The Christmas Package

I came home from college for my last Christmas break before graduation. It always felt a little strange sleeping in my old room after many months away and I must have had a growth spurt this year because my bed felt awfully small. My mom had to move some clutter out and give the room a good dusting, but it was great to spend time with her again.

After a few days I set up a meet with some old high-school buddies at the burger joint where we used to hang. I hadn't seen most of them in years and I was really looking forward to catching up. I also knew that things were going to be changing for all of us and it may be our last chance to get together and relive our glory days, such as they were.

I cranked up my ugly-ass Nova after a few tries, filling the driveway with noxious blue smoke. Mom had her own car so mine just sat while I was at school. I crawled through my neighborhood, marveling at all that had changed and all that hadn't, and made my way to the main drag through town. There was a signal every quarter mile, so it was slow going, but I was not in a hurry at all. I just enjoyed the nostalgic tour through my hometown.

When I got to the railroad crossing, I slowed down to creep over the tracks. The shocks were shot on the Nova and going too fast would cause it to bounce and maybe bottom out. It wasn't a great car, but the Nova was all I had so I did my best to take care of it.

Suddenly, I felt a violent jolt. I hit my brakes and looked in the mirrors. Crap! Someone had rear-ended me!

I pulled off the tracks and to the side of the street. I got out to assess the damage. Say what you like about the 69 Chevy Nova - it's built like a tank. There was a fairly deep crease in the huge, chrome, rear bumper but the damage was minimal at best. The same cannot be said for the BMW Hybrid pulling over behind me. The entire front end was smashed, and the headlights were shattered. I'm sure it was mostly cosmetic, but the cost of BMW cosmetics is high.

The driver-side door opened and a flashy-looking dude in an expensive suit stepped out. He folded his arms and whistled while he surveyed the front of his car. I walked towards him, preparing myself for an argument regarding fault and insurance coverage. In my experience, most rich people like to hang onto their money and not pass any to people like me from the other side of town.

He looked over at me and to my surprise said, "You OK, kid?"

"Yes, sir. You?" I answered.

"Oh, I'm fine." He shook his head, slowly. "But the Beemer here is going to need a little work. Looks like your ride handled the contact pretty well."

"Yeah. It's pretty tough. Let me get my insurance card for you."

"Hang on a minute. We don't need to bother with all that." He pulled a roll of cash out of his pocket and peeled off five, crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. "Will this take care of you?"

"Absolutely!" I took the money from him, folded it and stuffed it quickly into the front pocket of my jeans before he could change his mind. "Thank you! Now I can get my mom something nice for Christmas!"

"That's great, kid. Hope you have a terrific holiday."

"Thanks. You too. Do you need any help with this?" I gestured towards the front of his car.

"Nah. My car guy isn't far from here. I think I can get there OK." He squatted down and pulled a loose strip of molding off the fender. "He's not going to be happy with me."

"Sorry about that. Hope it gets fixed up quick." I turned to walk back to my car. My back stiffened up a bit while we were standing there talking and I gave it a little twist and rubbed my neck.

"Hey, kid!" he called after me. "You sure you're OK?"

"Yeah. Just a little stiff. I'll be OK."

He stood up and reached into his suit pocket. "Come here a second." He pulled out a business card and a pen. After writing on the card, he offered it to me. "I've got a lady that can help you out. My treat. Just give her a call tomorrow afternoon and she'll take care of you."

"I will. Thanks!" I took the card and put it in my pocket with the cash. He kept his hand out, so I shook it firmly. "Have a good day!"

"You too, kid. See you around."

I made my way back to the Nova and got in. I fished the business card out of my pocket. Jameson Crusoe. Money Management - Investment Strategies - Wealth Building. On the back, he had written "Misty" and a phone number. I'd never had a professional message before, but I was willing to bet a guy like that insisted on quality. I was definitely going to give Misty a call tomorrow.

My buddies were quite surprised when I sprang for the burgers and beer. They were amazed at my good fortune when I told them about how I got the five bills. I did not tell them about the business card.

The next afternoon I dialed Misty on my cell phone. I was a little surprised when I got a generic "leave a name and number" message. I figured a reputable business would at least have an answering service. But I followed the instructions and left my name and number. I also mentioned that I was referred by Mr. Jameson Crusoe.

