Tangled Sheets

by Michael Thomas Ford

  After checking all of the stores, I went to take a quick look around the main court. The elves were silent for once, and the mechanical reindeer were throwing long shadows over the floor as the moon shone through the big skylight that covered most of the ceiling. Satisfied that everything was in order, I was just about to leave when I heard someone moving around inside one of the wooden houses. I crept quietly along the wall of the nearest gingerbread house until I was at the door. Jumping into the house, I shone my flashlight around. As I did, a figure in the room whirled around, and I found myself face to face with Santa Claus.

  “Holy shit,” he said in a startled voice. “You scared the hell out of me.”

  I stood in the doorway, not sure of what to say. I’d expected a thief, not some guy in a Santa suit. “What are you doing here?”

  “Packing my sleigh,” he said seriously.

  I walked over and stood in front of him, looking up and down his body from his shiny black boots to his stocking cap. “Aren’t you the guy who sits here all day talking to the kids?”

  “The very same,” he said. Then, much to my surprise, he put his black-gloved hand on my crotch, squeezing it. “And just what is it you want for Christmas this year, little boy?”

  I couldn’t believe it; I was getting felt up by Santa. I still wasn’t convinced the guy wasn’t a thief, but his hand was moving up and down my cock which, to my embarrassment, was growing rapidly. All I could do was stare at the shiny buttons on his red suit as he stroked my hard-on.

  “Someone has a big toy,” Santa said, chuckling.

  He dropped to his knees, unzipped my pants, and reached inside to pull my prick out. Then he leaned forward and sank his rosy mouth onto my knob. My tool sank easily into his lips as he teased the head with his tongue, flickering it over the tender slit and along the ridges of my fat knob. As he sucked me, I completely forgot that he was still dressed as Santa and put my hand on his head, wrapping my fingers in the white curls that peeked out from beneath his red felt hat.

  After working the first few inches of my cock for a couple of minutes, he suddenly pushed the whole length of my dick into his throat until his nose was buried deep in my bush. His head moved forward, and I was left holding a handful of hair, the stocking cap it was attached to dangling from my hand. He looked up from between my feet, and I saw that his head was covered in short black hair.

  “Now you’ve discovered my secret,” he said. “Promise you won’t ruin the surprise for the other children?”

  I laughed. “Not if you keep doing what you’re doing, I won’t.”

  He nodded. “Deal.”

  With that, he went back to sucking my prick, his lips gliding sensuously up and down my shaft in slow strokes. He was still wearing the long white beard of his costume, and as he blew me the soft white hairs tickled my cock, sticking to my skin where his lips had passed over it. I pumped his face slowly, moving several inches of my meat in and out of his mouth. He was an expert cocksucker, and before long I felt a tensing in my groin.

  He must have felt it too, because he started to move his mouth in faster strokes, his lips pulling at my head. His hand moved up to my cock and began to stroke it as he concentrated on sucking just the tip, the leather of his glove wrapping around my prick and holding it tightly. The load in my balls was released in a single blast that blew from my cock and slammed into his mouth. His cheeks filled with my cum as I poured more and more of it into his hot throat, and he gulped several times trying to get it all down. Even then, some of it trickled from his lips, streaking the beard and the front of his red jacket with sticky clumps.

  He licked his lips and smiled. “That’s a hell of a lot better than the glass of milk they usually leave for old Santa,” he said.

  I reached down and pulled him to his feet. “Well, that’s just the beginning. You haven’t even started on the plate of cookies yet.”

  Tugging on the beard, I pulled it off him, revealing a handsome face with a wide jaw covered in dark stubble. My hands moved down the soft red jacket to the wide plastic belt at his waist. Taking it off, I unbuttoned the jacket and slipped it over his shoulders. There was a thick layer of padding attached to the suit, and now that it was gone I saw that underneath he had a lean, hard body. The hills of his chest were covered in thick hair clipped into a short carpet that swirled down the ripples of his abdomen, and his shoulders were broad and muscled.

  “You’ve got a great body for a man hundreds of years old,” I said.

