A Very Merry Christmas Tale
I pulled the Kenworth into the driveway, drove it into its spot next to the house, and shut down the big Cat diesel. After checking everything out inside the cab, I grabbed my bag from the sleeper, opened the door, and stepped out into the chill Alaskan evening. I had just completed a three-day run to Kenai and back; I was tired and smelled of diesel, cigars, and stale coffee.
Out of reflex I locked the cab doors. This brought a chuckle to my reeling brain as I stepped down from the cab of the truck, “Who’s going to break into this thing way out here.” I thought to myself as I walked around the big rig to check out everything one more time.
Satisfied that everything was fine I plugged in the engine and transmission warmers, walked briskly to the steps and climbed up to the porch. I stopped there to take in the solitude of the rural scene. After days of constant noise and vibration the soft whisper of the breeze in the bare branches of the alder and birch trees brought a smile to my lips and peace to my heart.
As far as I could see in the chill December night there was nothing to disturb my tranquility and peace. The northern lights wove their trail across the clear night sky, forming a translucent curtain over the innumerable stars in the dark firmament.
I took a long deep breath, exhaled slowly, my breath forming a thick cloud of vapor in the frigid night air, and reached for the doorknob. It turned without much noise and I pushed the door open and stepped into the welcome warmth of my house.
Putting my bag down on the landing, I hung my coat on the coat rack before retrieving my bag and climbed the short flight of stairs to the living room. I turned at the top of the stairs and was in the process of walking to my bedroom when a voice came out of no where, “How was your trip?”
Startled out of my reverie I turned toward the couch and saw Christine sitting there wrapped up in an old afghan, with a drink in her hand. She raised her glass in salute and took a big swig.
The movement of her arms caused the afghan to shift slightly, exposing a sleek, bare shoulder. The afghan was a ratty old thing my ex-wife had crocheted many years ago that I used to cover the worn fabric on the back of the couch. It was more holes than yarn and through the gaps in the fabric I could see that she wasn’t wearing much under the blanket, just a light nightgown I surmised and little or nothing more.
I suppose that I gawked a bit longer than I realized because I saw a smile slowly grow on Christine’s lips and she repeated her words slowly as if talking to a child, “How was your trip?’ Then added, “Did you have some trouble? I figured that you’d be getting in earlier today.”
I shook my head to clear my mind and turned to walk to my room. “No trouble. Just the usual hurry up and wait.” I said as I walked away.
“That’s good.” She responded. “I was about to get worried.”
That statement confused my muddled brain a bit because we weren’t all that close. Christine was my roommate, Becky’s, daughter. She had been living in the home with us for a few months after being discharged from the Army.
She was a pleasant enough young woman but we were not really all that friendly. We just passed each other on our way in or out, exchanged a few words in passing and got on with our separate lives.
I’d known Chrissie and Becky for close to ten years and we had always gotten along well enough, but I was not exactly her favorite person in the whole world. She usually just put up with my behavioral whimsies with a shake of a disapproving head or a smirk of post adolescent superiority.
I stepped through the door to my room. “I didn’t know you cared.” I quipped as I put the bag down on the bed and began pulling dirty clothes from my bag and tossing them casually into the hamper.
“Yeah, well.” She began, “Truth is, I need you to fix my car. It broke down today and it’s sitting in the parking lot at work.” She finished.
“Figured it had to be something like that.” I said with a snort as I tossed the empty bag onto the floor of the closet and stepped out into the hall.
“Now don’t be so damn cynical John.” She countered as I strolled into the living room.
“Sorry, I’m just tired I think.” I apologized as I walked past her and into the kitchen.
“That’s ok.” She chuckled. “I figured as much.” Then she added, “There’s a pitcher of Margarita’s in the fridge if you’re thirsty.”
“Is the bear catholic? Does the pope shit in the woods?” I respond as I opened the fridge and pulled the almost full pitcher from its place on the shelf.
I grabbed a glass from the dish rack and filled it to the rim. I put the glass to my lips and took a good healthy pull. It sure tasted good and it sure was strong. “Tastes good.” I called over my shoulder.
“You don’t have to yell.” She replied from much closer than I expected.
I turned my head and saw her standing just a few feet away leaning on the doorframe to the kitchen. She still had the drink in her hand and the afghan wrapped tightly around her.
