A touch of the bitter sound came back. “Oh good, more promises. When would you like me to prove that, at the turn of the next century? Not sure if my pants will still be around to be gotten into by that point.”
He shook his head again. “You really are a bit crazy, and maybe in a good way, maybe not. Luckily, I’m not your run-of-the-mill guy either, so it might just be a very good thing.” He stepped closer. “And no, not the next century. Tonight. You’re going to prove just how young and nubile you are tonight. And then again tomorrow night. Hell, maybe tomorrow morning too.”
I froze at his words. Hope, lust, and terror sweeping through me. Tonight.
Tonight.
What if he walked away again?
“Why tonight? Let’s prove it. Right now. You say you want me, prove it.” What the hell had gotten into me?
He kissed me. Hard, heated, wet. His stubble raking against mine. He pulled me close, smashing my body to his, letting me feel that he wasn’t all talk. He pressed his erection on mine, and pulled away from the kiss. He lightly ground against me. “All right, my man. My crazy man. And you’re going to have to get used to that nickname. It’s sticking.” He continued to rub his groin against mine. “But we are waiting for tonight. The Winnebago has been idling too long as it is.”
Disappointment flared, then confusion. “What?”
He grinned. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Then he was gone. The pressure of his hands, of his erection, of his presence gone.
Maybe he was right. I did feel like I was going crazy. That I’d been lost to craziness.
Before I could make sense of all I was feeling, before I could take in that I’d just been promised sex tonight, that I’d been promised a tomorrow, Raymond was shoving the door open with his foot and walking back into the house. He held a huge something in his arms, covered with a heavy blanket.
“Raymond, what are you—” The sounds reached me then. Easily my favorite sounds in the world. Small little chirps. “What did you do?”
He smiled at me. A huge happily nervous smile. He walked over to the table and placed the box on top and removed the blanket.
The chirping got louder. The top of the box was open and there was a small red bow, the kind with the sticky back, placed awkwardly on the side.
“Merry Christmas, Samuel. Even if it’s a bit early.”
I glanced at him in wonder, then walked over to the table, peering inside. There were a couple of dozen fluffy black chicks and six yellow ones. They were pecking around at some food scattered over the newspaper-covered floor of the box, some of them looking up at me. I just stared at them. In complete wonder. They couldn’t be. They just couldn’t.
Tearing my gaze away from the baby chicks, I looked over at Raymond, speechless.
He looked more nervous than before, and he shrugged. “The black ones are those Swedish Black Hens you wanted. They’re my way of saying Merry Christmas and that I’d like to explore how our weird lives might look together.” He laughed. “Though I didn’t quite realize just how weird we were talking until now.”
I looked back down. Swedish Black Hens. I couldn’t believe it. Then really looked. There were so many of them. “Raymond. These had to cost a fortune. You shouldn’t have done—”
He cut me off. “Money is to be spent, and I’ve got plenty of it. And, even if I didn’t, the look on your face right now is worth twice what I spent.” He pointed to the yellow ones that I’d just realized weren’t baby chickens at all. “Those little guys, the yella ones, are my way of saying I’m sorry about your turkey. I hate that I hurt you. When I ordered the chicks, I asked if they had any fancy turkeys. They suggested these. White something-or-others.”
I let out a breath of awe. “White Holland Turkeys. They’re all white when they grow up. They’re gorgeous.”
“Yeah. They said if you liked show birds, you’d like these. I don’t know if you really wanted another breed of turkeys, but I thought—”
“I can’t believe you did this.”
I searched his gaze, blown away by this strange, infuriating man. Strange, infuriating, wonderful man.
“I’m not playing games, Samuel. I’m sorry if I caused you stress the past few weeks. I thought I was giving you time.”
I waved it away, forgetting the chicks for a moment, and for the first time, I kissed him first. A kiss full of thanks, and care, and hope. As full as I could make it.
After several minutes, we pulled apart. Raymond’s voice was raspy with lust. “So, those little guys are the reason I’m not taking you to bed until later. I didn’t want them to stay in the Winnebago. And I figured you’d want to take them out to the coop before it got too dark.” He glanced out the window. “Which it looks like I’m already a little late for.”
