A gay sex story: Helping Santa [[This is a work of fiction based entirely off of other fiction]]
[[Thanks]]
So…
I was a big ole slut when I was younger. Not that I changed much, but boy did I have stories. And I’m sure other boys my age got into all manner of naughty business with each other when they were my age too. But this isn’t about them.
You see, I’ve been interested in men since I was young. Real young. I liked seeing men waltz around in the locker rooms buck naked as if nothing was out of the ordinary. I loved seeing the confident smiles they had when their magnificent bodies were hanging out in the open for all to see, like the marble gods they were. I LOVED men. And I didn’t even know why!
Here I was, almost snooping around the local gym’s bathrooms completely unattended. My parents would bring me there. Sometimes I’d walk myself. But like cockwork, I would stride into the men’s room, look around as casually as I could at any men in towels, and be totally gobsmacked. A muscled Adonis is using the urinal next to me. I go to wash my hands and a gorgeous portly man is drying his jewels with one leg up on a bench. My eyes are GLUED to these works of art. And that heated feeling is welling up inside my accelerant, pounding chest. I try to make a point of not staring and respecting anyone’s privacy. But some of these poses look way too open to not be explicitly for my benefit.
I leave the Locker Room and gym practically glowing. I’ve finally managed to scrape myself away from the beautiful nude gallery so as not to stare for too long. And I’m warmly reminiscing all the way to the mall nearby. Warmly as I can at least. There’s a winter chill something fierce this year and unexpectedly I find myself breathlessly running the last couple hundred feet.
I throw myself a little too hard into the double doors, which barely give, and proceed to mash myself into the building. Finally, I can start warming myself back up. I am bundled up and everything, but I take off the gloves to friction my hands together. And when my senses return, I realize the shmaltzy jazz renditions of Christmas songs pooling around me. There’s no denying it. The smell of commercialism is in the air. It’s December. Whoopie.
In a number of ways, I feel disillusioned for even my age. But if I’m being honest, I really love Christmas. The Red and Green glittering gifts. The notion that we should give kindness to others without question. The creation of cozy warm rituals despite or because of the cold weather. Christmas is just really nice.
And passing by a number of decked out windows, full of sales and yuletide themes, I see a queue. A queue that leads up to an ostentatious display through red and white streamers. The line leads up, crisscrossing through wreathed white fences and reindeer cutouts, leading to a holly Jolly Santa! Well. Maybe not so Jolly. The closer I come to passing, the more I see that the line is much shorter than the queue allows. And that Santa here looks a little bit bored. I can see him directly by the way the line wraps around in a wide arc, and that there’s only one other person ahead of me in line, before realizing I was in line.
Why was I in line?! I mean, I had noticed that Santa was looking strangely attractive this year. Like his outfit fit him really well and showed up his full figure. But I was at an age where it was getting more unusual to go up and sit on Santa’s lap. And I didn’t even have a parent with me, goading me towards him for a picture. And before I knew it, the girl ahead of me and her parents were already taking their turn! I was trapped. I had too long of a distance to awkwardly run backwards through the queue, and the only way forwards was to shimmy between Santa and this other girl’s parents. I was stuck deliberating in a sweat until it was too late and Santa and I were being left alone!
The girl ahead and her parents happily trotted away with laughs and giggles. Santa looked at me directly. Emotions took rapid turns in my chest and I found no recourse but to walk towards him. I probably looked like I was in a horror film, slowly approaching a grisly fate. Or just embarrassed to hell. I was just stupefied by his handsomeness and my own indignation.
“Helloooo”, the towering man said in a disarming, singsongy baritone. He sounded tired, but still warm and genuine. I felt any discomfort I had with him wash completely away. I felt like I could speak my innermost feelings in that moment. I felt clean and good. Unfortunately the awkwardness rushed back into me as I realized I had yet to say anything back for just a little too long a pause.
“hi-Hi. Um. How are you?”
Santa smiled, as if he appreciated the question. “I’m good. How are you, mister…?
“Oh, Ricky. My name is Ricky.”
“Well, Ricky. It’s nice to meet you. Would you like to tell me what you want for Christmas?”
Again, his beautiful voices resonates heartily through my chest and makes me feel almost hypnotized. I feel like I were to just stay here and just chat with him I’d swoon. Maybe that’s what I want. But then I realize he’s waiting for a response again. And I’m realizing what I want for Christmas is to see the men from the locker rooms. To see them up close. To see men like Santa up close. To see what Santa looks like underneath his outfit… And I’m probably blushing furiously at the thought. My redness compounds in the half-seconds of silence that follow.
