Date: Sat, 21 Mar 2009 14:32:37 -0400
From: montrealormolu@aol.com
Subject: new short story -- A Christmas Surpise

It was late; the fire warmed and lighted the room. Candles lit the windows;
snow fell gently outside. He sat in the semi-darkness sipping his cognac.
In a funny kind of way, Hank was content, not happy exactly, but
content. It was his tenth year teaching at the university, and things had
settled down. He had a small group of very bright grad students working
with him; he enjoyed his undergraduate classes, and he had grown to love
this small, academic town. He had found a lovely, older home with stone
walls and wooden floors. He even had a couple of fireplaces, one in the
living room and one in the master bedroom. He had his garden out back, and
a small group of friends to enjoy. He had found an easy acceptance in this
liberal town that had been difficult in the place of his birth, and even
with his own birth family. So, yes, he was content.

Or at least, that's what he kept telling himself. Only one thing kept
niggling away at him. He was lonely. Sure, he found the odd person for a
quick one night stand, sometimes even for a few weeks of enjoyment. He had
his friends, some of whom were gay, too. He had his academic colleagues to
share his professional life and intellectual interests. But, deep down, he
knew that he wanted something more, he wanted someone more. He wanted a
special someone to share all of his life, to laugh with, to argue with, to
cook with, to tumble into bed with, to just be with. It was nights like
this when he felt that special ache. It was Christmas Eve.

He sighed, looked into the fire, and took another sip of the cognac. It had
been a nice Christmas Eve. He'd gone to church and enjoyed the service. The
pastor's sermon had been pretty good, actually. The choir sang beautifully
and the service itself, incense perfuming the air, bells chiming at all the
right moments, everyone moving through the stately ritual with grace and
dignity, had gone off without a hitch. He smiled wryly to himself; that had
been a minor miracle in itself. Of course, he had worked extra hard with
all the acolytes, making sure that each one knew his or her place, knew
exactly what they were supposed to be doing, and no one had been sick at
the last moment, so, yes, it had gone off without a hitch. Maybe he should
resign now on a high note before the next big set of services. He laughed
aloud to himself. He knew he wouldn't do that.

For years, he'd made a ritual of coming home after the last service,
building up a good fire, sipping a glass of fine cognac, and watching
Midnight Mass from the Vatican. Somehow, that made it Christmas for him. He
reached over and clicked on the TV, tuning to the channel with the
service. It had already started, but that didn't matter, he knew the
service well. The glorious music sung by a wonderful choir wafted over him
from the television set. He sat back and sipped.

A knock came from the front door. Who could that be? It was after
midnight. He got up, made sure his bathrobe was tied, and went to the door.

"Merry Christmas, professor. I saw your light on as I was walking by and
thought I'd wish you a merry Christmas." The professor goggled at the young
student who stood at the door. The porch-light framed his face, ruddy in
the cold, his blue eyes looking a little anxious under the ski cap.

"Come in, Jim, come in. It's too cold for you to stand out there.. Merry
Christmas to you, too. Here, let me take your coat."

Jim came in, stamping the snow off his boots at the door. He stuffed his
cap into one pocket, his gloves into another and took off his parka. The
professor took it from him and hung it on the old-fashioned coat tree
standing behind the door.

"Take your boots off and put them there on the little rug. And come
in. Would you like a brandy? I'm having one myself. I always do on
Christmas Eve."

He realized that he was blathering, surprised by this late night visit,
and, if he was going to be truthful with himself, surprised and a little
off center by this particular visitor. Jim had been one of his best
undergrads. He'd enjoyed having this young man in his classes. Bright,
insightful, well read, his sharp, sometimes challenging questions, had
enlivened the class discussions. And, he wasn't bad to look at. In fact, he
was very good to look at, something that had been a little distracting at
times. Hank knew that he'd found Jim attractive. What wasn't to like? But
students were off-limits, and Hank had kept his thoughts about Jim strictly
to his own night-time imagination. He bustled around getting out a snifter,
pouring some cognac into it and bringing it over to Jim.

"Sit down.. Here, have some cognac."

