Free Come for Me for Christmas by E. L. Devine Page B

rings as the call connects and she finally picks up on her
end.  I know she knows it's me, and I hear her answer with slightly baited
breath, no doubt wondering which way this is going to go. Being that it's only
been a few minutes since her last hang-up, I imagine she takes that as a sign
that I've been sitting here ignoring her calls.
    That gives me an
idea.  Why let the little bitch off that easily? Why give it all up entirely
right now?  Why not play this out a little longer, and let her squirm a little
more? I do so love it when she squirms….
    "Hello,"
she says, not too loudly. It's a statement; a greeting, not a query. It's warm
and inviting, but hesitant still. Clearly she's affirming her invitation and
waiting for my answer.
    "Hey."
I say, nonchalantly; neutrally. "I got your message. Sounds like you'd like
to see me again." I make it a statement, too. A fact. Not a question. Not
pleading. Not looking for her validation.
    She pauses,
sounding a little unsure of how to reply. "Yeah," she says,
"yeah, I really would."
    Well that's not
exactly insightful. I'll be goddamned if I'm about to beg her, though. I keep
right at the front of my mind the fact that she called me .
"What did you have in mind? You sounded a little….frustrated." I
smile to myself at the thought of leading her on, and also at the thought of
her being so hot and bothered that she needed to call up for a good dose of
Christmas cheer.
    A breath; a
pause; "You know," she says, "I guess I am feeling kind of
frustrated. 'Spirit of the Season' and all that…it has a way of tying you up in
knots….Especially when I think about the things we were doing this time last year…"
    She leaves the
thought hanging in the air. The memory of us both naked on the floor in front
of the fireplace at her place, where we all but lived together. My recollection
of cranking up the heat a while before to make sure it was good and warm in
there, practically a frigging sauna. The beauty of my plan working, her
stripping and glistening with just a sexy shimmer of sweat. The mental picture
of her arching her back, bare-ass naked from tip to toe, one leg outstretched
and the other bent, just the way the models do, hair falling down her back…and
the marathon of kinky sex on the plush living room rug off and on all night
long, ending only with the morning and a need to regenerate with a hearty
breakfast.
    Snapping to, I
realize what she's doing. I realize, too, that it is working. I snicker to
myself, thinking what a crafty little wench she can be. But that is just the
left-of-center behavior that has always made her such a good lover. And then I
remind myself once more that two can play this game.
    With a
deep-throated chuckle into the mouthpiece, I ask her, "So what does that
mean? That you want to see if we can relive those heady holidays?"
    "Well,"
she purrs, "if you're not otherwise engaged, or you don't have other
plans…."
    Not wanting to
let her think I'm desperate (and reminding myself that really I'm not), I tell
her, "I do have other plans." And then I pause and let her hang.
"But it's nothing I couldn't rearrange if I wanted." There. Let her
figure out what that means. I'm under no obligation to explain myself to her.
    "I just
thought," she starts, "that….you know….we're two consulting
adults…and we always had such a good time together…maybe you'd like to bring me
a little of my favorite Christmas Cheer. Maybe we could cheer each other for
Christmas." Then hesitatingly she adds, like an afterthought, but like one
that's hung around in the back of her head, "And then, if you want, we can
see where that takes us. But mostly, I'd just really like some of your style of
company…you know the kind I like."
    Yeah. I know
what you like. Cock. And lots of it. In so many different ways. I start to
smile as I renew my appreciation for that fact. Lonely little nymph; some
things never change. Thank God some things never change.
    Maintaining the
cool vaguery that