I reared back. “The coop? Are you kidding? We can’t put the babies with all others. Especially in this weather. They’d die in minutes.” I rushed to the closet and began pulling out jackets and scarves. “Here, layer up over yours, this is gonna take a bit. I’ve got to get all the other birds fed and put away, and then we’ll go to the shed. I’ve got some heating lamps out there and baby chick feeders. I can set up a place for them in the laundry room until they’re big enough to join the others.” I paused, one arm in the jacket. “Actually, I should probably build another coop. We can put the Black Swedes and the White Hollands together, but I don’t want them to crossbreed with the other chickens and turkeys. I’ve been wanting to get heat to all the coops. We could start with the new one. We can really go all out. In fact we could—” I broke off at Raymond’s expression. “What?”
He smiled and sounded a bit amazed. “You’re saying we. That we’re going to do all those things.”
Oh shit. I was. “Uhm, sorry. I guess I got ahead—”
“No. I like it. We. We’ll make them a new coop.”
We stared at each other across the room to the sound of happy chirping. We stared at each other, already settling into a new way of existing. “You know, I was about to say, with the heat, maybe you could help me make them off grid. Like you say, so the government doesn’t know what the chickens are up to.”
He laughed. A beautiful, cheerful sound. “Yeah, I think that would be best.”
Six
Raymond’s erection lived up to its dangling promise. I stared at it from where I sat on the edge of the bed as he approached from across the room. “It’s been a while. I can’t guarantee I can take all of… that this evening. Might have to work up to it.”
He laughed and grabbed my dick when he got to the bed. “You’re no small fry either, and that’s some goal I have no problem spending time working our way up to. Besides, who said I have to be in you tonight? I can take it just as good as I can give it.”
For some reason, I’d not pictured Raymond as a guy who would bottom. Though I wasn’t really sure why. It was rare that I played the top role, and while it sounded exciting, I felt a momentary sense of loss at the thought. I wanted to feel him inside of me. To feel him move in his own rhythm as my hands clenched his chest hair. To watch his face above me, see if he kept that teasing, sexy smile the whole time or it if would give way to something more primal. To be assured by the very physical act that I was not just one man.
Raymond must have been able to read my expression in the dim light. “Or, we’ll take our time.” He squeezed my dick. “This monster will most definitely be inside of me tomorrow. But, tonight, if the other is what you want….”
“It is.” I looked him full in the face. No more games, real or otherwise. “I want to feel you inside of me. I want your body over me. I want to watch your face as you come.”
His eyes grew wide for a second, probably taken aback by my boldness, and then they grew heated. “We can do that. All of that.” He bent down and kissed me, gave my dick a final squeeze, and then lifted his hand, cupping the back of my head.
I didn’t even try to hold back the sigh that escaped.
After a
bit, at his nudging, I scooted back on the bed. He followed, crawling over me as I lay down. For a second I nearly asked permission, then didn’t. I reached up, sinking both of my hands into the thick mass of silver hair over his chest. He shivered. I gave a little tug, and he let out a groan.
Kneeling over me, he began exploring my body, running his hands over my chest and shoulders, then down my arms. “You’re even more muscly than I thought. You have the body of a forty-eight-year-old.”
I could tell he was teasing, kinda. “Good thing I’m a spry fifty-six, huh? And muscles come from life on a farm, even if the middle of it was in the city. The cattle keep me healthy. The birds keep me happy.” From downstairs as if on cue, a soft chirp sounded.
Raymond grinned. “Well, I’m glad you have more of them to keep you happy, but I’m going to do my best to give them a run for their money in the happy department.” He trailed his fingers down my stomach and gripped my dick once more. “Speaking of….” He shifted down the bed, intentionally letting his dick and low-hanging testicles scrape against my leg as he moved. He gave me another grin and then lowered his head, taking me into his mouth.
