Advent Calendar (An Erotic / Erotica Paranormal Tale) Read online

  Exactly ten.

  I aimed carefully. The blonde watched me from a bar stool, swinging a black heel off her toe. The truth was she'd been after me for months, but since Betsy I hadn't had much interest in other girls. Now things were different. Damn, but her tits were incredible—a mountain of full, fleshy spillage over a too-tight black laced-up thing. I decided that if I made this shot, I was going to take her back to our apartment and fuck her until Mr. Waters upstairs had a coronary or called the police, whichever came first. It was the perfect way to celebrate watching that dumb ass calendar swallowed up by the garbage truck this morning. No more Betsy, no more games, back to business as usual.

  I let the dart go, and the board lit up in celebration. Ten. I win. I collected my prize, and wished the whole walk home that I'd listened to Tyler and taken the car, since I didn't even get the benefit of looking at her hard nipples in the cold with her jacket all zipped up and her arms crossed in front of her chest like that. They sprang free in the apartment, though—no pretenses or cold drinks, guess we'd had enough of those. She dropped her coat near the door and pressed herself against me right there. Her lips were as cold as mine, but inside her mouth was warm and her tiny tongue probed against my teeth. She squealed when my cold hands abandoned the laces on her top and just pushed it down, bra and all, spilling her breasts into them.

  God, she smells incredible! Whatever the hell perfume she was wearing was intoxicating, and I dipped my nose into the swell of her cleavage where it was stronger. "You smell great," I murmured against her neck. She giggled, and I winced. Note to self—don't make her giggle!

  "Pheromones…" The feel of her breath in my ear made my cock jump.

  "What?" I tilted my head to look at her.

  "Never heard of pheromones? Just chemicals we give off…love scents. It's like an aphrodisiac. Careful, you could fall in love with me," she teased.

  "You've got a love scent, alright," I agreed, kissing her, harder, digging for that tiny tongue again and finding it.

  She moaned against my mouth, responding to my thumbs rubbing over her hard nipples. They were pale pink and puffy. She had a true blonde's coloring, and I judged that Miss Clairol only gave her natural hues a shine, although I wouldn't know that for sure until I had her panties down. Her hand went for my crotch, but I grabbed her wrist, twisting her arm behind her and kissing her toward my room. Whether it was the beer or the cold, my dick wasn't responding quite fully yet, and nothing killed things quicker than a girl who thought you couldn't get it up for her. No matter what you said, they made it all about them.

  Her knees nearly buckled as I tongue-kissed her with both her hands behind her back, but she caught the shuffling backwards rhythm until I had her pressed against my bedroom door. I stopped there to enjoy the exposure of her breasts, the way her skirt was starting to ride up her thighs as she tried to press a knee up between my legs. Girls always forget about the testicles. I turned slightly, shifting so that my leg was pressed up towards the heat of her crotch, which is what she really wanted anyway, from the sound of her gasping as she rode it like one of the mechanical horses at the Toys R Us entrance, her skirt getting damper by the minute. Damn, this girl is hot!

  I turned the doorknob, making sure I had her by the small of the back so we wouldn't spill onto the floor. We stumbled anyway, all the way to the bed, the height of the mattress forcing her to sit. She fumbled at my belt buckle in the dimness, and I pressed her away, unbuckling and starting to slip my belt out the loops.

  "Mmmm, it smells good in here!"

  I cocked my head, my belt hanging. I did smell something. It was weird how you got used to your own smells, and you never noticed it until someone else said something. "Vanilla!" She identified it—yep, that’s it alright. I wondered if Tyler's girlfriend had decided to force him into cookie-making or something this afternoon. The blonde's hand was tugging on my belt again, and I let her slip it the rest of the way out while I unsnapped and unzipped.

  She leaned back on her elbows, watching me, her breasts flattening around the sides a little the way the larger ones do. She propped her stocking feet up on the bed—where the hell are her shoes?—and opened her thighs. In the light from the hallway, I could see the tops of her thigh-high stockings and, to my surprise, blonde fuzz. No panties in sight.

  "You are a very bad girl." I smiled.

