The following is my non-entry into CAW #9. I have recused myself from the actual Challenge. but felt like writing a story anyway. The theme is "gifts." In this story, there is one material gift, with wrapping paper and a bow, but there are other acts of giving as well. I hope you enjoy.
Back when I was in high school, I was told I needed a college education if I was ever going to have the American dream – you know, house in suburbia, wife who is even hotter now than before our 2.5 kids were born, a nice SUV for her, a cool truck for me, golfing, maybe a little boat to use for fishing on weekends, all that shit middle-class kids are told they'll want when they grow up.
There was one major problem with all of that. I was a decent enough student to get into a good college, but I wasn't athletic enough to get a sports scholarship, and not quite enough of an achiever in school to get any merit-based help. My folks couldn't afford to pay for my schooling, and I wasn't mature enough to consider going to school and working full-time all at once.
So, I did what a lot of kids do. I found a decent-paying job after graduation, planning to work for a year or two, to make enough money to pay for some of my schooling myself. After all, the girl I was in love with, the amazing wife-to-be, wouldn't want to be saddled with my student loans for years.
One late summer morning, everything changed. I could hear some commotion in the office. Then one of the secretaries came out crying. She looked like she had just witnessed the end of the world.
“Tamara, what's wrong?” I asked.
“Oh God, Joel, they say there may be thousands dead,” she sobbed.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“Go in Sarah's office. She has a news feed up on her computer. Oh, God, all those people dead!” she wailed as she ran for the ladies' room.
I had no idea what was going on when I dashed to Sarah's desk. I got there just in time to see a plane hit the second of the Twin Towers. I stood there, slack-jawed, not quite believing what I was seeing. The news commentators were speculating on the likelihood of two airliners colliding with those two buildings within less than twenty minutes, and very soon, everyone knew we were under attack. The few die-hards who didn't want to believe it were convinced when we learned about the other planes.
Stunned, I wandered outside for a cigarette. Work was forgotten for the day. Several people were certain that one of the people seen jumping, or falling, from those buildings had been our company president, Mr. Chambers, who had a sales appointment there.
A guy I worked with came outside and leaned heavily against the wall next to me. He lit up a smoke, took a few drags, turned to me, and said, “What now?”
“I have no fucking clue. Shit, does someone want a war?”
“We have to fight them. I'm so mad right now, I just want to go find those sons-of-bitches and cut their hearts out,” he growled.
“Me too. I want to hurt someone like they hurt us,” I agreed.
“Well, I know what I'm going to do,” he said, grinding out his cigarette. “Come with me after work. I'm going to enlist.”
I called my fiancee, and we talked for almost an hour. She knew what I was going to say when I called her. I wasn't sure what the future would bring, but I was raised to never take shit lying down. I went with my buddy from work and joined the Army.
At one point, I considered becoming a career military man. The life was impossibly hard, but I knew I was doing what needed to be done. I was on a mission to save the world from terrorists, to make America safe.
My glorious military career ended rather suddenly. A roadside bomb killed everyone in the Humvee I was riding in but me. I heard the blast, felt the blast, but didn't feel anything else for a couple of days. A pretty young nurse with a German accent finally got me to understand that my one leg was gone above the knee, and my other leg ended a few inches below the knee.
I was in a fog. Morphine makes it pretty hard to grasp some concepts, I guess. That same nurse had to read the month-old “Dear John” letter to me five times before I understood that no one was going to be waiting for me when I got home.
That was almost a year ago. Now I wake up in the morning in my apartment, turn off the alarm clock before it can make its awful noise, glance briefly at my Purple Heart, and start getting ready to face the day.
The army changed my life, no question about that. They did the surgeries to patch me up and gave me prostheses and a wheelchair. Better prostheses, ones that may have restored my mobility, would have required more surgery, and I wasn't sure I was ready for that just yet, so the army helped to pay for the installation of hand controls and other disability modifications in a pick-up truck I bought. Employment? Uh, not so much.
Regardless of all the laws and public service messages out there, the reality is that there are few civilian job openings for a guy whose only military-trained skills are humping tank rounds and driving a big rig, especially since I couldn't do either of those things any more.
That's how I wound up responding to an online job posting for holiday season help at the mall. Retail wasn't exactly the field I had expected to find myself in, but I was sick of the temp agencies, and I needed to get out of my apartment and re-join the living. I thought there should be plenty of things I could learn to do from my chair.
When I rolled into the mall office for my interview, the personnel manager said, “I'm Ted Haggerty, and you must be Joel Parmer. I'd salute you, but I can't raise my arm that high any more. Two years in a little cage in a North Viet Nam prison camp pretty much ended that for me. I see on your application that you're a veteran, too. I know I'm not supposed to ask you this, but we're just two broken-down old warhorses, here, okay?”
“I'll tell you whatever you want to know, sir,” I replied.
“Tell me what happened, and how you're doing,” he said.
“Long story short, third tour of duty in Iraq, roadside bomb, both legs were hamburger and needed to be amputated. From the field hospital they flew me to Germany, and I had more surgery there. I'd need more operations to be able to wear the fancy new-tech prostheses, and I'm just not ready for the pain. The prostheses I have allow me to stand, but I really can't walk without crutches or handrails. That's why I usually use my chair in public. I was working to save for college when 9/11 happened. I enlisted, got hurt, honorable medical discharge, been working through temp agencies at odd filing jobs since then. I'm starting college after the holidays, and any money I can earn to prepare for that will help. I'll do anything I'm capable of, sir.”
