Come Christmas Steve

Come Christmas Steve

Chapter 3

The Woods are Lovely, Dark and Deep

After sharing my childhood experience of my older cousin teaching me how to masturbate up in the loft, we took turns swinging on the big rope tied to the center support of the barn's roof a couple of times at Steve's request. He held the thick rope in his gloved hand and tugged on it to test that it was securely fastened to the large center beam. He hadn't taken the bait from my question about jacking off with other guys and I was a bit disappointed, but not really surprised. It had been worth a shot. I went first on the rope swing to show him that he needed to push hard off the ledge so he would have enough momentum to get back up onto the ledge on the return. The beam creaked some under the strain of my weight. Steve was smiling excitedly at me as I handed the rope over for him to give it a try after I made my return to loft's edge.

He snatched the rope and immediately pushed off the ledge, crying out, "Woo-hoo!" as he reached the apex of the outward swing and headed back toward the ledge. As we took turns swinging on the thick rope, I was transported back in time to simpler days, as a young, carefree boy, when I thrilled at the experience of firmly grabbing the grimy, rough, braided rope and pushing off the ledge to swing freely through the air like a superhero and back again. I recalled how tightly I would grip the large rope in my small hands. Once in a while, I'd miss the landing and have to creep down the rope to the big knot in the end of it and then drop onto the barn floor below. When that happened, one of my older brothers or my dad had to help me retrieve the rope with a long pole and pull it back over to the loft so we could swing on it again.

"What's that thing?" Steve pointed to our old wooden slatted toboggan with its sharply curled nose hanging on the wall. The wood was worn and weathered from years of use and abuse from four young boys.

"Oh that's a toboggan. Haven't you seen one of those before?"

"No. What's it for?"

"You ride it down a hill in the snow. It's super fun."

"Oh. You just sit on it and go down the hill? Why is it so long?"

"It's meant for a group to ride on. Me and all my brothers would pile onto it and go down the hill over at McGregor's Farm. Sometimes we'd fall off and go tumbling down in a giant pile, crashing over each other in the snow. Sometimes, we'd build a jump in the middle of the hill and go flying into the air. It was so much fun."

"Sounds like it."

"We could take it out tomorrow and try it if you want to. If you look closely at the back right edge, you can still see the bloodstain where I cracked my head open on it back when I was like eight or nine. My brothers all laughed their butts off over it."

"Ouch. Really? That explains a few things about you." Steve laughed and I gave him a shove off the ledge since he was still holding the rope. "HEY!" he yelled as he quickly gripped the rope more tightly and flung off the ledge. I had to give him a hand up to get him back onto the ledge.

"So you still want to go try it out or did I scare you out of it?" I asked.

"I'd love to try it. It sounds great. A little blood doesn't scare me."

Once Steve and I finished up the chores, we headed inside. We had an hour before dinner so we scurried up to my room. Steve picked up the guitar and started strumming it. I handed him a pick and he played around until he picked out the basics of Jingle Bells. He seemed to have a natural ear for music. "How come you only know the words to Jingle Bells?" I asked.

"Growing up, we always went to a farm at Christmas time where we rode on this old wagon, sitting on bales of straw. We'd sing that song over and over as we went out into the pasture amidst a herd of elk that wintered there because the farmer fed them. I think that was the only song the farmer knew. I loved seeing those magnificent elk, especially the proud bulls. Their hot breath would blast from their nostrils like black, hairy dragons. They would look at us with disdain, as if to warn us not to leave the wagon, then they'd go on eating. Animals are so awesome. They just live their simple lives, seeking satisfaction of their basic needs and nothing more. Food, shelter, exercise, and sex in the mating season is all they ever think about. They never take more than they need to survive - such a simple, uncomplicated life."

"Must be nice for them all right, although there is that whole food chain issue where things are trying to make you their lunch. Oh, and sleeping naked in the woods, especially in the winter, doesn't appeal to me very much either. So why didn't you ever learn any other Christmas songs besides Jingle Bells?"

"I heard others, of course, but we never really sang or celebrated Christmas in a big way, so I never learned the words to any other songs. It was nice getting some new socks and boxers on Christmas morning, though. That's what I looked forward to most about it."

"What do you mean? That's not very exciting."

"Ahh, nothing. Never mind. So do you remember anything about the guitar you could teach me?" he pleaded, changing the subject and pointing to the six string.

"Barely. I tried but it just didn't take. Mom would be able to show you more than me. She'd love it, actually. She loves music just like you do."

"You know, music is God's language. Poetry set to a melody heightens the message. It's the ultimate means of communication as far as I'm concerned."

"There you go getting all deep on me again." Steve smiled and went back to picking out Jingle Bells. Once he was occupied with picking and grinning, I spun around in my chair and started surfing the internet looking for a suitable present for my new friend. It was too late to order anything, so I was just looking for ideas for something that I could actually go buy in a store in Kalispell the following day.

Dinner that evening was a repeat performance of the prior night with the exception of Steve consuming massive amounts of Mom's meatloaf instead of fried chicken. Billy was anxious to get finished so he could be excused to go spend the night at Jaime's. I couldn't look at him or at Steve directly, for fear I'd inadvertently reveal his secret. I was uncomfortable with my parents' comments about what a nice boy Jaime seemed to be and how they'd like to meet his family sometime. I nearly spit my mouthful of peas and carrots out when they said that. It was quite entertaining to watch Billy squirm over the possibility of having to produce Jamie's parents someday. I couldn't help but wonder how much that would cost him.

Billy was so horny and randy by the time we finished our apple cobbler dessert that I was surprised Dad couldn't see his hard on through his pants. Billy was as jittery and edgy as any stud in heat I'd ever seen, desperate to shove his dick into any willing mare. I wondered, as I studied Dad's reaction to Billy's demeanor, if he didn't have some idea what Billy was really up to but not really all that worried about it. I swear I almost saw a bit of pride just under the surface of his stoic, weather worn face, or maybe it was jealousy. I wondered if I could have gotten away with much more than I did, which was really nothing for the most part. My idea of cutting it up was tossing three M-80's tied together into the girl's locker room. How could I know the PE teacher was standing there and would freak out slicing her head open on an open locker from the explosion? I felt so guilty about it that I ended up turning myself in to the vice principal. Dad went overboard on punishing me for it. I was grounded for a month and had to double up on chores around the ranch. Whenever Billy did something like that with his brain dead friends, it was just considered boys being boys and no big deal. Billy begged to be excused so he could go over to Jaime's. He was given the usual admonitions to behave and to drive safely. He kissed mom's cheek, thanked her for dinner, and then tore out the door.

"Mom, if you have time, Steve would like you to show him some things on my guitar. He's interested in learning how to play it. Just some basic chords and techniques, if that's okay with you?"

"I'd be thrilled to teach him. It's about time that instrument got some use."

