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A Cratchett Kind of Christmas
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A Cratchett Kind of Christmas I decided a christmas story would be appropriate I'll get back to my memoirs after the New Year. Merry Christmas to all who celebrate it. And happy holidays to those who don't. I hope you enjoy my story. Joyous Yule, Blessed Saturnalia, etc. A Cratchett Kind of Christmas “Yes mam, It's a wonderful choice for your granddaughter, Heather Hunt, Dangerous Detective, makes great reading for a woman in her early twenty's . That will be $17.95 plus tax for the first three books of the series. I guess you'll want them gift wrapped for another $3.00?” Tim inquired of Mrs. Jenkins, who didn't have a clue what to give her granddaughter for Christmas. But refused to get her a gift card, it's just not proper, she made it clear to him. She agreed, and Tim gift wrapped them as a gift set. Mrs. Jenkins would be his last of the day. It was 5:00 pm Christmas Eve, closing time, and time to face being alone once more, on the night of the year nobody should be alone. As she left his little independent book store, she wished him a Merry Christmas. Turning toward him just before opening the door to leave, she asked him, “You know, Tim, I've been coming here for many years, and feel I have the right to ask you a favor. That is if you don't have any plans for tomorrow.” Looking at him with the caring eyes of a grandmother, Mrs. Jenkins proceeded to ask him.”My granddaughter Belle is driving over from Harrisburg, she might even be here now. Well she's pretty, intelligent, funny, and needs someone close to her age to show her around town this next week, you know, between Christmas and New Year. Belle would love to meet you I'm sure, I think you and Belle would get along really well. I'd like to invite you to join us for Christmas lunch and diner. Here's my phone number, and address. All the fun starts at noon. Oh yes, here's a picture of her.” Tim gazed at the woman in the small photograph. OMG, Belle looked like an angel, it wasn't even a glamor shot. Tim started to grow a hard-on. It was just a picture of her at a picnic. Her wavy red hair was long, extending well past her ample bosom. With an intoxicating smile, big green eyes, medium build, you could almost hear her laughing. “She'd make a good holiday fuck” he thought to himself. Handing the picture back to Mrs. Jenkins.”Thank you very much,...” He tried saying yes, but couldn't bring himself to move his mouth to do so. So politely, he accepted her information, and told her he'd try to come over. He had no intention of doing so. She gave him a big grin, again wishing him a Merry Christmas, with the hope of seeing him tomorrow, we'd love to have you over. He straightened up the store, but didn't have to turn off the Christmas lights, because there weren't any. There were no Christmas decorations at all, in his store. He turned out the lights, then sat near the front door, staring out at the multicolored lights reflecting on the few inches of snow which had been falling most of the day. “I should be happy” he thought to himself. “It's Christmas Eve, there's snow on the ground, I got an invitation to Christmas festivities with some long time customer friends, but I can't. I can't be happy about any of it, I can't be depressed either, I just don't feel anything about anything.” Tim sat there for a long time, trying to feel something, but to no avail. He put on his coat, pulled on his knit cap, put on his gloves, stepped into the cold, locked the door, and headed toward home. Cratchett's Readery was located in the west end part of the city, in the borough of Elliott, on Lorenz avenue, at the bottom of the hill, he lived at the top of that hill. Even though Tim was slight of build, he wasn't skinny, he was short, but his tongue was longer then usual, and he could tense it, roll it up length wise, and fuck with it, better then most men do with their dicks. Speaking of dicks, Tim's was much bigger then it should have been, for his body size. His cock was 10inches even, long, and thick enough. He'd be rated about a 7.5-8, for looks, by others, but considered himself only a 3. He had been born and raised in Pittsburgh, where it could get bitterly cold some winters. He never got cold though, for some unknown reason, he did however, pull his cap down low, almost hiding his piercing blue eyes. As he trudged through the snow he envisioned Belle again. “You're way out of her league, she's way to good for a little man like you. Anyway, love never blesses plain looking guys like me, not even on Valentines Day. I'm twenty-seven years old, thought I was in love, twice, only to have my heart broken. Never again. No woman or man will ever hurt me again. I don't need them, and they don't need me. I don't need anything, to hurt me, I just won't love, and won't get hurt. Love flowers, thy die, love food, you end up unhealthy, love a pet, they die too. Love, I don't need it.” Tim began his climb up the hill, when he noticed some sitting on some corrugated cardboard almost sliding down a side street. They were laughing, throwing snow balls, and trying to slide on the meager layer of snow. They loved the first good snow. “Hit me with one of those snowballs, and your parents will be visiting you in a juvenile detention center for Christmas.” He yelled. Every single stopped still, with looks of terror on their faces, wondering if he could really do it. Then simultaneously they picked up their cardboard and ran up the side street. He had been tolerating the holiday lights on many of the houses on his way home, but tonight, tonight a few of them were blaring Christmas Carols out into the neighborhood. “I detest Christmas music, it's stupid. All this talk about hope , love, and salvation. It's just a bunch of lies made up to sell more merchandise, more merchandise everywhere but my book store. Most people don't read more during the holidays. That Belle girl will put her gifts away, and never read