspected she flirted constantly with the line of scurvy and other mineral deficiency diseases. But at least she stood with her back straight. No sense trying to find silver linings when the cloud was so damned big around them. “We’ll see. Until then, here, take this. Bought it for you.” He handed over a second-hand coat that was pretty much whole. It was the thickest he could find for under $20.
Sally gawked. “You serious?” She didn’t really ask. She was already grabbing for it, tossing away the crippled one that was probably more of a health-hazard than doing anything to ward off the cold. She threw that in the dumpster, then donned the new one. “Where’d you find it?”