Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Christmas Gifts

Whore!” The word sounded less like an epithet than a wolf’s howl at the moon, a long, drawn-out baying of outrage and pure emotion. “Whoooooooooore!”

“Shut up and take it like a man,” I growled. My heels banged into the base of the sofa as I lunged forward. He was trying to squirm away, the little bastard.

“Fuck you!” grunted Spencer, glaring at me. “You just think because I’ve never done this before . . . stop slamming your ass on my face, fucker!”

“You like it,” I said with a cocky grin. “Look. I’m going to do it again.”


On the television, my little Super Mario did another butt-slam onto Toad’s round little head, forcing him into the boiling lava in the middle of the first castle. He was out of lives. And that’s when Spencer threw down the game controller, crossed his arms, and pouted like a little boy.

It was Christmas eve. I had my family flying into town the next afternoon. After some fairly intense weeks in which we’d steeped for long hours in each other’s company, I knew that at the end of the night, when I sent him home, I wouldn’t be seeing him for an entire week.

That’s why I’d asked Spencer to spend all of Christmas eve with me. The entire day—just the two of us. No work, no classes, no talk about the week’s hiatus. Just an enjoyable, giddy day of fun, before we had to part.

Raised as I was by two parents convinced that the world was full of people trying to take advantage of them, I try hard to have an optimistic view of things. Instead of moping about the upcoming absence of each other from our lives for the last week of the year, I wanted to focus on having as much fun as possible when we were together. In a broader sense, I try not to think of this relationship’s natural end—which is inevitable, when eventually I leave behind the state and Spencer in it. I concentrate on the sweetness of it, on my enjoyment of Spencer’s beauty and of his talents both in and out of the bed. I think more about all the positives we both receive from our time together, and try to trust that in the end, when it ends, we’ll part treasuring the time we shared.

It was to this end that I’d tried to make the day as fun as possible. We’d eaten at Spencer’s favorite Indian restaurant for lunch, and returned to my house for an afternoon of watching movies on Netflix. We’d laid in bed together talking. The shyer of my cats, who ordinarily won’t tolerate anyone outside the family, has warmed to him; she curled up on his lap and napped while we reclined with our arms around each other, following her example. Then we’d roused ourselves and spent a happy hour wrapping presents for Spencer’s family, made a dash for Thai takeout, and yelled and cursed at each other while playing games on the Wii.

A happily-spent day, indeed.

“I have something for you,” he told me, after the fifteen seconds of his pretend tantrum had passed. I raised my eyebrows and turned off the console. “Hang on,” he said.

He hopped up and padded into the dining room to retrieve his coat. From deep inside a pocket he retrieved a gift bag printed with a holiday motif. “I kind of got you a present,” he said, suddenly shy.

I grinned. “Oh, we’re doing that, are we?” I asked as I walked past him into the kitchen. From the refrigerator I pulled out a large Christmas stocking. “Good thing I prepared.”

After taking into consideration comments from my readers about good Christmas gifts for the boy, I had the inspiration one desperate shopping day to give Spencer several inexpensive tokens in a holiday stocking, rather than have to search for the one perfect gift that would sum up everything I wanted to say. The inspiration gave me the freedom to include gifts both goofy and useful—a small Moleskine containing maps of Manhattan for Spencer’s trips to New York City falling into the latter category, and the former represented by an enormous and tacky Aslan bookmark (we’d seen The Voyage of the Dawn Treader together a couple of days before). I’d included several cartons of his favorite chewing gum, a couple of movie passes, and a bunch of homemade edibles. Spencer has gluten intolerances that we have to work around when we eat together, so I’d spent the entire afternoon the day before baking holiday treats for him. I’d made brownies from ground almond meal and rice flour, used the rice flour and some spelt for a batch of molasses cookies, and had made some gluten-free candies to boot.

He seemed overwhelmed by all the work I’d done. “Oh my gosh,” was all he could say, over and over, pleased. At least, I’m hoping that it was pleased. He might have been thinking, Baked goods? Jeez, what a cheapass. “Open yours,” he suggested, after trying all the treats in turn.

I obeyed. He’d given me a glass paperweight, blown with a careful series of bubbles in a spiral pattern. It was really lovely. “If the sun catches it, the bubbles light up the room,” he explained, taking it from my fingers and twirling it beneath the lamp. “You’ll see it when it happens. It reminded me of you.”

I blinked several times to keep away the tears that sprung up at this handsome compliment. “You are sweet,” I said at last, over the lump in my throat.

“And you are handsome,” he replied. He sat up then, bringing his face close to mine.

