The Morning After Christmas

The side of the bed where Ronnie usually slept was empty, and as I rolled over to bury my face in his pillows, tears streamed from my eyes. He had left me; it was a proven fact. His clothes were emptied from the drawers and closet, his toothbrush, aftershave, and shower gel leaving an empty space near my toiletries, and his disgusting Yoplait yogurt wasn't in the fridge. There were no signs in the previous weeks that something was wrong. We made love, as usual, ate breakfast side by side while Roxy, our black Lab, lounged at our feet, and kissed each other before bed each night.

When I had arrived home from work at Walmart earlier today, I called out for him, but there was no answer. It was Christmas Eve and the last-minute shoppers were crowding the store, looking for gifts. Roxy was sitting by the door, staring up at me as if to say: He's not here, can't you tell? I had walked through the house, and upon reaching our bedroom, I'd found the covers turned back, which was unusual due to our bed being made every morning before we left for work. I'd scanned the room, and when my eyes had landed on the half-open closet door, I walked over and peered inside. The space where Ronnie's clothes were now stood empty, leaving mine pushed to the side. I had panicked, opening and closing drawers and doors frantically. After finding no sign of him in the apartment whatsoever, I had collapsed onto the bed, my chest heaving with silent sobs. I had cried myself to sleep thinking of all the things I could have done to make Ronnie leave.

I slowly rose from the bed, wiping my eyes and walking to the nightstand on his side of the bed. I had already searched, but he couldn't have left without leaving something for me as an explanation, right? We'd never been the type to leave letters or surprises around the house for each other and seeing as he'd just moved in a year ago, we were still discovering our quirks, likes, and dislikes. I trudged through the house, emptying the contents of drawers, filing cabinets, and even coat pockets, hoping to find a scrap of paper, a napkin, or anything with words on it. With my forehead glistening with sweat, I stood in the living room staring at the clock. Six o'clock AM, and all night my mind hadn't stopped wandering, my heart hadn't stopped aching, and my eyes hadn't stopped crying. I went to the kitchen, poured me a glass of apple juice, and went to bed dreaming fitfully of Ronnie walking out on me.

My eyelids fluttered open and I reached for my phone, which was resting on Ronnie's side of the bed. A blank screen meant no messages or calls from him, and in that moment, I knew he wasn't coming back. My heart dropped as the realization hit me, my phone hitting the wall along with my dreams. After staring at the ceiling for what felt like an hour, I decided to make me a smoothie to calm myself.

In the kitchen, I took out strawberries and bananas, then went to the freezer to retrieve ice. Reaching for the tray, my hand grazed something that felt like paper, and sure enough, a small scrap of paper lay within my hand. Closing the door, I filled the blender with the ingredients for my smoothie, and after turning it off, I opened the letter.

Andrew,

I'm sorry that it has to end this way. There's something that you need to know.

I've been seeing someone else. He's been my long-term buddy from college, but after a couple of drinks one night a few months ago, we had sex. I'm sorry, but I hope that you'll find someone that will treat you better.

Ronnie

I slumped against the counter, my hands shaking as I reread the letter. He cheated? Why? How? I threw the letter on the floor and stomped on it. After everything that I've done for him, and this is what he does? I grabbed the blender and poured the contents into a cup, slamming it down again. I swiftly walked to my room, pushing the door closed with a loud bang! Nothing mattered except for the fact that my boyfriend didn't love me as much as he pretended to.

******

I stared outside at the falling snow, reminding me of my tears earlier falling onto my pillow. White blanketed the ground, making the indoors seem like a safe place to stay in for now. However, I'd been crying since I found Ronnie's note and I wanted a drink. I slowly rose from the bed and headed to the bathroom for a shower.

Pulling up to Rayshaun's Spot, I parked my red pickup truck and climbed out. This was the closest gay bar near my house and I decided that this would be the perfect place for me to unwind. Get a few drinks, watch the game, maybe chat up a few men; but nothing serious. Upon entering, I looked around, tables and chairs were on both sides of me. Directly in front of me was the bar area and on the walls were many TVs. I walked towards the bar and took a seat. The bartender walked over to take my order and I looked him over; tall, muscular, with brown eyes and black hair. Sexy!

"What can I get you?" he asked. His voice was smooth and low, almost like Barry White's.

"Man, it's been a long day. Can I get a Scotch on the rocks?"

"Sure thing," he said, smiling.

