Chapter 3 - Bah Humbug Holly
I let myself into the motel and cringe at how loud the neighbours are screaming.
To add to the chaos, Rudolph, my little Dachshund, is barking mad, and I bet it's because he's been stuffed and locked away all day in the tiny bathroom.
Dropping my wallet on the counter, I dash to the bathroom to set Rudolph free, and then head straight to my bedroom.
My uniform stinks of sweat and sugar, so I strip down and toss it in the corner where a mountain of clothes is currently piling up.
Sighing heavily, I go to my small dresser and throw on a pair of tights and an oversized knitted jumper to keep cosy and warm.
I brush knots out of my hair and throw it in a high ponytail.
Using a couple of wipes, I scrub my face of whatever makeup is left after a full day's work.
Squeezing the last of my moisturiser from its tube, I apply it quickly to my face.
I don't know if I'm more tired or hungry and whether I want to go to bed or eat.
My stomach grumbles and decides for me.
Heading to the kitchenette.
My options are a sandwich with the nearly expired bread or toast.
Needing to warm up, I decide to make toast and pop two slices of bread into the toaster.
As I wait for them to pop up, I boil some water for some chamomile tea and fetch the strawberry jam from the fridge.
The toast pops up, and I go about slathering a thick layer of jam.
As I'm waiting for the kettle to boil, I get PTSD thinking about the last time I ate jam, and it ended in a monumental fight with Cole.
After a long day at work, he had the audacity to ask me about food.
? Eight months ago 'What's for dinner?' He sniffles, wiping his snotty nose on his sleeve like a toddler.
It is repulsive.
He's vile.
'Oh.
I'm just having some jam on toast.' I take a quick bite to avoid talking to him.
Chewing slower than usual, I try to make myself disappear or hope he'll return to his PlayStation game.
'Really think you should be eating that?' He looks at me up and down with a look of disgust on his face.
If anyone should be disgusted, it should be me.
I see him dust off crumbs of Doritos from his chest and watch them fall onto the lounge and floor.
Still, his jibes hurt.
'I don't even think I'd be able to bang you against the wall ‘cause I can't lift you.' I shudder at the thought.
I definitely do not want him to bang me anywhere, let alone against a wall.
I nod to avoid confrontation.
'Just trying to look out for you, babe.
Looking a little chubby, like a snowman.
But a cute snowman.' He laughs at his crude humour.
'Have you fed Rudolph?' I brush off the crumbs I'd made on the counter and place my dish in the sink, which is overfilled with dirty plates.
Turning the tap on hot, I wait for his answer, but it never comes, so I try again.
'Cole, have you fed Rudolph?' I ask louder, starting to soak the plates.
Yanking his headset off, he fumes in my direction.
'Can you shut the fuck up? I'm trying to play a game with my mates.
What do you want?' 'I just asked if you had fed Rudolph yet?'
'No.
I haven't fed that shit mutt of yours.
Can't we just give him away or take him to the pound or something?' I gasp, feeling my eyes prick at his suggestion.
If I'm giving anyone away or taking anyone to the pound, it would be him! Realising he is out of line, he makes his way to me.
'How was your day?' I deflect again, putting space between us.
He reeks.
I have to control my gag at how putrid he smells.
I can't even pinpoint where the smell is coming from or what's worse.
He has this general body odour like he hasn't showered in days or changed his underwear.
It is musky in the worst way.
His breath stinks of stale alcohol and processed food, and his teeth are stained yellow.
There is also a white film coating his tongue.
He has oil stains on his shirt and greasy hair.
What tips me over is seeing his bulging belly flop over the waistline of his tight tracksuit pants, and a slice of cheese melted to his hairy skin.
'Come here.
We haven't been together in ages.
Haven't kissed you in forever.' He starts toward me again, but I back round the bar to put space between us.
'You ate Doritos; you know I can't stand Doritos breath.'
'Doesn't mean you can't suck my cock or let me stick my dick in your twat.
Come on.
It's been like two months.
You always have a sore stomach, or you're on your period, or you come home too late, or have diarrhoea or something.'
All excuses I have used to evade him each week.
'It hasn't been that long,' I lie in an exaggerated tone.
'It has.
I need some loving, sugar,' he whines.
'Not tonight.
I'm dead tired from today.'
'You're a lousy girlfriend.
Come on, just sit on it for a bit.' I gulp back some vomit that has clawed up my throat.
I can't think of anything worse.
When I firmly shake my head, his tirade continues, solidifying the start of the end of our relationship.
? It was startling to think this boy was the son of the dreamiest man I'd ever met.
Surely, there was a switch-up at the hospital.
While Chris is magnetic, Cole is mind-numbing.
While Chris is kind and considerate, Cole is thoughtless and inconsiderate.
And, of course, there's the fact that Chris is drop-dead hot, and Cole is, well…not.
When Cole got like this, it was best just to leave him alone, which I did.
The kettle whistles, and I start thinking about the multitude of emotions I've been through today, from feeling horny thinking about Chris, to excited with Gloria on how I should find sex on a Christmas dating fetish app, back to horny again when I had a oneon-one master class with Chris.
I finished my rollercoaster of emotions by remembering how exasperated I used to feel with Cole.
After dinner, I go straight to bed.
As my head hits the pillow, I think more about Mistlehoe.
My toys just aren't cutting it anymore, and maybe this is just the stress reliever I need to get me through the holidays.
Who knows, I might even get to live out some truly sordid fantasies.
That's it.
I'm doing it.
I have nothing to lose — except maybe my clothes.
Curious to see how to begin, I reach for my phone on my bedside and type in the app.
Once downloaded, I sign up as a 'Mrs.
Claus' aka a female.