"I don't want to be any trouble. I'm sure you have plenty to do getting ready for Christmas."

"Don't worry about that, I'm well ahead of schedule. I'll clean up the dinner while you get the guitar." Steve beamed over the opportunity to learn an instrument. He excused himself and bounded up the stairs. Tom, Dad and I poured our own coffee as Mom started clearing the table. Steve returned seconds later with the guitar, beginner lesson books and a variety of picks. He set the guitar down and started helping to clear the table. He refused to let Mom help him with the guitar until the dishes were not only cleared but washed, dried and put away. He even helped wipe down the kitchen counters and stove top. I felt a little guilty watching it, so I got up and helped. Tom moved into the great room and logged onto his laptop and started looking at the next semester's classes he would be taking while Dad started a fire in the great room's rock fireplace.

When everything was done, Mom heaped praise on Steve for being so good about helping her clean up. As soon as everything was cleaned and put away, we all settled into the great room. Mom and I settled in on each end of the couch and Steve sat in the middle. She opened the beginner book and showed him some of the basic chords. Every now and then, I'd adjust one of his fingers slightly or suggest curving his fingers a little bit more one way or the other just to feel a part of the process. Steve was a natural. He caught on quickly and got more and more excited as the lesson progressed. He learned in two hours what had taken me two months. By the end of the lesson, he was not just plucking out Jingle Bells, he was playing it with a combination of some basic chords and picking specific strings as well. Mom was very impressed, as was I. After the lesson, which we'd all enjoyed watching, we all gathered in a circle and joined hands while Dad said the evening blessing on our family. Mom was excited that Karl would be coming home the next day and we would have our Christmas Eve celebration as a complete family plus two, my roommate, Steve, and Cynthia, Karl's girlfriend.

"I hope you boys don't mind moving in with Karl and Tom, sleeping on their floor when Cynthia comes. She'll need her own room," Mom instructed. "I can make up a bed for you two out of quilts."

"Oh. I hadn't thought about that," I began. Then it occurred to me how backwards that was. "Wait, it's Karl's girlfriend. Why shouldn't he and Tom move to my room and sleep on the floor? Steve's a guest too."

"Well Karl and Tom are older and Tom has his computer all set up in there already."

"Big deal. It's a laptop. He can pick it up and carry it anywhere he wants. So what if they're older? Why does that matter?" I whined.

"For goodness sakes, Shane, stop being difficult. It's only for a few nights and then they have to head back down to Bozeman," Dad scowled. "Why do you have to be so selfish?"

"Selfish? How am I being selfish? Why aren't Tom and Karl being selfish?" I was getting more and more annoyed by the minute. Same old shit I'd lived with my whole life. The older boys got the privileges, the youngest one got the favors and as the youngest middle child, all I ever got was trouble. "Fine. We'll move to their room, but Steve and I get the bed. Karl and Tom get the floor."

"That's not happening, little brother," Karl chimed in. "I got a bad back, remember? You left your bicycle under the steps and I tripped over it, wrecking my back. I can't sleep on the floor."

"It wasn't me. I've told you a hundred times it was Billy who was riding my bike and left it there. Besides, you've been milking that bad back thing way too long. It always got you out of chores, but if there was something fun to do, suddenly your back was fine," I shot back.

"That's enough!" Dad boomed. "You'll move and you'll sleep on the floor for a couple nights while Cynthia is here and you won't be whining about it in front of her and Karl. Understood?"

I put on my angry face, which I'd carefully perfected over the years. My eyebrows pressed down, my lips scrunched into a tight little circle, and I compressed my neck down into my shoulders. "It's not fair," I grumbled. "Steve's a guest too."

"I don't mind the floor. I've slept on the floor many times, and without any nice soft quilts under me. I think it might be fun for a couple days," Steve said to smooth out the conflict.

I felt foolish then, having showed a side of me I'd rather have kept buried, and I'd done it in front of Steve. It wasn't fair, though, and more and more I'd grown tired of my family dynamic. I'd stepped up and done Karl's chores as well as mine after he hurt his back. I got stuck with them because Tom was too busy and Billy was too young and no one would believe me that I wasn't the one to leave my bike where it didn't belong. I scarcely got any appreciation for my efforts and in fact got criticized several times for not doing things as well as he'd done them. I wanted to explode over it back then, but I never did. I just put on my angry face and stomped off to the loft to sulk and play with my dick. It became my escape therapy. "Whatever. We'll move. Who cares? I'm tired; I'm going to my room and sleep in MY BED. You coming, Steve?"

"Umm, yeah. I'll be up in a while. I'd like to practice on the guitar a little bit longer, if it's all right."

"Of course it is," Mom interjected before I could answer. "You can sit right here and do it. Add a log to the fire if you get cold. Make sure the screen is pulled closed on the fireplace if you do add a log, so no sparks jump out and catch the rug on fire."

"Thank you. I appreciate the lesson Mrs. Steele," Steve said sincerely.

"Like I said, it's my pleasure. I'm thrilled to see how quickly you picked it up. You really should pursue it," Mom told him.

Then I got an idea - a grand idea, in fact. I felt much better suddenly and bounded up the stairs. I'm not sure how long Steve practiced on the guitar because by the time he finally climbed over me into bed, I'd been long asleep. I jolted awake when he climbed over me to get to the wall. I felt him shaking from the shock of the cold sheets once again so I rolled lazily to my side and slid toward him. I made sure to keep my crotch safely away from his ass and began rubbing his arms, chest and abs to warm him up. He responded by reaching over and pulling my top leg up over his. I rubbed the flannel PJ's over his legs to warm them up as well. I had to reach down and into my PJ's to adjust my boner briefly and then resumed warming him up. After several minutes, I asked, "Are you warm now?"

"I am. Thanks."

"You're welcome." Then I added, "I need to apologize for my behavior tonight. I'm not usually like that. I just get tired of being dumped on by my family sometimes, especially my brothers, and I sort of snapped down there."

"It's all right. I could tell you had some pent up anger and figured there was more to it than just sleeping on the floor. I really don't mind doing that, so don't worry about it."

"Thanks for understanding." I gave his arm a squeeze and he gave my thigh a return squeeze. "I need to go into town in the morning for some last minute Christmas shopping. Do you want to come with me?"

"Sure. I have a couple things I'd like to get too."

"Good. We'll go right after breakfast then we can come back for lunch and we can still take the toboggan out for a run before the family party. Sound okay?"

"Sounds great. Do you think I could find some time to practice the guitar some more?"