I focused my attention on the people sitting around the bar drinking. Most of the men were watching the football game that was on, but others were talking and eating. I turned around to look at the people sitting in booths, enjoying food or the company they brought with them. My drink suddenly arrived as I caught a man staring at me.

"Here you go, man," he said, setting the glass down.

I saluted him and took a long swig. The liquid went down easy and I smiled to myself. This was a nice change of scenery from earlier.

"So, what brought you here tonight?" Rayshaun asked, sitting down next to me.

"My boyfriend cheated on me and left me," I blurted out, taking another long swig.

"Damn, man. I'm sorry."

I guzzled the rest of the brown liquid and placed my glass down. I asked for a tequila next, not caring about my limits. I needed to forget Ronnie and what he'd done.

"Yeah, you're really throwin' 'em back, man," Rayshaun said as he retreated behind the bar.

I turned around, hoping to still find the man staring at me. He was nowhere to be seen. I didn't even get a proper look at him, and I was shocked to find myself feeling disappointed.

"Looking for Marcus?" Rayshaun's voice startled me.

"Who?" I asked.

"The guy that was checking you out. Yeah, I seen him. I think he stepped out for a bit. Were you planning on getting laid tonight?"

The hairs on my neck stood at attention. How could anyone ask me that after what Ronnie did to me? No man would be plummeting his way through my back door anytime soon. No need to get upset, I thought. No one knows your situation.

"No, man," I said, sighing. "Just came to get away from life for a bit."

"Oh," he said. "Marcus may not be your guy then."

"What do you mean?" I asked, folding my hands around my glass of tequila.

"He's been looking for a boy. He's a Daddy dominant. You know what that is?"

"Yeah."

"So, be careful if you don't want anything serious," Rayshaun warned as he stepped back behind the bar to tend to other customers.

With gin, tequila, and scotch in my system, the sounds from the bar became background noise. I ordered another glass of gin and allowed my head to fall into my hands. As much as I hated to drink excessively, the alcohol was doing its job; making me drunk and helping me to forget everything. Rayshaun walked over to me as I was staring at the football game on TV.

"You want something to eat to sober you up, man? You look like you need it."

"No, thanks," I said with a huge smile. "I'm good. Keep my tab open, going to the bathroom."

I walked to the back of the bar, and finding the bathroom, went in to relieve myself. As I stepped out of the stall, I turned to wash my hands and looked at myself in the mirror while doing so. My eyes were still swollen a little from my earlier cry-fest, but regardless, I looked happy. Drunk, but happy.

As I exited the bathroom, a man was coming in behind me. I turned around and gasped. Marcus was standing just inches from me and I looked him up and down. He wore loose-fitting sweatpants that accented his muscular legs, an Ohio State jersey that fit his upper body perfectly, and a red coat to compliment his outfit. He had chocolate brown eyes that seemed warm and inviting, a small nose, and lips accented by a trimmed beard. He seemed older, but as a smile crept into his eyes, a boyish look crossed his features. My knees buckled and my heart thumped loudly, and I hoped he couldn't hear it as I straightened my legs.

"Hi, Andrew," he said, his voice like smooth velvet to my ears.

"H-how do you know my name?" I asked, stepping back.

"That's none of your concern. I've been watching you. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening," he said, letting the door close behind him.

I stood there, dumbfounded. My head swam with the amount of alcohol that I had consumed and this man's presence that was just here mere seconds ago. His body, so tall. His voice, so hard, yet gentle. His eyes, so unforgettable. I slowly walked back to the bar, ordering two more shots of tequila.

"I'm cutting you off after this, man," Rayshaun said with a laugh. "I know you're trying to forget shit, but slow down while you're ahead."

My vision swam with the two glasses that were set before me, and I picked one up, holding it for dear life as I drank. After guzzling it down, I slammed it down on the bar, knocking back the second shot. I pulled out my wallet, dropped a one-hundred-dollar bill on the bar, and stood to leave.

"How are you getting home?" Rayshaun asked, staring at me from his place behind the bar.

"I can drive," I said, my speech sounding more slurred than I would have liked.

"I can call you a cab," he suggested.

"No need man. I'm good," I said, rocking from foot to foot. "My pickup truck's right outside."

"I can drive him," said the familiar voice from a few moments ago. "It's no trouble."

Rayshaun and I exchanged glances, and I shook my head. If all this guy wanted was a boy, I wasn't his guy. Besides, I had just gotten cheated on, and wounds take time to heal. I turned towards the door.

