A Little Something for Santa

A Little Something for Santa by J.M. Snyder
As the holidays approach, Patrick confides in his coworker Chris about his attraction to older men in Santa suits. From the gleam in his friend's eye, he just knows Chris is going to dress up like the jolly old elf himself in a desperate bid for Patrick's attention.

When both men work late on Christmas Eve, Patrick decides to be charitable and give his coworker a little something special ... if he manages to pull off the costume.

Who says Santa only comes once a year?



"Can I tell you a secret?" Chris nodded and leaned towards me, his eyes wary. Lowering my voice, I told him, "Santa suits? Turn me on."

"You're joking," he murmured. A dreamy look came over his face, and I wondered if he pictured himself dressed as Santa Claus, me on my knees before him, both of our hands working loose the thick black belt that held up his red fur-trimmed pants. Then he gave me a sharp look, as if I might be lying. "You're shitting me."

Despite the fact that it was Chris's face in the picture, the image of myself about to go down on Santa sent a spark of electricity through my blood that jolted my dick. "Serious," I swore. "I've always had this thing for Santa. He's like the ultimate sugar daddy, right? Brings you presents whenever he comes." I winked. "He's hooked me up over the years, let me tell you. I wouldn't mind paying him back a little, you know what I mean?" Raising my fist in front of my mouth, I stuck my tongue in my cheek and mimed giving a blowjob.

Chris's eyes widened until I thought they'd to roll out of his head. "My cousin?" he said -- his voice squeaked, and he had to stop and clear his throat before continuing -- "She has this costume shop over in Chester. Mostly Halloween stuff, but some dress-up things too. You know, for ..." He made a vague gesture with his hand, hoping I got the point.

With a grin, I asked, "Sex play?" His cheeks pinked and he looked away, embarrassed. "Like what, nurse and maid uniforms? Or gimp outfits? You remember that scene in Pulp Fiction?"

Quickly, Chris said, "Just costumes, okay? I don't know what all she's got, I've never really inquired." He frowned when I laughed. "I know she's got a slew of Santa suits, though. She rents them out this time of the year, for parties or charities or whatever. She makes a killing off of them."

"Anyone can put on a red suit," I said with a shrug. "But not everyone can pull off that real Santa Claus look. You know, rosy cheeks, wiry white beard, belly that shakes like a bowlful of jelly?"

"Her costumes are top notch," Chris assured me. Nodding at the DVD case in my hand, he said, "Like that. No fake beards or bad makeup or any of that mess. Her Santas are so good, Mrs. Claus wouldn't know the difference."

I nudged him and teased, "I bet you can really fill out a Santa suit."

The bell above the outside door tinkled as a late customer wandered in. Chris glanced out the pass-through window and lowered his voice. "You really have the hots for Santa?" he asked.

"Shyeah," I replied. "I think he's damn sexy for an old guy. Hell, I'd blow him." I started for the front counter, but turned back at the kitchen doorway. "I'd blow most anyone in a Santa suit, to be honest. That's something to think about."

As I went to wait on the customer, I knew Chris's mind wasn't on anything else.