tagNonConsent/ReluctanceI'll Be Home For Christmas

I'll Be Home For Christmas

bySmokey125©

Smokey Saga #5: "I'll Be Home For Christmas"

This is a holiday dramedy. It's both a humorous and touching little narrative, a magical, facetious fairy-tale, and is dedicated to anyone who enjoys a few laughs in their sexcapades. It's not the hottest story I've written—it has less sex in relation to other content—but does become quite steamy in the middle, and is appropriate to the season, very much in the Christmas spirit. Enjoy!

***

December 19th, 4:17 p.m.

As the day's temperature descended from its 35°-peak, the city weather precipitated into a light snowfall, and the Midwestern sun quickly faded into gray clouds. The town radiated Christmas in all directions. Wreaths and garlands hung from homes, businesses and offices, where inside, cheerful holiday music piped through stereo systems. Cars jammed the roads, drivers honking through to the nearest mall, restaurant or relative's house. Residents plugged in their lights, and neighborhoods were alit by multicolored strings on windows and frames, as well as their own streetlights.

If one held an aerial map and zoomed far enough into the east-northeast side of town, at the precisely correct coordinates, a particular building would swim into view. This building, located at 661 Kit Kat Street, provided a unique service to citizens, to which men and women paid visits for distinctly separate purposes. A sperm bank. Gentlemen came to the bank to make donations, and ladies visited to consider utilizing these donations to complement their own fertility.

A daily buzz circulated around the bank, mostly between employees and visitors, in the form of coy cracks and euphemisms, used to humorously maneuver around official terminology regarding the bank's business. More often than not, these funny remarks were made by visitors, under the impression they were cleverly delivering a suggestive pun or quip for the first time. Employees would smile politely, making believe they hadn't heard these same jokes dozens of times before, and carry on as usual.

It was nearing the end of a standard work week. The minutes ticked down as the last male guests turned in their samples and were on their jolly ways. A seemingly endless rendition of "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" slowly transformed workers' brains into meat loaf. Quitting time arrived for more of them, and off into the Christmas bustle they departed. Sample collections had dwindled from the average estimate during the rest of the year, due to both holiday rush and also the cold winter weather.

Two women in the building, Amy and Lola, stuck around to finish a bit of supplemental labor after everyone else left, as they often did together. They were the same age, 33, the equivalent of degrees Fahrenheit beneath which the temperature'd just begun to slip. They'd started at the bank around the same time several months ago, and had since become best friends—though they did tend to bicker, tease and chew each other out a lot—the broadest strip of common ground being their job. They handled the bank records and inventory. Amy took care of the digital files in the computer system, Lola looked after the hard copies. This was the arrangement 80% of the time, though they occasionally switched off so Lola could take some time to sit down and Amy could get up and stretch.

A confused Amy stared at the computer screen, clicking and shaking her head, as Lola made rounds behind her.

"This can't be right," Amy announced as her friend circumnavigated.

"What can't be," Lola answered, in the tone of an apathetic statement, rushing about with her folders.

"According to this, we've processed a grand total of twenty-nine samples this week."

"Yeah?" replied Lola. "So?"

"So, besides the fact this is the third week in a row we haven't gone over forty, you know we're expected a weekly quota of thirty."

Lola looked up at her for the first time, shutting the folder in her hand. "Ames..." she said, nicknaming her in her bicker-slash-lecture voice, "In the first place, Christmas is less than a week away. Of course we're gonna get less business; this is not exactly Toys 'Я' Us. And in the second place, I've told you, that quota stuff's bunk. Nobody can expect anything here; we just get what we get."

"Lolly..." Amy said, mimicking her nickname tone, air-quoting her slang. "Mr. Simmons doesn't think it's 'bunk.'" Brad Kenneth Simmons, their boss, was extremely by-the-book, and Amy wasn't that far behind him. He lived by bottom-lines, guidelines, deadlines, dotted lines, and of course quotas. His favorite saying was, "Numbers never lie."

"Did you not see the memo he sent out?" Amy continued. "It clearly states we need at minimum thirty samples processed per week, or else payroll won't be able to afford our Christmas bonuses."

