ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS
The house was quiet as Harold leaned against his computer
fingers flying over the keyboard. Outside,
it was a greyish night; snow spattered and drifted against the window, caught
and blown haphazardly; it’d still be a while before it settled into a true
nor’easter. Snug in his suburban den, Harold ignored the weather and smiled at
his laptop. He was supposed to be finishing the last of his online shopping
– Christmas was only three days away,
and he needed something for his wife and kids – but this was so much more
“I am now collecting Harolds,” Maude told him
smile faced wink conveying confidence he knew she did not feel.
“Harolds?” he replied. Harold – that was
his name, and this was
one of her many tricks, lure you in and –
He hit send anyway. She’d explain soon enough. Or not.
Maude for you.
Her reply was near instantaneous.
“Oh yes, Harolds. I have a few of them now, but I’ve
collecting for a while.” Another happy faced smile. “I seem to have developed a
fondness for them.”
“Well, the name, at least. I find that’s what
draws me to a person,
in all the dating sites, and then I end up chatting with them. They seem to
“Uh huh. Sure.” He glanced over at her profile
clad in cut off shorts and a tank top snugged against full curves, and added,
“There’s a lot to like.”
“Do you like me?”
He avoided the question, and replied, “I’m sure
She ignored this. “Anyway, my latest Harold is a plumber,
of reminds me of you. Game of Thrones guy, has a kid. Separated.”
He scrolled through the email, only half paying attention.
was another of her tricks, spark your interest, and then draw it around to
She continued. “‘Course, I’m only chatting
with him now, nice
guy, just seems lonely.”
Harold flicked through the screens of his laptop, knowing
this was going. And he really should be shopping, but –
He kept reading.
“The last Harold, he looked so much like you, I couldn’t
it. Thought it really was you, I kept looking at his pics. But this guy was
nicer, he wanted to cook me dinner.”
“Lotta guys cook.” He hit reply.
“I know you do.” Her response was near instant.
Harold sat silent, staring at his laptop. Hadn’t he
of himself? Trying to impress her, or something? But that was a long time ago…
and look where it got him.
He shifted in his seat, ignoring her profile picture, and
screen flickered, for an instant it seemed that her eyes sought his. She
brought a fury, an intensity that he had become afraid of. She saw his truth.
Maude knew more about him than most people, including his
wife. They shared the crappy details of each other’s day, past histories, and
imagined sex scenes, all carried out through clandestine emails courtesy of a
secret account that his wife had no knowledge of.
He smiled as she sent another photo of herself, wearing pink
panties in a contorted pose captioned ‘bottom’s up.’ Typical Maude. He’d stare
at that picture later; and probably find himself masturbating to it, a
half-empty box of tissues sat on top of his desk, the near full wastepaper
Although his wife was never one to ask questions, Harold
sure he was the one who took out the trash.
Truth be told his wife wasn’t much for anything, other
grocery shopping, or bitching, or bridge. Sex, that was out of the question.
She didn’t want it, and he didn’t either. At least not with her.
Not that he didn’t love her, somewhere, deep down,
it was that
she’d grown less appealing. With oversized nylon pants and heavy jowls, she
wore her years with pride, and practicality. Nights were for sleeping in
comfortable housedresses, soft flannel prints with an iron clad zipper
straining over her bosom.
Harold felt he’d somehow grown old, aged before his
Maude changed all that.
Of course, they’d talked about meeting, and joked about
should come up and see the snow at his place, and, ha ha, must be nice to have
sex on the beach. XOs on both sides.
Half a continent separated the two of them, but through the
wonders of email they spoke several times daily. His wife would have called it
an emotional affair, while Harold would have preferred to call it physical, but
for the distance that separated them both.
“Still there?” Maude’s email chirped.
“A plumber, eh?” he replied, in order to say
“I like a guy who works with his hands.”
He looked down again, cursing inwardly. He’d told her,
early on, of his teamster days – a labour guy, that’s what he’d called himself.
And she’d loved him for it.
“Are you gonna meet this Harold?” he asked.
with him now. He’s not quite like you, you know.”
“Most people aren’t.”
