Homesick for the Holidays

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It had been a long year.

My first album was a smashing success and the touring to support it started in January and here it was almost Christmas and it was just winding down. The nightly parties had become more necessary than I cared to admit, the high of performing needing to be tamped down by as many substances, some legal, some not as I could get a hold of.

As the end of the year approached I found myself getting nostalgic for times past. Of family holidays, of friends gathering to exchange cheer and gifts. Some nights I lay awake in that night’s hotel room, my spirit and body tired, and tried to recapture some of that joy to help me make it through to dawn.

During the tedious trip on the tour bus to the next gig, or between interviews or waiting for sound check I would close my eyes and imagine I was back in my childhood home, sometimes it was so real that I could almost smell my dad’s pipe and my mom’s plum pudding cooking in the kitchen.

I just wanted to get on a plane, go back to England and stuff all the rest of it but then the performing monkey in me would plaster on that smile and pretend I was so happy to meet yet another reporter, glad to sign another autograph, happy to pose with a fan for yet another picture.

I had prided myself that I was keeping this all under control but one day as we waited backstage for the gear to be loaded my drummer, Paul, took me aside. “I hate to pry, but you look like someone killed your puppy, boss. You wanna talk to Uncle Paul?”

I meant to say no, I was fine, really. I meant to walk away and keep him from getting too close but instead I broke down like a child at his kindness. He pulled me into the dressing room and shut the door. He gently led me to the sofa and sat down next to me. To his credit he didn’t say or do anything until I was sufficiently back in control of myself to stem the tears.

“That wasn’t quite the reaction I expected.” Paul handed me a beer and opened one for himself, “You OK now?”

I was feeling really embarrassed by my outburst. It went against my entire upbringing to show that side of myself to anyone. I was raised that men don’t cry, especially around other men. I downed the beer in a few gulps and stood up, “I’d better check on the set up. See you at sound check.”

Paul frowned and grabbed my arm, “Don’t just shut down on me like that.”

“I really have to go, thanks for the beer.” I checked myself out in the mirror over the vanity, used my sleeve to dry my face and made for the door.

Before I got to the exit Paul blocked my way. “I’m serious now. You are skirting the edge of a complete breakdown boss, you need to let someone in or you are going to be in one of those tie-in-the-back-jackets before the New Year.”

I was almost relieved to feel anger at his words, “And you’re an expert Paul? I am just having a bad day OK? Now please get out of my way.” With that I pushed him aside and tried to get past him.

His eyes flashed as he pulled himself up to his full height, and he lifted me off the ground by my shirtfront and set me up against the wall. He slid me up until I was looking into his eyes, my feet izmir escort daggling off the ground. “Listen little man, I am trying help out here.”

“Exactly how is this supposed to help me?” I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of this scene.

He made a funny half groan, half laugh and loosened his hold on my shirt. “You are an intensely frustrating person, boss. Half the time I don’t know whether to kick your ass or kiss you.”

Before I could enter my vote for which I’d prefer he leaned in and gave me a kiss left me breathless, then he set me down and walked out of the room. I leaned against the wall trying to get my heart to stop trying to run a marathon in my chest before collecting myself and joining the rest of the band on stage.

That night at yet another generic hotel room, after turning down the generous offer of company from a willing groupie, I recalled Paul’s kiss. He and I had hooked up once early on in the tour, in a rather sweaty three-some with my then girlfriend but that had been the end of it.

She moved on after believing all those tabloid stories regarding my supposed infidelities and I was pretty much on my own.

I closed my eyes bringing back the night she left me. I remembered asking her to be serious if I really slept with that many women, I reasoned, I’d never have time to sleep, eat or even play a gig! But she had all the proof she needed, some rag journalist’s story with some doctored photos and that was it.

By the time I had flipped past the 100th showing of “It’s a Wonderful Life” I knew sleep was not to be mine, so I threw on some clothes, lit a cigarette and turned off the TV.

“Merry fucking Christmas,” I whispered, and went down to the hotel’s bar.

The place looked pretty empty which suited me fine, I wasn’t there to be social; I just wanted to get so drunk that I could drive a nail into my arm and not feel it. I ordered a bottle of gin and took it to one of the dark booths in the back.

I was three quarters of the way to that point when I became aware I was no longer alone. Paul slid into the booth next to me. “Are you following me?” I managed to slur out.

“Yeah, I am, actually.” He held the bottle up to the light and then set it back down, “You drank all that yourself? You are going to be sick as a dog in the morning, boss.”

“You know what I hate more than you calling me boss?” I sneered.

“What’s that?”

“People who do not mind their own goddamn business!” With that I tossed the bottle at his head and tried to storm out of the bar. Problem was I had not taken into account the effect of all that booze on my balance. I went down like a sack of wet mud and whacked my head on the table for good measure, knocking myself out cold.

Some time later I woke up to with an ice pack on my head and Paul sitting next to me on a bed.

“OK that was not my finest moment” I laughed, and tried to sit up but my head was not ready for that and so I aborted the attempt halfway up.

“You are one big mess, boss. How can such a fucked up boy like you be so damn desirable? I had the hardest alsancak escort time not ripping off your clothes and taking advantage of you when you were passed out.”

“I’m glad you resisted.”