"I'll be fine," I said, saluting Rayshaun and shuffling towards the door.

"Merry Christmas, by the way," his voice echoed behind me.

I stopped in my tracks. Christmas! Holy fuck! It was a holiday and I was out here drinking like an idiot. I slapped my forehead, realizing that I'd missed work and that tomorrow I was off. I attempted to rid my head of all these thoughts as I stepped out into the parking lot to find my car. Snow fell around me lightly, blanketing me in white, making me wish I was invisible. An arm grabbed my elbow as I started walking and I turned around with raised fists.

"Andrew, relax." Marcus's smooth voice willed my hand lower.

"What do you want?" I spat, drunkenly.

"To drive you home. You're in no condition to drive yourself."

I contemplated my options slowly. I could get in my truck, drive myself home, and be okay. I could get into an accident while driving myself home, or I could let this stranger drive me. I decided to allow Marcus to drive me, but nothing more.

"Okay," I said, leading the way.

In the car, I rested my head on the seat's headrest. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Marcus maneuver the pickup truck with such grace and poise, and suddenly, my mind wandered. I imagined this man's dick probing my asshole, one hand gripping my hip and another rubbing my cock slowly, too slow. I opened my eyes and looked down. I gasped, seeing that my imagination had coaxed a hard-on from its depths. I rested my hands in my lap, pulling the coat over my bulging erection.

After we arrived, he took the keys out and handed them to me. I smiled and thanked him.

"Anytime," he stated. "However, I'll need to crash here for the night since my car's still at the bar."

I shook my head as I turned to open the door. No one could stay here, not when Ronnie was gone. It felt wrong for a stranger to be asking this of me when he barely knew me. As I maneuvered my body to climb out of the vehicle, my hand slipped, and my legs buckled underneath me as a strong hand grabbed my arm.

"For fuck's sake, Andrew! Be careful," he said harshly.

"Just leave me alone," I said, yanking my arm out of his grasp. "You're not my Daddy, nor will you ever be."

Suddenly, he bolted from the car, his eyes a smoldering brown as he slammed the door behind him. I hopped to the ground and closed my door, touching my keys in my pocket. Marcus was near me, invading my personal space with his body. I could feel the heat radiating from him.

"Don't you ever talk to me like that again, do you understand?" he growled menacingly.

"No, I don't! You're not my Daddy! You got that?" I spat as I brushed past him and walked up the stairs to my front door.

I could feel his intense gaze on my back as I unlocked the door. As I stepped inside, his body blocked the doorway.

"I'll be gone by the morning," he said, a sincere expression on his face. "I drove you home, the least you could let me do is stay for one night."

I sighed, shaking my head as I walked away from him standing in the open doorway. I shrugged my shoulders, hoping he could see that I didn't care anymore. I walked into my bedroom and closed the door. I stripped down completely and crawled into bed. Marcus would find everything all right, I suppose.

A blinding light awoke me the next morning. My head felt ten times heavier and pounded with such ferocity that when I sat up, I almost toppled over from the pain. Looking on my nightstand table, I found a glass of water, two Advil, and a note.

Drink and take both. Food will be waiting when you wake up. ~M

Why was he still here? I thought as I dropped the pills into the water and drank slowly. Getting up lazily, I made my way to the bathroom to shower and ingest more water.

I walked into the kitchen, smelling bacon as soon as I stepped out of the bathroom. I stopped suddenly, seeing Marcus dressed in one of my old shirts near the stove, piling food onto a plate.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" The words popped out of my mouth before I could stop them.

"Excuse me? Didn't you read the note?" he questioned, a smile playing at his lips.

I scowled at him. How dare he come in here, sleep on my couch, borrow my clothing without asking, and cook my food? In my kitchen that Ronnie and I once shared? I ran toward him, grabbing the plate that he held, and walking over to the trash can to dispose of it.

"What are you doing?"

"You need to go," I spat, lifting the lid of the trash receptacle.

"That plate was yours, Andrew. I was making it for you," he said softly, hurt evident within his voice. "What's wrong?"

"This was our kitchen," I said, kicking the trash can. "Ours! And he's been cheating on me. After all that I've done for him! How could he?"

Marcus was before me now, taking the plate and placing it on the counter. He guided me toward a chair and I didn't even realize it until his fingertips stroked across my cheeks, wiping away the wetness. I had been crying.