His laptop chirped as another email came through, a scantily
clad picture of Maude, and an offer. “Cum down south for the holidays. I’ll
make it worth your while.”
Harold sat back, and smiled at the picture. It was a body
become familiar with, through a scattering of intimate pictures sent over an
electronic medium, and he knew how it would end up.
Maude had told him, repeatedly in fact, how her body would
pressed against his own, her fingers trailing over his shoulders and across his
chest; their clothing discarded in a heap; along with promises to dramatically
improve his sex life. His thoughts derailed, momentarily slip-sliding into
nothingness; no longer thinking about anything other than how her lips would
His fingers moved as though on their own. “Or maybe
come here, stay on the couch for a couple days.” Hit send.
“She won’t mind, much. Just say you’re
nearby.” Harold honestly had no idea how his wife would react to Maude showing
up, unplanned and unannounced, but he had a dim thought she wouldn’t approve.
“What do you want for Christmas?”
“A blow job.”
Harold smiled at his computer screen and opened up the window
for Amazon, hoping that with rush shipping he could get something for his wife
and kids – a couple video games, and maybe she’d like a watch, and oh look, it
could be here in 24 hours. Or less, depending on the snowstorm.
Harold hit ‘buy.’
“What’re you doing here?” Half an hour
later, Harold stood in
the doorway of his living room, having just turned off his computer for the
night; Christmas shopping lists and threats of winter storm now vanished from
his mind. For, here she was.
Maude, for it was unmistakably Maude, said nothing, but
continued to lay sprawled across his couch, barefoot and flat on her belly, her
legs crossed lazily in mid-air, tanned thighs emerging from tight cut off
shorts, and reading a novel. As he watched, she turned a page.
Harold stood staring at her, for a minute, or maybe only
seconds, trying to take the whole scene in. The Christmas tree flickered beside
her, catching her body in a multicoloured glow. He stared at the way the skin
on her shoulders was slightly peeled and too dark from the sun, and faded to
paleness exposed when her tank top shifted across her back.
It was all too real.
He sagged against the archway of his living room, his hand
longer reaching for the light switch but now limp at his side. The whole thing
was impossible, there was no way she could –
His thoughts broke into fragments, and he tried to seize
of the situation.
“I turned my computer off,” he said stupidly.
She said nothing.
“What’re you doing here?” he repeated.
She lay ignoring him, it seemed. Caught up in her novel.
you get here?”
His voice sounded scared. He actually didn’t know if he was scared, or turned
on, or simply curious, his mind reeled as their online chats dissolved into
something else. A stroke, a delusion, his mind seized on the idea. Why yes,
here he was having a stroke, just a small one, the kind the old timers called
‘shocks’, and he was seeing things that weren’t there.
She was a figment of his imagination, no more, no less, and
it wasn’t a stroke, it was a simple hallucination, brought on by late nights
and too much screen time.
“You’re not really there.”
Maude continued to say nothing, and licked her finger to
the page; Harold stood watching her tongue flicker and the bead of moisture
gleam in the lamplight. She had somehow turned on the table lamp, and was
holding her book so the pages fell in the light.
“What’re you reading?”
She looked at him and smiled, and he suddenly felt chilled.
flashed the cover of a familiar title and set the book aside. His stomach
churned as this became terrifyingly real.
“Why don’t you sit down?” she said. Her
voice didn’t sound like
he’d thought it would, but he’d never thought much about what she’d sound like,
all their communication was –
Her voice echoed in his mind, and he realized he hadn’t
her at all, just his own interpretation of what he thought she was like. Harold
stood, now clinging to the doorway, with half a mind to turn and flee, to run
to anywhere but inside his own house.
Maude sat up, and patted the couch beside herself, and his
with wills of their own, crossed the living room floor. He grimaced as he
caught a squeaky floor board, and worried about waking the rest of the house,
he tried to tiptoe around it, while the traitorous board groaned and protested
beneath his weight.
Harold then sat down beside her. Waited expectantly.
She turned toward him, and smiled.
He felt both frightened, and deeply aroused.
Maude knew it too.
