tagNonConsent/ReluctanceI'll Be Home For Christmas

I'll Be Home For Christmas


This story is a holiday dramedy. It's both a humorous and touching little festive narrative, a magical, facetious Christmasy (adult) fairy-tale, and is dedicated to anyone who enjoys a little fun and a few laughs in their sexual escapades. It's not the hottest story I have written—in fact, it probably has the least sex in it, in relation to the other content, but does become quite steamy in the middle, and it's very appropriate to the season, very much in the spirit of Christmas. Hope you enjoy it!


December 19th, 4:17 p.m.

As the temperature descended from the 35°-warm point of the day, the city-spanning weather precipitated into a light snowfall, and the Midwestern sun was quickly fading into gray clouds. The town's heartbeat radiated Christmas in all directions. Wreaths and garlands hung from homes, businesses and offices where inside, cheerful holiday music piped through the stereo systems. Cars jammed the roads, drivers honking their way through to the nearest malls, restaurants and relatives' houses. Residents plugged in their lights, and neighborhoods were kept visible by multicolored strings on windows as well as their own streetlights.

If one held an aerial map of the city and zoomed far enough into the east-northeast side, at precisely the correct coordinates, eventually a very particular building would swim into view. This building, placed at 661 Kit Kat Street, provided a unique service to citizens. It was a location 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 donors/utilizers, in the form of coy jokes and euphemisms used to humorously maneuver one's way around communicating the official clinical terminology regarding the bank's work. More often than not, these facetious remarks were made by visitors, under the impression that they were cleverly delivering a suggestive little pun or quip for the first time. Employees would smile politely, making believe they hadn't heard these same cracks dozens of times before, mentally rolling their eyes.

It was the end of a standard work week. The minutes ticked down as the last male guests of the day presented their samples and were on their jolly way. A seemingly endless instrumental rendition of "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" (what more appropriate Christmas song to play here) slowly transformed the remaining workers' brains into week-old meat loaf. Quitting time arrived for more and more of them, and off into the Christmas bustle to their next destination they departed. The sample collections had been dwindling from the average estimate the bank could expect during the rest of the year, due to both a holiday rush and also to the cold winter weather, which systematically decreased the entire collective human libido in general.

Two women working in the building stayed to finish a bit of simple supplemental labor after everyone else had left, as they did often together. Their names were Amy and Lola. They were both the same age—33—the equivalent of how many degrees Fahrenheit beneath which the temperature had just slipped. They had started together at the bank around the same time several months ago, and had since become best friends (though they did tend to argue and bicker and tease and chew each other out quite a lot), their most broad strip of common ground to tread together being the nature of their job. They handled the bank's records and inventory together. Amy took care of the digital records in the computer system, Lola looked after the hard copies. This was their arrangement 80% of the time, although they occasionally switched off so that Lola could take a few moments to sit down and Amy could get up and stretch and move around.

Amy was staring confusedly at the computer screen, clicking and shaking her head, as Lola made her rounds.

"This can't be right," a panicked Amy told her as Lola circumnavigated her.

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

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

"Yeah?" replied Lola. "So?"

"So," Amy went on, "Besides the fact this is the third week in a row now we haven't gone over forty, like usual, you know we're expected to have a total weekly quota of at least thirty."

Lola looked up at her for the first time in these few minutes, shutting the folder she was currently holding. "Ames..." she said, nicknaming her in her lecturing voice, "In the first place, Christmas is now less than a week away. Of course we're gonna get a little less business. This is not exactly Toys 'Я' Us. Know what I mean? And in the second place, I've told you, that quota stuff is nonsense. Nobody can expect anything here; we just get what we get."

"Lolly..." Amy said, mimicking her nickname tone, "Mr. Simmons doesn't think it's nonsense." 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 that memo he sent out?" Amy continued. "It clearly states we need at minimum thirty samples processed per week up to the parent company, or else payroll won't be able to afford to give us our Christmas bonuses this year."