I smiled happily over that. "I'm sure you can fit some in." I gave another squeeze to his arm and rolled away. I was thrilled by what a great friend Steve was turning into. He understood me and didn't judge me at all. He was so easy and safe to talk to. Slowly, I slipped my hand under the waistband of my flannels and boxers and pressed my fingers around the warm flesh of my engorged penis. I gripped little Shaney and his two best friends and held them tight. I fondled my balls for a bit and realized how badly I needed to spill some cum. I got up carefully from the bed and fortunately, Steve didn't stir. I headed to the bathroom, dropped my bottoms and boxers and sat on the cold lid of the throne. I pulled the front of my t-shirt up over my head and tucked it behind my neck. Then I gripped my stick and jerked myself off while I rubbed my chest and abs vigorously like I'd done for Steve in the bed. Then I got the urge to be a little nasty. I opened the drawer next to the toilet and pulled out the round hair brush with the smooth plastic handle. I covered it with some Vaseline Intensive Care lotion and then slouched down so that my tailbone was barely on the edge of the toilet lid. My shoulder blades pressed into the cold porcelain of the toilet tank lid. I lifted my heels up onto the little wooden stool, painted pale blue with colored stars on it, that I and all my brothers used to stand on when we were little to go pee and to wash our hands. Mom kept it in there for the little boy cousins who come to visit.

I maneuvered the hair brush up underneath my ass and slid the slippery handle between my cheeks and up into my boy cave as far as I could until the bristles pressed against my ass cheeks. It had been a long time since I'd enjoyed this guilty little pleasure and I reveled in the feeling of having it up there, deep inside me. I worked it in and out slowly across my prostate while I jacked my dick with my other hand. It wasn't long at all before I was rewarded with a powerful orgasm. The intensity of each cum shot was heightened from the presence of the brush handle pressed firmly against my boy joy button. My ass quivered and pulsated on the handle as I shot my load. "Oh, yeah, cum Shaney cum!" I spoke out loud as my balls unloaded the warm cum onto my cold chest. I shuddered, both from the thrill of the expulsion and the chill in the air. Goosebumps had formed on my exposed flesh. When it was over, my muscles constricted on the handle and refused to relax. I had to use some force to remove it, which was in its own strange way erotic to me. Feeling satiated and strangely warm from the inside out, I wiped up with the TP off the roll held out by a little wooden statue of a cowboy. My Mom had purchased the little wooden statue at the county fair years ago and thought it was clever. My brothers and I thought it was creepy. We named him Cowboy Tom, as in 'Peeping Tom' and as a young boy, I always turned Tom toward the wall so he couldn't see me go to the toilet. Either that or throw my cap over his head. Once, as an older teen, I'd set Tom in front of me and jacked off for him and then shot all over his face. I felt really weird about doing it and never did it again. Using ample amounts of Tom's two-ply paper, I cleaned myself up and pulled my shirt back down over my chest. I scrubbed the brush handle thoroughly with soap and hot water and headed back to my room.

I slipped back into bed, pulled the covers up to my neck, and fell back to sleep, lulled by Steve's steady breathing. As I was drifting off, I could smell the faint, lingering mixture of soap, lotion, cum and ass on my fingers and the intriguing male odor of my friend, Steve lying in my bed. Having slept with a boy all my life, I realized how much I had missed the smell of boy in my bed. Billy's odor was similar but unique from Steve's. I slid over at one point and leaned in close to the crook of his neck to pull in a long draught of the intoxicating boy aroma.

Morning came early and Steve and I worked together on the chores. Tom came out and did all the lightweight chores because of his sore back and Steve and I picked up Billy's chores since he was over at Jaime's, probably getting one last good fuck in before heading home for breakfast. Not that I was bitter or anything. Actually, I knew that Billy did more than his fair share when we were all gone to school leaving him the only one home. So I didn't begrudge helping with his share that morning. I did begrudge him a little about getting copious amounts of sex when I wasn't getting any. The last chore was to plough the driveway. I opened the big shed doors and climbed aboard the tractor with the blade attachment. I unplugged the block heater, choked the carburetor, and fired it up. The blue Ford tractor grumbled to life and I put it into gear. I dragged the blade across the parking area in front of the house and was about to head down the lane when Steve flagged me down.

"Do you think I could give that a try?" he asked eagerly.

"If you want. Sure." I put it into neutral and set the brake. I climbed down and he clambered up onto the seat. He put both hands on the large wheel and looked at me expectantly. "You ever driven a tractor before?" I asked.

"No."

"Okay. It's a lot like a car except you have some other levers that control the blade attachment."

"I've never driven a car before, either."

"What? Never? Do you even have your license?"

"No."

"Shit. Scoot forward and let me sit behind you then." I slid in behind him and reached around. I showed him how to release the brake and put it in gear. We dropped the blade and he stepped on the gas pedal. We lurched forward and he panicked briefly. I assured him it was okay and told him to ease the gas on and off. He soon got the hang of it and we made four passes up and down the drive out to the highway. When we got back to the shed, he climbed off and I backed it in and shut it off. After I plugged the block heater back in and started pulling the door shut, he joined me and helped pull the heavy door. He was beaming like a kid in a candy store who'd just spent his full allowance. "Enjoy that?" I asked.

"It was great. Thanks. I've always wanted to try driving."

"Come back next summer and we'll take the truck out on the land and let you learn to drive. That's where I learned, out where there's nothing to run into."

"That would be sweet. Speaking of sweet, I think I smell breakfast." I laughed at his eager tone.

Mom had a great breakfast of scrambled eggs with bits of onion, cheese and peppers, fried ham and wheat toast. The toast was made from her home baked bread covered with her strawberry preserves. She was an amazing cook and learned well from Grandma, who had also been a wonderful cook. We gobbled ours down and headed upstairs and took quick showers. When I got downstairs after my shower, Steve was in the great room practicing on the guitar. I could tell he was pulled between wanting to keep practicing and needing to go with me into town. Reluctantly, he put the guitar back in the corner of the room beside the leather couch. As we drove back toward town, Steve was still in awe at the beauty of the surrounding woods in our foothills, all blanketed in soft, white powder. He had more than moonlight to view them with this trip since the sun was out causing the icicles in the trees to sparkle like jewels. In town, I sent him off in one direction toward a book store while I headed to the only decent music store in town.

We met back at the truck and went to Walmart where I finished up my shopping for the family. Steve needed something from the pharmacy which gave me a chance to slip away and purchase a carefully selected tree ornament. I was worried I wouldn't be able to find one that I really wanted and would need to find a way to get to a Hallmark store. I was fortunate, however, and found two possibilities. I selected the better of the two and hurried over to purchase it before Steve could see it. When he came from the pharmacy, he had already purchased his items over there so we were about to leave when a sign caught his eye. There was a sign by a Christmas tree at the entry and exit area that read, "The Giving Tree. Gifts for the Children of Intermountain Children Services." Steve took my arm and pulled me over to it. He chose a tag hanging from the tree and read, "Michael, age 8. Flannel shirt, toy cars."

