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Red Hot Christmas by Mara White, K. Larsen (3)

 

Frankie

 

As usual, Frankie started his day with fifteen pull-ups on the bar he’d installed between his bedroom and the hallway. After a bowl of cold cereal, a protein shake, and two hard boiled eggs he did twenty-five push-ups on the living room floor. Then he walked his Yorkie, Peebo up and down the side walk on the Upper West Side. Why did he have a Yorkie? Did he love dogs? No. Was he trying to snag a chick who loved dogs? No. He didn’t even like other dogs, but he loved Peebo as if he were his own kid. Peebo had first been a point of contention. His sister Gloria had snagged a position at Google when she graduated from NYU. He’d told her not to get the stupid dog when she fell for his picture on an ASPCA adoption website, where she scrolled through the dog profiles like a kid in the candy store.

“Glo, you’re graduating soon and what if you have to move out of state for a new position?” See the foresight? See the careful and thoughtful planning?

“I’m never leaving the city and I’ll get a job here. OMG. Look at his little face. It says he likes Hummus and is afraid of balloons! Oh my GOD! I need him. Will you drive me over there?”

Her squealing was a form of manipulation. He groaned and complained the whole way across town. He didn’t like dogs. They shed. You had to pick up their poop. It was gross. Gloria and Peebo, as his former owner-aka-abandoner- had named him, reunited as if they were long lost soul mates the minute the ASPCA pusher put the dog into his sister’s arms and Frankie had rolled his eyes at their theatrics. The way his sister spent money on that mop of fur was ridiculous. Outfits, shoes, that mutt wasn’t a kid. But he did sometimes pick the dog up when she wasn’t around and the pathetic rat-sized pooch looked sad and it kind of broke his heart.

“Fuck, Peebo. What? She went out on a date and left you to fend for yourself? I told you my sister was a monster.” Frankie had gotten in the habit of taking the runt to a falafel joint on the corner when Gloria was out with her friends or on one of her Tinder dates. He ordered an extra side of Hummus with his Shawarma.

“Women, suck, Peeman. I’m telling you,” he said as he held the tiny thing to his huge chest and let him lick Hummus out of a plastic container. It got so bad the dang dog took a liking for lamb and soon enough Frankie was ordering two sandwiches which he’d dismantle on the corner and feed to his secret little friend.

“That is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen! Can I get a picture?” Probably a tourist. Probably never saw dogs eat anything other than dog food.

“Why not?” he’d shrugged. Didn’t know it would go viral. Certainly didn’t know that hunks feeding little dogs was a fetish of sorts.

 

“Holy Shit, Frankie, I got the fucking job!” Gloria had screeched in his ear and jumped up and down in her rain boots and jacket, tearing open the official letter before she even got all the way in the door.

He was proud of her. Hugged her and smiled. Was a good enough of a brother not to mention the shared lease and half rent she’d be ditching him with. Plus, all of the checking in on and taking care of their mom and grandmother. What he did mention was the dog. He spent all of his extra time at the gym.

“I can’t take him now. I’ve got to find a place and get settled. I promise next year I’ll come back and get him!”

Of course Gloria moved into an apartment complex that didn’t allow pets. Of course she took the couch and for six months he sat on the coffee table to watch television. Eventually he dragged the two armchairs to the empty spot, placed them side by side. Frankie sat in one while Peebo claimed the other. They’d watch soccer while the miniature dog licked Hummus off of his finger.

After giving his tiny roommate a hearty workout that ended at the dog run in Central Park, Frankie took out his phone to occupy himself while Peebo ran yapping and made hysterical circles around the big dogs. Girls always tried to pick him up at the dog run. But it just didn’t do it for him, talking about grooming and dog food brands while picking up poop in plastic bags and then shaking hands. Love over a Labrador or Shiba Inu just wasn’t sexy to him.

Red fuck me heels, now those were sexy. He scrolled through his Instagram and clicked on some of his new followers. Red_Jimmy_Shoes had liked both his shower picture and his close up smile. He followed her back. His trainer Lou had a strategy: “Frank, follow back one in every ten. Gotta keep your ratios up. Talent scouts look at those things!”

