Chapter 5
Snow is falling outside. Again.
It’s been coming down for hours. I’ve already shoveled the driveway once, but at this point, I figure it’s Christmas Eve.
Time to relax.
Jesse and I just finished dinner. He made lamb chops with roasted potatoes, squash, and salad. It was fucking amazing.
The kid can cook. Seriously, it’s like a God-given talent he also happens to work really hard at. I know it’s his favorite hobby, and also something he’d like to make into a career one day. And I just want to be supportive of that, because it’s a smart, achievable goal.
When Jesse told me he wanted to take a year off after graduation to figure out his next steps, I was on board.
I know some parents might look at college as the only direction after high school, but I respectfully disagree.
I never went to college, though I did take an online business course, which was tremendously helpful.
But I just don’t think everyone needs to go into staggering debt for a piece of paper you hang on your wall.
In some professions, sure. It’s necessary. But Jesse could easily work his way up in restaurants and then maybe open his own someday without a college degree.
Regardless of all that, though, I just want to support him. In whatever he chooses to do with his life. And if that choice happens to keep him at home for at least a little while longer, well then… great.
Because not that I’d ever admit it out loud to anyone, but I don’t want to think about what my life would look like without the kid here.
I’m not sure I even know who I am without Jesse…
A business owner, yes. A friend? Maybe, to a couple of guys who still put up with me. Other than that, though, I’m a father to an eighteen-year-old, and that’s a huge part of my personality. If Jesse leaves, he takes a significant chunk of me with him.
The thought is all too real, so I stuff it away and grab a couple of glasses. It’s eight at night, and our tradition is about to start.
Every Christmas Eve, we light up the fireplace and drink eggnog while watching A Christmas Story. We’ve been doing it since Jesse was old enough to hold a cup. It’s not a lively or exciting event, but it’s ours and I enjoy it.
If I had gone with Leslie, I would’ve missed out on our tradition for the first time in ever…
No, that’s unacceptable. It never would have worked.
Although we were together for two years, Leslie never spent Christmas with me. And I can’t for the life of me picture her here now, snuggling up on the couch next to us with a cup of eggnog. She doesn’t even consume dairy.
I roll my eyes while pouring eggnog into each glass. Truthfully, I can’t picture anyone else on that couch. Except maybe Trent and Himla. But even so, the memories I have of them are so distorted now, that picture doesn’t quite fit either.
It’s just Jesse and me. The two of us against the world.
Reaching up into the cupboard, I grab the bottle of brandy, pouring some into my eggnog. Then I pause, taking only a couple of seconds to consider it before I add some to Jesse’s glass, too.
He’s eighteen, after all. I’m sure he’s drank before. Hell, I gave him a beer once or twice.
It’s Christmas Eve and this can be a new addition to our tradition, now that he’s a man.
The thought warms my gut as I bring our drinks into the living room. Jesse is already nestled up on his side of the couch, feet buried in his Christmas Rick And Morty socks this time, resting on the couch cushion. The kid always takes up the entire couch, which isn’t very big as it is.
Waltzing over, I plop down, sitting on his toes.
“Rude,” he huffs, pulling his feet back, though there’s a visible grin sneaking out with the word.
Handing him a glass, he takes it, holding it up for a toast.
“Merry Christmas Eve, kid,” I tell him, clinking on his glass.
We both sip at the same time, my eyes going to the movie, which has just started. But the sound of Jesse gurgling brings my gaze back to him.
“What the hell is in this?” His face scrunches.
It reminds me of when he was little and he tried liver for the first time. Let’s just say that’s one protein that has stayed far off the menu since.
“Little brandy in the nog never hurt anyone.” I smirk at him. “It’ll put some hair on your chest.”
“I don’t need hair on my chest,” he grumbles. “I have it everywhere else.”
A laugh bubbles from my throat. “Congratulations.”
He continues smothering a smile, taking another sip from the glass. “This is actually really good.” His cheeks are growing pink already. “Strong.”
Grinning, I turn back to the movie, resting my head on the back of the couch. “Take it slow, killa. I don’t want you getting sick.”
“I’m sure I can handle a little brandy,” he mumbles, and when my eyes flit to him once more, half the glass is gone.
Narrowing my gaze, it’s occurring to me that Jesse is usually the forthcoming one of the two of us.