"Pick one and let's go back in and get them something for Christmas." I chose a six year old girl who wanted a tea set and a Disney character shirt. We went back in the store and had a grand time selecting the perfect items for our kids. Steve bounced from rack to rack holding up one shirt after another until he narrowed it down to two and made me select one of them. I got the little girl a pink tea set and an Ariel blouse. Steve then bought an assortment of small cars and tossed in a play mat with streets to drive on. The joy in Steve's eyes as he handed the name tag to the clerk and watched it being stapled to the bag was heartwarming. This young man who scarcely spent any money on himself was thrilled to be able to share anonymously with a child in need. I felt such appreciation for him and his kind heart.

Along the way home, he wondered aloud what Michael might look like. He wondered if he was blond or dark haired. He hoped he would like the color of the shirt. I was amused. He thought maybe he should have gotten something for another one of the tags. He worried that there were still so many tags not taken care of.

When we got home, Karl and Cynthia had already arrived and the mood was festive. Mom had made a pot of broccoli cheese soup and we had some of her homemade bread to go with it. Karl talked about his new job with the accounting firm and Cynthia shared her experiences with past Christmases in Bozeman where she grew up. The two of them held hands at the table and smiled incessantly at each other. It was both cute and annoying simultaneously. I was genuinely happy for Karl that he was so madly in love and it was clear that he was definitely, hopelessly, madly in love. He gushed all over Cynthia. She was a nice catch for him and, in my opinion, he was dating over his head. Cynthia was a complete package with good looks, long, thick, blond hair, a shapely figure and a charming personality to boot.

I couldn't resist prodding Billy about how his time over at Jaime's house was. "What did you guys do?" I asked between bites of my thick slice of buttered bread dripping in honey.

"Just the usual stuff, you know." He shot me a subtle, dirty look.

"No, I don't know. What do you mean by the usual stuff?" I wasn't letting him off so easy. I slurped a spoonful of the creamy, cheesy soup.

"Just the usual stuff. We just hung out together. You know?"

"Hmm. Well that's pretty much what Steve and I did today too, we just hung out together." I shoved the last chunk of bread in my mouth to cover my smirk.

"Well, I'm pretty sure Jaime and I had more fun hanging out than you two did." He smirked back at me and shoved a spoonful of soup in his mouth with a large chunk of broccoli on it.

"What makes you think that?" I pressed, enjoying the spot I was putting him on.

"We just did, that's all." Then under his breath, he added, "At least, I hope we did."

I mentioned that Steve and I were headed out to go ride the toboggan and that he'd never done it before. Soon, everyone thought that was a grand idea and wanted to join in. Mom made some hot chocolate to put into a Thermos jug and bagged up some of her famous chocolate chip and banana cookies. We loaded the toboggan and sleds and plastic saucers and off we went. Steve, Karl, Cynthia and I all took the first ride on the toboggan. We careened down the hillside picking up speed as we went and Steve and Cynthia both cried out in excited shrieks of delight. At the bottom, as we finally slowed and jumped off, Steve grabbed the rope and started charging up the mountain to do it again. We all took turns going on the toboggan and trading off on the other snow play items we'd brought, but Steve loved the toboggan most. I talked him into riding with me and going over a jump someone had made in the middle of the hill. We hit it and sailed through the air, landing with a solid thud then we bounced off the toboggan and began rolling down the hillside together. The toboggan took off without us and went all the way down to the bottom. We tumbled together, limbs flailing about, until we finally slid to a stop with Steve on top of me and his face inches from mine. I saw something in his eyes and thought for a minute he was going to kiss me. Suddenly, he pushed himself up and stood up quickly. We were both red faced and flustered and covered in snow from head to toe. We started laughing and the rest of the family teased and jeered us over it once it was clear we were both okay.

"If that had been Karl and Cynthia, I would think they planned that," Billy exclaimed. "I thought you were gonna kiss."

Steve laughed and said, "No kidding. Those two are like a couple of lovebirds. That was a wild ride. Let's do it again!"

I felt stupid for thinking he might kiss me. I knew I'd imagined it because deep down, I wanted it to be true. I knew it was happening to me just like it had happened in so many other friendships I'd had. I was falling for him and sooner or later, I'd do something stupid to ruin the friendship. More than once, I'd misjudged innocent events and acted on my stupidity only to destroy another friendship. Other times, I'd just evaded friendships to avoid the eventual pain. I had to walk away and recover. I pretended to need to go pee and trotted off around the edge of the slope and into a stand of trees. I leaned against a tree and stared up into the sky. I stared up into the deep blue, winter sky and said, "Please, dear God, don't let me screw this friendship up." I got control of my emotions and returned to join the group, my insulated boots made large impressions in the unblemished snow as I walked.

We played together until four in the afternoon and then all piled back into the trucks and drove back to our ranch, wet, chilled and tired. We hung our snow clothes out in the entry room in back of the house to dry. Dad had installed a row of wooden hooks all along one wall for that purpose. There was a shower and sink for washing up before entering the main house. With four boys on a farm, it was an essential room for the sake of my mom's sanity.

I hurried upstairs while Steve took the chance to practice on the guitar some more. I wrapped my presents for Steve and got everything ready for the evening's party. Karl and Cynthia found a semi-private corner to cuddle and smooch in. Tom got on his laptop and Billy was busy texting his friends. Mom headed right to the kitchen and Dad went outside to do some errand. I assumed he was on a project for one of the local farmers. It was just like him to work on Christmas Eve if someone was in a hurry for some repair. When I finished with my presents, I went downstairs and into the kitchen. Dad had returned from his errand and was inside helping carve the turkey. "Mom, Dad, I have a question for you."

They both stopped what they were doing and gave me their attention. "You know how Steve has taken to the guitar so well? I was thinking that since I don't really use it and rather than let it just sit here and gather dust, I should give it to him for Christmas. He doesn't have much and no family support as far as I know and couldn't possibly afford one on his own. What do you think?"

My mom wiped her hands on her red Santa apron and said, "That's very thoughtful of you and very generous. I'm sure he would appreciate it but I hate to see you give up on it. I never thought you really gave it a good chance. Don't you think you'd like to still learn to play it?"

"I know you really wanted me to be your musician, but it's just not my thing."

"What is your thing?" Dad asked me bluntly. "You don't seem to have a passion for anything. You have very few friends. You've hardly dated, didn't play any sport for more than a season or two, started and quit the piano and guitar as well as the harmonica - the harmonica for hell's sake. How hard is the harmonica? And what about college? Have you even selected a major yet?"

"I'm a new freshman. Give me a chance, will ya?" I was perturbed by the insinuation and a little louder than I intended. I didn't want Christmas Eve to be ruined with a lecture and probable argument with my dad so I chose to walk away. Trouble was, Dad was already into his tough love, parent mode and followed me.