I turned around, leaned back bursa escort on the counter, and ran my tired eyes over her appreciatively. Christine, or Chrissie as I called her was definitely a lovely lady not beautiful but definitely easy on the eyes.
She stood around five foot nine with honey blonde hair. She had a firm muscular body with a nice tight stomach below a pair of exemplary boobs that appeared very firm. She was a bit of a loner but never seemed to lack for male companionship when she wanted the attention. She was selective with her companions I guess you could say. She might go weeks without dating and then go through a half dozen young swags in a week of debauchery when she had the urge. The horn rim glasses she normally wore may have made her look a little bookish, but I knew for a fact that she loved a good party and a good time.
“Cheers.” I said as I lifted my glass in a salute.
“Cheers.” She responded and we both lifted our drinks to our lips.
I drained half of my drink in one gulp then pulled the glass down to once more take in Chrissie’s scenery. She still had her glass to her lips and was in the process of draining her drink.
With her arm raised the afghan had fallen open exposing a pale blue nightgown that was nearly see through. Just like a barbed wire fence it protected the property but didn’t obstruct the view. From where I stood I could see a fair amount of delectable cleavage and the round expanse of the side of one breast that nearly pushed past the strap of her nightgown. The faint tantalizing outline of her aureole and the imprint of her nipples against the sheer blue fabric made me catch my breath and stare.
I could feel my breath quicken, my mind whirl, and my dick begin to harden. “Damn, I need to get laid more often!” I thought to myself before pulling my gaze away from her rather pleasant mammary. I raised the glass to my lips once more, drained its contents before turning around to pick up the pitcher and refill the glass once more.
I was just picking my glass up from the counter when Chrissie quipped, “What’s a girl gotta do to get a refill around here?”
I turned my head and saw Chrissie standing there with her glass extended toward me. She wiggled her empty glass to let me know that she was waiting for a refill.
“I don’t know, let me think on that a bit.” I replied slowly. I paused for a second as if contemplating the possibilities and then I retorted, “How about a little table dance for the master of the house?” I said this with a leering grin as I turned with the pitcher to refill her empty glass.
Her glass topped off she replied, “Thanks. But I don’t give table dances to dirty old men.” She laughed as she pulled the afghan back together and turned back toward the living room.
As she moved away she did a little wiggle and shimmied her ass in my direction. “You think that’ll do ya?” She asked as she walked briskly back toward the couch.
“I guess it’ll have to do.” I said as I put down my drink and turned my attention to building myself a little snack.
I made myself a sandwich, grabbed some chips and sat down at the kitchen table to eat. The simple food tasted good after three days of coffee, cigars, and little else. When I finished the meal I pushed the plate away, got up to make myself a cup of instant coffee, then returned to the table. Sipping at the warm coffee my brain slipped into a contemplative phase and I began to consider the whys and wherefores of my recent life.
All in all things could be a lot worse right now. I was in good health, my house and land were all paid for and my truck was the only bill that I had.
I kept busy these days. In fact business had been a bit too good and had kept me on the road so much that I had virtually no personal life at all. Sure there was the occasional one nighter or drunken tryst with a hooker. But, those were even becoming rare. Not many women wanted a relationship predicated on sex in the sleeper of a semi in some unlit rest area. And I was getting too old to take any risks with getting some disease from some old scraggly whore.
My wife had left me on Christmas a couple of years ago and I’d never bothered to get a replacement. I had returned from a run to Seattle to find the house empty, my bank account stripped and a note saying that she was on her way to L. A. to live with her sister. The note went on a bit over two pages but the gist of it was that she was tired of never having a man around when she needed one. I guess the life of the wife of a long haul trucker was not an easy one.
Shortly after Linda, my wife, walked out Becky had moved in. Becky and I had been on again off again lovers for many years. Life on the road is at its best lonely and you learn to get love where you can, even if it’s not at home.
At first Becky and I were red-hot lovers and shared many mad nights of unrestrained lust. But the passion soon waned and now we were just friends, fuck friends she called us because we occasionally, when our schedules allowed and our needs dictated, shared each other’s beds.