“I don't have any of my own, sir, and I don't have any childcare training. Why?”
“Can you stand kids?”
“Yes, sir, I guess I didn't answer your last question. I like kids, sir, I just don't have much experience with them.”
“OK, here's the thing. The mall needs a Santa. You sit in a chair wearing a costume, listen to children say what they want for Christmas, smile for pictures, that's pretty much it. There's room in 'Santa's Workshop' to store your chair, and the 'elves' can help you if you need it. Here's the pay scale and the work schedule,” he said, pushing a paper across the desk.
I read what he handed me. The pay was more than I was getting from the temp agency, and the mall employee discount meant I would be able to buy a few gifts for my family along with some stuff I knew I would need to start school.
“How many shifts may I work per week, sir?” I asked.
“You're the first candidate I'm hiring this year, so you have your pick. Welcome aboard!”
That's how I came to be wearing a white wig and beard, a “fat suit”, and a red costume.
Every day was different. At least once each morning and each afternoon, a toddler would piss on me or a baby would spit up on my suit, which meant a wardrobe change. The “elves” sometimes helped me with that when we were busy (to keep the line moving), so they all knew my physical limitations. All the women who worked with me as elves were young mothers or college students, and, with me being only twenty-six years old, we jelled pretty quickly into a cohesive team.
Occasionally, some giggly high school girls would come by our stand, and dare each other to sit on Santa's lap. Sometimes, this would end badly, with a girl looking upset when she felt the straps and hinges on my prostheses pressing into her thigh or butt. The college-age girls were better about it. Most of them seemed to choose to ignore the evidence of my injuries, and a few made sure they wiggled around on my lap until they felt something against their asses that wasn't made of plastic or metal.
My favorite elf was Sandy, a junior in college, taking a semester off to earn money. Her name fit her, since she had a long mane of wavy, sandy-blond hair. She even had a pixie face, and she looked very nice in her green-and-white striped tights and elf costume. She started work the same day I did, and we immediately hit it off. Sandy had worked as a hospital volunteer in high school, so I wasn't too shocked when she offered to help me with changing my wet pants. She saw what I looked like in just my underwear, and we came to accept that as part of our working relationship.
It was still early enough in the season that weekdays when school was in session were slow. We had a few babies and toddlers, but the kids old enough to actually tell Santa what gifts they wanted were all in school. For that reason, only Sandy and I worked at “Santa's Workshop” at those times. One elf was enough to keep the line orderly, while snapping and printing pictures and taking money. In the early afternoon, we would close the stand for our lunch break, since the kiddies were usually home taking naps. Sandy and I got fairly comfortable talking to each other on those boring days.
On an especially slow day, a slutty young woman sat on my lap just before break time. This girl wasn't dressed to impress. She was dressed to seduce. When she sat on my lap, she grabbed my arm and wrapped it around her so her one breast was in my hand. She kept squirming around on my lap trying to get into just the right pose for the camera, and she managed to put a hand on my cock which was growing in my pants. “Oooh, a nice big candy cane,” she murmured in my ear. “Santa, I've been a very bad girl this year. Do you know what a bad girl should get for Christmas?” When she was done with her pictures, she scribbled a note and stuck it in my hand, kissed me on the cheek, and swished her ass walking away.
Sandy had already hung up our sign that said, “Ho! Ho! Ho! Working on more toys! Back at 2:00.” She came over to me pushing my chair. “Do you know what a bad girl needs for Christmas?” she giggled, mocking our last customer.
“Knock it off, Sandy,” I laughed.
“Can you say 'aggressive'? Why didn't she just wear a sign that says, 'Looking to get laid'?”
We both laughed like kids as I hauled myself off Santa's chair and into my own.
“She did answer one question for me, though,” Sandy said.
“What's that?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Sandy blushed.
“Come on, say it. We're friends, aren't we? What was the question?” I persisted.
By this time, we were in a restricted-access hallway, one not open to the public, heading to the employee break room. “Well,” Sandy said, “I've seen your injuries,...”
“Yeah,” I said, hoping to draw her out.
“And you've told me what happened,...”
“I'm not shy about that. It's pretty obvious that I'm not the same as I once was. And besides, you've helped me change my pants. You've seen the worst. So, ask away.”
“But I always sort of wondered, um, well,...”
“Well, I wondered if you had any damage,... um,... further up. OK, I'll just say it. I wondered if you still could function as a man. And judging by what I saw when that slut got off your lap, I guess you can.”
“Oh,” I said. She was blushing so hard, her cheeks were redder than her red tunic top. “Yeah, I, um,... yeah, I... I can.”
“Well, that's good, I guess,” Sandy said. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“No. I did. I thought we were going to get married. I got a 'Dear John' letter when I was in the hospital after I got wounded.”
“She broke up with you because you lost your legs?” Sandy sputtered. “That's horrible!”
“No, no, she had mailed the letter before I got hurt. It just took a while for the letter to find me. It's okay, really. It was hard at the time, but, well, you move on.”
“But have you?” she asked.
“I guess. Yes, I have. I had to. A lot of things changed for me in a very short time. You know what they say: 'What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.'”
