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A Good Thing
by Julia Talbot

Category: Erotica/Gay-Lesbian Erotica/Romance
Description: Dan hates to be known as the 'Christmas Fire Guy', but he is, thanks to the accident that ruined his holiday three years ago. He lets Chris know what he thinks of the time of year, too, when they meet on the street. Chris is full of holiday cheer, and determined to remind Dan how good it can be to celebrate. He's got the Santa hat, the hot chocolate, and the good will toward his fellow man. All Dan has to do is let Chris into his house, and his heart, to realize what a good thing Christmas can be.
eBook Publisher: Torquere Press/Single Shot, 2007 http://torquerepress.com/
eBookwise Release Date: December 2007

eBookeBook

57 Reader Ratings:
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Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [47 KB]
Words: 10013
Reading time: 28-40 min.


Once upon a time I was a real Christmas fan.

Oh, yeah. I decorated. I waited patiently for Santa. I believed. It wasn't just childish faith. It was adult zeal. Wreaths, strings of twinkly lights, a fresh cut tree every year. I would bellow Christmas carols like a bridge troll, all deep voice and enthusiasm, if not skill.

That was all before Christmas Eve, Two Thousand and Four. Or what I like to call Black Christmas.

It's going to sound impossible, like one of those "Urban Myth or True Tale?" TV shows. I swear it's the truth, though. I was waiting for my friend and pretty regular fuck-buddy Anthony to show up. Mulling cider, making those break and bake cookies, I was watching White Christmas. It was like, midnight, it was snowing, and it looked like paradise outside, all glowing lights on pristine white.

Ha.

That should have told me something.

About the time I pulled the cookies out of the oven, I heard the screech of brakes and the crash tinkle of a car hitting something. Hard. Sounded like it came from the tight-assed curve that ran out in front of my property. I had one of those little four acre lots on the creek, with the little stone fence that bordered the road...

Dropping the cookies on the stovetop, I grabbed my jacket and my phone, heading out to see if someone needed help.

The car was lodged in my rock wall, halfway through it, in fact, front wheels still spinning. Bile rose in my throat when I realized the car was a familiar red Mazda, the sporty, low-slung front all crushed up.

Anthony.


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