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  All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Shirley Burnett

  Advent Calendar © December 2010 Selena Kitt

  eXcessica publishing

  A Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved

  Advent Calendar

  By Selena Kitt

  CHAPTER ONE: Day 1

  I asked her what the hell had she left on my kitchen table, and she said it was an advent calendar. Listen, if I didn't have so much wood for this girl that I could personally re-populate the rain forest myself, I would have tossed it out with last night's pizza boxes, believe me. The fucking thing was huge! It covered the whole goddamned kitchen table, but bless her heart, she had cleared the way to leave it there, so now all our neglected Captain Crunch soggies and Mac'n Cheese greenies had made it into the sink, believe it or not. Tyler thought my mom had come to visit or something and cleaned up. Fat chance.

  "What in the hell is that thing?" he asked, putting a case in the fridge. It wasn't very festive, I'll admit, but that was Betsy's artistic style alright. Just a huge white piece of cardboard with twenty-five black doors that had numbers written in white letters on the front of them.

  "Gift from Betsy." I shrugged.

  "Jesus, you still got that one hangin' on?" He took a swig out of the milk carton, grimaced, glanced at the date and put it back in the fridge.

  "Have you seen her?" I raised my eyebrows.

  "Yeah." He snorted. "I've seen her—and her damned Tampax in the bathroom and her make-up and shit all over the counter. She might as well be our extra roommate, right? What are you gonna do—marry this chick?"

  "No." I bristled. I knew he was right. I didn't date girls like Betsy, and if I did, I didn't date them very long. I don't know why she had me so hooked, but she did, and I was wiggling like a damned worm and I knew it. She was a pusher—one of those girls that took over your space an inch at a time, and before you knew it, you were watching "Terms of Endearment" and going to meet her parents. To hell with that. I wasn't gonna do it. She was, admittedly, a very, very fine piece of ass, and we had some good times together, but that was as far as it went.

  "Well, get it the hell out of here, man, we got gaming tonight!" He reminded me. Shit. At least she'd already cleared the table. I lugged it to my room, propping it against the far wall. Christ, it was nearly as tall as the dresser!

  "You open one door every day until Christmas." She’d smiled that lopsided Betsy smile over her shoulder at me while she pulled on the panties I had thoroughly stuffed into her mouth not twenty minutes before to keep old man Waters upstairs from banging on the floor. They were still wet across the ass from her saliva. My cock jumped, even after the three hour and two spurt workout he'd just had.

  Advent calendar? Like I cared how many days 'til Christmas? "Advent is about rebirth," she told me. "Advent calendars are countdowns to a new beginning." Beginning of what, I wondered? It occurred to me that maybe she'd put something hot under there. I studied it more carefully. The doors were big enough—there could be a pair of panties or something folded behind each one. I smiled. Nowwww we're talking. Bad, bad, Betsy! I squatted in front of the enormous rectangle, lifting the lower corner of door number one to peer underneath, just to see if I could see anything, but I couldn't. I never was very good at impulse control. In that moment, I had a flash of memory—me trying to peek under the tiny little flaps on my mom's advent calendar when I was a kid. Funny how I always hoped it would be a picture of something really magical, but it was just a star or a snowman or some such shit. Not even space rangers or rockets or anything. Why the hell you'd have those on a Christmas calendar was beyond my seven-year-old comprehension, obviously, but angels and Christmas trees just weren't cool.

  "Fuck it." I grinned a little sheepishly. I could open it whenever I wanted. In fact, I could open every goddamned door today if I wanted, right? Besides, it was December first. The door was rectangular, like the calendar itself, and tabbed, you know, those slip tab A into slot B kind. I popped it open, noting that the white, scripted "1" was in Betsy's handwriting, with the same eerie sense of anticipation and subsequent disappointment I'd experienced as a kid—only this time it wasn't a candy cane or a snowflake, but just a creamy blank white space. Nothing. What the hell?