I let my eyes close, even though I loved watching him move. The few experiences I’d had with strangers in the city over the past many years were little more than body mechanics. Just getting a need met. And maybe the actions weren’t any different with Raymond, but they felt like it. As he explored my body, I couldn’t keep from picturing us caring for the birds together, or maybe going on a trip in his Winnebago. Maybe even across state lines. Maybe.
The joy and contentment increased with every new pass of his hand, with every new lick and squeeze. And hope. There was hope. Of a kind I’d not even realized I’d wanted or been missing. And along with it, came that fear.
We didn’t know each other. Not really.
But it felt like we did. Like we fit in some strange way.
Later, when he was inside of me, his gaze watching, his wicked smile in place, his words about the three loves floated between us. Yeah, maybe we fit.
And when he came, that Raymond-esque smile broke, for just a second. Just long enough to let me know he’d lost control in that moment.
I was going to have a wonderful time causing that expression over and over again.
* * *
As every Christmas night before, I sat on the sofa by the fire, a book in my hands. The Christmas tree twinkled in the corner of the room, beside the window looking out over a fresh snowfall glistening in the moonlight. Instrumental holiday music played softly. Laying the book on the arm of the sofa, I carefully reached over and broke off a piece of the gingerbread cookie from the nearby platter and popped it in my mouth. I let my eyes close, letting the scent and flavor carry me back over the years. To when I was a child and my parents sat on a different sofa in this same location as I played with my new toys. To when I was older, and Dad was gone, and it was just Mom and me. To when it was just me.
Raymond shifted his head on my lap and let out a soft snort of a snore. Still chewing the cookie, I was brought back to the present. Christmases past mingling over this one, somehow watching over us both.
I stroked his white hair, then smoothed out his eyebrows. It had been a miracle he’d actually used the eyebrow trimmer I’d given him that morning. Thank God. The man needed grooming.
How strange that he was here. That in just a few weeks my life had changed. That, even with the risk of losing again, I had hope. I had love.
The chirps that carried over the music were louder now. The chicks already entering that ugly, gangly stage. The noise was just as beautiful as the carols.
I sighed with contentment and looked over to the group of family portraits. I have to get one of Raymond and me before the next holiday season. Maybe for Valentine’s Day, to replace where the gingerbread farm was placed. I chuckled as I looked at it again. The barn was the same. As were the cattle, fences, and trees. However, just like my life, it had morphed into something more. Raymond had insisted there be black chickens and white turkeys roaming around the gingerbread panorama. There was also a large gingerbread wind turbine that Raymond had actually gotten to spin with the help of a little battery pack.
And, there were now two little gingerbread farmers. One of them was naked and had a little pink Tic Tac for a penis. I assured Raymond he’d chosen the wrong candy if he’d wanted it to be to scale, but he insisted that he wanted something that would still be okay for me to lick when we tore the thing apart in a couple of months. The things I’d do for that man.
I couldn’t help but laugh again, looking at the stupid, adorable… stupid naked gingerbread man.
Raymond shifted again, then arched his back with a groan. He sat up, leaving my lap missing the heat and weight of his head. “Sorry, I guess I fell asleep.” He leaned over, kissed me for several seconds, then straightened into a stretch. He flinched suddenly. “Oh shit. Is it still Christmas, or did I sleep past midnight?”
I rolled my eyes. “Really? You think I’d still be awake if it were past midnight?” I motioned to the grandfather clock. “It’s a quarter till nine.”
“Oh. Thank God!” He stood quickly. “I’ll be right back.”
It was amazing how fast he could move, considering how soundly he’d been asleep. I called after him. “We really don’t have to do this. It’s a little bit ridiculous.”
“How dare you call my creations ridiculous!” His voice was muffled as he banged around in the kitchen. Why it required banging of any kind, I had no idea.
Raymond beamed as he walked back in, passing in front of the gingerbread farm. “You promised. For Christmas. Ridiculous or not.”
He sat down beside me and held up the plate of brownies in front of me like it was a work of art. “Care for some magic, my crazy man?”
