Ryan, you are a fuck-tart.
Cal's rental is just a few miles outside of downtown, but the windy road makes me feel I am lightyears from civilization. In true fashion, I am running 30 minutes behind. Not because I took too long to get ready, this time. I got in and out of my car three times, started writing Cal four different not-gonna-make-it messages, and contemplated turning around when I stopped for gas. He told me it was no worry when I told him I was a bit behind.
Rolling up to the quaint, shiplap cabin I couldn't help but picture how cute it must look in the snowy winters. Christmas card worthy for sure. I climb out of the car and pause to overthink everything one more time. My breath floats before me, reminding me how rapidly the temperature has dropped over the past few hours.
"You made it," Cal calls from the porch.
"Yeah. Sorry I got sidetracked by something," I tell him, ascending the stairs to meet him.
"Well, I am glad you got yourself unsidetracked." He pulls me into a welcoming hug. His warmth against the chill of the evening makes me momentarily forget about my second guessings.
"Oh. The pie," I announce, breaking up our embrace.
"What?" Cal asks with a laugh.
With a bounce down to the car, I grab the pumpkin pie I baked two nights ago from the passenger seat. Almost forgetting the spray whipped cream, I lean down and feel for the canister under the seat. It went rolling around as I took the curves here at dangerous speeds.
"Your pie, sir," I announce as I present it to Cal.
He smiles but says, "Ryan, I told you not to bring anything. You didn't have to bake a pie for this."
"Coincidentally, I had just baked it. Plus, if I didn't bring it, I would surely eat the whole thing on my own. Possibly in one sitting. And hate myself for it. Now we can split it and half hate ourselves together."
"Fair enough," he nods and ushers me inside.
The great room is aglow with the fireplace and candles. It has a humble cottage feeling. Makes you feel instantly at comfort. Similar to walking into the house of a relative for a holiday family gathering.
"This is cozy," I say.
"Yeah. I love it. Perfect size. It's got one bedroom, a spacious loft upstairs, and a big deck out the back."
I pass on making a big deck joke and show myself into the kitchen. There is quite the spread: turkey breast, mashed potatoes, roasted veggies, and cranberry sauce. I eye up the two expensive red blends sitting out at the end of the table.
"Wanna glass?" Cal asks, showing up beside me.
"Sure. I love a good wine. Okay, I like any wine."
He winks a knowing wink. I squint my eyes at him as he uncorks one of the bottles and pours two very generous glasses. There is something unexplainable about Cal. I wouldn't call it an act, but he definitely seems to know me or at least the type of person I am pretty well. Call it ESP or really good people reading skills, it baffles me and kinda turns me on at the same time.
"Wow. Heavy pour there, Big Guy. Looking to get me drunk?" I joke as he hands me my almost completely full glass.
He chuckles, grabbing his own glass. "I am leaving tomorrow. Can't bring it with me, and I am not gonna waste it."
His eyes meet mine and he goes quiet.
"Tomorrow, eh?" I ask. "That's when you are heading on your way?"
He looks away as if something in the kitchen has gotten his attention. "Yeah. I need to continue my journey and make it back home before Christmas."
I am unsure what to say because I can't stop thinking why am I here?
"A toast," Cal says, bringing me back to the moment. "To new friends and new paths."
"And to finding ourselves again," I add.
"Here, here," he shouts and clinks my glass.
He watches me take a swig of my drink. His eyes tell me he wants to say something, but his mouth stays quiet. My cheeks pulsate and I turn from him and walk toward the fireplace. Before I can ask him if the firewood presently burning was the culprit for his back pain yesterday, he alerts me that dinner is ready.
Dinner is delicious and the company is delightful. Cal tells me about some of his favorite places he has traveled, and I make a mental note about my New Year's resolution possibly being to travel more. As we conclude, he cleans up our dishes, and I cut the pie. I ask him to grab the whipped cream from the fridge. Behind me, I hear the undeniable sound of spray whip going into a mouth.
"Hey! That's for the pie," I scold.
He tilts his head back and loads his mouth with another serving of the cream. Then gives me a devilish grin.
I cross my arms.
"Come get some," he suggests. "There is plenty."
Giving in, I cross the kitchen to him. When I extend my hand for him to hand over the can, Cal wags his finger.
