Red Hot Christmas

by Mara White

  She showered and fell into bed sated and exhausted. Her sheets were fresh and chilly, indulgent Egyptian cotton. Amber slid underneath them and pulled the down comforter up to her chin. She grabbed her phone off the night stand and angrily pulled up Instagram. She’d make a stupid account if that’s what she had to do to see pictures of him. With spite she typed in her info. What stupid name could she use? Scanning her room for inspiration, her eyes fell to tomorrow’s outfit she had laid out. A black blazer, white silk shirt with pearled buttons, tight black pencil skirt with a slit up the thigh. Her favorite Jimmy Choo’s, four inch red heels. Fuck me shoes. Sometimes women had to demand respect in the workplace and sometimes, if they were Amber, they wielded their sexuality as a weapon. Intimidation was her specialty. Men expected her to be stupid because she was beautiful. Instead, she was a torpedo they never saw coming. She got them stuck on the red shoes, the long legs, and then she pulled the rug out from under them.

  She slipped out of bed and crawled over to the expensive heels for a nice low perspective. Snapped a picture where the red of the patent leather shone brightly under the light. They looked like an invitation, a salacious one at that. She made the image her profile, followed Fit_and_Full_Frankie so she could scroll through all of his pictures.

  Red_Jimmy_Shoes liked the shower picture first and then the close up smile that made her lick her lips and close her eyes. That man was a living fantasy and he seemed completely oblivious to it.

  Frankie

  As usual, Frankie started his day with fifteen pull-ups on the bar he’d installed between his bedroom and the hallway. After a bowl of cold cereal, a protein shake, and two hard boiled eggs he did twenty-five push-ups on the living room floor. Then he walked his Yorkie, Peebo up and down the side walk on the Upper West Side. Why did he have a Yorkie? Did he love dogs? No. Was he trying to snag a chick who loved dogs? No. He didn’t even like other dogs, but he loved Peebo as if he were his own kid. Peebo had first been a point of contention. His sister Gloria had snagged a position at Google when she graduated from NYU. He’d told her not to get the stupid dog when she fell for his picture on an ASPCA adoption website, where she scrolled through the dog profiles like a kid in the candy store.

  “Glo, you’re graduating soon and what if you have to move out of state for a new position?” See the foresight? See the careful and thoughtful planning?

  “I’m never leaving the city and I’ll get a job here. OMG. Look at his little face. It says he likes Hummus and is afraid of balloons! Oh my GOD! I need him. Will you drive me over there?”

  Her squealing was a form of manipulation. He groaned and complained the whole way across town. He didn’t like dogs. They shed. You had to pick up their poop. It was gross. Gloria and Peebo, as his former owner-aka-abandoner- had named him, reunited as if they were long lost soul mates the minute the ASPCA pusher put the dog into his sister’s arms and Frankie had rolled his eyes at their theatrics. The way his sister spent money on that mop of fur was ridiculous. Outfits, shoes, that mutt wasn’t a kid. But he did sometimes pick the dog up when she wasn’t around and the pathetic rat-sized pooch looked sad and it kind of broke his heart.

  “Fuck, Peebo. What? She went out on a date and left you to fend for yourself? I told you my sister was a monster.” Frankie had gotten in the habit of taking the runt to a falafel joint on the corner when Gloria was out with her friends or on one of her Tinder dates. He ordered an extra side of Hummus with his Shawarma.

  “Women, suck, Peeman. I’m telling you,” he said as he held the tiny thing to his huge chest and let him lick Hummus out of a plastic container. It got so bad the dang dog took a liking for lamb and soon enough Frankie was ordering two sandwiches which he’d dismantle on the corner and feed to his secret little friend.

  “That is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen! Can I get a picture?” Probably a tourist. Probably never saw dogs eat anything other than dog food.

  “Why not?” he’d shrugged. Didn’t know it would go viral. Certainly didn’t know that hunks feeding little dogs was a fetish of sorts.

  “Holy Shit, Frankie, I got the fucking job!” Gloria had screeched in his ear and jumped up and down in her rain boots and jacket, tearing open the official letter before she even got all the way in the door.