"Andrew? Talk to me." He pleaded.

All I wanted to do was run and hide from this stranger, but somehow, his willingness to listen to me pushed me over the edge again as new tears sprang from my eyes. Words began to fall like the snow outside, soft but relentless. My pain emblazoned on my heart and sleeve. I watched Marcus intently gazing at me. When I finished, I was shaking and crying like a fussy baby. The warm embrace of his arms comforted me then, allowing me to relax in a way I hadn't since yesterday.

"I'm sorry this has happened to you," he said, his eyes boring into mine. "Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"

"Please, just let me eat in peace," I said calmly. "We can talk afterward, okay?"

His arms tightened around me, but he left me to eat the bacon and eggs that were prepared. The food was delicious, and as I thought about Marcus standing in my kitchen, cooking to take care of me, I smiled. I fretted all yesterday about Ronnie, and now, Marcus was trying to make me feel better.

After dropping my dishes in the sink to attend to later, I went out into the living room. Marcus was sitting on the couch, staring at his phone.

"Hi," I said shyly.

"Hey," he replied, not looking up. "Sorry if I overstepped."

"You were just trying to help," I said, smiling.

"I need to get going, and I told you I'd be out of here by morning," he said, looking at the clock on the wall.

A pang resounded in my heart. Why was he leaving? He'd made things easier, and now, he was leaving.

"But before I go, I need to teach you a lesson. When someone offers help to you, you should say thank you and just accept it, not be a big brat about it," he said harshly as he stood up. "Come here."

I stared at him hard as I slowly walked towards him. His eyes exposed every part of my body as they looked me over.

"No, I'm not your Daddy," he started. "However, you acted out last night, and since Christmas was so rough for you, I think you deserve a present, don't you?"

What the fuck was this guy talking about? I looked at his dick, and for the first time since returning to the living room, I noticed that he was fully dressed again in his previous clothes. An imprint of his erection was visible against his pants. My mouth became wet with saliva.

"I think a light spanking will do," he said, and before I knew it, my arm was taken, and I was upon his knee.

In this position, my ass was his. He slowly pulled down my boxer briefs and ran a hand over my backside. A chill ran up my spine from where his hand traced circles over my skin and I shivered. One hand's fingertips trailed over my left asscheek and back, while the other stroked my right gently. My body hummed with excitement as his fingers trailed down between my asscheeks, and I let out a soft moan.

"You like that, huh?" he asked. "Let's do five spankings."

His hands continued to trace me and my dick was so hard that I could feel precum slipping through the slit. All I wanted was to feel him somewhere on me; anywhere. A light smack echoed off the walls, barely causing any pain to my exposed flesh. His right hand landed on my right asscheek, stinging a little but not causing any detrimental pain. The next one was a little harder, landing squarely in the middle. I squirmed on his lap, pressing my dick against his leg. The last two were harder, painful smacks that dulled into an ache. Why was I enjoying this? I thought as Marcus' hand caressed my now-warm bottom.

His arm pulled me up and his lips were on mine. He tasted of bacon and apple juice, and I smiled as our tongues found one another's. My arms encircled his neck, pushing him into the couch as our kiss deepened. Our dicks writhed against each other's, making my head spin with lustful thoughts. I pulled away from him just then and dropped to my knees. I grabbed his pants and underwear and yanked them down in one swift motion. I wanted to see this man's big cock, and as it sprang free, my mouth moved forward to take it all. Spit coated the shaft as I took him deeper, inhaling the scent of my soap and his own unique smell. I flicked my tongue over his balls, and a low growl escaped his throat. I continued to fuck him with my throat until his hand squeezed the back of my neck. I looked up at him, spit coating my lips.

"Get that asshole nice and wet for me," he said, his voice husky as he threw off his clothing.

I stared at him, dumbfounded. Was he going to fuck me? No, this couldn't be happening. The only person I've ever been with was Ronnie. I couldn't let this happen. My heart raced and tears sprang to my eyes. I watched through half-closed eyelids as he stroked his hard dick roughly. I decided that I could do this, so I wet my fingers and slid them into my asshole; one, two digits. I pushed them deeper, moaning softly as I pushed against my most sensitive areas inside myself. Suddenly, his arm was around my waist and I was straddling him. As he spread my asscheeks apart, my dick responded, curving up to meet my stomach. As his cock met my entrance, I relaxed to give it easy access. As he pushed his way through, I moaned loudly.