"Don't get an attitude, I'm just suggesting that you can't afford to start and stop and be uncommitted to things in college the way you've been for most of your life up 'til now. It's expensive and a waste of time going off in the wrong direction, not to mention the wasted money." I glared at my dad. I couldn't believe what he was saying. I'd never given them any trouble. I got good grades even if they weren't like Tom's. No one could compete with him. But Dad wasn't done. Even after I tried to escape to the great room where the others were sitting thinking that he would stop the lecture with others around, he continued to chip at me, "I'm just suggesting you could use a little more commitment like your brothers here have shown. You never kept a friend over six months, let alone a girlfriend. Have you even dated anyone down there at State? And what are your grades like?"

"Dad! Are you serious? I'm barely a freshman. Just because I'm not the brainy nerd that Tom is, I get decent grades. Maybe I'm not the little athletic stud that Billy is, who's good at everything whether he puts any effort into it or not and probably gets laid at will by all the cheerleaders, but I'm not a quitter. Tom didn't date much in high school and neither Tom nor Karl played a bunch of sports. Why are you ragging on me?"

"Hey, watch who you're calling a nerd," Tom threatened. "I can still take you down and inflict some pain if I have to." It was meant as a joke to lighten up the situation, but I didn't find it funny. He had, on multiple occasions, done that very thing as we grew up. He used to chase me down and sit on me and dangle spit over my face then slurp it back up just before it dribbled on me. I'd throw a fit over it and that really amused him. Every now and then he'd lose control of it and his slimy slobber would splatter onto my face. Then I'd go really nuts and chase him around, screaming like a wild Comanche, when he'd let me up. Mom would come out and usually punish us both and sometimes only punish me after he'd deny any wrongdoing. Other times I'd get the 'knuckle noogie' from him where he'd sit on me and rub his knuckles into my scalp saying "noogie, noogie, noogie." He used me like a servant sometimes and if I refused to go get him whatever he wanted, like cookies and milk or a blanket or whatever, he'd rub his knuckles on his palm and say, "Want a noogie?" I'd jump up and get whatever he wanted.

"I'm not ragging on you. I'm giving you some counsel and you need to learn to take counsel a little better. Karl didn't play sports because he was involved in student government and Tom was focused on his grades. They didn't date a lot, I agree, but they dated a lot more than you did. They were both into scouting and earned their Eagle rank by age fourteen. That's a real accomplishment. Karl was part of the school leadership and senior class president. I'd say that shows some commitment. You quit scouts right after cubs. As for your grades, B's and C's are not exactly what I'd call decent grades. I just feel like you have more in you and that you just don't perform to your potential. I'm just trying to help you see that." All I saw was everyone staring at me and in particular Steve. I was embarrassed and suddenly furious.

"You think you know so much. You don't!" I pushed away from the door jamb and stepped back. Fighting tears, I let him have it, "You want to know why I haven't reached my potential? You want to know why I never did all that stuff? I'll tell you why! It started in second grade and continued on every year after that. 'Oh you're Karl and Tom's brother' my teachers all said. How nice to have another Steele boy. One week into the school year and they were busy telling me how much less social I was than Karl and how stupid I was compared to Tom. I never measured up. Because I was a small kid in grade school, I was pushed around on the playground and among the last ones picked for games. So I found out it was better to just lower expectations. Since I didn't get things right off like Tom, they stopped trying to help me figure things out and understand the lessons. Then came sports. I'd play a sport for a year and then the next year, Billy was old enough to be on my team. Guess what? My little brother could outplay me and I'd end up on the bench while he started. I'd switch sports and sure enough, Billy wanted to play that sport too. And guess what? Yup! I'd be on the bench while he played the whole game. I finally got sick of it. Dating girls? That's a great one. Ever have a girl laugh at you when you ask them out to a dance? Ever have kids suddenly stop talking and act embarrassed when you walk up? Neither did Karl or Tom and definitely not Billy. Ever think a girl was about to ask you to the girl's choice dance only to find out she really just wanted you to set her up with your LITTLE brother? I bet not. Well I'm sick of it. Fuck it all! Fuck you all!" I shoved my father out of the doorway and ran outside grabbing my coat as I exited through the mud room. I left behind a stunned family with mouths agape. "Merry Fucking Christmas!" I bellowed as I slammed the door.

I ran down the lane with tears streaming down my face. I assumed they were freezing before they hit the ground as cold as it was. The frigid air was stinging my lungs as I gasped for air. I decided to head to my favorite spot up in the loft to let off some steam. It wouldn't be exactly warm there but it wouldn't be as freezing cold as it was outside. I turned and headed back up the lane and cut across the north pasture. It was untouched since the last snowfall and mine were the only footprints as I traversed it. I turned and looked behind me. In the moonlight, I could see my solitary trail and felt very alone. No one really understood me, I felt. No one ever got to know me for who I was. I was always somebody's brother. I was the Steele brother who didn't measure up - the little black sheep. I sighed heavily and went to the barn. I didn't need a light. I knew every inch, every board and even every nail by heart. This was my domain. I climbed to the loft and after swinging my legs up, I crawled toward the bales in the back. Something stirred and I cried out in startled fear. "Who's there?"

"Don't freak. It's just me," Steve said. I felt a reassuring touch to my arm. He switched on a flashlight and my heart started to settle down.

"You scared the living shit out of me. What are you doing up here?"

"Looking for you. I figured you'd come here sooner or later."

"No offense to you, but I'm not really in the mood for company right now."

"I suppose not. But I don't care if you want me here or not. Sit down." He patted the space on the bale next to him.

"I'm sorry you had to hear all that. I'm sorry I dragged you up here only to find out what a loser you have for a roommate." I bit my upper lip and willed myself to not cry.

"You're not a loser. You're the only one who thinks that."

I sat down hard on the bale and rested my forearms on my knees and slouched down. "I can't believe Dad is all disappointed in me. I knew I didn't measure up to others, but I never dreamed I didn't measure up for him. I mean, I guess deep down I knew it, but I didn't want to believe it. I hate my life. I hate my family. I just want to go back to school and become something like a doctor or a nurse and move to Kentucky or somewhere far away from the whole damn lot of them where I can be my own self and not somebody's brother. That would show them I'm not a loser."

"That's a good goal. You'd make a great nurse or a doctor. Why Kentucky?"

I sniffed and stared at him. "I just said I hated my family and you ask me why I said Kentucky? I don't want to go to Kentucky. I just made that up because it's far away from here where no one knows me or my brothers."

"Oh well that's good, because they have tornadoes in Kentucky and parts of it is really backwards. There are people there without any teeth who brew moonshine in the woods."

I chuckled in spite of myself. "How do you know that?"

"I read about it. But I suppose that's not true of everyone in Kentucky. It's funny how we make generalizations about people without all the facts. Basic human nature, I guess. Now as for your father, he isn't really disappointed in you. He's pretty disappointed in himself right now though. He meant no harm. He loves you. He had no idea what you've been going through or that you felt this way. You keep things bottled up way too much. He loves you and he's concerned for your well being."