“I guess,” Sandy said. We ate our lunches in silence.
“Joel?” Sandy asked.
“Do you ever go out? Do you ever see anyone?”
“Not really,” I said. “It's kind of a hassle with my chair and fake legs and all.”
“Some people are able to get prostheses that they can do stuff on. I've even seen videos of people running on prostheses,” Sandy said.
“They tell me I'd need more surgery on both legs, maybe two procedures on the left leg, to revise the stumps enough to allow me to wear the good stuff, and my benefits won't cover all of it. Maybe I'll do it one day, but I'm pretty much done with hospitals and pain for the time being,” I said.
Sandy was quiet for the rest of our break, but just as we were re-opening “Santa's Workshop,” she said, “What are you doing after work?”
“Going home, I guess.”
“Would you like to stop for a drink?” she asked.
“How about if we grab some dinner, too?” I responded.
“Sounds like fun.”
The afternoon was a lot busier after school let out, and by the time our replacements came in, Sandy and I were both glad to be done for the day. We went to our locker room to change.
When Sandy came out of the building, I was waiting at the curb in my truck. “Get in,” I said. “I'm sorry I'm not gentleman enough to hold your door for you.”
“Oh, don't be silly,” she said, sliding into the passenger's bucket seat. “I'm not handicapped, you know.” She suddenly got a shocked, embarrassed look on her face and covered her mouth. “Oh, oh my God, I'm so sorry, Joel. That was awful of me. You must think I'm an insensitive bitch.”
“No, it's okay, “ I said, reaching over the console to pat her hand. “I've heard a lot worse. You wouldn't believe the number of 'wooden leg' jokes I've endured, from people who actually think that's funny. You get used to it. So, where do you want to go? I figured I'd drive. I have trouble getting into some people's cars.”
“How did you get in here and deal with your chair?” she asked.
“This truck has more than just hand controls,” I said. “As a typical gadget-happy guy, I really like how some of the other modifications work. I'll show you when we get to wherever you tell me we're going. Your choice, my treat.”
“Anywhere is fine,” Sandy said.
“No, really, what are you hungry for? After army food, I can eat anything, especially if it doesn't have much sand in it.”
We settled on a little country inn, a place we had both heard was casual and reasonably priced, but with excellent food. It didn't take long to get there, and, amazingly, the handicapped-only parking space was open. Sandy got out and came around to my side to see me playing with a little remote, making the gadgetry in the truck put my chair on the ground and then lower me, so I could slide into it.
“I can push you, if you like,” she said.
“No I'm fine. That's an easy wheelchair ramp. Hmmm. I might have to ask you to open the door, though” I said.
Sandy dashed around me, opened the door, and motioned me inside. There was an old-fashioned threshold, which I knew I could get over, but the antique doorway was a little too narrow for my chair.
“Damn it, I thought it would fit,” I muttered. Turning to Sandy, I said, “I'm sorry. I guess we'll have to think of something else.”
“I'll make us dinner,” Sandy said.
“I don't want you to have to do that. Let's just think of somewhere we can go that's easier for me.”
“How about your place? Do you have a kitchen?”
“Well, sure,” I said.
“Dishes? Forks? Pots and pans?”
“I cook. I don't use my microwave much. So unless you need the stuff you'll only find in a cooking-show kitchen, I think there's enough hardware,” I said.
“Spaghetti and meatballs, salad, and garlic bread?” she asked.
“I have to stop for frozen garlic bread, but I've got the rest at home.”
“We need everything, bachelor boy,” Sandy laughed. “This is a girl doing the cooking, so humor me.”
* * * * * * * * * *
Dinner was excellent. We had a good time talking afterward, and we learned a lot about each other. She got to see how I live, and we talked about how I got in this situation. Her grandfather had been a Marine, and had only recently begun talking a little about his experiences in the Viet Nam war, so she knew not to ask me too many questions about my time in the service. Some things you see and do in war time are not that easy to discuss with people who have never experienced it.
I took her back to the mall for her car when it got late, and she gave me a brief peck on the cheek when she got out of my truck. I would have enjoyed a lot more, but decided that could really screw up a budding friendship.
I found myself looking at Sandy a little differently the next day at work. She had always looked good to me, but had she always looked this good? I found myself watching her legs in those silly green-and-white striped tights a little more closely, and I became more aware of the way other parts of her costume hugged the curves of her body. I found myself changing my opinion of Sandy from cute to desirable.
For her part, Sandy seemed a little more comfortable with me, a little more touchy-feely. When young children sat on my lap, Sandy smiled a little more openly as she worked the camera. When teenage girls sat on my lap, she sometimes chuckled when she saw them working their little butts around on me. And when another young woman blatantly rubbed her ass on my crotch, she laughed out loud.
“That one felt more than hard plastic, didn't she, Santa?” she whispered when the girl sashayed away. “Is Santa horny?”
“Knock it off, Sandy,” I scolded good-naturedly.
Some time later, a toddler's diaper leaked on my pants leg. Sandy gave the signal to one of our other “elves,” who held up the line so I could have a moment of privacy for a wardrobe change. Sandy, of course, helped me. This time, however, instead of handing me the container of baby wet-wipes so I could clean my thigh, she did it for me.
