Re: *Winter's Present* - serialized

On Tue, 17 Feb 2026 17:15:29 -0600
Bryan Simmons <[email protected]> wrote:

>              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."
> 

Ya know what...sure, I think it's worth a read this way.

Thx.