Monday, December 23, 2013
Porker peered out the bedroom window for what must have been the dozenth time that evening. “Are you s-s-sure your f-f-folks w-w-won’t be back?”
Mary tugged him away from the window and back to the bed. She’d already explained, in signing and writing, that they had the house to themselves. Yes, Vern McMahon had happily abandoned his bachelor apartment and moved into the rural Ewing home when he’d married Elly. But tonight, Christmas Eve, they were down in Talbot’s Peak sharing the holiday with Mooney and Marissa and the grandpups. They wouldn’t be home until well after Loki and Thor had made a thorough mess of the living room ripping into their gifts on Christmas morning.
Porker glanced at the window again. “Your b-b-b-brothers—”
Have their own apartments, Mary signed. And dates. Wherever they drag home to in the morning, it won’t be here. She snuggled closer to Porker. It’s just you and me, all night long, on Christmas.
Porker opened his mouth. Mary shut it with a finger on his lips, then opened it again with a kiss. Her private world of silence expanded to encompass the bedroom. Porker willingly joined in.
Finally Mary pulled back. She teased at the zipper on his leather biker jacket. Do you want your present now or later?
He didn’t bother with signing. He went right for her fuzzy Christmas sweater. She slid his jacket off his fine bulky shoulders. Each eyed their gifts and found them exactly what they wanted.
Porker pointed to the window without speaking. Mary glanced beyond him. A fine snow had begun to swirl down from the cloudy skies. A white Christmas was pretty much a given in this part of Montana, but the timing of this storm was excellent.
They took their time removing each other’s outer clothing. Mary slid out of her silk bra and panties. Those were a gift from Penelope, and too delicate to risk in a boar’s eager hands. Mary herself wasn’t delicate, and on this special night she fully intended to prove it.
Merry Christmas, Brian, she mouthed.
Porker frowned. “I t-t-told you not to c-c-c-all me—” he started, when Mary shut him up with her mouth again. She snuck her hand down his boxers to seal the deal. Porker forgot all about his annoyance over his given name. He held her close and murmured words Mary couldn’t hear. His hands, however, shouted out his message loud and clear. Merry Christmas, babe.
And the rest, as they say, is silence. Except for some grunts and one long squeal, and soft, ecstatic bleats.