"'Course I did, and I promptly ignored it, thank ya very much," said Lola, who was looser about concrete things like numbers and guidelines. She was concerned with practical pragmatism and meeting living, breathing, three-dimensional folks who came to their establishment. "C'mon, Amy, 's ridiculous. How many guys you know in the mood to come in here and pop their puppies at thirty damn degrees? Besides, what're we supposed to do? We can't just grab dudes off the street and force them to give us their junk."

Amy spun her chair in Lola's direction to face her. "Lola, I spent it already! This was the year I thought I was finally going to be able to give my family and friends some really quality gifts!"

"Oh my God, Ames, where do I even begin here," Lola sighed exasperatedly. "Real friends aren't gonna care if you give 'em a Cadillac or a Hot Wheel. And so you spent, what, a hundred lousy bucks you don't really have? So the hell what?? You'll get it back! It's not like we're going tummy up by New Years'. And if it's really stressing you out that much, big deal, just return the gifts!"

Amy settled down a little, thinking about what her buddy-girl was saying. It made sense. "Oh...y'know, I guess you're right. I'm probably getting all carried away over nothing here. You are. You're right, Lola."

Lola pressed the lock on a filing drawer, whipped it open and let it swing out the rest of the way on its own. "Duh!" she exclaimed, unceremoniously dropping the last folder in. She stepped into the next room to the coat closet and collected their jackets. "C'mon, let's get outta dodge, whad'ya say. I'm beat."

"Okay, let me just clock us out here..." Amy opened the time system, did just that, closed out her programs and shut the computer down. Five minutes later, they stood at the front door to lock up. As they often closed themselves, they were entrusted with keys.

Amy blew out her breath in frustration. "I can't believe we're only one gosh-darn sample from getting our bonus."

"Oh, will you give it a rest. Two weeks from now, we won't even remember this. We're not exactly broke, Ames. In fact, we're pretty damn comfy, 'fya ask me. So, what's it gonna be tonight?" Lola asked as they stepped out. "Chinese? Mexican? Burgers? Pizza?"

Amy emerged behind. "Mmm...I dunno," she said. "You pick."

Lola sighed. A visible breath blew from her nostrils and mouth. "You are so indecisive," she told her as they headed for their cars.

"I am most certainly not," Amy asserted. "I just don't enjoy always having to be the one wh—"

Her speech was interrupted by a voice calling for help. Lola and Amy turned to see someone hurrying towards them. It was a man, who looked about middle-aged, dressed in only a short-sleeved T-shirt, worn jeans and ragged-looking sneakers. He jogged in their direction, rubbing his arms, trying to keep warm. He had stubble about three or four days old, and a light dusting of dirt had collected on him, as if he hadn't had a shower in quite a while. "Excuse me! Excuse me, please!" he shouted to them.

They saw him coming. "Oh my God, dude, are you crazy??" Lola asked. "It's thirty degrees out here!"

He stopped before them, panting and shivering through chattering teeth. "I know. I know...I-I'm not crazy...I'm...I'm...homeless."

The women's eyebrows jumped as their mouths wordlessly dropped ajar.

He struggled for words and breath, rubbing his limbs harder and faster. "I-I don't wanna bother you, but...I-I just don't know what else to do right now...y-you can't believe what's happened to me in the last three days. I've-I've lost my car, my apartment and my job, all in the last 72 hours...and-and I know how it sounds, but I swear to God, I'm not lying to you! I'm-I'm just—"

"Oh, holy cow, you poor guy!" Lola said, fishing her keys back out and turning around. "Well, c'mon, c'mon, get inside! Hurry up!"

"Wh—...Lola," Amy ran back up alongside her. "We're not supposed to let anyone in the building after closing hou—"

"Amy, what the hell're we gonna do, just leave the guy standing out in the snow with no jacket??" She took the appropriate key. "Look, don't worry. If anything happens—which it won't—I'll take the heat for it." She turned back to their homeless visitor. "C'mon, c'mon already!" she repeated, taking him by the arm with her right mitten. She opened the door, and the three of them hastened in. Lola shut and relocked it behind them, shrouding them in the dark lobby.

"Oh, God, thank you!" said the quivering gentleman, continuing to rub himself warm. Lola trotted again to the coat closet and grabbed one of the spares kept for just such irregular situations. She returned and wrapped it around him. "Here, put this on."

"Whew...thank you again," he said, exhaling on his icy hands and slipping his arms through the sleeves.

