Free Kid Christmas Meets Snow Globes - Eric Arvin by Eric Arvin Page A

grumbling his grudges. Yes. Everything was going quite smoothly, like a well-lubricated oingy-boingy.
     
And then the unthinkable happened (again): Kid Christmas was Chris-napped!
     
The last he remembered he was on a midnight shag and stroll and had stopped to lick one of the large lollipop fence posts outside the SantyShanty. (In all his twenty-three years he had been chided for licking the fence posts, but 4
     
Kid Christmas Meets Snow Globes Eric Arvin
    now– woo hoo!) Then there was a sudden, sharp pain in the bum, and everything went dizzy, then dark. A poison peppermint dart had been shot into his muscular buttocks from afar. Later, in recollection, Kid Christmas had to admit that bending over to lick the lollipop fence post with his musculus bumulus high in the air was an easy red target, something very hard to miss.
    When he awoke he was on the floor of a crystal ice cave, stripped of his new threads, but wrapped warmly in a wooly throw. Unfettered by the cold surroundings (living in the Poles, one builds a tolerance), Kid Christmas threw off the throw. The reflection from the ice absorbed the absurd overabundance of muscle. He was excited by what he saw and could have stood there for a while in self-adoration, but first needed to investigate where exactly he was. As he felt along the walls, leering at his own rude reflection, there seemed to be no way out of the hall of ice. The room was solid, and the holders were too strong to break through. At least the company was pleasant. He made a mental note to have a hall of mirrors added to the Santy-Shanty.
A cool, crisp voice echoed from nowhere and ricocheted from wall to wall. “How do you like your new dwelling, Kid Christmas? I decorated it myself.”
    “Who is that?” the Kid demanded. “Where are my clothes? Show yourself!”
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Kid Christmas Meets Snow Globes Eric Arvin
    “You won’t be needing your shocking threads any longer,” the voice replied calmly. “I’m having them altered.” A slender male figure with cool ice skin stepped out from behind a wall. “I’m called Snow Globes.” The Kid understood why: Snow Globes’ balls were enormous. They had a mesmerizing sheen and hung like ornaments tattooed with perfect blue snowflakes. No wonder the suit had to be altered.
The icy eyes of the chiseled captor wandered down Kid Christmas’ physique and rested on the Jolly-man-in-waiting’s own delicate area. Kid Christmas covered up with some embarrassment and envy. “It’s cold!” he excused himself.
     
“Well, I suppose certain things are going to look out of proportion with everything around them being so very, very large.” Snow Globes chuckled. “Still, I imagine your backside more than makes up for it. Ho, ho, ho… right?” He winked.
    “I don’t say that anymore… Wait, what?” Poor Kid Christmas was flustered. His cheeks turned bright red.
“What am I doing here? Let me out of this place.”
    “Oh, one day I will let you out. Most definitely. My plan would be pointless otherwise. But you have to stay put for a little while, my strapping snow bunny.” Snow Globes walked forward. His balls chimed together in a sweet melody; the Kid couldn’t stop staring at them. The collection of reflections around them resembled something like an orgy; 6
    Kid Christmas Meets Snow Globes Eric Arvin
The Kid reminded himself again to get a hall of mirrors in the Santy-Shanty.
    “You see,” continued Snow Globes, “once your suit is altered – which shouldn’t take too long – I shall take on the role as the Claus. Only I won’t be the creepy sugar-fiend known to the world. No. My plan is to totally destroy the name that has been built up by your predecessors over the years. Grown men will fear the Night of the Claus, and soon they will want nothing to do with you. ‘Bring me the balls of Kid Christmas!’ they’ll shout. Oh, yes! There will soon be a bounty on your bountiful booty.”
    “But why? I don’t understand.” But why wait