The Christmas Present

by ahorsewithnoname

©Copyright 2024 ahorsewithnoname

Chapter 1

Snow is an element that can be both magical and life-threatening. Thankfully, today, it was the former. A blanket of snow fell several days ago, giving time for snow plows to clear the roads, for boys looking for spare money for presents to offer to shovel a sidewalk or driveway, and for husbands and sons to clear away paths for beloved ones.

Living alone, Len had no one to clear the driveway for him, nor would any young men, or women for that matter, approach his door in search of work. He had no children, no siblings to grace his presence, and no neighbors within shouting distance.

As a felon or ex-felon, in his case, one generally doesn't endear oneself to those around. Oh, he could buy groceries from the local Wal-Mart, but he didn't go in there in person. Rather, he paid to have his groceries delivered. Surprisingly, he knew how to use a computer and order online. Wonders never ceased, he thought, when placing orders.

He wasn't bitter. He'd given up that line of thinking many years ago. When one spends 40 years behind bars, thoughts change over time. He didn't wish to be a bitter old man when he was released and figured at some point he would be released, so he had to forgive. What heinous crime did he commit to get a sentence requiring 40 years behind bars, and what preposterous reason could he have a need to forgive?

Len wondered how many people used a single-sheet-per-day desk calendar. He did. An hour earlier, he tore off the sheet, and there, staring him in the face, was a simple tree with a prominent star in the sky, and the date was December 24.

For some, he knew that the holidays could be a lonely time, and he was "encouraged" to attend counseling before being released. He'd had exactly one visitor during the forty years he was incarcerated, so when offered time to speak with another human who didn't have a shiv on their person and was absent of malice of thought toward him, he accepted.

As a person, the counselor was cordial, efficient, guarded, methodical, and seemed to lack empathy despite Len's unique situation. The session went something like this:

"Mr. McCoy, is it? I see that you're scheduled to be released next week. Have you any relatives that you wish contacted, or friends, or . . ." and his voice faded as he continued to scan down the visitor log, seeing no entries except the lone visitor just over twenty years ago, a journalist, who wrote a story that was ignored by most up until recently.

"No, thank you," I replied, "there's no one needing to be contacted."

He eyed Len warily, who wasn't sure of the counselor's concern, Len being well-shackled and, in nearly forty years, had not one charge of violent behavior.

"Uh, have you thought about what you would do when you are released?"

It was logical, if not quite original, and one Len anticipated being asked, as in, what would the mass murderer do for entertainment?

"I thought I might find a quiet place to live. Perhaps adopt a cat. I'd like to garden. Read." He paused for a moment as if to reflect. "Do you think they will allow that? Me to adopt a kitten? Or buy a hoe. Or do you suppose I'll be able to obtain a library card? I don't imagine I'll be able to borrow books from this prison any longer, will I?"

The counselor wasn't particularly good at his job, for if he had been, he would have been in private practice and not working for the state. One could see that he was trying to determine if Len's questions were real or being obsequious. He felt Len wasn't being sycophantic, apparently.

"No, not here, but yes, you will be able to get a library card and those other things. You are being released. You do understand that, Mr. McCoy, don't you? Pardoned. You'll be just like all other normal people."

Len simply smiled with his hands folded in front of him, shackled as per visitation rules.

Len's smile, when not showing teeth and with his eyes focused narrowly upon another's, could be quite harrowing.

Chapter 2

It began snowing mid-morning. First lightly, then bigger flakes in a much more heavy pattern. Len didn't pay much attention to weather reports, figuring if he didn't go out often, there really wasn't much need to know what was happening outside.

After forty years of institutional cooking, one's palate becomes mundane and lacks a mercurial curiosity of flavor. But memories don't always vanish, and in his case, he remembered as a child the wonderful smell of homemade bread baking in the oven, of lasagna, turkey, or fresh ham cooking for hours.

With this being his first Christmas since being released, and with him certainly not venturing out to a restaurant for dinner and potentially scaring the bejesus out of people, he had decided to order some food and cook.

The thawing had gone well, and now, mid-afternoon, he was going to watch a new movie, something called A Christmas Story, or at least a new movie for him, when there was a knock on the door. Talk about the unexpected!

Opening the door, leaving only the large pane of glass between him and the winter weather, which now included a strong wind, he saw a family of five huddled together, covered with more snow than could be comfortable. The husband spoke up loudly so he could be heard through the door.

"Our car broke down about a mile or two up the road. We're freezing. Can we come in to call for a tow truck?" The wife looked close to tears. The daughter, angry, and the two younger boys were stamping their feet to warm them.

