A Man Named Christmas

Thanks to shygirlwhore for editing.

*****

Chapter One

Mom and I have been through a lot together since the divorce three years ago. Dad has his new woman and Mom, well she has me. It all started one day my senior year. I had just finished football practice and was coming out of the showers.

"Did you see that hot MILF in the skirt? Man, what I wouldn't give to tap that... anyone know who she is?" Tommy Lee laughed.

"Don't bother Tommy, she's a whore. Just give her $20 and she'll do whatever you want. No names needed," Billy, my former best friend, chuckled.

I clenched and unclenched my fist. You know what'll happen if you get in another fight this year. I told myself.

"How would you know Billy?" Tommy asked with a laugh.

"Saw her down on Maple St. two nights ago, traded a ten spot for a hand job," Billy grinned.

The next thing I knew he was sprawled on the locker room floor. My hand stung, my knuckles were bloody, and I was being dragged off his chest still swinging. It took the entire team to pull me off.

"That's it Sloan, I am done with you! Get your ass to the vice principal's office! You're off the team, permanently!" Coach Smith yelled and shoved me up the concrete stairs.

My fifth fight in six weeks, a record for Iowa Park High. And those are only the ones they knew about. Seems like I can't go a single day without some jack ass pissing me off. To be honest, my fuse has been a bit shorter than normal lately. That started the very first day of school, when my girlfriend suddenly decided I wasn't good enough for her anymore and turned to my so called best friend.

"Thanks for coming, but I have to go talk to Mr. Davis." I lifted my bloody knuckles to my mom waiting outside the gym.

Elizabeth Sloan, also known as Mom, is a good looking 38 year old, like a younger Monica Bellucci, 5'7 with long brown hair and chocolate brown eyes, about 140 lbs with plump 34C breasts and wears a size 4. She's not a movie star but a MILF according to every guy in the locker room. Today she was wearing a short skirt and thigh high stockings with 4 inch heels and a white frilly blouse showing more boob than it covered.

"Oh baby, what am I going to do with you?" She crooned and ran her fingers through my mangy hair.

I just shrugged.

"Well come on, let's get this over with." She sighed and stumbled in front of me. I heard the crack and quickly caught her, my arm slipping around her waist to pull her against me.

"I hate wearing heels." she groaned and lifted her foot to remove the broken shoe.

"It isn't the shoes mom, you're drunk." I sighed and waited as she removed the second shoe.

Not chancing another fall, I kept my arm around her as we walked.

"How was the job interview?" I asked as we headed towards the main school building.

"They said 'We'll call you' so I don't think I got it." She sighed.

Considering her current condition, I wasn't surprised. It's been six months since the school board decided they needed new football equipment more than the students needed an art teacher. She spent most of the summer in a drunken stupor.

We entered the main building and paused a moment as Mom straightened her skirt and buttoned up her blouse. With a deep breath she took my hand in hers.

"I told you what would happen if I saw you in here again, Mr. Sloan," The vice principal looked at me as if expecting me to cower in a corner or break down begging for mercy.

That might have been me a few years ago, a lot has changed since then: such as him voting to shit can my mother so he can make a few extra bucks at the concession stands.

"And I told you what would happen if certain people keep opening their fat mouths," I returned the look.

"Christopher..." My eyes shot up at the name.

I have been going to this school for four years, and most of that time spent in the office. He should know my name by now, had he actually paid attention to the big fat file sitting right on his desk.

"Do... Not... Call... Me... Christopher! My Name Is Christmas!" I said slowly with emphasis on every word.

I had been born on Christmas Day, and lack of a better name Mom had told the nurse Christmas. I'm just glad she hadn't said Merry Christmas that might have been embarrassing.

"Chris, I have no choice but to suspend you for the rest of the semester. We will talk again after the semester break," He took a step back.

I was tempted to tell him not to bother, I could easily have a G.E.D. by then. Instead I turned, took mom's hand and walked out.

"What's gotten into you baby?"

What got into me? Well let's see mom, you're dressing like a twenty dollar whore, smelling like booze and cheap perfume, walking around your son's school in a mini skirt. My dad is fucking every woman in town. My girlfriend of 10 years suddenly decides I'm not good enough for her. And I just got kicked out of school. But I couldn't really say any of this to her.

"Everything!" I threw my hands up in the air.

