Re: *Winter's Present* - serialized

On 2/17/2026 5:15 PM, Bryan Simmons 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.
> 
>                           Boy Talk

Winter had gone back with Ian on the pretext of organizing his papers. 
She felt conflicted, not about whether to deceive her parents, but how 
much it was alright to let herself enjoy her playing of the game.  On 
the drive back to Richmond Heights, Ian had told her in detail about the 
conversation with her father while bringing in the keg, and about his 
preparation, and she'd been impressed.  He'd spoken of process, but not 
content, and this complimented Winter's quip at dinner.  Ian's snappy 
response to that had gotten not only a round of laughs, but a high-five 
from Eric, and an approving smile directed past Ian.  By degrees, Eric 
was giving her venture his blessing, and it wasn't just time, but being 
around Ian, and coming to an understanding that she, herself, had 
intuited so quickly.  Ian was as he'd presented himself, no less, and 
only more in that he could keep up with her cognitively.

Now, back in his own house, Ian seemed to Winter even more sure of 
himself, but in a way that let him self-deprecate with a wink.  He'd 
been nearly a day without her body, and hadn't slipped out of character 
once while at her parents'.  "You were quite the showman back there.  My 
family likes you, and Dad's totally bought into the narrative.  You 
notice how he didn't talk about the past?"

"No, but I don't talk about the past much either."

"You don't, but you can, and not for me.  I know all I need to know 
about you, but you know I'm here for you to talk to, and you can be sure 
that I'll never break trust with you.   It's like this--I want to have 
three million dollars, and I'd like it to be easy money.  A little over 
three years, and I'll never have to take orders from anyone.  After 
today, it's all going to be easy from my end.  You've passed the test. 
You don't care about prestige; you're not interested in parading me 
around, and you get along splendidly with my family."  *If Delia only knew*.

"I had a good time, but my god, that pot."

"My present to my parents, but that was then, and this is now," said 
Winter, as she got undressed."  It's Boxing Day, but no gloves.  No 
shirt, no shoes, not even skirt, and I'm at your service.  So don't be 
nervous."

  "Ian, I am, and you are not green eggs and ham."

When Winter and Ian returned, it was in Winter's car, and she explained 
to Eric that Ian's little Fiat was too small for the luggage.   Natalie 
was engaged with Chloe, and Ian approached Richard confidently.  "I'll 
have her back safe and sound."

"And if I were speaking to your father,” said Richard, “I'd give him 
those same assurances.  Come inside for a minute."  Ian followed, and 
once inside the door, Richard produced a joint, and fired it.  Ian felt 
that he couldn't decline.  Richard was sharing Winter's present, one 
given for ambiguous purposes, a gift that gave twice.

When the two emerged from the house, it was obvious to all why they'd 
taken a leave.  The other three travelers were waiting, seated in the 
car.  The back passenger window was rolled down, a conversational 
aperture for Natalie, and the engine was running.  Winter reached over 
from the driver's seat, and pushed open the door, and Natalie laughed as 
she gave Ian a soft shove, guiding him in with her left hand protecting 
the top of his head like a gentle caricature of a cop taking a 
cooperative arrestee into custody.  Ian clumsily buckled himself in and 
twiddled a farewell.

Winter pulled out of the driveway and when she reached the first stop 
sign, she looked over at Ian and said, "You didn't have to do that."

"I think it was bonding, like he'll trust me now," said Ian.  "I hope he 
doesn't expect me to be his new dope buddy though."

"He's got Mom for that.  I think he was just being nice.  You've made a 
good impression."  Winter glanced back for just a second, "Don't you 
think so, Eric?"

"Think so, what?"

"Think Ian made a good impression on Mom and Dad?"

"Yeah, Ian, you were great.  We're getting pizza again."

"Everyone knows that, Eric," said Winter.

Eric replioed, "Ian might have forgotten.  He seems really high."

"OK," said Ian.  "I'm just going to close my eyes and keep to myself for 
a while."  He felt sick, not in his stomach, but everywhere, his heart 
beating in his swimmy head like Marsha Bronson's daiquiri.

When they finally got off the highway, Ian opened his eyes, and Winter 
said, "I see you've returned to the world of the living just in time to 
experience a ghost town."

“Hardly,” said Ian, “though your hungry brother might have a shorter 
wait for his pizza.”

At the pizzaria, Ian paid, and this time no one questioned anything but 
Winter's choice of toppings.  Eric and Chloe split a double sausage, but 
Winter ordered extra sauce and cheese with anchovies.  “I've never had 
anchovies on a pizza,” said Ian.

“You'll love it.”

“Mama bird?” asked Ian.

