Cry, or give him another blow job? Cry, or give him another blow job?
It’s really a toss-up right now which one feels like the right way to show how much I appreciate what he’s doing. He told me when we first walked away from my family at the entrance of the mall that he didn’t know the first thing about buying Christmas presents, and that’s when I told him he didn’t need to buy anyone anything. I wanted to wrap him in my arms and hold him tight, letting him know how sorry I am that he never had anything like this growing up, but I knew a guy like him would never want my pity. By the time we got to the second store, he had Christmas shopping down to a science.
“Okay, I’m running out of room to hold all this shit, I should probably check out,” Sam declares as I follow him toward one of the registers.
The soft strains of Christmas music has been following us from store-to-store all morning, and when we get to the counter and Sam drops his items on top of it, I hear Jingle Bells end and the opening notes to Dominic the Donkey. Right when I open my mouth to either apologize to him or laugh, I hear a sound come from him as he reaches in his back pocket for his wallet and realize he’s humming along to the song.
Maybe he doesn’t really hate Christmas as much as he says he does. I mean, he’s made it through holiday shopping hell this close to the big day, not yet growling or cursing at any of the idiots who bumped into us without so much as an apology and now he’s humming along to the worst song in the world. There’s hope for him yet!
“Merry Christmas!” the cashier tells Sam, handing him his receipt and the huge red bag with handles that holds his purchases.
“Uh, yep,” he mumbles, taking the bag and quickly turning away from her.
Okay, maybe there’s still a little more work to be done.
I rush to catch up to him as he holds out his hand for me like it’s the most natural thing in the world and I take it like it’s no big deal. Like we’ve been going Christmas shopping together for years. Like we’re a real couple, enjoying the mall’s decorations hung from every doorway and are madly in love during the holiday season. How in the hell am I going to go back to my boring, stupid, jobless, homeless life in Seattle in a few days and leave him here?
“So, how come you never wish anyone a Merry Christmas?” I ask, finally getting up the nerve to question something that’s been on my mind since the night I met him and he didn’t respond to the bartender when he paid our bill.
Sam shrugs, slowing down his pace as we walk hand-in-hand, looking at the window displays at all the stores we pass.
“It just seems so superficial to me. Like, people just blurt it out as a reply because it’s what is expected of them, not because they actually mean it,” he explains, stopping in front of a store to check out the North Pole display complete with cotton all over the floor for snow and an animated Santa and Mrs. Clause bending toward each other for a kiss every five seconds. “I don’t know, it just seems pointless to repeat it back to someone when I’m not that into Christmas and have never celebrated it. If I say it to someone, I want to mean it. I want to feel the Christmas spirit and be happy about the holiday, otherwise it’s just bullshit.”
I stare at his profile, the prickling of tears in my eyes, quickly blinking them away when he turns to look at me.
“I sound like a giant *, don’t I?” he says with an embarrassed chuckle.
“No, you don’t. It makes sense now that you explained it. I thought you were just being an asshole.” I grin, trying to lighten the situation.
With a laugh, he maneuvers our joined hands until they’re bent behind my back and tugs me toward him, pressing our chests together.
“Well, I am kind of an asshole. Especially since I still haven’t given you a toe-curling orgasm yet after Santa gave me what I wanted for Christmas,” he muses, his heated gaze fixed on my mouth.
The smell of his light, woodsy cologne surrounds me, the warmth of his body lights a fire inside of me, and his strong arm wrapped around me, holding my hand hostage at the small of my back makes me want to drop down on the floor in front of Bath and Body Works and fuck his brains out.
Screw being a good girl who shouldn’t sleep with a guy she just met. I mean, I’ve already had his dick in my mouth, might as well let him put it elsewhere.
Own the slut, embrace the slut, BE the slut. I want to do slutty, dirty things with this man, consequences be damned.
“Name the time and place, and my orgasm is your orgasm,” I reply.
Sam growls. He actually growls, all low and throaty like he wants to attack me right here, right now.
Check please!