Santa’s Candy Cane

Chapter 1

LUKE

Ten Years Ago…

The high school Christmas Spectacular was about to start. Meanwhile, I hid in my dressing room, cursing the day I ever agreed to be Santa for the grand finale. The problem wasn’t stage fright. It was the damned pants.

The bright red velvet material was thin, soft, and clingy, and it hugged my junk like a second skin. One look in the dressing room mirror confirmed my manhood was on full display, leaving nothing to the imagination. Wearing loose boxer shorts had been a mistake.

I yanked at the waistband to adjust things, but no matter how I positioned the pants, they continued showing off Santa’s South Pole.

Every movement sent it waggling like a curious elephant’s trunk, snuffling around for peanuts.

It would have been funny if I didn’t have to be on stage in like ten minutes.

My parents were out there. My brothers. My grandmother.

I groaned in dismay and did a little wiggle of my thighs, hoping things might, erm, settle into a more appropriate position.

No dice. I had begged my family not to come, but they wouldn’t miss my debut performance for anything in the world.

Not out of support, or love. They all thought the whole thing was hilarious.

I doubted they would be laughing if I strutted out there like Santa Cock, dangling my dongle without a care in the world.

Beginning to lose hope, I tried tugging Santa’s coat down to cover my shame, but the costume had been made for a much shorter person.

The jacket stopped at my waist, hiding nothing.

Hunching over helped a little, but I couldn’t stay that way for the whole finale.

Real panic flared inside me. There was no way I could go out there hanging salami like I ran a deli counter.

The stage lights were unforgiving enough.

I growled in frustration. I was a quarterback, not a theater kid. I called plays. I didn’t perform in them.

I should bail. Out the back door, across the parking lot, through the trail to the adjoining neighborhood.

I peeked my head out the dressing room door and looked into the backstage area. All the students chattered with excitement except me. Unlike the rest of these nerds, who considered this a worthy and pleasant use of their time, I had been forced to be there.

I was failing Mrs. Fletcher’s senior English class and Coach Hammond had worked out a deal with her. She needed a Santa for her Christmas play, and I needed extra credit to bring up my grade. It had seemed like a win-win.

Until I put the pants on.

Passing English meant playing in the state championship in a few weeks, which meant getting recruited to a good college team, which meant a shot at going pro. Which meant this Christmas play?

It had become the single most important night of my life.

I spotted my best friend, Nic, talking to a hot little elf in striped leggings and a green tunic. She had a clipboard in her hand like she ran the show, and something about her bossy expression lit a fire in me. It did not help the situation in my pants.

Neither did the velvet material of the costume.

No one had warned me how good it would feel against my skin.

I was a football player who’d been raised on a cattle ranch.

I wore rough and tumble stuff like denim, meant for wrangling cows and riding the range.

In comparison, the whisper-soft velvet was like an angel’s sigh over every inch of skin it touched.

“Fucking jingle bells,” I swore.

Deep breaths, I told myself. Keep it together. Bad enough you’re waggling your worm like you’re fishing for trout. Don’t get a boner now.

“Nic, get over here,” I called.

His head snapped around and he grinned at the sight of me in the Santa coat. “Look at this jolly dickhead.”

“Nic, watch it,” Mrs. Fletcher’s voice chided from somewhere in the chaos.

“Sorry, Mrs. Fletcher.” He jogged over to me and went to push his way into the dressing room. “What’s up, man?”

I held the door firm, keeping my lower half out of sight. “You can’t come in.”

Nic was a linebacker on the team with me. If he wanted to get in, he could, but he respected my boundaries.

“Why can’t I come in? Is Dixie in there?” Nic tried to look through the gap in the door like he might see my cheerleader girlfriend. “Is she helping Santa empty his sack?”

“No, she’s got her own dressing room,” I said. “She’s the Spirit of Christmas. She didn’t want me bothering her. Said she needed to get into character.”