About an hour later my phone rang - it was Misty's number.

"Hello?"

"Hi. Is this Steven?" She had a Southern accent that was as thick and sweet as molasses. "This is Misty."

"Yes, ma'am. Thanks for calling me back. Mr. Crusoe told me to contact you."

"Are you OK, darlin'? Did he really hit you with his car?"

"I'm fine. He just rear-ended me." I heard her giggle. I'm not sure why.

"Well, I'm glad you're OK, darlin'. Are you available at eight o'clock tomorrow?"

"AM or PM?"

"Why, PM, of course. Aren't you just the cutest thing."

"Either time would work for me. I'm on vacation."

She gave me the address and added, "Please wash up and dress nice, honey. Ya'll are getting the Christmas Package."

I thought that was a little strange. I could understand her not wanting dirty clients but what difference did it make how I was dressed? But I answered, "Yes, ma'am. I look forward to meeting you."

"You're so sweet. I'll see you tomorrow, honey. Bye."

Wow. That might have been the nicest person I'd ever talked to. I could not wait to meet Misty in person.

The next 24 hours crawled by. My neck wasn't sore anymore but I was really excited to see Misty. I did a little shopping, picking up something nice for my mom. Ironed my khaki dress pants and a long-sleeve shirt, pulled on a sport coat and headed out. Mom was still at work, so I didn't have to explain why I was leaving in my Sunday best. I left her a note that said I was meeting a friend and would see her later.

The address Misty gave me was way out on the north side of town. Lots of fancy houses and upscale restaurants in the area. I had plenty of time, so I took the scenic route, driving around areas of town that I hadn't seen in years. I'm one of those people that would rather be an hour early than five minutes late, so I pulled up in front of the correct address at 7:40.

It was an older house, single story, with a large, elevated porch complete with swing. Though the style was older it was kept very well. Grey-blue siding, white trim, simple but immaculate landscaping. A cobblestone path led from the sidewalk to the porch steps, edged in flowers. There was a warm glow coming from the windows and the porch light.

I was prepared to wait until eight o'clock, but my phone hummed and displayed Misty's number.

"Hello?"

"You can come on up, sugar. I'm here."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll be right there." I got out of the car and walked up the path. For some reason, my heart was pounding like I was going on a blind date. I guess I was.

When I reached the porch steps, I heard the front door open and then the screen swung out with a squeak. What I saw next made me stop dead in my tracks. I stood there like a lamppost. I don't even what to think about how stupid I must have looked.

Misty stood in the doorway. I'm quite certain she was the prettiest woman I had ever seen in real life.

She had soft, light-brown hair that flowed down past her shoulders. Her beautiful face was made up in subtle shades, light eye shadow and soft colors. Her full lips were painted in a muted pink. She wasn't very tall - maybe five foot six - but she was very curvy. She wore a tight, red dress that accentuated her figure, with fitted sleeves down past her elbows and a high neckline. Though there was no visible cleavage her dress did nothing to hide her ample breasts. The material looked like it was vacuum formed around them. Her dress ended a few inches below the knee, smooth and snug to her hips over nude-colored hose and red, strapped, heeled sandals.

"You gonna come in, darlin'?" she said sweetly, in her thick, southern accent. She turned her head slightly, twisted her upper body a bit the opposite way and put one foot in front of the other, pointing her toe. Her smile caused every pint of blood in my body to rush to my lower extremities. Somehow, I managed to climb the steps without passing out.

"Sorry. I'm Steven."

"Nice to meet you, Steven. I'm Misty." She held her small hand out to me, and I took it gently in mine. It was warm and soft. "Won't you come in?"

"Thank you, ma'am." Her smile widened even more, and her hazel eyes sparkled.

"It's so nice to meet a gentleman." She pulled me gently by the hand and we stepped into her house. She came closer, got up on her toes and kissed me softly on the cheek. Her face was only inches from mine and I could smell her soft perfume and feel the heat from her body. She had a very cute sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her little nose. "There are so few left anymore. Can I take your coat, sweetie?"

I sloughed off my coat and she hung it on a hat tree by the door. Then she turned to lead me into the living room, and I almost passed out again. Her red dress was completely backless. She was bare from her neck to the dimples of her lower back. I could detect just the start of the split of her perfect, heart-shaped ass as she walked like a runway model into the living room.