“I think Santa is horny,” she whispered. She had caught me looking down her top, and she gave me a smile I wasn't sure I understood. I hadn't really seen much, just some nice cleavage and a little pale blue lace at the top of her bra. It was enough, though, to have my dick feeling a little warm and thick. I didn't actually pop a boner, but I was thinking about it.
When we left work that night, Sandy said she was going to do a little shopping, so I said goodbye and went home.
The next day, Sandy said, “I got you a Christmas present. It's just a little something for you. I'll give it to you at lunch time.”
“Why, Sandy? You don't have to give me a Christmas gift.”
“I know. I just saw it when I was shopping yesterday, and I thought it was something you should have.”
We got through our morning and took our lunch break. After we ate, Sandy said, “I'll be right back. Gotta go get your present from my locker.”
She returned in a moment with a square, flat box, wrapped in green paper with a deep red bow. “Open it,” she said. “No need to wait for Christmas day.”
I pulled off the ribbon and paper and opened the box. Inside was a pair of red boxer shorts with a sprig of mistletoe stenciled on the front, just above the fly opening. “Oh, nice. Thank you,” was what I said. What I thought was, “I should be so lucky, especially with a girl like you, Sandy!”
It was almost time to re-open our stand, so I rolled to my locker to stash my gift.
The rest of the day was more of the same: crying toddlers, greedy kids, over-protective mothers, and a few silly schoolgirls. We got through it, as usual, and went out to the parking lot together after our shift was over.
Saying good-night, I reminded her, “Get a good night's rest. Tomorrow will be crazy, and remember, we'll be working until 5:30, since the mall closes at six.”
“Only one more day of this,” Sandy agreed. “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I bet we'll be swamped. Say, you want to do something after work?”
“I think we should celebrate,” I said, hauling myself into my truck. “Of course, I'm not sure why we'd celebrate, since after tomorrow, we're unemployed.”
“Yeah, and we won't see each other any more,” Sandy said, a pout on her pretty face.
“It doesn't have to be like that,” I said. “I'd like to think we've become friends. I'd like to stay in touch.”
“Good. I'd like that, Joel.” With that, she gave me a slow, light kiss on the lips and walked away.
The next day was crazy busy, much worse than ever before. School was out for the winter holidays, so we had long lines of moms and kids wanting to get in their last requests to Santa. Sandy, as usual, used her radiant smile and soft voice to deal with the children, and her overall demeanor calmed the nerves of most of the holiday-frazzled mothers. It was our grand finale, so all the elves were there to keep the lines moving and to take and print photos of the little darlings on Santa's lap. There was enough staff that I had an elf on either side of me, lifting kids on and off my lap. Sandy simply stayed behind my chair, posing prettily in the background of most of the pictures.
She looked especially good that day in her costume. It wasn't until we were in the break room at lunch time that I realized why. As we always did, we removed some of the warmer parts of our costumes to take our break. Sandy pulled off her elf vest, leaving her in only her green-and-white striped leggings and a mid-thigh length red knit v-neck tunic top. I could clearly see the curves of her breasts moving under the red fabric, and suddenly realized that her nipples were obvious. She wasn’t wearing a bra. I always thought she was attractive, cute, if you will, in a girl-next-door kind of way, but this time, I saw her as hot.
After lunch, back at Santa's Workshop, the bedlam resumed. Several times, Sandy had to bend down and whisper in my ear about a difficult child the gate-keeper elf had warned was coming. When she did that, I was very aware of her sweet breath on my cheek and the closeness of her body to mine.
About an hour before quitting time, some kid peed on my leg, and we had to do a wardrobe change. Using our well-rehearsed routine, I supported my body weight on the arms of my chair while Sandy pulled my costume pants off.
“You're wearing your new boxers,” she said, almost too loud. “They look very nice on you.” For just an instant, her fingertips touched the image of the mistletoe on the front, just below my navel. “Very nice,” she said in a whisper, almost to herself. She grabbed the container of baby wipes and cleaned my thigh. I realized I could see down her top almost to her nipples when she bent over me, and I felt myself thickening.
When Sandy stood up, she could see the beginnings of my hardness inside my shorts. She said nothing, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
We got through the day. At quitting time, the mall personnel manager, Mr. Haggerty, stopped by to thank us all for our work and to give us some mall gift cards. We got him to take pictures of all of us. Someone produced a sprig of plastic mistletoe on a headband and put it on over my wig. All the elf girls got their pictures taken kissing me, but Sandy was the only one who kissed me on the lips. That one single kiss got my manhood stirring once again.
After cleaning out our lockers for the last time, Sandy and I met in the parking lot near my truck. “You name the place where we go to celebrate,” I said.
“Do you like pizza?” she asked.
“God, no! I'm pretty much a meat lover, myself. I'll pick some up on my way to your place, if that's OK,” she said.
“Sounds great. I'll go on ahead and get out of this stupid costume. If I never have to wear a “fat suit” again, I'll be good with that!”
“Yeah, I'm pretty much done with green-and-white striped tights, so I'm going to run home and change, too. See you in an hour?” she asked.
“I'm looking forward to it,” I said, turning to roll to my truck.
“Joel, wait,” Sandy said, stepping in front of me. “We spent all these weeks together, but I never got to actually sit on Santa's lap. May I?”
With that, she put a hand on my shoulder and climbed on. Even through our jackets, I could feel the warmth of her body and the fullness of her breast against me. She squirmed around on my lap, much as the silly girls had done, and got very much the same reaction. In a sultry teenie-bopper voice she said, “Oooh Santa, do you think I'm a good girl?”