"Open up," he commands.
I let out a sigh and tilt my head back. He comes in close, his torso touching mine. Cal's left hand comes to my chin to help direct his aim. My hands go to his hips for balance. The aerosol blast of sweet fluffiness fills my mouth. I close it with a giggle and the excess dribbles down my cheek. Without hesitation, Cal scoops the runaway whipped cream with his finger and plops it into his own mouth with a grin. He takes another shot from the can, but his eyes never leave mine and my hands never move from his waist.
"One more," I request.
Surprisingly, I am having a lot of fun being silly with Cal. It is something I didn't get to do much with Brad. He felt everyone had to be serious all of the time. Major buzzkill.
He gives me a quick fill and I gulp it down. Then, in a sneak attack, Cal tries to squirt a small blob of white on my nose, but I move at the last second. The corner of my lips and cheek get the bomb instead.
"Hey! You jerk," I jest, swatting at him.
He laughs and puts the can on the counter. My tongue reaches some of the dollop, but I can't get the remaining icing stuck in my stubble. My giant friend gently pulls me in with both ogre paws on the sides of my face and licks up the remaining whipped cream. The sensation of his tongue on my lips and face sends currents of electricity through my bones as I close my eyes and take in every moment of the guilty pleasure.
My eyes open when I feel Cal's hands no longer holding me. I find he has made it to the pie I sliced and is headed to the couch.
"Come on, Ryan. We can have dessert in here."
One minute he is licking my face the next he is across the room more interested in pie. WTF?
I grab my drink and reluctantly join him in the great room. However, my negative feelings fade away almost instantly with the warmth of the fire, the fullness of my belly, and the buzz from the wine. Cal hands me my pie with a swirl of spray whip on it. We chat about life and he serves us both a second piece. He is an open book. I start building this picture of him in my mind. Kind, confident, and generous. How is it fair to be such a good person, be so sexy, and have such a nice cock too?
"Are you excited about Christmas?" he asks.
I scoff. "This time of year used to be my favorite. I'd get a big tree, listen to carols twenty-four-seven, and buy everyone I know thoughtful gifts."
"Used to be?" Cal inquires.
"Yeah. The last few years with Brad, Christmas had become sterile and unexciting. Just time off work and party opportunities. He was only worried about getting to the beach house we shared with some of his pretentious friends. I am not even sure the last time we put up a tree."
"Oh no! What would Santa think?" Cal says with a smile.
I laugh. "I know, right?! I have really dropped the ball on Christmas."
"You can change that this year. You are on your own and you can decide how festive you want your holiday to be."
There is something painful to hear in Cal's statement though he means no malice. Maybe I am being too touchy. There is this good-hearted man telling me to get my act together. I should be listening.
To change the subject, I ask the first thing that comes to mind.
"How old were you when you stopped believing in Santa?"
This seems to send Cal into a bit of a tailspin. He rubs his beard and marinades on the question. He is taking it way more seriously than I meant him to.
"I think I really lost hope in him just a few years ago."
My brow furrows and I give a puzzled grin.
He gives a belly laugh when he meets my gaze.
He adds, "Strange answer, huh?"
"Yeah. You had still believed in Santa until just a few years ago?"
Cal shrugs. "Yes, or at least the ideas he stands for. Love and joy and happiness. Rewarding the good guy and giving coal to the bad guy. I think he has become lost, though."
Part of me feels like Cal is talking about something much deeper than his belief in Santa, but I let it go in honor of keeping the conversation light.
"You? When did little Ryan stop believing in the man with the bag? End of grade school?" Cal moves the spotlight to me.
"Actually, yeah. But not because I believed my friends when they told me he wasn't real. I conducted an experiment."
This makes Cal give out another loud, jolly chuckle. It also makes me realize how up close and personal we are. Cal's right arm is up and behind me on the back of the couch; his palm rests against my right shoulder. I have my wine in my right hand, but my left is comfortably resting on Cal's meaty thigh. He casually squeezes my neck as means of telling me to go on.
"My parents asked me what I wanted Santa to bring me for Christmas that year. I told them things I would really like: action figures, a baseball glove, and a Slip 'N Slide. But I kept one wish to myself. I wrote out a letter to Santa on my own. Told him what I wanted for Christmas and secretly sent it to the North Pole."