I didn’t hesitate. I reached out and kissed him, holding onto the back of his neck with one hand and pulling him to me. Our lips remained tightly closed together while we fumbled for each other’s clothing. He’d brought a pair of sweats to lounge around in, that day, and I was dressed in sweats of my own; we didn’t even have to look in order to yank down each other’s elastic waistbands. He gasped as my hand probed for his hole. It was warm beneath my fingertips, and pulsed out as I tickled the skin.

Spencer has a talent for making me so rock hard that sometimes I can’t stand it. I wasn’t up to many preliminaries that evening. His hips were grinding against my stick prick with such relentless ferocity that it wasn’t very long before I pulled my mouth away from his and spat in my palm. When I’d slicked the head and the first few inches of my meat, he lifted himself up, then sat slowly down on me. My dick disappeared into the warm, quivering depths of his hole. We both groaned with need.

We fucked on the sofa for long, loud minutes. He came long before I, squirting his load on my chest and face. I scooped off what I could and slapped it onto my dick during one of his upstrokes, so that it made his chute doubly slick. He groaned at that, reveling in the unspoken nastiness of the extra lube. Although he’d just shot, his dick was still almost fully hard as I continued to fuck him. His fingers tweaked and flicked my nipples while his hole clenched and released my meat.

When I came, it was just as loudly. My hands clutched at his narrow waist so hard I later thought I must have left marks. He held my face as I shot in him, holding it motionless so he could watch my expression as the orgasm took over. We paused, and remained still for a moment or two before moving again. Then, with mutual unspoken consent, we slid down into the cushions and held each other for a long, silent time.

“So I’ll see you in a week, I guess,” he said a few minutes later in my back hallway, as he pulled on his coat and shoes.

“It’ll fly by,” I assured him. He looked up at me and smiled, but I could tell his heart wasn’t in it.

Like I said, I try to be an optimist. It was only a week of separation. We’d enjoy each other’s company afterward. We could even see each other during the week for lunch or something, if we wanted. My mouth automatically opened to say something reassuring, but then something happened. Oh shit, I thought to myself. This hurts. This really hurts.

It felt like an icepick through the heart, that moment. I'm not exaggerating. I could feel the chill of it, and the ache of the edges where it had pierced. I wasn’t going to see Spencer for an entire week. He was clearly unhappy. I was on the edge of desolation. And here we were, trying to make the best of it without upsetting the other any more. “Yeah,” he said, swallowing and holding the stocking I’d given him. “Just a week.”

I found I couldn’t summon any words. Anything I might say felt like a bromide, patent insincerity stretched over a falsehood. It wasn’t going to be all right. It was going to be a long, long week. The knowledge hurt.

And I realized in that moment that Christmas eve was going to be nothing compared to how awful it would feel when eventually and finally I must move away and leave him behind. Positive as I try to be, all I could see at that moment when he gave me a last look was the vast chasm between us, already wide and widening by the second.

I sat down on the hallway stairs, stunned by the enormity of my sorrow. There I remained, slumped over and shaken, for several more minutes.

It wasn’t until I was straightening up the house on Christmas morning that I remembered the paperweight. I took it upstairs to my office and put it on the desk, where the weak December sunlight spilled through the blinds and across the wood. The rays caught the bubbles in the glass globe and sent light scattering across the walls, and the ceiling, even out into the hall—little specks of sheer brilliance that shimmered on every surface they touched. They lit up the room indeed.

But in that moment, and in the long week that followed, they didn’t at all remind me of myself.


  1. So glad to have you back! I have missed reading your adventures.

  2. Oh, that ache! More than a week has passed now, and the family has returned home. You have seen Spencer, yes? I believe that all of us - the Breeders Readers - have been aching along with you, anticipating your reunion; your divine coupling.

    Be well and know thay you are always in our thoughts.


  3. Oh, man! That piercing pain you describe is one I've known myself. Particularly one beautiful, wonderful man with whom I shared some three or four amazing months of terrific sex and sweet companionship before I left Denver forever for New York City. I told him the night we met I had firm plans to move in the coming spring. The connection we shared was so intense, we fit together so well - physically and mentally - that in spite of ourselves we fell in love with each other.

    I still left Denver, and him, and it was wrenching when it happened. Several times in the last several weeks I had those moments of transfixing loss much like, I suspect, your ice pick moment. The separation was much harder for him, I think.

    Many times over the intervening years I've thought about him and our time together. I've often wondered how he's fared. Sadly, I am a coward; so many of the men I knew, and fucked, and loved in those years are dead. As long as I do not look in that box that boy is like Schroedinger's cat, still alive.

  4. Jealous. Of Spencer. Again.

  5. John Horn,

    Thank you, my friend. Happy new year!

  6. Drew,

    For the kind words, I'm grateful. Thank you. There has indeed been a reunion since I arrived back home. It was a pretty damned good one, too.

