*Winter's Present* - serialized

             Winter’s Present
                    .
               Bryan Simmons

     Table of Contents

Silver	9
Winter	23
Fast	29
Wearing White	49
Sex Kitten	59
The Party	73
Turkey Claus	101
Boy Talk	121
Scorpions	131
Ann	147
Lady Bear	173
Cinnamon Buns	189
Sandy Beach	205
Our Tricycle	235
Queen of Love	249
Art	279
Pillow Talk	291
A Pink Line to Burritos	297
Making Love	309
Solomon	317
Wearing White Again	323
Change is Hard	333
The Letter	337
The Vapors	365
Performance Issues	373
Somebody Else's Daughter	391
Love Kiss	399
Bigamy	411
Equality	425
Anniversary	439





Copyright 2014, 2025 by Bryan Simmons


This book is dedicated to my wife, Betsy, and to my muse, who shall 
remain nameless.



                   Silver

*Where love and death have played amends,
Knowing there's nothingness at the end.
Then you'll say, "Do you wanna pretend again,
That we're in love?"*

She wasn't like the other girls.  They'd approach with their sexy or 
their sweet, their vulnerable or their confident.  They all had their 
ways of suggesting that it was something just a little more than fee for 
service, and some, you could tell, had a natural talent for making every 
emotion seem real.  Ian didn't care.  He tipped all the girls well at 
the stage, and that soothed the ones he never chose, which was almost 
all of them.  He wasn't concerned with the intellectual knowledge that 
for the most part, the dancers had little but contempt for the patrons. 
He laughed to himself.  "Patrons."

Ian walked over to the bar and said, "Hi."

The woman, who looked quite young, giggled and returned the, "Hi."

"I haven't seen you here before."

"It's my first night.  I thought I'd get here an hour or so before I go 
on to get the feel for what I'm supposed to be doing."

"You've never danced before?"

"Oh, I've danced, I've just never stripped, or danced for anything but 
my own pleasure."

  "Well, young lady, I could make your first day an easy one by taking 
you in back for your whole shift."

"You must have deep pockets."

"I do."

"I might have to take you up on that, but the club has a rule, no 
privates until the girl does one round on stage.  Oh, and if I were a 
lady, I don't think I'd be about to do what I'm about to do."  She 
started giggling again, "I've never even been to one of these places 
before.  I'll probably look ridiculous."

"So what possessed you to seek employment at this fine establishment?"

She laughed harder this time, "You're a funny old guy."  She paused, 
"Now don't you make me laugh up there.  I mean it.  I'm having a hard 
enough time as it is."

"Nervous about being naked?"

"No, it's the trappings, and the hokiness.  Look what I'm wearing. 
Believe me, I'll be happy to take it off."

"And the shoes?" Ian asked.

"That's the worst.  I'll probably need a wheelchair to get to classes 
tomorrow."

"You could take those off too."

"Have you seen any of the girls take off their shoes?  It's probably 
some rule they just forgot to tell me about."

"Any one of the dancers would take off her shoes for a $50 tip.  Watch." 
  Ian approached the stage, and the dancer disengaged, and went to where 
she knew the money was.  He stuck a fifty in her garter, pointed 
discreetly, and whispered, "Shoes."  She made quite a show of removing 
her shoes.  Ian walked back to the bar.

She said aloud, though out of his earshot, "Maybe you *can* afford me."

Ian sat next to her again, and asked her if she'd like a drink, and she 
told him she wasn't 21, but he could buy her an "overpriced soda" if he 
wanted, and then told him not to.  "The last thing I need is to be up 
there dancing, feeling like I have to pee."

Ian's face conveyed interest as he said, "You seem nice."

"Well, I hope you don't mean 'nice' in that nice girls wouldn't do this, 
nice meaning not slutty, because any of these women might be nice or 
otherwise, and if you're saying that I'm better than them because 
they're not *nice girls,* and I seem like I am, then you're a sexist, 
and this conversation is over."

"'Slutty' isn't in my lexicon, and if it were, I'd be the one who was 
degraded.  I might be sex obsessed, and obviously I'm paying for sexual 
titillation, but I can assure you, there's not a smidgeon of contempt 
for the dancers.  I just adore women's bodies, head to toe, and as 
imperfect as the whole strip club thing is, it gives me a much needed fix."

"So you're telling me that you're a female body junkie.  Do guys admit 
that?"

"I just did.  I like everything about female bodies, with all five 
senses.   Does that make you uncomfortable?"

"No.  It's nice, and maybe you're nice too, in the way that you say 
you're saying that I seem nice, but I need to mingle, give some 
attention to the other guys, maximize my earnings."