Len nodded and unlocked the glass door, then opened it, allowing the whole group to pass into the house. They stopped in the hallway, some muttering about freezing to death, while Len closed the door. Then, almost as a group, they realized that it was in the mid-70s inside the house and started rejoicing.

"Please, come in, you can hang your coats there," and Len pointed to a brass coat tree in the corner of the foyer. One after another they began taking off coats and scarves and hats and mittens and then realized that they'd tracked snow onto the hardwood floors. The wife began apologizing and was shooting daggers at the husband, but Len held his hand up, silencing her.

"It's okay, ma'am, this floor has some special sealant. A little bit of snow is not going to hurt it, I assure you. Now, if your shoes and socks are wet, please, take them off and we can place them near the fireplace to dry them, if you wish."

Ten wide eyes looked at him upon hearing the word fireplace and then it was action time as shoes and socks came flying off. A boy fell and grabbed his sister, bringing her to the ground with him, then mild curses were uttered followed by a quick rebuke from the Mom, all the while a wry smile starting to germinate on Len's face.

"The fire is this way," Len said, moving around the mass of disheveled bodies and through a doorway into the living room. When the entourage followed, each one of them slowed their pace upon entering as they saw not just the roaring fire, crackling from a large stack of thick hickory logs, but the ridiculously tall Christmas tree in one corner, stretching from floor to near ceiling.

The main lighting in the room came from the fire and from the several thousand lights strewn around its girth, some twinkling, some not and simply staying lit, traditional reds and greens and blues and oranges and even some white lights, backed by old school aluminum shields to block the heat from becoming a fire hazard.

"Wow, mister," said the youngest boy, who looked to be maybe ten, "that's the biggest Christmas tree in the world!" His awestruck expression was soon overshadowed by multiple family members correcting him and complimenting Len on the size and grandeur of the tree.

"You have a beautiful house, sir," said the wife, looking around and seeing the expanse of furniture, the decorations, the tapestries, and so forth. The girl had gone and sat on the bearskin rug in front of the fireplace, seeking its warmth. The two boys were over near the tree, not touching (the father had hissed at them not to touch) but looking intently.

"Very nice place--"

"Len," he interrupted, giving the husband his first name and offering his hand.

"Very nice place, Len," the man repeated, looking sorry that his hand was still quite cold as they shook. "Do you have a phone that we can use to get a tow--"

Once again, Len interrupted him, apparently a bad habit.

"I'm sorry, but I do not have a phone."

He had released Len's hand, and now was just staring at him, mouth slightly agape. Len noticed the man's wife too was now looking, dubiously. The daughter's expression, well, a frown would be most accurate. The boys were too busy pointing out cool things on the tree.

"You don't have a phone? Landline? Cell?"

Sliding his hands into his pants pockets, Len looked a bit sheepish.

"No, sorry, I just never got around to it. I don't have anyone to call, and I can order groceries from the computer."

Stunned silence followed.

"Do you not have cell phones yourselves?" It seemed a reasonable question. And again, daggers were being thrown from the eyes of the wife to the husband, who looked flustered.

"We, um, we, well, we've been driving for many hours, and everyone was on their cell, and the two boys were using mine and my wife's to play some games--"

"And someone forgot to grab the phone chargers from the counter," she said through gritted teeth in response to her husband's fumbling.

Again, there was a round of silence.

"I don't suppose you have any USB devices connected to your computer, do you?" This was the husband, asking hopefully.

"Sorry, no. The printer is wireless."

The husband just hung his head. The wife sighed and walked over to the boys. The girl apparently had brought a book with her and had it opened and was reading. Len noticed it was Wuthering Heights. Ah, a Brontë follower, he thought. How quaint.

Chapter 3

Len spoke quietly toward the husband.

"With this weather and being out here in the country, you're not going to be able to get in touch with anyone until tomorrow, at the earliest, and with tomorrow being Christmas, well." Len shrugged. " You and your family are welcome to stay here for the evening. And, of course, have dinner. Hopefully, we can get you back on the road tomorrow."

The wife had wandered back within listening distance and then came over as Len finished the invite.

"We couldn't do that to you, sir. I'm sure you had plans, family coming over, and--"

"No, I had no plans other than spending Christmas tomorrow with Samantha," and at her eyebrow-raised inquiry, he pointed toward another doorway leading into the kitchen. There, seated on the floor and taking it all in, was Sam, his six-month-old Siamese kitten.

The woman smiled, and in that instant, Len could understand why the man had married her and sired children. Her smile lit up the room as she knelt down and called Sam using a swishy sound. Sam, not used to having anyone else here except for Len, promptly ignored that request, as felines of Siamese descent were prone to do.