"Make yourself comfortable, sugar. I'll pour us some champagne. You are twenty-one, I reckon."

"Yes, ma'am. Turned twenty-one over eight months ago." That made me consider Misty's age. I was never very good at estimating a woman's age, but this was no girl. She had at least fifteen years on me, maybe a couple more. The way she carried herself with grace and confidence was mesmerizing.

"That's good. I'd hate to think I was contributing to the delinquency of a minor." She gave me a sly, little smile and raised an eyebrow.

She stepped behind the bar that separated the living room from the small kitchen, and I sat down on the couch, taking in the room, which was dressed impressively in the mid-century modern style. From the Tiffany lamps to the shag carpet. From the ferns to the colorful art prints. There was even an old console television in the corner that had been converted into a terrarium. On top of it all was a layer of old-fashioned Christmas decorations. Smiling Santa figures. Reindeer and elves. A small, white Christmas tree covered in tinsel and red lights sat on a skinny, wooden end table in the corner, brightly wrapped boxes under its white branches. Next to the tree was a bowling pin painted like Santa Clause with a cotton-ball beard and a floppy, felt hat. There was a collection of wood tiki mugs carved like shepherds, wise men and the holy family on the mantle over a small, gas log fire in the fireplace. It felt like I had stepped into an issue of Better Homes and Gardens from 1972.

There was a vintage stereo set on a bookshelf, surrounded by various tchotchkes and knick-knacks. It had an old-school iPod plugged into the AUX jack and was playing classic Christmas music.

"I love your place," I said to Misty as she poured champagne into very thin, fluted glasses. "It's so warm and homey."

"Well, thank you, punkin!" she said, walking towards me with the drinks. "You just made my day!"

I stood as Misty handed me a glass of champagne, gazed deeply into my eyes and softly said, "Here's to new friends." She clinked her glass gently with mine and we both took a sip. This wasn't my first champagne - I had some at my sister's wedding a few years ago (don't tell my mom...) but I didn't care for it much then. This was really good, though. Not too sweet. Tart. Very tasty.

Suddenly she turned away and said, "Oh! I love this song!" She glided over to the hi-fi and turned up the music. It was Ray Charles singing, "Santa Clause is Coming to Town". Very big band jazz. She came back to me, took the drink from my hand and placed them both on end-table coasters.

"Dance with me, stud!" She gave me a cute little wiggle and raised her arms up.

I was no Fred Astaire, but my mom had taught me how to dance so I placed my right hand softly on her waist and held my left hand out, palm up, for her to hold.

Misty giggled sweetly. "Not like that, sugar."

She wrapped her arms around my neck and pressed her body against mine. She guided both my hands to the small of her bare back and started to writhe, slowly and sensually, against me. She looked up into my face and smiled as her firm breasts pressed against my chest and her hips and thighs undulated against mine. Her pubic bone rubbed hard against my stiffening cock and her fingers caressed the back of my head.

I had danced with a lot of girls before. I had even slow danced with several, getting a hard-on while holding them close and swaying to the music. But this wasn't dancing. This was full-on sex in clothes.

Misty gently pulled my head down until our lips met and we kissed, soft and sweet. Her mouth opened slightly, and her wet tongue found mine. Her breath was hot, and she tasted like the champagne but was even more intoxicating.

When the long, languid kiss broke she turned around slowly and started to press her fantastic ass into my crotch. She raised her arms again, laced her fingers around the back of my head and continued to undulate against me. By this time my cock was hard as glass. I was sure I would shoot a load into my pants any minute.

The music cycled to Dean Martin crooning "Baby, It's Cold Outside". The irony was not lost on me as my hands moved up her body and found her large, firm breasts. Her nipples were jutting out and I pinched and messaged them gently while Misty moaned deep and low. I pressed my hard cock into her fine backside, and she dropped her hands to my ass, pulling me firmly into her, our bodies moving together like one. She turned her upper body and grabbed my head, a bit more forcefully this time, and her tongue invaded my mouth. We both opened wide and drank love and wetness from each other. I completely lost myself in the intimate contact.

Misty spun me around and hugged me hard, grinding against my butt. She reached around and unbuttoned my shirt, pulling it from my pants. Her fingers deftly unbuckled my belt, unsnapped my pants and pulled down the zipper. When her warm hand reached into my briefs and gently grasped my throbbing dick I lost my breath. She started to slowly stroke me, spreading the sticky cum that had been leaking out since the moment I saw her on the porch.