  I leaned in, squinting. Maybe it was like one of those "Magic Eye" or holographic things or something and you had to look at it from a different angle? But no matter which way I turned, I couldn't see anything, and there sure weren't any panties stuffed inside! The one thing I noticed was a slight lingering odor, and I could only smell that when I leaned in really close—something like oranges or cloves. Weird.

  "Funny, Betz." I grudgingly went to take a shower before my five hour shift. Building all the ride-on stuff at Toys R Us this time of year was brutal with every little kid moaning for a new bike for Christmas they couldn't ride until spring anyway. My soapy hand found its way to my stiffening cock. He had a damned mind of his own. No rest for the weary! The minute I saw Betsy's scrunchie thingie hanging over the hot water faucet and recalled her the day before yesterday, pulling it off her wrist to put her hair up and back and out of the way while I pounded her from behind, my cock instantly responded to the memory. Damn, but she had a fine ass. I could see it filling my hands as I grabbed her hips, the way the creamy flesh parted when I put my thumb—just so—to show me the winking pucker of her asshole. The thought of sliding into that brought my dick to full mast, and my hand moved more quickly.

  Jerking with soap was always tricky. You had to move fast, before the sting overcame the added sudsy pleasure. I put my foot up on the edge, leaned back and went to work. I wasn’t sure if coming was even possible after our marathon afternoon, but the sensation was too stubborn to ignore, or I was too stubborn to ignore it. I pictured Betsy's pussy, watching her spread open those baby-bald lips from behind with two fingers, urging me on, "Fuck, Jay! Don't tease me! Put it in!" I could never watch myself fuck her for more than a few minutes during sex or it would send me immediately over, but I watched it at my leisure now, the slippery, wet movement of my hand inferior but sufficient, mimicking the impossibly hot moisture of her incredible hole. Jesus, god, there’s nothing like it!

  I grunted, couldn't help it, my balls drawing up with that inevitable tingling tightening that meant I was close. I got myself an image to come to almost immediately: Betsy spreading her cheeks slightly for me, one finger reaching to gently stroke the dark crinkled mouth of her ass—she did it just to tease me. She wouldn't let me have it, but she knew just the suggestion would send me over, and it had, and it did. I gritted my teeth, hips bucking, cum baptizing the tub faucet and dripping toward the drain. I leaned against the tiles, panting, feeling suddenly weak and exhausted. I could use about a ten hour nap. Not much cum, I noted. She's sucking me dry
. I stood under the hot shower for a few more minutes before starting to suds up my hair. Maybe it was the shampoo, although I thought it was supposed to be coconut, because I could suddenly smell the powerful odor of oranges and cloves.

  CHAPTER TWO: Day 5

  "So, seriously, what's the joke?" I asked.

  She was hanging her head off the end of my bed, watching the tail end of A Charlie Brown Christmas Special upside down.

  "Don't you love the way they talk? Wah, wahhh wahhhhh. Isn't that totally how you used to hear grown-ups?" She lolled her head off the corner and put her bare feet up on the wall, crossing them at the ankles.

  "I still hear grown-ups that way," I snorted, pulling my t-shirt on. "Come on, Betz, give."

  "Oh, this wasn't enough for you?" She teased me, opening her thighs and pointing between them. Her pussy lips were still a little swollen and they glistened. I sat next to her, my hand inevitably drawn to the wetness, rubbing the moist and slightly sticky skin with my thumb. God, she’s intoxicating.

  "Everything isn't about sex, you know?" I tried to sound serious, although my fingers betrayed me and slid through her slit as my cock began to throb against my thigh.

  She laughed—god, I loved her laugh—it tinkled, like ice crystals forming in midair. Rolling off the bed, she grabbed for the remote and started to flip channels. "Do you have CNN? I have to see if they're broadcasting any other signs of the apocalypse."

  "Ha." I said. "Ha." She grinned up at me, sprawled naked on my floor, her hair like dark chocolate streams covering the generous swell of her breasts. "Well, if you're not gonna tell me what it's all about, I'm not opening any more of those stupid doors." I grabbed a new pair of briefs out of my top drawer, shoving the advent calendar aside to do it. It toppled toward the wall and balanced there, its first five black doors hanging askew showing five decidedly blank white spaces.