He’s the one who tells me what’s going on with him, and he’s also the one who drags information out of me.
I’m a closed book, but Jesse isn’t like that.
He enjoys sharing, and now I feel like kind of an asshole for never asking him stuff.
It also makes me wonder about the things he hasn’t been as open about…
“You know, if you drink at parties, you can tell me.” I go for casual with my tone, focusing on the TV screen while I watch him in my peripheral. “I wouldn’t be mad. I mean, how could I? I did the same thing at your age.”
A year before I became a father, and grew up eye-blink fast.
“I’ve had a few drinks before.” He shrugs, innocently enough, and I know he’s not lying. Jesse’s a terrible liar, so he rarely does it. At least, not to me. “Usually just beer. Maybe a shot or two. But I’m not one of those kids who likes to get shitfaced at parties and embarrass myself.”
I nod along. It makes sense. I was the same way when I was young.
Latent insecurities make it hard enough to socialize, especially when you’re worried the whole time that people are mocking you behind your back.
I’d rather keep a clear head. And I realize that sounds strange coming from someone who grows marijuana for a living.
But I really just like the plants. I rarely smoke it myself.
Growing things has always been a passion of mine.
“I get that,” I tell him. “You want to stay cognizant.” My mind begins to drift… “Like if you’re on a date or something…”
His eyes fling to mine, rounding as they do. The shine in the gold of his irises tells me he might be getting a little buzz already.
“Guys at parties can’t be trusted,” I add.
“I’m not… I don’t…” His voice stammers and he clears his throat. “I don’t date guys at parties.”
“Do you date at all?” I ask, suddenly curious, because we’ve literally never talked about him dating before. He’s never brought anyone home, or told me anything about his love life.
The flush in his face is much more prominent now. “Um… not… much?” He says it like he’s asking me, which curves my lips.
“You’re still interested in guys though, right?” I keep pushing, mainly because now his awkwardness is entertaining to me. “Or have you added girls to the mix?”
He shifts in his seat while I try to contain my evil chuckles. “No. I only like men.” His brows zip together as he stutters, “Boys… Guys.” He lifts the glass to his mouth and chugs the rest of his drink.
Pressing my lips together, I force myself not to react. He’s dying right now, and it’s pretty adorable.
“Okay, just double-checking,” I sigh through a grin. “You don’t talk to me about this stuff, so…”
“You don’t talk to me about your relationships,” he bites back, finger tapping on his empty glass.
I sip my own slowly. “Well, aside from Leslie it’s not a very thrilling story. Not that she was exciting either.”
“Why were you with her, then?” He mumbles his question, and when my eyes dart to his, they widen in remorse. “I’m sorry…”
“No, it’s a valid question.” I blink, pausing for a moment while considering my words. “I guess I was just… waiting to see.”
“To see what?” His voice is quietly curious. As if he’s intrigued.
My shoulders slump. “If I could end up loving her.”
We’re both quiet this time, for at least a full minute, before he asks, “But you didn’t?”
I shake my head, solemnly, though I’m not exactly upset about this fact. I think it just means I might never fall in love… with anyone.
I finish my drink while we watch the movie in silence, the only sounds in the room from the TV and the crackling fire.
“That was good,” Jesse speaks after a while, and I glance over to see him holding up his glass. “Can I have more?”
I shrug and stand. “Why the hell not.”
Taking both of our empty cups to the kitchen, I pour more eggnog, and even more brandy this time.
I’m not trying to get drunk, and I’m definitely not trying to get Jesse drunk either, even though I’m now fairly certain this amount of alcohol could get him there, since apparently he’s not a big drinker.
I’m pleased by this fact. I like that he has a good head on his shoulders and knows that drowning your sorrows in vices is never the way.
But I also think I like this new part of our tradition. Opening him up a bit is a good thing. I’d like to know more about his life, and I want him to feel comfortable sharing.
Back in the living room, I hand him his fresh drink and plop down on his toes again. But rather than pulling them away this time, he wiggles them under my thigh.
I can feel my grin, but I squash it, and mutter, “Are you cold?”
He shakes his head. “No. Just… getting cozy.”
I keep my face aimed forward at the television, feeling him relax, leaning back and wedging his feet further beneath my legs. I’m sort of tense, and I’m not sure why, so I ignore it and focus on the movie.