This was not the sort of massage I was expecting when I arrived, but I was totally down for it.

Unfortunately, the sexual stimulation was just too much for me and after only a few strokes my cock spasmed and ejected a huge load of hot jism into her hand and my underpants. I came and came, my knees wobbling weakly. Misty held me tightly with her other arm and continued to caress my cock all the way through my sudden and massive orgasm.

When she pulled her hand from my sopping pants I croaked, "I'm sorry."

"Oh, honey," she said, smiling up at me sweetly. "Don't ever apologize for your love." She gave me a soft kiss on the corner of my mouth and stepped over to retrieve some tissues from a crochet-covered box on the end table.

I started to fasten up my pants, cringing at the feeling of spunk running down my leg when the front door burst open, and a stunningly gorgeous woman rushed into the room. She was tall, at least as tall as me. She had long, straight hair the color of summer wheat, held in a ponytail by a blue scrunchie. She was wearing a grey sweatshirt and light blue yoga pants. She had a gym bag over her shoulder.

"Shit! Am I late?"

"Not at all, sweetheart," Misty answered with a smile. "We just got started a mite early, is all. This handsome young man is Steven. Steven, this is Jacqueline."

"Hello," I replied, my voice cracking like a teenager.

"Charmed," Jacqueline returned. She looked over to Misty and said, "I need a shower. I smell like a fuckin' goat."

Misty laughed and shook her head gently. "Be a dear and help Steven get cleaned up. I'm afraid we've made a bit of a mess. I'll whip us up a snack."

"Fine," Jacqueline said with a huff. "Come on, Stevie."

"Be nice, Jackie," Misty called after us. "He's our Christmas Package!"

"I'll pin a bow to my ass," Jacqueline replied. I heard Misty laugh out loud behind me. What in the world have I gotten myself into?

I followed the tall blonde down the hall, and she led me into the largest bathroom I'd ever seen. It was almost as big as the living room. Black and white checkered tile on the floor. A huge garden tub in one corner that looked big enough for four. The other corner featured a large, glass shower with two different showerheads and a built-in bench seat. There was a white vanity featuring a massive mirror surrounded by bright light bulbs and a tall chest of drawers, its top covered by make-up kits, hairbrushes and combs, bottles of lotions and hand mirrors. There were two other doors, one was probably a closet and the other must have been the commode.

"Put your nasties in the hamper there and help yourself to the shower." She indicated a tall, wicker basket next to the chest.

I did as she said. I got the feeling that this woman was not messing around. I kicked off my Dockers and pulled off my clothes, tossing them into the hamper. I think there was spunk in one of my socks. I covered myself modestly, but she wasn't paying any attention to me as I stepped around the glass wall into the shower. It took a beat for me to figure out the controls but soon the water got hot, and the glass was covered with steam. I found a bottle of body wash and began lathering up.

Hearing the other shower faucet flow I turned quickly, almost slipping on the tile. There was Jacqueline - naked, her head back running the water over her long, blond hair, looking like every adolescent fantasy I ever had. She was lean and toned, her abs like carved marble. Her ass was slim and shapely, her legs long, white and smooth. Her breasts were small and perky, her pink nipples poked straight out like pencil erasers.

Without facing me she said, "You like what you see?"

"Yes, ma'am," I answered with my heart in my throat.

She turned to me suddenly and scowled. "Look. Knock off that "ma'am" shit. That may go over with Miss Priss, but it doesn't fly with me." She took a menacing step towards me. "You can call me Jacqueline or Jackie. I also answer to Hot Ass and Fuck Toy. But don't call me "ma'am" again if you value your testicles."

Her face softened a bit, and she turned back to the shower stream. "Now, be a good boy and scrub me down."

I did not reply. I was scared to death of what I might say. I had been taught from an early age to call every female I met "ma'am". It was going to be a hard habit to break. I filled my hand with body wash and started to rub Jacqueline's back, marveling at the hard muscles underneath her tight, smooth skin. I rubbed more silky soap on her ass, tentatively, not sure how she would take it, but she grabbed my wrist and pressed my hand into her crack. She spread her feet and pushed her butt out to me.