J. M. Snyder
  Flash Fiction: "Holiday Stockings"

Christmas Eve. Rain washed the windows in formless patterns, obscuring the motel's parking lot. Behind the counter, the manager handed David a room key. "You're like our only guest," she said with a smile as fake as the tree in the lobby's corner. She was too old to say like. "Sucks to travel by yourself at Christmas."

With a fake smile of his own, David palmed the key and left. Around the back of the motel he noticed another car in the lot -- guess he wasn't the only one, after all. But the manager was right, holiday travel did suck. His partner Thomas had never come to terms with the time David spent on the road. Ex-partner, David reminded himself as he sprinted from his car to his door. Thomas's last words summed it up: "I can't love a man who's never home."

At the door David fumbled the key into the lock. It turned, revealing a dark, empty room. As he reached in for the light switch, the door beside his opened. A young man in a bathrobe stepped out, fuzzy slippers on his feet. From his haircut and quick smile, David recognized a fellow salesman. "Hey there," the guy said. His gaze drifted down, a quick once-over meant to be inviting if David was interested. Maybe ... the guy was cute.

"Bad night," David said. He juggled his suitcase and samples bag to extend a hand. The fellow shook it with a strong grip that David could easily imagine on his ass or dick. A once-over of his own, and he noticed a pattern of black diamonds beneath the robe: fishnets.

Suddenly, he was interested. "You alone?" he asked.

With an exaggerated frown, the guy nodded. "You?"

David opened the door wider, his own invitation. "Hopefully not for long."

THE END