Chapter 9
Chris’s eyes widened until I thought they’d to roll out of his head. “My cousin?” he said—his voice squeaked, and he had to stop and clear his throat before continuing—“She has this costume shop over in Chester. Mostly Halloween stuff, but some dress-up things too. You know, for…” He made a vague gesture with his hand, hoping I got the point.
With a grin, I asked, “Sex play?” His cheeks pinked and he looked away, embarrassed. “Like what, nurse and maid uniforms? Or gimp outfits? You remember that scene in Pulp Fiction?”
Quickly, Chris said, “Just costumes, okay? I don’t know what all she’s got, I’ve never really inquired.” He frowned when I laughed. “I know she’s got a slew of Santa suits, though. She rents them out this time of the year, for parties or charities or whatever. She makes a killing off of them.”
“Anyone can put on a red suit,” I said with a shrug. “But not everyone can pull off that real Santa Claus look. You know, rosy cheeks, wiry white beard, belly that shakes like a bowlful of jelly?”
“Her costumes are top notch,” Chris assured me. Nodding at the DVD case in my hand, he said, “Like that. No fake beards or bad makeup or any of that mess. Her Santas are so good, Mrs. Claus wouldn’t know the difference.”
I nudged him and teased, “I bet you can really fill out a Santa suit.”
The bell above the outside door tinkled as a late customer wandered in. Chris glanced out the pass-through window and lowered his voice. “You really have the hots for Santa?” he asked.
“Shyeah,” I replied. “I think he’s damn sexy for an old guy. Hell, I’d blow him.” I started for the front counter, but turned back at the kitchen doorway. “I’d blow most anyone in a Santa suit, to be honest. That’s something to think about.”
As I went to wait on the customer, I knew Chris’s mind wasn’t on anything else.
* * * *
Chris waited until the week of Christmas before he asked again about my silly Santa fetish. “Were you serious?” he wanted to know. “Anyone in a suit?” Something in the way he asked made me think that he planned on renting one of his cousin’s suits, and I wondered just what I’d do when he came through the door, clomping in big black boots like the jolly old elf himself. But it wasthe holidays, was it not? A charitable time of the year? Back in college, I’d hooked up with guys I didn’t even remember afterwards. What harm could a little fellatio between co-workers bring? It’d get Chris off with someone other than himself for once in his life and I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t like it. I’m all about sucking dick—for me, it’s better than intercourse. A fuck’s always over too quickly for my tastes but a good blowjob, done properly, really lingers. By the time I clocked in for my shift on Christmas Eve, I was decided—if Chris actually didrent a Santa suit and wore it to work, I’d suck him off. Chances were he’d wimp out, or come all over himself in his enthusiasm, and I wouldn’t have to do more than laugh, but I would play it by ear and see what happened. ‘Tis the season, right?
Chris showed up at work ten minutes late, flushed and breathing heavy but dressed in his usual T-shirt and jeans. I was so surprised, I almost asked where the suit was. I had been so surehe’d get one. But as he tied on his apron, he grinned at me. “Santa Claus is coming tonight,” he said. “Have you been a good boy, Patrick?”
I laughed, I knewit—he had the suit in his car then, and would find some excuse to go out later in his shift and change. “I can be better,” I promised.
The night dragged on. Every time the door opened, cold air sliced through the torpid warmth in the main room and chilled me behind the counter. As the clock counted down to midnight, the customers thinned and then disappeared altogether. I locked the cash register and leaned in the doorway between the front counter and the kitchen. “Merry fucking Christmas,” I growled.
Chris whirled around, burger in hand, and licked his fingers as he glanced at the clock, then almost choked when he saw the time. “I gotta take out the trash,” he said, dropping the burger on the sandwich counter in his haste. The words sounded rehearsed, as if he had stood there turning them over in his head as an excuse to go outside and get into the suit. Sure enough, the trash bags were already tied and waiting at the back door. I made a move to help him, but he said, “No, I’ve got them. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
With a shrug, I grabbed a nearby rag and began wiping down the counter while I waited. A few minutes later, the front door opened, its bell eclipsed by the jingling of sleigh bells. I laughed out loud—damn, that was quick! Leaving the rag on the counter, I called out, “Coming!” In more ways than one, I wanted to add, almost as anxious as Chris probably was to get it on. I hurried out of the kitchen and stopped short when I saw… “Santa Claus!”
“Hello, Patrick.” The voice was deeper than Chris’s—once this role-play was over, I’d have to ask him how long he’d been practicing to make it sound so different—but he’d been right about his cousin’s costume skills. I looked him over twice and still wasn’t sure if it was really him under there. The red suit looked rumpled and well-worn, the fur that lined it more to keep the cold out than for appearances. A red Santa hat was pulled down tight over his ears. His beard, thick and white as snow, looked real. White gloves and black boots and the thickest black belt I’ve ever seen completed the image. Santa Claus, by God. Chris, my mind whispered, but the child inside me refused to listen. This was Santa. My dick grew two sizes inside my pants, and I smoothed my apron down to hide the sudden erection.