“Oh, damn, so Dixie was the other senior who stole that part from my sister?” His expression grew stormy. “Clara was supposed to be the Spirit of Christmas, but then someone complained to Mrs. Fletcher and now she’s stuck being an elf.”

I sighed and shook my head. “I didn’t know your little sister had the part. Dixie told me she was going after that role. Sorry, man. I would have tried to stop her if I knew.”

“She’s the worst, bro. Kick her ass to the curb and tell her it’s for Clara.” Nic looked back over at the hot little elf. “She put a ton of work into this play. All these sets? She designed them. She loves all this theater stuff.”

I frowned as I looked at the elf. “Wait, that’s Clara?”

The fiery little redhead was ripping into a group of older kids dressed as snowmen. Despite towering over her, they stopped goofing around and waddled to take their places without argument. Then she went after a couple of girls dressed as reindeer, herding them to stand by the sleigh.

Nic smiled like the proud big brother he was. “Yeah, you can barely recognize her in that getup, right? The role of Head Elf isn’t as good as being the Spirit of Christmas, but she’s jumped right into it. I’m telling you, she was born for this kind of stuff.”

“Yeah, yeah, good for her, man.” I pulled the door closed a little more and leaned in closer, resting my cheek against the doorframe. “Listen, I have a problem. It’s this costume. It fits all wrong and I can’t go out looking like this.”

“You look fine, dude. You’re such a girl.” Nic pushed the door in, and me with it, like we weighed nothing.

I stepped back into the room so no one outside could see me. “Close the door.”

His gaze immediately slid down to my crotch. His eyes widened, his cheeks puffed out, he pointed at the offensive swell in my pants, threw his head back, and burst out laughing. “Dude, what is that? Did you stuff your Santa pants? That’s just wrong!”

“What do you mean? That’s my dick.”

“No it’s not.” He chuckled. “You rolled up a pair of socks or something.” His brow furrowed as he looked at me. “Right? Those are socks?”

“No, dude. It’s just me.”

Nic immediately averted his gaze. “Ew, bro, why are you showing me that?”

“I’m trying not to show it to anyone tonight,” I said, frustrated. “That’s the whole point. Now do you see my problem?”

“Problem? That looks like a blessing to me.” He shook his head and whistled through his teeth. “Did you find a magic lamp or something? What were your other two wishes?”

“This isn’t funny. If I go out there like this, I’m not getting that extra credit.”

“Go out like that and you’ll straight-up get arrested, bro. This is a school function. My sister is here.” He shot me a glare. “You better keep that damn thing away from her.”

“I would never mess with Clara,” I said. “Bro code. Sisters are off limits. I know that.”

He nodded like the matter was settled. “Okay, we can fix this. We just have to think. Why is it that we never see Santa’s dick?”

“What? I can think of lots of reasons. One, it’s cold at the North Pole. Two, he has pants that fit. Three, special underwear.”

“No, it’s because he’s got a bowl full of jelly,” Nic said certainly, waving away my comments.

“I’m not following.” I was suddenly wondering if I had asked the wrong person for help. Nic’s heart was in the right place, but his problem-solving skills were questionable.

“You’re too skinny. That suit needs padding. Hold on, I think I saw something that can help.” He sped out the door like a freight train on a mission.

I had no choice but to wait. A minute later, he came back in with his arms filled with what looked like a bunch of cotton. “It’s a blanket of fake snow from under the Christmas tree out there. Shove it in your pants.”

I did as he said. The wadded-up cotton did the trick. I looked at myself again in the mirror. “It’s a little low. Pot-bellied Santa.”

“Better than it was. I also got you this off the tree.” Nic held up a candy cane. “You stick this in your pocket, and if anyone says anything, you show them this.”

“You’re a lifesaver, dude,” I said. “I owe you big time.”

He held the candy cane like a pistol and poked the “barrel” into my chest. “Just don’t mess this up. We need you in the championship game.”

“I’m good to go, man.”

He handed me the candy cane and I stowed it in my pocket.

“I’m going back out now,” Nic said. “Your brothers said they would save me a seat up front. Don’t worry, I won’t catcall you.”

