Page 6 of A Man for the Holidays

“No, I just moved here… quite recently actually, and I’m just starting out, you know, trying to get on my feet and all. I’m going to go job hunting tomorrow and see if there’s any openings for the holidays. Unless of course you need some help around here with chores. I’m great with my hands, and I know how to make things look good. I’m quiet, I keep to myself, I’m a great listener and I always do as I’m told.”

There are so many reasons why I want to tell this guy to go take a hike, but instead I say nothing as my confused-as-fuck cock reacts underneath my robe, at the sound of his voice.

“I don’t want to bother you, but it’s pouring with rain outside and it’s very late,” he continues.

“No trouble at all. I do have a spare room, I just haven’t used it in a very long time, and it might be a little uncomfortable, that’s all.”

Hey, what am I going to do, say ‘no’ to this guy?

“I just need somewhere warm where I can rest before it’s time for me to go back.”

“Go back where?” I ask.

“Just back,” he finishes.

“I’ll ah, I’ll just go and get some fresh sheets for the bed. Please, make yourself comfortable and I’ll be back in a little while.”

“Thank you.”

I lift myself off the couch and head toward the vacant bedroom located next to mine. I open the closet and stack all the boxes on top of one another, making room for his belongings, then I head out into the foyer and open the linen closet and get some fresh sheets. I poke my head into the living room and find him still sitting on the couch, weirdly moving his wrists up and down, and rolling his feet in a circle. I quickly head back into the room and make up the bed, then spray some air freshener before making my way back into the living room. This time I take a seat beside him, leaving a few inches distance between us, he then turns around to face me.

“You really do owe her an apology, you know that, right?”

“I’m still trying to process what the hell is going on here. You said that John helped you?”

“Yes, he did.”

“I’m sorry, you’re going to have to be a little more specific if you want me to understand what is going on here,” I tell him.

“You have absolutely no idea whatsoever?” he asks.

“I have several ideas, but each of them seems just as crazy as the other.”

“Like what?”

“Well, from where I’m sitting, this all seems like a dream, a nightmare even. Only a few hours ago I was standing inside a clothing store, talking to a fucking statue. A mannequin I’ve been obsessed with for the past year, who oddly enough has a striking resemblance to you.”

“You think that’s odd, do you?”

“No. I think it’s totally crazy, actually.”

“Seeing isn’t believing. Believing is seeing,” he says.

“What on earth are you talking about?” I ask, now getting very annoyed.

“Did you, or did you not tell John that what you wanted, more than anything, was a man, to be with, to shop with, to sleep with, all the fun stuff that people do together? You want to be happy, like everyone else. You wanted…me.”

“No, what I actually said was, I wanted Quinn, the mannequin in the window display, and I wanted… wait a minute, how did you know that?”

He says nothing but gives me a warm smile, then turns his whole body so that we’re facing one another, and he slowly leans forward until our noses are only inches apart, and he softly whispers, “It’s me, Spencer; I’m Quinn, the mannequin in the window, I’m the man you want to be with, shop with, and…sleepwith. I’m here to do whatever the fuck you want me to do…to you.”

His voice hitches and I feel his palm slide against the inside of my naked thigh, until he stops just below my groin. I close my eyes and I feel his breath on me, and I shift in my seat, trying to control the sudden swelling beneath my legs.

“You’re what?” I ask.

“I’m here to do whatever you want me to do. Think of me as your personal… whatever,” he states.

I clear my throat, then slide myself away from him so that I’m now seated on the other end of the couch.

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