“You'll have to answer that question for yourself, little one,” I said.
“I'm good, honest,” she said. Then she kissed me. It was a very warm kiss, much nicer than the one she gave me inside the mall. I realized I could get to like this a whole lot.
* * * * * * * * * *
My doorbell rang about an hour after I got home. I hobbled to the door on my crutches.
Sandy bustled by me, a pizza box in her hands, pausing for an instant to give me a peck on the cheek. After setting the box in the middle of my kitchen table, she took off her jacket. She was dressed in a baby pink long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans. I had never seen her in anything other than her long tunic top, so I found myself staring at her nice, firm, denim-clad ass. When she turned, I could see the shape of her unsupported breasts under her shirt. I wondered if she had any idea how crazy she was making me.
“Dinner is served, Santa!” she said.
I moved to the table and sat down, leaning my crutches against my chair. My Army training, and my vow to keep what was left of me in good shape, had kept me from indulging in this kind of food too often, but I realized I was extremely hungry. Maybe eating would keep me from thinking about how good Sandy looked to me right now.
As we ate, I appreciated again how attractive this girl was, even doing something as mundane as eating pizza. She caught me staring at her licking grease off her fingers.
“What?” she said, smirking.
“Nothing,” I said with a little chuckle. I quickly took another bite of pizza.
She finished another piece and said, “The rest is yours. I'm done.” And then she sat there, licking her fingers again. This time when she saw me peeking, she just looked down at the table. Then she sucked her middle finger between those moist lips, and stole a glance at me out of the corner of her eye.
Okay. There I was, sitting at my kitchen table, eating pizza, watching this girl suck her finger, and feeling myself filling into the biggest boner I'd had in a long time. I remember thinking, “What the hell is going on here? I must be making this all up. Self-control, soldier!” Then I saw her slowly lick her lips and delicately dry them with her napkin. Oh, shit.
“You wanna watch a movie later?” Sandy asked.
“I'll probably lose my man-card for admitting this, but I thought I'd watch 'It's a Wonderful Life,' later on, I said.
“Really? I love that movie. 1946, wasn't it?”
“Yeah, right after World War Two. I think that must have been a happy time for this country,” I said.
“Well, at least you're back from the war,” Sandy said softly. “You're alive. So many men don't come home from a war.”
“I know. I know it better than anyone who's never done it. Hey, I don't want to talk about that right now.”
“I'm sorry. So, when does the movie come on?”
“Whenever we put the DVD in,” I said.
“Really? You have it on DVD? Well, I can keep a secret. Your man-card's safe for now. Okay, then we're not on a schedule. I'll wash our plates and glasses,” she said.
“You don't have to. I can get them later.”
“Nonsense,” Sandy said. “You sit right there and relax, Mr. Claus. This will only take a minute.”
She picked up both our plates and glasses, and headed to the counter. The plates shifted when she was setting them down, and a pizza crust flipped up and hit her in the chest.
“Shit!” she exclaimed. She turned around and I could see a smear of pizza sauce on the front of her pale pink shirt. “I have to rinse this out before the stain sets. Could I use your bathroom? I might have to really scrub at this spot.”
“Of course, Sandy,” I said, as she hurried off.
I had done the dishes and settled myself on the couch, the remote in my hand, when Sandy came out of the bathroom. She sat on the chair across from me, her arms folded over her chest.
“Okay, Joel, we need to talk,” she said.
I couldn't read her face. “About what?” I asked.
She was quiet for a minute, looking at the floor. Then she raised her head, looked straight into my eyes, and said, “If I'm honest with you, will you be honest with me?”
“Of course,” I said, meeting her gaze.
“I'm a little younger than you. I want a lot of things in my life, but I'm not sure what they are yet. I know I want to finish college and get a good job before I get too involved with a man again. You told me how you've been hurt by love,” she said.
When I nodded, she continued, “I understood, because I've been in and out of love, too. One day, I'll find someone I want to be completely involved with, someone I care about more than anything. When I fall in love the next time, I want it to be forever.”
“Lofty goals. But why are you telling me this?” I asked.
“I hope you feel like I'm your friend, because I think of you as mine,” she continued. “I'd like to get to know you a lot better. And, I have another Christmas gift for you.”
“Sandy, that's so nice, but really,...”
Sandy interrupted me. “Shhh. Be quiet. In your bathroom, I took my shirt off and washed the stain out in the sink. I blotted it dry as well as I could, and I put it back on. When I looked in the mirror, the mirror you shave at every day at your sink, I saw this.”
She stood up and lowered her hands. The wet front of her shirt was nearly transparent, just an overall touch of pink adding to the color of her erect nipples and the crinkled rings around them.
“These aren't from being in a wet shirt. I'm warm. This, Joel, is what you do to me. So, here's your other present, good friend.”
She pulled her shirt up over her head and threw it on the chair behind her. Her breasts were beautiful, big enough to hold a man's interest for a while, the perfect size for her trim body. The nipples were an amazing shade of pink, looking hard as bullets, surrounded by perfectly symmetrical little areolas. When she knelt in front of me, I remembered how good it felt when she would wash my legs during a wardrobe change.