So they sat, watching the fire, each lost in his own thoughts and wondering
how to breach the silence. They watched the fire fitfully, sneaking little
peaks at each other from the sides of their eyes, turning their eyes away
quickly when they caught each other looking. What was going on?

"Prof.../Ji..." they started together, laughing as they both stopped. The
ice had been broken by that little interplay. Somehow they could both look
at each other, now, and smile.

"Please call me Hank. I'm not your professor anymore. You graduated last
spring, didn't you?"

"Yes. I've been going to grad school down the road since the fall. That's
why you haven't seen me."

"Do you like it? What are you studying?" The usual questions meant to make
opening a discussion easier came out of his mouth automatically.

"Yes, I do. I'm studying law. Going to be a lawyer someday, I hope."

"Great! That's a good field; tough though, lots of hard work. I know you
can do it, you were a hard worker in my classes. But why were you taking my
courses if you were going into law? Is this a change of majors?"

Jim blushed and hung his head.

"No, I was always going into law. My father's a lawyer, and his father
before him. It's kind of a family business. Actually, I took your first
course just because it was the elective that fit into my schedule. Finding
things to fit the schedule was always tough."

He fell silent for a few moments, and then started up again. "I took your
other courses because of you." Silence again."Profes..., uh, Hank, you were
the reason I took all those courses. I kind of had a crush on you and that
seemed to be the only way I could be with you. I loved the give and take of
those classes, and the way you would look at me so intently while I was
speaking...and, uh ..." He trailed off into silence again."I guess I still
have a crush on you." He looked up at Hank, his expression anxious, eager,
frightened, confused, hopeful, all at the same time.

Hank sat there, kind of stunned by this revelation. "Jim, I'm flattered,
very flattered. But aren't I a little too old for you? And anyway, there's
this student professor thing..." Hank trailed off into silence. He didn't
know quite what to say.

Jim looked at him, and started up again, this time stronger, clear about
what he wanted."Hank, you're not my professor now, so the `student
professor thing' doesn't count anymore. In fact, I'm at a completely
different institution, so it really doesn't count at all. There's no legal
barrier, and really no ethical barrier. And no, you're not too old for
me. You could be my older brother, or even my uncle, but not my father. I
know, I looked you up. You're only about ten years older than me. And,
you've just answered my only outstanding question."

"What's that?"

"You didn't protest about the same-sex thing. I've always suspected that
you were gay, and my guess is that I was right."

"How did you guess that?"

"Well," Jim blushed a little, "there was a reason why I started sitting in
the front row. Sure, I wanted to hear and see, but mostly I wanted you to
see me. I watched you, your eyes would look over at me and then quickly
dart away. When I wore tight pants, you always checked me out. If I
stretched, you quickly looked over. Yep, I was pretty sure you were gay,
but you were always so...so...correct, that's the word, correct with me. So
I wasn't absolutely sure."

Hank smiled, despite himself. He thought he should be outraged, angry, or
even a little shocked. Jim had just confessed to intentionally flirting
with him, testing him out. But inside he was delighted, and more than a
little flattered. What a tease this guy was! He fiddled with his drink,
looking down at his hands, watching the firelight catch the highlights of
the deep amber liquid. What now? He didn't know. He was out of his depth
here. He hadn't had a relationship in a long, long time. The silence
lengthened.

There was a rustle. When Hank looked up, he was startled to see Jim
standing beside his chair. When had he gotten up? Jim's hand came down on
his head, stroking his hair down, drawing the fingers down his cheeks, oh
so soft, so gentle, so sensuous. The hand curled around the back of his
head, cupping his neck and skull. Jim's other hand came down to his chin
and tilted it up and then lips covered his own.

It was a sweet kiss, full of promise, soft and yielding; a kiss that
invited and promised. His hands rose of their own will, wrapped themselves
in Jim's thick, rumpled hair, and pulled him in. Somehow, Jim was on his
knees beside the chair and the kiss grew stronger, more demanding. The
cognac was forgotten, though the taste lingered on the tongue as they
explored each other more deeply.