Becky worked bursa escort bayan part time as a waitress in the local roadhouse but most of the time she was a pilot car driver for a local trucking company. She was gone from home almost as much as I was so our paths seldom crossed these days. But, when we were home together, the bedsprings generally got a good work out.
Chrissie was Becky’s only kid. I had known her since she was in junior high, so she was almost like a daughter or niece to me. She grew up wild and had been hell on wheels as an adolescent but the Army had straightened her out.
Chrissie had done a stint in the service right after high school. She had just gotten out maybe five months ago, and had moved back home to Alaska.
She had moved in with us until she could put together a grubstake. She worked as an office temp when the work came up and as a waitress and bartender in one of the local watering holes when she needed to. She was looking for a place of her own in town, but hadn’t found anything yet.
I didn’t mind Chrissie being around, hell, I barely saw her most of the time. She worked long, hard hours and she didn’t get in my way much when she was around. She was more than welcome to remain here but she seemed pretty keen about living on her own; the living arrangements here were a bit strained sometimes for her I guess.
Chrissie had slept on the couch for a while after she had moved in, but it didn’t take long for me to realize that we all needed a bit more privacy and I had converted a portion of the basement to a bedroom for her. This arrangement gave her privacy for when she entertained the men in her life. Over the first few weeks I had been surprised way too many times in the middle of the night when I stepped out to get a snack from the kitchen and found her in a compromising position with a local stud on the floor of the living room.
I recalled one night in particular. I had stumbled out of my bedroom to get myself a drink and had taken maybe three steps into the living room when I became aware of impassioned grunts coming from the other side of the room. I stopped stock-still and looked in the direction of the grunting.
With the faint light from the full moon cascading through the picture window I could readily make out the forms of two figures locked in throes sexual intimacy. It was fairly obvious that one of the forms was Chrissie and I had no idea who the other figure was, but whoever it was, definitely was having a good time doing Chrissie doggy style.
They were turned at an angle to me so they had no idea that I was there. All I could see was the bare buttocks of the man thrusting again and again toward the hind end of Chrissie and the bounce of Chrissie’s full breasts as each thrust slapped home in her.
I watched for a minute or two, enthralled by the scene before me. I was a bit drunk and I even thought about asking if I could join in the fun. But I didn’t, instead I just walked to the kitchen, grabbed my bottle of tequila off the counter and quietly retraced my steps to the bedroom to resume my nocturnal activity with Becky.
To my knowledge Chrissie had any inkling that I had witnessed her carnal activities that night. But, sometimes my fantasy that she had actually known that I stood there watching her as she got a good fucking and had continued the show just for me, made my masturbation in the darkened sleeper of the truck much more satisfying.
“You going to be anti social or something?” Chrissie called from the living room.
“Nope.” I replied as I stood up from the table and picked up the empty plate. “Just day dreaming.” I finished as I sat the plate in the sink and picked up the half filled pitcher of margaritas from the counter.
I walked into the living room and gestured with the pitcher toward Chrissie. “”Ya need a refill?” I asked.
Chrissie simply raised her glass in response. I walked to her and topped off her drink before turning to my chair and sitting down. I refilled my own glass and leaned forward to place the now nearly empty pitcher on the coffee table.
“Where’s your Mom?” I asked as I leaned back in my over stuffed easy chair.
“She’s on a run up to the north slope, and then maybe down to Anchorage.” Chrissie replied as she pulled her glass from her lips. “She’ll be back in a four or five days.” She concluded softly.
“Sounds good.” I said, before continuing, “How come you’re home tonight. I thought that you were working Thursday nights at the Roadhouse.”
“Yeah I was. But it was so slow that they let me go home early.” She took a sip and continued, “Then my car wouldn’t start so I had to hitch a ride home with one of the cooks. End of story.”
I chuckled at that; she had picked that ‘end of story’ thing up sometime when she was in the Army. It was her way of ending the discussion of something distasteful or disturbing.
“Ok, I’ll take a look at it in the morning.” I responded as I lifted my glass to my lips.
We sat there in silence drinking our drinks. My eyes kept fluttering closed and try as I might to stay awake escort bursa I must have dozed off for a while because I was startled awake when I felt something brush lightly against my knee.