The whole fucking world was numbers for Lou, calories, followers, reps, pounds, inches, lap time, cardiac response, goddamned ounces of water. He sighed loudly and looked up quickly to check on his running mate. Peebo was manic. Flinging his tiny body into the air to nip at the ears of a dog ten times his size. With his hilarious little yip, which of course Peebo thought was his oh so intimidating bark. He’d hit the top of his jump and wiggle his torso to try for another air-born millimeter. God, the damn dog took after him, pushing physical limits was all Frankie knew. It was his life, his most comfortable space to be in.

The giant dog’s owner tried to get his attention with a huge smile, he returned her a weak smile and buried his nose in his phone, happy for the distraction.

Red_Jimmy_Shoes had only one picture besides the profile, but it was a good one. She was wearing a silk camisole and panties, the ensemble looked like a million bucks, not just cause it was high end, but because the chick, if it really was her, her body was slamming. She was fit and voluptuous, no bra, but her tits were perfect pear shapes and the nipples tilted up. She’d oiled her body up and then stepped into the shower so that the water beaded on her skin and made the ensemble almost see-through. His cock twitched in his pants and he adjusted himself so that the girls at the dog run wouldn’t gawk at his hard on. Red_Jimmy_Shoes was hot, slamming hot, and he could almost see it all within one single picture. She didn’t show her face, but the body was perfection. The crotch of her panties was damp and he could see she was fully shaved. The cleft of her cunt hinted at gently in the shadow. That little cleft V begged for his tongue. He wanted to trail his fingertips up her thighs and part her there, penetrate her with his tongue.

He glanced up at Peebo again who was jumping and spinning mid-air, coming down from a landing facing the opposite way. The other dogs had just stopped and were staring. They’d realized how crazy the damn mutt was and not even the big dogs could keep up with his manic energy.

“Peebo! Five minutes!” he yelled across the dog park like you would to a toddler. Peebo took off running at warp speed, ears flying out behind him like little wings. His dog was such an adorable psychopath the other dogs didn’t even know what to think. They sniffed at Peebo’s butt and the territory he marked with his teaspoon of urine trying to find out what the little fucker ate and drank. Hummus, Frankie silently told the confused looking pack of hounds, while Peebo raced across the entire expanse, skidded and then crashed into the wall.

He stood up and whistled, two fingers in between his lips. His dick was pressing against his fly, probably getting a fuck of a chaffing from his zipper. Peebo turned on a dime and started racing his way. All the women at the run were staring at him, ridiculous smiles plastering their faces. He hoped it was for Peebo and not for his outrageous erection. He might have to shower again before work. Red_Jimmy_Shoes had his blood pumping and lust charging through his veins like an amphetamine.

In the bathroom his squirted lotion onto his palm. He grabbed his shaft and began to massage the thick corded erection up and down. His stomach muscles tensed and he leaned into the sink with one hand. The pronounced helmet of the head was nearly purple with how worked up he was. He conjured her body in his mind’s eye, imagined her in the ensemble and added the red shoes in. His mouth fell open and he licked his lips and thrust his pelvis forward. His cock was so heavy in his hand, his balls synched tight, he knew he’d come soon and hard. He pictured himself trailing his tongue over the skin that just barely showed, where the camisole fell short and exposed some of her taught belly flesh. Dip in her belly button. Under the curve of her breast. Pulling the tight nipple into his mouth and nursing it until it elongated under his tongue, sucking until she squirmed and her hips writhed underneath him. Then he’d slowly move to the other one and suck it good until he could feel the wetness through those expensive panties. He’d rub his heavy cock over her cunt and she’d be desperate to spread her legs, but he wouldn’t let her.

“Please, fuck me, Frankie!” she’d beg. He’d deny her. Make her stand at the foot of the bed. Peel off those soaked panties and torturously slow, lift that feather-weight cami over her full and aching breasts. She’d arch them to his lips and he’d keep his mouth closed. He’d twist her around not giving a thought to what she wanted. Face down on the bed, ass in air. He’d kick those heels apart so he could get a look at how her muscles clenched for him, how desperately she wanted him.

“Spread your ass cheeks,” he’d demand. He stroked his enormous cock ruthlessly, his grip tighter than ever. He pulsed hot spurts of semen all over her tight ass. Or in reality, over the porcelain sink in his apartment. He closed Instagram and blushed ever so slightly at his own enthusiasm. He hadn’t known he was such a sucker for haute lingerie and designer shoes—specifically the red ones.