  Every morning I felt like a fool, opening a new door in the hopes that this time, something would appear. I had noticed a different odor each day—first the oranges and cloves, then cinnamon, then something I couldn't identify at all, then something that smelled faintly like pumpkin pie. I joked with her on the phone that she had invented the world's first "Scratch 'N Sniff" advent calendar. She just laughed. There was a different smell today, like those red and white pinwheel peppermint candies my grandmother used to keep in her pocket to keep us quiet in church, but it didn't linger long. I was getting really tired of whatever game Betsy was playing.

  "Nice ass," she commented softly. I didn't reply, tugging my jeans on. God, she pissed me off sometimes.

  "Is that all I am to you?" I tossed her jeans off my bed and into her lap. Her eyes were bright, dancing, as she looked up at me, incredulous. I stopped, my jaw as slack as hers. "What the fuck?" I said softly, out loud, rubbing my chin thoughtfully. What the hell am I saying? What the hell do I care?

  "I'm gonna go home." She started to get dressed. I couldn't see her face as she bent to slide her panties on. I felt bad all of a sudden and then I was pissed that I felt bad. This wasn't good at all. I watched her slide her jeans on, her back to me, her panties caught slightly in the crack of her ass. My cock jerked reactively, just seeing her bent over and sliding denim up her shapely thighs. I sat on my bed, uncertain.

  "You don't have to keep opening them if you don't want to." She kissed my cheek and smiled softly before opening my bedroom door. She must have been chewing gum because she smelled like peppermint.

  "There's no point!" I called after her. "It's not funny!" I heard her laugh and gritted my teeth. This wasn't gonna fly. I was done. I don't care how much she gets my dick hard, no girl is worth this kind of hassle and game-playing.

  CHAPTER THREE: Day 8

  My head came up fast, and I woke up to find Jay Leno and his butt-chin wagging on the screen. I looked at him, dazed, as if to ask, "Did you see that, man?" Betsy had been going down on me right under the table at a McDonalds, in an impossible dream-squat, topless in a short leather skirt pushed up to her waist, her legs spread wide and her ass so low her pussy was almost kissing the greasy, dirty floor. I knew it was greasy because when my Nikes dug in for purchase they simply slid out from under me like they were on rails. She was mewling, sucking me like a baby, and I'd looked across the room to see a little kid with ketchup in his hair sitting in a high chair, banging fries on his tray and laughing. It was surreal. I didn't know if I was aroused or disturbed, but apparently my dick had made up his mind and was throbbing against the mattress.

  "Dude, you gotta quit!" I tried to reason with him, putting my head back down on the pillow. It was wet from my drool, and I flipped it over.

  Call her. Feh! Call her, yeah, right, that's just what I wasn't going to do! Tyler and I had spent the whole day playing NFL on the X-Box, just like old times. I flipped off the TV and got up to take a leak. I had to coax my cock a little more towards soft before I could let go. All the damned beer we drank tonight. Budweiser in, Budweiser out. My head could feel it, too, a slight fuzz, good hours ago, unpleasant now.

  Call her. My cock twitched to life again as I found myself looking at a tube of Betsy's something-or-other sitting on the counter. I picked it up. "Cinnamon Swirl." Sniffed. Yeah, that’s the stuff. It actually stung a little on the tip of my cock before her saliva mixed it up enough to mellow it out. Kinda hot, that. I opened it, noting the glossy ginger color, remembering the shine on her lips, the contrasting pink of her tongue as she licked my shaft.

  "Damn." I adjusted, and insisted to no one in particular: "I am not making a midnight booty call to Betsy!"

  Back in my room, I glanced at the clock. Just after midnight. I was determined to crash and sleep until at least noon. I was about to flop out on the bed when I noticed the calendar. It was still against the wall where I'd tossed it yesterday and, at first, I didn't register what wrong—but then it hit me. The door to day eight was open.

