Date: Wed, 01 Dec 2010 16:42:36 -0800
From: h.schreiber@hushmail.com
Subject: "Finding Out About Santa Really Sucks"

Warning! This story is a work of fiction written by a legal age adult. Any
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coincidental. This story contains fictional descriptions of sexual activity
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This work is copyrighted by Hans Schreiber. You may not reproduce this
story in whole or in part without the express written consent of Hans
Schreiber at h.schreiber@hushmail.com.

Finding Out About Santa Really Sucks

I'm not saying I was completely naive, but I was certainly sheltered. I
grew up as an only child in a very rural Midwestern town. We went to church
every Sunday and I read the bible with my mom every night before bed in my
blue flannel jammies. I had really good parents who were very kind to
me. My Grams and Gramps lived in the same neighborhood as us with their
youngest son, Peter. Peter was my uncle, even though he was only seventeen
when I was eleven. He was a pretty cool guy and he would come over and play
with me. Sometimes, he would be my babysitter when my parents went out
together.

It was December and I was excited for Christmas. I was hoping for a .22
rifle. I could get my hunters safety permit when I turned twelve and I
could go with on rabbit and squirrel hunts. Next fall, I could actually go
on the deer hunt, but I needed to borrow Gramps' 30.06 for that. I probably
wouldn't get to do that until I was fourteen at least. I'd had a BB gun for
a while and was completely trustworthy with it. I never took it out on my
own and only used it when my dad was with me. My friend, Josiah, begged me
to sneak it out a couple of times, but I wouldn't do it, no way. I guess I
was a pretty good kid and pretty much always obeyed everything I was told
to do. Well, mostly.

It was a Friday night and Peter was coming over to babysit me while my
folks went to a Christmas party. Dad had the Pontiac warming up in the
carport while mom finished doing her makeup. I heard the back door open and
the screen door slam. I ran into the kitchen and gave Peter a big
hug. Peter hugged me back. 'did you bring them?" I asked. He held a finger
to his lips and nodded, yes.

"Yes!" I hopped on one foot out to the living room to finish my show. The
TV was fuzzy and I had to wiggle the antennae wires. There was a really
good movie on about Christmas. It was called "A Christmas Story." I was
hoping we could finally get a better TV for Christmas. It was near the end
of the movie when we would find out if Ralphie got a Red Ryder air
rifle. Ralphie was wearing the stupid bunny pajamas that his aunt gave to
him and I laughed so loud when he came down the stairs wearing them. Peter
came in and sat down by me on the old green sofa. I offered him some of my
flannel blanket I was snuggling in but he shook his head, no, so I wrapped
back up in it, pulling my knees up to my chest.

Mom finally came out of her bedroom, after dad told her for the third time
they were going to be late and Bob Peterson was gonna have all the food
eaten up, if they didn't hurry. Mom looked really pretty. Her hair was put
up and full of hairspray. She had her shiny earrings on and her best coat
that she only wore to church. "You're gonna be the `Belle of the Ball.'" My
dad said as she pranced down the hallway.

Mom smiled and batted her eyelashes at him. "Well, my date's Prince
Charming, so I have to look my best." My dad kissed her and gave her a
squeeze around the hips.

"Gahh," I said hiding my eyes with my hand.

Mom gave Peter instructions on when I was to be in bed and be sure to read
the bible with me. She said our passage is marked. I'd already had my bath
and was ready for bed, so he didn't have to worry about any of that. She
told him that we could eat the chicken and potato salad in the icebox. She
said they would be sort of late so if he wanted to stay the night, he could
sleep on the couch or in my bed with me, whatever he preferred. It didn't
really matter what I preferred, because I was just a kid and didn't get a
vote on hardly anything.

"Okay, Okay, he's got it, Janice, let's go before I end up with just a neck
and a gizzard." Dad said, tugging on her coat sleeve.

