A Modern Gay s*x Christmas Carol: The Complete Collection

Flaming Fred Makes His Entrance - A Modern Gay s*x Christmas Carol: Hot Guys Going At It During A Snowstorm – Part 1

A blast of cold air and some swirling snow accompanied the visitor who wasted no time making his presence known. "Merry Christmas, Bee-yotches!" he declared loud and proud as he burst into the office and Z-snapped his way across the room.

Bob stood to greet the man and extended his hand. "Good afternoon and welcome to Splooge & Jism Investment Management. I'm Bob Crotchlick."

"I'll just bet you are!" the man said with a wink. "I'm-"

"He's nobody and he's leaving," Dickteaser Splooge interrupted while barely looking up from his computer screen.

"How rude!" the visitor said, but not in a manner that indicated he was insulted in the least. "My card..." he said to Bob as he whipped out a headshot, a supply of which he apparently kept handy in his ski jacket. Bob noticed the odd thing about the headshot was that it had two different performers listed, one man and one woman.

"I don't get it," Bob said.

"Oh, come now, I bet you get plenty, a sexy DILF type like you," he said.

Bob put his hand up to his face in a useless attempt to cover the embarrassment revealed by his flushed cheeks.

"They're both me. I perform at The Hunty Pot over in the Village. I'm Frederick by day and Frederica by night." He trilled his R's in both names, but even more so when he said the female version. "But you have a special pet name for me, don't you, Dickteaser?"

"I call him 'Flaming Fred,'" Dickteaser said and in a tone that indicated it was not to be construed as a compliment. "And it's not because of his freckles and his unruly, curly red hair," Dickteaser explained unnecessarily.

"How do you two know each other?" Bob inquired, imagining this story could get very interesting.

"We're neighbors," both Flaming Fred and Dickteaser Splooge said simultaneously. The funny thing was that discrepancy between the each man said the same thing.

Fred said it in such an upbeat way that it sounded like he was describing finding out you lived next door to an ice cream factory that hosted an all you can eat free ice cream buffet every day. Splooge said it in such a disgusted way that it sounded like he was describing living next door to a former nuclear waste dump now being used as pig farm.

"Flaming Fred, what are you doing here, in my office?" Dickteaser asked. "Isn't it bad enough that I might accidentally bump into you once a week in the condo complex while putting out the trash?"

"I was on my way to do some last minute shopping and when I passed by, I saw you were still in the office so I wanted to come in and wish you a Merry Christmas."

"Bah!" said Splooge. "Humpstud!"

"Christmas a humpstud?" said Flaming Fred. "I'm sure you don't mean that."

"I most assuredly do," said Splooge. "Merry Christmas! Why would you be all cheerful and merry? You're poor enough."

Flaming Fred didn't miss a beat. "Why would you be so bitchy and rude? You're rich enough."

Not thinking of a good retort fast enough, Splooge simply repeated, "Bah, humpstud."

"Don't be upset, Dickteaser," said Fred with a sincere smile.

"What else would I be when the world is made up of fools like you? Merry Christmas! Screw your Merry Christmas! What's the Christmas season to you, but a time for finding yourself a year older, and in need of even more concealer to hide those crow's feet around your eyes when you turn into Frederica, all the while not finding yourself even an hour richer."

Splooge shuddered at the thought and continued, "It's a time for buying things you don't need - for people who don't deserve them - with money you don't have - so you end up racking up credit card bills you can't afford to pay. If I ran the world, every i***t who goes around with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips would be boiled in his own jizz and buried with a holly-covered dildo shoved so far up his ass that it sticks out of his mouth!"

"Dickteaser Splooge!" cried Fred with shock that anyone, even old crotchety Splooge, could be so hateful about Christmas.

"Flaming Fred!" Splooge replied with mock indignation. "You celebrate Christmas in your own way and let me celebrate it in mine."

"Celebrate it?" repeated Fred. "But you don't celebrate it."

"Let me ignore it then," said Splooge. "Celebrating it certainly hasn't done jack s**t for you over the years."

Fred stood up straighter. Well, as straight as anyone who would answer to the nick-name "Flaming Fred" could possibly stand. "There are many things in life which might have done me some good, though they resulted in no monetary profit, Christmas being just one example. What's gayer than Christmas? I love Christmas!"

Fred threw his arms wide open. "It's a wonderful time of year when people remember to be extra kind, forgiving, charitable, and pleasant. It's the only time of year when people somehow just naturally seem to care for each other and try to help out those in need and those less fortunate. So, although, Christmas has never put any dollars in my checking account, I believe it has done me good in the past, will do so this year too, and yet again in the future. I say, girl, put on your best party dress, let it all hang out, and go Christmas cra cra!"

Without thinking, Bob Crotchlick rose from his desk and applauded wildly. Instantly, realizing the impropriety of his reaction, Bob quickly sat back down and started clicking his mouse around the computer screen.