"You want a smoke?" She fumbled around in her cleavage and dug out a Marlboro short.

"Yeah, I do," I reached over, plucked it from her hand and held it my mouth.

We climbed into the car, a 20 year old piece of junk called the Rust Bucket, and both reached for the lighter at the same time. We chuckle and she gives my hand a push, the knob slides in and three minutes later pops out again. I fought with the ignition. Finally getting the rust bucket started we roll both windows down and head towards home.

"I'll look for a job tomorrow, Mom," I took a puff, held it in and slowly blew it out. I thought maybe I could talk Mrs. Jacobs into letting me work for her again.

"Thank you baby, but you shouldn't have to." She took a deep drag from my cigarette and handed it back.

"You shouldn't have to do everything alone either," I took another puff and reached over to turn on the radio... sometimes it worked, and we had a cd player for when it didn't. Getting nothing but static, I reached under her seat and pulled out the player.

"If you want to help, the lawn needs mowed," She suggested puffing on the cigarette again.

"I'll get on it as soon as we get home, Mom," I promised, taking a deep drag.

"Are you ready to talk about the fight now?"

"Billy called you a whore, so I broke his jaw," I said with the cigarette in my mouth.

"You and Billy are just alike...Is this because of your dad?" She looked at me through the mirror.

"What do you think Mom?" I asked blowing smoke out the window.

"I think it's time you knew the truth." She finished off the cigarette and stubbed it out in the butt can.

"What's that? Dad is a dick and always was?"

We drove the last two blocks listening to AC/DC until we pulled into the drive. Our old family home had been sold during the divorce. Mom used her half to buy us a 2 bedroom, 1 bath, brown stucco just one block from the Junior High where she used to teach.

"You need in the bath? I want to scrub this makeup off before it bakes on," She asked as we parked in the drive.

"Yeah, give me a minute," I mumbled feeling the pinch in my groin telling me I would need to piss soon.

I closed the bathroom door behind me and stood over the throne as I unzip. Three minutes later I reach over and turn on the sink, still nothing happens. I groan and tell myself 'Piss already will ya'. Another three minutes pass and I give up. One thing I can't stand is having someone waiting for the bathroom while I'm in there. It would have been easier, had she just come in, and climbed into the shower. Grumbling I flushed the unused toilet, turned off the sink, and step out.

The fridge is basically empty: 1 beer, 6 eggs, some leftovers, a few slices of bacon, and half a jar of grape jelly. I grab the last Coors Light and pop the top. Funny, I remember having two full six packs in there before going to school. That first swig goes down smooth followed by a second. Soon I'm guzzling the entire bottle and tossing it in the garbage. Now I really needed to piss.

Checking the door I give a sigh of relief, it's unlocked. I walk in. Mom is in the shower, curtain closed. Why she bought a clear curtain with yellow ducks on it, I'll never figure out. I watched her a second as she stood under the spray, water rushing over her head and back. Steam had fogged the curtain but I could see her silhouette. Turning around I stand over the toilet and unzip again. "Ahhh." I moan as the blissful sound of relief fills the room. Mom chuckles behind me.

"Fridge is empty and we're out of beer," I shake and zip.

"There is $30 in the can," She stuck her head out to tell me.

"I'll just pick up some sodas instead," I didn't want to spend all we had, besides she would only drink most of the beer anyway.

"Okay honey, can you get me some of those little mini pizzas? The bite size ones," She ducked back behind the curtain.

I pulled down the coffee can above the fridge. I had worked all summer, $50 a day, to fill the can. Looking in it now I saw three bills and a handful of change. Something had to give soon or we'll be on the street in a matter of weeks. If I could see this, surely Mom could see it too.

Taking twenty I grab the keys off the counter and head to the car. After fighting with the ignition for a few minutes the starter kicks on. I grab one of mom's longer butts from the can and stick it in my mouth as I wait on the lighter.

AC/DC morphs into Poison halfway to the store and Mom's favorite song fills the car. "Every Rose Has It's Thorn" I'm pretty sure that the song was playing in the delivery room the day I was born. If not then it should have been, because I am definitely Mom's thorn.

The little cow bell dinged as I stepped into the corner market and Mrs. Jacobs's looked up from her cash register. My ex was picking up diapers for one of her babysitting clients, and Tony Clark is waiting in line with a bag of toilet paper. It's your typical neighborhood convenience store where you can put gas in your car and pick up dinner all in one place. That is if you don't mind a limited selection of frozen and dried foods.