“No, Ian, you're going to have to eat like a big boy.”

Chloe asked what they were laughing about, and Winter replied, “You 
don't want to know, just believe me.  You don't wanna know.”

On the last leg of the drive, Eric drove, and Winter and Ian shared the 
back seat.  When Winter started getting touchy, Ian went with it.  In 
front were the only two people who knew, and he wasn't about to reject 
Winter's playful kisses, especially after she'd said, “Hey, we both have 
fish breath.”

Ian hadn't been embarrassed so far, and Winter had initiated.  There was 
no one present who didn't have knowledge of their carnal doings, but the 
appearance might seem less than pretty.  Still, in this setting he felt 
comfortable.  The couple in front, he was reasonably certain, couldn't 
get their minds to a place where Winter was working in their presence. 
It was more believable that she just wanted to kiss, and this old man 
was the one that she happened to be with.  When Chloe turned around and 
laughed, her expression was warm, even approving.  She'd quietly become 
a Williamson, not so much in her affectations, but in her ease with open 
affection; Chloe didn't seem to have changed at all, but had merely 
settled in like a cat, with minimal kneading, and by extension was 
embracing Winter as an equal, a person who had navigated adolescence 
successfully.  Winter nosed Ian away as she said, “I haven't lost a 
brother.  I've gained a friend.  Maybe a sister, but at least a friend.” 
  Chloe returned a smile, then turned her attention away, and Winter 
whispered in Ian's ear, “See?  It wasn't about you,” then transitioned 
seamlessly into something that was about him, as she backed away just 
far enough that he could lip read the words, “Love the one you're with.”

She wiggled her shoulders as she said it, and Ian knew that this was 
merely casual body love, no more than he'd expected, but no less.  It 
perfectly expressed what they had, the practical, the convenient, but 
also the limits.  His regrets over accepting Richard's tokes faded 
because he found himself in a good place, the back seat of a car with a 
woman who was sharing kisses.

As they boarded the train, Winter reminded Ian, “Pretend.”

“I never,” said Ian, “asked for anything more.”

After they'd been guided to their berths, Winter sent the menfolk off to 
the snack car, saying, “I could reassure everyone that I’m not a 
seductress, but I’m not much of a liar.  I do, however, promise to 
behave.”   Ian’s bottomless pockets appealed to Eric.

Ian motioned to Eric to follow, and when the two men placed their order, 
a six pack of Sam Adams, Ian's demeanor and generous tips allayed any 
concerns with over-serving, even when Ian returned shortly for a second 
round, as they hadn’t given any indication of rowdiness.  Their mutual 
love of trains, both for transport of commodities and persons, was a 
point of agreement as they lubricated themselves to the state they 
needed to achieve.  Ian started, “Eric, you do know that I’d never harm 
Winter?”

“I know that she believes that, and that’s good enough for me.  Winter 
always gets her way.  You’ll get what you deserve.”

Eric was drunk, and it had opened him, “Women are just…they need to be 
kissed.”

“That they do, Eric, and not merely in the obvious locations.  Parts of 
the body like ears, and toes, the inside of knees; if those are 
neglected, that’s a waste.  Hey, before they stop serving, I’m going to 
buy some more beers.”  When Ian returned, he had another 6-pack, and 
when Eric gave him a questioning look, he said, “I think we’re both 
beyond getting any action tonight anyway.”

Eric laughed, and said, “Way beyond, and you’re as crazy as she is, even 
though you're all English professor.”

“Librarian,” corrected Ian, “but I also ‘live life with gusto’, in my 
librarianly way, of course.”

After one more bottle, Eric was obviously ready for the bunk, and Ian 
handed out the remaining beers to other appreciative passengers.  He had 
to steady Eric when passing through the transitions between the cars, 
where they were received without disdain by women who were ready to 
sleep spooned closely with men who expected no more, but after Chloe had 
escorted her brother away, Winter asked, “So what’d you two talk about?”

“How dare you ask?  It was *boy talk*.”

Winter offered a high-five, and Ian slapped her hand softly.  “Well, I 
guess it would be unethical to interrogate you in your present 
condition, so let’s just cuddle,” and she again thought, “Easy job.” 
It got easier still when Ian expressed his desire to massage her legs, 
and she wondered if he was thinking about Chloe.  Winter suppressed a 
laugh.  *She* was.