"'Course I did, and I promptly ignored it, thank ya very much," said Lola, who was much looser about boring, concrete things like numbers and guidelines. She was more concerned with practicality, pragmatism and meeting the actual living, breathing, three-dimensional people who came to their establishment. "Come on, Amy, it's ridiculous. It's thirty degrees outside—how many guys do you know that're in the mood to come in here and pop their puppies for us at thirty damn degrees? Besides, what are we supposed to do? We can't exactly just grab dudes right off the street, recruit 'em on in here and force them to give us their stuff."

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 get my family and friends some really quality gifts!"

"Oh, my God, Ames, where do I even begin here," Lola said exasperatedly. "Real friends aren't gonna care if you give 'em a Cadillac or a Hot Wheel, and so you spent, what, maybe a hundred lousy bucks you don't really have? So the hell what? You'll gain 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 she 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 squeezed the lock on a filing drawer, whipped it open and let it swing the rest of the way open on its own. "Duh!" she exclaimed, ceremoniously dropping the folder into it. She stepped into the next room to the coat closet for a moment and collected both of their jackets. "C'mon, let's get outta here, whad'ya say. I'm beat."

"Okay," agreed Amy, "Let me just clock us out here..." She opened the time system application, did just that, closed out her programs and shut the computer down. Five minutes later, they were standing at the front door, about to lock up. As they often closed down the building themselves, they were two employees 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're not even gonna remember this. We're not exactly broke, Ames. In fact, we're pretty darn comfy, you ask me. So, what's it gonna be tonight?" Lola asked her as they stepped out into the 30° exterior. "Chinese? Mexican? Burgers? Pizza?"

Amy came out behind her. "Mmm, I don't know," she said. "You pick."

Lola sighed. A visible cloud of breath wafted from her nose and mouth. "You are so indecisive," she told her as they started heading for their cars.

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

Her speech was interrupted by a voice in need of help. Lola and Amy turned to see someone hurrying towards them. It was a man, who looked about 40, dressed in only a short-sleeved T-shirt, worn jeans and ragged-looking sneakers. He was jogging in their direction, rubbing his arms, trying to keep them warm. He had stubble about three or four days old, and a light dusting of dirt had collected on him, even in the snow, as if he hadn't had a shower in quite a while. "Excuse me! Excuse me, please!" he called to them.

When they saw him coming, Lola said, "Oh my God, dude, are you crazy? It's thirty degrees out here!"

He stopped in front of them, panting and shivering. "I know, I know," he wheezed through chattering teeth. "I'm not crazy...I'm-...I'm homeless."

The women's eyebrows jumped and their mouths wordlessly dropped an inch ajar.

He struggled for words and for breath, rubbing his limbs harder and faster. "I-I don't want to bother you, but 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 in the last 72 hours—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, promptly fishing the keys back out and starting to return to the bank. "Well, come on, come on, 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 are we gonna do, just leave the guy standing out here in the snow with no jacket??" She took the appropriate key. "Look, don't worry about it. If anything happens—which it won't—I'll take the blame for it." She turned back to the man. "Come on, come on already!" She took him by the arm with her right mitten, opened the door, and the three of them hastened in. Lola shut and re-locked the door tight behind them, and they were shrouded in the darkness of the hallway.

"Oh, God, thank you," the quivering man said, continuing rubbing himself warm. Lola went straight to the coat closet and grabbed one of the spares kept around for just such an irregular situation as this. She came back and slipped it around his back. "Here, here, put this on," she urged.

"Whew...thank you again," he said, exhaling on his hands.

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

"Well...I, uh..." He swallowed and cleared his throat. "M-my landlord had been threatening eviction for a while, because my place was just, well, 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 in the end, it didn't matter anyway, the eviction went through, and that also just happens to be the same day when my department at the office gets laid off 'cause apparently, the banking representatives bilked our company out of about 10 grand, then it snows, and my 14-year-old junker decides to finally die on me. I tried to trade it in, and they put it on the lot and took the keys, but it's no good. I can't access anything now. Even if I could get to the bank, I can't withdraw any money from my account. It's closed." He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "So, I'm on the street."

All throughout the account of this ordeal, Lola's and Amy's faces grew more and more sympathetic and concerned. "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 now."