  He was proud of her. Hugged her and smiled. Was a good enough of a brother not to mention the shared lease and half rent she’d be ditching him with. Plus, all of the checking in on and taking care of their mom and grandmother. What he did mention was the dog. He spent all of his extra time at the gym.

  “I can’t take him now. I’ve got to find a place and get settled. I promise next year I’ll come back and get him!”

  Of course Gloria moved into an apartment complex that didn’t allow pets. Of course she took the couch and for six months he sat on the coffee table to watch television. Eventually he dragged the two armchairs to the empty spot, placed them side by side. Frankie sat in one while Peebo claimed the other. They’d watch soccer while the miniature dog licked Hummus off of his finger.

  After giving his tiny roommate a hearty workout that ended at the dog run in Central Park, Frankie took out his phone to occupy himself while Peebo ran yapping and made hysterical circles around the big dogs. Girls always tried to pick him up at the dog run. But it just didn’t do it for him, talking about grooming and dog food brands while picking up poop in plastic bags and then shaking hands. Love over a Labrador or Shiba Inu just wasn’t sexy to him.

  Red fuck me heels, now those were sexy. He scrolled through his Instagram and clicked on some of his new followers. Red_Jimmy_Shoes had liked both his shower picture and his close up smile. He followed her back. His trainer Lou had a strategy: “Frank, follow back one in every ten. Gotta keep your ratios up. Talent scouts look at those things!”

  The whole fucking world was numbers for Lou, calories, followers, reps, pounds, inches, lap time, cardiac response, goddamned ounces of water. He sighed loudly and looked up quickly to check on his running mate. Peebo was manic. Flinging his tiny body into the air to nip at the ears of a dog ten times his size. With his hilarious little yip, which of course Peebo thought was his oh so intimidating bark. He’d hit the top of his jump and wiggle his torso to try for another air-born millimeter. God, the damn dog took after him, pushing physical limits was all Frankie knew. It was his life, his most comfortable space to be in.

  The giant dog’s owner tried to get his attention with a huge smile, he returned her a weak smile and buried his nose in his phone, happy for the distraction.

  Red_Jimmy_Shoes had only one picture besides the profile, but it was a good one. She was wearing a silk camisole and panties, the ensemble looked like a million bucks, not just cause it was high end, but because the chick, if it really was her, her body was slamming. She was fit and voluptuous, no bra, but her tits were perfect pear shapes and the nipples tilted up. She’d oiled her body up and then stepped into the shower so that the water beaded on her skin and made the ensemble almost see-through. His cock twitched in his pants and he adjusted himself so that the girls at the dog run wouldn’t gawk at his hard on. Red_Jimmy_Shoes was hot, slamming hot, and he could almost see it all within one single picture. She didn’t show her face, but the body was perfection. The crotch of her panties was damp and he could see she was fully shaved. The cleft of her cunt hinted at gently in the shadow. That little cleft V begged for his tongue. He wanted to trail his fingertips up her thighs and part her there, penetrate her with his tongue.

  He glanced up at Peebo again who was jumping and spinning mid-air, coming down from a landing facing the opposite way. The other dogs had just stopped and were staring. They’d realized how crazy the damn mutt was and not even the big dogs could keep up with his manic energy.

  “Peebo! Five minutes!” he yelled across the dog park like you would to a toddler. Peebo took off running at warp speed, ears flying out behind him like little wings. His dog was such an adorable psychopath the other dogs didn’t even know what to t
hink. They sniffed at Peebo’s butt and the territory he marked with his teaspoon of urine trying to find out what the little fucker ate and drank. Hummus, Frankie silently told the confused looking pack of hounds, while Peebo raced across the entire expanse, skidded and then crashed into the wall.

  He stood up and whistled, two fingers in between his lips. His dick was pressing against his fly, probably getting a fuck of a chaffing from his zipper. Peebo turned on a dime and started racing his way. All the women at the run were staring at him, ridiculous smiles plastering their faces. He hoped it was for Peebo and not for his outrageous erection. He might have to shower again before work. Red_Jimmy_Shoes had his blood pumping and lust charging through his veins like an amphetamine.