  "They're in your jacket pocket," she purred, opening her thighs wider. "I took them off in the bathroom and thought, if you didn't take me home, at least I'd leave you a reminder." I realized I was still wearing my jacket. I reached in and felt dampness. Sure enough, there was a black pair of panties. I lifted them to my nose. She smelled incredible, strong, the way girls do when they still have pussy hair.

  I had a sudden memory of Betsy's black panties shoved into her mouth, and my cock twitched. Goddamnit, man, you've got a half naked woman in front of you. Isn't that enough? I tried again to reason with him. Apparently not, because it was Betsy's ass I was picturing when I turned the blonde over and pushed her skirt up. It was Betsy's bald pussy I was missing when I starting eating her from behind like that, spreading her lips wide so that all I had in my mouth was smooth flesh. And it was the memory of Betsy that made my cock so uncomfortably stiff in my jeans that I had to slide them off.

  She moaned and arched her back, spreading her lips for me herself now. I reached underneath her for those massive tits, swaying beneath her as she rocked, fastening my fingers onto her nipples and rolling them. She gasped and cried out, calling "Yes, ohhhhhhh I love that!" So I noticed. Her pussy was weeping with juice and saliva and the tops of her stockings were getting soaked with it. My tongue had been lapping long and strong enough now that I was getting that numb-jawed feeling, the one past the ache, where I knew however long she took to come, it didn't matter, because I'd been transformed into the Energizer bunny.

  Her breath came fast and harsh, and then she did something that surprised me—she called out my name as she came, "Ohhhh Jay, Jay, Jay!" My tongue not letting up on her clit, my nose in line with her pussy, her asshole eyelevel, I watched, fascinated, as that puckered hole contracted and released as she spasmed. She was still whispering my name as she sprawled out onto the bed, and I knelt, watching her quivering ebb. Fuck, I can't even remember her name! I think it starts with an "E." Eva? Eve? Erin?

  "Your turn." She reached back for me. I rolled onto my back and let her get to work. She peeled off her skirt, leaving the stockings, but tossing her shirt and bra. She knelt between my legs, and started off slow, kissing and licking and nibbling, which was all well and good, but at the moment I needed more stimulation than that. I grabbed her hair and pressed her down onto me. From the sound she made in her throat, that was ok with her. She took the hint, and I had to admit, she was very good. I hated it when girls confused handjobs with blowjobs, mixing the two. She was all mouth. Her hands on my thighs, steadying herself like Betsy always did, made me groan and thrust.

  "Deeper," I directed her, part of me just wanting to see if she would, and she did, until I was sure I could feel her tonsils. Ahhhh, so fucking willing! I pulled her hips around so I could finger her hole, sliding in first just one, then two, matching her eager rhythm. The wet squelching sounds of her made my cock swell to bursting, and I grabbed her head, slowing her.

  "Climb on," I told her. I didn't want to take her from behind because that was my favorite position with Betsy, and I was determined not to think about Betsy. Plus I wanted to watch those fabulous tits bounce as she rode me.

  "Ok." She straddled my hips, groping for me in the dark. I held it steady for her, waiting patiently while she got situated, poising herself directly over my cock and slowly beginning her descent. She was incredibly wet—all that tonguing made sure of that—and I think she really liked the blowjob action, too, because she felt even more slippery now somehow. There wasn't a lot of friction— she was like melted butter—but that was good. It would take me awhile to come and we could both enjoy a longer ride.


  But she was a rocker, moving forward and backward on me, which I hadn't expected and made me groan. I knew she was rubbing her clit against the base of my cock and that was all that was behind the action, but god! The sensation of being buried to the hilt in that heated little cavern and having the sensitive head of my dick being rubbed against the deepest part of her walls had me crazy with lust a lot faster than I ever expected.

  I had wanted to spend time watching her, playing with her heavy tits, fingering her hard pebbly nipples, but it wasn't in the cards. Her hips rolled and rolled, and I literally had to close my eyes to concentrate hard on not coming. Fuck, but that feels good! The minute she started making noises, I had to shift gears again, dig deeper, and resist. Then her fingers found my nipples, and my eyes flew open to see her leaning over me, her breasts swaying. Oh fuck! It was all over, then. Thank god, from the sound of her, she was close again, too. I grabbed her hips and thrust deep, grunting and pressing her up so hard she squealed, my cum filling the darkness.