I grab mom's pizza bites from the freezer, plus an extra bag, and a hand full of chicken flavored Ramen. Grabbing a twelve pack of Dr. Pepper on my way to the checkout I stub my toe. "Owe," Abby giggles as she walks past me to the exit. I stare at her tight buns as she walked through the door and down the sidewalk.

Abigail Scott was the one girl I thought would stand by me through anything. At 5'6, a hundred ten pounds with short wavy sunshine blonde hair, peach colored skin, and long slender legs she could turn any man's head, and in two weeks she'll be 18.

"Are you ready, Christmas?" Mrs. Jacobs draws my attention to the empty counter. She chuckles as I give her a sheepish look.

Nichole Jacobs, 5'3 and 115 pounds at 46 years old with rich copper hair and hazel green eyes, she could easily pass for Julianne Moore in Hannibal and need very little makeup. Her husband travels more than he is home, so she bought the Corner Market convenience store to give herself something to do about six or seven years ago. In the summertime, when she's wearing one of her homemade dresses, sweat just pours off her skin and the thin material tends to cling in just the right places.

"Sorry I got distracted, stubbed my toe again," I murmured and set everything on the counter, "and can I get a pack of Marlboro Reds, 100s this time, please."

"Matches too?" She pulled a yellow booklet from under the counter, a big ad for J.B.C. Bail Bonds on it.

"Sure, might as well," I shrugged because they were free.

"That'll be $16.59," She told me and I handed her the $20 bill.

"You wouldn't need an extra hand would you? I got suspended again, for the rest of the year this time," I waited for my change.

I had worked for her over the previous three summers, and I knew she liked me, so I wasn't too worried. She seemed to think it over for a moment as she put my things into a bag.

"Six pm to closing, $50 a night, you can start tomorrow." She held out the bag to me.

"I'll see you tomorrow night then," I took the bag from her hand.

Back at home I put the pizza bites in the freezer, the Ramen in the cabinet, and the soda in the fridge. Then I pull off my shirt and step into the garage. Someday we'll manage to get all these boxes unpacked. I pull the cover off the push mower, not surprisingly it doesn't have gas. Luckily there's a can with just enough left in it for one run.

I choked and pull the ripcord. Damn this thing is loud, I think to myself as burnt oil and smoke forms a cloud around me. The grass isn't that high, and it's already turning yellow. Winter is approaching rather quickly this year. It's just above my ankles as I push the mower through it. Keeping the sun at my back, I mow in long strips across the lawn. It isn't as fast as going in circles, but the last time I did that, I chipped the blade and broke a window.

Dogs bark, neighbors bitch about the noise, I ignore it all, my mind on other things. Ever since getting laid off from the school Mom has been different. It's like she's taking a long vacation from everything. She has few office skills since the base of her education was in art. I don't really see her finding a better job in this one horse town. I like it here though, it's home and has been since the day I first met Abby in the second grade. Moving would be like getting my right nut chopped off by a lawn mower.

"How many times are you going to mow that row, Chris? I don't think it can get any shorter," Mom laughed sitting on the porch steps in her robe.

"Damn, I'm not thinking right," I grumbled and move to the next row.

I wondered how long I had been distracted and how much she had heard. Just how much had I said out loud, and how much had been in my head? I really hate talking to myself.

I was all sweaty again by the time I reached the side of the house. This was only a small patch, about a 5x10 foot rectangle before I hit the gate to the backyard. Pushing the mower over the tiled sidewalk I skirted the pool. It wasn't a large pool and only about 7 feet deep on the deep end. We didn't have a diving board but we did have a rusty slide, nothing fancy.

Mom followed me to the back, took off her robe, and stretched out in a patio chair. I'm not really sure why she's watching me. It isn't like I've never mowed the lawn before, but I don't mind. At least I had something to look at while I worked. She looked even better in a bikini than Abby. She passed me half a cigarette and I took a few puffs, letting my eyes take in the view, before giving it back and moving on.

There wasn't all that much grass in the back. Just around the patio and a bit along the fence. Most of the yard was tiled because of the pool. Once I'd finished I turned off the mower and shimmied out of my jeans. It was October, so I expected the water to be cold when I dove in, surprisingly it was only cold at the bottom. I started to ask Mom to join me, but I could tell she wasn't in the mood for a swim.

