Page 54 of When We Were Younger

"Be good. We have to leave soon," I tell her between kisses.

"But I have so much more fun being bad," she says, arching up to me. Her tits are practically spilling out of that ridiculously thin bra of hers, and I feel my cock thickening against my black chino pants. I take a deep breath, counting backward from five and try to calm myself before swatting the side of her ass where she sits.

"Good now, bad later. Dress on. Tits covered." I say, unable to form full sentences when she's half naked in front of me, radiating sin and sexy promises.

"Stephen caveman. No make sentence. Thinks with dick," she grunts, teasing me. I toss a dish towel at her, and she grabs it before it can hit her face.

"Ass! I just did my makeup so nice, and you could have ruined it!" she squeals. I fold my arms across my chest and smirk at her as she tosses the towel to the floor and stomps her cute little feet across the kitchen to door where she hung her black and red plaid sweater dress.

"I knew you'd catch it, Yogi Berra. And for the record, I plan on ruining that pretty makeup later tonight."

"Promises, promises," she mumbles as she slides into the dress and pulls it up. I step behind her and find the zipper. I pull it up her back and she shivers.

Somehow, helping her into her clothes feels just as sexy and enticing as helping her out of them.

A few minutes later, Dorothea, Daisy May and I areout the door and on our way to my parent's place. We opted to walk, since it's not too cold out today. My California girl is still not used to the nip in the air, so I wrapped her up in my Carhartt jacket before we left. I never knew a woman could look so beautiful in an industrial brown jacket, sparkly black tights, and high-as-all-hell black heels, but she makes it work. I think I'm going to beg her to keep those shoes on later when I get her in my bed. Those spiky heels will probably feel incredible digging into my back.

I hold Daisy May's leash in one hand and Dorothea's soft, warm hand in the other as we walk. Every business on Main Street is closed, including Liquor World and the grocery store. The Fox Hole Bitties and their families are all home enjoying the holiday, so we have the street to ourselves as we walk the few blocks.

When we turn on my parent's street, I can see we're the last to arrive. Delilah’s car is in parked two feet away from the curb. That terrible park job lets me know that Ivy was the one behind the wheel tonight. She never did master the art of parking. I let Daisy May off the leash when we get to the edge of the lawn, and she pounces up the porch steps and paws at the door.

Dorothea stops beside me, looking back and forth between my parent's home and the house that used to be hers. Dorothea’s mother moved out not long after Dorothea skipped town herself. It was occupied by a young couple for a few years, but a new family lives there now. They have two young kids–middle school, I think–and the house that used to always bare this timeof year is covered in bright, twinkling rainbow lights and tinsel.

"You okay, sweetheart?" I ask her, squeezing her hand a little tighter in mine. She nods, then closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

"I thought it would be harder. I mean we were here before, obviously, the night out in our field. But I thought with Christmas and everything that it might hurt, seeing the house. Thinking about my mom. Remembering."

"Does it? Hurt, I mean?"

She shakes her head.

"No. I can honestly say it doesn't. I mean, look at that place. Some family with a lot of love in their hearts decorated the hell out of that house, and it looks fantastic. And the tree in the front window. It’s so warm. I bet they're making really happy memories in there. It feels good. It feels like… like even though that house was always dark for me, someone came around and figured out how to turn on the lights. It makes me happy." She clasps a hand over our joined palms and looks up at me. Tears brim in her eyes, but I can feel that they're not sad tears, that she's genuinely happy for the people that call her old house a home.

Here in my parent's front yard, where I fell in love with her so many times, I feel myself fall a little bit harder.

"Merry Christmas, Dorothea."

"Merry Christmas, Stephen," she replies, leaning up on her tiptoes and placing a gentle kiss on my lips. Akiss that I deepen, cupping her cheek in my hand and taking from her mouth as much as I give. I pour all of my love into this kiss, because I don't know how to do anything else. Everything I want and everything I am is this woman in front of me, and if I can't tell her with my words, the least I can do is show her with the way I kiss her.

"Hey, you two, stop making out in front of the whole neighborhood and get in here!" My dad calls out from the porch, patting Daisy May's head and chuckling as he yaps at us. Dorothea laughs, then leads me by the hand across the yard and into my childhood home.

30

DOTTIE

Age Seven

In the movies, it's always snowing on Christmas Eve. White flakes fall from the sky, covering the ground while families drink hot chocolate. Reindeer fly through the air and Santa squeezes down chimneys to leave presents.

I don't have a chimney, so even if Santa was real and decided to come to my house tonight, I don't know how he would get in. I guess I could let him in my bedroom window.

But he's not real, and there's no snow. There's never any snow here.

Mom fell asleep a long time ago. She was drinking her pink juice while I watched Rudolph on cable, and she drifted off on the couch. She gets real mad when the TV wakes her up, and the songs in Christmas specials are loud, so I went to my room. Igot bored and snuck out my window. The sun only just went down, and sometimes Stephen is still outside playing even after the streetlights come on. But he wasn't outside when I got out here.

I can hear music coming from his house. Maybe they're having a party, like the one I'll go to tomorrow at Kira's house. That's always the best part of Christmas, when her dads come to pick me up and bring me to their house on Christmas afternoon. We always eat flat spaghetti covered in sauce and cheese and something called brisket, and Kira and Dean always share with me when we play with their new toys. They're the nicest kids I know.

Except Stephen. He's nicer. I'm glad he moved in next door.

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