Okay, let me just say that I don't really celebrate Christmas. But I do like the winter festival of it all, the light conquering the dark as the days start to get longer. My parents were weird far-out hippies and the closest thing I ever experienced to Christmas growing up was what my parents called "Yule". However, their "Yule" wasn't some European neo-pagan thing...it was some mixed-up nature hippie shit my parents made up while living in a commune in sunny California. Anyway, I'd travel and do my own thing while most people are feasting and giving gifts. My kind of celebration is finding a colony of displaced models and rent boys in some tropical location, with an endless supply of high-octane drinks. Although, an isolated chateau full of mulled wine and warm muscle boys would work just as well in a pinch.
However, last Christmas, I was invited to spend a "winter getaway" with this couple I was close to, Mike and Fawn, at this huge cabin, as they called it, that they had rented or something up in the mountains. They wanted to get away and thought I might too. With Mike and Fawn being crazy rich, I knew it wouldn't be some broken-down shack on some rocky bluff...and I was not disappointed at all.
My Jeep pulled into the driveway and I could not believe the size of this place. It looked like some hotel at Dollywood or some other mountain resort. I noticed another car but knew it wasn't Mike and Fawn's. I figured it was either staff or deliveries of some kind -Fawn tended to like living lavishly. I grabbed my bag and camera, heading up the path to the door. I tried the knob thinking it might be locked, but the door opened and I felt a rush of warm air scented with pine, wood polish, and money.
I sat my things on a large rustic wooden bench in the large entrance hall and just marveled as I looked inside at the high beamed ceilings and the wide staircase with a deer antler theme. I was surprised there weren't mounted animal heads everywhere, until I walked further in and looked up...a moose was looking down on me with an elk on either side of it.
"Hey, hey!" came a voice from the second floor gallery.
I looked up to see this tall, dark, and handsome Hallmark-movie-looking dude waving down at me.
"Hey, I'm Christopher...you can call me Chris! You must be Stone!"
"Yeah, that's me!" I shouted up to him as he leaned over the rail with a big stupid grin on his handsome face.
"Oh, perfect! Great! I'll be right down!" Chris yelled excitedly.
Oh, I knew what was going on. Fawn had set me up for this little trip. She was always trying to fix me up. You just need sex with lots of handsome guys, she would tell me after my divorce. So everytime we talked, she always came around to the latest hot single guy she had met and how I needed to date him. She always remarked that she couldn't help matchmaking and being an empathic sexual being herself her sexual juices flowed better when she set up people who wanted to fuck each other. Poor Mike, I sometimes thought. Needless to say, I actually did fuck quite a few of her set-ups, but nothing set as a relationship. So, here we were again.
Chris bounded down the stairs, jumping off the last step in a Broadway flourish, giving a half-twirl and a big white grin. He smoothed his Nordic design sweater and gave me the once over.
"Fawn said you were a cutie," he said with a wink. "But I bet you hear that all the time you being some big famous model." He emphasized the word "big".
"Well, a photographer exactly...the model thing was very brief."
"Oh, okay. I'll have to give Fawn a bit of a spank later for teasing me," he joked, clapping his hands together.
I nodded my head and smiled awkwardly.
"There was hardly any traffic coming up. They said snow was coming in so I thought the roads would be packed," I volunteered with small talk, rocking on my heels with my hands in my jacket.
"I just talked to Fawn and they'll be here soon." He walked over to a small table and fiddled through some papers. "I was going to go to the kitchen and make some cocoa. You want a mug?"
"Yeah. Yeah, that would be great."
"Well, get out of the coat and hat. The kitchen is through there," he said, pointing at an archway. He walked off. "Leave your bags there. Fawn has some crazy room assignments..." His voice trailed off as he passed through the arch.
Oh, I bet she has, I thought as I followed him into the kitchen.
The kitchen was a kind of spacious kitchen/den hybrid with a huge fireplace and sectional sofas. I sprawled across one of big overstuffed club chairs, my leg over one of the arms. I watched as Chris busied himself making our cocoa.
"Brandy or whiskey?" he shouted as he stirred the pot.
"Oh, brandy, I think."
"My kind of man, fancy!" he replied, grabbing the bottle and pouring in a few glugs.
I looked him over. He was about my age. He had a Mediterranean look about him -olive complexion, dark hair and eyes...that five o'clock shadow that was always there even after shaving. Very attractive, but not exactly what Fawn usually set me up with, not the usual alpha male type that made my legs weak and spread easily. I gave a little laugh.
"You're not laughing at my cocoa now. You've not even tried it yet," he said with an exaggerated frown.
Chris handed me a mug filled with hot cocoa garnished with a candy cane, various colored marshmallows, and a brown candy reindeer.
"Oh, no, not at all," I responded, shaking my head. I took a cautious sip. "Well, let me turn that frown upside down," I said with wide eyes and a chef's kiss. "How can I make fun of such artistry." It really did taste delicious once you maneuvered around the marshmallows and reindeer.
"You're a sweetie," Chris squealed, patting my thigh.
"Well, where's mine? You bad little boys!"
I turned around and there was Fawn in her big fuzzy sweater,and diamonds glittering like ice. She trotted around the furniture in her red stilettos which gave me just enough time to set down my cocoa before she jumped on my lap.
"You sexy thang you!" she laughed, grabbing at my cheeks. She pursed her big red lips. "I just wanna make a few more of those dimples on your sexy face," she said like she was chewing gum. Then she gave me a big red kiss.
Mike was right behind her with his curly black hair and dashing mustache, carrying a cake box and various shopping bags.
"Well, Stone, I see you've been branded," Mike said, walking in and pointing at my red-stained cheek. "You'll leave here with just the rosiest of holiday cheeks," he laughed, setting the cake box and bags on the dining table, then walking over to the bar to pour himself a large whiskey.