“I think I remember seeing some mistletoe earlier. That makes me feel like kissing,” she said, tweaking her own nipples.
When she went for my belt, I reflexively supported my weight on my hands on the sofa. I was at least as hard as I had been earlier when she sucked on her finger. My slacks came off easily enough, revealing my red boxers with their mistletoe design.
“Oh, these look a little different than they did earlier today,” she said with a mischievous smile. “I know what it is. There's a Yule log inside. Well, I said mistletoe makes me feel like kissing.” She placed her lips on the outline of my cock and kissed its pulsing length through the thin fabric of my shorts.
“Raise up again,” she urged, so I supported my body on my hands while she pulled my shorts down and off, exposing my manhood, which popped up proud and stiff, happy to be released from its fabric prison.
She resumed her kissing, her lips closed, little pecks starting at the base of my shaft, running up the underside to just shy of the tip and then down either side. Then she kissed my ball sack, in a way that seemed almost chaste. When she was done with this, she sat back on her heels and looked at me while lightly stroking the base of my shaft.
“I didn't think it would be so big,” she said. “My ex-boyfriend said I was a natural at this, but he was a lot smaller. I've always liked a challenge.”
“You don't have to do anything, Sandy,” I said, wishing from the bottom of my heart that she would.
“Oh, but I want to. For you. For Santa on Christmas Eve. Let's see, I think I'll start with this,” she said, leaning in to lightly lick the head of my cock.
Immediately, a large drop of pre-cum leaked from my slit and began to run down my shaft.
“He likes that!” she said. She placed her warm tongue at the base of the shaft and licked upward, removing all of my moisture. “Yum, so do I. Is it okay if I do that again?”
“That would be more than okay,” I sighed.
“Good.” She licked my length again, this time finishing the stroke by running her tongue all around the head of my penis. More pre-cum oozed out, and she licked that away. By this time, my cock was twitching. “Are you doing that?” she asked.
“Moving him. He's jumpy. It's like trying to hit a moving target.”
“No,” I said, “cocks can jump all by themselves if they feel good enough. You could hold it in your hand.”
“No, I think I'll just have to hold him still this way,” she said, opening her lips and sliding them over my cockhead and partway down the shaft. Her tongue was doing a very good job of stimulating me. This wasn't what I expected to have happen this evening, but I sure wasn't complaining.
Slowly, she worked herself down onto my meat, until I felt it touch the back of her mouth. She gagged slightly and pulled back, blinking rapidly. “A little too much for me. I've seen the porn stars take these huge, inhuman-looking things down their throats. How the hell do they do that?”
“I don't know. Practice, I guess. But don't worry, you're doing fine. In fact, it feels amazing,” I said.
“I just want to make you happy,” she said. “I want to make you cum.” She took me in her mouth again, licking the head and bobbing up and down the last inch of my shaft.
“I will if you keep that up,” I moaned.
She looked up from her work for a second, released me from her lips, and smiled at me. “Merry Christmas,” she said. Then she wrapped her hand around the base of my shaft and licked, starting at my piss slit, thoroughly tonguing the entire head, and then working down my shaft to her hand and back up again. God!
With her hand still wrapped around my base, she began bobbing her head slowly up and down on me. I noticed that her eyes were starting to close every time she took me as deep as she could, and every time she withdrew so that only the head of my cock was between her lips, she smiled up at me.
I was doing a pretty good job of holding off, since I wanted more of the sensations her lips and tongue were giving me. I found myself really studying her, looking down on her hair, her wholesomely pretty face wrapped around my cock, and, when she backed off enough, her perfect breasts with those hard pink nipples. I finally lost it when I saw that she had her other hand rammed down her jeans and heard her start to moan.
“Sandy, let go. I'm going to cum,” I gasped.
She shook her head no and sucked harder.
Afterward, I realized I actually roared when I came. The first two ropes landed in the back of her mouth. Struggling to swallow, she opened her mouth to pull me out, so I got to see another glob splatter on her tongue. Another string landed on her cheek, and the rest dripped from her chin to her breasts.
“My God,” she said, using her finger to wipe the cum off her cheek. “You came buckets!” She sucked her finger clean, and then began cleaning the rest from her chin and breasts, licking what she found from her fingers and swallowing it. “I'm usually not this messy. I'll try to do better next time.”
I thought to myself, “Next time? Hell yeah!” Then I said, “I'd like to return the favor. I saw you playing with yourself. I'd like to help you with that. I'd like to give you a big fat “O” for Christmas,” I said.
“Really? I didn't do this so you would feel obligated.”
“Who's obligated? I just want to taste you,” I said.
“Oooh, I like the sound of that. Let me wash up a bit first.”
I grabbed my crutches and hauled myself off the sofa. “Meet me in the bedroom.”
I hobbled down the hall behind the topless Sandy. I must have looked a sight: naked from the waist down, getting a hard-on again, on crutches and two ugly prostheses. Well, if she didn't care, I didn't care.
You have to understand what was going through my head. Here was this lovely, sweet young woman, washing my cum off her face and tits in the bathroom, while I sat on the edge of my bed, removing the plastic and metal monstrosities that were supposed to make me forget that I had lost my legs. Since my injury, I hadn't even given serious thought to having a woman in my bed. I just assumed they would run screaming for the hills when they saw my stumps and apparatus.