  7. RedPhillip,

    It's not often that a comment moves me to misty eyes. Thank you for sharing that highly personal reminiscence.

  8. When I read your post, I remembered when I met the great love of my life. We lived on different coasts, and saw each other every 6-8 weeks. Every time we had to separate, I experienced a pain that tore through my soul. And mine was tempered by the knowledge that, at some point, we would be together for good. I can't imagine what you are going through. But you sure are touching people you've never met in person. And some of us who have been lurking a very long time. And when you can do it to a jaded pig like me, you've got something special. Thank you for sharing it.

  9. You amazing bastard. You made me cry. Again. Happy New Year, my friend. Much love, always.

  10. Wholesome Pig,

    You don't sound so jaded to me.

    It had been a very long time since I'd had such heart-hurt. It's difficult to describe to anyone who hasn't experienced it for themselves, so I'm glad that I'm resonating with at least a few readers.

    So did you end up with the love of your life?

  11. John,

    Happy new year! You owe me mail, you know. Feelthy mail.

  12. Hey, Rob -- You have e-mail. :-)

  13. Aww. This post was absolutely touching. I'm afraid I have nothing as profound to share as some of my commenting peers, but this post is doing a lot to remind me of my impending graduation from college and how all my friends and fuck buddies are going to be parting ways.

    With a bit of trepidation, I almost don't want to know how you and Spencer will part. Almost.

    P.S. Since this is the first time I've commented on your blog, I also wanted to say I absolutely love your blog. Whenever a new post pops up in my reader, I always am happily excited. Not only is it excellent wanking material, but it's great writing.

    If you're ever in LA...

  14. Andy,

    Thanks for your handsome first comment. I tend to be a lurker myself on a lot of blogs, so I know it often takes a little nudge to take the effort to post . . . and I appreciate that you did.

    It's difficult for me to see this relationship, limited in time as it may be, as anything but a positive. How can affection and kindness ever amount to anything but good in the end? Like you, I almost don't want to know how it's going to feel to part from Spencer. At some point I'm going to have to figure out how to manage it so that we both make it through safely, without hurt feelings, and retaining the fondness.

    I wish you luck on your final semester.

  15. Fuck....I rarely cry....and have huge alligator tears!

  16. Tyler,

    Aw, I'm really sorry. I think alligator tears are the insincere kind, though, and I'm pretty sure you don't have those. I'd offer you a Kleenex if I could.

  17. I've sincerely missed your posting, not only for the hot sexiness that comes with it, but for the obvious passion you feel... and relate.

  18. That sounds rough. At least, while Spencer was gone, you had your family. I mean, either way you were with someone who cares for you. That's lovely. You clearly surround yourself with good people and bring out the best in them. You seem to make Spencer happy.

    I've never been in love, but I can see through you that the good feelings you get are worth the pain you sometime go through. Even though I've never romantically loved someone, I have many close friends. The kind I talk to daily. When one moved to another state we spent hours on the phone. It hurt a lot to have her so far away. (She has since moved back, woohoo!) Obviously, it's not the same thing, but I know that feeling.

    I hope you had a wonderful Christmas with your family and a wonderful reunion with Spencer.

  19. Dude, you're in love. Face it, and man up. Do what has to be done.

  20. Richard,

    I'm only happy that the passion comes through. Thank you.

  21. Jnk,

    I'm intrigued. What, pray tell, is there to be done? Tell him I love him? Make sure he knows how I feel about him, from the way I treat him both in and out of bed? Honor him in words, the way I do here? Give him my time, my bed, my home, as my own? Go places with him, talk with him, share experiences with him? Because these are the things that seem to me highly appropriate for lovers, and they're the things I'm already doing?

    Or do you mean I should marry him and adopt a dog and live happily ever after? I in no way am attempting to sound contentious here— please believe me. But even if my circumstances permitted (and they don't), I know myself well enough to say that what seems to be the logical and obvious end point, that goal longed for by men and women, seen as the ultimate holy grail by gay and straight alike, is not in my cards here.

    Manning up, in this situation, is both of us taking the situation for what it is, relishing it while it lasts, and still enjoying it though we both know that it will end with some degree of pain. And what's more, doing it without regrets in the moment.

  22. I really hope I can find someone who makes me feel like that soon.. So sweet and touching...treasure the way he makes you feel and always remember the happiness he brings into your life

  23. It was something that reminded Spencer of you, it wasn’t a gift to remind you of yourself. Or at least, it wouldn’t at that point. I would like to think I understand what he was saying with that gift. Hopefully, you can see it as well, now.
    Thank you for sharing such beautiful stories - your heart - with me (all of your readers). The beauty is still there, made even more so by the hurt.