them. She'll lie to her grandmother, saying she did read them. Poor Mrs. Jenkins will be happy, and love the fact she picked a good gift. Happiness built with the lie. All women lie, they tell you they love you, then leave your ass.” None to soon, Tim reached his front door, pulled his mail from the mail box. One bill, one Christmas card from his nephew Fred, and one magaz.....Suddenly he dropped the handful of mail. He quickly backed away from the magazine on the porch floor. Slowly he approached it, as he turned on his pocket flashlight. On the front cover of The Bookworm magazine was a picture of a woman, who was awarded Female bookstore owner of the year. “I would have sworn it was a picture of my mother. I must be seeing things.” As he reached down to pick up the dropped mail, he glanced into his front living room window,. He jumped again, thinking he perceived somebody inside. Just then a car passed by, it's lights shining in through the window. “It was the lights from the headlights reflecting into the house. That's what it was all right, only a reflection. Your mother is dead, the woman who gave birth to you has been dead for seven years. She was the first woman to lie to you, she said she loved you.” Tim unlocked the door, walked in took off his hat, gloves and coat, and turned up the thermostat. He kept it low during the day when he wasn't in the house. He didn't love warmth on a cold night, like most people do. Grabbing some cold pizza and a beer out of the fridge, he sat in the quite. There was nothing on TV but Christmas shows and advertising. He didn't want to watch any of it. In the silence of his house, he could hear a neighbor playing Christmas carols down the block. “The song playing now brings back a memory. I'm not sure which memory, but I recall something about this song.” He began hearing the sweet voice of a woman singing along with the song. The voice sounded closer, and clearer, and closer and clearer. Tim got up and looked out his windows to catch the woman who must be singing outside his window, trying to frighten him. There was no woman to be found, no evidence of her being outside,not one footprint. The voice must be coming from upstairs, yes, that's it.”I'm going to call the police, they hate intruders, you'll go to jail.” The singing stopped as the carol ended, but then the voice answered him. “Go to jail, I don't believe so. Ha, ha, ha” The voice was clear and close by. “Who are you, and what do you want?” Tim demanded. Not being able to see her.“Take what you will, and be gone. It won't ruin my Christmas, I don't love the Christmas season like those fools wasting electricity on needless outdoor lites, I assure you. Please don't hurt me, kill me if you must. Put me out of my misery. I will be better off for it. I'm ready.” Tim sat back down in his recliner chair, and waited. It would be appropriate for him to be murdered on this night. He sat there waiting for what seemed very long minutes. Tim heard nor felt nothing. He stood up, searching the rooms with his eyes. Nobody there, she's gone. “I scared her away” he said out loud. A woman's voice answered from behind him. “Not yet, junior. I'm still here. Over here , the mirror.”she directs him. Tim was twisting one way and then the other, trying to see her, but only making himself dizzy. “Hello, hello there.” She taunted. Her voice helped him find her, but not at all where he expected. “Over here Tim, the voice said, as the woman's reflection in the mirror taped on it with her fist, from the other side. As his eyes began to refocus the figure became less fuzzy and more pronounced. It was an old, worn out woman. Frail, gaunt, stringy hair, and naked, in the mirror. “In my mirror, the ghost of a woman is in my mantle mirror.” Tim said aloud. As the words left his mouth, he stumbled back and fell onto the couch. He watched, as the female hands reached through the mirror, grabbing hold of the mantle above the fireplace, on Tim's side of the mirror. He watched as she crawled through, from her side to his. She was beginning to lower herself down, when suddenly, she lost her grip and fell to the floor. Tim couldn't help but let out a bit of a snicker. “What type of ghost are you?” Tim asked. The ghost stood up, brushing herself off, and running her fingers through her hair. “Damn, I used to look so hot, and I had lots of sex.” she exclaimed while grasping her tits and tweaking their nipples. This used to get me so horny, now, nothing.” She stood before him all aglow, with a soft blue tint. Hanging around her neck, arms and shoulders all the way to her knees, were half's of hearts with ragged cuts down the one side, linked together with, what looked like fingers in a curled position. The fingers linked with one another, one at the top of each half, and one at the bottom. Somehow, she looked familiar. “Sorry, I've never done this before, she apologized, then went on. Well Tim this ain't exactly the life I expected to find you living. Where is my -in-law, my grandchildren? You were supposed to fall in love, love your life, and make something of yourself. I had such high hopes for you.” She explained, as she took a sitting position, in mid air, like there were an invisible chair to sit in. “Who are you, and what are you doing here. Might as well play along in this hallucination.” He said, thinking he was just overly tired, or coming down with a cold or flu. In a blink of your eye, the naked figure went from her sitting position about ten feet away, to standing right in front of him, with her face only inches from his. “You think I'm an hallucination, you do. How's this. The book on the coffee table rose up about two feet, turned on it's side, then, blam. It flies at Tim, hitting him on the side of his face. “How's that for an hallucination? Or this” The zipper on his pants unzipped as his belt and pants were undone. In a moment, an invisible hand took hold of his cock, and began stroking it. Now will you just sit and listen to what I have to say?” She asked politely. “OK, tell me what you're