The Stocking Was Hung(9)

“Is he still talking about sex?” I whisper.

“I honestly have no idea,” she mumbles back.

Her father finally stops giving me the evil eye and stalks out of the room, heading toward the kitchen to rid the house of the evilness that is dairy-based foods and beverages.

“You’ll have to forgive my husband,” Bev apologizes with a smile as she holds a cup of coffee in her hands. “This is the first time Leon has brought a man home and he’s a little on edge. You two go right ahead and sleep in her old room together. Shack up, get your groove on, get busy with it…whatever the kids are calling it these days.”

“Mooooom,” Noel complains with a roll of her eyes. “It’s fine if Dad isn’t comfortable with it. S-oooogan can sleep in another room.”

She almost slips and calls me Sam, stuttering out an awkward combination of Sam and Logan, which makes Aunt Bobbie and her mother give her similar looks of confusion.

“Did you just call him Sogan?” her mom asks.

Noel’s leg starts bouncing nervously on the couch next to me, her thigh brushing against mine with each frantic tap of her foot on the floor. I quickly reach over and rest my hand on top of her leg, pressing down gently to calm her, trying to ignore the warmth of her skin through the denim.

“Uh, um, well,” Noel stammers. “Funny story. Whenever I need to tell Logan something, I always start off the conversation with ‘Sooooooooo, Logan’ and it just turned into this joke where I call him Sogan. Ha ha, get it? Sogan? Sooooooo Logan?”

I lightly squeeze her thigh to get her to stop talking, but the muscle of her leg clenching under my hand incites visions of those same muscles tightening around my hips.

“I guess you had to be there,” Noel finishes lamely while her mother and aunt still look at her like she’s crazy.

“You know, if you don’t want to sleep in the same room with this hot piece of man meat, I’ll gladly take your place,” Aunt Bobbie announces brightly as she lifts her martini glass in my direction in a silent toast, waving at me with a wiggle of the fingers of her free hand.

The same hand that clutched my dick like a vice. I shudder a little remembering that moment.

“Is Aunt Bobbie gay?” I whisper to Noel out of the corner of my mouth.

Unfortunately, my whisper carries across the room even over the sounds of Christmas music playing on the sound system set up behind where Aunt Bobbie sits.

“No, but my penis is,” Aunt Bobbie informs me with a drunken smile, polishing off the last drop of her fifth martini since I got here.

Noel suddenly jumps up from the couch, grabs my hand, and pulls me up with her.

“It’s been a really long day, I think we should probably get some sleep,” she blurts out to the women, tugging my hand and yanking me behind her as she moves around the couch and to the doorway.

My body is so exhausted I can barely feel my legs now that I’m standing again and sleep does sound really good right now, but the thought of being in a bedroom alone with Noel all night immediately wakes me up.

“STOP!” Noel’s mother suddenly shouts, causing Noel to freeze as I bump into her back, grabbing her hips to stop us both from tumbling to the floor.

Noel twists in my arms with my hands still holding onto her and we both turn our heads back to look at her mother.

“Look! You’re under the mistletoe. That means you have to kiss. It’s a Christmas law,” she sing-songs happily, then takes a sip of her coffee.

Noel and I both look up while we stand in the entrance of the living room to see a small green plant of some kind, tied with a red ribbon, hanging from the archway above us.

“Um, that doesn’t look like mistletoe,” I muse, staring at the leaves dangling above our heads.

Noel leans her body toward mine, pushing up on her toes to get a better look, and my hands tighten on her hips to keep her steady while pulling her closer at the same time. Our chests press together and the warmth and softness of her fantastic tits underneath her sweater press against me and I feel my dick start to stir once again in my pants.

“Mom, do you have pot hanging from the ceiling?” Noel asks.

“You know your father needs it for his arthritis,” her mother sighs. “Pot—mistletoe, potato—potahto. It’s green and it’s festive, and you have to kiss under it.”

Noel’s head comes back down to look at me and on the tips of her toes, her mouth is level with mine. Her hot, plump lips that she nervously licks like she knows I can’t keep my eyes off of them when she does that.

We both shrug, realizing we’ll never get out of this living room if we don’t do what her mother says. Tilting our heads closer, Noel’s hands come up between us and she rests her palms against my chest. Our lips quickly press together and Noel jerks her head back before I can even enjoy the feeling of her mouth on mine.

“Yep, I think I’ll be taking him from here,” Aunt Bobbie announces.

“Leon, are you his mustache?” her mother asks worriedly.

Noel glances over at her mother in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Her mother shrugs, setting her coffee cup down on the side table next to her chair. “You know, his mustache. His cover for being gay, like Aunt Bobbie’s dresses,” she explains.

“Hey! I resemble that remark!” Aunt Bobbie shouts, followed by a loud belch.