It began as he knew it would, with a slow lingering kiss,
mouth on his, her tongue flickering and tasting, he gasped as her teeth closed
on his lower lip. As though on their own, his hands reached around her body,
pulling her in, and he could feel the warmth of the sun still wrapped around
her. His hands trailed over her tanned thighs, reveling in her softness and
She was just as he’d imagined her to be.
I knew you’d like it, her voice sounded husky in his
Harold might have said something in reply, or not. He was
Maude tugged at his clothes, shoving his t-shirt aside, her
fingers glided over his chest; her mouth soon followed.
He gasped as his nipples were seized and pinched and nibbled,
and watched as her head dropped lower, her tongue leaving a shiny trail down
his belly. As she pulled the waist band of his boxers down, his cock sprang
into action, meeting her lips fully erect.
Harold sank back on the couch with a groan as she wrapped
lips around the head of his cock, her tongue toying with him and saliva
dripping down. Again, as though on their own, his fingers wrapped themselves in
her hair, whether guiding her or simply hanging on for dear life, Maude didn’t
seem to mind. Her hands were busy cupping his balls, and gliding up and down
his shaft, her mouth sucking and swallowing and consuming him whole –
everything slippery and wet – just the way he’d always imagined.
You want me to? Her voice floated inside his head.
“Whaaat?” he drawled. He was half conscious,
near orgasm, and
desperately wanted her to continue and terribly frightened that she would.
Swallow? Maude looked up at him and smiled, only for an instant,
her tongue flickered over her teeth. Gleaming, the word came to mind. He’d
never noticed how white they looked, and sharp – and then she took him into her
mouth again, hitting the back of her throat, he thought – and then nothing.
He came that instant, and she indeed swallowed, creating
suction that seemed to prolong the orgasm to eternal depths, drawing him in a
way that his wife had never done. Too dirty she’d said, as she’d pulled her
cotton nightgown over her knees.
Blindsided by orgasmic bliss, Harold groaned and his eyes
fluttered and his body seemed to float in outer space. He didn’t know if he was
even alive anymore, and he didn’t care, either. Maude simply smiled at him, and
licked her lips.
When he eventually roused, Harold knew that beyond a doubt,
had received the best damned blow job of his entire life. He tried to tell
Maude so, in a gentlemanly way of course. His words fumbled into pictures and
feelings, with nothing articulated at all.
Maude only smiled. She understood.
She was always good like that. It was one of the many things
liked about her.
Harold sank into the sofa, his heart still pounding in his
chest, and draped his arm over her shoulders, pulling her in. Her skin felt
cool to the touch, but she would be, wearing just a tank top and shorts in this
“Aren’t you cold?”
Maude shook her head, no and cuddled against him, smoothing
shirt and pulling his boxers back into place. Tidying him up.
She loved him. He knew that.
Harold sank back with a smile on his face and his arm still
around her. Filled with contentment. The aftermath of orgasm still clung to
him, his thoughts remained cloudy and shocks of tiny sparks filled his body. It
was as he knew it would be.
The snow continued to blow outside, and he closed his eyes
the soft glow of the Christmas tree. Maude lay still beside him, trailing her
fingers over his chest. He tightened his arm around her and nuzzled the top of
her head. Kissed her.
Then was gone.
It was sometime in the early hours of the morning, alone
den, that Harold’s computer mysteriously turned on, a grey screen flashed ominously,
and thousands of email transmissions scrolled past, revealing pictures and
mundane details of two lives intertwined, before settling back into darkness.
When Harold’s family came into the living room the
their cries of anguish and panicked phone calls to 911 soon dissolved in the
reassurance that no matter what, Harold had clearly died a happy man.
-- THE END--
Zee is a poet and writer and lover of the fine things in life—like good wines,
dark chocolate, and finer erotica. She finds herself seeking pleasure over
reason on far too many occasions, and will in all likelihood continue to do so.
course, you're more than welcome to join her along for the ride.
work is scattered around the web in various forms, including at Sick Lit, Feminine
Collective, Shot Glass Journal, and is up and
sparkling at Twisted Sister lit mag.
You can contact Carly Zee through https://carlyzee.wordpress.com/