Then he leaned in and gave me a kiss that made me forget the pain in my head. He pulled back and gave me a cocky grin, “Are you?”

I surprised myself by saying, “Yes, I think it’s better when I’m awake.”

That seemed to be all the encouragement he needed, before you could say “Father Christmas” he was undressed and helping me on the way to be the same. I tried to help him but he playfully slapped my hands from my shirt buttons and so I let him continue unaided.

After he opened my shirt and nibbled his way down to my belt he undid that and slid my jeans down to mid-thigh. My breath caught in my throat as straddled my legs and bent to take me into his mouth. He was not gentle, at times scraping his teeth over my shaft but the pain felt right at this point and after a few minutes I came so hard I thought the top of my head was going to explode.

He finished stripping me then he lay down on the bed and gently rolled me onto my side, his erection pressed into the small of my back but he made no move to go any further. Instead he spooned himself against me holding me tight in his arms.

I was very keyed up and getting impatient for him to go on so finally I asked, “What are you waiting for?”

Paul sat up and I rolled over on my back to look at him. “Can I say something?”


“Before we go any further, I just wanted to get something off my chest.” He looked up at the ceiling, “I know you are more into women, but I have fallen in love with you. So that’s what I want to say; I love you.”

Oh god, this can’t be happening I thought. I sat up and gathered my clothes putting them on as quickly as I could.

“You don’t have to go.” Paul watched me with sad eyes.

“I think it’s best if I do.” I opened the door, “I’m sorry Paul. I really am.”

I took a shower once I reached my room and stretched out on the sofa. My mind refused to stop playing the hurt look on Paul’s face as I left him. That soon morphed into the pain on my ex girlfriend’s face as she told me goodbye. What is it with me? I wondered, how did I wind up making everyone, including myself, so miserable?

I dozed off and dreamt I was home. I could hear my sister singing “Silent Night”. I walked to the fireplace and stirred the fire, the smell of burning cedar mixed with pungent tobacco as my dad lit his pipe. Then my mother came into the room and started handing out glasses of eggnog. It was so real that I woke up with a smile on my face that quickly faded when I realised it was all a dream.

I heard a knock on my door and a quick peek through the security hole made me doubt my sanity. There, in full regalia, was Father Christmas himself. I stepped back from the door and shook my head trying to clear the sleep out of it. I looked again and the vision was still there. Alright, I thought, this is interesting.

I opened the door and let him in. “Hi Santa.”

“Hello buca escort young man, have you been a good boy?” he boomed at me. I tried to guess who was in the costume but the beard and the padding made that pretty tricky.


“Well Santa’s a very forgiving man.” He laughed, and put a cloth sack down at my feet. Then in a normal tone of voice that gave him away he said, “Open it.”

“Paul, what exactly are you doing?” I asked.

“Just play along, boss, OK?” then back in his Santa voice he said, “Go ahead young man, let’s see what I brought for you.”

I reached into the sack and pulled out a medium sized box. He didn’t say anything just gestured for me to open it. The box held a beautifully hand tooled leather guitar strap. The canvas one I had been using was showing as much wear and tear as I felt so this was a wonderful and timely gift.

“There’s more in there,” he said in a soft voice.

I pulled out a smaller box, and opened it, inside were some plectrums carved out of onyx and amethyst. I turned them in my hands a few times and felt them take on my heat to go from cold stone to warm almost living things. “I’m really sorry Paul, I didn’t get you anything.”

It was hard to read his expression due to the full white beard he was wearing, but he stood up and opened the red jacket up and pointed to the belt buckle. It took me a moment to see that was decorated with a sprig of mistletoe. “Do they have the tradition of kissing under this in England?”

“Oh definitely.” I laughed and knelt in front of him, undoing his fly and taking his cock into my mouth.

He placed his hands on my head lacing his fingers in my hair. He seemed to double in size as I moved my tongue over the head and tried to take him as deeply as I could into me. After a few moments he pulled out of my mouth and got down on the floor in front of me.

He pulled a piece of peppermint candy out of his pocket, unwrapped it and placed it in my mouth. Then he pulled me to him and his tongue joined it. The feeling of his tongue moving the candy in my mouth was both odd and strangely erotic. The click of it as it hit my teeth kept time with the beating of my heart.

Paul’s hands were just as active as his tongue as he loosened and pulled my jeans down and cupped me. Then he shifted to being behind me, pushed my shoulders down and with one thrust was fully inside me, I bit down on the candy to stop from screaming from the initial pain. Luckily I knew that the pleasure was coming next.

The faux fur from the Santa suit tickled a bit as Paul repeatedly thrust into me. He reached around and took my cock in his mittened fist and pumped me in time with his movements. My knees gave out when I came, so he rotated me so I was lying on my back legs spread wide. He glued his mouth to mine as he grew inside me and his thrusts became more erratic. Finally he stopped short and I felt his warmth flood me.

He pulled out and turned on his side, I spooned myself against him and pulled his arms tight to me.

“You were wrong when you said you didn’t get me anything,” Paul said, breaking the silence.


“You did give me something for Christmas.” He continued, and then he placed his hand on my chest, “You gave me your heart.”

I smiled, “Let’s keep it in its original packaging though, OK?”

“And to all a good night” he laughed and it was then that I realised, it was a Merry Christmas after all.

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