"So whatever happened to you, sir?" Amy asked him.

"Well, uh..." He sniffled and cleared his throat. "M-my landlord was threatening eviction, because my place was just, kinda...a mess...and, I kept meaning to get it organized, I really did, but it seemed like all I could do was work, 'cause I was having so much trouble just making the rent. But it didn't matter anyway; the eviction went through. My lease was terminated, and that just happens to be the same day my department at work gets laid off, 'cause apparently the banking representatives bilked our company out of about ten grand, and then my 14-year-old junker decides to finally die on me. I tried to trade it in, but it's no good; there's nothing I can do. Even if I could get to the bank, I can't access my account. It's closed." He took a deep breath. "So, I'm on the street."

Throughout the narration of this ordeal, Lola's and Amy's faces grew more and more sympathetic. "My gosh, what a terrible story!" Amy said. "Just listening to that broke my heart! I am so sorry!"

"Yeah, me too," said Lola. "And you don't have any relatives to help you?"

He shook his head. "They're scattered throughout the country. The only one nearby's my brother, he's on the other side of town, and frankly, I was closer with my landlord than with him. Besides, I can't call them; no phone service."

"You're kidding! That's awful!" said Amy. "No wife?"

He displayed his hand. "You see a ring on there?"

Amy looked. "Well...no...but I thought maybe since it looks like you could use the money..."

Lola elbowed her in the side. "A-my..." she reprimanded through her teeth. She turned back to address the gentleman again.

"I must apologize for my friend, she's not exactly the world's most tactful person sometimes."

He shrugged. "I-I couldn't care less about tact right now. I'm just...just trying to think of the most appropriate way of asking you kind ladies if you could maybe...provide me with a...few dollars to...to get something to eat?..."

Silence took over for a moment. Amy started to say, "Oh...gosh...I dunno..." but something clicked in Lola's mind. She jumped in. "Uh, just a minute, please, sir," she said, taking Amy by the arm. "I need a quick word with my associate. Don't go anywhere, 'kay?"

She led Amy a few feet aside.

"You really think we should give him money?" Amy asked quietly. "We don't know him; he might just go get drunk with it."

"Ames, just work with me on this for a minute," said Lola. She paused, then asked, "You want your Christmas bonus or not?"

Amy did not at first perceive what she was on about. "What?"

Lola provocatively arched her eyebrows, as if to convey a message. She subtly nodded towards the waiting room, looked back at Amy, cocked her head in the gentleman's direction, smiled impishly, and repeated, "Do, you want, your Christmas bonus, or not?"

Suddenly, Amy realized what Lola was proposing. A look of shock washed over her face. She whisper-shouted. "WHAT?! NO!"

Lola put her finger to her lips. Amy stared at her incredulously. "Are you insane??" she demanded. "We bring this poor starving guy in out of the cold, and now we tell him that if he wants us to feed him he has to...splooge off in a cup for us first??"

"Well, obviously we are not gonna phrase it like that, but yes, Ames! Yes!" Lola insisted. "Look, first off, I know he's hungry, but we can take his mind off that. He's cold, and this is a great way to get his body warmed up. He's obviously upset about his situation, and who could blame him. The past few days he's had, giving him a little pleasure couldn't possibly hurt him right now."

"Whoa, whoa, hold on a second here," said Amy. Imitating Lola's voice, hands on hips, she sarcastically quoted, "'We can't just grab dudes off the street and force them to give us their junk'?" Lola rolled her eyes and dropped them to the floor in exasperation.

She scowled at Amy. "I hate your photographic memory," she commented with a sour sigh. "Okay, fine, in this case I was wrong. But this is an out-of-the-ordinary situation. We'll shelter him...pleasure him...process his sample, then once we've earned his trust, we'll take him out to eat with us. And boom: he gets an orgasm and a delicious meal, we get our bonus, everybody wins!"

"Uh-huh..." Amy said immediately, just about cutting her off. "And what about him earning our trust? Hmm?"

"Oh—!" Lola scoffed. "What's he gonna do, try to rob us? Look at him! He's as weak as a slug! He can't weigh more than 150 pounds! Amy, the poor guy probably hasn't eaten in days! God's sake, if he tried to get nasty with us, I think we could take him!"