Ian saw her working the room.  The other strippers were often assertive, 
even sitting on men's laps, uninvited, but most often appreciated.  She 
didn't spend much time with any one man, and while Ian couldn't hear the 
words, he could tell that she was tacking in a unique way.  She left 
nearly every one of them laughing.

When it was her turn to dance, Silver--that was the stripper name she's 
chosen from the list of suggested names than none of the other dancers 
were currently using--turned to Ian and mouthed, "Don't make me laugh." 
The name was absurd, because she had light brown hair that Ian would 
soon learn was her natural color.

When the music started, she had no idea what to do.  This wasn't the 
song she'd chosen, and it wasn't really danceable.  She danced her way 
over to Ian, who had positioned himself next to the stage and glared. 
He responded with a smile, and 3 fifties in her garter, as he chuckled 
and looked at her feet.  As she'd said, she got undressed quickly, 
removing her shoes first.

*You know you've got it, Ultra.
I haven't felt this way since high school.*
  
  

Her stripping was completely inept, and she had zero experience with the 
pole.  It was more like watching a college girl dancing around her dorm 
room, taking her clothes off in preparation for a shower or to get into 
her nightclothes, and there was no tease at all.  She opened herself 
wide, and so close that you could tell that she didn't use that spray 
that most of the strippers do, and which Ian found a bit repulsive.

*Touch me, electric and I melt.*

This was the girl next door, the really cute girl next door, the one who 
made you ache that her bedroom wasn't on the side of the house that 
faced yours.

*Truly, Angoras should surround you and choose you as their queen.*

The audience ate it up.  She was the only dancer Ian had ever seen at 
the club who was completely unshaven, but she wasn't hiding anything, as 
she bent over and left very little to the imagination.  Even the dim 
lighting, which was meant to obscure, to leave them wanting more, was no 
match for her look-at-me-and-take-a-mental-picture performance.

*Touch me for real and take my heart.
'Cause I'm just dumb enough to think.*

When she walked off, after picking up all the cash that had been tossed 
on the stage, she put her panties back on, and carrying her shoes and 
the rest of what there was to her outfit, walked over to Ian.  "It's $30 
a song, and for an extra $20, you can feel up my boobs.  No touching 
anywhere that a bikini bottom would cover."

Ian asked, "How much for the rest of the evening?"

*Silver* smiled, "You weren't kidding."

"No."

She answered, "A thousand."

Ian smiled.  She walked over to the cashier to get an envelope, and 
after accepting ten $100 bills, she sealed the envelope, wrote her name 
on it, and dropped it in her mailbox.  She signaled to one of the 
bouncers to accompany her into the private room.

As they walked in, Ian said, "Good evening, Darren."

The bouncer replied, "Good evening, Sir."

"Darren, I've paid for this young *woman's* services until midnight. 
You know I'm a gentleman, and while I realize that it's your job to 
glance over from time to time, I'd appreciate as much privacy as possible.

The two fifty dollar bills were received with an exaggeratedly 
professional, "Thank you, Sir."

"And would you mind flagging a hostess to fetch us a bottle of wine? 
Something with bubbles."

"Yes Sir."

Ian sat on the couch, and Silver asked, "Am I supposed to sit on your 
lap?"

Ian laughed, "Why don't you just sit next to me?  We've got more than 
three hours, but while we're waiting for the drinks, let me have a good 
look at that beautiful face of yours."  He brushed her cheek lightly as 
he pushed her hair back behind her ear, his finger tracing the rim of 
her ear before moving back, and gently massaging her through her hair. 
"So beautiful."

“You know this is kind of embarrassing me.”

Ian snuffled and asked, “So, you’re not embarrassed to spread your butt 
cheeks in the faces of a bunch of salivating horndogs, but you’re 
getting all blushy about a man telling you that you have a beautiful 
face?”

“Yeah, you’re looking at me like I’m some kind of paradigm of human 
perfection.  Besides, I like showing people what I have between my legs. 
  It’s a thrill.  If it weren’t for all the other bullshit, it’d be 
really hot.  Oh, and about the butt thing, one of the other girls told 
me that if you show a little pink, the guys tip more, but if you put 
your ass in their faces, they go crazy.  What is it with guys?  Straight 
guys, it’s girls’ buttholes.  Gay guys, it’s boys’ buttholes.  Buttholes.”

“I assume that’s a rhetorical question, but I'll answer anyway.  In the 
context of this environment, it's like you're sharing the most private 
part of your body.  It plays on the fantasy of the woman being 
unconditionally accessible.”

The hand that wasn’t playing with her hair began to touch her hand, 
which was resting on her knee.  He was tracing her veins with his 
fingertips, then he started feeling the individual bones in her hand, 
working his way down each finger, then back, almost to her wrist.  He 
cupped her fingers and bought her hand to his face.  She could feel his 
breath on the back of her hand, and his lips moving on her the way his 
fingers had.  “I suppose you’d be more comfortable if I were manhandling 
your breasts?”

