Christmas Tales - Brandon Witt Page 0,27

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