Undeterred, the woman got onto all fours and started crawling towards Sam, and it was then that Len first noted the tight jeans she wore and how they fit her posterior like a fine glove. Len felt a stirring between his legs, one that he had somewhat forgotten about for quite a while.

The woman chased Samantha into the kitchen. She had no chance of catching her, but Len thought it was amusing to watch her scamper around on all fours. In the interim he told her husband that there were bedrooms on the second level including a master with bath. The husband explained that they didn't have any clothes or anything with them and that the suitcases were still in the vehicle.

"I have a snowmobile. It's the only thing that can travel in this mess. You can take it and the cart that it pulls back to your car and get some of the necessaries."

The husband looked nonplussed. "Uh, I don't know how to drive one of them."

"Well, it wouldn't be able to handle your weight, my weight, and then luggage."

"I could go with you." It was the girl. She was looking toward Len. "I know how to get back to the car and what we'd need."

Len looked at her Dad, needing the man's permission. There was a nod.

"Be careful, please."

Len went down the hallway and entered his room to change into appropriate clothes. He started with thermal underwear, then a layer of sweats, a second layer of sweatpants, and finally, a down jacket with a warm hat, scarf, and gloves. He brought an extra thick scarf for the girl.

When he returned to the living room, Len saw that her Mom and Dad were having a semi-quiet argument about him going off into the storm with their daughter. The girl was holding her socks and sneakers close to the fire. Len walked to her.

"How are they?"

"They'll be fine." Then she lowered her voice. "Anything to get away from them for a bit."

Len chuckled, then moved toward the girl's parents, and they stopped arguing.

"Hi. Rest assured, I'll take good care of . . . I just realized I don't know any of your names. Again, I'm Len. Len McCoy."

"Oh geez, I'm sorry, how rude of us!" It was the wife, now blushing.

"I'm Mary. This is my husband, Peter. My daughter is Sarah. And my two boys are John and James."

Len looked at each, as introduced, and nodded acknowledgment.

"Nice to meet you," he said at the end.

There was a slightly awkward silence.

"So, I guess Sarah and I will go get your belongings, and then we'll be back, and I can begin cooking." It was more of a statement than a question.

Len got a slight nod and half-smile from Mary. He handed the scarf to Sarah, who had put on her now-dry socks and sneakers. Then Len nodded toward the doorway leading into the kitchen.

As they walked through the kitchen, she was looking around at the appliances, the large oak table and chairs, the hutch, the marble tops, the custom tile flooring and then had a question.

"Are you rich or something?" she said, looking up at Len.

He smiled at her. "Rich can be relative." She didn't seem convinced.

"I have some money. I spent some of it on this house. To be comfortable. I wasn't comfortable before."

He guessed that was good enough for her. They continued out, through a mudroom, and then into the garage. The snowmobile had a sled on skis connected to it. Len placed a long-handled brush into the sled, along with a blanket. Then, using a remote, he opened the garage door. A foot of additional snow had fallen, and the conditions were not getting any better.

Len took his place on the snowmobile. There was room for Sarah right in front of him. She looked at the spot, at Len, smirked a bit, he thought, and climbed aboard as he started it. They moved slowly out of the building and down the driveway as Len shut the garage door, finally turning onto the road.

Some cars or trucks had gone by earlier, but again, with the heavy snow, most tracks were getting covered. Someone had, though, gone through recently with a snowmobile, so he opted to follow in their path and gunned it.

With nothing to really hold onto, Sarah flew back into Len, her butt pushing snugly up against his crotch. He eased off the throttle to slow the forward movement. Not having had anything resembling fertile near that part of his body in, well, not quite half a century but still, a long, long time, appendages lengthened.

Len got hard.

Chapter 4

He wasn't sure she'd felt it, but she did look a little bit back toward him with wider eyes than normal for her.

"Take hold of it," Len said to her, his voice loud to overcome the wind and ambient noises.

Now she turned her head with an odd smile and look about her.

"Take hold of it, the handlebars, so you don't fall."

She blushed a bit, turned, and did as she was told. They were off again.

---

Bored, and slightly irritated with Peter, Mary decided to walk around the house. It was huge, much larger than the place her and her family lived in, and it was so clean! Almost like it was brand new or not lived in. Going out another archway than the kitchen, she found herself in a two-story library.

She slowed her pace, looking at the wooden bookshelves that stretched from the floor to near the ceiling. Mahogany, she thought silently to herself. She noted the oversized desk at the far end and several overstuffed leather high-back chairs strategically placed toward each other to allow conversation or a comfortable place to read.