  In the bathroom his squirted lotion onto his palm. He grabbed his shaft and began to massage the thick corded erection up and down. His stomach muscles tensed and he leaned into the sink with one hand. The pronounced helmet of the head was nearly purple with how worked up he was. He conjured her body in his mind’s eye, imagined her in the ensemble and added the red shoes in. His mouth fell open and he licked his lips and thrust his pelvis forward. His cock was so heavy in his hand, his balls synched tight, he knew he’d come soon and hard. He pictured himself trailing his tongue over the skin that just barely showed, where the camisole fell short and exposed some of her taught belly flesh. Dip in her belly button. Under the curve of her breast. Pulling the tight nipple into his mouth and nursing it until it elongated under his tongue, sucking until she squirmed and her hips writhed underneath him. Then he’d slowly move to the other one and suck it good until he could feel the wetness through those expensive panties. He’d rub his heavy cock over her cunt and she’d be desperate to spread her legs, but he wouldn’t let her.

  “Please, fuck me, Frankie!” she’d beg. He’d deny her. Make her stand at the foot of the bed. Peel off those soaked panties and torturously slow, lift that feather-weight cami over her full and aching breasts. She’d arch them to his lips and he’d keep his mouth closed. He’d twist her around not giving a thought to what she wanted. Face down on the bed, ass in air. He’d kick those heels apart so he could get a look at how her muscles clenched for him, how desperately she wanted him.

  “Spread your ass cheeks,” he’d demand. He stroked his enormous cock ruthlessly, his grip tighter than ever. He pulsed hot spurts of semen all over her tight ass. Or in reality, over the porcelain sink in his apartment. He closed Instagram and blushed ever so slightly at his own enthusiasm. He hadn’t known he was such a sucker for haute lingerie and designer shoes—specifically the red ones.

  Amber

  She had a huge acquisition happening the week of Thanksgiving. Amber emailed her mom and dad and her twin sisters that she wouldn’t be able to make it to their usual gathering in Westchester. Her mother left a voicemail which Amber listened to as she brushed her teeth.

  “Honey, could you at least call on the phone to tell us that work is more important than your family?”

  “Ha!” Amber barked as she spit toothpaste into the sink. She facetimed her mother as she ran a flatiron through her hair. Lou had made her do so much planking that her arms shook just holding up the flat iron to her hair.

  “Don’t tell me your working on Thanksgiving Day, Amber Elizabeth!”

  “Mom, you were the one who always told me I’d have to give one hundred and fifty percent compared to every man’s ninety,” her mother was drinking coffee and doing the Times crossword puzzle.

  “What’s the post war name of Upper Volta?”

  “Burkina Faso,” Amber said as she sprayed heat protectant on the other side of her strawberry blonde locks.

  “So smart, love. You always were…” Her mother turned on the morning news and took a sip of her coffee. “Would you at least consider driving up after work? Julia and Devon will be here. They both love you so much.”

  Julia and Devon were her niece and nephew. The truth was that all the family functions she attended were to see those two sweet kids. Everything else was too much pressure. Questions from her sisters and mother about the divorce settlement and Chase’s new dating habits. Endless work inquiry from her two brothers in law, enough to make her feel like they were competing on the job. Even though they all had a background in finance, her sister’s husbands worked for banks and Amber had sworn off banks after her internship at Bank of America which had her living sixteen hours a day inside a tiny cubicle. It felt like jail. Everyone in her family was genuinely interested and trying to connect with her, but the third degree was exhausting and she’d rather play with the kids, or even throw the football with her dad. Not to mention the feminine side of her family constantly giving dating advice, her sisters coming up with matchmaking plans with divorcees who lived in the suburbs. She was over it. They all acted like her life had ended when she and Chance split up, but in actuality Amber felt much happier single. No one to have to entertain or feed, no one to hold you accountable when you donated a large chunk of your income to charities around the world. Refugee children always tugged at her heart strings more than she could bear.