Of course they had found seats in the front. My brothers were both home from college. Troy was a senior and Chris was a sophomore. The moment they heard their little brother was in the Christmas play, they insisted on being there.

Feeling way less self-conscious, I found Mrs. Fletcher and asked her where I needed to be.

My English teacher called Clara over. “My head elf, please tell Santa what he needs to do for the finale. I have a sugarplum fairy stuck in the restroom with a broken zipper and a gingerbread man threatening to quit.”

“I’ve got this,” Clara said without hesitation, seeming much older than I had ever seen her before.

Mrs. Fletcher thanked her and headed to the next crisis that needed to be dealt with.

Clara grabbed my arm and pulled me over to where I needed to be; past cutouts of five-foot tall gingerbread houses, artificial Christmas trees strung with haphazard lights, and two other sugarplum fairies sitting back on their hands and chewing bubblegum.

“I feel useless,” I said. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“That’s why we have rehearsals,” she said flatly.

Clara and I had never been friends, only seeing each other occasionally because of Nic or passing in the hallway outside of class.

We didn’t share classes because I was one year older than her.

How could her brother be so opposite of her no-nonsense personality?

“I was a last minute replacement. The other Santa got bronchitis.”

“My role also got changed at the last minute.”

“Your brother just told me.” I shook my head. “Sorry about Dixie. I had no idea she stole that part from you. I don’t even know why I’m still with her.”

I also don’t know why I felt compelled to tell her that last part.

Clara sighed. “Because you’re the quarterback and she’s the prom queen. Two peas in a pod.” She entwined her fingers and held them up while smiling in a way that didn’t touch her eyes.

I cleared my throat. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. It was a mean thing to do and she and I are going to have a conversation about it later.”

Clara seemed to thaw a little at that. “Your job as Santa is easy. We took out all the speaking lines once Leo got sick. Just wait here until they start playing ‘Santa Claus is Coming to Town.’ Then walk out, wave to the crowd, and go sit in Santa’s chair.”

“That’s it?” I asked.

“Yup. You sit. Dixie will sing a song about a kid asking Santa for gifts, and that will be that.”

“Sounds simple enough.”

It was. I came out right on cue twenty-five minutes later when the song started, did a little walk, and sat in the big gold chair.

My brothers and Nic were right near the front, and they were all holding up candy canes, grinning like idiots.

Nic had clearly told them about my earlier wardrobe issues.

It didn’t matter. I could sit and do nothing for the next few minutes. Dixie started came out and started singing. Then Clara sat on my knee.

“What are you doing?” I whispered to her, hoping no one could hear me but her.

“It’s for the song. I’m the kid asking Santa for toys. Just smile and don’t make it weird.”

I managed a smile for the crowd, but things were definitely weird. Clara was so damn close I could smell her shampoo, and despite my best efforts, she had me feelings things I had no business feeling. My Christmas spirit was rising and there was nothing I could do about it.

Lucky for us, Clara was perched on my knee, nowhere close to the traitorous bulge. She would never have to know what kind of effect she had on me.

As Dixie sang, she noticed Clara on my lap, and my girlfriend shot Clara a venomous look of jealousy. Clara noticed, too, because she flinched back and lost her balance. Acting on instinct, I grabbed her and pulled her securely on my lap.

Right onto me. The cotton padding did nothing to hide the tempered steel in my pants.

She hopped to her feet, surprised, cheeks red, and she shot me a shocked look.

Panicking, I quickly pulled out the candy cane and showed it to her.

She relaxed and sat back on my knee, well away from the danger zone.

The crowd didn’t seem to notice it, focused on Dixie, but Dixie had noticed and she looked pissed, and even worse, my brothers were doubled over with laughter in their seats. They knew exactly what had happened.

And so did Nic, sitting next to them. He glared at me and dragged his thumb across his throat like he was going to kill me. It made my brothers laugh even harder.

And thus began the worst Whitaker family Christmas joke of all time. A decade later, I would still be hearing about it.