  I admit, it was pleasurable. Coming is always pretty enjoyable, right? Kind of like pizza—even when it's bad, it's still pretty good. But when she rolled off me and started talking about Christmas shopping tomorrow with her girlfriends, something felt really wrong. At first, I just felt deflated. Hollow, empty. Then, I was restless, coming out of my own skin. And I could really smell that vanilla now. Where the hell is that coming from? When she got up to pee, I was grateful, switching on the light and assembling our clothes into two separate piles. I quickly pulled on my underwear and jeans, zipping as I heard the toilet flush. I wanted to be dressed to send her the right "time to go home" message.

  "Holy mother of god," I breathed, fairly appropriately, sinking onto the bed as she came into the room. There against the opposite wall was the advent calendar, looking no worse for the wear than it had before I chucked it into the trash this morning. No way. No motherfucking way! This isn't happening! I looked helplessly up at her, and she stood there, clueless. The sight of her standing in just a pair of black thigh highs in the doorway should have forced my cock to respond at least a little, but there was nothing, not even a twinge.

  "Well, I guess I'm going home." She'd obviously gotten the message I'd intended to send about a million years ago before the darkness had been flooded with light. We didn't speak as she dressed. I was too stunned. She was too pissed. I ignored her silent tears and just let her go out into the cold, probably back to the bar as it neared closing time, or who knew where. She was walking, wherever it was.

  That's when I realized that another door was open. Door number ten, showing creamy white underneath. Call her. Where in the hell was that idea coming from? It was the very last thing I ever intended to do again! I moaned, cradling my head in my hands. I’m crazy…or she’s crazy…or that fucking calendar is possessed! There was no logical explanation. I approached it carefully, searching out the perimeter. What was I looking for? Sharp edges? Blue flames? I snorted, but like a little kid with some scary book cover, I turned it around facing the wall and immediately felt better.

  I laid awake a long time, the light on, pondering what to do. Finally, exhaustedly slipping in and out of sleep, I decided to just leave the calendar where it was and ignore the damned thing. Just pretend it and Betsy never existed in the first place. Easier said than done, pal. Where the hell was this voice in my head I was constantly arguing with coming from? I rolled over, ignoring the ache in my crotch when the memory of Betsy's warm body pressed against mine right here in this bed cropped up. I'd proven pretty thoroughly tonight that I could still have meaningless sex with some nameless chick, right? Betsy was just another piece of ass, albeit a good one. There were plenty of those around who were less pushy, and less...the only word I could conjure was "dangerous."

  CHAPTER FIVE: Day 15

  I couldn't stand it anymore. I hadn't gone to work in two days. I even considered calling the university clinic, although what in the hell I'd tell them was beyond me. "The thing is, it's like this... my dick won't go soft!" came to mind— but did such a strange and embarrassing problem even have a remedy? I didn't know. It sure as hell had never happened to me before. And that wasn't even exactly the problem, was it?

  It would go soft—it just refused to stay soft, and when it was hard, it was so hard it hurt. I even wondered if that Eve or Erin or whatever her name was had slipped me some Viagra without me knowing it somehow, but that would have worn off. Nothing I did seemed to alleviate the ache for very long. I couldn't count how many times I'd tried. My sheets were literally getting stiff with cum, and I'd been rolling around, dazed and in so much pain, I didn't even care. I wanted to ask Tyler, but I didn't exactly know how to broach the subject, so I just told him I was sick and stayed in my room.

  I could come, and when I did, I had a brief respite, but then my cock would get hard again, without any prompting at all, within minutes. Minutes! I'd tried everything…like jerking four times in an hour. That session was hell! By the fourth time, both my hand and my dick were raw, in spite of the baby oil. I finally had to watch Tera Patrick (who reminded me a little of Betsy from the right angle) take it in the ass on DVD to push me over and the little bit of cum that leaked from the tip could barely have been called a load. And my damned cock started to swell again, anyway, five short minutes later! I'd even tried just ignoring it. That was the worst. My cock started to hurt, and while that was uncomfortable, when my damned balls started to ache, it became unbearable. When guys talked about blue balls in the locker room, they weren't kidding.