Splooge turned to Bob and bellowed, "If I hear one more peep from you, Bob Crotchlick, you'll celebrate Christmas by losing your job!"

"Don't be angry with him, Dickteaser," Fred said with an over the top hand gesture. "Come to my condo tomorrow for Christmas dinner."

"I'd rather eat baked cockroaches by the side of the road."

"Oh, you're so silly," Fred said with a dismissive wave of the hand. "Why won't you come to a festive dinner at my place tomorrow?"

Splooge changed tactics. "Why did you marry your partner, John, as soon as it became legal in this state?" he questioned Fred.

"Because I fell in love."

"Love!" Splooge growled, as if love were the only thing in the world more ridiculous than a merry Christmas. "Get out of my office, Flaming Fred."

Ignoring the order to leave, Fred returned the conversation to Splooge's earlier point. "What does my marriage to John have to do with anything? You never accepted our invitations to dinner before we got married so how is that an excuse for not coming to our place now?"

"Good bye," Splooge grumbled.

"I want nothing from you. I ask nothing from you. Why can't we be neighbors and friends?"

"Good bye," Splooge repeated, this time adding a little hand wave to reinforce his point visually.

"I'm sorry you're such a stubborn old man," Fred said with regret rather than aggravation while shaking his head. His mop of curly red hair flopped back and forth as he did so. "We've never had an argument or disagreement as neighbors. I don't know why you're always so crabby. No matter, I'll keep my Christmas spirit regardless of your disapproval. So, Merry Christmas to you, Dickteaser Splooge!"

"Good bye," said Splooge.

"And a Happy New Year!" Fred sung out loudly.

"And good riddance!" said Splooge.

Not wishing to get Bob Crotchlick into any more trouble with his boss, Flaming Fred quietly went over to Bob's desk and conveyed his holiday wishes. Bob walked Fred to the door, thanked him, and returned the season's greetings in whispered tones.

As Flaming Fred went back out into the snowstorm, two other gentlemen entered the offices of Splooge & Jism Investment Management. Dickteaser Splooge rubbed his hands together greedily and said to himself, "I knew it was worth it to stay open this afternoon. Finally, new clients. I can smell the extra money already!"

As he approached them, Dickteaser noticed they carried clipboards and pamphlets. Each of them had some kind of photo identification badge attached to their jackets. The thought practically made Splooge sick to his stomach as he wondered if the two men might represent some kind of, how Splooge hated the word, non-profit.

Then Splooge comforted himself with the thought that there were quite a few non-profits that held extensive investments, even into the hundreds of million of dollars. Just imagining a new account with that kind of money made Splooge smile, as much as someone like Dickteaser Splooge could smile – which was so very little that the outward expression on his face showed no discernible change.

The taller of the two men stood about 6'3. He had brown hair which was closely cropped on the sides with enough length growing on top that it could be styled different ways. Today it was combed over to one side in a thick wave. His five o'clock shadow had arrived early.

His photo ID badge identified him as Mark Peeon which he explained, almost apologetically, was pronounced the way it looked. "And yes," he added, "anytime I'm in a situation that requires my last name to be read aloud first, everyone snickers when they hear Peeon, Mark."

Bob Crotchlick nodded sympathetically as he certainly understood the embarrassment that came from names that garnered more than their fair share of attention.

The other man was 5'11 and had longer dirty blonde hair. He occasionally swept it away from his eyes or tucked behind his ear if it fell out of place when he moved his head around while he talked.

His light-colored goatee called attention to his full lips which were red from the windy weather. The name on his badge was Ryan Handcock which somehow seemed more of an invitation than a moniker and fit right into the conversation perfectly.

Bob had to stifle a laugh with a pretend cough when the thought occurred to him that if the four of them were partners in a business, it could be called Peeon, Crotchlick, Handcock & Splooge!

Consulting his clipboard, Mark Peeon said, "Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Splooge or Mr. Jism?"

"Mr. Jism has been dead for twenty years," Splooge replied. He died twenty years ago, this very night, as a matter of fact."

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," the startled man said awkwardly. "What a thing to have to remember every Christmas Eve."

Splooge kept silent about the fact that he hadn't thought of it at all until this very moment when the man mentioned his dead partner's name. He had no desire to discuss the dead. There was no money to be made in that, unless, of course, one was a funeral director. He wanted to get back to the reason they were there, a reason he hoped would make him richer very soon.

"I do hope your deceased partner's level of generosity is well represented by his surviving partner," said Ryan Handcock diplomatically while he handed Splooge a pamphlet as a segue to getting to the true nature of their visit.

Splooge sighed audibly when he discovered that the cover photos on the pamphlet showed sad faced families and the accompanying text described their hardships due to the state of the economy. It became obvious to Splooge that the two men were soliciting donations.

They would soon find out that they were right about one thing. He certainly did share his deceased partner's level of generosity – a big fat zero! Splooge abruptly handed the pamphlet back to the man who had presented it to him.