Sandy hadn't. Maybe it's because she had seen them every day at work. Maybe it's because she's a really nice girl. Maybe it's because she's horny. Whatever. I wasn't going to question it.
I was under the covers when Sandy came into the room. My prostheses were lashed to the hospital bed rail I use to help me get in and out of bed and to put on my “legs.” My crutches leaned against the wall near the headboard, along with my folded wheelchair. My outline under the sheet showed a broad-chested, bulky-shouldered guy, with a raging hard-on, and then not much else.
That didn't stop her from leaning over me, her bare breasts rubbing against my chest, to kiss me long, hard, and passionately. Then she stood up and shimmied her way out of her jeans, the way they do in the porn videos. She turned around and worked them slowly down off her hips, giving me a great view of her ass in lacy, pale pink boy-short panties. Then she turned around and looked at me.
“It's been almost a year since I've been nude in front of a guy,” she said.
“How do you feel about that?”
“Like it's been way too long,” she said, pulling her panties down. They were so wet, they clung to her bald crotch for a second. She stood there for a few seconds, smiling and naked, and then climbed under the covers next to me.
We kissed and cuddled, exploring each other's bodies with light touches of our hands. When her fingers closed around my cock, she said, “You're hard as steel again.”
“Yeah. But it's not about me right now,” I said. I pulled her to lie on top of me, her breasts smashed against my chest, her mound rubbing against my erection, her asscheeks in my hands, and her lips on mine. We held that kiss for a long time, our tongues pleasuring each other's mouths. When she broke the kiss, I said, “Lift your upper body a little.”
She did, giving me access to her breasts. I stroked and fondled them, teasing the nipples until they were nice and hard. She was straddling my waist, so that the underside of my cock was against her pussy lips. They were very slick, and the temptation to just lift her and plunge her down on me was almost overwhelming. But instead, I pulled her up.
I began with light butterfly kisses on her upper abdomen, onto the lower curvature of her breasts, around the sides, over the top, down the middle of her chest, anywhere but on the nipples. I followed that with more forceful kisses, occasionally licking or pressing my teeth gently against the tender flesh. Finally, I opened my mouth and surrounded one nipple and began to suck. The whimpering Sandy had been doing as I teased her turned into panting. She was grinding her sex hard against mine.
I didn't want to fuck her just yet. I'm an oral type of guy, and she looked like she would enjoy a good moustache ride. When I felt her move enough that my cock threatened to slide into the entrance of her vagina, I lifted her by the ass and moved her pussy to my mouth.
“Oh God, Joel!” she cried.
“Turn-about is fair play,” I said, blowing my warm breath onto her sex. She was quaking slightly with nervous anticipation.
“Relax,” I said. I extended my tongue for my first slow lick of her pussy.
She tasted wonderful: hot, wet, musky, and sweet, as delicious as I had guessed she would be from her woman scent. I knew I was going to want to lick her until my tongue went numb.
At that first contact, Sandy cried out and tensed her thigh muscles, raising her pussy from my face. That was the first time I got a good look at it. The outer lips were swollen, shiny with her fluids, and parted slightly, allowing me to see the bright pink folds of her inner labia. At the bottom, her tiny hole oozed at me. At the top, her pleasure button was peeking out from its hood.
I couldn't wait any longer. I needed to feel her cum on my tongue, so I pulled her down to me again and started to eat.
“That feels so damn good! Don't stop!” she moaned. She grabbed the headboard to steady herself. “Oh God, I'm getting close.”
I lifted her pussy away from my face. My middle finger glided into her easily enough, but she was so tight that adding the index finger was a challenge, especially with the way she was moving. I finally was able to bend my fingers to begin my massage. Sandy moaned loudly when my tongue found her clit again. Her climax was almost violent.
When she regained control of her body, I started in again. Licking, probing, sucking, devouring her pussy, I wanted to make her cum again and again. With as hard as I was, and as tight as she seemed to be, I was afraid I wouldn't last long once I was inside her, and I wanted her to be well-satisfied.
Sandy finally pushed herself back from my face and said two words: “Fuck me.”
I didn't have to be told twice. I lifted her by her luscious, tight ass, and positioned her over my cock. She was kneeling, squatting over me, holding my penis in her hand and rubbing it on her swollen, juicy lips.
“You're so big,” she said. “I feel a little silly, like a virgin who doesn't know if it will fit.”
“It will fit,” I said.
“I know, but I have to take it slow, OK?” Sandy said.
“Whatever my favorite little elf wants,” I replied.
She lowered herself, ever so slowly, so that just the swollen head of my cock wedged its way inside her. “This is going to be good,” she whispered.
Going to be? Hell, it already was. And then she started to move down.
“Oh, Joel, why didn't I do this before?” she moaned.
I didn't answer her. I couldn't. Her moisture was coating me, her warm, snug, slippery depths swallowing me. Finally, she hit bottom.
“God, it's been a long time since I've made love,” she gasped. “Let me get used to you.” She leaned forward a little, and then back. She rotated her hips slightly, opening herself up a bit, and sending delicious sensations from my cock to my brain.
“Come here,” I said, pulling her down so I could feel her nipple between my lips again. She experimented with moving some more.
“I've never been on top before,” she murmured as she leaned down to kiss me. “I wasn't sure I'd like it.” She had started moving purposefully now, slowing stroking my manhood in and out of her pussy.
