Mary and Daphne #149

Christmas Eve, the night of the extended family Christmas party. The halls are bedecked. The mood is jolly. Uncle Joseph is lording over the hot toddy pot lest anyone other than himself venture to suggest they know how to make them. My mom won’t stop hosting and actually eat some of the food she cooked. Dad is holding court by the fireplace. And it’s Wisconsin, so it’s cold enough to freeze beer and two cousins came straight from ice fishing and smell like a tackle box. Good times.

Meanwhile, I was sitting with Aunt Bethany cuz she’s sweet and says funny old lady things; I think her was the first house in Wisconsin after that glacier retreated. I came out to her first and her exact words as she patted my knee were, “O honey, during the war you couldn’t find a man between seventeen and twnty-five worth ruining a pair of nylons over.” So yep, always liked her.

“Hey Daffy,” this Christmas sweater wearing stunner of a brunette said to me. “Hi, Bethany. Can I borrow Daphne for a minute?” And with Aunt Bethany’s by your leave, borrow me she did.

“What’s up?”

“Upstairs,” she said, and we walked upstairs to my childhood bedroom.

“Is this about all the peanut butter Christmas trees I’ve eaten?”

“Why? How many did you eat?”

“Um, just one. Really.”

“Look at me,” she said and turned my face to hers and looked in my eyes. “Your eyes are dancing.”

“They do that when I’m happy.”

“And when you’re tripping on sugar and alcohol.”

“Which is made out of sugar. True story.”

“C’mon,” she said with this really pretty Christmas smile and tugged me into my bedroom, also where we were sleeping for the week.

“What’s up,” I asked again as she closed the door behind us. I was ninety percent sure I didn’t do anything to earn a spanking, give or take eighty percent.

“I forgot how many of you there are. I needed a break,” she said as she sat down on my bed and leaned all the way back against the wall before patting her thigh. Not that I come a-running whenever she does that, but I do dive across her lap like a golden retriever who thinks she’s a lap dog. And speaking of people worth ruining a pair of stockings over, have I ever told you about my friend Mary?

“Grandma and Grandpa were fruitful and multiplied.” I lost count of the total, but I have thirty-one first cousins on just that side of my family, and a bunch of them are married and have kids of their own. More than sixty people in attendance at our party. Mom and Dad rented extra chairs.

“Here,” she said and handed me a pillow to rest my head on.

“You’re incorrigible,” I reminded her as she folded my dress up across my back to expose my butt. I think she likes it or something?

“I’m insatiable. You’re incorrigible,” was her reply as she squeezed my butt.

“Eeep!” I meeped! “It’s not a stress ball.”

“Then how come we’ve used it as a stress ball before? For both of us.”

“Why? Are you not having a good time?” Cuz we’re in my neck of the woods, and I feel responsible for her having fun when we’re there.

“I am. It’s just a little loud.” Understatement.

“And it looked like you could use a break,” she said and gave me a playful squeeze. She’s like a kid with a Bop It toy when I’m sprawled across her lap like that, squeezing, whacking, twisting, and poking my buttons.

“What makes you say that?”

“You took your shoes off. You always take your shoes off at parties when you need a break.”

“What else do you know about me?”

“All sorts of things.”

“Do you happen to know where my shoes are? Asking for my friend.”

“I put them under the corner of the couch.”

“Aww! That was sweet of you. You like taking care of me. Don’t deny it this time cuz I know you do.” I know she does. I have documentation and everything.

“Gimme a footsie.” I bent my knee to give her what she asked. It is Christmas, and how could I say no at Christmas? “Your toes aren’t cold. That’s a rarity.” She lightly tickled the sole of my foot through my Christmas tights.

“It’s a million degrees down there. The windows by the fireplace fogged up.”

“I thought that was frost.”

“Condensation. Did I tell you you look pretty tonight?” Not that I was sucking up to her, but, well, I like her back and stuff.

“Several times. You’re looking like a scrumptious little morsel yourself. It’s the green velvet and these cute white tights. It’s a miracle you haven’t fallen on your bottom with no shoes on.” Tights are slick on hardwood, for those who’ve never worn them.

“I’m sprightly and nimble.”

“Ha! Since when?”

“Put your hand back where it was.”

“Is there a please in there somewhere?”

“No.”

“This spot?”

“Yeah. Now do that thing thing where you tickle the back of my thighs.”

“O, that’s what you like.”

“Mmmm.” O goodness heccin yes I like that so much and stuff and all the things.

“I can literally feel you turning into a puddle across my lap,” which is a coincidence, because I could also feel myself turning into a puddle across her lap. Something about those fingertips of her just running up and down the backs of my thighs from my sit spots to my knees, and felt through the slick surface of a pair of Christmas tights? Fuhgeddaboutit. She discovered this about me quite by accident. The second time was an experiment, and the time after that was sinfully on purpose.