But for some reason, I’m abnormally aware of Jesse while he sips his drink. It’s as if I can feel his buzz as he melts deeper into the couch.
Then it dawns on me that I might be getting a buzz on myself, which is why I’m feeling this way.
Who knows.
The movie continues, and we watch as we always do. Chuckling at certain parts we know so well. By the time the kid on the screen is getting his tongue stuck to the pole, I’m so relaxed I barely even notice that Jesse’s feet aren’t under my legs anymore. They’re resting on my lap.
He has his legs draped over mine. When did that happen?
We’ve never sat like this before, and for some reason, it’s keying me up once again.
I’m not sure why. It’s not unusual for him to sprawl out and take up the whole couch.
It’s kind of his thing. But his long legs stretched over my thighs seem to be the only things I can pay any attention to, for minutes on end.
I’m acting like I’m watching the movie, but really my eyes keep falling to his feet in those cartoon socks, toes visibly wiggling every now and then.
It’s good. He’s happy. He’s comfortable… That’s all I care about.
Not my own bizarre anxiety, which doesn’t make any sense.
The night wears on. The movie ends and starts up again, on a loop, because that’s another part of the tradition, for everyone apparently, not just us.
I’m lulled into an easy state, my hands resting on Jesse’s shins once the drink is long empty, cup down on the floor. After a while, my eyelids begin to flutter, sleepiness overtaking me.
The last thing I remember is glancing at Jesse, to find him out cold, head lolling off to the side, his chest rising and falling in content breaths of slumber.
A soft smile graces my lips, and I lean back, succumbing to the sleep that steals me.
Warmth.
All I can feel is warm, everywhere.
A heat I didn’t have before has settled over my skin, something like a dream burning me right up.
Tightness clutches, and it takes several generous moments for me to realize it’s spreading from my gut up to my chest.
Starting in my loins.
Foggy and lost in my subconscious, a fantastic sensation washes over me. Tingles sweep through my limbs, settling below my waist.
Sex.
That’s what it feels like. A sex dream.
Lying back, I give in to the pleasure, my cock firm and my balls aching. It feels so fucking good, there’s no way this is real. I haven’t had something this nice in a while.
My eyes aren’t open, and I’m certain I’m deep in my own peaceful dreamland, the familiar warm wetness sliding up and down my dick. It only takes me another moment of fizzling desire to recognize it as a mouth.
I’m getting head in my dream. Awesome.
The tongue cradles my erection, stiff and pumped full of blood, soft lips and saliva coating me, sucking and sucking, at such a leisurely pace, it’s almost as if it’s barely happening at all. The mouth is just holding my cock, taking its time, and it feels divine.
Leslie? I want to ask, because who else would have my dick in their mouth?
But that assumption doesn’t feel accurate. It feels… different. Unlike anything Leslie did to me in our two years together.
So it must be a mystery woman, then. Sucking me off in my dream like a good little slut, taking me all the way back until my head nudges her throat.
“So good…” I whimper, dazed and enraptured by a thick cloud of arousal.
My hips flick, gradually, with the movements of the mouth, feeding my length between the softest lips ever created. That’s how I know it’s not real. No one has lips this plush. Like pillows of silk, working up and down my dick so slowly, it’s driving me insane.
“You teasing me, baby…?” My sleepy words fall out on an exhale of calm breath, fingers twitching at my sides with the need to hold her face and guide her.
Suck me like a good girl…
Inching one hand upward, my fingers dance along a sharp jaw. But I don’t even notice.
Not until I reach hair. Smooth, silky strands fill my fingers. But it’s short.
It’s too short. There’s not much of it at all.
That’s weird. Do I know any girls with short hair like this…?
I’m distracted by my confusion when the tongue swirls around the crown of my cock, dragging a quiet moan from my throat. My hips shift, pushing between those luscious lips once more.
This feels so real. More real than any dream I’ve had before.
My mind finally awakens enough for my eyes to creep open.
And I freeze.
My heart stops cold from its steady thump.
Now I’m certain I’m dreaming. Because it looks like… Jesse.
Jesse with his eyes closed, lying on his stomach between my parted thighs. With my dick in his mouth.
This isn’t real. There’s no fucking way.
It’s a dream. It has to be.
More like an aching nightmare.