Page 8 of Kept for Christmas

The line disconnects and my hard cock is gone, as is the opportunity to beat it down.

“Everything okay?” Emma stares toward me with wide eyes and soft, pink cheeks that I want to bury in a pillow while I ram her from behind.

“Yeah. She’s got some snow built up on the roof that’s scaring her. I’m going to take care of it quick. I need you to ride over with me, though.”

“Really? Why?”

Apparently, we’re still in LaLa Land. If she were in her right frame of mind, she’d know exactly why I needed her with me.

“I was hoping you’d keep Mrs. R. company. I’m wondering if something more is going on.” I don’t fully believe that, but I’m pretty sure Emma will come for a late night ride if she knows she’s helping Mrs. Robinson out.

“Yeah,” she slides from the bed and reaches for her phone that’s sitting on the rocking chair in the corner of the room, “of course. I’ll make us both some coffee to go.” She slides my heavy work shirt down over her curved frame before pulling on a pair of panties. A second later, I’m rewarded with the softest, sweetest, sleepiest kiss I’ve ever had.

My cock throbs again, and though I know this is all fantasy, and that when her reality comes back, she’ll most likely be repulsed to know she had her head on my chest and her lips on my cock, I savor every second because a part of me, a big part of me, wishes every second of this were real.

Chapter Five

Emma

Mrs. Robinson lives on the corner of Main Street, just beyond the bake shop. I haven’t known her most of my life like a lot of folks in town, but every time I see her, it’s like running into my grandma. She’s soft and sweet and she always has little butterscotch candies in her pocket.

I sit in the truck, listening to the weather report on a local late-night broadcast while Nick talks to Mrs. Robinson about what he’s going to do. We didn’t talk much on the way over. I think he’s still tired. I mean, I am too. It’s very early in the morning, and if he’s not feeling good still, this has to suck. I know I wouldn’t want to be up on a roof in the middle of the night brushing off snow in a storm.

When they’re done talking, I shake my head as though I’m brushing off cobwebs, then step from the truck and join Mrs. Robinson in her old, dark green Volkswagen that’s pumping heat. I’m not sure what year it is, but it’s vintage enough that you don’t see cars like this anymore.

Nick grabs a ladder from inside her garage and climbs up onto the roof with a long flat snow shovel. I hate that he’s up there in this weather, but I know nothing could’ve changed his mind tonight. Mrs. Robinson is like a mother to most folks up here, and they treat her as such.

“Oh, honey! You poor dear.” Mrs. Robinson reaches her hand toward mine. “I’ve made you get up in the middle of the night, and you forgot your pants.”

I glance down at my bare legs and laugh. “You’re right! I did forget pants. Nick gave me a blanket in the truck. My head hasn’t been screwed on right lately. I’m forgetting things left and right.”

“Nick says you’ve been awful tired lately.” She squeezes me gently. “How are you? Tell me everything.”

There’s a sweetness in her voice that’s reassuring and comforting beyond words. Of course, I’d love to spill all my drama right here and now, but that’s not what I’m here for. I’m here to comforther.

“I was going to ask you the same thing. How are you? Must have been scary with your roof creaking like that.”

“Oh yes,” she holds the steering wheel in her fragile hands and stares toward Nick as he works, “but that man up there is one of the nicest boys on this mountain. I know he comes off real gruff, but he’s going to make a good husband. My moose was like Nick, ya know? We were married for a lifetime. I still miss him every day… but that’s enough about me at this hour. What are you doing for work these days, honey? I must be keeping you up way past your bedtime.”

In this all-white night, the only glimpse I can catch of Nick is his red coat against the storm. An especially hard wind blows, and Nick disappears for a moment as a chuck of snow comes loose from the roof and slides down into the pile against the windows. Folks love snow this time of year, but I think we had enough of it like three feet ago.

“Oh!” The processor in my brain spins for a long while. I must have work tomorrow, right? “It’s… what day of the week is it?”

“Thursday, well, Friday considering the time it is right now.”

“Yeah, Friday. I must have work today. I’m still at the bank.” I know I’m still at the bank, right?

“You must love it then. You’ve been there for a while.”

The last real memory I have of the bank is right after my accident last year, when my coworkers all became allergic to get well wishes. Maybe I should call the doctor.

I shrug. “I don’t know. I love working hard and I’m climbing the ladder so fast at the bank. For some reason my brain translated that into them caring about me, but clearly, they don’t.”

“Are you looking for them to care?”

“I mean, I spend so many hours there. I just… I’d hoped that they would care a little. But after my accident, it was clear they didn’t.”

“What would you do with your life if you didn’t have to worry about money?”

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