"Yeah right. He has a pretty poor way of showing it. I don't care anyway. Fuck them all. I don't need their approval or praise. I don't give a damn if they think I suck. I could just disappear and no one would notice or really care. If I died, I'm sure they'd all be relieved that at least it was me and not one of the other boys. I wish I could just die."

"I don't like liars - especially bad ones who lie to themselves. None of that is true and you know it. What your father just said hurt you really bad and what you've been dealing with by living in the shadows of your brothers has been a horrible burden for many years. That's clear to see and understand. It's okay to be sad over that but it's not okay to make up overdramatic shit like no one cares and you want to die. You definitely care and so does your family. And I'd care if you died. I'd care a lot."

I broke down and started to blubber. I folded myself into Steve's thick parka and cried out the bitter tears of pain and sorrow I'd stored up and locked away over the years. Sadness and feelings of inadequacy gushed out of me like Avalanche Falls in Glacier Park. Steve just held me while I let it flow like one of the firm, solid and majestic glaciers. I don't know how long I shook and cried, I really don't have any idea. I know that when I was done, he was still there, holding me, accepting me for who I was and who I could be. No judgments. When I had gotten it all out, I pulled free from his caressing arms and simply said, "Thank you." I wanted to kiss him. Of course, I didn't do it, but I wanted to.

"Thanks. I wish you were my brother. How come you understand me when my real family doesn't? I know you say they care, but I honestly don't think they really do. You're just saying that to make me feel better. Even Mom thinks I'm worthless, I can tell from little things she says like about learning the guitar. You don't know what it's been like for me growing up here in this family."

Steve released his hold on my shoulder and stood up. He paced in the dark and then said, "You're right. I don't know what it's been like for you in a family. I never had a family. My mother left me on the doorstep of a fire station in Missoula. The firemen found me in a box with a note attached that asked them to take care of me. It was simply signed, Mary. No last name. Steve, the fireman who found me, gave me the last name of Fahrenheit and his own first name. He never had any sons of his own and always wanted a boy to give his name to. I suppose he thought the Fahrenheit thing was clever. I grew up in a boy's home in Missoula that was mostly full of troubled kids or kids taken out of their abusive families. Steve, the fireman, visited me every few months for a while and checked up on me. When I was about eight, he stopped coming. I guess he moved away or something. I don't really know and no one ever told me. I was shuffled off to a few foster families and was almost adopted a couple of times, but then it didn't happen after all for unknown reasons, so I went back to the boy's home. I guess I couldn't deal with the rejection because after the last adoption attempt, whenever I would be considered for placement, I'd throw fits and refuse to speak, pretending I was mute. I slept on the floor when there were too many boys and too few beds until I was big enough to kick a smaller boy out of his bed and take it over. Trouble was, I never really had the heart to do that so I'd either share it with him or just take the floor. When I turned thirteen, I moved into the teen room. It was hell on earth for the first couple of years until I got old enough to defend myself. Most of the boys there had been abused and in trouble with the law and were cleverly educated in the school of hard knocks. It was survival of the fittest. They battled over who would be king and the ones who were king took whatever they wanted from us weaker ones - anything they wanted. I don't blame them, that's the only way they knew. It's the natural order of things."

He paused to compose himself, then he continued, "There was one king who was an especially good king. His name was Daniel. Daniel liked me and watched out for me. I'd do special favors for him but not because he made me. Because I wanted to give him back something for his kindness and that was all I had to offer. When Daniel turned eighteen and had to leave, he gave me his iPod full of music. Music became my escape. I hid the iPod in my mattress so it wouldn't get stolen and at night I would pull it out and listen to the music. I gained an appreciation for all kinds of music and I would be transported away to distant lands full of peace and beauty. I read everything I could get my hands on. I did well enough in school that I was allowed to attend a local magnet school. Of course, I couldn't really make any friends because I had to go back to the boy's home right after school. I just kept to myself and read books on my lunch hours. For recess, I would just run around the school yard by myself. Running set me free the same way reading and music did. And when I got older, I'd sneak off and hide in the garden shed to masturbate in private. There was no privacy in the rooms. The showers and sinks were on opposite sides in a tiled section at the end of the bunk area. Two toilets were on the very back wall open for all to see you do your business. Jacking off in the privacy of the shed was another brief escape from my sad reality that I enjoyed. I was lucky to get a scholarship for underprivileged boys so that's how I can attend State. I've been blessed. But I'd give anything for a real family like yours. I'd love to live in the shadows of brothers like yours and get knuckle noogies. You've been so focused on yourself and your own feelings of self loathing, that you're blind to the love you've been shown. I saw it a hundred times with the abused boys who came and went through the home. They couldn't let themselves be loved because they couldn't love themselves. So you're right. I don't know what it's like growing up in a family like yours. I wish I did. It's a shame you don't appreciate it. It's a shame you look past the love you've been shown because you've focused so much on the injustices you experienced. And don't you ever, EVER doubt your sweet mother's love for you. I wish I could locate my mom but there's no record of her except that her name is Mary."

"Mary, just like Jesus' mother," I mused quietly.

Steve scoffed briefly and said, "Yeah, but one big difference, I'm certain my mother was no virgin."

"You want to tell her off good, I bet."

There was silence and in the dark I couldn't read his face. "No," he finally responded, "I would like to find her and thank her."

"Thank her? For what? She abandoned you."

"You don't know her story and neither do I. But she didn't have me sucked into a sink at the community abortion clinic. She carried me to term and gave me life. Who knows what she endured to accomplish that. She left me where she knew I'd be taken care of. I'm sure she loved me enough to do that."

"Oh Steve, I'm sorry. I ... I didn't have any idea. Why didn't you tell me any of this before?"

"I don't want people's pity. If I'd told you about my life, when you invited me up here, I would have thought it was just to be nice to the poor orphan boy. I came because you didn't know and because I could tell you really wanted me to come. So don't go blabbing any of this around. What I told you stays between us."

"Okay. I won't tell. I'm good at keeping secrets. I've had lots of practice with Billy, remember?" Steve sat down and pulled something from inside his jacket.

He handed me a wrapped gift. "Here," he said, "I want you to open this gift early."

I took it and felt that it was clearly a book. I pulled the wrapping off using the light of the flashlight that he turned back on. I read the cover, "The Poetry of Robert Frost; A Collection of Poems." I looked at him and asked, "You trying to put some culture in my life?"

"You could certainly use some," he joked, "but I really just wanted to share my favorite poet with you."

"Is he good?"

Steve chuckled. "Yeah. He's good. He wrote The Road Less Traveled."

"Is that a good one?"

"You've never heard it?"

"No."