here for.” he asked. “Ow, that hurt,” he complained, rubbing the side of his head.” It's a trick, I don't know how you did the other thing, yet” “I'm here for you, Tim. I'm here for your welfare, and the welfare of those you've met, and have yet to meet. You see Tim, I was the first woman to break you heart. I am your mother. Yes I am, Tim. I gave you to my older brother to raise, because I didn't love you, and didn't want you after you started to love me. I couldn't take the closeness, so I gave you away. He took you and moved to Montana. It wasn't until you moved back to Pittsburgh that I got to see how retched you'd become. Then I died. I never loved anybody or anything in my life. That, is my curse. I don't want you to inherit it.” She lifts up some of the linked half hearts, and continues.” These are the hearts I've broken over my lifetime, and those who suffered for my actions. Oh, I liked many of them, they were great fucks, or good leverage when I wanted to get my way. I was very sexual but never lovable. Because of my decision to not love anyone or anything. I must now drift aimlessly throughout the world, not being able to love or be loved. It leaves one, very empty.” and with that, she pulled the skin from the middle of her torso open to show an immense empty space inside of her. It was much larger then was possible, and pitch black. “Not loving leaves an emptiness inside you, you can't imagine. It feeds upon itself, increasing in size as the years drag on. I was granted permission to warn you of the danger you place yourself by not ever loving. Not hating, just not loving. Not loving people, the smell of fresh bread, puppies, , not loving everything. It eats at your insides and harms those around you. Your negativeness infuses itself like a cancer. Others feel uncomfortable with you, begin to avoid you, you get bitter, tell them about it. You see them cheerful without you, and then you don't love the next acquaintances you make, for no reason at all. You don't even love your books, to you, they are only an means to an end, with no end.” I have a few friends, each with certain skills, who will be visiting you tonight. They'll be helping to enlighten you. I'm dead, and beyond help. But you, my . There's still hope for you to be happy, and love. Now, I gotta go. You know, you've got your dad's eyes and hair. So long . I wish I could tell you I love you, and mean it. Bye, bye, bye." Her words rang through the room as she floated off the ground and drifted back through the mirror over the fire place. Tim sat there in amazement. The ghost sort of looked like pictures of his mom, he'd seen. No, no, no, it was an dream, a vision, or something like that. The rest of Tim's evening was uneventful, and he forgot about his visitor. He got ready for bed, selected a XXX magazine, from one of his book shelves full of them. He found some pictures to look at, and an erotic story to read while jacking off. The pictures were those of supposed twins, one male, one female. They both looked great of course. The story was about<b> twins </font></b>also, but they were separated at birth. They didn't know they were brother and sister. But the reader knew. Tim, got a strangle hold on his cock and began stroking, slowly at first, while the<b> twins </font></b>undressed one another. Jerry began sucking on his sisters nipples, while she started stroking and squeezing his cock. When she squeezed her brothers balls, Tim quit stroking, to squeeze his. He looked at the pictures some more. Jerry's cock had gotten stiff, along with Tim's. Sandie bent over, asking Jerry to fuck her dogie style. Tim's grip tightened, as he quickened his pace. He could feel the head of his dick begin to throb, when he looked at the picture of Sandie showing off her ' stamp' as Jerry thrust his big cock into his sister's hot, wet, pussy. Tim got even closer to cumming, when he looked at Jerry spurting cum all over Sandie's stamp and much of her back. The story paralleled the pictures, and read.”And as Jerry cam all over his sisters back, her orgasm struck her with waves of pleasure.” That's when Tim's cock exploded and shot cum all over his stomach, abdomen, and chest. He cam for a long time. “This was a great idea” he whispered aloud. He stayed awake long enough to wipe the cum off him with a face cloth. He dropped the rag on the floor next to the bed, and with the side light still on, fell into a comfortable sleep. That was until, he heard the chiming of his doorbell. “Who in the hell is ringing my doorbell at this time of night, It's, 1:00” He complains, spying the time on his digital clock. “This had better be a matter of life or death.” Tim turned on the hall light so not to fall down the stairs. The bell chimed again, “Alright, alright, I'll get there.” He opened the door, and there stood a short person(midget) dressed in a dark uniform, with a big mustache covering his whole mouth. He held out a square brown package, about the size of a box of wine. “Special Delivery to Mr. Timothy Cratchett. You he?”mumbled the little guy. “Why, yes I am, but.” Tim admitted. “No buts, you are or are not. Yes or No. I don't have time, busy, busy.” he snorted impatiently. “Yes I am you impertinent little...” Tim began. “Thank You, here.” he replied, handing the box to it's rightful owner. Then quickly turning around and ran down the street. “That's odd, no delivery truck.” Tim voiced out loud as he closed the door, cautiously carrying it into the living room. Sitting it on the coffee table, he noticed a pull string to zip the box open. He pulled on the string, ripping across the box top. He began folding back the top flaps, but jumped back in fear, as a golden colored smoke came pouring out. Chapter II Opportunities Missed--------soon good sex is good sex. it doesn't matter where it comes from.[/COLOR |
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What a Night Before Christmas!
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Fascinating start...
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