One
“Silent Night” holds the distinction of being the most annoying song ever written. Even back when I was young enough to still like Christmas, “Silent Night” drove me crazy. It was too slow, too mournful, too… ugh. However, put in a techno beat and it surpasses its own dredges of mediocrity. I glanced at the calendar hanging next to the window of safety glass. December 15. Okay, we’d passed the halfway point. Only ten more days. Ten more long, fucking days of heavy-beat-laden Christmas music. Ten Days. I could do ten days. Maybe not without murdering someone, but still. Bad enough I had to hear it at work, but the shit was everywhere. Everywhere! A person couldn’t get their damn groceries without needing to survive yet another version of the same twenty songs we’d been listening to for generations. Thankfully, out in the world, the carols weren’t techno, at least most of the time.
The track switched to “Jingle Bell Rock.” The techno version. I groaned and let my forehead rest against the glass.
“At least this one makes a little more sense. It’s a rock song.”
I didn’t bother looking over at Philip and kept my eyes squeezed shut. “Just because it has the word ‘rock’ in the title doesn’t make it a rock song. And it definitely doesn’t make it a techno song either.”
Even the loud ripping sound of Philip opening one of the boxes that had been delivered an hour before didn’t entice me to open my eyes. Neither did his words. “Oh. Poppers. Good. We were running out.” More rustling noises came and then a pause. I could feel him staring at me. “Hey, Brian.”
“What?” I gritted my teeth. Only a few more hours and I could go home. I’d planned on filming tonight, but I didn’t think I had it in me. Maybe just some World of Warcraft and take home Taco Bell. I brightened at the thought. Taco Bell!
“Look at me.”
With another groan, I angled to see Philip without moving my head from its resting position against the glass. I forced myself to keep from grinning and raised an eyebrow. “You’re an idiot.”
“Nah. I’m adorable.” He waggled his eyebrows and continued to gyrate his body in time to the music. He raised each hand above his head as he shook two of the larger one-ounce bottles of
poppers. “Can’t you hear the jingle of the little power pellet inside?”
And he was adorable. Not my type—twinks had never done anything for me. But objectively, yes, adorable. And he knew it. I nearly told him I most assuredly couldn’t hear the tiny ball clanging around inside the glass bottle but then pictured him coming over and shaking the poppers by my ears as he shimmied his body over mine.
“It’s lovely, Philip. You’re quite the Christmas elf.” I gestured toward the office door. “You should probably do a sheet run. Rooms fifteen and twenty-three just checked out while you were on your smoke break. And for the love of God, can’t you wear more than just a jockstrap?”
“You really want me to cover up all this perfection?” He lowered the bottles but didn’t stop dancing, making sure to thrust his thinly covered bulge in my direction. “Plus, the guys like it.”
I pushed away from the window finally, growing serious. “I won’t tell Robert I caught you getting fucked last week. But you’re gonna get caught. You know management doesn’t want us fooling around while we’re working.”
He ignored my warning and, like I was afraid he’d do, came over and began to shimmy over my body. “Don’t be jealous, daddy. I’ll let you take me anytime you want. You know I love me a big old bear.”
I looked out the window again before he could read my expression. “Just clean the rooms, Philip. And keep your dick in your pants… er, pouch.”
He huffed and made a racket of getting clean sheets and unlocking the office door. “Luckily my hole is already uncovered,” he said, getting one last jibe in before he stepped out and quickly closed the door.
I glared after him. I liked Philip. He had a good heart and treated me like a normal person. Though sometimes I wished he’d find me invisible like most men did. He made me feel dirty, which was quite an accomplishment, considering I’d worked at the bathhouse for over seven years. But I’d seen the guys he preferred. Philip was a self-proclaimed chubby chaser. It didn’t matter what their faces looked like, if they smelled, or even had all their teeth. If they were five times bigger than him, he was interested. Most of the men Philip lusted after made me cringe. I hated that I was his type. I knew I was a bear, and not the muscle-type bear. Just a bear. And at forty-five, I had to admit I was also now officially a daddy.
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