She thought for a moment, then said, “No, and if it weren't for the 
thousand dollars, I'd be on my way home.  It's pretty obvious that you 
were responsible for that crazy song too.  Why'd you do that?”

"Because you're my fantasy girl, and with the tips you got, I'd say 
almost everyone else's as well.  You should be thanking me.  I don't 
think I've ever seen so many guys throwing that many bills, but I do 
apologize."

"You ruined my joke."

Ian was curious, "Joke?"

"Yeah, I was going to use Brown Sugar, and it took some persuading to 
get the DJ to agree.  He said only Black girls dance to that, and that 
it didn't make sense.  I gave him my nicest little girl, 'Please,' and 
he rolled his eyes and said he'd do it, but that I owed him one.  Do you 
fucking own this place?"

"I guess I could, at least own a share, but then I couldn't touch the 
girls--and that's an awfully weird joke.  This isn't a comedy club." 
Ian paused,  "Besides, that's the weakest song on the album."

The server returned with a bottle of California Brut, which Darren 
opened, and poured.  “For the lady.”  He may have known, but probably 
not, that he was serving someone underage.

They both smiled, and Silver said, “Thank you.”  Of course, he wasn’t in 
on the "lady" thing.

  As he handed Ian the glass, “Sir.”  Ian thanked him, and he went back 
to his chair.

“So, what are you studying?”

“Excuse me?”

“In school.  What’s your major?”

She gazed at Ian with a somewhat puzzled expression, but saw no real 
reason not to answer honestly, “Sociology, maybe Anthropology.  I’m a 
freshman.  I’m just taking intro classes.”

Ian looked at her somewhat sideways, “So you can’t decide whether you’re 
a Socialist or a Communist?”

She gave him a look that feigned offense, but her eyes betrayed 
amusement, “What’s *that* supposed to mean?”

“A failed attempt at humor, so I guess we're even.  I was a Soc major 
too, and the one Anthro class I took was taught by a Marxian, but don’t 
think that because I’m a rich guy I’m hostile toward Liberals.  I’m rich 
because of dumb luck, not because I exploited the proletariat.”  Now, 
her eyes narrowed.  Ian continued, “I won the lottery.”

Her face softened, “So you got lucky.”

Ian nodded, “I’ve had enough bad luck too.  Will you lay your head on my 
shoulder?”  He stroked her hair, as he pulled her close and whispered, 
“Just let me pretend.”

Over the next hour, few words were spoken.  He touched her everywhere 
that wasn’t forbidden, places she hadn't been touched in a long time. 
It was affectionate, not at all what she’d expected.  She felt like a 
cat being pet, and she purred.  She thought, “What the fuck?  This feels 
good,” but when he put his hand on her tummy, she said, “I really have 
to pee.”

When she returned, she sat down next to him and bluntly asked, “Are you 
married?”

She wasn't even certain why she'd asked, as there wasn't any indentation 
on his finger, but there was no mistaking the hint of sadness in his 
voice as he said one word, “Widowed.”

She sensed the genuine grief, and said, “You really loved her.”  It 
wasn’t a question.

His eyes didn’t quite tear, but she could see the hurt in them, and the 
slight twitch in his cheeks, as he quietly replied, “Yes.”   His lips 
clenched, wavered a bit, and then he attempted a half smile, "She's dead 
and I'm still married."

"Wow," she laughed nervously, "heavy."

Ian thought a while, and said, "I'm sorry, everything happened pretty 
quickly.  I even thought about what I'd do if I were rich, and it was 
all about girls...or women.  Like I said, I'm not sexist.  I don't think 
of women as girls in any other way, but the word, 'Girl,' thrills me.  I 
don't mean any disrespect."

"Well, to me you're just a boy.  Whatever *men* might want from me, I 
don't know,” and she thought, "What you're supposed to say is some 
version of, 'I'm sorry,'" but instead, changed the subject, "What album?"

Ian brightened a bit, "Sticky Fingers."   He noted the coincidence, her 
asking about his marital status, and that album being the go to music 
for lovemaking with his late wife, and he most often skipped Brown 
Sugar.  Perhaps it wasn't the very weakest song, but the idea of a human 
being whipped was so much the opposite of loving touch, whereas Sway was 
the perfect introduction of the incubus, an angel so reluctant to fall 
from grace, but one destined to succumb to carnal knowledge.

The private rooms were well insulated--only the muffled thump of the 
bass was audible--and had their own sound systems.  "Darren?"

The bouncer replied, "Yes, Sir?"  Ian pulled out his phone, "Sticky 
Fingers, and please skip Brown Sugar."  Darren dutifully complied.