With all the talking, I missed some of what Ralphie was saying about the
new gun he got. I could see he was totally excited but his mom was looking
worried about it. Ralphie's dad was excited to give it to him though and
was explaining why it was okay to Ralphie's mom. I was kind of confused
because it was supposed to be from Santa, but it seemed like his dad had
bought it. I thought maybe his dad was just pretending it was from Santa so
his mom couldn't argue about it. I was glad I had asked Santa for the .22
rifle, because that way my mom couldn't stop my dad from getting it.

When the show ended, I asked Peter if we could do it now. I had been
excited all week since Peter told me at church he was bringing them with
him. "Hold on." He said. "First you gotta get dressed."

"Oh, yeah." I trotted into my room and pulled off my jammies. Peter stood
in the doorway and watched as I pulled on the jeans I had worn earlier that
day and the maroon turtle neck sweater. I pulled on my Addidas and tied
them. Peter followed me to the back porch and I put on my rubber galoshes
over my Addidas. I picked my old coat and mittens that were on the shelf.

"Before we do this, can you promise to keep it a secret?" Peter asked.

"Sure." I agreed, nodding furiously.

"Cross your heart and hope to die?" He confirmed.

I made the motion of crossing my heart with my mitten then made a stabbing
motion with an imaginary knife into my gut and doubled over and fell
backward into the snow. We both laughed as he gave me a hand to help me
back up. There was a full moon and it illuminated the snow.

We went to the back of the yard by the corral. The horse was in its stable,
so the corral was empty. Peter pulled out the biggest firecrackers I had
ever seen and a red Bic lighter. My eyes grew big as saucers. He stuck the
first M-80, as he called it, under a plastic cup with the fuse sticking
out. "You wanna light it?" He asked.

"sure!" I said. I pulled off a mitten. My hands were trembling and I had a
hard time to flick the wheel to start the flame, but finally got it. When
the fuse started sparking, I jumped and took off running.

Peter called out, "Okay, far enough." I wheeled around just in time to hear
the explosion and see the plastic cup go flying up into the air.

"Wow, Groovy!? I said.

"I know, huh?" Peter agreed.

We stuck the next one in a horse turd and it blew the turd apart about 3
feet around. We thought that would be funny to do on someone's porch and we
got the totally crazy idea to walk down the lane to principal Smith's house
and set off a whole sack of horse turds in his mailbox. I was never so
scared in my whole life. This was definitely the most daring, scary, and
disobedient thing I had ever done in my whole life.  Hiding in old man
Smith's shrubs while a car passed slowly by on the snowy road, Peter
grabbed my arm and said. "You can't ever tell we did this. Understand?"

That was the most unnecessary thing anyone had ever said to me. 'dUH!? was
all I said, rolling my eyes and flapping my arm against my chest. "You
think I'm retarted?" Peter was convinced. He let go and peeked out, up and
down the lane.

"Let's go. Stay close." We could see the flickering blue light in the
living room window from the TV. Peter carefully opened the door to the
mailbox and placed the paper sack full of fresh, green, smelly horse turds
inside. Then he carefully set the M-80 under the sack.  ?You light it." He
said. "That way, you'll be just as guilty as me."

I took the lighter and I was trembling so bad. I had to take off my mitten
to light it. "The fuse is hidden." I said.

"Just light the sack on fire, the M-80 will just blow up when the fire gets
to it." He explained.

"Oh."

I held the flame of the Bic against the edge of the sack and soon it
took. A small flame spread along the edge of the sack and I turned to
run. I dropped my mitten and had to dash back for it. Peter turned and said
in a loud whisper, "Jeezezz Matthew, hurry up." I grabbed my mitten and
sprinted back toward Peter. Suddenly, there was a loud echoing boom and we
turned our heads to see the porch light come on. We rounded the corner and
cut into the orchard like we had planned. We didn't stop running until we
hit our back yard. I dropped to my knees in the snow and heaved for
breath. The cold air stung my lungs. If mom ever knew I did that, she would
never let me get a .22 rifle, because she would say I couldn't be trusted.

