Chapter 1 - Business!

“Of course I miss you, mom,” I said into the phone wedged against my cheek while I unlocked her door. “But I promised my boss I’d be in the office on Boxing Day and Holly at the homeless shelter needs me to volunteer tomorrow.”

I scowled as I realized I was using the wrong key. Mom’s voice, a little piercing but sweet and melodic, chattered in. “I know how important volunteering is for you, Clara, but your stepdad and I could still come out to see you. Or you could volunteer at the Survival Center here! Carl misses you. I miss you.”

I finally found the right key and twisted it in the lock. “I miss you too. I really do, but I don’t want to pass up any opportunities. I’m sure I have a good chance at a promotion.”

Her voice went lower, softer when she answered. “I thought you didn’t even like your job.”

“I don’t, but who does? If I get a promotion I can finally move into a decent place and then…”

“And then?” she asked.

I threw my keys onto the table in the front hall. “Then I’ll have a great job and a nice place to live and make some real money. I just know I can’t lose this job.”

“Are you in trouble at work or something?” She sounded utterly puzzled, but then she’d never been as ambitious as me. I took after my dad, a successful businessman and CEO who rarely could be found around his family. It may have broken up his marriage and he may have stopped reaching out a few years after that,, but I knew he’d see me differently once I achieved some C-suite respectability.

I shucked my shoes off by the front door, leaving the New York road salt and grit in the boot tray. “No but. I can’t allow myself to get stagnant. I need to push myself.”

“You always do, honey, you have all your life! You’ve never been stagnant even one bit, you’ve always been on the go.” Mom sighed, and I could just about picture her weary face, the wrinkles between her eyebrows carved deeply. “I just worry, hon. You work so hard and I worry you’re not enjoying yourself. You’re only young once.”

“Well, maybe once I get the end of year reports in I can think about fun.” I searched the fridge for anything unexpired, anything at all, and came up with a half wrinkled onion and a Tupperware full of lasagna. When was that potluck? A week ago? The sniff test would answer my questions. “I didn’t get where I am by letting things slide.”

“Are you even going out on New Year’s Eve? Got any plans with friends?”

I stifled a gag. Nope, older than a week. What had the ricotta turned into? Ugh. Waste of good Tupperware. Into the trash with you. “Maybe. I don’t know. I should go. The kitchen wants me to help with breakfast so I’ll be up early.”

“All right, honey. I only worry because I love you, I want you to be happy.” Her voice sounded weak and wobbly. “Carl loves you too. Maybe we’ll see you in the spring?”

“Maybe,” I said, opening the delivery app on my phone. “I love you too mom. Give Carl my love. Merry Christmas and good night.”

“Merry Christmas,” she said, and a second later I was all alone in my apartment, no one to talk to, nothing to do until my dinner arrived. I flipped through my messages, checking to see if any of my coworkers or the VPs at work had replied to my texts wishing them a happy holiday. Most of the VPs were on vacation, so it was understandable that they hadn’t texted back, but why hadn’t my coworkers? I thought I had decent relationships with all of them.

Or at least not bad ones… Huh, that’s funny. They rarely started a text exchange, I seemed to initiate them. Well, I reassured myself, that just shows what a go-getter I am, how proactive and dynamic I can be.

I kept scrolling and saw a few texts from my friends back home in Amherst. We’d drifted apart during college, but they’d texted me at thanksgiving. I hadn’t replied, I guess I forgot or… I didn’t know why I hadn’t replied.

Now it would be awkward, right? I stared at the window at the dark Yuletide sky but didn’t see an answer there. I suddenly felt incredibly alone. I was doing everything right — so why was I by myself on Christmas Eve?

Maybe I should have gone home. Lord knew I had enough vacation days, and sick days too on top of that. Colds couldn’t keep me out of work, no matter how bad. I was strong and reliable, my bosses trusted me to practically run the department when they were out —was I doing something wrong?

My food arrived. I numbly took a few bites and shoved the rest in the fridge. I felt like a vase of black glass, opaque, my depths unseeable, and utterly fragile.

I went to bed by nine and lay there, sleepless, in my quarter century crisis. My distress ebbed the sleepier I got, and finally, I turned to my one real vice. My phone glowed over my face as I swiped through Fantastic Fatties, looking at all the gorgeous and immense men showing themselves off for my enjoyment.

A little part of me wondered if there were any of these super sized hotties similarly alone on Christmas Eve, but my libido quickly swept those aside. My trusty old vibe, a simple silicone cylinder with a round, gentle curve at the top joined me and my browsing became more heated.

I slipped the vibe in the crux of my lips, just below my clit, and made small circles around the sensitive nub imaging a parade of hugely obese men doing delightfully awful things to me. This one would smother me with the B-shaped belly that spilled over his thighs in a plump and wobbling wave. That one would press my face into his fat pad, forcing me to inhale his masculine scent. Maybe this other would be behind me, resting his gut on my ass.

I played with myself until I saw stars, and muffled my squeals of pleasure with my pillow. That brief foray into pleasure over, I was sure I could finally rest. I needed to get up early tomorrow, after all.

***
Despite my orgasm, I couldn’t quite sleep. I dozed lightly, waking up at every sound, every flash of lights from the street below. I fretted over the prospect of being tired for my volunteer shift, obsessing over not sleeping to the point that it prevented sleep.

Midnight rolled around as I tossed and turned, and by some stroke of luck I fell asleep listening to the bell in the nearby church toll. It was an old fashioned parish, and at midnight on Christmas they played, a little amusingly, Silent Night. I found it soothing and was grateful to finally rest.

Then I awoke again, a radiant glow filling my room. A man stood in the corner of my bedroom, a crown of holly on his head somehow rising higher than the ceiling, and he wore a rich dark green velvet robe trimmed in white. It was tied about his waist, or rather, where his waist would be if he wasn’t practically spherical. He was beyond my wildest dreams, so fat that his belly hung well down his thighs, and his arms rested on the sloping sides of his gut. If he’d been the height of an average man, I would have guessed his weight to be somewhere around six hundred pounds. As he was as tall as my ceiling, or perhaps taller in some twist of reality, I couldn’t imagine how heavy he was.

The man stroked his lush, coppery-brown beard. It matched his long hair which hung down to his shoulders in waves. He grinned at me, his teeth bright white and perfectly straight. In a booming voice he cried, “Merry Christmas, Clara!”

I may have fainted.