  He started to take off my uniform, his fingers slipping the buttons of my shirt from their moorings. “It’s from lifting all those toys,” he said, pinching my left nipple forcefully and running his tongue along my neck before slipping it into my mouth. I kissed him back, tasting my cum on his lips and plunging deep into his mouth. I could feel his prick pressing against me as I held him, my hands against his strong back.

  We fumbled with one another’s pants at the same time, anxious to get to the goodies inside like greedy children sticking their hands into Christmas stockings. Without taking our mouths off one another, we undid buttons and zippers until our pants fell to the floor, followed by hurriedly discarded underwear. Once they were off and we were naked, our hands roamed over legs and asses. His butt was smooth and round, firm and muscular beneath my hands as I cupped his cheeks and ground my cock against his.

  As for his prick, it was one of the sweetest treats I’d ever seen. The huge shaft lifted up from a set of wonderfully hairy sweetmeats that hung between his strong thighs like ornaments on a tree. Straight and smooth, his cock was crowned with a round sugarplum of a head that just begged for sucking. I held it in my hand, feeling the beating of the vein that ran along it and thinking about it throbbing in my throat. But before I could start feasting on it, he pulled away.

  He flicked a switch behind the door of the gingerbread house, and the courtyard bloomed with thousands of tiny lights. After a minute, they began to twinkle, as if all the stars in the sky had been replaced with blue, green, and red lights. Tucked beneath the clouds of cotton snow, they glimmered like jewels, appearing and disappearing as they winked their bright eyes. At the same time, the elf chorus took up in the middle of “Winter Wonderland,” their reedy voices echoing strangely through the empty mall.

  I looked to see where my mysterious visitor was and saw that he was lying in a big fluffy bank of snow, his naked body sprawled out as though he were in the middle of his own bed. His cock was stretching up across his belly, and he was jerking off slowly as he watched me. Going over to him, I sank down into the snow, the cotton soft against my skin. Straddling his chest, I pushed my ass into his face. My balls pressed against his hungry mouth, and he began to suck on them eagerly.

  My face hovered above his cock as I lay against his stomach, feeling the hair on his body rubbing over my skin and his mouth massaging my nuts one at a time, moving from one to the other. Leaning down, I ran my tongue down the length of his tool, from the tip of the fat head to the soft, hairy place where his balls tumbled into the space between his legs. His thighs were hairy, and my cheeks brushed against them as I rooted in his crotch, savoring the rich taste of sweat and maleness of his skin.

  Moving back up, I took the tip between my lips and sucked at it. I was rewarded with a stream of sticky precum that coated my tongue and slipped down my throat, coating it with the thick taste of his jism. Urged on by this delicious beginning, I slid as much of his cock as I could into my throat, groaning as his thickness swelled inside me, his shaft expanding as his excitement mounted. At the same time, he moved his mouth from my balls to my ass, slipping his tongue into my crack and finding my sensitive asshole. My prick jumped against his chest as he found his way inside my chute, his tongue forcing its way past my hole as his hands gripped my ass painfully.

  As I loosened up, he started to thrust his tongue more deeply into me. I began to match his movements in my ass with those of my mouth on his prick, sliding inch after inch into my anxious throat as he reamed
me from behind. After a while, his tongue slipped out of my ass and was replaced by a finger that slid in and out of my slicked opening in time with the dick penetrating my mouth. Soon it was joined by a second, then another and another until four fingers were grinding into my butt, stretching it wide.

  Having my ass fucked as I sucked his big cock was an amazing feeling, as if we were connected by a line that ran through the middle of my body. I ground myself fiercely against his hand, sliding my cock against his chest while I tried to push every last inch of his prick into me, loving the way the hair on his body tortured my sensitive cockhead and the way his dick choked me with its size. I imagined how his fingers would look sliding in and out of my hole, what my heated walls must feel like against his skin, and became even more turned on.