Peter said, "Man, oh man, that was a total head rush." We both broke out in
nervous laughter.

"I wish we see principal Smith's face when he looks in his mailbox." I
said.

'me too, totally. Let's go in now." Peter said. He helped me up.

We stomped the snow off in the carport before we went in. I pulled my
galoshes off on the porch and hung my coat and mittens up and shivered. The
porch wasn't heated. Peter got out of his winter stuff too and took off his
tennies. He hadn't worn boots. Older kids were too cool to wear them. He
said his feet were freezing. I called him a big baby.

"Hey man, if you're so tough, I dare you to run to the corral and back in
your bare feet."

"Okay, I will." I said, accepting the challenge. Peter was so cool to be
with. He was the best babysitter ever. He came up with the craziest things
to do and try. I sat down and peeled off my Addidas and socks. "Here I go."
I pushed my way through the clattering screen door and ran full speed to
the corral, no problem. When I turned to come back my feet started
stinging. By the time I reached the porch, they were completely numb.

"Oh, Oh, Oh," I said, hopping from foot to foot.

'man, don't spaz out on me." Peter said, laughing.

'move!? I demanded, pushing him aside. I ran into the kitchen and held my
feet over the heat register on the floor. Luckily, the air was blowing out
and I alternated holding each foot over the register until the numbness
turned back into stinging. Peter came in and stuck his stocking foot over
the other side of the register with me.

"I can't believe you really did it. You're pretty rad." Peter praised.

"Thanks. You are too." I said.

"Wanna try something even more daring?" He asked, lifting a bushy, black
eyebrow.

"I guess, what?"

"I dare you to go back outside and make a snow angel." Peter said.

"What's so big about that?"

"NAKED." Peter said, smiling.

"What? No way. Are you kidding?"

"No, I'm serious. I did it at my house and it's crazy." Peter said.

"You have to do it first, then." I said.

"If I do, will you do it too?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, but you have to go first." I told him.

"Okay, man, here goes." Peter sat on the kitchen floor and pulled off his
socks and then said, "Wait, I almost forgot; we need to start the tub first
so we can get in the hot water to warm back up." That made sense. I
continued warming up my feet and wiggling my little toes over the register
while he started the water running in the tub. When he came back, I started
laughing.

"What?" He said smiling.

"You're naked." I said.

"Yeah, that's the deal, remember?" He said.

"I guess, I just didn't expect to see you naked already." I explained. I
realized that I had never seen anybody else naked before. My mom and my dad
had seen me naked when they used to give me a bath and Peter had too, when
he tended me when I was younger and he had to give me a bath sometimes. I
was impressed with how long his wee-wee was. It was dark in color and the
skin bunched up by the knobby thing on the end. It lay between a sack of
skin with his balls in it. They were really big too. He had a big patch of
curly black hairs above where his wee-wee came out. The color matched his
long hair on his head, but his regular hair was very straight and the hairs
on his wee-wee were very, very curly. His wee-wee swung side to side as he
walked.

"Okay, you have to get naked now too, so you can go as soon as I do, so's I
can watch you do it." Peter instructed. I giggled. But, I obediently pulled
my sweater off and pulled down my jeans and hung them over a kitchen chair.

"This is goonie," I said as I hooked my fingers in my bvd's and pulled them
down and stepped out of them. I shivered and looked down at my shriveled
and bald little wee-wee and teeny ball bag. The little knobby on my wee-wee
was red and the tube part that jutted out of my belly was only twice the
length as the knobby part. When I peed, I could hold it with just two
fingers. Peter's tube was like as long as his whole hand. I wondered how he
held it when he peed. My tummy was doing flip flops like when we did the
big firecracker in Mr. Smith's mailbox.

