Chapter 3
Christmas Eve with a bowl of popcorn, a bottle of sparkling apple cider, and my laptop open to the edits on my next chapter of the Wattpad book I’ve been releasing over the last month or so is actually pretty damn nice.
Equally surprising, my little filthy holiday serial is become one of the best-selling Christmas erotica stories on the platform.
The keys click, and I smile as the ending of the last chapter comes out of me like warm honey into tea. Only, this honey is depraved and twisted, in a way no one would understand or expect from a curvy, mousy girl with a four-point GPA in pre-law at Montana State University.
Seems Christmas brings out the slut in me, and as if I needed more proof of my less-than-mainstream proclivities, my panties are a wreck. Some self-care time is badly needed in this house devoid of any Christmas cheer.
Good thing I brought my own.
The hair on my arms stands up as I close my laptop and leave it on the table next to the leather sofa giving my tummy a quick rub. The secret I’ve been hiding for months kicking at my liver behind my XXL Montana State U t-shirt but that’s more than I want to face right now.
Apparently, I’m excel at pretending problems don’t exist they become too big to ignore.
The prickly feeling returns and the sensation that’s been niggling at me all night that someone else is in the house with me comes back.
The alarm is set, and besides the clicking of my keyboard and the occasional scrape of branches on the windows as the storm kicks around outside, there has been no other sound in the massive, cavernous log structure.
Maybe I’ll hear Santa’s reindeer on the roof later, but for now, all seems calm.
I check my phone for a Merry Christmas or a message from Mom to say they miss me, but all that’s there are a few group chat messages from friends at school, happily tipsy and celebrating with their families.
I tell them I’m not feeling great, and I’m going to bed, because as tough as I’m trying to be, there’s a knot in my chest when I think about sitting here on Christmas morning, alone, without a gift, or a tree, or any acknowledgment that it’s unlike any other day of the year.
I pad in my fuzzy green socks, oversized t-shirt and super stretch boy shorts across the great room to the grand winding stairs, taking a quick look into the kitchen to see the time on the digital clock on the oven. Ten fifty-four.
I swallow hard, taking a long moment to check the driveway through the massive windows next to the front door. No tire tracks. No footprints. Just more snow and a moon that looks as cold and lonely as I feel.
You’d need a big four-wheel drive to make it up here in this weather and I’d definitely see tracks in the snow if that were the case. I’m not worried. There’s a full house generator in case the power goes out and enough food and supplies to feed me and twenty of my closest friends for a month.
Colbert believes that any day, either the world economy is going to collapse, and we will need to declare the Houser family ranch as its own sovereign nation, or that the rapture is right around the corner.
I try not to think of Cutter, just out of prison and leaving on the bus to who-knows-where. His first Christmas back on this side of the wall, and he’s been completely rebuffed and sent packing by the only family he has.
I push away the image of him tearing down the garland in town before his massive silhouette boarded the bus, moving down the aisle until he disappeared into one of the back seats as I stood there fighting the urge to throat punch my stepfather. He was kind to me in the short time he was around.
There was always a bit of darkness as well, but for some reason, it only made me feel safer around him.
I understand he killed someone. I do. But I’ve also done my fair share of research into said ‘killing’, and sometimes, death is better. For the world, at least. But, justice can truly be blind as well.
I collapse onto my bed with a huff, my hands on my tummy for a second before I settle into staring at the ceiling, thinking of my little Wattpad fantasy that’s caught on like Christmas wildfire.
Sleep doesn’t feel possible. That knotty tension down in my lower forty is demanding proper attention. So I reach under my pillow, where I stowed my Christmas gift to myself after sister got back from lunch, knowing I’d need a good, hard distraction at some point.
“Guess it’s you and me, kid,” I say to the jolly green joystick as I pull it out, a heat growing on my cheeks as I click the buttons on the end of the dildo and wonder if I might need to check in with student mental health services when I get back to school.
Because this dildo?
It’s Green and thick, with a sort of an irregular alien shape to the shaft and a bulbous head with a tapered point.
When I saw it in the online catalog last month, it was like a tunnel of light narrowed my vision, and some secret part of my insides woke up.
The Grinch-in-ator.
It’s the Grinch’s cock, imagined in green, pulsing, rechargeable, vibrating, magnificent silicone.
Merry Christmas to me.
I hold the little power button down for ten seconds and the sex toy comes to life in my palm as I tug down my underwear, kicking them off the edge of the bed onto the floor, then shoving my feet under the blankets and assuming the position.
“Let’s get it on.” I hum along with the vibe, closing my eyes, head back on the pillow, knees tenting the sheet and quilts as I let my deviant mind go where very few are likely to have gone before.
You know in the Grinch movie, when he’s sneaking through the house, and that little girl comes padding out to catch him in the act of stealing her family’s Christmas tree? Yeah, that’s where my mind is going.
I’m the girl, and well, the Grinch is…the Grinch.
Don’t. Judge. Me.
I nearly bolt off the bed when the first brush of the Grinch-in-ator connects with my clit, and I imagine it’s me catching that green goblin in the living room. Only, what he does after he scurries me back off to bed with a pat on my head…
Well, let’s just say, my version deviates significantly from the original story.
It doesn’t take long before I’m lodging the tip of the toy into my sugar plum.
God, it’s huge. Who knew the Grinch was hung like an alien horse?
I arch my back and give it another little push, my toes gripping the sheet as I press my hips upward, putting the evergreen-colored dildo in reverse, deciding my clit is the better avenue for a distraction-focused girl alone on Christmas Eve.
“Fuck, God—” I’m close. So, so, so close. But even with my perverted fantasy playing out behind my closed eyes...
I can’t. Quite. Get. There.
“Damn it,” I huff, dragging the vibe up and down, clicking the buttons to try another setting.
But in between clicks, in that moment of silence before Grinch’s rubber meat stick finds its new groove…
There’s a creak. A scuffing sound on the floor.
Close enough, it’s impossible for me not to reconsider my earlier panic that someone else is in here with me.
I freeze, the vibrator quivering in my hand, the sound muffled now under the covers as I squeeze it between my thighs and just…listen.
To. Someone. Breathing.