2 comments/ 4233 views/ 2 favorites Hanukkah's Gifts By: legerdemer This story, my entry into the 2015 Winter Holidays Contest, owes much to my friend and editor, AlwaysHungry. Any remaining mistakes are my own. I hope you enjoy the tale, and vote. Hanukkah's Gifts "I'm sorry, babe. She's had a good life, the old girl..." "Yea, she has had that," I answered, thinking, What an inappropriate thing to say just now. "Listen, why don't I call later when I have something to report. I just wanted to let you know I'm doing OK." "Thanks, honey. I know it's hard. Let me know what I can do. I'd offer to come join you, but I just can't right now. This committee's got me snowed under with..." "No, no, Pete, I'm fine really. Thanks for offering." "OK, honey. Talk to you later." She clicked off and realized she really didn't want him with her. He'd just be antsy and preoccupied, and she'd feel guilty to have taken him away from his work. She couldn't maintain her concentration without knowing what was up with her mother's health, so she got in touch with the hospital. Twenty frustrating minutes later, she gave up and decided to go in - it would be faster, and perhaps less frustrating, than getting bounced around from one automated message service to another. She knew that the Information desk would have the room number where they'd put her mom, so she headed there straight away. A very efficient, grandmotherly woman with "Martha" on her name tag did a thorough search for Simone's mother, and finally found her. "She was moved there about 1 am this morning," Martha said. "Just take the first elevators to the 8th floor and follow the signs." "Thanks much. By the way, a gentleman named Martin was here last night. When does he usually come in?" "Yes, Martin often takes the desk late. He's usually here at 4 pm. Let me see... the schedule has him showing up at noon and leaving at 5 pm. That's unusual timing for him. Would you like to leave him a message?" "Ah, no thanks. It's OK. I'll stop by on my way out." Hanukkah's Gifts "Ready? One, two, three..." She read Martin's lips more than heard him, as the band took their cue from him and chimed in with Stevie Wonder's "Superstition." She walked over to the bar and got herself a refill of Boddington's, then after a beat, requested a shot of whiskey and took them both back to her table. She wasn't sure how long she'd zoned off, her mind drifting in the mellow lit pub, putting herself in the pictures with the Motown artists, her mind fueled by the music that evoked the strains of the Harlem Renaissance, when all of a sudden she saw Martin in front of her, his right hand outstretched. She was aware the band was still playing behind him, but there he was, in front of her, inviting her to dance. For a fleeting fraction of a second she thought of turning him down but his warm eyes, green behind their black-rimmed glasses, gave her no such option. "Dance with me." She looked around him, confused. "But who's playing the guitar?" He tipped his chin towards the stage. "My friend Patrick is sitting in for a couple of tunes. He's really great. And hopefully that will let me do something I hardly ever get to do." "What's that?" "Dance at my own gig. Care to dance with me, Simone?" She simply nodded and rose, placing her hand in his and letting him gently pull her along towards the stage. In front, she felt shy all of a sudden, not quite knowing what to do. He was looking down at her, those green eyes smiling gently. He placed his hands on her shoulders and began to move, swaying to and fro, leading them with his hips. His smile got broader and his eyes crinkled, never leaving hers, not letting her think. Just moving, swaying in rhythm to the music. When he pulled her close, every inch of his body touching his, his arms wrapped around her and holding her, one hand on the back of her head, it all felt so natural, so sweet, that she didn't pull back. His chest moved with her own, to and fro, weaving back and forth. Soon their hips were glued together, and she felt his thigh slot itself, as if innocently, between her legs. And then, in time with the music, his pelvis pumped into hers, and she responded, rubbing herself slowly up his leg, from side to side, feeling his thigh muscle contract. As she reached the highest point, having extended to her full height, she felt the unmistakable bulge of his excitement, not lewd but insistent. Reminding her he was a man and she was a woman, and that things could and might just happen between them. Hanukkah's Gifts "Here, let me." He undid it and pulled it out altogether, letting it fall on the floor. She undid the button on his fly and pulled down the zipper, fingers fumbling a little. And then, when her fingers felt the naked skin and twined in the curls of his pubic hair, her breath quickened and she sucked it in, biting her lip again. He liked that thing she did with her lip, taking a corner of it into her mouth which pushed the rest of her lower lip outward, making it even fuller than it was. She wore a silky black top that put her breasts nicely in evidence, a zipper going all the way up from the bottom to about an inch above where he imagined her cleavage must be. He ran his hands up her sides slowly and ended by cupping the underside of her breasts, a nice full fit in his large hands. He felt her slide her hands down, pulling his jeans open farther, one holding the flap open while the other reached for his cock with a soft but firm touch. It was his turn to suck his breath in as he felt her fingers close around him, smooth and warm. She squeezed him, just the right pressure, then let her fingers wander over the head, exploring the mushroom head with one finger, dipping it into the crevice across the top. Her other fingers held him right below the head, when she began to slide her hand up and down. Slowly at first, then faster. His cock twitched in her hand and he, helpless to control himself, bucked into her hands and closed his eyes briefly. She kept stroking him while