He opened the book and read the last stanza:

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

"Don't blame your brothers because they were talented in different ways from you. It's a shame misguided adults tried to make you conform to their standards instead of helping you find your own strengths. You have so many wonderful traits and talents and I've been in awe of you since you became my roommate. You have tremendous capacity for compassion. You've got a quick wit and an easy way with people. Your Dad's very wrong about your commitment to things. I've seen you work really hard on your studies and not give up until you understand things. You have a bright future - a future that will be your own and no one else's. You have to take the road less traveled by. Stop resenting that your brothers have different gifts than you have and appreciate your own gifts. You have ones they don't have and never will."

"I love that poem, The Road Not Taken, but this is my favorite. It's titled The Woods are Lovely, Dark and Deep. He turned to a page with a tab he'd placed in it before wrapping the book and read:

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound's the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

"I get it," I said. "The owner of the woods is God, right?"

"I think so, yes. And stopping on the darkest evening is like how we find ourselves in dark at times and just wish we could wander off into God's woods."

"But we can't because we have miles to go yet to live our lives before we die or sleep?"

"Yeah, that's what I get from it. The horse knows we have to move on and he tells us so. The secret is to look for and enjoy the beauty of the ride." Steve clapped the book shut and pulled me into a hug.

"Thanks," I said softly.

He convinced me to go back to the house and talk with my father. I didn't want to. I still wanted to pack up my things and get a motel in Kalispell until I could get a bus back to school and avoid the situation altogether. I was afraid that Steve was wrong and that when I stepped back into the house the attack would start all over again and be worse. That was the easy road - the coward's way out. But I had promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep. Reluctantly, I followed him full of trepidation back to the house and went in. Everyone was sitting in the great room. A fire was crackling but there was no caroling. The lights on the tree weren't even lit. All the expressions were glum and the mood was heavy. Regrets hung like massive cobwebs in every corner of the room. I stood mute in the doorway with Steve behind me. My father rose from his chair and came to me. I looked at the floor. He took me by the arm and pulled me into an embrace. "I am a foolish, foolish old man. I am so sorry that I did not see the pain you were living with. I apologize, son. I love you. We all love you. Can you forgive me?" I was shaking and merely nodded my willingness. I had no sufficient words. Mom joined the embrace and one by one, everyone came together and we embraced together. Steve was the first to step away and he plugged in the tree lights.

"Hey," he said, "how about a song?" He took the guitar and began a rudimentary version of Silent Night. It was simply played, but I'd never heard a more beautiful rendition. At the end, we all joined in singing,

Silent night, holy night

Son of God, love's pure light

Radiant beams from Thy holy face

With the dawn of redeeming grace

Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth

Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth

We sat in silence afterwards and stared at the lights on the Christmas tree. I stared at the ornament of the Christ child and I gave him a gift. I gave away my anger and resentment. I forgave my family and I forgave myself. I felt suddenly free and full of joy - pure joy. "Dinner is ready," Mom said. "Let's eat."

At dinner, I showed everyone the nice book that Steve had given me. Then I got up and retrieved the guitar. I handed it to him and said, "I want to give you an early gift as well. I want you to have this guitar. I love the beautiful music you make with it and it needs to be played. That's what it was made for and it needs to be used for its intended purpose." Steve swallowed the mouthful of mashed potatoes and looked at me in disbelief. He took it in his hands and caressed it. I then handed him another gift and he opened it quickly while I held the guitar. He held it up for all to see. "It's a series of training DVD's," I explained. "You can download the audio onto your iPod from my computer or you can watch them on my laptop."

"That's too much. I can't ..."

"Yes, you can. You've given me much more than that tonight. I'm not talking about the book, even though that's an awesome gift. You've given me back some self respect and a renewed appreciation for my family. I'm sorry everyone for being such an ass. I love you all very much. I really do." Tom started clapping and everyone joined in. I became a little embarrassed and returned to my seat and asked Billy to pass the stuffing. Steve intercepted it and scooped up a large heaping on his plate before passing it on to me. He grinned as he passed it down and then he dove back into his plate full of Mom's wonderful, Christmas Eve meal.

After dinner, we assembled in the great room. Mom played the piano and Steve played two more songs he'd learned on the guitar including a much improved version of Jingle Bells and the Happy Birthday song. He reasoned it was Jesus' birthday after all. Then we each took turns hanging our ornaments and sharing something we were thankful for. I hung my ornament and turned to Steve, "I'm thankful for a great new friend."

Then, I handed him the ornament I'd purchased from Walmart. It was a clear disk with BFF etched on it. Below the BFF was etched: Easy to Find, Hard to Lose, Impossible to Forget. He took it, thanked me and hung it right next to mine. "I'm thankful for all of you letting me part of a family for Christmas."

After everyone except Cynthia hung their ornaments, I felt a bit sorry that I didn't mention to Karl I was getting one for Steve so that he could have purchased one for her. But then Karl took Cynthia by the hand and led her to the tree. "Your ornament is already hanging on the tree. It's red and shaped like a cube. See if you can find it." There, next to the ornament of the Christ child was a red velvet box. One hand flew to her mouth as she took the box from the branch with her other one. Karl took the box from her, knelt down and opened it to show her the diamond. "Will you marry me?" he asked.

"YES! OH YES, YES, YES!" She exclaimed. Now everyone really clapped and cheered.

Karl took the ring from the box and slipped it onto her finger. She was trembling with excitement and joy. He stood and they embraced and kissed passionately. Then she showed off her beautiful, sparkling square diamond with small stones surrounding it set into a white gold ring. We all joined hands and bowed our heads as Dad spoke a blessing on our family and particularly upon Karl and Cynthia's engagement. Then he thanked God for each of his sons but mentioned me last of all with a special blessing that I may find joy and success in whatever I chose to pursue in life. He thanked God for our new friend, Steve, and closed the prayer with a solemn amen, which we all repeated. We stood there in silence holding hands for a bit then slowly separated.

"Shane," Dad addressed me as I was walking toward the door. I braced myself and prepared to stay calm no matter what he might say, "I know you didn't appreciate being moved from your bed and you're right, we shouldn't make our guest, Steve, sleep on the floor. I went out before dinner and cleaned up the old bunk house. I put a space heater in there as well as a lantern and made up the beds with some of your mom's old quilts. I hope you'll be okay with sleeping out there tonight and we'll let Cynthia have your room. That sound okay?"

I just went and gave him a big hug and thanked him for his thoughtfulness. Steve and I hurried up and gathered our things that we would need in the morning, took care of our bathroom needs, and pulled on our boots and coats after wishing everyone a Merry Christmas and a good night. As we walked over to the bunk house out beside the barn, we made tracks in the freshly fallen snow. Flakes of the lightly falling powder settled on our heads and shoulders. When we reached the bunkhouse, I stopped and turned around. "Look," I told Steve, "behind us. There are two sets of tracks in the snow. I like that. I've spent too many years making only one set of tracks in the woods, so dark and deep. Two tracks are definitely better than just one set. Thanks for being my friend. I've really needed one for a long time."