"Let's go." Peter said, "Before the water runs over the tub." I followed
him out on the porch. I watched out the back window as he jogged out onto
the back yard and flopped down in the snow. He swished his arms and legs
back and forth, making the wings and robe of the angel in the snow. Then he
jumped up and ran back in. His wee-wee and sack bounced all over when he
ran. "Go quick." He said, clutching himself and shaking.

I pushed out the screen door and ran to a spot next to his. I noticed, I
could see the imprint of his butt in the snow where he had been laying. I
dropped backward into the deep snow and swished my arms and legs quickly,
jumped up and sprinted to the house after quickly examining my work of
art. My bum showed up too. "I dibs the tub first." I said, as I streaked
past him.

"No way," he called, as he chased me into the bathroom. We had a big tub
that sat on legs. It was pretty cool looking and I liked how I could get
all the way under the water in it. I took a bath at Johnny Rogers? house
once and his tub was small and I didn't like it.

"Hey, man, we gotta get in together or I'll freeze to death." Peter
said. That seemed weird to me, but I figured he was right. He would freeze
and I wasn't gonna let him go first, no way or I'd freeze to death. After I
stepped in and sunk down against the back wall of it, he stepped in the
front by the faucet. The water rose almost to the top edge when he sat
down.

"I better let a little water out." Peter said, 'so it doesn't spill over."
He pulled the plug and drained about 2 inches out. It didn't matter since
there was still enough to cover me. The warm water felt really good. Our
legs were pulled up and his knees stuck out of the water. I could see his
wee-wee floating in the water. It amused me and I smiled. He adjusted his
legs and lifted one of them over mine and put it between my legs. He rolled
his head back and said, "Ahhh. This hot water feels nice."

"Yeah." I said. "You think of goonie stuff to do." I said.

"Are you griping about it?" He asked.

"No, it was fun, just goonie." I said. "I saw your butt print in the snow."
I giggled.

"So, did that make you horny?" Peter asked.

"What's that?" I asked.

"You know?horny." He said it as if it would be obvious to me if he just
said it slower.

I just shrugged. Peter dropped it and slunk down in the tub up to his
neck. When he slid back up, his long toes on his left foot pressed up
against my ball bag. After he was back up, he left them there and started
rubbing on my bag with his toes. Then he raised them a bit and rubbed
against my wee-wee. I started to tell him to stop it, but it felt kinda
nice, so I just let him.

I noticed his big wee-wee wasn't floating anymore. It was bigger than ever
and was pointing straight up. He put both hands on the edges of the tub and
pushed himself up and out. He reached for a towel on the rack and stepped
out of the tub. His wee-wee was poking straight up and was really, really
big now. He started drying off.

"Why is your wee-wee like that?" I asked.

"Cuz, I'm horny. It happens to older guys? Johnsons sometimes. It's
normal." Peter answered. He pulled it downward, but it resisted and he let
it slap back up against his tummy.

The ?horny? word still had no real meaning to me. "Oh." I said, since no
explanation seemed to be coming.

I stood up and climbed out too. I started drying off next to him. He
dressed in his clothes and I trotted out to the kitchen to put my undies
on. I put my shirt and jeans back in my room in the dirty clothes box and
put my flannel jammies back on. 'do I have to go to bed now?" I asked.

"Not yet." Peter said, delighting me. We sat on the couch and Peter started
looking through the TV guide to see what was on. I wrapped up in a blanket
again and leaned against his strong arm. He looked down and asked what I
wanted for Christmas. I named a few items, then said, "From Santa, I want a
new .22 rifle."

He smiled. "From Santa?" He asked, raising his eyebrows and peering over
his large nose at me. I could see his braces on his bottom teeth
glistening.

"Yeah, mom won't get it for me, but Santa will. He said so." I told
him. Then, a horrific thought struck me. "Peter?" I started.

"Yeah."