Feeling naughty and like it's something I should be hiding, I pull the covers over my head and start filling in the application.
The first part is easy; it's all the boring backend details, like my name and if I agree to the terms and conditions.
It's the next part that stumps me.
Enter a username.
I know I want it to be flirty and fun, but I don't want to sound like a snowflake or that I'm trying too hard.
I think about all the Christmas puns that come to mind, but nothing is appealing.
SugarAndSpiceAndEverythingNice.
No.
FrostyTits.
Kill me.
YourChristmasPudding.
I'm cringing for my soul.
Well, I never claimed to be a whiz at English, did I? Candy.
Candy, what?
For some reason, candy is sticking with me.
It's a flirtatious name that spells fun, but I'm also associating it with Chris after we made hundreds of them tonight.
Hmm.
Suddenly, I'm ravenous.
I bet his candy cane tastes delicious.
Here we go again.
I cannot think about him that way.
My lewd thoughts are cut short by how mortified I am that my brain keeps going there.
Hang on a minute.
I've got it.
Kicking my doona off, I'm excited the best username has landed in my lap.
CandyForYourCane.
Typing it in, I just pray to God no one else has the same one.
I anxiously kick at my sheets as I wait for the next page to load.
I'm in luck! It's free.
I quickly press continue, locking in the name for myself.
If I thought deciding on a username would be difficult, it's nothing compared to the tedious task of putting in my details.
Height, weight, looks, chest size, whether my pussy is waxed or not.
For your information, it's not.
I am stripped on the sides, but I have a neatly trimmed patch of hair that I'm growing out so I can get the shape of a Christmas tree soon.
I think long and hard about my short bio and settle on: 'Hi, I'm Candy, and I'm horny for your cane ;) Christmas is my favourite time of the year, and I'm ready to spread some of my Christmas joy with you.
I can't wait to be naughty and nice and everything sugar and spice.
XOXO Candy.'
It's not my finest work, but it's tipping eleven p.m.
and I just want to get this thing set up already.
The last part before the app lets me chat is uploading three pictures of myself.
Now, this is my worst nightmare.
In what world do I just have a folder of illicit images of myself on my phone? There's no way anyone will accept me if I don't have at least one semi-nude picture of myself, so I know at some point I'm going to have to get out of bed, flick the lights on, get into some sort of dirty lingerie and take a photo.
Before I do that, I painstakingly choose the other two.
I go with one of me in a cute cream-knitted jumper with a delicately woven gold Christmas tree on the front.
I strategically crop the photo so you can only see from my smile down.
It also shows off my white blonde hair.
The next one is of me unwrapping presents in front of the Christmas tree from behind.
I figured my being on my knees might entice a few subscribers.
I'm dressed more casually in this one, with cute Grinch pyjama shorts and a matching top.
My hair is once again a tangled mess of waves down my back.
The photo is innocent and childlike, but some users may think otherwise.
I blur out any identifying pictures from my home and upload that, too.
Okay, it's time for what might possibly be the cringiest thing I've ever done.
I rummage through my dresser for my best lingerie set, which is sparse at best.
My only options are red, white, or black.
The black set isn't really appropriate, so it's either the angelic white or the red.
If I had angel wings, I probably would have gone with the white, but I choose the decadent red instead as it screams 'Christmas'.
My too pale-skin will pop out with this colour too.
As I slip the silk thong between my cheeks, I start to feel a little tingly.
I cannot believe I am doing this.
The bra is a little tighter than I remembered, probably because I've gained a kilo or two, and it's gone straight to my chest.
It's not lacey or delicate.
It's a matching silk one with a love heart diamante in between the valley of my breasts.
While my large breasts can be a hindrance sometimes in finding clothes that fit, and not to mention the bane of my existence when it comes to back pain, I do think the twins are two of my finer assets.
I practically spill out of the cups, which I know some men might find alluring.
I can't back out now, even if I am feeling slightly frumpy with my wider hips and slight belly.
My ass is not as tight as I'd like, with a bit of a wiggle when I walk, but if I dim the lights just enough, you might not be able to see so many dimples.
I know that people would crave to have an ass like mine, and I've been told by Gloria how fuckable it is, but it's just an insecurity, you know?
I position the camera on my dresser, holding it up by a stack of cookbooks, and set the timer for ten seconds, allowing me enough time to get in position.
I decide to go with two shots, a close-up of my breasts, which is easy to achieve and only takes a couple of shots, and one of my ass, which isn't so easy.
After multiple attempts and positions, I settle on the doggy-style position with my chest to the bed and my ass up in the air.
I'm confident that no one will recognise me despite my small cutesy snowman tattoo that I have plastered on my right ass cheek.
The phone clicks as I bend over.
I take several more just in case, manipulating my body by sucking in my stomach and squeezing my legs together.
Once the impromptu never-to-be-done-again photoshoot is done, I flop back into bed and remove the two scraps of underwear.
Flicking through, I start editing the one of my ass, making sure I smooth out the wrinkles that dot the surface.
When I'm as happy as I will be with them, I also quickly upload those.
Scanning my profile, I'm satisfied with how I come across.
Now, it's all a matter of waiting and seeing.
I feel somewhat relieved that my anonymity will be protected going out on these dates.
A stipulation of the site is you have to wear a mask when meeting unless you both consent to seeing each other.
This is so one, you can have some anonymous fun and two, determine if you have a real connection without knowing what they look like.
Too exhausted to look tonight, I settle on spending some time going through any potential options tomorrow.
As I drift off to sleep, I think about the one man I definitely should not be thinking about.
Chris.
More specifically, Chris with his sexy Santa beard in a pair of snug Santa boxers that highlight his jingle bells.