"You're right. Two tracks are better," he agreed. I pushed open the bunkhouse door and the lantern was lit and dimly glowing. It cast a mysterious light on the old, but rugged furniture. The room was full of the heavy musty scent that settles in an unused room over time. It wasn't overpowering or repugnant, however, and it reminded me a tiny bit of the strong male scent that Steve gave off at night. I set my things on one of the beds and twisted the brass lever on the lantern to increase the light. I knelt and ignited the space heater. Soon, it was glowing brightly and I moved it directly between the two beds then I dimmed the lantern once more. Steve put his things on the other bed that Dad had made up for us and asked me to sit next to him, patting the thick, blue quilt. I did.

"I have one more gift for you. I want you to open it tonight," Steve said.

"What? You didn't need to give me anything else. I love the book. That's plenty."

"Well, this isn't much. Really. I actually have one other gift, but it can wait until morning."

"Dude, that's too much. I appreciate it and all but I'm sure you don't have a lot of money to be spending on me."

"I didn't spend a lot, but I wanted to get you something meaningful like the book of poems." He paused and seemed to be considering something. Finally, he reached over and picked up a small gift bag with red and green tissue stuffed in the top of it. I reached for it, but he withheld it. "I'm not sure about this. If you don't like it or don't want it, please don't get mad over it."

"Don't be silly. I wouldn't do that. I'm sure I'll like whatever it is, coming from you."

"I hope so. I mean I think you'll like it, but I could be wrong and if I am, promise me you won't be mad."

"Of course not. Now I'm super curious. What is it?" He smiled nervously and handed me the bag.

I pulled the tissue from the top and tossed it quickly onto the floor. I reached in and withdrew a small tube of Chapstick lip balm. "Chapstick?" I asked curiously.

"Cherry flavored. My personal favorite," he commented with excited anticipation in his voice. I wondered if he wasn't more excited to give me the gift than I was to receive it. There was such innocent, anxious anticipation in his expression and voice.

Next, I removed a small bottle of clear liquid. "Hand sanitizer? Thanks. I could use that back at the dorm. I set it aside on the bed and pulled out the final item. It was a small rectangular box. In the dim light I could only barely make out the label. When I realized what I was holding, my heart leapt, nearly out of my chest. I grabbed the bottle of hand sanitizer and twisted it to read the label properly, it was a bottle of personal lubricant. I tore open the box and pulled one of the foil pouches from it. I was speechless for a moment.

"Well? Do you like it?" Steve asked nervously. Then he bit his lower lip.

"NO! How could you even ask that?" His demeanor drooped until I continued, "I love it! I totally love it!" I dropped the condom and lube and grabbed the lip balm. I pulled the top off and spread it generously across my lips. Then I spread some across Steve's lips. I reached up to take his face in my cold hands and pulled his lips to mine and kissed him. He kissed back. We kissed and smooched and kissed some more. Eventually we started to grope as we kissed. I stood him up in front of the space heater and pulled his coat off and he removed mine for me. We frantically unlaced and tugged our snow boots off. It became nearly a race at that point as we stood back up and pulled our shirts and pants off, leaving them in a jumbled heap at our feet. Being naked except for our woolen socks and boxers, we embraced and kissed again with hands roaming over each other's backs, heads, faces and butt cheeks. I nearly passed out as my erect penis pressed into his groin beside his own firm erection.

"Skip the PJ's tonight," Steve whispered into my ear. "It's my turn to warm you up."

"Let's get to it then," I insisted. We were both shivering. In spite of the space heater, it was still quite cold in the old bunkhouse. Steve picked up his pile of things off the bed and moved them over to what was meant to be my bed. I picked up the condom and lube and then pulled the covers down and slid into the cool sheets. I slipped the lube and condom under the pillow. Steve returned and pulled his boxers off before sliding in beside me. He kissed me once more and then pulled my boxers down, freeing little Shaney. Steve pulled the covers back over us and rolled me to my side. He wedged his warm, throbbing cock into the crack of my ass and began vigorously rubbing my arms, chest and legs. I thought I might just pass out from the overwhelming feeling of this wonderful, kind, beautiful young man lying naked against me.

After a long spell of rubbing, I rolled over and kissed him and thanked him for being so brave and for all he'd done for me. We began kissing passionately, exploring each other's mouths with our tongues and groping every reachable piece of naked flesh on each other's bodies. Our dicks pressed and rubbed against each other in our passionate, prone dance of lust and love. He whispered into my ear, "Top or bottom, Shane. Your choice."

I didn't need to even think about it for a millisecond. "Bottom," I whispered back, "I want to feel a real man deep within me. Two, as though one." I pulled the condom from under the pillow and Steve rolled it anxiously down his shaft after pulling the ample foreskin down over his ridged, magenta corona. Before he put the condom on, I stopped him and licked slowly along the base of his engorged phallus all the way up to his sensitive frenulum. He shuddered and moaned. Once protected, I bathed his sheathed animal with gobs of lubricant and then he prepped me slowly and gently for my virgin experience. At last, the moment I'd fantasized over my whole adolescent life arrived and Steve, my best and only real friend, laid me on my back, slipped between my legs, lifted my knees and pressed his marvelous penis into my body. I hadn't even noticed the cold until he pulled the large, heavy quilt up over us both enclosing us in a makeshift tent. Carefully, he entered into me and ever so gradually he pressed on until I was completely filled with his manhood. He lowered his chest down onto mine and we kissed tenderly while I relished the feeling of being sexually conjoined with him. Then he rose on his elbows and stared longingly on my face as he began the patient, steady rhythm of pulling out and pressing in, projecting indescribably erotic sensations throughout my quivering frame.

After our initially slow, sexual stroll along my virgin path together into the woods - lovely, dark and deep, while I had been caressing his firm chest and gently tweaking his protruding nipples, he closed his eyes and quickened his pace. I gave chase and began to buck my hips to meet his quickening thrusts as wave after wave of euphoric, orgasmic energy suddenly coursed through my young soul. I cried out as he groaned out a guttural, animalistic growl from deep within himself and shoved his burgeoning cock deep within my human wishing well and then matched my cries of ecstasy. "Oh Yeah!" I cried, "Cum Shaney, cum!" Then it was over and my Christmas Steve collapsed onto my cum covered chest and lay his head next to mine, cheek to cheek, in the pitch blackness of our makeshift tent as we panted and reveled in the afterglow. I drew in the scent of his sexual musk and my spilled cum and whispered softly in his ear, "This is the best Christmas gift ever." I'm so glad you came for Christmas, Steve."

##

This concludes my story. I hope you have enjoyed it. I would appreciate hearing from my readers. If you are willing to do so, please drop me an email and share your thoughts on the story.

h.schreiber@hushmail.com

Special thanks to my two editors, Flip McHooter and Paul S. Stevens, both talented Nifty authors in their own right.

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