'do you think Santa's elves saw us tonight? What if they tell on us and I
don't get my rifle because of what we did?"

"Are you serious?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, do you think it could happen?"

"Oh, man. Matthew, you're eleven; it's time you got a clue. If you go
saying stuff like that at school, you're gonna get laughed out."

"Like what?" I asked.

"Santa stuff." Peter said.

"Why?"

"Look, I don't know if your mom and dad would want me to tell you this, but
you really gotta know. Santa is fake. It's just something fun mom's and
dad's make up for little kids to make Christmas more fun. But, really, your
mom and dad are Santa." Peter blurted out.

The words stung worse than the freezing snow on my naked
body. "Nuh-uh. You're lying." I said. Tears were burning in the corners of
my eyes.

Peter just shook his head. 'sorry, man." I suddenly hated Peter as much as
I had loved him a minute ago.

"Stop lying." I demanded. "Stop it."

"Look, stay here, I'll prove it." He said. He stood up and walked down the
hallway into my parents? bedroom. We weren't allowed in there and I was
surprised he went in there. I thought about all the presents I'd gotten
from Santa over the years. I thought about the cookies and milk that was
always gone in the morning. Then, I thought about Ralphies dad on the
movie. Doubt flooded my innocent mind. As hard as I tried to push them
away, I couldn't think why Peter would lie to me. But, he must be lying.

"HO, HO, HO." Peter said as he emerged from the bedroom dressed up as
Santa. The suit fit him badly and he had a pillow stuffed in his belly. 'so
little boy, what do you want Santa to bring you for Christmas this year?"

He sat next to me and pulled me onto his lap. 'see, It's your dad's
costume. He pretends to be Santa for the neighbors and at the church party,
but it's just your dad." Peter said.

"I know that." I said. "But, that's just because Santa can't be away from
the North Pole so close to Christmas." I explained. 'so dad helps him out."

Peter shook his head. That's just what they told you so you would keep on
believing. "Hey, it's hard when you find out, but you need to know, man. If
you go talking about Santa in 6th grade, you'll get pounded."

"So there's really no Santa?" I asked on the verge of tears.

"Nope. Sorry dude. It sucks hairy balls, but that's how it is." Peter
said. "But, hey, when you give up Santa and start growing up, you learn
about new really fly stuff you can do that little kids don't know about."

"Like what?" I asked, sniffing.

"Like, how to choke your chicken." Peter said.

"Ewww, gross out." I said.

"No, that's just an expression. It means rubbing your Johnson like I was
doing to you in the tub. Didn't that feel good when I did it?"

"Yeah." I nodded.

"Well, even better is getting your noodle sucked off." Peter said. "That's
way better than any presents from Santa."

"Really? How?" I asked very confused at all this.

"Since I told you the bad news about Santa, I guess the least I could do is
teach you about the good stuff." Peter said.

"Remember, how you promised to keep the mailbox bomb a secret?" Peter
quizzed.

"Yeah."

"Well, if I show you sucking off, you have to promise on your life never
to tell anyone I showed it to you. Promise?"

"Promise." I had no idea what was coming or what I was promising about, but
if it was better than Santa, I was sure it was worth promising to keep it a
secret.

Peter lifted me off his lap and set me on the sofa. "You have to trust me,
okay."

"Okay."

Peter pulled off his Santa hat and took the fake beard and mustache off.
Then, he put the hat back on. He pulled my legs up onto the couch and
pushed me back into a laying position. He pulled my jammie bottoms off and
then he pulled my undies off. I peeked up, then laid back down. After that,
I felt the fur on the Santa hat tickling my belly and a warm wet feeling on
my wee-wee. I peeked up again to see Peter sucking on my wee-wee. He was
rubbing my legs and my sides with his big strong hands while he did it. I
could feel the red flannel suit brushing softly against the tops of my legs
and feet.

"What are you doing?" I asked in shock.

