Christmas on Crack (2 page)

Santa
had promised his wife he’d never do that sort of thing again and he meant it.
But after a few weeks, that didn’t satisfy her. She kept hounding him to
explain why he’d pick some young Russian whore when he had such a hot, young
wife at home. Santa didn’t really have a reason. He admitted it seemed strange,
since most men would kill to have a young wife like Diana at home. She had
cute, perky breasts and a petite body that would bring any cock to attention.
But the Russian girl he brought over was plump and voluptuous like a juicy
sugarplum. Yes, it was true Santa was one of the most magical men in the world,
but he was still a
man
.

He
had promised Diana that he wouldn’t stray again and had intended to keep that
promise. But couldn’t she at least give him an occasional handjob or something?
Instead, she neglected the intimate part of their marriage and expected him to
satisfy himself
alone.
The whole fucking thing was just too damn frustrating and
on top of that, he had to deliver fucking toys again.

Let’s
get this shit over with.

Santa
shook his head free from stress and looked down at the last stop on his
Christmas delivery route. It was a new town that had just popped up out of
nowhere. There didn’t appear to be any industry nearby, no coal mines or
anything like that. It was as if a group of people just decided to settle
themselves on a plot of land like their ancestors would have done hundreds of
years ago.

It
was situated between two snowy mountains, cradled like a nursery filled with
brick and wood babies. Santa thought the place looked like a shit-hole but it
possessed a weird, quaint sort of charm that wasn’t usually evident in new
towns. If he didn’t know better, Santa would have guessed the town was at least
three hundred years old.

But
Santa really didn’t give a shit about the specifics of the place. He
automatically resented it and its residents for providing him with an
additional delivery stop. He couldn’t wait to get home and kick back with a
drink. That would be the routine for the next eleven months. Twelve hours a day
of watching kung-fu movies while drinking rum and donkey’s milk. That is, until
next December rolled around and he’d have to start preparing for the holidays.

“Okay,
you rat bastards, bring me on down,” Santa said to the reindeer. “Let’s dump
our shit and get the hell out of here.”

The
animals answered by snorting and dropping straight down through the air,
forcing Santa back in his seat. “Okay, okay, not so fast!” he said, pulling the
reins until they cut into his hands and drew blood. “Shit!”

Deep
red blood leaked onto the sleigh and formed the shape of a pair of high heels.
Santa looked down at it and smudged it with his elbow as the reindeer pulled
the vehicle down closer and closer to the town.

As
the sleigh reached the rooftops, Santa saw a decorative wooden sign, lit up by
multi-colored Christmas lights:

WELCOME TO TUSK Population 2,976

“A little town.. .just for you
_____
”

“Yeah,
yeah, kiss my ass,” Santa said, as he landed the sleigh on the first house.

II.

Diana
Claus sat on her front porch and looked out at the North Pole, her
village
of
Christmas Spirit
, her kingdom of holiday
cheer, her dominion of toys and joy.

“Son
of a bitch,” she said.

She
knew that it was her husband’s job to be out all night delivering toys but she
couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d use the opportunity to screw around behind
her back. Despite his tight schedule, Diana knew he’d find a way to squeeze in
a blowjob or a quick fuck somewhere, probably
Amsterdam
or
Newark
. He’d
probably hire some slut to dress up like that one-eyed woman from that movie he
liked so much, the one where the bad-ass chick gets revenge. The eye patch
really made Santa’s dick hard but Diana refused to wear one. It was just plain
weird. But that probably meant some other bitch was wearing one for him.

Well,
fuck it.

She
had it. She was sick of being humiliated. Sure, he’d promised he’d never cheat
on her again but could she believe him? He was a man, after all. Diana was considerably
younger than he was, still had her figure, and had not a wrinkle on her face.
Yet he still found the need to order himself a chubby Russian girl!

The
rage and resentment had been building inside her ever since “the incident” and
it had boiled over into a plan.

It
was a plan that involved sacrificing her lifestyle or at least temporarily
altering it. That is,
if
they could be settled. The plan would have to be executed
with meticulous skill, but Diana didn’t feel like she had the patience to do
it herself.

That’s
why she called
them
.

The
Elves of Fuck.

Contrary
to popular belief, Christmas elves weren’t the only kind of elves around. In
fact, they were a small minority among the elf race. There were dozens of
varieties of elves and Mrs. Claus counted on the rumors being true, that the
Elves of Fuck were the ones to call when you needed something done about an
unfaithful spouse.

Apparently
they also had their tiny hands in the pornography business, producing fetish
films for customers who found midgets to be a bit too disproportionate. Diana
had actually found out about them after viewing one of their films,
Spit Shine My Face #4,
which consisted of five elf women
spitting on and slapping a regular-sized man. It hadn’t been her cup of tea but
she was thankful that it introduced her to the Elves of Fuck.

So
there she was, sitting on her front porch on Christmas Eve, waiting for her
elf contact to come along and give her an update. A part of her hoped that her
fears would be unfounded and Santa would not be sniffing around strange snatch.
Maybe then they could repair their marriage and she could go back to trusting
him wholeheartedly like she had done in the beginning.

From
behind her, a voice said, “Diana?”