After the album ended, Ian put his arms around her and held her, and she 
reflexively arched her neck and lay it on his shoulder.  Through her 
soft hair, he whispered in her ear, "Thank you."

She turned around and laughed, "I just got paid three hundred dollars an 
hour to get back rubs."

Ian nodded, "I call that a bargain, but I assume that it's almost time 
for you to turn into a pumpkin, and again, thank you.  That was the 
first time I've felt real joy in a long time. "

Silver kissed him on the lips.

It was rather chaste, like a goodbye kiss after an old fashioned first 
date that had gone well, and she asked, "Will you walk me to my car?"

Ian answered, "I'd be honored.”  Ian turned and said, “Darren."

Darren turned his head, "Yes, Sir?"

"The lady asked that I walk her to her car.  Would you chaperone?"  Ian 
handed Darren another fifty.

"Of course, Sir."

As they turned to leave, Ian took out a money clip and removed two more 
hundred dollar bills.  Silver expected him to hand them to her, but 
instead, he pocketed the bills, and handed her the money clip.  She gave 
him a quick hug and whispered in his ear in a husky voice in parody of 
Darren, "Thank you, Sir."  They squeezed each other tightly, laughing. 
It was Darren's job to be obsequious to guys like Ian, one he'd done 
quite well.

"I'll wait for you by the door."

Silver offered her arm as they walked out of the club.  She thought, 
"Lady."   After she unlocked the car, she offered her left hand to Ian, 
who raised it to his lips, "Good night."

"Good night."

As the men walked away, she rolled down the window and shouted, "The 
Who."  Ian looked back and smiled.  The guys shook hands, and Ian 
clasped his left hand over Darren's.  Silver faked receiving a phone 
call because she wanted to see what Ian was driving.  When he got into 
that little Fiat she'd assumed belonged to one of the strippers, she 
said aloud, though no one could hear, "Could this be any fucking 
weirder?"  She pulled out after him, and saw his vanity plate.  Then, 
not wanting him to think she was following him, took a turn that wasn't 
hers, went less than a mile, then hung a U.
...........
It was one in the morning, but she had to call Eric.  "What's up, 
Winter?  Is there something wrong?"

"Dude, you're not going to believe my night."

It was two hours earlier where Eric was, so Winter didn't see any reason 
not to account every detail of her night at the strip club.  "I knew 
when I was up there on that stage, never again."

"But you went in the back room with him."

"Shit, Eric, it was a thousand dollars, and here's where it gets better. 
  He gave me his money clip, and that had almost three hundred more 
dollars, and something else, a personal check for another thousand."

Eric asked, "Do you think it's real?"

"Well, I can't see why it wouldn't be, and we'll see tomorrow when I go 
to his bank to cash it.  Also, because it's a check, it has his address, 
which I'm sure he wanted me to have.  He knew I was never going back to 
that club."

"So you like old guys now?"

"I like money."

"You aspire to be a high priced call girl then."

"I wasn't kidding when I told the guy that I liked getting paid $300 an 
hour to get back rubs, and while I figure he'll expect a lot more than 
that, you know me, I never get tired of fucking, and he's got the magic 
fingers.  He touched the inside of my thigh for a long time, and it was 
hard to resist reaching down and inviting him to break the rules.  Just 
a few inches."

"Damn, Winter, now I'm going to have to wake up Chloe."

After a silence, Eric went on, "You're going to love her, and we'll be 
home on Sunday.  We're taking the train, and Dad's picking us up in 
Kirksville.  You should come along.  We'd all fit nicely in the back 
seat."

Winter giggled, "I'm sure we will."

"Another thing I haven't told you; we're getting married sometime over 
break."

Winter didn't know what to say but, "Wow, that was quick, did you get 
her knocked up or something?"

Eric laughed, "Why yes, yes I did.  Seriously, she's pregnant and we're 
both thrilled.  She's a lot like you, except, you know, she's not my 
sister."

"So you think I'd like to get pregnant at nineteen?  That'd sure throw a 
wrench into my new career."

There was a pause, and then Eric said, "We're taking the train through 
New Mexico.  Remember how stunning the desert was?  On the way back to 
L.A. we're stopping for a week in Santa Fe.”  There was a silence, and 
Eric asked, “Winter?"

"Yeah, I was just thinking."

"Me too," said Eric, "Kansas."

"Go wake up your pregnant girlfriend."

"Bye."

"Bye."

-- 
--Bryan https://www.instagram.com/bryangsimmons/

For your safety and protection, this sig. has been thoroughly
tested on laboratory animals.

"Most of the food described here is nauseating.
We're just too courteous to say so."
-- Cindy Hamilton