I climbed out, grabbed my jeans, pulled another chair over beside hers, and plopped down. Without needing to ask, she hands me the glass of Dr. Pepper from between her legs and I take a deep pull from the straw.

"Do you feel any better now?" She asked when I handed the glass back.

"A little." I agreed.

"You know, you can always talk to me right? If it helps, you can just think of me as a friend, or even a stranger." She sipped and placed the soda back between her thighs.

"Oh, like you really want to hear about my life." I grumbled.

"I do, when it has you coming home with bloody knuckles." She raised her brow at me.

"Billy called you a whore Mom, my best friend." I said shaking my head.

"And Abby broke up with me just before school started, now she's going around the school telling people I have a small cock and that I sleep in Spiderman underwear." I grumbled.

Mom busted out laughing and slapped her thighs.

"Sorry... sorry. I didn't mean to laugh it's just that... when has Abby seen your cock?" She kept on laughing.

"That's my point Mom; you just assume I'm a virgin." I groaned.

"Well? Do you have a small cock?" She asked, her laughter finally dying down to a soft giggle.

"Mom!" I groaned.

"Just answer the question. Do you think your cock is small?" She seemed to get control of herself now.

"No, it isn't any smaller than any other guys," I shrugged.

"Then why does it bother you?" She turned her seat so she was facing me now.

"Because she told ALL of the cheerleaders. She might as well have cut it off; I'll never get a date now." I dug the new pack of smokes and matches from my jeans pocket.

"Baby, there are other women in town besides cheerleaders. And if they are so shallow they wouldn't date a short cock man, then who needs them anyway?" She plucked the cigarette right out of my mouth and puffed.

"My cock is not short!" I groaned.

"Then why does it bother you so much?" She giggled and handed me back my cigarette.

"Because she told the Cheerleader's, mom, now every girl in the school thinks I have a 3 inch dick. I couldn't get a date if I tried." I took a long hard drag before passing it over.

"Like I said, there are other WOMEN in this town. You're 18 now baby; you seem to keep forgetting that." She looked into my eyes as she puffed on my cigarette.

"Yeah, and they are all either married, old, gay, or related." I took my cigarette back and took a long drag.

"So? None of those things has ever kept you from looking before, why should it now?" She held out her hand and I took another puff before passing.

"Alright, name one woman who would want me?" I told her.

"Easy, I'll name three: Nichole Jacobs, Carol Scott, and Angela Pruitt." She grinned.

"Mrs. Jacobs is 47 and married, Carol is married to the Sheriff, and Angela is Billy's mom!" I squealed.

"So? You look down my shirt every chance you get." She giggled.

"Only because you walk around half naked all the time." I took away my cigarette.

"Because I like being looked at. Your father stopped looking a long time ago." She got this sad look then.

"Mom, you are the hottest woman in town. I mean that too, if you weren't my mom I'd..." I had to stop myself.

"You would what baby?" She asked raising her eyes to mine.

"I'd kiss you." I answered, not wanting to tell her what I was really about to say.

"Then why don't you? You used to kiss me all the time, when you were little." She teased.

"You're serious?" I asked.

"Are you?" She countered.

It was a challenge and she knew better than to challenge me. I stood, leaned over her reclined chair, our bodies almost touched as I held myself up by the chair's thin metal arms. I lowered my head, giving her plenty of time to stop me. Our eyes locked, our lips touched, mine pressed firmly against hers. She opened to me, her hands slid up my arms in a tender caress. I tasted her warm smoky breath, an inferno of need and passion in every caress of her tongue, and then it was over.

"I see your skills have improved." She licked her lips as I hovered over her.

"Why don't you go take a shower, and I'll put dinner in the microwave..." She suggested, her eyes drifting over my bare chest and the bulge in my tight compression shorts.

I kissed her again, just a quick peck this time, before going to do as she suggested. I should have locked the door, I realized a few minutes later. I was busy stroking myself and not paying attention to anything but the images in my head and the memory of that searing kiss until I heard the sound of mom peeing in the toilet. Too far gone to stop now I ignored the sound and hoped she couldn't see through the curtain. The toilet flushed, water got a bit warmer, mom moaned. Startled I pulled back the curtain just a little.