  Three times that morning I'd taken a hot bath, hoping to improve the situation. It worked for the first few minutes, the heat taking my mind off of it, but that was all. Three times afterward, I'd had my cell phone in my hand, that voice urging, call her. I might have made the symbolic gesture of tossing her number, but it was still here in my phone. I toyed with the idea, but what would I say? I couldn't imagine. Somehow I knew this all had something to do with that bizarre calendar sitting in the corner.

  I hadn't looked at it again. It was propped wrong-side up against the wall, but I knew the damned days were still opening all by themselves. Of course they were, why wouldn't they? But I really knew from the smell. Yesterday, Tyler's girlfriend had bust into the room, sure I was hiding some gingerbread in here. If I hadn't been forced to turn face down on the hard-on from hell at the time, I would have thought it was the funniest thing I'd ever heard. There was no gingerbread, no apple pie, just an aromatic homemade advent calendar that was merrily counting down the days until Christmas all by itself. What in the hell is that thing?

  My cell vibrated in my robe pocket, sending a painful jolt directly to my crotch. I groaned, pulling it out and flipping it open. Betsy. I'd expected a call like this days ago, actually, but here it was. I clicked, "Talk."

  "Hello?" God, I sounded awful. She noticed.

  "Jay? Are you okay?" Her voice was soothing, like cool aloe on a burn.

  "Sure, great," I lied. "You?"

  "Something's wrong," she insisted, sounding concerned. "Are you sick?"

  "Well..." I cleared my throat, looking down at the tented sheet. "Sort of."

  "I'm coming over. Don't move." The line went dead. Move? I didn't want to breathe too hard. My head was swimming. I wondered if it was true what they said about not enough blood getting to the brain when a guy had an erection. I felt dizzy and a little nauseous.

  "Hey, man, Betsy's here! Do you want her to come in?" Tyler was knocking on the door. I think I'd fallen asleep. I mumbled something affirmative, and Betsy breezed in still carrying the outside chill.

  "It's snowing." She shrugged off her jacket. When she saw me, the look of compassion on her face was almost unendurable. I think I whimpered. "Oh Jay, you poor thing! Why didn't you call me?" She rushed over and slid her hands immediately under the covers.

  Her fingers were freezing and I can't tell you how amazing they felt on the tower of fire between my legs. I groaned out loud. Her hand moved over my
shaft, and a pleasure that bordered immediately on pain shot up my spine. "Keep breathing," she whispered. I'd forgotten how. "Come on, Jay, help me," she urged. Her hand was warming up on my flesh, but the sensation was like nothing I'd experienced on my own.

  "Ok, this is what you really need." She stood and began to undress. Scarf unwound, sweater over her head. Her hair stood out a little with static and I smiled. Her plain white bra unhooked in the front and quickly spilled her heavy cleavage. Jeans wiggled off, panties gone, she came and straddled me wearing wool socks, all seriousness. The skin of her thighs was still cool from the denim. When she slid me into her, her flesh resisted slightly, no anticipatory welcoming wetness, but it was the best thing I'd felt in days—possibly the best thing I'd ever felt.

  "Look at me," she whispered when I closed my eyes at the sensation. I struggled them open, watching her rise and fall on me like a cool breaking wave, again and again. Whatever she was doing was working. My cock was responding to her, and she was responding to it. I could feel her growing wetter, her own eyes fluttering closed and then attempting to focus on mine again. She leaned forward, her lips cool and her breath warm. She eased up on the slick length of me, the cool air moving over my shaft, keeping just the tip pressing into the opening of her pussy. She was murmuring something, I couldn't tell what, against my mouth, squeezing me rhythmically all the while until I thought I would go crazy or die.

  "Betsy, please!" I begged her, and I felt more than saw her smile. She sat up and slid quickly down onto me, doing the tight little circles that I loved so much, raising her arms above her head like she was dancing on my cock—and she was.