  “We could have bought into the time share in St. Martin with the other guys in the firm, but you go and give your entire Christmas bonus to some damn charity for kids we don’t even know!” Chase had been drunk and had tossed one of her house plants against the wall. You could still see the scratches from the impact of the clay pot. They’d already been skating on thin ice as they say.

  “You should wear a “NO DIVING” sign around your neck to warn people how shallow you are!” It hadn’t been her best moment.

  “Oh Lordy, what’s the capital of this former Upper Volta, honey? Eleven letters. Starts with O and ends with U. That’s all I got,” her mother said into the phone.

  “Ouagadougou. I’ll come for pie. After I put in a full day’s work. Are you making Pecan or Pumpkin?”

  “Both. Spell Ougagagdou. You really do outsmart us all. Your father never gets the rebus themed answers. Honey, did you ever think of auditioning for Jeopardy? I always liked that host Trebek. Do you think he really knows all the answers or is that just for the show?”

  “OUAGADOUGOU. I’ve gotta go, mom! I’ll be there for pie and coffee. What sizes are Julia and Devon now?”

  “Six and eight, here’s another one, you might know-“

  “Bye, mom, love you!” Amber hollered and ended the call. She had to be stealthy or her mother would make her do the whole crossword and she’d end up late for work. “Shit,” she exclaimed glancing at her watch. Her car was due to pick her up in ten minutes. She shimmied into her tailored suit and second guessed the shoes. What if Fit_and_Full_Frankie had seen her post. Chances were slim since he had half a million followers, but just the same, the idea of him realizing she was a secret fan was embarrassing. Amber didn’t have time for socializing or playing games. It was more likely than not that she wouldn’t run into him anyway. The Empire State Building was huge and busy. Even if she strutted by in her brazen red whore shoes tap dancing, he might not notice her. It was hard to stand out in the bustle of New York City, especially during the holidays.

  Frankie

  “Aw for fucks sake!” he groaned to his co-worker Manuel. They’d been stuck with bathroom duty. The schedule rotated with sections for the over twenty-five head janitors or “operations managers” as they liked to call them. Bathroom duty was at most only monthly, but it still sucked to do it. Cleaning toilets always made him question whether or not he should go into full time fitness and body building. But then his mother’s voice always echoed in the back of his head. “401K, paid vacation, health insurance, etc. etc.” Between himself and Gloria, he was the practical one. He thought things through while Gloria acted impulsively. Hence, his current situation. Paying full rent for a two-bedroom apartment in Manhattan for himself and a tiny dog with a big personality. Because his irresponsible sister had ditched him. Not to mention that she would probably be getting a complementary massage or playing ping pong while he wa
s scrubbing bowls and disinfecting sinks. On the flip side, he knew that If he quit there would be the inevitable lecture from his mom. When I first came to this country in 1959…

  His mother was Puerto Rican and had grown up in poverty, while his dad was white and wealthy and had fallen hard for his determined mother while they were both in the School of Journalism at Columbia. Mom had worked her way up from a dirt floor, while his father had been handed most things on a silver platter. But in the end, that’s why the two of them worked. His mom and dad were still deeply in love up to this day and had set nearly unattainable relationship goals for him and Gloria. How could either of them ever find their soul mates and remain madly in love and happily married with children for over a quarter of a century? It seemed impossible by today’s standards. Unless maybe she had those red heels and the banging body like the picture from last night. Frankie groaned out loud and adjusted his work jumper.

  “We’ll go floor by floor and switch men’s and women’s on each one,” Manuel said. Anyone listening in to their conversation would wonder what the fuck they were talking about. The women’s bathrooms were fairly neat, everything left in its place, while the men’s were a zoo, poorly aimed piss and paper towels thrown all over the place. Sometimes there was stubble in the sinks like those rich executives didn’t have enough time to shave at home. Maybe they didn’t go home because they were out snorting coke of the breasts of prostitutes all night long? What did he know. Sometimes it wasn’t just stubble, it was way worse. But Frankie could get through a day. He could buck up and get the job done. Besides, he knew there were worse occupations out there, more hazardous, more tedious, less pay, so he would shut the fuck up.