Ian had easily accepted her no sex after alcohol condition, even though 
it hadn’t been part of the original pact, but he didn’t count anything 
that didn’t involve genitals as sex, and touching and kissing the rest 
of her body was fair game.  He seemed bent on giving pleasure every 
time, and her coos, the occasional comment, “Oh yeah, right there,” and 
even finger points and verbal requests tendered positive results, and 
this wasn’t seduction.  He wasn’t shy about the benefits he was 
purchasing, and she gave him no reason to be, but they both knew that 
there was a place in her heart that was elsewhere, and one in his as 
well.  They were both in love; Ian’s love tied to his past, and hers to 
the future.  Their present was only body love, more than hook up, but 
less than bonding; it was caring and affectionate, but devoid of 
destiny, and Ian wasn’t privy to her thoughts, as his body touched hers, 
his strong fingers probing the muscles along her spine, then scratching, 
and caressing gently.  He used the insides of his forearms, the softest 
part of his body, to touch her smoothest skin.  Winter suppressed a 
snicker.  *If Delia only knew*.

Before the love bug had bitten, this arrangement would have been almost 
ideal, and the aged aspect of Ian’s body was overwhelmed by his skills, 
and his single-minded interest in physicality.  He wasn’t interested in 
trophies or conquest; Ian only cared about kissing, and not about 
telling.  It was easy to be passive, to accept whatever his desires, and 
relax.  Winter was weary, at least as much as she could be, of always 
being the assertive partner, and Ian’s desires were familiar, surpassing 
even her own. “You want to slide inside me?”

“Of course I do.”

“Stupid question. Huh?”

“No,” said Ian, as he slid down and repositioned himself, “but it makes 
me wonder.”

“Wonder what?”

“If you’re really a college student.”

Winter got the drift, and came back with, “Only stupid answers, like if 
you’d said, “’No,’ which you did.”

They were both chuckling, and Ian said, “No, I mean yes.  I said yes, 
but then I said no, but…”

The slight pause was enough for Winter, “I didn’t mean *there*.  God, 
Ian, you’re such a politician.  ‘No, I said yes before I said no, but I 
really meant yes,’ but here please,” Winter said as she used her hand to 
guide him, “not there.”

It ended up being not anywhere.  The right place, but the wrong time, 
and Ian said, “I'd rather wait until morning, but it'd be nice if you 
cuddled me to sleep.”

Dawn was beginning to break when Ian woke up having to visit the 
facilities, and when he returned, Winter was conscious as well.  “Now?” 
she inquired.

Ian shrugged, “It's morning, right?”  The better part of an hour had 
passed before Ian said, “Good morning.”

Winter agreed, “A good start to the day.”  Winter was already fumbling 
for her own clothing as she told Ian, “Get dressed,” and as soon as he'd 
covered himself sufficiently, she slid open the door and went to rouse 
the others, and finding their quarters vacant, turned to retrieve Ian, 
but he was already in the hallway, and she motioned to him to hurry. 
They made their way to the dining car, where Eric and Chloe were at a 
table, waiting to break their fast, their food having yet to arrive. 
Locking eyes with Chloe, Winter said, “Hey, lovebirds,” then positioning 
herself at her brother's side of the table said, “Scooch over.”

Chloe had already made room for Ian, and Eric hurried to avoid the 
sideways hip thrust that he anticipated would follow his noncompliance 
with Winter's order to scooch.”

When they settled, Ian turned to Chloe and said, “I'm, I mean we're not 
intruding on your honeymoon?”

Chloe just smiled, and Winter answered, “Ian, honeymoon implies that 
there's an end.  We Williamsons,” she said, as she wiggled a hand with 
her pointer to the sky, “don't operate that way.”

“Ian,” said Eric, who had really only fully crawled out of his hangover, 
“it's fine.  Everything seems like the way it's supposed to be.”

“Well, you sound like Dad.”

“Mom.”

“Dad!” Eric retorted emphatically, but knowing that he'd never outlast 
Winter.

“Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom.”

Chloe nudged Ian, calling his attention to the server who was waiting to 
deliver the plates to the newlyweds.  He was obviously unperturbed by 
the goings on, and gave every indication that he was charmed, something 
that Winter noticed, and it made her even more playful.  “I'll have what 
she's having.”  Winter's inflection was close to perfect, and the waiter 
was obviously struggling to maintain composure.

“The scrambled eggs, potatoes, croissant and bacon?”

“Yeah,” said Winter, with a wink.  “That too.”

After Ian ordered, and it was just the four of them, Winter said, 
“Chloe, I saw that look you gave me, and while I might be quite full of 
myself, there are far worse things to be full of.”


Chloe shot back, “Marilyn Monroe, right?”

“Exactly, but I have prettier breasts, and Ian is both better looking 
and richer than that baseball player.”

“Better slugging percentage too,” Ian added.

Winter replied, “Big deal.  You found a pitcher who only throws you 
fastballs.”


-- 
--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