Today's excerpt is from my novella "Kid Christmas Rides Again," a slight piece of erotica illustrated by the wonderful Absolutbleu. The bit I've chosen is right from the start so all will be explained...well, most will be explained.
"Kid Christmas Rides Again!"
The idea was simple: change the public perception of Santa Claus. Even if it hadn’t been the right thing to do – even if the holiday hadn’t become a gluttonous season of tooth-rotting fervor – it was still the only thing that could be done. After all, Santa as the world had known him had just died of a massive coronary. See, he was trying to break up another elf fight (elves are known to be very short-tempered and are not at all stingy with the drink), and after years of stress and binge-eating he just finally collapsed in the tussle. Being that there was not a more jollier fella on Earth nobody could lay claim to the particular image he had trademarked. The era of the “bowl full of jelly” was ended, and the line would have to be retired from lullabies the world over. Besides, Christmas had become a more grown-up holiday of late, and the most recent Claus was looking a bit…um, lazy.
It was decided by those who decide such things that a younger, healthier Claus would he hired. A fit Santa. Trendy. A Santa who didn’t get sidetracked by cookies and milk. There had been way too many close calls the last couple of years. The old guy had become clumsy and was nearly caught by the curious on many an occasion while he snacked at their Santa-traps. None of the elves wanted to say it (unless they were drunk), but there was a sigh of relief that Santa wouldn’t have to be laid off. He had kindly died instead. That was the thing about Santa: Always thinking of others, right up to the gasping end.
The Committee to Oversee the Christening of Kringle (COCK) named our hero, a young gingerbread cookie house guard, to the task. It was a surprise to everyone, especially Father Time who had been eyeing the position for some…time. (Time was, and is, often wasted and he was woefully underfed.) The new Clause was the handsomest of men: a strong, clean-shaven jaw replaced the white beard, and a body built from years of lifting stubborn reindeer and carrying drunken elves home from pubs replaced…well, the rest. The Santa Suit was altered to fit the new guy as well. The Santa hat remained traditional (there was no need to get all crazy), but the sleeves of the jacket were cut so that the young guard’s 22-inch arms could breathe. The pant legs needed to be loosed to accept his thighs and still the thick red velvet barely held them. The consensus was that he looked altogether too bulgy. When fully dressed his chest, his buttocks, and his crotch looked like Christmas candies ready to burst from their wrappings. COCK was a bit concerned at first, but then thought maybe this was the direction they needed to go. The world was a frightening place and the committee eventually convinced itself that people needed a figure that signified impenetrable strength.
The sled was put away, the reindeer were laid off (the economy is a bitch, even at the Poles), and a new flying snowmobile, the Claus 3000, was provided. It was shiny and red and gold, with a flashing beacon on its very tip. (Rudolph’s lawsuit is still pending). There would also be no more ho ho ho! Instead, the new Santa would fly across the rooftops and shimmy down the chimney saying Hells yeah!
He called himself The Kid…Kid Christmas, that is. (Clearly, a fan of western films.)
All had gone as planned for the Kid at first. There was a week to go before his first outing as the new Claus and things were clockwork. There were a few minor glitches. There always are in such cases. His pants ripped out a few times (he really liked how he looked in his new suit, and flexed obsessively for anyone who would watch), and there was a tiny revolt from the unemployed reindeer…but they – um, that is to say, it was soon put down. The elves were warming up to him too. Even Father Time came by for a visit, grumbling his grudges. Yes. Everything was going quite smoothly, like a well-lubricated oingy-boingy.
And then the unthinkable happened (again): Kid Christmas was Chris-napped!
The last he remembered he was on a midnight shag and stroll and had stopped to lick one of the large lollipop fence posts outside the Santy-Shanty. (In all his twenty-three years he had been chided for licking the fence posts, but now – woo-hoo!) Then, there was a sudden, sharp pain in the bum and everything went dizzy, then dark. A poison peppermint dart had been shot into his muscular buttocks from afar. Later, in recollection, Kid Christmas had to admit that bending over to lick the lollipop fence post with his musculus bumulus high in the air was an easy red target, something very hard to miss.