he, enjoying the tightness and softness of her grip, leaned in and, looking at her the while, gripped the zipper pull on her shirt with his teeth and slid it down. Her hands stopped in mid-motion on his cock. He pushed the shirt off her, and slowly slipped her bra straps down her shoulders. Their eyes were fixed on each other's, registering every twitch, every intake of breath, sigh, chewed lip. He undid the bra clasp in the back and pushed the cups down to release her breasts. Large and soft, topped with pink nipples that stood erect and contrasting the pale white skin surrounding them, they beckoned him, and he brought his hands underneath their curves, pushing them up and together. He dipped his tongue into the cleft he'd made and licked up, then went back and sucked one of the nipples between his lips, gnawing on it softly. "Harder, please!" she whispered. He complied with her request and bit first one, then the other, chewing on them though not daring to bite down too hard. She sighed loudly, "Oh, god!" and pushed her breasts forward against his hands, filled to capacity with her flesh. And then she smiled, a "come hither" look in her eyes, and turned away from him. She looked over her shoulder at him as she leaned on the bed one hand and lifted her skirt over her bum with the other. She rubbed her butt cheeks against his erect dick, back and forth a few times. He, hands on her hips, watched as her globes rubbed across him, mesmerized by the contrast between the white flesh of her buttocks and the dusky almost purple skin of her vulva plainly visible and seeping even more of the same viscous fluid he'd already tasted. He took his shaft in hand and started to stroke the tip across her nether lips, pushing a little between them now and then but being careful not to go too deep. He was teasing both of them mercilessly and he was having a hard time holding back. All he could think about was sinking himself between those purple lips, deep into her wet mysterious channel, wondering how it would feel. That first time sliding into a woman, impaling her with his cock, was always delicious. "Please...," she asked, eyes pleading. And he did what both of them wanted, his cock parting the cleft open, sliding into her impossible wetness, her tight cunt yielding its mystery to him. "Aghhh," he grunted, helpless to hold himself back from moving in and out of her. She pushed herself into him, demanding, setting a harder rhythm with her hips, and so he let himself go, lost himself in the tempo of their skin slapping together, feeling his balls swing against her. "Oh god, oh god, oh god!" She cried, and squeezed his cock with her cunt, moving even faster against him. He bent over her and took her swinging breasts in his hands, feeling the plump flesh fill his hands, squeezing her nipples as she squeezed his shaft in return. It was too much. He arched his back, crying "Simone, I'm cumming, Simone!" and exploded, his cock spurting his cum deep into her. As his throbs and spurts continued, he felt her spasm around his cock, letting her moans and cries escape, holding him tight. When they were done, she stretched her arms out ahead of her and pushed her pelvis into him, stretching like a cat on his bed. He let himself collapse on the bed and pulled them both on their side, spooning her into his own larger frame. He laid his lips against her back and hugged her. "That was spectacularly good, Simone. Thank you." She nodded and laid silent in his arms for a minute or two, then turned in his arms and looked in his eyes. "That was lovely, indeed, Martin." He rolled over on his back, and pulled her on top of him. She let herself relax, draped over him like a warm throw on a crisp autumn evening. "Stay with me, Simone." She nodded and mumbled into his chest. "I will, tonight." Hanukkah's Gifts "Well. Really, there's not much to talk about... I've moved out. Moved in with Lindsay." "Lindsay. I see... or actually, I don't see. But I... ok. Whatever." Simone tapped the hang-up button on her phone, then waited. She thought perhaps he'd call back, and she held the phone in her hands. Her arms felt limp, and the phone seemed heavy. Like someone had handed her a sack of potatoes. No, a sack of shit. This, this is that it felt like. She felt suspended, like one of those pairs of beat-up sneakers she saw hanging off the electrical wires in the old LA neighborhoods where they hadn't moved all those underground. Rotating in mid-air, hanging by a pair of dirty shoelaces. The one-two punch had gotten her, her mother's confession and Pete's declaration. Or was it three? The doctor's last advice had added to it all. "Go home, spend some good quality time together. It's important, taking our good byes." She knew what he'd meant but hadn't processed it, obviously. She wondered if he'd said the same thing to her mom, if that's what had prompted her confession. But then she remembered her mother's whisper on her first day in the hospital. "I want to tell you a story, Mona..." A Hanukkah gift. The first night's gift, finally delivered. Well... she knew then her mother was already saying her goodbyes, cleaning out the dust bunnies in her closets. Giving Simone the last of her motherly advice, and her complete legacy. Her father was not her father; someone she had spent hardly any time with, someone she barely knew, was. She'd heard of these kinds of things, but had never imagined something like this would happen to her. Her life had been placid, normal. Her parents had been happy, or at least had seemed happy. Weren't they? Both of them had loved her. Hadn't they? Had her father known? Had he loved her any less, or her mother? Maybe he didn't know, like her mother claimed. Were there any signs she could recall to indicate whether he really knew Simone was not his child? Too late to ask him, too late for all of that now. It was already past the time she should have lit the seventh candle of her mother's menorah. All of a sudden it was very important, for some reason.