Jim drew Hank up out of his chair, that kiss working like a magnet to pull
him erect. Their bodies came together, hardness grinding against hardness,
hands roaming, exploring. Jim's hands came to the front and pulled the robe
open, his hands darting underneath to glide over sleek skin. One hand
cupped Hank's buttocks and drew him closer, Jim's denim covered length
thrust against the soft cotton of Hank's underwear, demanding attention.

Hank felt overwhelmed, and he loved it. The athletic hardness of muscles
seemed to wrap around him, Jim's height covering him as he leaned down to
kiss Hank. Hank was amazed at himself. He wasn't frightened at all of Jim's
strength. He had never felt so safe, so wanted, maybe even so loved. He
leaned into Jim, his own hands working the shirt out of the jeans,
scrambling at the snap, pulling down the zipper. He reached underneath so
that he, too, could caress the body underneath. He felt fur, the treasure
trail running down, but running up, too. He curled his fingers into the
wonder of hair, letting his index tease the nipple out of its surrounding
forest, bringing his thumbs up to pinch, gently, at the hard pointed
tips. He pushed up with both hands, pushing the shirt down Jim's arms and
out of the way. What a wonder was revealed! He'd never guessed, all those
hours in class when he'd snuck quick glances, never guessed that Jim was so
wonderfully furry underneath. There were the muscles that had been hinted
at through the tight shirts, the pecs with their upstanding nipples, the
ridged abs which his fingers could trace, all covered with fur.

Hank's head dipped as he flicked his tongue over the nipples, first one,
then the other, and he slid to his knees, letting his tongue taste what he
had only imagined, dipping into the tight, little `innie' and then
following the treasure trail down. His chin bumped into something hard, and
he tilted his head, turning so that his mouth could come down and kiss the
deep red of Jim's maleness, thrusting up above the waistband of his
shorts. He slipped his mouth over that male peak, slowly letting himself
sink down, pushing the shorts and jeans out of the way, twirling his tongue
the whole time as he finally came to rest with his nose tickled by the bush
at the bottom. A gasp slipped out above him, a shudder that he felt through
his tongue. And he began to work slowly up and down, letting his hands
caress the body now laid open above him, palms cupping the full scrotum,
fingers delving deeply into the hidden recesses opening to him. He lost
himself in sensation, loving the fullness which filled his mouth, all that
strength covered by smooth softness, the heat of it warming him, the scent
so intoxicating.

Jim's hands spasmed in Hank's hair, pulling it (and the head) closer
yet. He loved the sensations he was getting from Hank's tongue, lips and
throat. His hands loosened, and one continued to softly stroke the thick
dark hair, the other gently pulled Hank into him, joining in the rythmn,
urging Hank on. He felt his balls tighten, felt the urge rising and
overtaking him. He jerked once, twice, three times into Hank, letting the
little aftershocks come one after another, enjoying the continued attention
from Hank. He felt himself slip out and looked down. Hank's eyes met his
and he reached down to bring him up. He kissed him again, deeply, tasting
himself as he explored the depths of Hank's mouth, using his own tongue to
enter him again, and claim him for his own.

Hank loved it. He loved the strength, the mastery of it all. And he wanted
more. He hadn't realized just how much he was missing. It was more than
just loneliness, it was a void. And now Jim was filling it. He wanted
more. He melted into Jim's arms, feeling them holding him tightly, enjoying
the caress of a strong hand roaming up and down his back, and then settling
on his ass, kneading and holding. Yes, he definately wanted more.

Jim lifted he head, letting go of the kiss. He stood there, pants puddled
around his ankles, shirt off on the floor somewhere, Hank's body fitting
closely all along his front. "I've wanted this for a long, long time, Hank,
a long time. You're mine now and I'm not letting you go. You're my
Christmas present to myself.." He kicked off his pants and stood there
completely naked. "And now, I'm going to claim you." He swept Hank off his
feet and into his arms, and stalked towards the bedroom, intent on
unwrapping all of his gift to himself. And Hank clung to him, yielding to
his strength and utter masculinity. Yes, indeed, it was going to be a great
Christmas.