"Sucking your noodle." Peter said, "And another thing, stop calling it a
wee-wee. It makes you sound like a two year old. Call it a "dick" or a
"Johnson" or a "prick" or something more grown-up like. Then, he returned
to what he was doing. I felt my wee-wee, I mean Johnson, get hard in his
mouth. I loved the feelings of it. It was tingling and his hands rubbing on
my skin felt really good too. My body started moving around on its own. My
legs and chest and shoulders just sort of moved on their own from the
feelings I was getting. I felt tingles under my forehead and up inside my
bum. Peter was grabbing and squeezing my bum cheeks and sucking faster and
harder now.

"Uh, Uh, Uh, Uh," I was gasping. I wanted to tell him to stop, I needed to
pee, but I couldn't talk. He pulled off of my Johnson, and sucked in my
tight little ball bag. "Ohh." I said. "That tickles good."

He returned to my Johnson and sucked really fast and hard now and somehow I
lost control of my body. "Arrgg." I cried out and squeezed my butt together
and pushed upward into his sucking mouth.  The Santa hat had fallen off and
lay on the sofa next to me. I pulled my head up to see what was happening
to me. I watched Peter's bobbing head working my hard little Johnson. An
M-80 exploded in my head and the chills and the explosion scattered shocks
through my whole body, especially my balls, bum and Johnson. I shook, then
relaxed, then I shook again. Then, I was exhausted. I collapsed and Peter
slipped my Johnson out of his mouth. He continued rubbing my legs, butt,
belly, and best of all, my little ball bag.

"So, how did you like that?" He asked smiling.

"Awesome."  I said, still quivering slightly.

"Better than Santa?" he asked and reached up and rubbed his hand over my
summer buzz cut. Sadness flooded over me, replacing my ebbing euphoria.

"No, not really." I said, sadly. "It felt really good, but I liked
believing in Santa better." He grimaced and shrugged.

"I'm way horny now, I gotta choke the chicken and bust a nut." Peter
said. He sat up and pulled off the Santa coat and set the pillow on the
rug. He slipped out of the suspenders and slid the pants down. He pulled
his bvd's down to his knees and his wee-wee?err, I mean his big
Johnson'that was poking straight up again like mine had been doing when he
sucked on it. He wrapped his hand around it and started pulling the skin up
and down over the knobby part with a finger and a thumb. I laid back
down. He was choking on it really quickly and soon, he started
twitching. His lip jerked. He was sucking in little gasps of breath. The
muscles on his stomach were flexing. His head rolled back against the back
of the sofa. "Oh, man." He gasped and stretched the skin down tight against
his big balls as a giant squirt of white stuff squirted out the pee-hole of
his Johnson landing on his belly. It ran down into his curly black
hairs. He squirmed and jerked and moaned as 3 or 4 more squirts shot
out. Some more sort of oozed out as he slowed down the rubbing of his
Johnson.

He held his gooey fingers up to me to examine and said, "When you get
older, you'll start shooting this stuff out, too, just like I did. It's
part of growing up. You'll get hair down there like I got too." He
explained. "This is called jizz. It's what guys make to create babies with
girls."

I was on information overload at this point and I only nodded, without
really processing the information. Peter wiggled out of his bvd's and
kicked them off. He cupped his hand under the sliding goo on his belly and
creeped into the bathroom. When he came back out, I had dozed off. He put
my undies and jammies back on and carried me to my bed. He tucked me in. I
fell back asleep to the muffled sound of the TV in the other room. "Yes,
Virginia," I made out, "There really is a Santa Claus," was the last thing
I heard.

The End

I enjoy hearing from my readers. Please take the time to email me and share
what you liked or suggestions you might have to improve my writing. I am
almost done with another story on Nifty, in the Gay Male, Young Friends
section titled ?Just Like Scott." This story, however, pushed its way past
the concluding chapters of that story and demanded to be written. Contact
me at h.schreiber@hushmail.com