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

He held up 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, you might've s—"

Lola elbowed her in the side. "A-my!" she reprimanded through her teeth. She turned to him. "I 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 get something to eat."

Silence took over for a moment. Then, Amy started to say, "Oh...gosh...I don't kn—" But something clicked in Lola's mind. A light bulb went on over her head, and her eyes widened. She jumped in. "Uh, just a minute, please, sir," she said, taking Amy by the arm. "I need to have a quick word with my associate. Don't go anywhere, 'kay?"

She took Amy a few feet aside.

"You really think we should give him money?" Amy asked quietly. "We don't know him...I mean, for all we know he might go right out and get drunk."

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

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

Lola arched her eyebrows at her provocatively, as if to convey a message. She subtly nodded in the direction of the bank's waiting room, looked back at Amy, shifted her eyes and 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 was staring at her incredulously. "Are you insane?" she demanded. "We bring this poor starving freezing guy in out of the cold, and now we tell him that if he wants us to feed him he has to...spoof off in a cup for us first??"

"Well, obviously we are not gonna phrase it like that, but YES, Ames, yes!" insisted Lola. "Look, first off, I know he's hungry, but we can distract him from that for a little while. He's cold, and this is a great way to get his body warmed up. He's obviously upset about his situation, and let's face it, the past few days he's had, he could use a little pleasure. Giving him a sexual release couldn't possibly hurt him right now."

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

She returned her sour look to Amy. "I hate your photographic memory," she commented. She sighed. "Okay, fine, in this case I was wrong. But this is an out-of-the-ordinary situation. And he is on the street 'cause he's homeless. We'll give him some shelter...a little pleasure...process his sample real quick, then once we've earned his trust, we'll take him out to eat with us. And boom, he gets a lovely orgasm and a big delicious dinner from two nice galpals, we get our bonus, everybody wins!"

"Uh-huh," Amy said immediately, almost cutting Lola 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 right now! He's barely as tall as we are, he can't weigh more than 150 pounds. Amy, the guy probably hasn't had a bite in days! For God's sake, if he tried to start up any nasty stuff with us, I think we could take him! Unless we find out on the zero-point-zero-zero-zero-one percent chance he could have a gun, I say we go for it!"

Amy sighed and looked at the floor. She had to admit, it did seem like Lola had the situation well thought out, and her plan didn't seem...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 cordial that way. You're right—if we made him give us his...y'know...and 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, spend some time, hang out with him, show him some kindness and compassion, feed the hell out of him, fill up his tummy, talk to him, get to know him, give him some companionship, heal his heart a little from all the crap he's just been through, he'll feel better. Come on, Ames, you heard what he just went through. How often do you get an opportunity to help turn around a person's day like this?"

Amy was considering it, but still not completely sold. She looked up at Lola with an uncomfortable face. "I think I'd rather just take him straight out to dinner...I mean, do we really have to ask him to..." She made a quick masturbatory gesture to finish the sentence.

"Yeah, I know, but look it, Ames," Lola reasoned. "He's been in here with us for five minutes, and he still looks like an ice cube. I think, no matter what, the last thing he needs right this second is to go back outside. And no, maybe we don't immediately have to ask him to...y'know, jerk off for us, but, well..." The corners of her mouth curled up and she chuckled. "...you don't think that would be a fun little diversion for him? Besides too, there's no food in this building."

Amy looked at her strangely. "There's a snack machine right around the end of the hallway!" she said.

Lola smirked. "Damn, thought I could slip that one by ya. Okay, but still...we can get him something to tide him over now, from the snack machine, then we can take him inside and...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 switched positions from the way they 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 to come inside, exploit his vagrancy and politely ask him to stroke himself for a few minutes 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. "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!" Lola said sarcastically, "And second off, hence, for the fourth time, we take, him out, to dinner!" She heaved a breath. "I'm getting a little tired of saying those words! Look, Amy, 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. 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 part of the plan sounded like an incredibly noble and humane gesture. Lola saw the consideration in her face.

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

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bySmokey125© 4 comments/ 20753 views/ 8 favorites

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