“This isn’t helping us get ready for part two of the party,” Mary said through a yawn.

“It doesn’t even feel late with the time change,” I yawned back. “See what you started.”

“It’s not late even without the time change. I saw your cousin getting her little one into a fresh diaper and pajamas so she can go straight to bed when she gets home. We could do that for you.”

“Har har. Her little one is eight months old.”

“I’m just teasing.”

“You’re awake and talking to me. Of course you’re teasing.” Which earned me a smack bottom )which is why I said it).

“You’re talking, which must mean you’re talking back,” she said with this how-very-delightfully-naughty-of-you tone she uses with me sometimes (several times a week at minimum).

“Do you wish we’d gotten a hotel,” I asked.

“No. I like the challenge of us both fitting in this bed. I’ll just hafta hold you even closer.”

“You did a good job last night.”

“I was afraid I’d knock you on the floor. It’s a good thing your small.”

“Excuse me, but the word is petite.”

“Is that why you fit into the bedwetting pullups for children?”

“They’re bedwetting pullups for young teens. Santa has plenty of time to put you on the naughty list, Mary.” And I only said that because I’m looking out for her. I’d hate for her to get coal on Christmas morning. I’d own half of it, and what fun would that be?

“If I told Santa what I really wanted for Christmas, he’d wash my mouth out with soap.”

“And here I’ve been thinking all these years that there’s no one you’ll submit to.”

“Well, I mean he could try. I’d paddle his butt until it could guide his sleigh.” Which reminds me of this one Christmas when Mary did something exactly like that to … a friend of mine. Um, really. A friend. And there was a leather harness and an antler headband … for my friend.

“Are you sorry we didn’t bring all our presents with us,” I asked.

“No. It gives us something to look forward to when we get home: more presents, and some of them are things you wouldn’t wanna open in front of your parents.”

“We should probably get up and go be social. I only see some of these people every few years.”

“Did I mention you’re being a very good girl tonight?”

Squeee! “You have now! What I do?”

“You haven’t gotten in an argument with anyone.”

“Did you see the part where I didn’t push Miriam into the fire? Cuz I wanted to.”

“I think we all wanted to, Daffy,” she said with a reassuring pat to my thigh that told me it was time to sit up. The two of us smoothed my dress out and did the same for her.

“Here,” she said and handed me my slippers. “I don’t want to take a trip tomthe emergency room after you slide across the floor and smack your head on something.”

“Always looking out for me.”

“And I still really want to put you in a diaper right now.”

“Yeah, you’ve said that only four times since lunch.” I think maybe passing up the chance to do that to me around my mom’s entire family was literally causing Mary physical stress. Poor thing. Poor, sexually frustrated thing. So give her credit for resisting temptation because I don’t think either of us ever do that well.

“I’ll have my way with you,” she told me.

“I know.”

“When you least expect it.”

“Mary, we live together. I always expect it.” Welcome it, actually; sorta one of the best parts about living together, after getting to spend all my days with my favorite person. “And like you didn’t have enough fun last night when you made me sneak that pull-up into the trash.”

“That was fun,” she smiled as thought it were already a nostalgic memory, probably thinking about all the shades of red I turned. “Ready?”

We walked back downstairs where Mom was doing this thing where she sorta flaps her arms when she gets flustered, though why she was flustered is anyone’s guess. These people know how to have a party without any handholding from her. “There you are,” she said to us. “Where’d you two get to?”

I don’t know what answer Mary was about to give, but I beat her to it with my Very Funny Answer: “Gay stuff.” Hey, you don’t think Mary has a point about me getting loopy after four (seven, actually, but three don’t count because reasons) peanut butter Christmas trees, do you?

And then both of these women who’ve played formative roles in my life simultaneously said, “Daphne Ann,” but only one of them semi-discreetly slapped me on the butt. So … didn’t expect that, as my furious blushing and saucer-sized eyes probably said to anyone who looked my way. Pretty sure only Mom coulda seen. Pretty sure.

“You two,” Mom clucked at us and chuckled to herself as she walked toward a dangerously half-empty (seemed half-full to me) bowl of Fritos.

“Marrry,” I hissed.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Hmmph! … You wanna go find some mistletoe?”

“Tell me why first. Did getting that little play spank in front of your mommy push a button?”

“… Maybe. Don’t make a habit of it.”

“Telling me what to do, little girl?”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“Okay, finish.”

“Don’t make a habit of it, please.”

“Such good manners from my little cutie. I wish you’d at least let me change you into your jammies for the rest of the party.”

“Keep wishing.”

“Santa isn’t the only one who keeps a list,” she said and tapped her temple. “Taking note of all the sass I’m going to pay you back for as soon as we have some alone time.”

So I got that going for me. Really.