  I wanted to taste his ass as well, so I let his cock fall from my lips and lie against my neck as I put my hands beneath his knees and pulled his legs back toward his waist. As I leaned my weight on his thighs his beautiful ass spread out before me, the cheeks parting to reveal his fur-rimmed hole with a pink pucker at its center. Diving in, I licked and kissed his hole until the spit-soaked hair swirled in delicate circles around the opening like a wreath. He tasted wonderful, thick and heady, and I wanted to lick him forever. My mouth traveled over the mounds of his beautiful ass, biting at the skin as his balls rolled against my throat and the sounds of the elves singing “Silver Bells” swirled through my head.

  His cock was pressing insistently against my throat, and I was overcome by the need to have it inside me. Letting his legs fall back down, I turned myself around so that I was sitting on his chest facing him. His face was bathed in a changing wash of blue, green, and red as the lights around us twinkled. I leaned forward and guided the head of his prick into my waiting hole. As I pushed back, he lifted his hips and drove his tool deep into my willing ass until I was sitting against his balls, my cock pressed flat against my belly it was so hard.

  “A nice tight fit,” he said. “Just like going down a well-built chimney.”

  I couldn’t respond, my mind reeling from the size of the dick filling me. It was a good thing he’d loosened me up with his hand first. I felt his head twitch somewhere in my belly and groaned, my ass clamping tightly around his shaft. He put his hands on my chest and once more gripped my nipples tightly, twisting them as I began to ride him in long strokes. When I reached the tip of his cock, he fucked the opening of my chute in short thrusts, sending flutters of pleasure through me as if snowflakes had tumbled onto my bare skin.

  Sinking back down the length of him, I was once again filled with his solidness and his heat. My ass swallowed him greedily, feasting on every inch. My cock began to ache as I rode him, and beneath me he started to breathe heavily, working my tits even harder the more I pumped him. The fire inside me reached the point where it threatened to burst into my chest, and I felt my balls tense with the need to release. I started to pump his rod more quickly, anticipating the delicious spread of pleasure I knew would accompany my explosion.

  “Don’t come,” he whispered, just as I was about to blow my load. “I want you to fuck me.”

  It took everything I had not to spray my spunk across his chest, especially as he gave one final push and I felt him swell inside me and gush streams of heat into my bowels. As I concentrated on holding back the torrent that roiled restlessly in my nuts, his mouth opened in a silent cry as he reached the edge, his tool scattering drops of seed throughout my insides. I felt them plaster my chute in thick waves and held my cock tightly in my hand to prevent myself from shooting.

  Pulling out of me, he rolled me off him and knelt on his hands and knees with his head down on his hands. His cock, still hard and slick with his own cum, hung down, fat drops sliding into the cotton snow. All worked up from my own need to come and from feeling him explode inside me, I wasted no time moving behind him and slamming my prick into his delicious ass. My stomach slapped against his butt as I drove my cock to the root with one thrust, my hands tightly clamped on his waist. I thought I might pass out from the sensation that enveloped my overworked tool, and began to fuck him as hard as I could before I couldn’t hold out any longer.

  As I worked toward my climax, my head swam with a mixture of heat and the sounds of the manic elves, who had now reached the “Hallelujah Chorus” segment of their repertoire. My cock was sliding in and out of him fiercely as I pumped his beautiful hole, and I wanted it to last forever. Lifting his head, he began to beat his cock in time with me. His ass coaxed my prick to new heights of joy, and I pounded him furiously as the voices of the elves rose up dizzyingly through the chorus of hallelujahs that signaled the song’s end.

  As they reached the shattering climax, their tinny voices hanging on the last note sharp as an icicle, he and I came together. My prick exploded in rejoicing, showering his ass with a snowstorm of cum that roared through him with a wild howl. At the same time, his head flew back and a stream shot from his cock and spattered against the wall of the gingerbread house, where it trickled down like slowly melting snow.

  Exhausted, I collapsed in the snow, pulling him down on top of me. The elves, finished with their concert, were quiet as the tape rewound itself somewhere inside them. The lights twinkled merrily around us, sparkles of color spinning over our sweaty bodies as we tried to catch our breath. Through the skylight, I could see that it was snowing heavily, swirls of white scattering across the glass in frosty eddies. We lay there silently, his softening cock against my leg.