She
turned and saw that it was Smitty, her squidfoot. Smitty had been found roaming
the North Pole ten years prior. At first, Diana was terrified of him. After
all, he was seven-feet tall and hairy, looking like a cross between a
sasquatch and a squid. After spending some time with him, however, Diana
learned that he wasn’t the monstrous beast she had expected. In fact, Smitty
was quite gentle and cultured.

“Hey
there!” she said.

Smitty
said, “So you’re really going through with it, Diana?”

“Yeah.
Why? You don’t think I should?”

“I’m
just saying, you open up this can of worms and who knows what kind of
repercussions will come squirming out. Those elves mean business, you know.”

“I
know. That’s why I hired them.”

“Did
you speak to them already?”

“Yeah.
Someone should be here any minute. I told them not to do anything until I say
so.”

Smitty
put a tentacle on Diana’s shoulder. “And what if they tell you he’s messing
around with someone else?” “Then I tell them to kill the son of a bitch.”

Smitty
sighed. “Spoken like a true wife.”

“Hey,
I’ve given him more than enough opportunities to show me that he truly wants to
be faithful and if he’s not messing around, he has nothing to worry about. If
he is, then he deserves it.”

“But
what about all the kids? What about Christmas?” “Oh, fuck Christmas. If no one
is able to take over the job, then all those whiny brats don’t get their stupid
little toys.”

Before
Smitty could respond, a flash of light appeared in front of them. The flash
morphed into a cloud of purple smoke and out of that smoke walked an elf. A
naked elf.

III.

Santa
had delivered to three houses when he realized something was strange about the
town.

The
three houses he had delivered in didn’t seem right. The living rooms felt phony,
as if they were all sets from a movie or television show. Sure, there were
signs of habitation (framed pictures, children’s toys spread across the floor,
food in the fridge) but there was an emptiness that could only be felt and not
seen. Santa was tempted to look into the rooms so he could see for himself that
there were people living there, but he resisted the urge. Doing something like
that could only bring trouble.

It
was while sneaking around the back of the fourth house that he smelled the peppermint.

Santa
sniffed and realized that it wasn’t just peppermint. There was a musky odor in
there and a fishy smell that was not entirely unpleasant.

He
was about to try to follow the smell when, from behind him, there was the sound
of giggling.

“Yoohoo,”
a woman’s voice purred. “Oh my, oh my, oh my. Is it true?”

Santa
put his hand to his forehead.
Awww, shit.

This
had happened two years before. Santa had been caught by some nosey
good-for-nothing teenage boy over in
Dayton
,
Ohio
. It had resulted in his
having to commit his first and only kidnapping. He felt slightly guilty for
having to drop the fucker into a volcano on the sleigh ride back to the North
Pole but it had to be done.

Still,
he didn’t want to have to do it again.

He
turned around but didn’t see the woman. She was in the shadows. He said,
“Shhhhhhhh.. .Be quiet. You’re dreaming.” It was a lame trick that rarely
worked but he had to try it.

“No
need to be quiet, sweetie, oh, sweetie,” she said. “I know who you are, I do.
See?” She stepped out of the snowy shadows.

Santa
nearly fell over. The woman that stood before him was the most beautiful he had
ever seen. If he had believed in angels, he’d have sworn she was one.

She
seemed ageless, though if Santa had to guess, he’d say she was probably forty,
maybe forty-five years old. Even so, every one of those years must have been
smooth ones. Even the small wrinkles on her face looked as if drawn by a god.

Her
breasts were massive, bulging forward, struggling against her dark red business
suit. Santa’s eyes moved downward and saw she wore high heels, glittery red
like

Dorothy’s
shoes in The Wizard of Oz. Santa thought that was funny. Sexy, but funny. He
imagined those shoes clicking together, summoning the Lollipop Guild but
instead of munchkins, they’d be elves whose sole purpose was to give those
shoes (and the feet within) a tongue bath.

His
eyes went back to her breasts. “Uh,” was all he could manage to say.

“No
words?” she said. “You’re looking at my chest. Have anything to get off yours?”

The
peppermint scent grew stronger, forcing itself up Santa’s nostrils and into his
head until he felt like his brain was aflame with mint fire. He kept staring at
the woman, from her wiggling toes trapped in her glittery shoes up to her thick
thighs that were barely covered by her tight skirt. What was she doing out in
the snow dressed like that? She didn’t even have a coat on. But he wasn’t
complaining. If she had worn a coat, he would never have gotten such a

good look at her
___

“Chest?”
he said.

The
woman took a step closer. “Yes. Do you have anything to get off your chest?
Such as who you really are. You’re not some shopping mall Santa Claus, are you?
You’re the real deal, the real McCoy, the whole kit and caboodle. Saint Nicolas
himself, not some butter-and-egg man coming through the humble little town of
Tusk
.”

“I, uh, don’t know what you’re
___
” he said. Before he

could
finish, however, Santa realized he was an inch away from the woman, eye-level with
her cleavage as it spoke to him like erotic hieroglyphs. Snowflakes were
falling between her breasts, moistening them. Santa imagined the woman
drooling onto her own cleavage, making it sloppy for him to bury his face in. A
snow and saliva ride through her plump, milky valley.