  "Not fucking possible." I went and stood it up. Still nothing behind it. Just blank white space and, I thought, maybe, the faint odor of evergreen—but that could have been a carryover from the awful "pine smell" shit Tyler was spraying on the artificial tree he and his girlfriend had set up. I blinked. Several times. What the hell? We'd only smoked a little! Was I crazy, just being paranoid?

  "Tyler!" I didn’t like the alarm in my own voice. "Hey, Tyler!" I dragged the calendar after me down the hallway. Tyler's light was still on but his door was closed. I knocked. "Hey, man! Wake up! Lemme in!"

  He staggered the door open, and I could see a lump in his bed roll over. "Jay?" He was rubbing his eyes. "What the hell?"

  "Did you open day eight?" Suddenly I was sure that it was Betsy in his bed. I strained to see, and sure enough, there was a tousled length of dark hair on the pillow, the creamy skin of an arm. I was immediately seething.

  "Are you on something?" Tyler looked bewildered.

  "Is that Betsy?" I stepped past him and swung the door wide. Her head lifted off the pillow and she looked at me through half-closed eyes. Not Betsy. Oh, shit. For a moment I stood outside of myself and realized what this looked like— Tyler's crazy roommate standing in the doorway in his underwear with a raging hard-on, carrying a three-by-five advent calendar from hell and ranting about the door to day eight.

  "Dude, I think you're sleepwalking! You need to go back to bed." Tyler turned me around and propelled me back down the hallway.

  "Sorry," I apologized meekly. He closed my door, shaking his head.

  I put the calendar back next to my dresser and sat on the bed staring at it for a long time. I didn't know how long. Am I crazy? Had I opened it myself and forgotten? Was Tyler lying? Had Betsy been here? All of these possibilities seemed implausible. I didn't want to listen to the voice in my head. It was scaring the fuck out of me.

  It didn't open itself, did it?

  Did it? I didn't know and decided that I didn't care, but I was going to throw it out. First thing in the morning, the stupid calendar and Betsy's phone number, out with the rest of
the damned trash.

  CHAPTER FOUR: Day 9

  My life will be a cheeseburger paradise if I can just get Tyler to stop making that bimbo-blonde giggle. It was like nails on a chalkboard for me every time she flipped her hair over her shoulder and tittered. Her tits, however, were a great distraction. I'd missed two bullseyes just watching her dancing out there, sidling up to the other girls. Now, there’s a fantasy. One of those girls just happened to be Betsy, who I was definitely ignoring. She'd seen me and I'd been prepared to rebuff her, but she hadn't approached me. Which was fine with me. I hadn't called her and didn't intend to. If I could avoid a scene, it was even better.

  Watching the blonde and Betsy on the dance floor was something, though. My second bullseye had missed by inches because of the sight of their tits pressed close, their arms in the air as they writhed together and—holy fuck, were they kissing?! That's when I lost it. I had to stop just looking peripherally and turn my head a little more to be sure, and my premature release of the dart caught up with me. No bullseye—and another couple moved into my line of vision on the dance floor and I couldn't see them anymore either, damnit. The blonde came over after that and kept trying to drag me or Tyler out with her, but I was soundly kicking his ass at electronic darts, in spite of my misses, and I wasn't going anywhere until this game was over.

  "You're up," I said to Tyler, grabbing my Heineken just before the blonde put it to her lips. "Hey, hey! Cooties." I grinned at her, and she stuck her tongue out. Oh, what a sight—a pink, pointed tease.

  "Hey, if I remember right, you guys live around the corner, don't you?" Yeah, that’s subtle, sweetheart. Was it really going to be this easy? Not that it was ever really hard. All you had to do was lower your standards, which I'd carelessly done with this chick one very drunk night near the beginning of the term. The memory of my puking in our sink afterward overwhelmed whatever vague recollection I had of fucking her, but she hadn't let me alone since. Well, if she was in for seconds, why not? I just nodded, draining the rest of my beer. It was my turn. Ten more points and I had this game wrapped up. The trick was, it had to be ten.