I can't help but laugh at the silliness of my story. Cal doesn't laugh, though. He looks crestfallen.
"And on Christmas Day, 'Santa' brought me all of the things I asked him for via my parents."
"But not the present you put in your note to him," Cal finishes my story.
I nod and give a half smile. Without warning, Cal pulls me into him. He wraps both arms around me and I slide up onto his massive, defined body. For lack of a more comfortable position, I staddle the bear's lap and feel my ass mounds rest on his solid quads. He just holds me in an all-encompassing hug. It feels so good. Warm. Somehow needed.
"I am sorry you were let down, Ryan," he whispers in my ear.
"Cal, everyone eventually stops believing in Santa. It was just my time," I say into the tuft of chest hair that is sticking out of the top of his shirt.
He presses me back a bit to look me in the face. His expression is a mystery, but I can tell there are words behind his eyes that he isn't going to say. The contrasting aroma of sweet whipped cream and bitter red wine on his breath is intoxicating.
I kiss him. My lips land a bit harder than intended, but he doesn't push me away. Our mouths merge in soft synchronism until our tongues come to play. Like a burst of fire, our kissing is impassioned. Each of us trying to take as much of the other in–explore all the other is. He hoists my shirt up and over my head. I do the same for him. Our bare chests smash against each other as I rock my hips against this silver god. My dick can't take much more, and I know Cal's cock is feeling it too. Grinding my crotch into his has been met with the swell of his rod, iron-hard, and wanting to be released.
Without my lips leaving his, I reach past my lap and fumble at the button of Cal's jeans. I throw open the zipper and swipe down the waistband of his briefs, releasing his daddy cock and heavy stones. I grab his meat and start softly pumping. He falls back and moans in ecstasy. I kiss up and down his neck, from his beard to his clavicles and back. Rhythmically, the head of his cock appears and disappears into its turtleneck of skin, and warm warning honey starts to drool out and over his organ and my fingers.
I pause only long enough to pull his pants and underwear off and then mine. Like a horned-up zombie, he watches me with a crooked smirk. I hop back on Cal's lap and get the piston cranking again. This time taking his plump right nipple into my mouth.
"Ryan," he says, quietly through the panting. "Ryan!"
His hand finds mine and stops me mid-jerk. I sit straight up.
"Ryan. This is all incredible. Truly." His tone. It's bad.
"Fuck," I say before he can go on. I move to unsaddle, but he grabs my arm.
"Let me finish what I am saying," he says, but I can't look at him or stop the bile from rising in my throat.
"I am not sure you need to." My embarrassment of being denied at this point of the game is stabbing at my insides. I want to run away.
"Look at me," he requests.
I can't for a few moments. Not until I know I won't cry like a little bitch.
"You're fucking hot and cold, Cal," I spit.
After a whole minute, I look him in the eyes. They are warm and caring, but I see hurt behind them. He is broken.
"I wasn't expecting to find you. Here. On my trip." He pauses. "It's only been a few days but you have done more good for me than anyone has in months. I am incredibly grateful for that. But, I cannot–"
"Do this. Be happy and let another person in," I say. "I get it, Cal. You are just passing through. You have a home you don't like and a job you hate to get back to."
Through gritted teeth, he replies, "That's not fair."
He's right. It was a low blow. I am just being a douchebag, and I feel bad about it.
"I didn't mean to pull you along, though you were doing a great job of pulling me a few minutes ago." He flashes a sexy grin.
This breaks my mood and I smile back.
"If you can forgive me, I'd love your company tonight," his eyes are beyond me, looking at the window.
I turn to see what the is looking at. "It's snowing."
"All the more reason to stay," Cal says, descending sideways on the couch and bringing me with him. I lie on top of him, using his sizeable pec as a pillow. Our naked torsos reunite and our soft packages are pinned together in paradise between our snuggly bodies.
I know I am in trouble. His charm is hypnotizing, his body is unfathomably comfortable, and I am wine impaired. It is evident he has won this battle. Cal pulls a blanket from the top of the couch down and over us. I'm a goner for sure.
"I'm glad you are here, Ryan," he says with a kiss on my forehead.
A sigh of thanks is all I can manage before fading off to dreamland.