“I’m not… I don’t know.”
“Well, think about it. We’ve got time.”
Looking back, I think he might’ve been bored. There were no other people in line. He probably just wanted to pass the time with someone rather than no one. Whatever the case, I blushed, felt guilty about my sudden embarrassing desires, and looked down.
“Is something the matter, Ricky?”
“I… do you ever feel like you’re too different?”
I don’t even know where it comes from. Maybe some place deep inside me opened up and spilled out. A confession I didn’t know I had. But Santa saw me. Mustered a frown of sorts. and after a moment, knew what I needed to hear.
“Yes actually. I tend to feel plenty different in my line of work. Very few people want to live in the North Pole and deliver presents on such a tight schedule. And it’s not always easy, but I think it’s important. And I don’t think I would be Santa, if I weren’t too different. So I don’t think being different is something to be ashamed of.”
It’s like the word of God resounding in my chest. I want to go round and preach the good word of this man, but… I feel like he’s the right person to get one more thing off my chest.
“Santa I’m…”
The heat is rising, welling. I feel the beating of my heart in my chest and in my throat. I’m in a Confessional. If there’s one thing that could earn my salvation though, it’s spilling my heart out to this man I’ve suddenly fallen a bit smitten over.
“Santa I think I like… men…”
“Oh!…”
I open my eyes, only just realizing they were closed. And the sound of totally neutral acceptance has freed me from fetters. I thought this moment wouldn’t be so quiet. So dead silent. The embarrassment hasn’t left though. There’s a heat in my face, but the shame subsides a bit as there’s a notable lack of malice or judgment. Or lightning striking me down.
“Well Ricky, I’m sure plenty of men like you, too.”
Oof. I’m dumbfounded. I feel like the rug has been pulled out from under me. Santa totally misunderstood and I’m drained me of all my feeble nerve. I don’t think I could say that again if I tried.
“No, Santa, I mean um… I like uh…”
I look up to meet his eyes and realize. His eyes are shining at me with something. Clarity… recognition, and… something else. There’s an almost sinister shine in his eyes.
“I think I understand, Ricky. You know… It’s not all easy being Santa. The work can get pretty tiring, hefting big packages all around… not just anyone can do it. And I think it takes someone really special, someone different, to be able to help out someone like me.”
Santa makes a minute gesture, stretching his pantleg out as if to adjust his underwear beneath. His body seems to ease into the chair comfortably before me, before continuing.
“And I’m so excited to deliver these presents all year that I’m just brimming with holiday spirits. It gets too much to carry all on my own.”
Something lewd is growing. A Feeling. A presence.
“Ricky… would you like to help me?”
My body has gone cold. An invitation? Santa is staring at me and I want for nothing on this earth but to do whatever this man wants. and to see more of him. I’m nodding without a thought.
Santa looks behind me. Looks all about. The mall is almost completely empty. It’s a Wednesday afternoon on break, and no one is here.
“Come with me,” Santa sings, getting up from his seat and adjusting briefly before leaving the empty queue behind.
~~~~~
I float behind Santa. I have no clue what to expect. I just really really hope that helping Santa means getting to spend more time with him. My heart is swelling and speeding and I want to be with him. I don’t know why, but I’m heady and I follow this gorgeous man to the restrooms.
He opens the door for me to one of several “Family Restrooms,” gesturing like a perfect gentleman.
“We can get started in here. Don’t worry, there’s not too much to unpack just yet.”
“Is it okay to use the Family ones?”
He nods, “They’re all unoccupied. Besides, you’re helping me out here bigtime, champ. As far as I’m concerned? You’re family.” He says this and winks. He had me at the nod, but telling me I was good help made me melt. I felt warmth and purpose as I strode in. He followed and clicked the lock behind us.
“Okay, there are a few important things I want to cover first, Ricky. First one? Secrecy. Part of my magic comes with keeping away secrets from any naughty-listers. That means not letting them know my weakness or what kind of help I need. We need to keep this real close to the chest. Okay?”
I nod, solemnly
“Second, Trust.”
He unlocks and locks the door, demonstratively.
“I want you to be here because you’re willing to be here. If you ever feel uncomfortable, you can tell me. or you can walk away. This needs to be a bond of mutual respect. Okay?”
[zilla_likes]