It was Amy's turn to sigh. She had to admit, it did seem like Lola had the situation thought out, and her plan didn't sound...too atrocious, but... "I...think I'd feel a little bad just...using him like that," she said. "It'd feel like we took advantage of him."

"That's why we're gonna take him out to dinner with us," reiterated Lola. "It's more personal and friendly that way. You're right—if we made him give us his...y'know...then just gave him a few bucks and shoved him out the door, then yeah, I think his feelings would be hurt. Probably make him feel like a gigolo or something. But we take him out, show him some kindness and compassion, fill up his tummy, give him some companionship, heal his heart from all the crap he's just been through, he'll feel better. Come on, Ames, you heard what he went through. How often do you get an opportunity to turn around someone's day like this?"

Amy was considering, but still not completely sold. She looked at Lola uncomfortably. "I think I'd rather just take him straight out to dinner...I mean, do we really have to ask him to..." She finished the question with a quick masturbatory gesture.

"Yeah, I know, but look it, Ames," Lola reasoned. "He's been in here for five minutes, and he still looks like an ice cube. No matter what, I think the last thing he needs is to go back outside right now. And no, we don't immediately have to ask him to...y'know...jerk off for us," she went on, lowering her voice to a whisper, "But, well..." The corners of her mouth curled up as she mischievously chuckled. "...You don't think that would be a fun little diversion for him? We can get him something from the snack machine for now, then we can take him inside, convince him to do this for us, then when it's finished, we all go out to dinner!"

Suddenly, it was as if Amy and Lola completely reversed positions from the way they'd felt twenty minutes ago.

"'Convince him to do this for us'??" Amy parroted. "You said it yourself, we cannot just convince a random homeless stranger inside, exploit his vagrancy, and politely ask him to stroke his...self, just so we get an extra hundred bucks! How is that supposed to make him feel? How would we feel if we were in his place?"

Lola paused to sigh again. "Well, first off, we couldn't know how we'd feel, 'cause we're asking him for sperm, and last I checked, we don't have testicles!" she snapped. "If we did, this wouldn't be necessary, now would it?! And second off, hence, for the fourth time, we take, him out, to dinner!" She heaved a breath of frustration. "I'm getting just a little tired of saying those words! Look, Amy, once again, it's a wonderful way to say thank you for doing this little favor for us. And, besides, he's not a 100% total stranger...anymore. We did just learn some of the more intimate details about his life."

"Oh, now you're just grasping at wrapping paper ribbons," Amy scolded her. Still, she had to concede that at least the dinner treating seemed like an incredibly noble and humane gesture. Lola saw the consideration in her face.

"C'mon..." Lola said, drawing out the coaxing with a manipulative smirk. "Can't you just picture all your friends' and relatives' happy faces when they see those beautiful quality gifts you got 'em?" she asked, a hint of naughtiness dripping from her voice.

Another second, and Amy gave in. "Oh, all right," she surrendered, at which point Lola grinned big and clapped her red mittened hands in excitement. Amy pointed a green mittened finger at her. "But that was dirty pool, playing on my emotions like that."

Lola wryly replied, making fun of her. "I know, I know, and I promise to feel excruciatingly horrible about it for the rest of my life. Now c'mon." They strode back over to where their vagrant stood waiting for them, pacing about, trying to rub his hands warm.

"Oh, here, here! Let us do that for you," Lola offered, taking one of his hands in her mittens and rubbing it between them. Amy did the same with his other hand. "Uh, one little question right now, sir...please don't ask us to explain just yet, but...how old are you?"

The gentleman did obediently as Lola asked, supplying only his age. "42."

"Good!" Lola winked at Amy. "That works. Now, sir, would you like to come with us, and right now we'll buy you a nice candy bar or something, get you a little warmer, and then later, if you like, we can take you out for some dinner?"

He was visibly moved. "...Wow. My fortune's sure turned to run into you two gals, but...I don't know if I can ask you to go that far."

"But you didn't ask, we offered," Amy corrected him. "And we insist!"

"That's right, and it's Christmastime!" added Lola. "We couldn't turn away a cold, hungry gentleman at Christmastime."

"And, since we're already...kinda shaking hands here, I'm Amy."

"And I'm Lola."

"Well...very pleased indeed to make your acquaintance, ladies! I'm George."

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