The centerpiece of the room was a massive, circular aquarium, saltwater, she surmised by the large coral reef that dominated the bottom. She could identify some of the occupants: clownfish, the deadly lionfish, and a scary moray eel that was hunkered down in a cave.

Some type of shark was swimming above the reef, perhaps a foot or so in length. Mary noted what appeared to be pottery on its side, and in the shadows, a tentacle. He must have an octopus in there, she thought with glee.

Continuing on, she moved over to the desk, again, the grain indicating a mahogany build. She sat in the chair and for no good reason, opened a couple of the drawers. Nothing much of interest, except there was an envelope in a bottom drawer that was from the Governor's office. Carefully opening it and removing the contents, she began reading the letter.

---

Len and Sarah arrived at the vehicle and found it enveloped with the latest snowfall. Using the brush that he brought, Len was able to sweep away some snow from the back door to the SUV and open it. He noted the weird angle at which the vehicle sat, so he crouched down and saw that the back axle was broken.

Sarah quickly moved past him and inside, stepping over the family's luggage to get to her seat, where she started rummaging through a backpack.

Len took the two largest suitcases and moved them into the sled, leaving room for what he assumed to be the boy's backpacks, which he then loaded. Returning to the car, he saw that Sarah was sitting in a seat, eating a sandwich. Climbing in, Len closed the door behind him to provide protection from the wind and snow.

He moved carefully to sit in the seat next to Sarah, but there was a soft briefcase that seemed like it had been tossed there and was in the way. He picked it up, noticing some file folders as one slipped out. He saw the paperwork, multiple copies of the same thing, then just pushed it all back into the folder and sat down. Len looked down, then looked at her.

"What?" she said, in between bites, "I was hungry."

With just his eyes, he caught hers, looked down at her feet, then back to her eyes. Then he followed her eyes as she tilted her head slightly and looked down, then literally spit the partially-chewed sandwich out as she simultaneously said, "Fuck!" and then covered up the object with her feet. Looking back at Len, her face was beet red, even brighter than her hair.

"Allow me," said Len, leaning down to pick up the object. Her foot was still obscuring it. "Sarah? I've already seen it, you know?"

It might have been a big snowflake that landed in her eye, but it seemed like there was a tear forming. Reluctantly, she moved her foot and did allow Len to retrieve the object. He held it up, looked at it curiously, then turned the bottom of it.

"Yaaahhhh," he cried out and dropped it, then picked it up again as the vibrations had started causing it to wiggle around on the floor. He quickly turned it off.

"This, uh, well, it looks like, a, like a pen--"

"It's a vibrator," volunteered Sarah quietly.

Len just stared at her for a moment.

"You've never seen a vibrator?" she asked, almost whispering.

Len just shook his head slowly. Then, she could see that things were slowly dawning on him.

"Oh. This is a sexual toy. Your toy?"

The blush that had gone partially away came roaring back.

"Yes." Now, it was a whisper. "How is it you don't know about sex toys?"

Len looked slightly uncomfortable. "I was away."

Sarah thought for a moment. They don't have toys overseas, she wondered to herself.

"Are you married? Girlfriend?"

"No. Just me. And Sam." He smiled.

"But you've had girlfriends?"

Len paused, not sure where this conversation was going. He put the vibrator inside Sarah's bookbag.

"No. Not since I was, well, probably your age."

Now it was Sarah's turn to look surprised, as some color had come into Len's cheeks.

She opted to change the subject.

"I felt it."

Len looked back toward her. "Hmm?"

"I said I felt it. When we were riding. My butt was against you, and I could feel it. You were hard."

Len didn't know what to say.

Sarah had put down her sandwich. "Can I see it?" Her voice was quiet again.

He thought he was hearing things.

"Can you see ... it?"

"Yes. I've never seen a real one. You know, in person, not on the internet. Can I see it?"

"Uh, that would be highly improper; you're what, 17? That's not old enough, and if you said--"

"I'm not going to tell anyone. Do you know how much trouble I'd get into?" She was also pleased that he thought she was 17.

Len paused for a few moments. Then, without further preamble, he took hold of his doubled-up sweats and pulled them down to his knees. He turned in the seat toward Sarah, wearing just his thermal underwear.

"Are you sure?" he inquired.

She just nodded, eyes wide.

Chapter 5

Len hooked his fingers into his thermals, then paused.

"Maybe you'd like to do it?"

She smiled coyly, then nodded. She had to get closer so she crouched down and reached for the thermals, and then slowly pulled them down to just above his knees.

She looked and stared, and staring back at her was his dick. That's what she and her friends called them. They'd heard cock, but that sounded dirtier, they thought, and penis was too classroom-like.