“Yeah, a lot,” she said, kissing me again and speeding up the fluid movements of her sweet body on top of me. “A whole lot.”
With Sandy being on top, and with me missing a few limbs, she pretty much controlled the pace. It seemed that she was interested in a slow, deep session of love-making, instead of just a quick fuck. That was fine with me. She ground against me as she rode me, sometimes moving as much side-to-side as up-and-down. That was fine with me, too. The sensual, luxurious movements of her lithe body, along with the hot moisture of her tight sheath, were the best things I had felt since I got home from Iraq. Hell, they may have been the best things I had ever felt.
“How close are you?” she asked.
“Not sure. Why?”
“I want you to cum inside me, but not yet,” Sandy moaned. “This feels too good to have it end yet.”
“All right. Then I'm going to take a break.” I lifted her off me, probably just in time, and moved her toward my face again.
“Oh my God! What are you doing?” Sandy squealed as I dragged her to straddle my face.
“Giving you another Christmas present.” This time, my fingers went inside her a little more easily. When I was able to get my tongue on her clit, her juices bathed my wrist. It was almost as though she couldn't quite stop cumming this time. She was wild, bucking, wailing, and finally, falling off to lie, curled in a ball, next to me.
After her whimpering died down, she lifted her sweat-streaked face to give me an evil grin. “Soldier,” she said, “you're getting it now.”
She climbed on top of me again, aimed me, and sank down until I was balls-deep. “I can't take much more, Joel, but I'm gonna do everything I can to fuck the hell out of you,” Sandy said.
She did. This time, she fucked me like a porn star, clenching her pussy muscles and pounding herself up and down on me. I pulled her to me so I could suck on her nipples, and grabbed her ass to help her fuck me hard and fast.
“I'm gonna cum soon,” I grunted.
“Good. Fill me.”
I did. It's a good thing my place has decent sound insulation. With each spurt of my cum, I let out a guttural yell, answered by a squeal from Sandy.
When we were done, she climbed off and curled up next to me. We kissed for a while, and cuddled for a lot longer.
“Will you stay the night?” I whispered.
Her soft, slow breathing was my answer.
* * * * * * * * * *
The smell of coffee was just starting to wake me up when I felt the mattress shift. Sandy was kneeling over me, nude and beautiful.
“Merry Christmas. What are your plans for today?” she asked.
“I wouldn't mind spending the day in bed with a nice, warm elf,” I said.
“She laughed. I'll bring us coffee in a minute,” she said, after planting a very nice 'good morning' kiss on my lips.
I quickly worked my way into my wheelchair and scooted to the bathroom. Sandy was sitting cross-legged on the bed when I returned, a tray with coffee and orange juice on the nightstand.
I joined her, and she placed the tray on the bed next to. “If I didn't have to drive to my parents for Christmas dinner, I would have made screwdrivers for breakfast,” she said.
“Why screwdrivers?” I asked.
“You didn't have any celery for Bloody Marys,” she laughed. “We have to do something to celebrate.” Then she leaned over and kissed me again. “I enjoyed our little gift exchange last night,” she said.
“So did I.”
“Do you have Christmas plans?” Sandy asked.
“I have a ham steak I'm going to fry.”
“Save it for tomorrow,” she said. “You're coming to my parent's house with me for Christmas dinner. Santa Claus is not eating alone today.”
“That's nice of you, but what will your parents say?” I asked.
“Mom told me, if I ever found a guy I like, I should bring him home for Christmas. I called her while you were still asleep and told her I might bring you. I like you, Joel.”
“I like you, too.”
“Let me ask you a question. I want an honest answer. Which way did you enjoy better last night, slow and warm, or fast and hot?” she asked with a giggle.
“That's a tough decision to make,” I said.
She stuck out her lower lip in an exaggerated little-girl pout. “Well you're no help. I was trying to decide which way we were going to do it for our 'good morning' fuck.”
“Let's just start, and see how it turns out,” I grinned.
“Good thinking, soldier,” she said, putting the tray back on the nightstand.
It turned out to be warm and slow. Afterward, we rested, two friends who had become lovers.
“I guess I should go home and get a shower,” she said. “I smell like sex.”
“Can't imagine how that happened,” I chuckled.
“Me either,” she said. “I'd better get going.”
“You can shower here, if you like. You've been in my bathroom. The tub is big enough for you to get in, too, after I get my legs off.”
“Lead the way.”
I made my way to my walk-in tub, plopping on the seat, and then removing my prostheses and putting them in the rack next to the tub. Sandy joined me and closed the door. As I watched her bathe, I found myself getting hard for her all over again.
She rinsed the shampoo out of her hair and turned to face me. Her gaze immediately went to my erection. “Oh,” she said, with a sparkle in her eye. “What should we do about that?”
“Sit on Santa's lap so we can talk about it.”
This time, it was fast and hard. We re-washed certain areas, and got dried off.
“I'm going to drive home and get into fresh clothes. Nothing fancy. Just a t-shirt without a pizza stain on it. Can you pick me up in about half an hour? That will give us enough time to get to my folks' place for dinner.”
When we pulled up in front of her parent's place, Sandy turned to me and asked, “Remember what I said about not wanting to get involved with a guy right now?”
“I'm wondering if I should re-think that,” she said.
I leaned over the console to kiss her. “I wish you would,” I said.