My Five Santas: A Christmas Reverse Harem

Chapter Nine: Bring On the Santas

One week post breakup

It is 10 AM.

On a Saturday.

And I am in a New York bar dressed like a Christmas elf, but not any that Santa would ever employ.

Or, at least, not the type of Santa I grew up seeing on TV.

And why, you might ask?

***

"For Santa Crawl," Cassidy had informed me over the phone, just the night before.

"What the fuck is a Santa Crawl?" I'd groaned.

"I'm so glad you asked, my darling girl," she said sweetly, "Why, Santa Crawl is only just the country's largest Santa Claus convention combined with an incredibly epic bar crawl." She cleared her throat and parroted, "Santa Crawl: the place where sexy Santas and their hot Elves can drink and make very merry."

I had massaged my forehead, hoping to stay the burgeoning headache that threatened to bloom.

"Please tell me you're joking," I moaned.

"Would I joke about something as serious as this?" Cass said earnestly. "Maggie. A bar crawl to end all bar crawls. Hot guys dressed as slutty Santas. You dressed as a slutty elf. Match made in heaven!"

You could have heard my long-suffering sigh all the way from the North Pole.

I swear I felt Cassidy roll her eyes through the phone. "C'mon, Mags, you can't honestly tell me you've never had any dirty thoughts while sitting on Santa's lap."

"Cassidy," I said measuredly, "the last time I sat on Santa's lap, I was nine." I frowned. "Mom said I was too heavy for it after I turned ten," I muttered darkly.

"Fuck that. Fuck your mom. And, if I have anything to say about it, fuck some Santas!"

***

And now here I am.

At a bar. By myself. Waiting for Cassidy.

In the end, there was no question whether or not it was going to happen. I'd already spent a fortune on the elf outfit after all.

I look down and frown at my body. Could you call this an outfit? A costume? No way.

I don't care what Cass said. Now that I'm out here, standing in the corner of a bar, cold light of a harsh winter morning filtering through the dusty windows, I can say with absolute certainty: this is fucking lingerie.

I'm in a bra and panties in public at 10 AM under the guise of an "elf costume."

My top is a bright green and red halter bra with Christmassy ornamental accents. It's cropped just below my tits. It has just enough gold buttons and red frills that even the most skeptical of people might admit that I was at least trying for an elf. Maybe.

For my bottoms, I'm wearing green, seamless boy shorts (Underwear. It's literally just underwear.), the intended match to my top. It has the same red, elf-like filigrees, and there are two small gold buttons that sit right below my navel.

From the bad part of my brain, a harsh thought lashes out. Look how pale and soft your stomach is. Like a bloated creature that lives in a cave.

Ugh, okay, none of that. That stupid, little voice is the last thing I need right now.

I adjust the straps of my halter top and look down, trying to muscle out the cruel, slithering voice in my head by imagining one of Cassidy's loud, bright pep talks.