I opened my eyes suddenly and jerked awake. I looked up and directly into the eyes of a lovely young lady. “Sorry.” She said as she leaned over. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I just made a fresh pitcher and figured you might want a refill.”
Chrissies leg continued its contact with my knee. I could feel the gentle warmth of her body through my jeans. I felt my skin warm as faint desire coursed through my body. I shook my head to clear away the cobwebs. “How long have I been asleep?” I croaked in an attempt to take my mind off my undeniable desire for Chrissie.
“Not long, maybe an hour or so.” She replied as she filled my glass to the top.
“Damn, must be more tired than I thought.” I replied as I reached for my drink.
“Maybe you should go to bed.” She stated as she returned to the couch, put down the fresh pitcher on the coffee table, and snuggled back into her spot.
“Nope, too early.” I said before lifting my glass to my lips.
“Then I guess that I’ll have to entertain you. Don’t want you to doze off again.” She said as she folded her legs up underneath herself and pulled the afghan tight around her body.
“What do you have in mind?” I inquired lustily. “Ya gonna do a table dance or something?”
“I told ya before, no table dances here.” She declared. “You’re just going to have to settle for some sterling conversation.” She finished before launching into a brisk dialogue of her life and loves of the moment.
Chrissies voice faded into a drone in my head. She talked on and on, all the while drinking and gesturing. Occasionally her movements would cause the afghan to fall away and I would get a glimpse of cleavage as her breasts swayed with the motion of her arms.
Her skin was almost translucent and looked flawless to my tired and inebriated eyes. She was constantly repositioning the afghan up or pulling at the straps of her nightgown as it continually tried to slide off of her body.
I watched, enthralled, as small portions of her body were momentarily exposed to my view. At one point one entire side of her gown fell away and I got a clear view of her large brown aureole and very erect nipple. The friction of her skin against the fabric of her nightgown must have stimulated her because her nipple stood out like a long stiff eraser above the rosette of rosy brown skin of the aureole. She quickly and unselfconsciously pulled the strap back into place, but from that point on I couldn’t seem to tear my eyes away from the way that her nipples strained against the translucent fabric of her baby blue night gown.
I quickly was becoming extremely aroused as I watched her animated movements. I could sense my pulse rate rise and my breathing became ragged. The flesh of my little man became engorged and soon strained against the fabric of my jeans.
Once when Chrissie momentarily ceased her narrative, I tore my eyes from Chrissies heaving breasts, looked up and at her face and caught her gazing raptly at the bulge in my jeans.
For some bizarre reason I became self-conscious at her attention and quickly crossed my legs. I watched as a knowing smile crossed her face at my discomfiture. Still smiling she leaned forward on the couch and reached out toward the pitcher on the coffee table. She let the afghan fall away from her shoulders as she leaned over to lift the pitcher from the coffee table to pour her self another drink.
She seemed to lean over a bit more than need be as she reached for the pitcher of margaritas. With the afghan out of the way the only thing between my staring eyes and Chrissie’s alabaster skin was the translucent fabric of her light blue nightgown. The gown was a soft billowing garment that hung loosely on Chrissies body. As she leaned over her nightgown fell away from her body and I got a clear view of Chrissies very attractive breasts.
I sucked in a ragged breath as her tits came into view. Her nipples were indeed stimulated, they stood out long and hard and rosy from pale white iridescence of her skin. I must have stared holes in Chrissie’s soft flesh as she slowly refilled her glass.
She stopped her pouring when her glass was perhaps three fourths full and simply held the pitcher still. At that point I tore my gaze from her breasts and moved my attention to her face to discover that Chrissie was looking directly into my eyes.
I let out a soft gasp of embarrassment at being caught leering at her boobs. My soft gasp brought a broader smile to her lips and I felt a flush of embarrassment rise up and color my face. Chrissie simply smiled disarmingly at me and finished topping off her drink.
I yanked my eyes from her succulent flesh. For some reason I felt sullied for looking so lustily at Chrissie’s boobs. I was thirty years older than she was and I had known her for so long that I felt almost like she was family. The desire that now rose in my loins disturbed me on many levels, but most of all it embarrassed me because I didn’t think that I had a chance to get her into bed anyway. All in all I felt like some pathetic, drunken pervert lusting after a young girl with no chance of the lust being reciprocated.