  “Looks like it’s getting stormy out there,” he said. “I should probably be on my way.”

  He got up and began to dress, pulling on the red suit as I put my uniform back on. When he was fully costumed, the white beard back in place and the cap on his head, he reached into his pocket. Pulling out a candy cane, he handed it to me. “Merry Christmas,” he said, as he walked out of sight, “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.”

  Remembering

  I wrote this story at the request of an editor who wanted “something about leather.” However, I was told the story could not contain any references to S-M, rough sex, or anything even remotely resembling force. Uh-huh. This is what I came up with. You may be interested to know that the dream I describe in the opening was one I really did have as a kid.

  When I was a child, I had a recurring dream in which a man was staying at our house for the night. I didn’t know his name or why he was there. I didn’t know anything about him except that for some reason he excited me in a way no one else ever had. Hearing his voice would make me tremble, and when he touched my arm to say good night, the warmth he left behind was deeper than that of any fire.

  In this dream, I fell asleep feeling the man’s presence in the house, as though despite the walls that separated us he was holding me in his arms. In the morning, he would be gone, leaving behind a well-worn T-shirt on his bed. I would pull the shirt over my head and be immediately surrounded by the smell and heat of him. It was intoxicating. My head would swim as I breathed in his scent and felt the shirt, which had fit so tightly on his large body, float around my smaller one. Inevitably, I would wake from the dream to sticky sheets and a breathlessness born of unnamed desire.

  No man ever left me his shirt in those days, but many have since. I have a drawer filled with them, a drawer I never open. I like to know that it’s there, that inside are collected, like the discarded skins of wild animals, the shirts of men whose bodies I have felt sliding against mine as their cocks entered my ass, men whose mouths have closed over mine as they spilled their loads deep inside me and whose fingers have gripped my wrists above my head as they led me once again into those adolescent dreams.

  The shirts are stained—with sweat and cum and sometimes the faint scent of soap—and each holds the smell of its owner tightly in its arms. I do not take them out, because there is memory in objects, and I do not want the memories to fade. I prefer to keep them, neatly folded, in their drawer. Sometimes as I pass the dresser I feel the
ir presence, and sometimes on summer nights I can smell their fragrance rising from the drawer like the breath of the flowers comes from the garden below my window. On those nights I wake, as I did when I was twelve, with my cock hard in my hand and my mind swimming with the memories of men.

  There is one thing I do allow myself to touch. It is a jacket, made of black leather and much like any other motorcycle jacket seen on any number of men. But it is also unlike all other jackets, in that it belonged to one man not like any other man I have ever known. A man I wanted more than I have ever wanted anything.

  The jacket hangs in my bedroom closet, toward the back, hidden behind rows of neatly pressed dress shirts. I do not look at it often, fearing that overuse will cause the memories to fade. I cannot risk forgetting. Knowing it is there is usually enough. But sometimes, especially when the air begins to change from the warm breezes of summer to the crisp breath of fall, just knowing is no longer enough. That’s when I reach inside and, feeling the smooth leather beneath my fingers, it all comes back. . . .

  I saw Gabriel for the first time on an October night. I had been working late at the bookstore, and it was after midnight when I finally finished and locked up. It was one of the first cold nights of the season, and I remember very clearly the way the wind felt as it played around my face. The moon overhead was almost full, and as I walked toward home, everything seemed to be glazed with a covering of soft, bewitching gold.

  Dunstable is a small college town, the kind found scattered all throughout New England like rice at a wedding. It began life as a small fishing port, which over the years changed personas several times as fishing died and the people were forced to find different ways of life. Unlike other towns in the Northeast, it did not have the advantage of being either the scene of a witchcraft panic or the site of a historic uprising, so it had to make do with what it had, which was its quiet and its beauty. When Farley University set up house and the people began to come, first with their big ideas and later with their Volvos and their PhD’s, the town found its true calling and embraced this new way of life as it had all the others before it.