When he awoke he was on the floor of a crystal ice cave, stripped of his new threads but wrapped warmly in a wooly throw. Unfettered by the cold surroundings (living in the Poles, one builds a tolerance), Kid Christmas threw off the throw. The reflection from the ice absorbed the absurd over-abundance of muscle. He was excited by what he saw, and could have stood there for a while in self-adoration, but first needed to investigate where exactly he was. As he felt along the walls, leering at his own rude reflection, there seemed to be no way out of the hall of ice. The room was solid, and the holders were too strong to break through. At least the company was pleasant. He made a mental note to have a hall of mirrors added to the Santy-Shanty.
A cool, crisp voice echoed from nowhere and ricocheted from wall to wall. “How do you like your new dwelling, Kid Christmas? I decorated it myself.”
“Who is that?” the Kid demanded. “Where are my clothes? Show yourself!”
“You won’t be needing your shocking threads any longer,” the voice replied calmly. “I’m having them altered.” A slender male figure with cool ice skin stepped from behind a wall. “I’m called Snow Globes.”
The Kid understood why: Snow Globes’ balls were enormous. They were a mesmerizing sheen and hung like ornaments tattooed with perfect blue snowflakes. No wonder the suit had to be altered.
The icy eyes of the chiseled captor wandered down Kid Christmas’ physique and rested on the Jolly-man-in-waiting’s own delicate area. Kid Christmas covered up with some embarrassment and envy. “It’s cold!” he excused himself.
“Well, I suppose certain things are going to look out of proportion with everything around them being so very, very large.” Snow Globes chuckled. “Still, I imagine your backside more than makes up for it. Ho, ho, ho…right?” He winked.
“I don’t say that anymore…Wait, what?” Poor Kid Christmas was flustered. His cheeks turned bright red. “What am I doing here? Let me out of this place.”
“Oh, one day I will let you out. Most definitely. My plan would be pointless otherwise. But you have to stay put for a little while, my strapping snowbunny.” Snow Globes walked forward. His balls chimed together in a sweet melody; the Kid couldn’t stop staring at them. The collection of reflections around them resembled something like an orgy; The Kid reminded himself again to get a hall of mirrors in the Santy-Shanty.
“You see,” continued Snow Globes, “once your suit is altered – which shouldn’t take too long – I shall take on the role as the Claus. Only I won’t be the creepy sugar-fiend known to the world. No. My plan is to totally destroy the name that has been built up by your predecessors over the years. Grown men will fear the Night of the Claus, and soon they will want nothing to do with you. ‘Bring me the balls of Kid Christmas!’ they’ll shout. Oh, yes! There will soon be a bounty on your bountiful booty.”
“But why? I don’t understand.” But why wait for an explanation? There was a crazy man standing in front of him! A sexy, lusty, boffo-balled, certifiable lunatic. “I won’t let you do it!”
Snow Globes wiggled his hips flirtatiously, making his balls sing with clinks and clonks like a captivating Christmas carol. The Kid was baffled at first by the seductive dance, but then felt the cave move under his bare feet. He heard the unmistakable sound of something coming…and coming hard!
“Have fun with Willie,” Snow Globes said as he quickly disappeared behind an icy divider. “And watch those pointy stalactites.”
“You mean stalagmites?”
“Whatever.”
Kid Christmas waited, standing battle-ready and booty-beautiful (by now it should be clear that the Narrator has a thing for the big guy’s triple-beeehind). Yet he was unsure as to where to direct his defense. The one called Willie did not have need of any hidden entrance, though. He broke through the floor with a shattering clamor, throwing the muscle-bound merry man across the chamber. Kid Christmas landed on his handsome face with a smash-rattle-oomph, his mighty rear high in the air. He was dazed, but not broken. Behind him, he caught a glimpse (how could he miss it?) of a lengthy and large, growling and snorting, libidinous and fully erect disembodied snow penis. It bowed its massive head, huffed a puff of cool air, and crouched like a bull ready for the charge. Intent and starved, it sped toward our hero’s helpless bum.
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